Casteel 03 Fallen Hearts (13 page)

"I am not a ghost, Heaven. Not anymore." He sat back and stared at me. "You've changed, grown older, wiser looking. Your beauty has matured. It makes me tremble to be this close to you, to actually hear your voice now."
He leaned forward and reached out to touch my face. I didn't move away, but I didn't feel his fingers on my skin. He sat back slowly.
"I feel like a little boy fascinated with a fire, wanting to touch it, even though I know to do so will only bring me pain."
"Oh, Troy," I said. The warm tears emerged from the corners of my eyes and zigzagged over my cheeks. He reached out again and this time I felt his fingertips caress my skin. I closed my eyes.
"How many times can I lose you, Heaven? Is this just another way for fate to torment me?"
I sat back in my chair, unable to speak. He handed me a handkerchief and I dabbed at my face. My sniffing brought a smile to his lips and then a small, gentle laugh. I shook my head, realizing what all this meant.
"Come into the living room," he said, "where it is more comfortable."
I nodded and went to the couch. Just like in the old days he sprawled on the carpet and looked up at me, his hands tucked behind his head.
"Troy," I said, shaking my head. "I can't believe that this isn't all a dream, that you're actually there looking up at me the way you used to."
"I know."
"When did Tony know you were still alive?" I asked.
"Actually, not until very recently. I was surprised when I returned to find the cottage just the way I had left it. I realized that Tony refused to accept my death. How ironic, I thought, and, of course, I realized what sort of pain I must have brought him. It made it all the more difficult to go to him to confess my ruse. I tried unsuccessfully a number of times."
"You wandered the house at night," I said, realizing now what the servants meant, that Rye Whiskey hadn't been imagining things when he thought there were spirits of the dead haunting the dark hails of Farthy.
"Yes. I even sat at the piano, hoping he would simply find me there, but when he didn't come upon me quickly, I lost my nerve. I thought I was recognized by the servants, but I imagine the sight of my darkened visage and body floating through those dimly lit hallways terrified them."
"You don't know just how much," I said, shaking my head.
"And theff, one night, while you were away in Winnerow, I came upon Jillian just outside her suite. Apparently, her nurse had fallen asleep and she was free to wander about alone. I'll never forget that look on her face." He sat up, recalling the moment. "Her face seemed to age right before my eyes. She lost whatever semblance of youth she had managed to hold on to in her madness.
"No,' she said, 'it wasn't my fault. You can't blame me. I did what I had to do.' "
He turned to me, his eyes filled with pain and sorrow. He was compassionate and sensitive about hurting other people, even those who deliberately set out to hurt him. Oh, Troy, I thought, you are too good for this world. No wonder you were always haunted by fears of death.
"I reached out for her and called to her. `Jillian, it's all right,' I said, but she was terrified and ran from me. One time after that I think she saw me from her bedroom window as I passed through the maze."
"But still Tony didn't know?"
"Shortly after that he came to the cottage. I imagine Jillian said something to him or to the nurse and it made him think of me and of coming here. Even though he had kept up the cottage, he apparently couldn't bring himself to come to it that often."
"He kept it as a shrine," I whispered and he nodded.
"But this day he came. I heard him
approaching. I couldn't get myself to greet him at the door. Like a coward I hovered in that closet. I watched him come in and look about, his strong, dignified face weakening. He went to the rocker by the fireplace and stood by it, his hand on the back, rocking it gently and looking down at it, imagining me in it, I'm sure. Then he turned about and started to leave.
"But you see, all the while I was here, I couldn't help myself . . . I had started new work. It just seemed to be a natural thing for me to do. I was in the cottage. The tools were there; the materials were there. I had ideas, so I worked. He saw the new things and went to them. For a few moments he handled everything, looking like a gold panner who had finally discovered nuggets. Then he raised his head and spun about.
"'Troy,' he called. 'Troy.'
"Whatever fears I had fell away. I saw the happiness in his face and could deny him the truth no longer. You know what Tony's and my relationship has been, since my mother died before my first birthday and my father before I was two years old. Tony was really the only parent I can remember. He was my world. I adored him and he loved me, protected me, worried over my every illness. Things changed between us only after he married Jillian. I was jealous of her and she was jealous of me.
"But seeing him there, the realization that I might still be alive on his face, I couldn't bear myself for having held back this long. I stepped out of the closet."
"What did he do?" I asked breathlessly.
"He burst into tears and embraced me. For a long while we just held on to each other, and then, when things calmed down, we sat here and I told him the story I told you."
"And what was his reaction to all that?"
"He was angry at first, just like you were. I kept apologizing and trying to make him understand my motives. After a while he did."
"But he didn't bring you back to the house and he didn't tell me you were still alive."
"No. We made promises to each other." "Promises?"
"Naturally." he told me all about you, told me about your marriage and how Logan was becoming part of Tatterton Toys and how he had gotten you to move back into Farthy and be part of the family again. He's terrified that you'll leave him now. I can't say I blame him for that. If you do leave him, what does he have? Jillian's mad as a hatter, and I, I'm more convinced than ever that I can't remain here much longer."
"So what did you promise?" I asked.
"To keep myself away from you, so as not to ruin your marriage and your life at Farthy. And truly, Heaven, much as I longed for you, to speak to you, to see you again, I, too, thought that best. Tony promised to keep my existence a secret from everyone, not just from you, so I could go on living a new life.
"We made plans for me to establish myself somewhere else and do my work under a different name. It's painful for both of us, but we both realize why the sacrifices have to be made."
He looked up at me, his dark eyes pleading for understanding. I nodded slowly, so many realizations were crowding into my mind all at once.
"I see," I said. "So now he realized also that Jillian wasn't talking madness when she described the ghosts."
"Yes."
"And that explains why he wasn't so concerned about the changes that had come over her. He didn't panic because he knew she wasn't really getting worse. In fact, the prescription of tranquilizers was the best thing, under the circumstances. It would keep her from talking more and more about you, imprison her in her own madness."
"I don't care," Troy said, with a sudden uncharacteristic note of contempt. "Jillian never liked me. She couldn't wait to do something to hurt me deeply. What's happened to her is poetic justice. I don't want to inflict any more pain on her, but I don't want to feel sorry for her. I think Tony has come to feel the same way."
"Maybe," I said. We stared at each other. Once again I was plunged into Troy's world, with reality far beyond the door. Here in his safe, snug, and warm home, there was only beauty and kindness for me. His soft, dark eyes caressed me and flooded warmth into my face. I felt my lips being drawn to his, but I resisted. Logan's image danced before my eyes. Logan. My husband, my forever true love.
"Oh, Heaven," Troy said, as if he could read my thoughts and understand. "Why is it that for us to be happy, so many others must be made unhappy?"
"I don't know. It does seem as though fate is playing with our hearts and lives." I stood up quickly and went to the window that looked out on the maze, my heart tormented by love for two men. For a long moment we were both silent. "Logan is so excited about his new life," I said. "He's off in Winnerow overseeing the construction of the new factory."
"Tony told me all about it. It sounds like a wonderful project. I've even thought of contributing a new toy or two."
"Really?" I turned back to him. The walls of my heart quivered. I held the tears within and swallowed the cries that threatened to emerge from my throbbing throat. "Logan adores me," I said. "He's sensitive to my every mood and feeling. He was there when I needed love and comfort the most. He's always been there."
"I know," Troy said. "Heaven, you know I didn't want to do anything to bring you any more pain and agony. If I hadn't been so weak, I would have left before you discovered me and followed the plan Tony outlined. As usual, he knows best. And now I've only succeeded in putting you into an emotional turmoil. It seems I can't stop hurting the ones I love."
"Oh, no, Troy. You mustn't think that way," I said, going to him. "I'm not in pain; I won't be in pain. I promise you."
He nodded even though we both knew what I said was untrue. Why was it that life demanded us to lie to ourselves so often? I wondered. Wasn't it ironic that in order to be happy, we had to be self-deceptive, we had to live in illusion?
"I'll be leaving soon now anyway."
"When?"
He stood up and walked slowly toward the front door. "I'm not going to tell you and I'm not going to tell you where I'm going. Don't force me to do that," he said and smiled softly. "Let's just think of this as an interlude, a gift from the gods, a few moments when we cheated Death and leave it at that. Don't tell Tony what you've discovered. He doesn't have to know I've broken my promise."
"Of course I won't tell him. But Troy, do you really expect me simply to walk out that door and forget you?"
"No, I don't expect you to forget me, but it's best that you think of me as I was . . . gone Funny," he said, widening his smile, "I've passed my thirtieth birthday and I'm still here. I guess you were always right to be optimistic."
We stared at each other.
"Troy . . ."
"If I kiss you never let you go and we'll only
bring about more sadness and tragedy, for you'll be losing a life and a marriage that promises to be productive and replacing it with a forbidden, sinful love that leads to nothing but our own selfish pleasures. You know that as well as I do," he said. I nodded and lowered my head. He reached out and lifted my chin. "Let me remember you smiling," he said.
I smiled through the tears and the pain like sunshine in the rain. He opened the cottage door and I passed through. He stood there for a moment looking out at me and then he closed the door. I felt the walls around my heart collapse. My tears poured forth. I clenched my hands into fists and turned to run down the walkway and to the maze, charging into it and through its corridors like a wild and frenzied animal, like Abdulla Bar, his eyes red and wild, charging toward the sea. My cries were like long, thin scarfs blowing behind me. I didn't stop until I burst out of the maze to face Farthy.
I ground away the tears with my fists and continued forward, pausing once to look up toward Jillian's window. Once again there she was, looking out. This time she wore a look of satisfaction. In her madness she knew the painful truths, truths that had begun years ago when my mother had pressed her body against Tony's and begun a sinful love whose insidious tentacles, like the vines along the walls of Farthy, crawled in and out of the lives of all of us and would continue to do so until our dying days.
I intended to go right up to my suite to lie down, but Curtis greeted me with the news that Logan had been calling. With his usual cigar store Indian stiffness, Tony's butler waited in the hallway with Logan's message on a slip of paper. I had the impression he had been standing there ever since Logan called, waiting for my return.
"Mr. Stonewall has phoned twice, Mrs. Stonewall. The last time was only minutes ago. He gave me this number for YOU to call."
"Thank you, Curtis," I said. I went directly to the living room to use the gold antique phone and dialed the number. My hands were trembling. A man answered.
"Mr. Stonewall? Yes, ma'am. Right away," he said in an excited tone of voice. I heard a buzz of activity in the background--people talking loudly to one another, a typewriter clicking, another phone ringing, and the sound of bulldozers and other construction equipment just outside a nearby window.
"Heaven, where have you been?" Logan asked as soon as he got on the line.
"Just walking about the grounds." I was desperate to envision him, to feel close to him, my husband, my anchor. "What's all that noise?"
"Oh, this is my headquarters," he said, the pride in his voice so obvious I could imagine him pulling his shoulders back, holding his head high, and smiling. "I set up a small trailer on the factory site. I have an assistant. That's who answered the phone. Maybe you remember him--Frank Stratton, Steve Stratton's youngest boy. Stratton's Lumber Company," he added when I didn't respond.
"Sounds like you're very busy," I said.
"It's going well, Heaven. I wish you had decided to come along this trip, just so you could see the progress. We're well past the midway point and I've found two artisans in the Willies who could carve a Madonna out of a birch branch."
"That's wonderful," I said, trying to sound enthusiastic, but I was still in a state of shock. All I could think about was Troy. Troy still alive!
"Anyway, I was calling to tell you I can't come home today. I'm going to have to stay until the weekend. We have too many problems to solve on the site."
"Oh, Logan."
"I know. I never intended to leave you alone so long, but everyone's afraid to make a decision without my okay," he said. "Maybe you should fly down here."
I thought about it. Maybe I should leave immediately, run to the harbor of Logan's arms, where Troy was only a dimmed memory. Yet. . . yet. . I wanted to be at Farthy, more than ever now.
"No, it's just another day and a half," I said, trying to sound cheerful and self-controlled.
"You're upset. I'm sorry. It's hard for me, too, being away from you, but I keep telling myself, all this is really for Heaven."
"You're getting to be some smooth talker, Logan Stonewall," I said. He laughed. "I spoke to Tony this morning. He told me you went to a wonderful play last night."