Gates of Paradise by V. C. Andrews
me so well and perceive my secret anguish so quickly. He turned to his tiny creations.
"I can imagine a whole life for myself, populate
it with the kinds of people I like and design events to
fit what I want to happen. It's my particular madness,
suppose; not as debilitating as Tony's madness was,
but nevertheless, a form of escape.
"But after seeing you two, I realize I can't do it;
I can't forgetaand bury myself here. Even though it
uncovers terrible emotional wounds and forces me to
face sad reality, I must; for I must not let what
happened to Heaven and me happen to you and
Luke."
"Troy, you don't have to do this to yourself." I
looked at Luke. "We ready know."
"Know?"
"I was looking closely at the toy cottage you
sent my mother shortly after my birth. It was you who
sent it, wasn't it?" He nodded. "And I happened to
peer closely into the door at the rear of the kitchen . the same door that you have in there," I added,
pointing.
"And I found the letter you wrote to my mother
the day Jillian died and you decided to leave." Instead of the surprise and perhaps the
embarrassment I expected, Troy merely nodded, a
strange, small smile forming at the corners of his
mouth, his eyes suddenly taking on a faraway look. "She kept that, did she? How like her to do that,
and how like her to hide it away in the cottage by the
stairway. Oh, Heaven . . my darling Heaven." He
turned back to me, his gaze sharply focused on me
now. "So you found out that your mother and I were
lovers, secret lovers."
He stood up, went to one of the front windows,
and gazed out so long, I thought he was not going to
say another word. Luke reached for my hand and we
waited patiently. Suddenly all the clocks struck the
hour and a light blue music-box clock that was shaped
like the cottage opened its front door and the tiny
family within emerged and then retreated to the sweet,
haunting melody I had come to know so well. "Troy . . ."
"I'm all right," he said, and returned to his seat.
"Some of what I am about to tell you, your mother
might have told you herself.
"Years ago, when she lived the hard life in the
Willies, she met your father and they became young
lovers, pledging their hearts to one another. If your
mother had remained in the Willies, she might very
well have married your father and lived a quiet, happy
life in Winnerrow, but Fate would not have it so. "After Luke Casteel broke up his family by
selling off his children, your mother lived with a very
selfish, jealous woman, Kitty Dennison, and her
husband Cal. It was a hard life for her because Kitty
became jealous of your mother, and Cal . . .
eventually took advantage of her. It's not hard to
understand how such a thing could happen. Your
mother was young and desperately searching for
someone to love and cherish her. Cal, an older man, a
father figure, sensed that.
"For a while that soured Logan, and even after
Kitty's death, when your mother came to Farthy to
live while he was going to college in Boston, he
rejected her. She led a lonely life here. I was in the
inidst of a very bad time myself, convinced I would
not live long. I was bitter and withdrawn. Your
mother and I met, and for a time she filled my life
with hope and happiness. We talked about marriage
and made wonderful plans.
"Then Heaven left to pursue her lost family,
and while she was away, as you know from the letter
you read, Jillian told me the truth: Tony was Heaven's
father; she was my niece. Knowing we could never
marry, I wrote her a letter and left Farthy to travel and
try to forget.
"I returned while she was away- and, as you
know, rode Jillian's horse Abdtilla Bar into the ocean,
convincing everyone, even Tony, I was dead. "And I was dead, dead to anything warm and
hopeful, just wandering about, waiting for the inevitable end of my wretched existence.
"But it didn't come. I lived on past the time I
had drea4t I would die. Once again, hopeful, even renewed, I returned, dreaming of some kind of existence
with Heaven, but by then she had reunited with Logan
and they had married. I was living in the cottage
secretly and secretly watched their wedding receptite
at Farthy, my heart shriveling.
"For a while I wandered about the grounds and
even entered the building surreptitiously, behaving as
one of Rye Whiskey's spirits, just so I could see her
ueobserved. Your mother sensed my presence and
carne to the cottage. I tried to hide from her in the tunnels, but she pursued and . . discovered me, dis
covered I was really still alive.
"We both mourned the love we had lost, but"--
his eyes lifted to gaze upon my face--"we didn't leave
it at that, even though we parted and determined we
could never see each other again. She returned that
night. God forgive me, I hoped and prayed she would.
I even left my door open.
"She came and we had one last loving night
together, a special, precious night, Annie, for there is
no doubt in my mind as I look upon you now that
your birth was a direct result of that stolen night of
love."
My tears were streaming down my face
throughout his tale, but when he said those final lines,
my heart paused and Luke squeezed my hand as
though he had been abruptly woken from a deep
sleep.
"What . . . what are you saying?"
"I'm saying you are my daughter, Annie; my
daughter, not Logan's. I'm saying you and Luke are
not blood related. Fanny and Heaven were not sisters
and Logan was not your father, although I'm sure he
loved you as much as any father could love a daughter, even though deep in his heart he might have
known.
"Believe me, I agonized over telling you all
this, for I feared you would think less of your mother
because of it, but I finally concluded Heaven would
have wanted me to tell you so that you and Luke
would not lose one another as she and I did. "If there is truly a curse on the Tattertons, it is
born out of our refusal to be honest with our hearts,
and I will not let that happen to you.
"Lift the dark shadows from Farthy; shine a
light of life over it, Annie. Understand and forgive
people who were turned and twisted by cruel Fate,
whose only fault was they longed too hard and too
much for love."
He lowered his head, exhausted from his
revelations. For a long moment neither Luke nor I
spoke. Then I reached forward and slowly took my
father's hand. He looked up to meet my eyes, and in
his eyes I saw Mommy's face. I saw her smiling,
beautiful face. I felt her comfort and her love, and I
knew that everything Troy had told us was born of
love, words from the heart.
I h
long ago had determined that two families as different
as night and day would cross paths and destinies. The turmoil that resulted swept up both houses, kept them forever in the midst of winds of passion and hate, driving some mad, shaking the very foundations of
both families.
Now Luke and I stood alone in this confusion.
Now my true father had decided it was time to end it.
He showed us the way out of the maze.
"We don't hate and there is no one to forgive."
He smiled through his tears.
"There is so much of Heaven in you. I believe
what you have of her will be strong enough to
overcome any melancholy you have inherited from
me.
"For a long time, I lived in shame, regretting
that night of love Heaven and I shared, but when I
saw how beautiful you were and realized what your
life could be if you were free of all the lies and
deceptions, I decided to give you the best, the only
gift I could . . . the truth."
"It's the most beautiful gift of all. Thank you . .
. Father." I stood up to embrace him. We held each
other tightly, and when we parted, he kissed me on the
cheek.
"Go now and live, free of all the shadows." He
shook Luke's hand.
"Love and cherish her as your father came to
love and cherish Heaven,"
"I will."
"Good-bye."
"But we'll come to see you, again and again," I
cried.
"I'd like that. It won't be hard to find me. I'll
always be here. My flight from life is over now." He escorted us out and we kissed and embraced
once more. Then Luke and I got into his car. I looked
back once to wave good-bye. The melancholy part of
me made me worry that I would never see him again,
projected me forward to a time when I would return to
a cottage empty but for the unfinished toys. But my
happier, and hopefully stronger, side, shoved the dark
pictures away and replaced them with images of an
older Troy, still working on his toys, greeting me and
Luke and our children.
Luke reached across the seat to squeeze my
hand. "Stop at the cemetery one more time, please,
Luke."
"Of course."
After he did, I got out and he and I went to the
monuments. We stood before them silently, holding
hands.
In the distance the great stone house loomed as
majestic and tall as ever. Sunlight found an opening in
the clouds and widened and widened it until bright
rays washed over the grounds and the building. Luke and I looked at each other. In my memory
our fantasy words replayed themselves: ". . . maybe it
becomes whatever you want it to become . . . if I want
it to be made of sugar and maple, it will be." "And if I want it to be a magnificent castle with
lords and ladies-in-waiting and a sad prince moping
about, longing for his princess to come, it will be." "Be my princess, Annie," Luke said suddenly,
as if he heard my thoughts.
"Forever and ever?"
"Forever and ever."
"Oh yes, Luke. Yes."
He put his arm around my waist and then we
turned away and went back to the car.
I smiled to myself, positive that back in the
cottage, Troy was listening to the tinkle of a Chopin
melody.
V. C. Andrews, Gates of Paradise
(Series: Casteel # 4)