Dark Angel (Casteel 2)

"Your grandfather can't climb the stairs without wheezing, and he has all he can do to stay upright himself." And without further ado, Logan tenderly helped me from the bed. My head reeled so I would have fallen without his arms about me, and step by slow step, supporting me as if I were a small child, he assisted me into the bathroom. I clung to a towel bar until he closed the door, and then I fell upon the commode almost in a dead faint.

I learned all about humility during the next few days when Logan had to assist me to and from the bathroom. I learned how to swallow my pride and tolerate the way he had to give me a sponge bath as modestly as possible, keeping all but the skin he was cleansing under a flannel sheet. Sometimes 1 childishly whimpered and cried and tried to fight him off again, but the effort of doing that would cause me such fatigue I could only submit. Then I realized the fruitlessness of my resistance. I needed his caring and nursing. And from that time on, I lay without moaning and complaining.

In my fevered delirium I knew I'd called for Troy. I pleaded time and again with Logan to telephone him and explain why I hadn't returned to keep our wedding plans. I'd see Logan nod, hear him say something to assure me he was tryin

g to contact Troy. But I didn't believe him. I never believed him. When I could find the strength I slapped at his hands when he tried to spoon medicine into my mouth. Twice I crawled out of the bed in frail, failing efforts to telephone Troy myself--only to stand and find myself so weak I crumpled almost immediately to the floor, forcing Logan to spring up from his pallet near the foot of my bed so he could pick me up and carry me back to my bed.

"Why can't you trust me?" he asked when he thought me asleep, his voice tender, his hands gentle as he smoothed back the damp fringe of hair from my forehead. "I saw you with that Cal Dennison and wanted to shove him through the wall. I saw you once with that Troy you keep calling for, and I hated him. I've been a fool, Heaven, a damned fool, and now I've lost you. But why is it you always have to go elsewhere to find what I was so willing to give? You never gave me the chance to be more than a friend.

You held me off, resisted my kisses, and my efforts to be your lover."

My lids parted to see him sitting on the side of my bed, his head bowed wearily. "I know now I was a fool to have been so considerate--for you love me. I know you love me!"

"Troy," I moaned softly, seeing Logan hazily, with Troy standing in the shadows behind him, his face in darkness. "I have to save Troy . . ."

He turned from me then, his head lifting before he murmured, "Go back to sleep and stop fretting over that man. He'll be all right. You've talked a lot about him, and I know this, people in real life don't die from love."

"But . . . but you don't know Troy . . . don't know him . . not as I do."

Logan whipped around, his patience on a leash. "Heaven, please! You can't recover if you don't stop resisting what I try to do for you. I'm not a doctor, but I do know a considerable amount about medications. I am trying to do my best for you. A few weeks ago I brought your grandpa a good supply of cold medicine, never suspecting it would be you who'd be the one most needing. All the roads to town are flooded. It's been raining for five solid days. I can't drive out of the yard because the dirt roads are so rutted and flooded. Three times I've had to dig my car out of mud up to the hubcaps."

I submitted to his ministrations, not knowing what else to do. Nightmarish dreams took me to Troy. He was always riding on a horse away from me, and when I called, he rode even faster. Into the night, into the dark, I chased after him.

Into my hazy vision Grandpa drifted several times, his breath coming in short gasps and wheezes, his wizened old face hovering anxiously over me, his hands reaching to brush back my long damp hair with weak fingers. "Yer lookin peaked, Heaven chile. Real peaked. Annie's gonna fix ya up somethin' healin' . . . her herbal tea. An she's made ya some soup. Ya eat it now . . ."

Finally the day came when my fever stopped. My thoughts cleared. For the first time I fully realized the horror of my situation. I was in the Willies again, back where the cabin used to stand. Far from Troy who had to be frantic with worry.

I stared weakly at Logan as he took clean sheets from the small linen closet in the dressing area, and striding my way, he smiled. His beard made him seem older, and he looked exceedingly tired.

As a young child I'd often hoped to be sick just to test Pa and find out if he'd care for me as lovingly as once I'd seen him care for Fanny. But of course he wouldn't have bothered himself even to hand me a glass of water.

"Go away!" I sobbed, when Logan handed me another capsule, another glass of water. "It's embarrassing what you've done!" I cringed from the touch of his hands. "Why didn't you telephone for a nurse after Mrs. Burl hurt her ankle? You had no right to do what you did!"

Like a deaf and mute man he was heedless of what I said. He rolled me over, draped the mattress under me with a flannel sheet before he disappeared to come back with a basin of warm water, and several towels, plus a washcloth and a dish with soap. I clutched the covers, bringing them high under my chin. "No!"

He dipped the washcloth into the water, soaped it, then handed it to me. "Wash your own face then. The phone lines were the first thing to go. That was the evening we arrived. I just heard the weather report on a battery radio. The rain is due to let up tonight. It will take a few days for the roads to drain of water, and by that time you should be well enough to travel."

I seized the washcloth from his hands, then glared at him until he left the room. He slammed the door shut behind him, and with ruthless

determination, I scrubbed at my skin. I put on a fresh sleep shirt, one of the many that I had mailed to Grandpa, this time without Logan's help.

On this day I made myself eat when Logan carried in a tray with soup and sandwiches. He would not meet my eyes, nor would I meet his.

"The roads . . . ?" I managed to ask, just as he was carrying the tray out of the door.

"Clearing. The sun is out. The linemen will soon be restoring electricity and telephone service. Once I can bring in a nurse for you, I'll leave. I'm sure that will make you very happy. You'll never have to see me again."

"You're pitying me now, aren't you?" I shouted with what frail strength I had. "You can like me now that I'm sick and needing, but you can't like me at all when I'm not needing. I don't need your kind of compassion and pity, Logan Stonewall! I'm engaged to one of the most wonderful men in the world.

I'll never be poor again! And I love him, love him so much I'm hurting inside because I'm not with him instead of you!"

There, I'd said it, in the cruelest way possible. He stood, caught in a random beam of weak sunlight, his face gone very pale before he whirled around to stalk out of the door.

I cried when he was gone. Cried for the longest time. Cried for all that used to be, and all the dreams left unfulfilled. But it was all right. I had Troy. He didn't pity me. He loved me, needed me, would die without me.

That afternoon I forced myself to walk to the bathroom alone. I took a bath in the tub. I shampooed my hair. In a day or two I'd leave this place and never return.

My strength took longer to return than I'd expected. Just as it took the roads longer to clear of flood water than Logan predicted, and he didn't leave the minute the mud began to dry. He patiently waited downstairs, until one day the mailman appeared and told him that all the roads down to Winnerrow were passable now, if he didn't mind digging in the mud now and then. Around four that day, while Logan sprawled on the living room sofa and dozed, I was able to negotiate the stairs alone, and in the kitchen I helped prepare a simple meal. Grandpa seemed very contented. Logan said nothing at all when I called him to the kitchen table, though I felt his eyes following my every movement.