Her eyes flicked my way to notice my reaction, and when she saw none, she flipped over and used her fists to grind away her tears. And like a switch had been pushed, her tears fled, and her look of frustrated depression disappeared. She smiled again. A wicked, hateful smile.
"Ya smell rich now, Heaven. Ya truly do. Bet that perfume yer wearin' cost p
lenty. An' I neva saw such soft-lookin' leather as that yer purse an' shoes are made of. Bet ya got ten fur coats! Bet ya got hundreds of dresses, thousands of shoes, millions of dollars t'waste! An' ya come bearing gifts that cost real dough. An' ya don't really like me, not like ya do Tom. Yer sittin' there feelin' sorry fer me cause I kin't cut t'mustard when ya done snatched t'whole jar! Look at my room, an' think of where ya jus came from. Oh, I done heard from Tom all t'stuff yer not tellin' me. Ya got everythin' up there in that mansion that's got fifty rooms an eighteen bathrooms, an Lord knows what ya do with all of 'em! Ya got three rooms all yer own, wid four closets full of clothes an' handbags an' shoes, jewels an' furs, an' college comin' up, too. Me, I got nothin' but sore feet an' resentments fer this whole damned city that don't know how t'be kind!"
Again her fists rubbed ruthlessly at her eyes until the flesh around them turned red and bruisedlooking. "An ya got goody-two-shoes Logan Stonewall fer good measure! I guess it neva crossed yer stupid brain I might have wanted Logan fer myself. Ya went an took him away from me, an' I hate ya fer that! Every time I think of what ya did erne, I hate ya! Even when I miss ya, I hate ya! An' it's time ya did somethin' fer me 'sides givin' me a handful of measly bills that don't mean anythin' to ya anyway! It's all ova ya now, ya kin give ten one-hundred-dollar bills cause ya got plenty more where they come from!"
Before I could blink she was up on her feet, striking out at me!
I slapped back at her for the first time in my life. The surprise of the sting my hand made on her face made her draw away and whimper.
"Ya neva hit me before," she sobbed. "Ya done turned mean, Heaven Casteel, mean!"
"Put on your clothes," I said sharply. "I'm hungry and want to eat." I watched her scramble into a short red skirt that resembled leather, and over this she pulled a white cotton sweater that was much too small. Gold hoop earrings swung from her pierced ears. The scuffed and thin-soled red plastic shoes she put her feet into had black heels five inches high, and the contents of her small, red plastic purse had spilled on the floor when she dropped it on seeing me. A crumpled pack of cigarettes lay beside five little square boxes of condoms. I looked away. "I'm sorry I came, Fanny. After dinner we'll say goodbye."
She was silent all during our meal in an Italian restaurant down the street from where she lived. Fanny devoured everything on her plate, then polished off what I left, though I would have paid for another entree. From time to time she'd gaze at me furtively in a calculating way, and I knew without guessing that she was plotting her next move. Eager to part from her and return to Troy, still I allowed her to talk me into returning to her small room. "Please, Heaven, please, for ole times' sake, 'cause yer my sista an' ya jus' can't up an' leave me t'fend fer myself." '
Once we were back in her room, she whirled to confront me. "Now ya wait a minute!" she screamed, putting her fists on her hips and spreading her legs. "Who ya think ya are, anyway? Ya kin't jus come an' go without Join' somethin' more than givin' me a free meal, cheap clothes, an' a lil scrap of money!"
She angered me. Fanny had never given me a kind word in her life, much less anything material. "Why don't you ask me about Tom, or Keith and Our Jane?"
"I kin't worry 'bout nobody but myself!" she yelled, moving to block my way so I couldn't reach the door without shoving her aside. "Ya owe me, Heaven, owe me! When Ma went away ya were supposed t'do yer best fer me--an ya didn't! Ya let Pa sell me t'that Reverend an his wife, an' now they got my baby! An' when ya knew I shouldn't have sold her! Ya could have stopped me, but ya didn't try hard enough!"
My lips gaped open! I had done my very best to bring reality into Fanny's decision to give up her baby for ten thousand dollars. "I tried, Fanny, I tried," I said with weary impatience. "Now it's too late."
"It's neva too late! An' ya didn't try hard enough! Ya shoulda found t'right words t'say an' I woulda known betta! Now I got nothin'! No money an' no baby! An I want my baby! I want my baby so much it hurts! I kin't sleep fer thinkin' they got her, an' I'll neva have her . . . an' I love her, need her, want her. Neva held ray own baby but once, for they took her away an' give her t'ole lady Wise."
Dumbfounded by Fanny and her irrational swings of temperament, I tried to express sympathy, but she wanted none of that.
"Don't ya try an' tell me I should have known betta. I didn't know betta, an' now I'm sorry. So here's what ya kin do with all that moola ya got stashed somewheres . . . ya go back t'Winnerrow an' ya give t'Reverend an his wife that ten thousand they paid me fer her! Or pay 'em twice that much, but ya buy back my baby!"
I couldn't speak. What she asked was impossible. Her dark eyes burned into mine. "Ya hear me? Ya've got t'buy back my baby!"
"You can't mean what you say! There's no way I can buy back your baby! You told me when you entered that hospital you signed release papers of adoption--"
"No, I didn't! I jus' signed papers that said Mrs. Wise could keep my baby till I was old enough t'take kerr of her."
I couldn't tell whether or not she was lying; I'd never been able to read Fanny as I had Tom. Still, I tried to rationalize. "I can't go back there and take a baby away from parents who adore her and take good care of her. You showed me the photographs, Fanny. I can see they love her enough to give her everything, and what can you give her? I can't turn a helpless baby over to you and your kind of life." I flung my arms wide, indicating the hopeless room where a baby crib wouldn't fit. "What would you do with a child so young and demanding? Where would you keep her while you go out to earn a living? Can you tell me that?"
"I don't have eta ya nothin'!" she cried, her eyes flashing before they watered. "Ya jus' do as I say or I'll use this thousand bucks t'fly up t'Boston! An' when I'm wid yer grandmother Jillian, who looks like some freakytid, I'll tell her all about her hi angel gal who ran away from Boston. I'll spill it all out, that mountain shack wid no inside plumbing, an' Pa an' his moonshining, and his five brothers all in jail, an' when Jillian hears everythin' about how her lil angel girl lived 'fore she died, she won't look so young no more.
I'll tell her about Pa an' how he visited Shirley's Place even when he were married Cher. An' I'll tell her about t'revenue men, an t' outhouse an t'stinks, an t'hunger her rich lil girl suffered through. An' I'll polish her little girl off jus' as it happened, givin' birth with no doctor, jus Granny t'help. An' when I'm done tellin her all kinds of rotten thins about ya, she'll end up hatin' ya!--if she don't lose what mind she's got left first!"
Again stunned, I could only stare at Fanny, overwhelmed that she could hate me so much, when all my life I'd done the best I could for her. I didn't know how to confront someone as obsessed as she appeared to be. Nervously I ran my hands over my hair, then I headed for the door.
"Don't ya go yet, Heaven Leigh Casteel!" Her twangy sarcasm rang familiar bells of shame in my ears. Oh she knew all the ways to hurt me most, reminding me of who I was and where I'd come from.
I felt colder than I'd ever felt, and it was midsummer, and the summer storm had only freshened the hot day, not chilled it.
"I'll do anythin' I kin think of t'hurt ya--unless ya go an' get my baby an' bring her back t'me!"
"You know I can't do that," I said again, so tired of Fanny and her shrill voice I wished I'd never come.
"Then what kin ya do fer me? Huh? Can ya give me everythin' ya've got fer yer own? Give me a room in that huge house, so I kin enjoy what ya have? If ya loved me, like yer always sayin', ya'd want me where ya kin see me every day."
Colder and colder I was growing. The last person I needed to see every day of my life was Fanny. "I'm sorry, Fanny," I began in icy tones, "I don't want you in my life. I'll send you money once a month, enough to see you through comfortably, but you'll never be invited to live where I do. You see, my grandmother's husband made me promise I'd never allow any Casteel relative of mine to mar the perfection of his days, and if you're plotting now on blackmailing me by threatening to tell him I've seen you, and Torn, then forget it. For he would cut me out of his life without a cent, as easily as you can bat your eyes--and then there would be no money for you-- and no money left with which to buy your baby back."
Her slitlike dark eyes narrowed even more. "How much ya gonna send me each month?"