But caring about Tom made me run faster than I had ever run before, tears streaking my face.
A terrible infection set into the deep claw wounds on Pa's back. Two days passed while I lay on the bed in Grandpa's log cabin, forcing myself to believe that that man in the hospital trying to hold on to his life deserved what he'd gotten, had asked for it long ago when he decided he had to join the circus life.
Just as Fanny in her new house was setting herself up for a day of reckoning with the town folk who had always despised her; for you couldn't go through life striking out right and left without someday bringing down your own house of cards.
Tom had been mauled much worse than Pa; he'd been first in the cage with only a pistol thrust in his baggy pants, and a rifle that he'd managed to fire once before a cat reached out with a mighty paw and clubbed the gun from his hands. And Pa had rushed in to seize the rifle and kill two of the cats, but not before he was mauled considerably.
And the worst of it was, it was Tom who died, not Pa. Tom, Tom, Tom the best of all the Casteels. Tom who had loved me. Tom who had been my companion, my ot
her half. Tom who had given me the courage I needed to persevere and to wait for the day when Pa accepted me as his daughter.
The newspapers made Tom into a hero. They spread his smiling photograph from coast to coast, and the life story that had been Tom's was told for all to read, and somehow, they made it seem brave, not pathetic.
Only when I knew that Pa would live did I have the courage to break the news to Grandpa about what had happened to Tom. Grandpa couldn't read newspapers, and Grandpa didn't like colorful news broadcasts when he could listen all day to weather reports on the radio while he whittled. His knobby old hands paused, then loosened their grip on the tiny elephant he was carving to complete the jungle chess set he'd started long ago at Logan's request.
"My Luke is gonna live, ain't he, Heaven girl?" he asked when I finished. "We kin't let Annie suffa anotha loss."
"I called the hospital, Grandpa; he's off the critical list now, and we can go to see him."
"Ya didn't tell me, Heaven chile, did ya, that Tom is gone? Tom kain't die when he's only twentyone . . Oh, I neva did have much luck in keepin' my boys around me."
In the hospital I allowed Grandpa to go alone into the small room where Pa lay completely swathed in bandages from head to foot, peering through one tiny eyehole. Shaken, I went to lean against a wall. I cried, cried for so many things that could have turned out differently. I felt so alone, so terribly alone. Who would love me now, who? And almost as if God heard my question, arms tenderly slipped around my waist, and I was pulled backward against a strong chest, and someone's head pressed down on mine.
"Don't cry, Heaven," crooned Logan, turning me around to take me into his arms. "Your father is going to live. He's a fighter. He's got a lot to live for-- his wife, his son, and you. He's tough. Always has been. But he's not going to be so handsome anymore."
"Tom is dead, don't you know that? Tom is dead, Logan, dead!"
"Everybody knows that Tom died a hero's death. His entrance into the cage diverted the lions, who were mauling the lion tamer, who had four children, and he's alive, Heaven, alive. Now say something to your pa."
What could I say to a man I'd always wanted to love, but couldn't? What could he say to me now, now when it was far too late for words that might have brought us together. And yet he was staring at me. Through that small eye opening I could see the sadness in that single eye, and his hand, bandaged and bound, made a small awkward gesture, as if he'd reach for me if he could.
"I'm sorry," I managed to whisper. "So sorry about Tom." I wiped at the tears that began to slide down my face. "I'm sorry about everything that went wrong between you and me!"
I thought I heard him mumble my name, but by that time I was running out of the hospital. Running out into a day that was blazing hot, and flinging myself at a metal lamppost, I wrapped my arms around it and really bawled. How was I going to live without Tom in my life, how, how?
"Come, Heaven," said Logan, striding up with Grandpa stumbling beside him. "What's done is done and we can't undo it."
"Fanny didn't even show up at Tom's funeral," I sobbed, glad that he could easily pull me into his embrace and forgive me for so much.
"What does it matter what Fanny does or doesn't do?" he asked, tilting my teary face upward and staring gravely down into my eyes. "Weren't we always happiest when Fanny was out of sight?"
As he stood there in the bright sunlight, how sensitive and caring he appeared, like Troy in some ways. I bowed my head against his chest and tried to stop my tears, and then we were walking, all three of us, toward the car.
"You were wrong when you said I didn't need you," said Logan when we were halfway home.
The whispering in the leaves, the songs of the wind in the grass, the wildflowers that scented the air with sweet perfume did more to heal me than any words could. Everywhere I looked I saw the green of Tom's eyes, and when I faltered in decisions, I heard him speak in my mind, encouraging me to go on, to marry Logan--but to leave the hills and the valley as soon as Grandpa was gone.
We laid my grandpa to rest on the sixteenth day of October, laid him to rest beside his beloved wife Annie. We stood all in a single row--the Casteels, Pa, Stacie, Drake, Fanny, and every resident who lived in Winnerrow. It had been Tom's bravery, and not my wealth or my education or my clothes and new car that had won their respect.
I bowed my head and cried just as if Grandpa had really been flesh of my flesh. And before we walked away from that gravesite, Pa reached out and took my hand. "I'm sorry for a lot of things," he said in a kind of low, soft voice I'd never expected to hear from him. "I wish you great success and happiness in whatever you decide to do. And I hope more than anything, that every now and then you'll show up at our place."
Funny, only now could I stare at the man I'd thought I'd hate forever and not feel anything.
I didn't know what to say. I could only nod.
In a lonely, huge house another father waited for me to return. I knew as I stood on the hillside and looked around that someday I'd go back to Farthinggale Manor, and by that time I would be neither a Casteel nor a Tatterton.
By then, from the soft way Logan was looking at me, I knew he'd go with me, and I'd know for sure I was a Stonewall.