Page 8

"Why can't you trust me?" he had asked when he thought me asleep, his voice tender, his hands gentle as he smoothed back the damp fringe of hair from my forehead. "I saw you with that Cal Dennison and I wanted to shove him through the wall. I saw you once with that Troy you keep calling for, and I hated him. I've been a fool, Heaven, a damned fool, and now I've lost you."

But he hadn't lost me after all, and now I felt guilty even gazing at the maze and thinking of Troy and the love that was lost when he took his life. I couldn't help the way those memories tore at my heart and brought tears to my eyes. I hid my face from Logan, knowing how unfair it was for me to think about another may I had loved, even if I thought about him only for a few seconds.

"Incredible," Logan said, his hands on his hips. His head bobbed as he surveyed the grounds before him.

"We'll go inside; you'll freshen up, and then I'll show you about ... or would you rather do it, Heaven?" Tony asked me quickly.

"What? No, no, that's all right. I suppose I should go to see Jillian," I said, looking at the dark, high, and wide windows behind which my maternal grandmother had imprisoned herself.

"Of course," Tony said and led us to the front doors that Curtis opened perfectly on cue. He stood back smiling and I went forward quickly to greet him.

"Welcome home, miss," he said and I blushed. When I looked at Tony, I saw an expression of satisfaction. I half suspected he had told Curtis to say that. I introduced Logan, who gave him a quick, perfunctory greeting and moved farther into the house.

Once inside, Logan turned in slow circles, looking more like one of the hill people being brought down from the mountains for the first time. It made me remember, nostalgically, my own first aweinspiring sight of Farthy. How long ago it seemed. How quickly I'd grown used to its riches.

I peered into the enormous living room and stared at the grand piano that Troy used to play whenever he came to the great house. For a moment I thought I could once again hear the lilt of Chopin, the kind of romantic melody that could charm and thrill me. I imagined Troy seated there, his long, slender fingers rippling over the keyboard. I trembled in the archway.

"Heaven?"

"What?" I turned slowly to look at bOth Logan and Tony.

"Talk about being in a daze," Logan said.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I was telling Logan that I had your old rooms prepared; I thought you'd be most comfortable there," Tony said.

"Oh, of course. Thank you, Tony. We'll go right up."

"Your bags have arrived and are being taken up now," he added. We started for the marble stairway.

"I've never seen so many murals in one room," Logan said, looking into the music room. "It's like a museum." Tony laughed. "My wife used to be an illustrator for children's books. That was before she went mad . . ." Tony fumbled around the word, obviously wishing to take it back. He cleared his throat. "I'm afraid I let her get a bit carried away in there."

Logan strained to look over the domed ceiling with its painted sky, its flying birds, a man riding a magic carpet, and a mystical castle half-hidden by clouds.

"Kids would love it in here," Logan said.

"I agree," Tony said quickly. "I hope someday there will be some to enjoy it." Once again he narrowed his gaze at me. "Why don't you two lovebirds go upstairs and freshen up now? I'm sure you'd like to be alone before dinner "

But Logan continued his study of the ceiling, as if he hadn't heard Tony.

"Logan," I said, "I would like to take a shower. I started up the stairs. "Logan?"

"What? Oh, yeah, sure."

Logan hurried up after me and we went to my old rooms. "Jeez, what a suite," he said when we passed through the wide double doors. The servants had brought up our bags and one of the maids was already hanging up our clothing in the bedroom closets.

Bright afternoon sunlight poured through the pale ivory sheets to make the sitting room look even warmer than usual. The green, violets, and blues in the delicate ivory silk wall covering were more vibrant than ever. It was as if the room had come to life, using all its charm and beauty to woo me back. Logan had seen only a small part of it, but he was already charmed, drunk, intoxicated by Farthy's majestic size and beauty. He dropped himself into one of the two small sofas and stretched out his arms.

"You did live like a princess," he said. "I can't believe you gave all this up to live in a cabin in the Willies."

"Well, I did," I said. "And you should be very happy that I did. Otherwise, we might not have ever found each other again." Then I softened my voice. "I am so happy to be your bride, Mr. Stonewall."

Impetuously I leaned over and kissed him.

"Heaven, darling," he said, "I don't know what I would have done without you. . . . If you hadn't . ." He held me by the shoulders. "I would have lost you forever." We started to kiss again when I realized the maid was standing in the bedroom doorway.

"Will there be anything else, Mrs. Stonewall?" she asked. She was new, a woman probably in her early forties, a little too stiff and proper for my taste, but probably an excellent servant, I thought.