DOWN IN THE VALLEY

A Casteel Series Fan-Fiction Written by one . long . melody

Based Upon the Novels HEAVEN and DARK ANGEL Written by V.C. Andrews

Author's Disclaimer: I do not own The Casteel Series, nor any of the series, books, characters, names, places, etcetera presented in this work, with the exception of those I created. All other series, books, characters, names, places, etcetera (including those associated with The Logan Series, The Dollanganger Series and My Sweet Audrina) belong to V.C. Andrews. Any recognizable quotes or passages—most notably those presented in italic format—were taken directly from the books.

The character of Janet Matthews, the television series Rectify, the town of Paulie, Georgia, Swints' Bakery, and all characters, names, places, etcetera pertaining thereto are the property of Ray McKinnon and Sundance TV.

The Chronicles of Narnia and The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, as well as the White Witch/Jadis, all characters, names, places, etcetera are the creations of C.S. Lewis.

The town of Port Charles, New York is featured in the soap opera series General Hospital, which is owned by ABC (production company) and American Broadcasting Company (distributor). (Thanks to Wikipedia for providing this information.)

Rating: T, but may change to M in the future (for graphic depictions of child abuse, coarse language, and some sexual content).

Genre: Family/Romance

Story-Type: Multiple-Chapter

Summary: Forced to abandon the comforts and familiarities of Candlewick, Georgia, Kitty and Cal Dennison set out for New England, to the lakefront estate of Cal's affluent family. There, the couple must confront the demons of their pasts—and discover that not every story's ending is without a miracle.

A Note From the Author: Although far from completion, Down in the Valley is a story that was a long time coming—more than seven years, in fact. I first began writing it in the winter of 2012, during which I was dealing with a serious health issue. My life and relationships were suffering, and so was my writing. The craft of story-telling is something I have loved ever since I was a child, and once I got better, I was able to gradually ease my way back into what I am most passionate about.

It was a few weeks after my birthday in 2016 that my interest in The Casteel Series and all things V.C. Andrews—and, to an even greater extent, my obsession with my beloved Dennisons—made an unexpected though no less welcome return to my life. While most of the material included in Down in the Valley is fresh, much of what you will read in Chapter 2, as well as a few other lines scattered here and there in some of the early chapters, were originally written back in 2012.

During late 2016, I experienced a relapse with my illness. I was working on this story at the time, and while it was never cancer I was facing, I was able to relate the feelings and emotions attached to what I was going through to what Kitty endures.

So, in honor of the upcoming release of Lifetime's Heaven film—as well as the official trailer that I watched for the first time three nights ago and at least ten more times since—I wanted to post my latest contribution to my favorite fandom. Down in the Valley is intended as a labor of my love for Kitty and Cal Dennison, whose actions in the book(s) are equally horrible in very different ways, I know. However, from the time I was a very young child, I have been inclined to favor the villains over the heroes in certain works of fiction. I am no less biased when it comes to Cal and Kitty. In the style of Olivia Logan, my preferences as an adult have not changed one iota.

That said, I hope those of you who have read this far choose to read on. And, if you do decide to take that road, then it is my wish that you will enjoy my take on what I not so much imagined would have happened to the Dennisons, but what I wanted to happen to them, had Kitty lived.

~mel

Dedicated with affection and admiration to Christina Vining:

Just as our friendship has grown with each passing year, so shall your own two little miracles.

Part One

CROSSROADS

One

BITTERSWEET REUNION

"—YOU'VE GOT TO LIVE! YOU HAVE CAL, AND HE needs you. All you have to do is will your body to fight back. Kitty, please do that for Cal. He loves you. He always has."

Hours. So many hours since Heaven had visited me in my room at the Winnerrow Memorial Hospital. And yet…yet her words still echoed the clear and encouraging sentiments of a church choir. She'd been so kind to me, the girl I'd called "hill-scum" and treated no better than a slave. The girl I'd hit, kicked, punched, degraded, all for reasons that held no more significance for me now than they did sense.

Poor Heaven. She had done everything to get me to see her, really see her. To give her the love her own mother had never got the chance to give her. But I was stubborn, my soul consumed by the fires of betrayal and hatred, my rage blinding me to all but the one I blamed for my unhappiness: Her, Leigh Van-Something-or-Other. She'd taken my place as Luke's one and only—as his damned wife! His sweet, perfect, beautiful "angel", with her fine bone structure, wide blue eyes and halo of pale blond hair. Why, just seeing the pair together, strolling arm-in-arm down the streets of Winnerrow, had dredged up every painful memory and self-doubting thought I'd carried all through my childhood. I was never pretty or thin or smart enough to please anyone. My parents hadn't doted on me, or sent me to some fancy boarding school. I didn't talk like some spoiled, over-indulged, over-privileged rich girl, and I was glad for it. Even when Luke had stopped loving me, I'd never wished to be anything like that Boston bitch. What difference would it make if I was? I'd asked myself.

Then she'd got pregnant, and I'd wanted to die. Kill myself. But suicide was a sin. My mother and father had both said so. Instead, I'd prayed to God to call me home. Except He'd never heard my prayers. Or maybe He'd only just pretended not to. Maybe He didn't want me in his kingdom, on account he was still angry with me for giving myself an abortion.

That was a long time ago. More than twenty years. I liked to think that had given God time enough to forgive me. He was letting me die, after all. My mother had said I was getting what I deserved, in return for my sins. But I knew better. I knew that by letting me die, God was showing me not just compassion, but mercy.

Seated loyally—or was it out of duty?—at my bedside was Cal, his eyes not on me, but on the floor. He was feeling guilty about something, I could tell, and I was almost certain I knew what it was. When she'd confronted Heaven about her relationship with Cal, not only had my mother spewed forth every last, ugly allegation in front of me—she'd appeared to take a perverse pleasure in the act itself. It was months before my return to Winnerrow that I'd first started to suspect there was something going on between my husband and adopted daughter. Oh, you bet your sweet life there'd been signs—I'd just chose to ignore them. Just like I'd chose to ignore the tumor growing inside me these last three years.

It was yesterday that I'd the nurses talking in the hall outside my room. Whispering, they were, in hushed undertones and quiet voices. Thinking that would stop me making hide or tail of what all they were saying. Only they'd been wrong. I did hear them. What was more, I'd understood each and every word they'd exchanged.

"Her husband neva leaves her side…jus sits an holds her hand. Talks t'her sometimes. I walked in yesterday an found im cryin. T'sight near broke my heart."

"Their daughter is lovely. Have you met her? Heaven, that's her name. Comes every day to see her mother. Such a sweet thing, that girl. And what a beautiful family. It's such a pity about poor Mrs. Dennison…"

"Haven't y'all heard? T'doctors think they kin save her iffen she'd jus have t'mastectomy. Thin is, she refuses. Same wid t'chemotherapy. Any otha time, I'd say people like her's downright foolish an self-absorbed. But afta seein how much her family kerrs about her…well, ya jus know she's got t'be a wonderful person."

Tears welled in my eyes at the thought of all those kind words. I was particularly fond of the second nurse who'd spoken, Nurse Vining. Usually I'd prefer that Heaven be the one seeing to my every need, helping me bathe and what-not, but I was just as at ease with the nurse. Having lived the last ten years in Port Charles, New York, where she'd attended nursing school before landing a job at the local hospital, Nurse Vining had only recently made the move to West Virginia. Curious, I'd asked what the heck would make her—or anyone, for that matter—want to trade in a swank place like New York for some middle-of-nowhere hick-town like Winnerrow. When I'd commented on what a culture shock it must have been for her, she'd surprised me by saying how she'd always been very fond of Virginia and had hoped to make it her permanent home one day. "Don't tell any of the other nurses," she'd said. "They'll only laugh, think I'm being silly, and maybe I am, but…" Lowering her voice, she'd added with a trace of shyness, "Every book I've ever read that has made a significant impression on me was set in Virginia."

She'd been partly right. A year, or even just six months ago, I would have laughed out loud at such a confession, even mocked it, but the thought of doing that now, in my position, made me cower. After all, who was I to judge someone else's dreams or decisions, when I'd spent the last three years of my life locked inside a fantasy bubble, shielding myself against the cold, hard truth that my actions—or lack thereof—were slowly killing me?

"Don't ya worry none, darlin," I told Nurse Vining. "Yer secret's safe wid me. But heed my advice, an talk t'my daughta. She's a book lova, too. Might jus find ya've got some titles an writers in common."

By far the prettiest and most mild-mannered of all the nurses at the hospital, Nurse Christina Vining had hazel eyes and long brown hair that she wore pinned up under a white cap. She had a certain kind of air about her—the kind that told you right off that nursing had called to her even before she'd been born. The patience and respect she had for those she cared for were endless, but it was her young-sounding voice that had made it so easy for me to like and trust her. She and her associates were practically strangers to me, yet all three treated me with more respect and compassion than my parents or even my siblings ever had. Maisie and Danny hadn't come to see me once since I'd been admitted to the hospital. My father either. My mother had come, if only to remind me that redheads don't wear pink, an excuse she'd used so that she could personally deliver the news about Heaven and Cal's affair to me. Why, the woman had yelled so loud and raised such a raucous I was sure everyone on the floor had heard!

A knock on the inside of the open door interrupted my thoughts. While I longed to know who'd come calling, I was much too weak to roll my head over on the pillow. In the end, it was Cal who answered for the both of us.

"Nurse Vining," he said, his soft voice made hoarse from crying.

"I'm sorry to bother you," the nurse replied, "but there's a man here asking to speak with Mrs. Dennison. He says it's urgent. I just wanted to check with her first, before I let him in."

"Did he give his name?" asked Cal.

"He said his name is Luke. Luke Casteel."

Cal stared at me, his face agog, as if we'd just been informed there was a crazed killer, armed with a deadly syringe, running amuck through the hospital.

Although it was difficult, I somehow gathered enough strength to turn my head and meet the eyes of Nurse Vining, who was standing in the open doorway of my private room. "Let him in," I said, so quietly and faintly I couldn't be sure she'd heard me.

She nodded and excused herself, promising she'd come right back. She was gone less than a minute, and when she returned, she had with her an extra chair. Hauling it into the room, she placed it on floor, on the side of the bed opposite Cal, then hurried out the door again.

"Would you like me to leave," he asked me, "when they come back? I will, if that's what you want."

"No." I reached for his hand. "No. I want ya t'stay."

He didn't answer, and instead took my hand. Drawing it into his, he laid mine face up in his palm. Using the back of his thumb, he proceeded to trace slow, delicate circles around and around the center of my palm. The tender gesture was both extraordinary and unexpected, given the miles that had stretched between us these last three months. Cal had been my salvation, his compassion and understanding having loosened the stranglehold of hostility I'd held against the male race for years. Before things between us had been severed beyond repair, he would often refer to me as his "Katherine", or seduce me with love songs in the language of his Spanish kin. He'd made me feel so loved, so young and so beautiful, even when the things I did and said were hateful and ugly.

I was working up the courage to tell him I was sorry. That if by some divine intervention I survived this, I'd gladly spend my remaining days striving to put right all my wrongs. My dry, cracked lips had barely parted when I was silenced by the display of tears sliding down my husband's cheeks. Then the door opened, and Nurse Vining reappeared. Beside her stood Luke, his head bowed between his shoulders. In his arms he held a gigantic bouquet of pink roses.

My heart skipped a beat.

Had he remembered that my favorite color was pink?

"Please, be gentle with her," the nurse advised my unexpected visitor in a low voice. "She and her daughter endured quite an ordeal this morning. Mrs. Dennison's mother was here, and I guess she made some sort of big to-do over some family matter. I wasn't here when it all went down, and those who were don't know any of the details, since the door was closed the whole time. All they heard was a lot of shouting. I ran into Mrs. Dennison's mother in the hall this afternoon—she was leaving as I was arriving for my shift. She looked fit to be tied, let me tell you. I asked what was wrong, but she refused say. Just pushed past me without a word. By the time I heard what happened, she was long gone. Lucky for her, too. If she'd been anywhere in the hospital, I'd have sought her out myself. Given her a to-do of my own. I mean, the nerve of her! Coming in here, upsetting her daughter and granddaughter—and for no good reason! It's disgusting." Nurse Vining shook her head. "That woman. She'd be doing this hospital and everyone in it a terrific favor if she'd just stay the hell away."

The nurse flounced out, still fuming, calling from over her shoulder that she'd find a vase for Luke's roses. I smiled to myself. Not since my beloved grandmother was still breathing had anyone cared enough to defend me against such attacks—attacks my mother and father had all but thrust upon me, making me see them not as my parents, but as villains in a fairytale. Whether their actions were verbal or physical had never made a lick of difference, either; the damage caused was always equal on both sides of the spectrum.

Head bowed between two wide shoulders, Luke shuffled slowly towards my bed. Right off I could tell that something was different about him. The transformation itself wasn't obvious because it wasn't physical; it was emotional, spiritual, psychological. If it wasn't for our star-crossed history and everything we'd ever shared, he'd have been just another handsome face in a crowd of fine-looking strangers.

Circling the bed, he proceeded to lower himself into the chair provided by the nurse. Because I didn't have strength enough to lift my head, I had to settle for turning it sideways so that I might see his face. Oh, glory be! There was no denying it! Luke Casteel was still every bit as handsome as he'd been that day, those two and a half years ago, when I'd stood with Cal in that ramshackle of a cabin up in the Willies. In that brief span of time, Luke's coal black hair had become flecked by just a smidge or two of gray. It was a difference I'd thought made him appear distinguished and that added an attractive contrast to his deep bronze complexion.

As he lay the roses carefully over my covered legs, his dark eyes swam with what I swore were tears. Clearing his throat, he spoke to me in the careful, civilized way of someone who'd had Cal's upbringing and education: "I'm sorry, Kate."

It wasn't hearing Luke call me by the name I'd last answered to when I was eighteen, before betrayal and bitterness had all but torn me from his arms. It was the two words that came before it, words that made my breath catch and my heart stop for just a second. Struck dumb, I stared at the man who'd been my best friend, my lover, my defender, and my enemy. Had I had heard him right, then? Had he just spoken words I'd all but given up ever hearing him speak? Words I thought for sure I'd still be waiting to hear, long after I was dead. Only when eternity ended and started again would there be even the slightest chance that Luke Casteel would apologize for breaking the heart and shattering every promise he'd made to one simple, love-struck country girl. Promises that girl had cherished and believed in, the way a small child cherishes and believes in Santa Claus and flying reindeer.

Next thing I knew, Luke was smiling and reaching for my hand.

His touch was warm, the way I remembered it being when we were still just kids. Looking into his face now, I saw him again, that same little boy and sweet angel of mine, holding out his hand to me. Heard him telling me he was sorry for how the other kids had laughed, that time I'd got my bloody in front of everyone in gym class, and raced, sobbing and humiliated, out of the school building.

"When I heard you'd come back to Winnerrow," Luke was saying, "I knew I had to see you. Talk to you. So I went to your house." His smile fading, he lapsed into a momentary but reflective silence. "I damn near keeled over when your sister told me you were in the hospital."

Squeezing my other hand, Cal answered in a voice that cut the air like barbed wire cutting into skin: "You have our address. What's so important you couldn't have put it in a letter? Is it another five-hundred dollars you're asking for? A thousand? If that's the case, then you're even more despicable than I thought. As you can see, my wife is extremely ill. She's fragile, and she's vulnerable. She is in no fit condition to deal with this type of stress. Do you hear me? None."

Even in the face of my husband's fury, Luke's expression and manner remained placid. "That isn't why I've come, Mr. Dennison. The last thing I want is for Kate's condition to worsen. I only wish to speak with her. If anything, I am hopeful that what I have to tell her will aid in her recovery. There are things that happened long ago she isn't aware of. Things that are painful and horrible, but that she needs to know. Things she deserves to know. To put them in a letter would be taking the coward's way out. And I don't consider myself a coward. Not anymore."

"Well," came Cal's terse reply, "congratulations to you."

"I won't sit here and defend myself against your allegations. It's true. I've made mistakes. I've hurt people. People I've loved, cared for. The list is endless." Sighing, Luke closed his eyes for a moment. I watched his burly chest rise and fall. "People like your wife."

"You certainly didn't seem to harbor any regrets when you walked out on her all those years ago," Cal accused.

"I do regret it. I swear on my soul that I do, and on the souls of my late mother and my first wife. There just wasn't anything could be done to fix what happened. Not then. If you'll hear my side of things, then perhaps you'll understand."

Cal snorted. "Or judge."

I dug my long nails as hard as I could into his palm. Anything to stop him going off on Luke and halting what could damn well explode into an argument between two grown men. "Please," I whispered. "Please, Cal. Don't ya be mad at him. Jus be quiet an let im speak."

My words silenced him, briefly. "All right." His grip on my hand still strong, he fired back at Luke: "The only reason I don't put your head through a plate-glass window is because of Kitty. You keep that in mind, Mr. Casteel."

Clearly unintimidated by a man three times smaller than himself, Luke again turned his attention to me. I felt frozen, his eyes boring into me, appearing to see me for the first time. Lifting me up, filling me with the courage and the strength I needed to win the battle raging inside my body.

Was it a battle I hoped to win? Ten minutes ago, death had seemed a convenient solution to an inconvenient problem. But seeing Luke again, seeing how much he still cared, I reckoned I was acting hastily, even selfishly. Maybe the treatments being recommended by my doctors weren't so horrible after all. My hair would grow back, eventually, and my breast, well…well, no one ever had to know it was fake, did they?

"Kate and I knew each other when we were kids," Luke began. "We went to the same school and were inseparable. Best friends, you might say. I loved her then, same as you love her now. Her parents never approved of our friendship, and were furious when we became romantically involved. Livid when she announced she was pregnant. Always the Settertons have thought of my family as the scum of the earth. There wasn't a Casteel alive who'd ever be good enough for their daughter, is the way my own father put it to me. After doing what I did, getting her pregnant and seeing her parents' reaction, I knew what my father said was true. That's why I left Winnerrow. In my heart I believed that by staying, I'd only be hurting Kate more."

"Is there a point to this story?" Cal asked, annoyed. "Or is it just your own selfish way of unloading your conscience onto a sick woman?"

Ignoring the insult, Luke threw me a feeble glance. "I know you won't believe this, but that night…the night I said I didn't love you any more…my heart was breaking. I was hoping you'd see that. But you were so angry, so heartbroken and upset, all you could see was my betrayal. I didn't blame you. I wanted more than anything to grab you up, whisk you off to Atlanta like I'd promised. But I couldn't. If I'd done that, it wouldn't have been just you and me that suffered.

"It was your father, Porter, who convinced me to sever my relationship with you. I knew I shouldn't have let him, and I hated myself for it, but remember that I was still just a kid myself. I was scared, and he was the sheriff of Winnerrow. He had power, even though he abused it. Warned me time and again that if I didn't stay away from you, he'd make my life and my family's lives hell. When I asked through what means, he said, 'Y'all will see fer yerselves soon enough, boy, iffen ya come anywheres near my daughta agin.'"

"That's enough." Cal's spoke gruffly. "I fail to see how unearthing details of my wife's worst memories is going to bring her any kind of peace."

"It's all right, Cal," I tried to assure.

"No. It isn't. It's far from all right." In my mind, I watched him turn steel-cold eyes on the person he felt it his responsibility to defend me from. "You sit there, claiming you lied to Kitty once before—how do we know you aren't lying to her again now?"

"Hush, Cal. Go on, Luke," I urged faintly.

Luke did go on, though with less confidence now than before. "Your father already had a hand in sending all but one of my brothers up the river to the state penitentiary. My parents were beside themselves. Already I'd realized that Porter was simply biding his time, waiting for the day Emmet and I finally slipped up. Being the sheriff of Winnerrow gave your father that privilege. So I made you hate me. I thought if I did that, then those I loved would stay forever safe. No longer would you have anything holding you to the birthplace of your nightmares. You could leave Winnerrow for good, if that's what you wanted, the way you talked about doing when we were kids. You could find yourself a decent man, a better man than me. Someone who'd love you and treat you right. Who'd give you all the things I couldn't. Not once did it ever occur to me what a terrible mistake I was making. The night I walked out on you—left you standing all alone in that motel room—hearing you scream my name through your tears, I was crying too. Grappling with the urge to turn back, knowing if I did, then I'd only be damning us both. My God." He shook his head, either unable or unwilling to believe he'd ever caused such pain in the life of someone else. Someone he claimed to have loved. "A man can apologize a thousand times, in a thousand ways, and still he won't ever be able to right his wrongs. You were my best friend, and my first love. I let you down, in the worst way, the most unforgivable way, and for that I'm truly sorry, honey. So terribly, terribly sorry. I never wanted or meant any harm to come to you, or to our child. I just needed to look into your eyes when I told you that."

Luke bowed his face into his arm and coughed. It wasn't a cough he was trying to disguise, though. It was a sob. The tears shining in his coal-black eyes as he'd riveted me with his tale of repentance had proved then and there that he wasn't the heartless monster I'd believed him to be. Guilt-ridden and remorseful, his reason for coming here this afternoon had been to deliver to me the true account of what had transpired here, in this town, all those years ago. Even as a very young child, Luke was never what you'd call an actor. The only time he'd ever lied to me was when someone with more authority and power had forced him to. But if everything he'd just told me had indeed been a lie, then why would he have waited until now, when I was on the brink of death, to unburden himself?

The answer was as simple as making hair go from brunette to blond.

He wouldn't.

Having been raised in a world where laying curled on your side in bed was just as wicked as taking the Lord's name in vain, I couldn't bring myself to question his revelation. The role my father had played in ending our relationship, the way he'd all but driven Luke and me apart—a role, I was sure, had been forced upon him by my mother,—should have enraged me. Should have made me scream at Luke to get out, just as I'd ordered Heaven to get out following my mother's confession, my angry words spurred by the secret goings on between Heaven and Cal. But I wasn't angry now. Far from it, actually. How could I feel anything but gratitude, even joy, when my dying wish had been fulfilled? I could leave this world now, with a peaceful mind and a lighter heart. I should have hated my parents for what they had done, but I didn't. Hating took energy, and I wasn't about to waste what precious energy I had left on the likes of two such despicable people.

Overwhelmed with a heady sense of relief and happiness, my tired face blossomed into a wide smile that I bestowed upon Luke. "Waited a long time t'hear ya say them words. Means so much t'me, it does. Used t'think ya didn't kerr. That ya was glad t'be rid of me. Neva thought ya'd suffered even half as much what I did. Neva thought my own kin were behind it all. That it was them made us say an do all them ugly thins t'each otha…"

"It's true," Luke said. "All those times we spent together, I never felt anything less than the greatest affection for you." The nervous edge having fled his voice, his sincerity was free to shine like a beam in the center of some vast ocean at midnight. "When I told your parents we were over, they refused to believe it. They were so wrapped up in their animosity towards the man who'd gotten their daughter pregnant through illegitimate means. They did everything in their power to drive me out of Winnerrow…out of your life. When that didn't work, they tried to bribe me. Your father offered me a train ticket to Atlanta, and I told him to forget it. You were so vulnerable—still recovering from what happened that night in the motel room. That's why I stayed. Even though we could no longer see or speak to each other, the fact that you were near, and that I knew you were safe, was comforting. I withdrew into myself, never straying far from my family's cabin. I spent my days helping Emmett and the other moonshiners with the foraging. But I never forgot you, the girl whose hair emulated the plumage of the legendary phoenix bird. When Emmett and the others would go into the valley, they would sometimes see you, and they'd tell me if you seemed all right. 'Saw t'Setterton girl t'day,' they would say. 'Seemed well enough, jist sad.' Oh, Kate. I would have moved the Blue Ridge Mountains themselves for a chance to see you again. To apologize for all I put you through. But I didn't dare. To even wish for it was a risk I was too afraid to take. You'd already suffered so much on account of me. That's when I decided something. I decided I would do as your parents wanted, and go to Atlanta. Only I would do it on my own, without them or anyone else to help me. Took me a year to build up the courage and bring in enough earnings in order to make the journey. Emmett was in jail by then, after he and another man got convicted for holding up a liquor store. I soon found a construction job in Atlanta, and while it was only temporary, the pay was good enough for my family to stay afloat for a while."

Not once did Luke ever mention Leigh or their encounter together at the train station the night he'd left Atlanta and headed back to West Virginia. Already I could feel the ice that had hardened my heart against a girl I'd spent years believing had deliberately come between me and my childhood sweetheart was beginning to thaw. I understood now that by falling for him, Leigh had intended no more harm to come to me than Luke had, when he'd told me we were over.

"By the time I returned to Winnerrow," he said, "you'd fully recovered from your ordeal. It was Rosalynn Wise who first told me you'd married a man I prayed was treating you right." He raised his eyes to Cal. "Have my prayers been answered, Mr. Dennison?"

"You're mistaken," Cal answered shortly. "That man is Jackson Wilkes, Kitty's second husband. She and I married seven years ago. Add five months, and that's how long we've been together."

Cal offered no explanation about how I'd become a divorcée four times over, nor did Luke say anything to suggest he was fishing for details. He simply nodded, like someone having been told the weather, and resumed speaking. "I passed by the nurse's station on my way here. They were talking. Saying how nice it is to see patients with families who care. Your name was mentioned. My daughter's, too." He coughed again, as if speaking Heaven's name made him physically uncomfortable. When he resumed speaking, his attention alternated between Cal's face and mine."Knowing that Kate has two guardian angels watching out for her brings me great peace."

Cal made no effort to answer, though his grip on my hand stayed strong and firm. Protective. Oh, darling, why? Why did I push you away, when all this time I should have been reaching for you?

With tears still present in his eyes, Luke went on to bless me with his kindest and most angelic smile. The smile I'd watched color his face whenever he'd looked at her. It was the same smile he'd given first to me, and that I, in all my youthful naïvity, believed would be mine forever.

"We've known each other practically our whole lives, Kate," he said. "You were never the sort to give up easy, if at all. You're brave and you're strong. You're also incredibly stubborn. All three are qualities I admire very much in you. To me, you're still that same shy, sweet, somewhat nervous girl you were at seventeen. The future might not echo our childhood dreams, but my feelings for you will always be there. When I look back on our times together—as friends, and as lovers—I do so fondly, and with great affection. And I hope that, some day, you can find it in your heart to forgive me. To think of me the way I will always think of you."

Bowing his head, he kissed my cheek. His lips swept smoothly over my skin, as gently as they did when we were still just kids, the first time he'd dared kiss me. He'd done it behind the bleachers outside school, away from prying eyes. I wasn't expecting it, and in turn the thrill of being kissed was that much more exciting, the result of which showed on both our faces afterwards.

Kneeling by my bed that night, I'd thanked God for sending me my angel. Then I'd asked Him to please make it so my parents never found out I'd let a boy kiss me, whether behind the school bleachers or elsewhere—even if all I'd received was an innocent peck on the cheek.

Luke drew his lips away then, smiling in a way that made his eyes crinkle with warmth and my own with tears. "I brought you something," he said. Slipping his hand inside the front pocket of his jeans, he eddied around, searching until his fingers closed over something. He withdrew his hand, clenched now into a loose fist, and held it out to me. His fingers uncurled, revealing a polished stone about the size of a silver dollar. The stone was a mix of yellow and brown, making me consider the edges of my granny's homemade cornbread. "I gave this to you," he told me, "on the eve of your twelfth birthday. You cherished it then. Said you'd keep it with you always."

My eyes widened. "How'd ya end up with it?"

Darkness flooded his face. "You gave it back to me. That night."

He was being nice. I'd thrown that stone at him, said I'd lied. That it was stupid, ugly, and meant absolutely nothing to me. I'd stood there, in the middle of that motel room, with all its filth and dinginess, my fists clenched so tight at my sides that when I looked later, my palms were nicked red from where my nails had cut into them. Tears of rage streaming down my face in long, thick streaks, I'd screamed at him: "'AIN'T NEVA BE NOTHIN BUT GODDAMN HILL-SCUM TRASH! Ya hear me, big-shot? Ya listenin? Then listen good! Iffen y'all dropped dead t'night, still it wouldn't make me shed even one tear!'"

Not.

One.

Single.

Tear.

"Where'd ya find it?" I asked, shame in my voice.

"I was cleaning out the old cabin," he said, "when I came across it."

"Memba a time when I wouldn't go nowheres widout that ole stone. Believed what ya said when ya done gave it t'me. That no matta where I went, or what all I did, it'd keep me safe. Ya done tole me it'd give me luck an confidence." Smiling a weary smile, I added in a voice barely above a whisper: "An it did, Luke. It did, it did…"

"I know it did, honey. That's why I'm giving it back to you." With that, he pushed the stone into my limp hand. His eyes lifted, and it was to Cal he spoke: "You look after her now, you hear? Treat her right. Love her. Protect her. Make her see that not every man who walks the earth is the Devil in disguise."

"He done that already." With renewed strength, I managed to roll my head over on the pillow and level my gaze with Cal's. His olive complexion had taken on a blotchy redness as huge, fat tears sprang from his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. Wriggling my hand free of his, I held mine up, and very gently I stroked his sweet, lovable face. Feeling the warm tears come away on my fingertips I, too, began to cry. "Oh, Cal. What a fool I've been…not t'see it till now…now, when it's too late…"

"But it isn't too late! It's never too late!" He seized my hand, pressed it to his cheek. "Tell me what you see."

Losing the battle with my tears, I replied with conviction, "See that I love ya. That I always have loved ya. Know it didn't seem that way most times. But it's true, Cal. It is. Jist wanted t'tell ya, before—"

"Before the nurse comes back," Luke interrupted quickly. "When she does, tell her you've changed your mind. That you've decided to have the operation after all."

How did he know about the mastectomy? Who had told him? One of the doctors? A nurse? Could it have been Nurse Vining? Shifting my head to the right, I stared at Luke, my eyes pleading with him to explain.

Reading my expression, he smiled. "Your sister, Maisie, told me. I didn't think she would, considering, but she was all too willing. Said she feels guilty for not making more of an effort to get to know you over the years."

It was hard to imagine my seventeen-year-old sister saying something like that—and to Luke, of all people! Maisie didn't know him, had never even met him, far as I knew. So I'd took for granted that any opinions her and Danny had about the Casteels would mirror the prejudices of our parents.

"What else she tell ya?" I asked.

"That she wants to try and be a better sister. She was crying when I turned up on your parents' porch. When I asked what was wrong, she refused to say. I just figured that what ever it was had to do with you."

That right there confirmed my suspicions: that Luke was in the dark about the events involving his daughter and my husband. Not to mention it explained Maisie's state of mind when he'd shown up at the house. She must be feeling guilty, was my reasoning. As awful as she was, I couldn't imagine my mother would have come down on my sister for the same reasons she had my daughter and husband. What was it, that old saying? Shoot the messenger? No. My mother was lacking in a lot of human qualities, that much was true—love, empathy, trust, etcetera—but a shortage of common sense wasn't one of them. She could spot her enemies a mile away or less, which was why she'd been so quick to judge Cal. From the moment I'd told my parents of the new man in my life, neither had liked him, a decision they'd made even before I'd introduced them, and afterward only became that much more intolerant of him. Calling him a gold-digger behind his back, then accusing me of being reckless and stupid for accepting his marriage proposal. Even after ten years, my parents still refused to accept my marriage to my husband. Now that they'd uncovered a legitimate reason to disapprove, the idea that they'd ever let up was as far-fetched as my belief that I'd be forever invincible.

Then there was Heaven.

In the eyes of Porter and Reva Setterton, my daughter would never be any better or more admired than her birthfather.

Now that news of Cal's betrayal of me and my parents' threats against Luke were out, I was amazed that my former lover had had guts enough to show up at the house. When I confessed to Luke my worries about this, he told me it was all all right, that my parents hadn't been there. "Neither was your brother," he added with what sounded like relief.

"Ya mean Danny? Oh. Ya don't gots t'worry none about him. He's all right. A little dim, but harmless as a garter snake."

"He's been to see you?"

"No." I flicked my eyes away, suddenly hurt. Not so much by Luke assuming that my brother would actually pay a visit to his dying sister in the hospital, but by the realization of just how little I mattered to my family. Maisie cared, I guessed, even though she hadn't done much yet to show it. "Ain't none of em have. Cept fer my motha. But only t'remind me what a burden I am."

Luke's eyes narrowed. "If I'd been here, there's no shortage of words I'd have loved to throw at her."

"Wouldn't of made no difference. She still woulda made ya feel no bigga than a beetle."

"I don't care. I'd still have fought for you."

I smiled. It was true. "Heaven ain't here now. But iffen ya'd kerr t'wait, y'all kin catch her when she visits lata."

"I actually need to be going in a minute," Luke said, "otherwise I would." Was it my imagination, or did I detect a note of regret in his words? "But I'd like to come again, in a few days. Stay longer. If it's all right with you."

"Course it's all right."

He nodded. Then, as if seeking further confirmation, he looked at Cal. "And with the permission of your husband."

Cal returned the nod, or gave some sort of silent approval, because I saw Luke smile.

Depending on whether I decided to go through with the operation, I wondered if he planned to drop by either before or after, but felt the subject was too serious not to run by Cal first. My husband, and the man I knew now I'd loved all along. "I'd like that," was my answer. "An I'll talk t'Heaven. Make sure she's here fer y'all's next visit."

"Thank you," Luke said. "I'd appreciate that. Incidentally, if you wouldn't mind, I was hoping you'd give her a message for me."

"What sort of message?" Cal interjected.

"That I'm sorry. I can't change the past, or take away the pain she and other members of our family have suffered. But I'd like to try—as hard as any man who loves his children can."

"What ya gonna do?" I asked.

"It's what I've already done, Kate. I've remarried, and make my living doing what I always dreamt of doing, back when you and I were kids. I appreciate all you and your husband have done for my daughter. I'd never try to take her from you. But I'd like a chance to be a real father to her—that is, if she'll allow it. I want to offer her a place to live, for how ever long you're in the hospital. My wife and I reside here, in the valley, in a cabin I've built. It's closer to the hospital than your parents' house, so Heaven will be able to visit you as often as she does now."

Luke's eyes were full of kindness, his smile the warmest I'd seen in years. Would he still be smiling if he learned what all I'd done to Heaven? What Cal had done? No, I told myself firmly. No, of course he wouldn't. He'd turn his back, and walk away, just like he did before.

"What about your oldest son?" asked Cal. "Tom? Doesn't he live right here, in Winnerrow? Suppose Kitty and I do agree to let Heaven come and stay with you. How is Tom going to feel, when he discovers that one of his siblings has been reunited with you, their father—and he's still living with the man you sold him to?"

In spite of Cal's harsh accusations, Luke still managed to hold a civil tongue. "You have every reason to think the worst of me, Mr. Dennison. I've no right to discredit you, or anyone else, for that. A man is only as good as his word, after all. It was my wife who first suggested I reach out to my children. I've spoken with Buck Henry, the man who bought Tom. He's agreed to let me have my son back, in exchange for the price Henry paid for him." Frowning, Luke seemed to consider something, then went on. "I have yet to contact the families of my other three children, however. Part of me wants to. Then there's the part that tells me to leave well enough alone. My middle daughter, Fanny, lives in town, with Reverend Wise and his wife, Rosalynn. Then there are my two youngest, Keith and Jane—called 'Our Jane' by her brothers and sisters. The pair are being raised together, in Maryland, where they are deeply loved and well cared for by their adoptive parents." A look of sorrow flitted its way over the surface of Luke's face at the mention of Keith and Jane, who even now were still just babies. "What right do I have to interfere," he finished, "when I know my kids are happy, right where they are?"

"Keith…an Our Jane," I whispered. They were names I'd heard Heaven speak a thousand times before, always with a brightness in her eyes and a trace of longing in her voice. I'd even tried to make her believe I'd known their whereabouts, just so I could throw the pretty bride doll that had looked so much like her real mother in the fireplace and watch it burn.

("…STOP that cryin! It were only a doll! Only a doll!")

Yes. Only a doll. And Luke had been only a boy. The boy I had loved. The boy my parents had torn mercilessly from my arms, just as I'd torn Heaven's treasured doll from hers.

"Don't worry," I assured Luke. "We'll be sure t'pass along yer message t'Heaven."

"Thank you. I can't tell you what it means to me that you'll do that. Now, I have just one other favor to ask. Then I promise I'll go, and let you rest."

"What's on yer mind?"

Reaching into his back pocket, Luke produced a small envelope that he handed to me. "I had planned to give this to Heaven when I saw her here today. Inside is a plane ticket to Boston, where her mother's parents live. I wouldn't have done this, except my father says Heaven is determined to go there herself one day. I've contacted her grandparents, and they're prepared to welcome her. By giving you this ticket, I'm not demanding that you see she uses it. I'm simply asking that you do what you feel would be in her best interests. If you don't think she should go, then by all means, tear up the ticket. You have my permission."

"Why is it so important that Kitty and I have a say in what Heaven's future should be?" asked Cal. "You're her father. I should think that decision would be up to you."

"Of all the women I have ever loved," Luke said, "it was Kate who wanted more than anything to be a mother. Ever since we were kids. When I took her dream away, I swore to myself I'd find some way of making it up to her."

"So you gave her Heaven."

"If it wasn't for my previous arrangement with the Goodwins—the other couple you met at the cabin that afternoon—I'd have driven Heaven to Georgia myself. As it turned out, I had told the Goodwins that if she didn't decide to go with them, then I would give them back the five-hundred dollars, which they'd already paid me in advance—as well as another five-hundred. I love my children very much, Mr. Dennison. I wanted to do all I could to ensure that they grew up as happy and healthy as possible."

"I never realized the lengths you'd gone to," Cal said, amazed, his former opinion of Luke seeming to sway a bit. "Not only for the sake of your own children, but for Kitty."

"All I ever wanted was her happiness. When I leave here today, it will be in the company of all my most cherished memories of her…and in knowing that my one wish for her has come true."

The smile that sprang to Luke's face seemed to soar high above my head like a bird taking flight, its wings bearing the hope I felt fill my heart. As it was, I still clung to uncertainty and fear when it came to my future with my husband. How it all turned out depended on one thing: my will to survive. If living was what I truly wanted, then I was going to have to follow Heaven's advice, and fight for it, wasn't I? What ever happened after that would be up to Cal. I loved him dearly, but I wouldn't stop him if he walked away from me after all this was over. He was twenty-seven, too young to give up his life and everything it had to offer in order to care for his ailing wife. A wife, I thought with a stab of regret, who'd never appreciated how truly wonderful he was, or noticed any of the countless, heartfelt ways he'd gone about showing and reminding me all I was to him.

I was going over in my mind what all I could do to at least try to mend the disaster I'd made of my marriage, when Luke rose from his chair. He was sorry, he said, but really he had to get going now. He'd promised his wife, who was out shopping, that he'd retrieve their one-year-old son, Drake, from the sitter's. "Take care, Kate," Luke said. "The next time we see each other, I pray it will be under a more positive set of circumstances."

Too weak to watch Luke round the bed, I let my focus fall instead to his now empty chair and small dresser sitting behind it. I listened to him exchange friendly good-byes with my husband, their voices consequently followed by Luke's footsteps retreating back across the polished tiles. I heard the door open, and I called out to Luke softly:

"Before ya go, will y'all do me a fava?"

"If it's within my power, then yes." Silence, and then: "What is it you need me to do?"

"Write t'yer daughta. Tell her all t'thins ya done tole us here t'day. Think they'd mean more iffen they come from ya steada me."

In a flash, Luke had bounded back across the room to my side. Lowering himself into the same chair he'd occupied moments earlier, he said, "Do you know where I can find some paper? Maybe an envelope?"

"I think I saw a notepad and some envelopes inside this drawer here," Cal said, referring to the bedside table at his right.

"On second thought," Luke said, "I think I'll write a separate note to slip in with the plane ticket." He was still talking when I heard Cal yank open the table's drawer. "There are things I planned to tell her I'd have preferred to say in person."

"Don't ya be frettin none ova that," I said. "Won't matta how or what ya says, so long as it's from yer heart."

As Luke got to work on his letter-writing, I was left to devote myself to my husband. Cal tightened his hand around mine, a gesture I found to be both soothing and reassuring. He'd always had something of a sixth sense when it came to understanding other people's feelings. The oldest of six kids in a family of devout Catholics, Cal's mother believed her son's ability to be a gift from God. Cal had only to touch somebody's hand, or even just sit beside them, so that what ever was troubling them would fade like clouds in the sky after a storm. But it was his willingness to accept and respond to people just as they were, without judgment or expectation, that had first attracted me to him. And I knew, as I found myself in awe of that handsome, tear-stained face, that it was Cal I loved, and no one else.

The realization that I was responsible for the sadness echoing like search lights in those loving brown eyes forced me to turn my face away in shame. Whether by convenience or pure accident, my gaze fell once more to Luke. He had finished his letters, and was sliding the second into the little envelope containing Heaven's plane ticket when a thought struck me.

"Hold on a sec," I said. "There's still one last thin ya gots t'put in that letta t'yer daughta."

Pausing, Luke raised his eyes to mine. His hand with the letter hung just inches above the open flap of the envelope.

"That couple from Maryland. T'ones done bought Keith an Our Jane. What's their name? Their last name? Write it. An t'address where they all be livin. Write that, too. Please, Luke. Iffen ya meant even half of what ya tole me before, y'all will do what I'm askin."

Staring out across the room, Luke appeared to have lapsed into a state of deep reflection. Finally, he picked up the pen he'd laid on the swivel tray between my bed and the bathroom door. He went on to jot something down at the bottom of the paper. The pen failed to produce any ink, prompting him to give it a forceful shake. When that proved unsuccessful, he fished from his pocket a stubby pencil. It had teeth marks in it and a ground out eraser, but it served its purpose well, judging by his feverish scribbling. Once he'd finished, he refolded the note and slipped it into the envelope alongside the plane ticket.

"Give it here," I ordered, "an t'otha one, too. Gotta keep em both safe fer when Heaven comes."

Without a word, Luke handed me the small envelope, and Cal the slightly larger one. I smiled to see Heaven's name written in Luke's graceful, precise hand on the back of the larger envelope.

"Ya always did have t'neatest, nicest handwritin." My praise was tainted by the shards of resentment that had clouded my childhood and helped fuel my pathetic self image. "Was always jealous of ya fer that."

Following a meek nod, Luke stood to go, promising he would pay me another visit within the coming days. Bending low over the bed, he planted a silent kiss on my forehead. He straightened up, and stretched his burly right arm across me to shake the hand of Cal, who surprised everyone by accepting the hand being offered him.

"That was a very kind thing you did," Cal said, after Luke had gone and we were alone. "Convincing Heaven's father to write the names of Keith and Our Jane's adopted parents in that note."

"It jus ain't right," I said. "Keepin yer daughta from t'sista an brotha she helped rear. Besides, afta all I done, I owe it t'Heaven t'try an set thins right."

Cal didn't answer, but I could tell by the thoughtfulness as it settled in his damp eyes me that he agreed with me. So Heaven would be sure to see it when she walked in, I set the envelope with her name on it down on the side of the bed facing the door. I was less confident about the second envelope. She was only seventeen. Too young to go off on her own to a big, far-away city like Boston. Cal seemed to sense my anxiety, for he plucked the envelope from between my fingers and slid it beneath the pillow.

"You heard what Luke said," he reminded gently. "We are under no obligation to fulfill any promises. It's up to us to decide whether or not Heaven ever reads this note."

"Yeah." Settling back against the pillows, I closed my eyes. I was so tired. "Luke were nice, though, weren't he?" I murmured drowsily. "Couldn't believe my eyes when I looked an seen him standin in t'doorway with Nurse Vinin. An he sounded sorry, really sorry, didn't he, Cal?"

"He did. Actually, I believe the word that best describes Luke Casteel is 'humbled'."

Opening my eyes, I ogled him in confusion. "What's that word mean? Humbled?"

"Simply put, he's ashamed of himself, and the pain you endured on his behalf."

I was too exhausted to remind Cal that not everything that had happened was because of Luke. "That's what I thought, too," I said, meaning this and every word that followed. "That he were ashamed. Even though it weren't his doin so much it was my ma an pa's, he done still apologized. Took responsibility. Meant a lot he'd do that, it did."

"I know it did, sweetheart. And I'm so glad it gave you the closure you've sought all these years. But you should sleep now. Heaven will be here soon, and you do want to be rested for her visit."

"Will ya stay wit me?"

The tension I was starting to think was well on its way to becoming a permanent fixture to Cal's once happy face dissolved, giving rise to a contented smile. "I'll be right here when you wake up," he promised.

Feeling the stress flow out and away from my aching, ravaged body was like watching water spiral its way down a drain. No longer feeling weighted down by my fear and depression, I had no trouble letting my eyes slide closed. Running my thumb over the stone Luke had placed in my hand, I concentrated on its smooth texture, inviting the image of two young children to fill my memory and heal my broken heart…

"What t'heck… What. Is. THAT?" Crouching ever lower behind the bleachers overlooking the school's deserted baseball field, I inspected the small object in Luke's hand. Squinting through the fading summer light, I asked, "Is it a bug?" I backed away, suddenly terrified. "Kinda looks like it t'me. Iffen it is…iffen y'all's jus wantin t'skerr me…"

Luke laughed, and I could swear my face turned the same color my father's nose did every time he drank more than two glasses of brandy. "Ya sure are a girl, Katherine Setterton," Luke taunted. "Ain't no bug. This here's a stone—an a might pretty one, don't ya think? Found it when Emmett an Clay brung me fishin down by t'crick. Took it home an showed it t'my pa. He done tole me it were called tiga's eye. Says whoeva has it stays safe an feels brave." He grinned triumphantly. "So's I'm givin it t'ya, Kate. Happy birthday."

When I opened my eyes a short time later, it was Cal I saw first, sitting right where he swore he would be, in the chair next to my bed. So that I wouldn't trigger any pain or discomfort in my head or neck, I was slow in the way I glanced around the room. The pink roses Luke had brought me had been neatly arranged in a crystal vase and placed on the nightstand beside my husband. The love in his eyes mingled with the glistening of fresh tears, making his eyes appear more gold than brown. I smiled at him. Smiling back, he gently rubbed my palm with the tops of his fingers.

Oh! Had his hand stayed holding mine, all this time?

"Hey there, stranga," I whispered.