Dark Angel by V. C. Andrews
ended. "Was it that bad?"
Instantly my eyelids parted. I gazed at him
softly, dreamily. "I have never heard music like yours
before. It scares me. Why is it you didn't play professionally?"
He shrugged indifferently. His skin through the
silk of his thin white shirt glowed with heightened
color. The collar was open so that I could see the faint
sprinkling of dark hair on his chest. I closed my eyes
again, disturbed by all the sensations I was feeling. "I've missed your visits." His voice came to me
soft and hesitating. "I know I hurt your feelings the
night of your graduation, and I'm sorry, but I'm only
trying to protect you."
"And yourself," I whispered bitterly. "You
know I'm nothing but hillbilly trash and sooner or
later I'll embarrass you and your family. I've been
thinking I'd go away. I have enough money saved up
now to put me through my first year of college. And if
I find a job, I can work through the remaining years." Alarmed, he said something that I couldn't quite make out, though I parted my lids enough to see his
concern and alarm.
"You can't do that! Tony, Jillian, and I owe you
a great deal."
"You don't owe me anything!" I stormed,
jumping up. "Just leave me alone from now on, and
I'll not impose on your privacy again!"
He flinched, then raked his long fingers through
his mass of waving hair. His disarming, boyish smile
flashed. "My music was my way of saying I'm sorry
for leaving you alone in the garden. My way of
confessing I've grown too fond of you not to make an
effort to bring you back again. When you're not in the
cottage, I seem to sense you there, and often I turn
abruptly, hoping to find you, and feel such
disappointment because I'm alone. So please, start
coming again."
So I went back to Troy's cottage with him, and
ate dinner with him there. But I was tired of always
being cooped up in that cottage with him. I felt the
wind of my emotions pushing out so strongly that I
needed to be outside, lest I make a fool of myself. But
before I left, I was determined to make sure I saw him
the next day. For he was softening toward me, I could
feel it. And he couldn't fight his feelings for me if we spent entire days together. I could bring sunshine and life into his melancholy life, and I was determined
now to force him to accept my love.
"Troy, can't we do something outside in the
fresh air for a change? In the stables are beautiful
Arabian horses that only the grooms exercise when
Jillian and Tony are away. Teach me how to ride a
horse. Or swim with me in the pool. Share a picnic in
the woods with me, but let's not stay shut up in your
cottage when the weather is so beautiful. Jillian and
Tony will come home soon, and we'll be forbidden
each other. Let's do now what we can't do then." Our eyes met and held. A flush of color rose
from his chest to flood his face, forcing him to half
turn and break the bind of our eyes. "If that's what
you'd rather do. Tomorrow at ten we'll meet at the
stables. You can learn on the most gentle mare there." Almost as if I'd swallowed a powerful drug, I
fell under the spell of something beyond my control.
The next morning shortly before ten, I met Troy at the
stables. Troy was waiting for me, wearing casual
riding clothes. The wind had tousled his hair, and
already the sun had put healthy color in his cheeks,
and that sad little something that lingered always in
the depths of his eyes wasn't there. I ran to him, delighted with the response of his immediate smile. "We are going to have the most wonderful day!" I said, giving him a quick hug before I looked eagerly toward the stables. "I just hope the grooms won't tell
Tony."
"They know better than to carry tales," he answered lightly, seeming charmed by my happy excitement. "You look great, Heavenly, absolutely great." I spun around to give him a full view, spreading
my arms, and tossing my hair. "Tony gave me these
riding clothes for Christmas. First time I've worn
them."
For a week Troy gave me riding lessons each
morning and taught me the difference between the
English and Western styles. It was more fun than I'd
ever expected (though I hurt each night when I sat),
learning how to race with the wind, and duck the low
branches, and heel into the flanks of my mount when I
wanted to stop. In short order I lost my fear of the
horse and its impressive height.
After my lessons each morning, we'd go back to
his cottage to have lunch, and then he'd send me back
to the big house, saying he had to work. I could feel
him resisting spending too much time with me, yet I
could tell that he really wanted to. So I avoided seeing him in the evening, hoping that he'd miss me, and long for me, and indeed, each morning he seemed so happy to see me that I was certain that someday very,
very soon, he would realize he loved me.
It was a full eight days after my riding lessons
began that Troy felt I was ready for a really long ride
into the woods surrounding Farthinggale Manor. Time
and again he kept glancing at the sky. "The early
morning news predicted violent electrical storms, so
we shouldn't go too far."
With us we had a picnic hamper full of what
Troy had put together himself, and some special treats
that Rye Whiskey had sent over from the big house
for us to enjoy.
Troy was the one who selected a sun-dappled
little mound under one of the most beautiful beech
trees I'd ever seen. Not so far away was a gurgling
stream of water, and birds darted between the gently
swaying branches above. The wonderful feel of the
summer day put songs in my heart and joy in my
every movement, as Troy knelt to spread the red-andwhite checkered tablecloth on the grass. Our two
horses were tethered not far away and contentedly
munched on whatever they could eat. I heard the hum
of honey bees, smelled the scent of clover, brushed tiny gnats from my face as I busied myself emptying the picnic basket. The sweetness of the day, the prettiness of the setting, lit up my eyes whenever I glanced at Troy, who couldn't move his fascinated gaze from whatever trivial move I made. I felt selfconscious as I shifted plates and plastic flatware around, and three times I moved the potato salad, the
fried chicken, the sandwiches.
When finally I had everything prettily arranged,
I sat back on my heels and smiled his way. "There,
doesn't it look pretty? But don't dig in until I say
grace, just like my granny used to say whenever Pa
wasn't at home." I felt so happy today that I just had to
thank someone.
He seemed bewitched. Dazed-looking, he
nodded, then inclined his head slightly while I said the
familiar words.
"Dear Lord, we thank you for the food before
us. We thank you for the caring hands that prepared
our bounty. We thank you for our many blessings and
all the joys this day and all our tomorrows will bring
&
I lowered my hands, raised my bowed head,
looked up, and found Troy staring at me in the most
quizzical way. "Your granny's grace?"
"Yes, we didn't have blessings or bounties, but
Granny never seemed to know that. She was always
expecting the best would show up one day. I guess
when you're not used to anything, you don't expect too
much. When she said grace, I used to silently pray
that God would take away her aches and pains." He fell into silence after that, appearing
thoughtful as we both ate our sumptuous picnic lunch.
And I myself had made the yellow cake with thick
fudge frosting in Troy's own kitchen.
"This is the best cake I've ever eaten!" He
licked the chocolate from his fingers. "Another slice,
please."
"Wouldn't-it be nice if we could always be
together like this? You and me. I could go to college,
while we live in your cottage."
His dark eyes shadowed with so much pain,
suddenly the sunny day went dark.
He didn't love me! He didn't need me! I was
seducing him, or trying to, just as Cal Dennison had
seduced me with his own needs and desires,
disregarding mine. I handed him his second slice of
cake, now too embarrassed even to look at him. With
my head lowered so he couldn't see my suffering, I
quickly cleared the tablecloth, and without washing the used plates and flatware in the stream as I'd intended doing when first I saw the water, I threw everything back into the picnic hamper in a grand heap that wouldn't allow me to close the top. Fiercely
angry I shoved the basket his way.
"Here's your basket!" I choked.
His stunned expression forced me to scramble
to my feet, then I ran toward my horse. "I'm going
home!" I cried out childishly. "I realize you don't need
anybody like me stuck permanently in your life! All
you need is work, and more work! Thank you for the
last ten days, and forgive me for being impulsive. I
promise not to waste your time again!"
"Heavenly!" he called, "Stop! Wait . . ." I didn't wait. Somehow I reached the saddle,
not caring if I did it right or wrong. My heels dug into
my mount's flanks, and she leaped forward while I
was blinded by silly tears, more angry with myself
than with him. I did everything wrong. My mare was
made confused and uncertain. To correct my mistakes
I yanked hard on the reins. Rearing upward almost
vertically, the mare snorted, pawed at the air, then
bolted forward, running wild and fast through the
woods. Low branches came at me one after another,
branches that could sweep me out of the saddle, break my neck, back, legs. With more luck than skill I managed to duck each branch. And the more I moved in the saddle, the more erratic my horse ran! My screams were like long, thin scarfs blowing behind me. Almost too late I remembered Troy's advice on how to cling to a runaway horse. I fell forward and clung to my mare's thick, brown mane. Over ravines and ditches, jumping dead trees felled by storms, my uncontrolled horse raced. Squeezing my eyes shut, I began to say her name over and over, trying to calm
her.
The next thing I knew she stumbled; I was
thrown from her back straight into a shallow ditch
half-full of slimy green rainwater. Scrambling to her
feet, my mare whinnied, shook herself, threw me a
disgusted look, and wheeled about to head for home,
leaving me stunned and shaken and hurting. I was also
missing my left boot. I felt a total fool as I lay
sprawled on my back in the fetid water, staring up
through the canopy of leaves to find the sun full in my
face.
God's punishment, I sourly thought, for
presuming too much! I should have known better than
to fall for the first man who made my blood run fast
and hot, especially after Cal, and Logan's rejection. No Casteel had ever won any prize! Why should I
think I was any better!
Other stupid thoughts filled my head before I
had sense enough to sit up and shake the filthy water
from my hair, then used the sleeve of my shirt to clean
my face of mud. Wild honey bees were attracted,
perhaps by my perfume, or by the bright yellow of a
once pretty blouse.
"Heaven, where are you?" I heard Troy calling
from a distance.
You're too late, Troy Tatterton! I don't want
you now! Still I began to tremble from the effort it
took not to respond. I didn't want him to find me, not
now. Somehow I'd make my way back to that huge,
lonely house, and never again would I disobey Tony
and steal over to his cottage.
So, sitting in the water, I stayed very quiet,
slapping at the insects who idiotically found me
attractive. Endless time passed before he stopped
calling and thrashing about in the woods. The wind
picked up and began to rustle the leaves above. Dark,
stringy clouds converged as they always seemed to do
whenever I was on the verge of finding something
valuable. My rotten luck!
Oh, you bet, I felt so damned sorry for myself, even before the drizzle of rain began, I couldn't stifle
my sobs.
Then a small noise came from behind me, and
an amused voice. "I always wanted to save a maiden
in distress."
My head swiveled around to see Troy about ten
feet away. How long he'd been watching me I couldn't
guess. His riding clothes were snagged in several
places, and a long tear had ripped one sleeve from
shoulder seam to elbow. "Why do you keep sitting
there? Are you hurt?"
"Go away!" I yelled, flipping my head so he
couldn't see my mud-smeared face. "No, I am not
hurt! I don't need to be rescued! I don't need you! I
don't need anybody!"
Without replying he stepped into the wet ditch
and tried to feel my legs for broken bones. I tried to
slap him away, and yet he managed to pick me up
after three attempts. "Now, be serious, Heaven. Tell
me if you hurt anywhere."
"No! Just put me down!"
"You're lucky you are still alive. If it had been
hard ground instead of water and a soft muddy stream
bottom, you might very well be seriously injured." "I can walk. Please put me on my feet." "All right, if that's what you want," and obeying
my command, he tentatively stood me up. I cried out
from the hot pain that shot through my left ankle.
Instantly he seized me up in his arms again. "We've
got to hurry. No time to play games. I had to dismount
to follow the trail you made. No doubt trom the looks
of that swelling ankle, you have sprained it." "That doesn't make me crippled! I can still
walk. Many a time I've walked seven miles to
Winnerrow with something hurting more than that
ankle!"
Another amused grin quirked his lips. "Sure
you have, a hurting stomach, not a sprained ankle." "What do you know about it?"
"Only what you've told me. Now stop
struggling and behave yourself. If I don't find my
horse in short order, both of us are going to be caught
Patiently his tethered mount waited while Troy
lifted me up and sat me before him on the saddle. I
felt mean and spiteful as he swung up to sit behind
me, guiding his mount skillfully, even as he put his
free arm about my waist protectively.
"It's already raining."
"I know that."
"We'll never make it back to the house before
the storm strikes in full force."
"I suspect we won't. That's why I'm heading for
an old abandoned barn that used to store the grains
earlier Tattertons grew."
"You mean your ancestors knew how to do
something besides make toys?"
"I suspect everyone's ancestors had more than
one skill,"
"Yours, I'm sure, had servants to do all the
farming."
"You are probably right. However, it takes
some talent to make the money to pay tenant farmers." "It takes more than talent to survive in the
wilderness."
"Touche. Now keep quiet and let me get my
bearings." He brushed his wet hair from his forehead,
looked around, then turned his horse eastward. Black thunderclouds blew in from the
southwest, soon followed by sizzling bolts of
lightning, and despite my will to escape him, it felt
good to have his arm about me, holding me secure as
the barn came finally into sight.
It smelled old and sour in the dilapidated
building half-full of rotting hay. In the dimness rain leaked through in a hundred places to splatter down on the dirt floor and create puddles. The roof holes allowed me to see the darkened sky now full of terrifying lightning bolts that seemed to converge directly overhead. I sank down to my knees as Troy took care of the horse, unsaddling him, rubbing him dry with the saddle blanket; then he came my way to rake with his hands at the hay until he found some that was dry and not so smelly, and on that we both sat in
the damp and miserable barn.
As if there hadn't been any interruption at all, I
continued in my angry way: "It's a wonder rich people
like the Tattertons didn't have this barn torn down
long ago."
He ignored my remark, leaned back on the
mound of hay he'd created, and spoke softly. "I used
to play in this barn when I was a boy. I had a makebelieve friend I called Stu Johnson, and with him I'd
jump from that loft over there." He pointed to show
me where. "I would jump down to this haystack we
are sitting on."
:Wahat a silly and dangerous thing to do! I