"Congratulations, Heaven," he said and he came forward to embrace me. "Your timing couldn't be any better. It's like a jolt of new energy and hope; it's truly a spiritual gift."
"We're going to the Cape Cod House," Logan announced. "I just made the reservations. Champagne, lobster dinners, the works, eh, Tony?"
"Of course." He smiled as if Logan had hit on the most brilliant idea. "We must celebrate. It's good to hear good news for a change. And won't it be wonderful to hear a baby crying and laughing in the halls of Farthy once again! The Tattertons indeed will go on."
"Yes," I said and then fear wrung my heart. Maybe the Tattertons would go on even more pure than he realizes, I thought. But I pushed the thought away. Instead, I let myself be carried off by Logan's exhilaration and energy. We all dressed like fashion plates, got into our limo, and went off to celebrate the coming of my new baby, all of us already intoxicated by happiness before we raised our first glasses of champagne to toast the future.
We had had a wonderful time at the restaurant. Tony and Logan drank a bottle and a half of champagne. Every time I reached for my glass, either one or the other would say, "Now, now, you've got to be careful what you eat and drink, little mother." For some reason just saying it would set them both off, laughing hysterically. Before long, everyone in the restaurant was watching us.
That light, carefree abandon remained with us throughout the evening and all the way home. We had taken the opportunity for happiness and used it like a salve to cover and heal our scars of sorrow and bereavement. We got into a discussion about names for the baby, and Tony complained that modern-day parents just didn't seek dignified names for their children anymore.
"They're naming them after everything nowadays, from soap-opera characters to racehorses. If it's a boy, I'd love to see you name him Wilfred or Horace, after my great-great-grandfather and greatgrandfather. He should have a middle name with equal dignity .. say, Theodore or . ."
"Or Anthony," I interjected.
"Wouldn't be so bad," Tony agreed, quirking an eyebrow and smiling. Logan laughed nervously.
"If it's a girl, I'd like to name her after my granny-- Annie," I told him.
"Annie? Shouldn't you call her Ann?" Tony asked. Logan nodded. He would agree with anything at this moment, I thought. The champagne had gone to his head.
"No, I think Annie is perfect," I pronounced emphatically.
"Oh, well, as long as you don't call her 'Late for dinner," Tony said and he and Logan fell into another fit of boyish laughter.
We were all still in a gay and celebrating mood as we entered Farthinggale Manor. Curtis's face sobered all of us immediately, however. He greeted us with a formal nod, sadly shaking his head.
"What is it, Curtis?" Tony asked, a worried frown crushing his smile.
"A telegram arrived for you, sir, and then shortly afterward, there was a phone call from a Mr."--he looked down at his note pad--"J. Arthur Steine, an attorney representing Luke Casteel,"
"Luke Casteel!" I looked at Tony, bewildered. His face blanched as he stepped forward to take the telegram from Curtis. What was this? My mind roamed like a blind beast, trying to fin
d a familiar landmark. Why would Pa's lawyer be sending a telegram to Tony? Logan grabbed my hand and I waited at his side while Tony ripped open the envelope and read the contents. His face drained of color until it looked like the pale mask of a ghost.
"My God," he said softly and simply handed me the telegram. It was addressed to Anthony Tatterton. It read:
.
TERRIBLE AUTO ACCIDENT STOP LUKE AND STACIE CASTEEL FATALLY INJURED STOP DETAILS TO FOLLOW STOP J. ARTHUR STEINE
.
"What is it?" Logan asked. Without speaking, I handed him the telegram.
"Oh, my God," he said. He put his arm around me. "Heaven . ."
I raised my hand to indicate I would be all right and ran directly into the living room. It felt like my heart had stopped beating and my blood had frozen in place. I no longer felt the floor beneath me.
"Curtis, bring Mrs. Stonewall some water," Logan ordered. He followed me in and Tony went off to his office to call J. Arthur Steine. I sat on the couch and leaned back, closing my eyes. Logan sat beside me, holding my hand.
"I know it's terrible news," Logan said, "but you've got to think of your own health and the baby's."
"I'll be all right, Logan," I whispered. "I'll be all right."
Pa. Luke Casteel. The man whose love I had craved but never won. But now only good and happy scenes came to mind. I saw him outside our cabin pitching a baseball to Tom and Tom swinging with the bat, the only plaything left over from Luke's own childhood. I saw him out in the yard on a warm summer's day, his ebony-dark hair shining. He was handsome enough to be a movie star when he was clean shaven and neatly dressed. How the women would gaze at him! I remembered how much I longed for him to look kindly and lovingly at me, and when I was lucky enough to catch him staring at me, probably seeing his beloved Angel Leigh in my face, I remember how it filled my heart with such excitement and joy.
Pa, the beautiful, unattainable man I loved and hated, now gone and lost forever, no chance of us ever meeting on some quiet day and forgiving each other for our hates and our loves, no chance to explain or to understand, no chance to mend things or heal wounds, no chance for soft words.