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"Heaven," said Cal from a few feet away, "would you rather sit on the floor and read letters all day than go to the movies?"

In a moment I was up, showing him the letter, eagerly telling him the contents even as he read them for himself. He appeared as delighted as I felt. Then he began to look through his own mail. "Why, here's another envelope for Miss Heaven Leigh Casteel," he said with a broad grin, handing a heavy brown envelope to me.

A dozen snapshots were inside, and three photographs taken at a professional portrait shop.

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Oh, dear God--snapshots of Keith and Our Jane playing on the grass in a garden behind a huge, beautiful house. "Polaroid shots," said Cal, looking over my shoulder. "What beautiful children."

I stared at the lovely children in expensivelooking play clothes, both sitting in a sandbox with a bright awning overhead. Behind them was a swimming pool, the chairs and tables placed on flagstone borders. The same man and wife were there, wearing swimsuits, smiling lovingly at Keith and Our Jane. It was summer where they were! Summer! Did that mean Florida? California? Arizona? I studied the other snapshots that showed Our Jane laughing as Keith pushed her on a swing play-yard set. Others taken in her pretty bedroom with all the dolls and toys. Our Jane sleeping in a fancy little bed, all ruffled, with a pink canopy overhead. Keith in his blue room full of all kinds of toys and picture books. Then I opened a large, elaborate cardboard folder to see Our Jane really dressed up, in pink organdy with ruffles, her hair curled, looking as if she belonged in the movies, smiling at whoever was snapping her picture; and there was another of Keith dressed in a cute blue suit, wearing a small tie, and a third portrait showing them together.

"It cost money to take portraits like those," Cal said from over my shoulder. "See how they're dressed. Heaven, they are very beloved children, well cared for and happy. Why, look at the shine in their eyes. Unhappy children couldn't fake smiles like that-- smiles that light up their faces. Why, in some ways you should thank God your father did sell them."

I didn't realize how much I was crying until Cal blotted my tears by holding me against his chest. "There, there . . ." he crooned, cuddling me in his arms, giving me his handkerchief to blow my nose. "Now you can sleep at night without crying and calling out for them. Once you hear from Tom, your whole world will brighten. You know, Heaven, there are very few Kittys in this world. I'm just sorry you had to be the one to suffer at her hands . . . but I'm here. I'll do what I can to protect you from her." He held me close, closer, so I felt every curve of my body pressed against his.

Alarm filled me. Was this right? Should I pull away to let him know he shouldn't? But it had to be right, or he wouldn't be doing it. Still, I felt uneasy enough to push him away, though I smiled tearfully into his face, and turned so we could leave, but not before I carefully hid the letter and the photographs. For some reason I didn't want Kitty to see how lovely Pa's other two children were.

That Saturday was even more special than the others had been. Now I could really enjoy myself, knowing Our Jane and Keith weren't really suffering . . . and someday I'd know about Tom, too.

It was ten-thirty when Cal and I drove back from Atlanta, both of us rather tired from trying to do too much: see a three-hour movie, eat in a restaurant, and do some shopping. Clothes for me that Cal didn't want Kitty to see. "I hate those saddle shoes as much as you do. However, don't let her see these new ones," he warned before we drove into the garage. "Sneakers are fine for gym, and the Mary Janes she bought for church are just too young for you now. I'll keep these locked in one of my workshop cabinets, and give you a duplicate key. And if I were you, I'd never let my wife see that doll or anything that once belonged to your mother. I'm ashamed to say that Kitty has an abnormal hatred for a poor dead girl who couldn't have known she was taking from Kitty the one man she could truly love."

That hurt, really hurt. I turned big sad eyes his way. "Cal, she loves you. I know she does."

"No, she doesn't, Heaven. She needs me once in a while, to show off as her 'prize catch'--a college man--'her man,' as she so often puts it. But she doesn't love me. Underneath all those exaggerated feminine curves is hidden a small, cold soul that hates men . . all men. Maybe your father made her that way, I don't know. I pity her, though. I've tried for years and years to help her overcome her traumatic childhood. She was beaten by her father, by her mother, and forced to sit in hot water to kill her sins, and handcuffed to her bed so she wouldn't run off with some boy. Then, the moment she was set free, she ran off with the first man she met. Now I've given up. I'm just hanging around until one day I can't take any more--then I'll go."

"But you said you loved her!" I cried out. Didn't you stay when you loved? Could pity be the same as love?

"Let's go in," he said gruffly. "There's Kitty's car. She's home, and there will be hell to pay. Don't say anything. Let me do the talking."

Kitty was in the kitchen pacing the floor. "Well!" she shouted when we came in the back way. "Where ya been? Why ya look so guilty? What ya been doin?"

"We went to the movies," said Cal, stalking by Kitty and heading for the stairs. "We ate dinner in the kind of restaurant you seem to hate. Now we're going to bed. I suggest you say good night to Heaven, who must be as tired as I am, after cleaning this house from top to bottom before noon."

"She ain't done one damn thin on my lists!" snapped Kitty. "She went off with ya an left this house a mess!"

She was right. I hadn't really done much housecleaning, since nothing ever seemed to get messy and dirty, and Kitty seldom bothered to check.

I tried to follow where Cal led, but Kitty reached out and seized my arm. Cal didn't look back.

"Ya damned stupid kid," she hissed. "Ya put my best china in t'washer, didn't ya? Don't ya know I neva use my Royal Dalton and Lenox unless there's company? It's not fer every day! Ya done chipped my plates, two of em! Ya done stacked my cups, broke a handle! Cracked anotha! Didn't I tell ya neva t'stack my cups, but t'hang em up?"

"No, you never told me that. You just said don't stack them."

"I did tell ya! I warned ya! Ya don't do what I say not t'do!"

Slap slap slap.

"How many times do I have t'tell ya?"

Slap slap slap.

"Didn't ya see t'hooks under t'shelves--didn't ya?"

Sure, I'd seen the hooks, and hadn't known what they were for. She hadn't had the cups hung from the hooks. I tried to explain, to apologize, promising to pay for the plates. Her eyes grew scornful. "How ya gonna do that, dummy? Those dishes cost eighty-five dollars a place settin--ya got that kind of dough?"

I was shocked. Eighty-five dollars! How could I know the fancy dishes in the dining-room breakfront were only for looking at, never for using?

"Yer a damned fool--that's my best--took me foreva payin fer all those cups, saucers, plates, an thins--now ya gone an ruined my thins--goddam Jesus Christ idiot hill-scum trash!"