Fallen Hearts (Casteel 3)

"Tony told me all about it. It sounds like a wonderful project. I've even thought of contributing a new toy or two."

"Really?" I turned back to him. The walls of my heart quivered. I held the tears within and swallowed the cries that threatened to emerge from my throbbing throat. "Logan adores me," I said. "He's sensitive to my every mood and feeling. He was there when I needed love and comfort the most. He's always been there."

"I know," Troy said. "Heaven, you know I didn't want to do anything to bring you any more pain and agony. If I hadn't been so weak, I would have left before you discovered me and followed the plan Tony outlined. As usual, he knows best. And now I've only succeeded in putting you into an emotional turmoil. It seems I can't stop hurting the ones I love."

"Oh, no, Troy. You mustn't think that way," I said, going to him. "I'm not in pain; I won't be in pain. I promise you."

He nodded even though we both knew what I said was untrue. Why was it that life demanded us to lie to ourselves so often? I wondered. Wasn't it ironic that in order to be happy, we had to be self-deceptive, we had to live in illusion?

"I'll be leaving soon now anyway."

"When?"

He stood up and walked slowly toward the front door. "I'm not going to tell you and I'm not going to tell you where I'm going. Don't force me to do that," he said and smiled softly. "Let's just think of this as an interlude, a gift from the gods, a few moments when we cheated Death and leave it at that. Don't tell Tony what you've discovered. He doesn't have to know I've broken my promise."

"Of course I won't tell him. But Troy, do you really expect me simply to walk out that door and forget you?"

"No, I don't expect you to forget me, but it's best that you think of me as I was . . . gone Funny," he said, widening his smile, "I've passed my thirtieth birthday and I'm still here. I guess you were always right to be optimistic."

We stared at each other.

"Troy . . ."

"If I kiss you never let you go and we'll only

bring about more sadness and tragedy, for you'll be losing a life and a marriage that promises to be productive and replacing it with a forbidden, sinful love that leads to nothing but our own selfish pleasures. You know that as well as I do," he said. I nodded and lowered my head. He reached out and lifted my chin. "Let me remember you smiling," he said.

I smiled through the tears and the pain like sunshine in the rain. He opened the cottage door and I passed through. He stood there for a moment looking out at me and then he closed the door. I felt the walls around my heart collapse. My tears poured forth. I clenched my hands into fists and turned to run down the walkway and to the maze, charging into it and through its corridors like a wild and frenzied animal, like Abdulla Bar, his eyes red and wild, charging toward the sea. My cries were like long, thin scarfs blowing behind me. I didn't stop until I burst out of the maze to face Farthy.

I ground away the tears with my fists and continued forward, pausing once to look up toward Jillian's window. Once again there she was, looking out. This time she wore a look of satisfaction. In her madness she knew the painful truths, truths that had begun years ago when my mother had pressed her body against Tony's and begun a sinful love whose insidious tentacles, like the vines along the walls of Farthy, crawled in and out of the lives of all of us and would continue to do so until our dying days.

I intended to go right up to my suite to lie down, but Curtis greeted me with the news that Logan had been calling. With his usual cigar store Indian stiffness, Tony's butler waited in the hallway with Logan's message on a slip of paper. I had the impression he had been standing there ever since Logan called, waiting for my return.

"Mr. Stonewall has phoned twice, Mrs. Stonewall. The last time was only minutes ago. He gave me this number for YOU to call."

"Thank you, Curtis," I said. I went directly to the living room to use the gold antique phone and dialed the number. My hands were trembling. A man answered.

"Mr. Stonewall? Yes, ma'am. Right away," he said in an excited tone of voice. I heard a buzz of activity in the background--people talking loudly to one another, a typewr

iter clicking, another phone ringing, and the sound of bulldozers and other construction equipment just outside a nearby window.

"Heaven, where have you been?" Logan asked as soon as he got on the line.

"Just walking about the grounds." I was desperate to envision him, to feel close to him, my husband, my anchor. "What's all that noise?"

"Oh, this is my headquarters," he said, the pride in his voice so obvious I could imagine him pulling his shoulders back, holding his head high, and smiling. "I set up a small trailer on the factory site. I have an assistant. That's who answered the phone. Maybe you remember him--Frank Stratton, Steve Stratton's youngest boy. Stratton's Lumber Company," he added when I didn't respond.

"Sounds like you're very busy," I said.

"It's going well, Heaven. I wish you had decided to come along this trip, just so you could see the progress. We're well past the midway point and I've found two artisans in the Willies who could carve a Madonna out of a birch branch."

"That's wonderful," I said, trying to sound enthusiastic, but I was still in a state of shock. All I could think about was Troy. Troy still alive!

"Anyway, I was calling to tell you I can't come home today. I'm going to have to stay until the weekend. We have too many problems to solve on the site."

"Oh, Logan."

"I know. I never intended to leave you alone so long, but everyone's afraid to make a decision without my okay," he said. "Maybe you should fly down here."