The telephone rang three, four, five times before a deep and familiar voice answered, and for one agonizing moment I felt Pa could see me through the telephone lines. I stood petrified in the phone booth.
"I'd like to speak to Tom Casteel," I finally managed to whisper hoarsely, and it was such a strange voice, it gave me confidence that the man I hated would not recognize his firstborn, just as he'd never acknowledged my presence in his life with any warmth. I could almost see his Indian face as he hesitated, and for a heartbreaking moment A thought he might ask, "Is that you, Heaven?"
But he didn't. "May I tell Tom who is calling?" Well, listen to that! Someone was teaching Pa good grammar and proper manners. I swallowed and almost gagged. "A friend."
"Hold on, please," he said, as if he did this a hundred times a day for Tom. I heard him lay down the receiver, heard his steps on a hard surface, and then his voice roared in characteristic hillbilly fashion: "Tom, you've got another of those anonymous girlfriends of yours on the phone. I wish you'd tell them to stop calling. Now don't talk longer than five minutes. We've got to get the show on the road."
The thud of Tom's running feet came clearly across the many miles that separated us. "Hi!" he breathlessly greeted.
I was taken aback at how much his voice had changed; he sounded very much like Pa. I found it difficult to speak, and while I hesitated, Tom must have grown impatient. "Whoever you are, speak up, for I don't have but a minute to spare."
"It's me, Heaven ... please don't speak my name and let Pa know who it is."
Surprised, he sucked his breath in. "Hey, this is great! Terrific! Gosh, I'm so glad to hear from you. Pa's gone out in the yard to be with Stacie and the baby, so I don't have to whisper."
I didn't know what to say.
Tom filled the awkward space: "Heavenly, he's the cutest lil ole kid. He's got black hair, dark brown eyes, you know, just the kind of son Mom wanted to give Pa . ." He stopped talking abruptly, and I just knew he'd started to add, "He's the spitting image of Pa." Instead he said, "Why aren't you saying anything?"
"How nice that Pa always gets what he wants," I commented bitterly. "Some people are lucky that way."
"C'mon, Heavenly, stop that! Be fair. The kid isn't guilty of any crime. He's damned cute, and even you would have to admit that."
"What did Pa name his third son?" I asked out of pure, spiteful vindictiveness.
"Hey! I hate your cold tone of voice. Why can't you let the past die in peace, like I have? Pa and Stacie let me name the baby. Remember a long time ago who used to be our favorite explorers? Walter Raleigh and Frances Drake? Well, we got us Walter Drake. We call him Drake."
"I remember," I said, ice in my voice. "I think it's a terrific name. Drake Casteel?"
More merchandise for Pa to sell was my mean thought before I abruptly changed the subject. "Tom, I'm in Atlanta. I'm planning on renting a car and driving to your place, and I don't want to run into Pa."
"That's wonderful, Heavenly, just wonderful!" he enthusiastically cried.
"I don't want to see Pa when I come. Can you arrange to have him out of the house?"
Pain came into Tom's voice as he promised to do what he could to keep Pa and me from meeting. Then he gave me detailed directions on how to reach the small town where he lived, about twenty miles from where a commuter plane would let me off in south Georgia.
Tom! Pa roared from a distance. I said five minutes, not ten!"
"I've gotta go now," Tom said urgently. "I'm mighty happy yer comin, but I'm gonna say this right now, ya made a big mistake when ya shoved Logan out of yer life, an let that Troy guy in! He's not yer kind. That Troy Tatterton ya've written to me about will never understand ya like Logan does, or love ya even half as much."
His country dialect had come back, as it always did when he grew passionate. Quickly I corrected him. It hadn't been I who shoved Logan away, it had been Logan who had changed his mind.
"Goodbye, Heavenly . . . see you tomorrow morning about eleven." He hung up without further ado.
I stayed that night in Atlanta and early the next morning rented a car and drove south, rethinking all of Tom's letters that should have warned me. "I thought nothing would ever come between you and Logan. It's living in that rich house, I know it is. It's changing you, Heavenly! Why you don't even write or talk like yourself!"
"You're not Fanny," he'd written once. "Girls like you fall in love just once, and don't ever change their minds."
What did he think I was, anyway? An angel? A saint without flaws? I wasn't an angel or a saint; I had the wrong shade of hair. I was a dark angel, through and through a no-good, scumbag Casteel! Pa's daughter! He'd made me what I was. Whatever I was.
I had talked to Troy only last night, and he'd told me to settle all my family affairs quickly, and hurry back to him.
"And if you can persuade Tom to come to our wedding, despite what Tony said, you won't feel that all the guests are on my side. And perhaps Fanny will come as well."
Oh, Troy didn't know what he was asking for when he invited my sister Fanny! I had all kinds of weird thoughts as I drove in the early morning toward a small town I'd marked with a red circle on a local map. I stared at the red dirt along the roadside, allowing it to take me back to my time spent with Kitty and Cal Dennison. For the first time since I'd flown from West Virginia, my thoughts lingered on memories of Cal, and what had happened to him. Was he still living in Candlewick? Had he sold the home that had belonged to Kitty? Was he married again? Surely he'd done the right thing when he put me on the plane for Boston, allowing me to think that Kitty would live despite her massive tumor.
I shook my head, not wanting to think of Cal when I had to concentrate on my meeting with Tom. Somehow I had to persuade him to leave Pa and continue his education. Troy would pay his tuition fees, buy his clothes, and whatever else he needed. And even as I thought this, I had to block out Tom's stubborn pride, the same kind that I had.