Casteel - Dark Angel Part 4

Directly overhead I could faintly hear the clickityclack of Jillian's satin mules as she went through her complicated beauty regimen before going out. She had another regimen for getting ready for parties, and the longest and most tiresome was the one she performed before going to bed. "Have you told Jillian yet that I'm staying?" I asked, keeping my eyes on the ceiling.

"No. With Jillian you don't have to be specific or give detailed explanations. Her attention span is short. She has her own thoughts. We are just going to let it happen."

Tony leaned back and templed his hands under his chin. By this time I knew this was his body language to show he was in control of the situation. "Jillian will get used to seeing you around, to having you come and go on the weekends, just as you're getting used to hearing the surf pound on the sh.o.r.e. Bit by bit you'll seep into her days, into her consciousness. You'll win her with your sweetness, with your eagerness to please her. Just never forget you are not in compet.i.tion with her. Give her no reason whatever to think you are mocking her attempts to fool everyone about her age. Think before you speak, before you act. Jillian has a whole entourage of friends who know how to play the 'ageless' game as well as she does, but she's the champion player, as you'll find out. I've written this list of her friends and their spouses and children, also their hobbies and likes and dislikes. Study it well. Don't be too eager to please. Be clever and compliment them only when they deserve it. If they talk about subjects you know nothing about, keep your silence and listen attentively. You'd be amazed how much people like a good listener. Even though you might not say one meaningful thing, if you ask the right questions, such as 'tell me more,' they will consider you a brilliant conversationalist."

He rubbed his palms together, looking me over again from head to toe. "Yes, now that you have the right clothes, you'll be accepted. Thank G.o.d you don't have one of those awful country dialects to overcome."

Yet he was making me panic with his long list of Jillian's friends, who represented hurdles I had to jump. It seemed every word he spoke took me farther and farther away from my brothers and sisters. Were they all going to be lost to me now that I'd gained a certain kind of stable ground for myself? Neither f.a.n.n.y nor Tom could pa.s.s for friends I made here in Boston, not with their broad country dialect. Then there was me, I could be triggered into doing something wrong, if I were made to feel too vulnerable. There was only one person from my past who wouldn't raise Tony's suspicions, and that was Logan. Logan, with his strong, clean-cut good looks, and his honest, steadfast eyes. But Logan was not the kind to want to play deceitful games about where he came from. He was a Stonewall, and proud to be a Stonewall, not ashamed as I was of my surname, and my heritage. -- Tony was watching me. I squirmed in the wing chair.

"Now, before Jillian comes down and interrupts with talk of where she's going and what she's wearing, study this map of the city. Miles will drive you on Monday mornings to school, and he or I will pick you up each Friday afternoon about four. Later, when you are of age, you can drive yourself to and from. What kind of car would you like, say for your eighteenth birthday?"

It so thrilled me to think of owning my own car, I s.h.i.+vered and was unable to answer for a full minute. "I'd be grateful for any kind you want to give me," I whispered.

"Oh, come now. Your first automobile is a big event, let's make it special. Between now and then, think about it. Watch the cars on the streets. Stop into car dealers.h.i.+ps and do some window-shopping. Learn to be discriminating, and most of all, develop your own style. Be yourself with flair."

I didn't have the least idea what he meant; still, I'd take his advice and try to be "discriminating." While I sat on, still thrilled about that day when I'd have my own car, he spread the city map on the desk. "Here is Winterhaven," he said, putting his finger on a spot he'd encircled with red ink. "And here is Farthy."

The hard clack of Jillian's heels could be heard on the marble stairs. Tony began to fold the map. He had it in the drawer by the time she was at the library door. Her perfume preceded her into the room. Oh, how worldly and confident she appeared as she breezed in, smiling at me, smiling at Tony, wearing her black wool crepe suit trimmed with a mink collar and cuffs. From beneath her jacket peeked a black chiffon blouse that glittered. In contrast to all this darkness Jillian's fairness was dazzling to behold. She seemed a diamond set against black velvet.

Perhaps I inhaled too deeply, allowed myself to be too impressed. The sweet waft of her flowery perfume not only filled my nostrils, it seemed, to invade my lungs, so that I gasped, almost choked, before I began a violent paroxysm of coughs that racked me and flushed my face with hot blood.

"Why are you coughing, Heaven?" she asked, whipping around to stare at me with wide-eyed alarm. "Are you coming down with a cold? The flu? If you are, please don't come near me! I hate being sick! And I'm not good with sick people, they make me impatient. I never know what to do or what to say. I've never been sick a day in my life . . . except when Leigh was born."

"Giving birth isn't considered an illness, Jill," corrected Tony in a mild, patient voice.

He'd risen to his feet when she came in. I hadn't known men did that for their wives in their own homes. I was so impressed I s.h.i.+vered with the thrill of living with people who had such elegant manners.

"You look absolutely stunning, Jillian," said Tony. "There is no color more flattering to you than black."

Apparently Jillian liked what she was seeing in his eyes. She forgot about my germs and turned to him. Appearing to glide, she entered the embrace he offered, and tenderly she reached to cup his face between her gloved hands. "Oh, darling, where does the time go? It seems you and I see so little of one another. Every time I want you lately, you're not here. Soon Christmas will be making demands on us, and already- I'm tired of winter, and planning parties." Her hands slipped from his face and she was embracing him around the waist. "I love you so much, darling, and want you all to myself. Wouldn't it be wonderful to have another honeymoon? Please do try and figure out a way for us to escape the tedium and misery of staying in this hatefully cold house until January." She kissed him twice, and then went on very softly, "Troy can take care of the business end, can't he? You are always raving about his genius for hard work, so give him his chance to prove himself."

It was strange how my heartbeats quickened when she mentioned Troy's name, and at the same time I wanted to scream out my protest. They had to stay! They couldn't leave me here alone, to spend the holidays in some strange school, with students I didn't even know!

And all of what she was doing to Tony brought back Kitty, who had known exactly how to wrap her husband Cal around her fingers! Were all men so acutely tuned to their s.e.xual lives that they lost control of common sense when a beautiful woman flattered them? Oh, it was true, Tony didn't seem like the same man who had templed his fingers under his chin only moments ago. He was studying her with soft intensity, and in some subtle, mysterious way she'd managed to gather his reins, and now she was in control. It scared me, that easy way she had of getting what she wanted from him. "I'll see what can be done," he said idly, plucking from the shoulder of her suit a long, blond hair. Very carefully he dangled it over a wastebasket before he let it fall. And in this small act, I realized no woman would ever control Tony--he'd just allow them to think they did.

He pulled gently away from her hands, which clung to his lapels. "Heaven and I plan to finish our school clothes shopping this afternoon. It would be very pleasant if you came along with us, and we could make a day of it, dinner tonight and then the theater or a movie . . ."

"Ohhh," she murmured, her eyes pelting when they met his, "I don't know . . ."

"Certainly you know," he said. "Your friends can do without you. After all, you've known them for years, and Heaven is yet a secret to unfold."

Instant mortification was Jillian's. Her blue eyes swung to me, as if I'd completely faded from her memory. "Oh dear, I've been neglecting you, haven't I? Why didn't one of you tell me in time? I'd really love to go shopping with you and Tony, but I thought you'd finished, and I made my plans. Now it's too late to cancel. And if I don't show up at my bridge club those catty women will rip me to shreds, and they can't do that when I'm there." She started to come closer and kiss me, but just in time she remembered my coughs. She froze and for a second seemed puzzled by something. My long ma.s.s of hair, which was difficult to control, drew her critical attention. "You could use a good hairstylist," she murmured absently, bowing her head to delve deep into her purse. She came up with a small card. "Here, love, is just the man you need. He's a genius with hair. Mario is the only person I allow to touch mine." She glanced in a wall mirror, raising her hand to touch her hair lightly. "Never go to a woman stylist; men are so much more appreciative of a woman's beauty and seem to know just what to do to enhance it"

I thought of Kitty Dennison, who had owned and managed a beauty salon. Kitty had considered herself the best anywhere, and in my poor opinion, she had been very skilled. However, Kitty's strong, auburn hair seemed coa.r.s.e as a horse's tail compared to Jillian's silken tresses.

Smiling, Jillian threw Tony another kiss before she floated through the door, humming that same mindless tune that showed she was happy.

Shadows deep and dark were in Tony's eyes as he sauntered to a. window to watch her drive off with Miles, the good-looking young chauffeur.

While his back was still toward me, he began: "One of the things I like best about winter is the snow, and skiing. I was thinking when the season was on, I could teach you how to ski, and I'd have a companion.

Jillian doesn't care for strenuous exercise that could break her bones and give her pain. Troy likes to ski, but he's always occupied with his own comings and goings."

I waited with bated breath for him to say more. He dropped the subject of Troy and went back to Jillian. "Jillian disappointed me in her lack of enthusiasm for anything out of doors. When I first met her, she used to pretend to like golf and tennis, swimming and football. She'd wear the cutest little tennis dresses, although she's never had a racket in her hand, and wouldn't dream of chasing a ball and making herself sweaty."

At that particular moment the vision of Jillian in her black suit was so luminous I couldn't blame her for not wanting to spoil her frail perfection, which certainly couldn't last forever. I wouldn't doubt, or fear, I'd just cling to the dream that had to come true . . . and if I believed hard enough, one day Jillian would really look at me, and her eyes would really smile to say she'd forgiven me for ending the life of my mother . . .

Two weeks after I arrived in Boston I was enrolled in Winterhaven. I had not seen Troy again, but I was thinking of him when Tony opened the car door for me and broadly motioned toward the elegant school that was Winterhaven, nestled snug in its own small campus of bare winter trees with evergreens relieving the bleakness. The main building was white clapboard, gleaming in the early afternoon suns.h.i.+ne. I had expected a stone building, one of brick, not this kind. "Tony," I exclaimed, "Winterhaven looks like a church!"

"Did I forget to mention it used to be a church?" he asked with laughter in his eyes. "The bells in the tower there will chime for each pa.s.sing hour, and at twilight they play melodies. Sometimes it seems when the wind is right that those bells can be heard throughout Boston. Imagination, I presume."

I was impressed with Winterhaven, by the bell tower, the array of smaller buildings in the same style as the larger one. "You will study English and literature in Beecham Hall," informed Tony, gesturing to the white building to the right of the main one. "All the buildings have names, and as you can see, the buildings form a half circle. I've heard there is an underground pa.s.sageway that connects the five buildings--to use on the days when snow makes walking difficult. You'll be staying in the main building that houses the dorms and the dining rooms, and the a.s.semblies are held there as well. When we enter, every girl there will look you over and form her opinion, so hold your head high. Don't give them any idea that you feel vulnerable or inadequate or intimidated. The VanVoreen family dates back to Plymouth Rock."

By this time I knew VanVoreen was a Dutch name, an ancient and honorable one . . . but I'd never been a true VanVoreen, only a sc.u.mbag Casteel from West Virginia. My background dragged behind me, casting long shadows to darken all my future. All I had to do was make one mistake and those girls with their "right" background would scorn me for what I was. And every inadequacy I'd ever felt was mine began to p.r.i.c.kle my skin and heat my blood so I felt so anxious I was sweaty. I had on too many clothes, layers of new clothes, a blouse and a cashmere sweater over that, a wool skirt, and covering it all, a one-thousand-dollar cashmere coat! My hair had been newly styled, so it was shorter than I'd ever worn it, and the mirrors this morning had told me I looked very pretty. So why was I trembling?

The faces pressed to the windows, they had to be it! All those eyes staring out at me, watching the new girl on her first day. I saw Tony glance at me before he left the car to come around and open my door. "Now what's this I see? Come, Heaven, put your pride back on. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Just keep your cool and think before you speak, and you'll do fine."

But I felt conspicuous standing there and letting him haul all twelve pieces of my new set of luggage from the trunk and back seat, and turning, I began to help him.

"How did you explain this to Jillian?" I asked, using both hands to lift out my cosmetic case, which was full to the brim with things I'd never used before.

He smiled, as if Jillian were like a child to control. "It was really very simple. I told her last night I was going to do for you what she would have wanted me to do for her daughter, and she clamped her lips shut and turned away. Now don't take it for granted that everything will work out just because she's more or less resigned to having a granddaughter who calls herself a niece. You still need to win her over. And when you win acceptance in this school, and with her friends, she'll want you to stay, forever stay--as you so poetically put it."

How odd it felt to be standing before the second step of my dream, realizing my first step was not yet completed. My own grandmother didn't truly want me. She felt trapped because I'd come to remind her of what she didn't want to know . . but one day she'd love me. I was going to see to that. One day she was going to thank G.o.d I'd made being with her one of my lifelong goals.

"Come, Heaven," called Tony, breaking into my thoughts, as a man from the school came out to collect my luggage and wheel it away on a cart. "Let's go inside and face the dragons. We all have dragons to slay throughout most of our lives; most of them we create in our imaginations." He caught my hand in his gloved one and pulled me along toward the steep steps. "You look beautiful, did I tell you that? Your new hairstyle is quite becoming, and Heaven Leigh Casteel is a very beautiful girl. I suspect, also, you are a very smart girl. Don't disappoint me."

He gave me confidence. His smile gave me strength to climb those steps as if all my life I'd attended private, ritzy schools. Once I was inside the main building, and I looked around, I s.h.i.+vered. I had expected something like a posh hotel lobby, and what I saw was very austere. It was very clean, with highly waxed hardwood floors. The walls were off-white, and the moldings were elaborate and darkly stained. Potted ferns and other household plants were scattered here and there on tables and beside straight-backed, hard-looking chairs to relieve the starkness of the white walls. From the foyer I could see a reception room that was a bit cozier, with its fireplace and carefully arranged chintz-covered sofas and chairs.

Soon Tony was leading me to the office of the headmistress, a stout, affable woman who shone on both of us a wide, warm smile. "Welcome to Winterhaven, Miss Casteel. What an honor and privilege it is to have the granddaughter of Cleave VanVoreen attending our school." She winked at Tony in a conspiratorial way. "Don't worry, dear, I'll keep your ident.i.ty secret, and not tell a soul about who you really are. I just have to say your grandfather was a fine man. A gift to all of us who knew him." And in her motherly arms I was hugged briefly before she put me from her and looked me over. "I met your mother once when Mr. VanVoreen brought her here and enrolled her. I'm very sorry she's with us no longer."

"Now let's proceed with the next step," urged Tony, glancing at his watch. "I have an appointment in half an hour, and I want to see Heaven to her room."

It felt good to have him at my side as we ascended the steep stairs, our footfalls cus.h.i.+oned by a dark green carpet runner. The stern and forbidding faces of former teachers lined the wall, drawing my astonished eyes from time to time. How cold they all looked, how Puritan . . . and how alike their eyes, as if they could see, even now, all the evil in everyone that pa.s.sed.

Behind us, in fact all around us, the faint and smothered giggles of many girls drifted. Yet when I looked behind me, I could see no one. "Here we are!" called Helen Mallory brightly, flinging open the door to a lovely room. "The best room in the school, Miss Casteel. Selected for you by your 'uncle.' I want you to know very few of our students can afford a private room, or even want a private room, but Mr. Tatterton insisted. Most parents think young girls don't want privacy from their peers, but apparently you do."

Tony stepped inside the room, and from one thing to the other he went, pulling open dresser drawers, checking the large closet, sitting in both of the lounge chairs before he settled down at the student desk and smiled at me. "Well, will it do, Heaven?"

"It's wonderful," I whispered, quite overwhelmed to see all the empty bookshelves that I hoped soon to fill. "I didn't expect a room of my own."

"Nothing but the best," he joked. "Didn't I promise you that?" He stood, strode swiftly toward me, and leaned to kiss my cheek. "Good luck. Work hard. If you need anything call my office, or call me at home. I've told my secretary to put your calls through. Her name is Amelia." And then he pulled out his wallet, and to my utter amazement, he put several twenty-dollar bills in my hand. "For pin money."

I stood there clutching the money, watching him stride out the door. To my surprise, my heart sank and my stomach went queasy. Once Helen Mallory knew Tony was out of earshot, her expression lost its softness, her motherly ways abandoned and with hardeyed calculation she looked me over, weighed me, measured me, guessed at my character, my weaknesses, my strengths; judging from her twisted expression, she found me wanting. It shouldn't have shocked me, yet it did. Even her low, soft voice hardened and became loud. "We expect our students to excel academically and to abide by our rules, which are very strict." She reached and quite matter-of-factly took the money from my hand and quickly counted the bills. "I'll put this in our safe for you, and you can have it on Friday. We don't like for our girls to have cash in their rooms that someone can steal. The possession of money creates many problems." My two hundred disappeared in her pocket.

"When the bells ring at seven each weekday morning, you are to rise and dress as quickly as possible. If you bathe or shower the night before, you won't have to do it in the morning. I suggest you form that habit. Breakfast is at seven-thirty on the main floor. There will be signs to guide you to your various destinations." She pulled a small card from a slit pocket in her dark wool skirt and handed it to me.

"Here are your cla.s.s a.s.signments. I myself arranged your schedule, but if you find it difficult to follow, let me know. We don't play favorites here. You will have to earn the respect of your teachers and your cla.s.smates. There is an underground pa.s.sageway that connects all of our buildings one to the other. You are to use this underground tunnel only on days when the weather is inclement. Otherwise, you will walk outside where the fresh air will improve your lungs. You arrived here during the lunch hour, and your guardian said he'd see that you ate your lunch before you arrived." She paused, staring at the top of my head while she waited for my confirmation.

Only when she had it did she turn to stare at twelve pieces of very expensive luggage. I thought I saw contempt on her face--or envy, I couldn't tell which. "At Winterhaven we do not flaunt our wealth by wearing ostentatious clothes. I hope you will keep this in mind. Until a few years ago all our students had to wear uniforms. That made everything very simple. But the girls kept protesting, and the patrons of our school agreed with them, so now they wear what they please." Again her eyes swung to me, remote and cautious. "Lunch is served at twelve for those in the lower two grades, and at twelve-thirty for the remaining students. You are expected to be on time for all meals, or you will not be served. A table has been a.s.signed to you, and you will not change your seating unless the occupants at another table invite you to join them, or you invite them to your table. Dinner is at six, and the same rules apply. Each student is expected to wait the tables for one week each semester. We rotate the service, and most students find it not unpleasant." She cleared her throat so she could continue.

"We do not expect our girls to h.o.a.rd food in their rooms, or to hold secret midnight parties. You are allowed to own a radio or stereo or ca.s.sette player, but not a television set. If you are caught with liquor, and that includes beer, you will be given a demerit. Three demerits in one semester and you will be dismissed, and only one quarter of the tuition will be refunded. Study hour is from seven to eight. From eight to nine you may watch television in our recreation room. We do not supervise your reading materials, though we deplore p.o.r.nography, and we will give a demerit if find you with the more obvious printed filth. Some of our girls enjoy playing games such as bridge or backgammon. We do not allow our girls to gamble. If money is found on a gaming table, all partic.i.p.ants in that game will be punished and given demerits. Oh, did I forget to say that all demerits are accompanied by one form of punishment or another. We devise the punishment to suit the crime." Her smile went from sour to warm. "I do hope it will never be necessary to punish you, Miss Casteel. And lightsout is at ten sharp."

Finished, she spun on her heel and left the room. And she hadn't shown me where the bathroom was! The minute she was out of sight, I began my check for the bathroom by testing the door she hadn't used.

It was locked. I sat down to read the small cla.s.s a.s.signment card. Eight o'clock, English cla.s.s, in Elmhurst Hall. And then I desperately needed the bathroom.

All my bags I left on the floor of my private room as I took off down the hall, looking for signs. The t.i.tters and giggles I'd heard before were gone. I felt totally alone on the second floor. I tried three halls before finally I saw a small bra.s.s plaque reading "Lavatory."

With relief I opened the swinging door and stepped inside a huge room where white sinks lined an entire wall, with mirrors above them. The floor was of black-and-white tile. The walls were light gray, softening all that black and white, and when I came out of one of the stalls, I took the time to look it over. Twelve bathtubs were in another compartment, one beside the other. In yet another compartment were shower stalls without doors, all but one. Behind gla.s.s doors were shelves where hundreds of neatly folded white towels were placed. Right then and there I decided I would take showers, not tub baths.

Before I left the bathroom, I felt the potted plants and found them dry, and carefully I gave each some water, a habit formed living with Kitty Dennison.

Back in my room I swiftly unpacked, placed my lovely new lingerie neatly in stacks in the dresser, and then glanced at my schedule again. I was due in Sholten Hall at two-thirty for social studies. My first cla.s.s in Winterhaven.

Easily enough I found Sholten Hall, and wearing the outfit that Tony had suggested for my first cla.s.s, I hesitated just outside the room; then, pulling in my breath and holding my head high, I pushed the door open and entered. It seemed they were waiting for me. Every girl's head turned my way, and all fifteen pairs of eyes fixed on every detail of my clothes before finally looking up to see my face; then they turned their gazes to the head of the room where a tall, thin teacher sat behind her desk.

"Come in, Miss Casteel. We have been waiting for you." She glanced at her watch. "Please try to be on time tomorrow."

Only the front seats were unoccupied, and I felt terribly conspicuous as I made my way to the closest one and sat down.

"I am named Powatan Rivers, Miss Casteel. Miss Bradley, please give Miss Casteel the books she will need for this cla.s.s; I hope, Miss Casteel, you came equipped with your own pens, pencils, papers, and so on."

Tony had supplied me with everything, so I could nod and accept the social studies books and top off my neat stack. I'd always taken great pride in books and the paraphernalia that went along with school life, and for the first time I had everything any student could possibly want.

"Would you like to address the cla.s.s and tell them something about yourself, Miss Casteel?"

My mind went totally blank. No! I didn't want to stand up before them and tell them anything!

"It is customary, Miss Casteel, for our new students to do this. Especially those from other areas of our large and beautiful country. It helps all of us to understand you."

Expectantly the teacher waited, as all the girls leaned forward so I felt their eyes on my back. Reluctantly I stood up and took the few steps to the front of the room, and now that I could see all of the girls, I realized how wrong Tony had been to choose the kind of clothes I was wearing! Not a girl had on a skirt! They wore pants or blue jeans, and their tops were sloppy, too-large s.h.i.+rts or ill-fitting sweaters. My heart sank, for those were the kind of school clothes all the kids back in Winnerrow used to wear! And up here, in this fancy school, I'd expected things to be better, nicer.

Several times I had to wet my lips, which had gone dry. My legs betrayed me and began to shake. Tony's instructions came to me. "I was born in Texas," I began in a faltering, quivering voice, "and later on, when I was about two, I moved with my father to West Virginia. I grew up there. My father fell ill, and my aunt invited me to come and live with her and her husband.

I hurried back to my seat and sat down. Miss Rivers cleared her throat. "Miss Casteel, before you came, your name was given to me to record in our register. Would you mind telling me the origin of your remarkable Christian name?"

"I don't understand your meaning . . ."

"The girls are interested in knowing if you are named after a relative . . ."

"No, Miss Rivers, I am named for that place we all expect to go to, sooner or later."

Several of the girls behind me t.i.ttered. Miss Rivers's eyes turned into hard stones. "All right, Miss Casteel. I suspect only in West Virginia are there parents so audacious as to challenge the powers that be. And now, let us open our government book to page 212 and proceed with today's lesson. Miss Casteel, since you join us late in this semester, we will expect you to catch up before this week is over. Every Friday there will be an exam to test what you have learned. And now girls, begin today's cla.s.s by reading through pages 212 to 242, and when you have finished, close your books and put them inside your desks. Then we will begin our discussion."

School anywhere was more or less the same, I soon found out. Pages to read, questions to copy from the chalkboard. Except this teacher was very well informed on how our government worked, and she also knew exactly what was wrong with it. I sat and listened, overwhelmed by the pa.s.sion she displayed for her subject, and when she stopped talking abruptly, I felt like applauding. How wonderful that she knew so much about poverty! Yes, there were people in our rich, abundant land that went to bed hungry. Yes, thousands of children were deprived of rights that should come to them naturally; the right to enough food to nourish their bodies and brains; enough clothes to wear to keep them warm; enough housing to sa they were sheltered from the weather; enough rest on a comfortable bed so they didn't awaken with shadows under their eyes, put there from sleeping on hard floors without enough blankets; and most of all, parents who were old enough and educated enough to provide all of that.

"So where do we begin to correct all the wrongs? How do we stop ignorance, when the ignorant don't seem to care whether or not their children will be trapped in the same miserable circ.u.mstances? How do we make those in high places care for the underprivileged? Think about that tonight, and when you have found solutions, write them down, and submit them tomorrow in cla.s.s."

Somehow I made it through the day. None of the girls approached me to ask questions, though all of them stared, then hurriedly moved their eyes away when mine tried to meet with theirs. In the dining hall that evening at six, I sat alone at a round table covered with a crisp, white linen tablecloth, and in the center of my table was a small, silver bud vase containing a single red rose. The students serving as waitresses took my order from a short menu, then moved on to other tables where four to five girls sat together, chattering in lively fas.h.i.+on, so the dining hall resounded with many happy voices. I was the only girl in the room that had a single red rose on her table, and only when I realized that did I pluck from a small wire the tiny white card that read: "My best wishes, Tony."

Every day until Friday, a red rose showed up on my dinner table. And every day those girls ignored my existence. What was I doing wrong, except wearing the wrong kind of clothes? I hadn't brought jeans or pants or old s.h.i.+rts and sweaters with me. Valiantly I tried to smile at the girls who glanced my way, trying to catch their eyes. The minute they saw my efforts, each and every one of them turned away! And then I guessed what was happening. My thoughts about hunger in America had betrayed me. My own pa.s.sion for the subject of poverty had given them more information than my tongue ever could. I was too well informed. Too many nights I'd lain awake in a mountain cabin, trying to find answers that would save all the poor from falling into the same desperate plight of their ancestors.

For my theme paper on Poverty in America I was given an A-minus. A very good beginning. But I had betrayed myself. Now everyone knew just what background had been mine, or else I couldn't have known so much. I wished a thousand times I hadn't been so factual and had turned in some solution like that of another girl, who had suggested, "Every rich person should adopt at least one poor child."

Alone in my pretty room, on my back on my narrow bed, I listened to the laughter and giggles that came from other rooms. I smelled the bread toasting and the cheese melting; I heard the clink and clank of gla.s.ses, of silverware, the canned laughter played on TV situation comedies. Not once did any girl knock on my closed door and invite me to a forbidden party. Not once were those parties stopped by irate teachers who didn't want their rules broken.

From the wild tales I overheard, every one of those girls had traveled extensively throughout the world, and already they were bored with cities I had yet to see. Three of the girls had been expelled from private Swiss schools for love affairs, two had been expelled from other American schools for drinking, two more for using drugs. All the girls could cuss worse than any drunken hillbilly at a barn dance, and right through the walls I received a different kind of s.e.x education, ten times more shocking than anything f.a.n.n.y had ever done.

Then one day when I was in the bathroom, in the only shower stall that had a door to close, I heard them talking about me. They didn't want me in "their" school. I wasn't "their" kind. "She's not who she pretends to be," whispered a voice I'd grown to recognize as belonging to Faith Morgantile.

I wasn't pretending to be anything other than a girl seeking an education. And for that I was resented. I only hoped that when my hazing came, I could survive with my dignity and pride intact.

So here in Winterhaven, despite my VanVoreen ancestors, my Tatterton connections, my fine clothes, my flattering hairstyle, my pretty shoes, and the good grades I worked hard to achieve, I was, as I'd always been, an outsider, scorned for what I was. And the worst thing of all was, right at the beginning, I had betrayed myself, and Tony.

Six Changing Seasons .

IT WAS TONY WHO CAME TO PICK ME UP THAT FIRST Friday when I stood on the front stoop of Winter-haven, with fifteen girls crowded close about me, pretending to be friendly for his benefit. They watched him park, ooh'd and aw'd, gasped and whispered and wondered again where Troy was. "When are you going" Vo invite us to your home, Heaven?" asked Prudence Carraway, whom everyone called Pru. "We've heard it's fabulous, absolutely fab, fab, fab!"

Before Tony was out of the car and opening the door I was down the steps escaping those girls. "See you Monday, Heaven!" a chorus of voices sang out, and it was the first time anyone had said my name but a teacher.

"Well," said Tony, smiling at me and driving off. "From what I saw and heard, it seems you've already made lots of friends. That's good. But I hate the sloppy rags those girls are wearing to school. Why do they try so to look ugly during the best years of their lives?"

Several miles pa.s.sed and I didn't speak. "Come on, Heaven, tell me about it," he urged. "Did your cashmeres create a sensation? Or did they scorn you for wearing the kind of clothes their mothers buy for them, but they leave at home, or trade in for secondhand clothes."

"They do that?" I asked, completely stunned. "I've heard they do. It's sort of a cause at Winter-haven to challenge teachers and fight parents or anyone in authority. It's like a Boston Tea Party for adolescents, struggling to a.s.sert their independence."

So he'd known when he selected all my skirts, sweaters, blouses, and s.h.i.+rts just what he was doing to me, making me stand out, making me different. Still I said nothing.

I could tell from his demeanor he didn't want me to complain about anything that had gone on. I had been thrown into the pot, and now it was up to me to keep from being boiled. He didn't urge me to keep on wearing just what I had. He left it up to me to give in or to fight the peer pressure. And realizing this, I made up my mind never to mention any of my difficulties to Tony. I would handle them alone, no matter what came along.

Tony drove fast toward Farthinggale Manor, and we were almost there before he dropped his bombsh.e.l.l. "Some very pressing business has come up, and I'll be flying to California this Sunday morning. Jillian will be going with me. If you weren't already enrolled in school, we could take you along. As it is, Miles will drive you to school on Monday, and pick you up next Friday afternoon, Jillian and I plan to return a week from Sunday."

His news threw me into a tailspin! I didn't want to be left alone in a house of servants that I hardly knew. I tried not to let Tony see the sudden tears that sprang to my eyes. What was wrong with me that people found me so easy to leave?

"Jill and I will make up for this week's neglect by really extending ourselves this coming Thanksgiving and Christmas," he said with his rare kind of lighthearted charm, "and I give you my word of honor that we will go to that Pops concert when I return."

"You don't have to worry about me," I said with determination, not wanting him to think I was a burden like Jillian did. "I know how to entertain myself." But I didn't, not really. Farthinggale Manor still intimidated me. The only servant who didn't make me nervous was Rye Whiskey. But if I visited him too often in his kitchen, maybe he'd grow cold and indifferent, too. Once I came home on Friday afternoon, and my homework was finished, what would I do with myself?

Then came that Sat.u.r.day morning in Farthinggale Manor with servants rus.h.i.+ng around in a dither, trying to help Jillian pack for a week's trip. In the upstairs hall she ran to me, laughing, hugging and kissing me, making me feel that maybe I'd been wrong, and she did love me and need me. Then she was clapping her hands together like a happy little girl as we descended the stairs into the living room. "It's a pity you can't come with us, but you were the one who pleaded for a few months of schooling, and dashed all the exciting plans I had for you."

A few months of schooling? Was she planning to push me out of here? Didn't she care for me even a tiny bit? And to fly to California would have been another of my dreams realized, but by this time I was wary of the dreams I'd constructed when I was young, naive, and dumb.

"I'll be fine, Jillian, don't worry about me. This is such a wonderful house, and so big, I haven't had half a chance to look it over."

They were ignoring me, both Tony and Jillian, and deep down I was so hurt I wanted to do some hurting on my own, and so I did something ill conceived and stupid. I decided to go and visit Logan. "Besides," I said, "I have plans to go into Boston this afternoon."

"What do you mean you've made plans of your own for this afternoon?" asked Jillian. "Really, Heaven, isn't Sat.u.r.day our day, when we can do things together?" (This had never been made clear to me before, as I stood around with people much older than I, all talking about subjects I knew nothing about. I had felt as needed as a lamp at noontime.) "I thought tonight we could make it a going-away party in that charming little theater we just had restored, right off the swimming area. We can watch an old movie. I do hate new movies. They embarra.s.s me the way they show naked people making love. We could even invite over a few friends to make it more enjoyable."