Heartsong (Logan 2)

At least, that's what I believed in my heart.

Raymond was there promptly at seven. Aunt Sara came down from Uncle Jacob's room to be sure I was ready and that I would go. Why pleasing Grandma Olivia reigned so importantly in her mind, I would never understand. But it did. It was as if Grandma Olivia left her shadow on the walls here and Aunt Sara always felt that shadow hovering above or behind her, waiting to pounce and approve or disapprove of anything she said or did.

I hurried out and into the car. The moon was out now, big and bright, full and smiling, with long dark clouds streaking its face and making it seem sinister one minute and gay the next. It was as if a voice whispered in my ear, telling me to beware everything, for nothing was what it appeared to be.

"Probably get some showers tonight," Raymond said as we drove off.

The weather again, I thought. And then I thought, maybe it was a secret language; maybe it was another way of revealing what was in your heart.

"As long as it's not a storm," I replied.

"No, nothing like that. Just a refreshing downpour to drop us out of this unusually humid and warm air," he said.

"And tomorrow the sun will shine?"

"Expect so," he said.

I smiled to myself and we drove on.

The great house was surprisingly dark when we arrived. Raymond got out quickly and opened my door. I hurried up to the front and rang the bell. Loretta opened the door and glared out at me. She still hadn't forgiven me for bursting in the day before, I realized.

"Grandma Olivia wants to see me," I said sharply. She grimaced as if she had a bellyache.

"In the living room," she said, stepping back.

There was only a small light on in the hallway, and there wasn't much light coming from the living room either. When I entered, I saw a single lamp lit on the table beside the chair in which Grandma Olivia sat, perched like a buzzard, her eyes in half shadow, her face wearing the darkness like a veil. She was dressed in a very plain, dark blue dress, and less jewelry than usual. Her hands grasped the knobby ends of the arms of the chair as if she were afraid she might be shaken out of it.

"You sent for me?" I asked. Her deathly silence actually frightened me and I lost much of the confidence and anger that had helped me feel firm and secure. There was a long, ungodly pause that started my heart thumping.

"Sit down!" she said sharply.

I backed myself to the sofa, not taking my eyes from her. Anyone- watching me would have thought I was afraid to turn my back on her. I folded my hands in my lap and waited. She moved forward just enough to bring her face fully out of the shadows and into the light. Even so, she looked ghostly, her face so pale that her dark eyes seemed to leap

out at me. I actually gasped.

"So you went from here to Nelson's house and you heard his pathetic tale," she recited, as if telling the last line of a ghost story.

"I knew my grandmother was telling the truth," I said. "I didn't believe you."

"Men," she said so disdainfully it sounded as if she thought they were the lowest form of life. "They are so weak, so at the mercy of their lust. Every man I've known, my own father, his father, my child of a husband, even my sons, even Jacob, marrying that dishrag who wallows in her own tears. I told him she wasn't strong enough to be a Logan's wife, but he didn't listen to me, not even Jacob," she moaned. The tone surprised me, and I actually thought she might start crying.

"Aunt Sara is a sweet woman who's had more than her share of terrible tragedy and--"

"Oh stop it," she snapped. "You don't have any more respect for her than I do. You're too much like me," she declared. "You're more a Gordon than a Childs, believe me," she added and with some sense of pride. It sounded like a compliment, and hearing her give me one so unexpectedly took the wind from my sails.

I respect her," I said, but without as much firmness as I thought I would have.

"You don't respect her. You pity her. Would you like to be like her?" she asked with a wry smile on small, tight lips. "Is she the sort of woman you see yourself becoming after you marry?"

"Everyone's different," I said.

She laughed.

"You don't like to say unpleasant things, even if you believe them in your heart. "

"How do you know what's in my heart?" I replied, regaining my self-assurance.

I know," she said, nodding. "In many ways you remind me of me when I was your age, even younger."