Heaven by V. C. Andrews
"Don't want none," Fanny informed quickly. "Jus give me t'meat, t'taters, an t'dessert."
"That's not a well-balanced meal," Miss Deale went on without even glancing up from her menu as the waiter took ours away and delicately brushed them off. "We'll all have a tossed salad, and green beans. We should enjoy that, don't you agree, Mr. Casteel?"
Grandpa nodded dumbly, appearing so intimidated I doubted he'd be able to eat anything. As far as I knew, Grandpa had never eaten "out."
It wasn't a meal . . . it was a feast!
Huge plates of salad were put before us. We just stared for a few minutes before I lifted my eyes to watch which fork Miss Deale used, and then I picked up mine. Tom did the same, but Fanny just plucked out what she wanted with her fingers until I nudged her under the table again. Our Jane picked at hers, and Keith looked troubled as he did his best to swallow strange food without crying. Miss Deale buttered two hot rolls and handed one each to Our Jane and Keith. "Try that with your salads; it helps a lot."
To my dying day I'll remember that salad full of green leaves we'd never seen before, and tomatoes at this time of the year, and teeny ears of corn, and green peppers, and raw mushrooms, and so many other things I couldn't name. Tom, Fanny, and I devoured our salad in short order, reaching often to seize up hot bread from a covered basket, and three times it had to be replaced. "Real butter," I whispered to Tom, "it has to be."
Before Our Jane, Keith, and Grandpa could finish their salads, the "entree" arrived.
"Do ya eat like this every day?" asked Fanny, her dark eyes glowing with happiness. "Why, it's a wonda ya don't weigh a ton."
"No, I don't eat like this every day, Fanny. Sunday is my day to treat myself, and from now on, when I'm in town, it will be your day to enjoy with me."
It was too good to believe. Why, we could live all week on what we ate today, and with great determination I decided I'd eat everything, even though it did appear an enormous amount. I think Fanny, Tom, and even Our Jane and Keith made the same decision. Only Grandpa had trouble with the beef since he had so few teeth.
I felt like crying I was so happy to see Our Jane eating with real enjoyment. In no time Keith cleaned his plate, even if he did overdo it when he leaned over to put his head in his plate so he could lick up the last bit of the dark sauce.
Miss Deale's hand on my arm restrained my scolding. "Let him sop up his gravy with the roll, Heaven; it does my heart good to see all of you enjoy your meal." She smiled radiantly.
When we'd all emptied our plates, leaving them so clean they sparkled, she said, "And of course you'll all be wanting dessert."
"We'd love dessert!" shouted Fanny, making other diners turn to stare at us again. "I want that fancy chocolate cake," she said, pointing to the dessert cart.
"And you, Mr. Casteel?" asked Miss Deale in the softest of voices, her eyes looking so kind. "What will you have for dessert?"
I could tell Grandpa was uncomfortable, no doubt suffering from gas when his stomach surely was not accustomed to so much food all at once, and chewing took him forever.
"Anythin . . ." he mumbled.
"I think have chocolate pie," Miss Deale said.
"But I know Our Jane and Keith will love the kind of chocolate pudding they serve here, and Mr. Casteel, Heaven, Tom, all of you select what you want, for it would really make Fanny and me feel miserable to be eating sweets if everyone doesn't join us."
Pie, cake, chocolate pudding? Which one? I chose the pie because Miss Deale had to know best. Fanny's huge piece of cake topped with whipped cream and a cherry enchanted me even as I quickly devoured the pie. But Grandpa, Tbm, Our Jane, and Keith were served the chocolate pudding in fancy footed dishes that made me wish I'd chosen
differently.
As if paradise had finally found its way into her mouth, Our Jane spooned her chocolate pudding onto her tongue so fast she was finished before Keith. She beamed the broadest smile of her life on Miss Deale. "That was GOOD!" she said. Several people seated near us smiled.
It had gone fairly well up until now, but for Keith licking his plate.
I should have known our luck couldn't hold out.
Abruptly, without the slightest warning, Our Jane gagged, turned greenish, then suddenly threw up, right on Miss Deale's wine-colored wool skirt! Some splattered on the crisp tablecloth, some on me.
Our Jane's eyes turned huge, dark, before she began to wail, loud, terrified cries. She tried to bury her face in my lap as I apologized and dabbed at the mess on Miss Deale's skirt with my huge white napkin.
"Oh, Heaven, don't look so distressed," said Miss Deale calmly, not appearing disturbed in the least even as she mopped at her smelly skirt. "I'll send this to the cleaner's, and it will come back as good as new. Now, everybody stop looking worried, be calm, and I'll pay the check while all of you put your warm clothes back on; then I'll drive you home."
The other diners turned their eyes away, ignored the scene. Even the waiters didn't seem disturbed, as if they'd correctly presumed the moment we came in the door that we'd ultimately do something like this.
"I did a bad thin," sobbed Our Jane as Miss Deale signed the check. "Didn't wanna, Hey-lee. Couldn't help it, Hey-lee."
"Just tell Miss Deale you're sorry."
But Our Jane was too shy to speak, and again she wailed.
"It's all right, Jane dear. I remember doing the same thing when I was your age. Things like that happen to all of us, don't they, Heaven?"
"Yes, yes," I said eagerly, grasping at the straw. "Especially when you have a tiny stomach not used to so much."
"I neva threw up on nobody," proclaimed Fanny. "My stomach knows how t'behave."
"Yer tongue don't," threw in Tom.
I carried Our Jane out to Miss Deale's expensive black car. Light snow began to drift down as Miss Deale drove higher and higher, up into the misty clouds where we lived. All the way home I fretted, fearful Our Jane's queasytomach might let loose again and ruin the interior of the magnificent car; but Our Jane managed to keep what else she'd eaten down, and we arrived home without soiling anything else.
"I don't know how to thank you enough," I said humbly, standing on the sagging porch, my sister still in my arms. "I'm terribly sorry about your beautiful suit. I hope the stain comes out."
"It will, I know it will."
"Please ask us agin next Sunday," implored Fanny; then she opened the cabin door and
disappeared inside, slamming it behind her. In a second the door popped open and she called out, "An thanks a heap, Miss Deale. Ya sure know how t'throw a party."
Bang went the door.
"You're one in a million," Tom said gruffly, leaning to kiss Miss Deale's cold cheek. "Thanks for everything. If I live t'be a hundred and ten, I'll never forget today, and you, and your meal, the best I've ever eaten, no disrespect to you, Heavenly."
Of course, now was the time to invite Miss Deale inside and show our hospitality. But to let her in would give her too much information, and that I couldn't do. Though I could sense she was waiting for an invitation, and the chance to see how we really lived. The cabin as viewed from the outside was pitiful enough, but for her to see the inside would keep her sleepless.
"Thanks again, Miss Deale, for all that you've done. And please forgive Fanny for being too aggressive, and Our Jane is terribly sorry, even if she can't say so. I'd ask you in, but I left the house in a terrible mess . ." Boy, that was no lie.
"I understand. Maybe your father is inside, wondering where you are. If so, I'd like to speak with him."
Fanny stuck her head out again. "He ain't in here, Miss Deale. Pa's sick an--"
"He was sick," I interrupted hastily. "He's much better, and is due home tomorrow."
"Oh, that's a relief to hear." She smiled and hugged me close, and her perfume filled my nostrils as her soft hair tickled my face. "You're so brave and so noble, but too young to endure so much. I'll be back tomorrow afternoon, shortly after school is over, to deliver your pr
I didn't tell her we didn't have a Christmas tree. "We can't let you do that," I protested weakly.
"Yes, you can; you must. Expect me tomorrow about four-thirty."
Again Fanny put her head out the door; obviously she'd been listening through the flimsy door. "We'll be waitin. Don't ferget."
Miss Deale smiled, started to speak, but seemed to change her mind before she touched my cheek gently. "You're such a lovely girl, Heaven. I would hate to think you won't finish high school, when you have such a gift for learning."
Suddenly a small, frail voice spoke up, when I never expected to hear Keith volunteer anything. "Yes," whispered Keith, clinging close to my skirt. "Our Jane is sorry."
"I know she is." Miss Deale lightly touched Our Jane's round cheek, then ruffled Keith's pretty hair before she turned to leave.
In the cabin that was almost as cold as outside, Tom stuffed more wood into Ole Smokey. I sat down and rocked Our Jane, feeling the cold winds blowing in through the openings in the walls, seeping up through the floor cracks, coming in through the illfitting window frames. For the first time this cabin seemed totally unreal, not home at all. I had the vision of the restaurant with its soft white walls, its crimson carpet, its fancy furniture; that was the world I wanted for all of us. And to think it was the best meal of my life made me realize just how miserable we all were, so much I began to cry.
Tonight I was going to say my longest, most sincere prayer, down on my knees. I was going to stay there for hours and hours, and this time God would hear me and answer my prayer, and send Pa home again.
Yet I was up at dawn the next morning, singing as I began my day with cooking, with seeing Tom off to school, and right away I set in to make the cabin as clean and tidy as possible, enlisting Fanny's help.
"Ya kin't make it pretty!" she complained. "Ya kin scrub, dust, sweep, an still it'll stink!"
"No, it won't. Not when you and I are finished; this place is gonna shine, really shine--so get busy, lazybones, and do your share, or no more treats for you!"
"She won't slight me, I know she won't!"
"Do you want her to sit in a dirty chair?"
That did it. Fanny made an effort to help, though it wasn't more than an hour before she fell down and rolled up to go back to sleep. "Makes t'time go fasta," she mumbled, and when I looked Grandpa was dozing in his rocker, also waiting for the miracle of Miss Deale who would come at four-thirty.
Four-thirty came and went without Miss Deale showing up.
It was almost dark when Tom came home with a note from Miss Deale.
.
Dearest Heaven,
When I returned home last night, there was a telegram under my door. My mother is in a hospital and seriously ill, so I'll be flying to be with her. If you need me for any reason whatsoever please call the number below, and reverse the charges.
I am sending a delivery boy to your home with everything I think you need. Please accept my gifts to children I love as my own.
Marianne Deale
.
She'd written a number with the area code, perhaps forgetting we didn't have a telephone. I sighed and looked up at Tom. "Did she have anything else to say?"
"Lots. Wanted to know when Pa was coming home. Wanted to know what we needed, and what size clothes we all wore, and shoe sizes. She pleaded with me, Heavenly, to let her know what we needed most. How could I tell her when the list would be a mile long? We need everything, most of all food. An ya know, I stood there like a jackass an wished t'God I could be like Fanny, an shout it all out, an have no pride . . . an feel no humiliation, just take what I could--but I couldn't, an she's gone. The only friend we have, gone."
"But she's sending gifts anyway."
He laughed. "Hey . . where's all that pride?"
Three days passed, and that box of presents didn't arrive.
On the day before Christmas Eve Tom came home with bad news. "Went to the store Miss Deale told me about, to ask where were the things she wanted them to deliver, and they said they didn't deliver in this county. I argued with them, but they insisted we'd have to wait until she was back again, and paid an extra fee. Heavenly, they must not have told her that, or she would have taken care of it. I know she would have."
I shrugged, trying to appear indifferent. It was all right, we'd manage. But my heart went bleak.
Real winter mountain weather chose this day to attack with such ferocity we were left totally unprepared. We ran about stuffing rags in the cracks we could reach. We stuffed rags under the doors, in between the floorboards, around the rattly window glass. Our cabin looked like a loosely knitted raggy scarf inside, giving fleas, roaches, and spiders good nesting places, even if they were cold. Sunsets were always fleeting in the mountains, and night always fell with alarming swiftness. With the night came the smothering cold to settle down on the mountains like an ice blanket. Even when we rolled up mattresses used for bedding and slept in the middle of the roll, all of us failed to keep warm when the floor near the stove was so cold. Grandpa slept in the big brass bed when he could remember to leave his rocker, and that's where I wanted to keep his old, tired bones, off the floor where it was hard and cold.
"No," Grandpa objected stubbornly. "Ain't a right thin t'do, when younguns need t'bed more than me. No back talk now, Heaven girl, ya do as I say. Ya put Jane an Keith in t'bed, an if Crest of ya crowd in y'all should keep each other warm."
It hurt to take the bed from Grandpa, but he could be stubborn about the oddest things. And always I'd believed him to be so selfish. "T'bed was for t'younguns," he insisted, "t'frailest," and of course that had to be Our Jane and Keith.
"Now, ya wait a minute!" bellowed Fanny, using her bull-moose voice. "If younguns deserve soft, warm beds, I'm next in line. Plenty of room fer me, too."
"If there's plenty of room for you, then there's plenty of room for Heavenly as well," insisted Tom.
"And if there's room for me, Tom, there should be room for just one more," I contributed.
"But there ain't enough room fer Tom!" yowled Fanny.
There was.
Tom found room at the foot of the bed, his head on the portion where Our Jane and Keith lay, so he wouldn't have longer legs thrusting bare feet that close to his face--and cold feet at that.
Tom, before he could go to bed, had to chop more wood in order to get enough to build a hotter fire to melt the ice for water. Ole Smokey kept coughing out more evil-smelling smoke.
It was Tom who got up in the night to add more wood to the fire. Wood was running low. Every spare moment after school, until the night was dark, and all Saturday and Sunday found Tom outside chopping wood for an old stove that devoured wood the way elephants ate peanuts.
He'd chop with determined dedication until his arms and back ached so much he couldn't sleep without tossing and turning and crying out in pain. Muscles aching so badly, he slept lightly. I got up to rub his back with hot castor oil that Granny used to swear by, good for any ailment under the sun. Enough of it could cause an abortion, and that I didn't doubt. Enough castor oil inside, and all that was in would melt and flow away. However, it did help Tom's aching muscles.
When I wasn't hearing Tom groaning, I heard other things in the night: the wheezing rattle in Grandpa's chest, the small incessant coughs of Our Jane, the rumblings of hunger in Keith's tummy; but most of all I heard footsteps on the rickety porch.
Pa coming home?
Bears on the porch?
Wolves coming nearer and nearer to eat us all?
It was Tom's fervent belief that Pa would not abandon us to starve and freeze to death. "No matter what ya think, he loves us, Heavenly, even you." I was curled up on my side, with my feet on the small of Tom's back, but I had my head turned so I could stare up at the low ceiling, the unseen sky beyond, praying that Pa would come home again, healthy and strong, pleading for our understanding.
The next day was Christmas Eve. In our cupboard was on
"Don't cry, Heavenly, please don't. Don't give up now. Something will turn up to save us. Maybe we can sell some of Grandpa's whittled animals in town, and if we can do that, we'll have money to buy lots of food."
"When the snow is over," I whispered hoarsely, my hunger pains a dull throb that never let up.
"Look," he said, turning to the window and pointing at a bright streak in the leaden gray sky, "it's brightening. I can almost see the sun breaking through. Heavenly, God hasn't forgotten about us. He's sending Pa home, I can feel it in my bones. Even Pa wouldn't leave us here to starve alone, you know that."
I didn't know anything anymore.
nine CHRISTMAS GIFT
. IT SEEMED Tom AND I COULD HAVE TRAVELED A HUNDRED miles on a sunny day in less time than it took us to creep to the smokehouse on Christmas Eve, holding one to the other, as the wind howled in our ears, blew snow in our faces to almost blind us. But when we headed back, we had in our pockets a dozen of Grandpa's best wooden carvings that he'd never miss, they'd been so long in the smokehouse.
The relief of feeling the porch beneath my feet allowed me to open my eyes for the first time and see how white our world was, not from new snow but from the old snow the wind banked around our crouched cabin. Tom fought to open the door, and then he shoved me through and quickly followed.
Stumbling inside, at first I couldn't focus my eyes, they were so heavily lidded with snow caught on my lashes. Fanny was screaming, and there was so much other noise. Startled, I looked around--only to freeze in shock and then feel the instant flaring hope.
Pa! Come home for Christmas Day ? Our prayers answered, at last, at last! He stood in the dim firelit room, gazing down at where Keith and Our Jane were huddled together for warmth. Even with Fanny dancing around and yelling her head off they slept on and on, as did Grandpa in his rocker.