Dark Angel (Casteel 2)

"I hear you've been sick," he said in a soft, conversational voice. "You don't look well, girl, not well at all. And by the way, what do you think of that nice house your grandfather is living in? Do you believe your paltry gifts could build such a fine log cabin? Out of the kindness of my heart I took from my own pocket the extra money needed to see that cabin was finished after the foundation was laid, so the great-grandfather of my daughter would have enough cash to see it through. For I am human . . . pitifully, shamefully human."

Minutes passed, many minutes, and the Reverend never moved his eyes from my face.

I heard the baby wailing upstairs, as if suddenly awakened from a nap. I turned to see Rosalynn Wise carrying Fanny's child. And when I saw her tearful eyes, her red pouting lips, dark curling hair, and very fair skin, I was more than touched by her beauty. I was also touched by her small hand that clung tightly to the fingers of the only mother she knew. And then my storm of rage began to break, and I realized that Fanny was only using Darcy as an instrument of revenge. What was I doing here upsetting this baby and her mother? And all the time the Reverend droned on and on, filling my ears with just what I didn't want to think about.

"I had a feeling one day you would come after me, Heaven Casteel. You used to sit on a back pew and stare at me with those clear blue eyes of yours, and you questioned every word that left my lips. I could tell by your face that you wanted to believe, needed to believe, and were trying hard to believe, and yet I could never put the words in the right order to convince you that there is a God, a loving, caring God. So I began to judge all my sermons by your reaction to them . . . and once in a great while it seemed I did manage to reach you. Then that day came when your granny died, and I said the words over her grave, and over the tiny grave of that stillborn child of your stepmother; I felt a complete failure. I knew I would never reach you, for you don't want to be reached. You seek to control your own destiny, when that is not totally possible. You want no help from man, and none from God."

"I didn't come for a lecture on what you think I am," I said stiffly. "You don't know me."

He jumped to put himself always in front of me. His eyelids parted to mere slots so his eyes glittered in the shade of his lids. "You are wrong, Heaven Leigh Casteel. I do know you very well. You are the most dangerous kind of female the world can ever know. You carry the seeds for your own destruction, and the destruction of everyone who loves you. And a great many will love you for your beautiful face, for your seductive body; but you will fail them all, because you will believe they all fail you first. You are an idealist of the most devastatingly tragic kind--the romantic idealist. Born to destroy and self-destruct!"

His solemn, hateful, pitying eyes gazed at me, seemingly staring through me and reading my mind.

"Now it's time for me to discuss my daughter, Darcy. I did not, as you said, bring your sister into my home with anything but good intentions, hoping to help by taking one more mouth to feed from your father at the time of his great distress. You refuse to believe that, I can tell by your expression. Rose and I have done what we think God wanted us to do. We legally adopted (and we have papers signed by your sister) the child your sister gave birth to. And now to tell you the real truth, if your father had not shoved his second daughter at us so forcefully, I would have chosen you! Do you hear that? You! Now ask me why." When I only stared at him with shock, he answered himself. "I wanted to explore at close hand your resistance to God . . ."

Contemplating me with serious eyes, with compassionate eyes, with eyes expert at concealing duplicity, I realized I was no match for anyone as clever as Reverend Wayland Wise, and it was no wonder he had managed to become the richest man in our area of the state. Even knowing all the games he played to gain respect from those too ignorant to know better, I was feeling snared in the same web as any stupid fly.

"Stop talking, please stop!"

Flooded with guilt, I knew I had lost

everything. Tom was already headed for his goal, and he didn't need me. Keith and Our Jane were wise enough even when they were young to turn away from a destructive sister. Grandpa, living where he most wanted to be, close to his Annie, in a mountain cabin ten times better than he had any right to expect, would lose his home. I was crashing the world down on everyone's head.

My fever seemed to come back. I slumped in the chair. A hot flush of nerves rose up from my waist and tingled behind my ears. Fanny didn't need this baby. Fanny had refused to do one thing for Keith and Our Jane, so why had I thought she'd be a good mother for her own? My head throbbed with sharper pain. Who was I to try and take this baby from the only mother she had ever known? It was clear that the child belonged here, with the Wises, who loved her and were in a position to give her the best of everything. What could a Casteel offer this child in comparison to this happy home? I wanted to get away from there as quickly as I could. Shakily I stood up and looked at Rosalynn Wise. "I'm not going to help Fanny take the baby away from you, ma'am," I said. "I'm sorry I came here. I won't bother you again." And as my tears began to flow, I turned and hurried to the door, even as I heard the Reverend calling after me, "God will bless you for this."

Nineteen Rising Winds

. LOGAN DROVE ME TO THE NEAREST AIRPORT AND SAT WITH me in the terminal until my flight was announced. He gazed solemnly into my eyes and told me again that I had done the right thing when I left Fanny's baby in the arms of Rosalynn Wise.

"You did the right thing," said Logan for the third time, when I voiced my doubt to him about the logic of my rationalizations. "Fanny isn't the mother type, you know it and I know it."

Far back in my mind maybe I'd harbored the thought of taking the baby back with me to Farthinggale Manor, praying against hope that her sweet innocence and beauty would win Troy over, and he'd want to raise her as his daughter. Foolish, idiotic thought. What an idiot I'd been even to make an attempt. Fanny didn't deserve a child like Darcy. Maybe I didn't either.

"Goodbye," said Logan, standing and gazing over my head. "I wish you all kinds of good luck and happiness," and whirling on his heel, he strode off before I could thank him again for taking care of me.

He looked back and smiled in a tight way. Across fifty feet we stared at one another before I turned and hurried onto the plane.

Hours later I arrived in Boston. Exhausted, half-sick, and ready to collapse into bed, I slipped into a taxi and hoarsely whispered the address. Then slumping to the side, I felt dizzy and faint. I closed my eyes and thought of Logan and the way he'd smiled at me when I told him how I'd left things with the Wises. "I understand why you did what you did. And you keep remembering if Fanny had really wanted that little girl she could have found a way to keep her. You would have found a way."

It was all so unreal, so terribly unreal. The smile the butler Curtis wore when he opened the door because I couldn't find my key, not like him at all. Nor were his welcoming words. "It is good to have you back, Miss Heaven."

Startled that he would speak to me and address me by my Christian name, I watched him disappear with my suitcases before I turned to stare into the huge room that had been formed by throwing open the wide doors to the major salon and the one beyond that. A party. And I wondered absently what occasion was about to be celebrated? But then Tony was home, every day was a reason to celebrate.

From room to room I wandered, staring at the huge bouquets of fresh flowers everywhere. Crystal, silver, gold, and brass gleaming. And in the main kitchen, where the entrees were prepared, Rye Whiskey smiled as if he hadn't even noticed my absence. I left the kitchen, the sight of all that food making my stomach queasy, and headed for the stairs.

"So, you are back!" called a strong,

authoritative voice. Tony strode from his office, his good-looking face grim. "How dare you do what you did? You didn't keep your word. Do

you know what you have done to Troy, do you know?"

I felt myself go pale. My knees began to quiver. "He's all right, isn't he? I was sick. I wanted to come back."

Tony strode closer, his full lips set in a long thin line. "You have disappointed me, girl. You have disappointed Troy, and that's more important. He's over there in his cottage in such a deep depression he refuses to answer his telephone. He doesn't leave his bed, not even to finish work that he's started."

My legs gave way and I sagged to sit on a step. "I had the flu," I said weakly. "My fever rose to a hundred and two. The doctor couldn't come because it rained every day and the bridges went down, and the roads flooded." He heard me out, patiently heard me out. He stood with his hand on the newel post, looking up at where I crouched on the steps, and in his eyes I saw something that I'd never seen before. Something that scared me. My excuses took too long. He waved his hand, dismissing what else I had to say. "Go to your rooms and do what you have to, then come to my office. Jillian is giving a shower this evening for one of her friends who plans to marry soon. You and I are going to settle a few things."

"I have to see Troy!" I cried, as I wearily rose to my feet. "He'll understand even if you don't."