Whitefern (14 page)

“Sylvia?” I called. I listened but heard nothing. Of course, Arden would have gotten up, dressed, and been long gone.

I groaned as I got up again, scrubbed my cheeks with my palms, and went into the bathroom. The face I saw in the mirror looked like it belonged to Rip Van Winkle, the face of someone who had slept for years. There were spidery creases in my cheeks, and my hair was like a garden of weeds growing in all directions. My eyes were gray and lifeless.

There was no point in standing there and waiting for the memory of the night before to return. I threw off my nightgown and stepped into the shower, deliberating whether to turn on cold water to jerk every sleeping muscle in my body awake. When I got back out, I felt more like Lazarus, happy to have stepped out of a grave. I quickly dried myself off, then hurriedly dressed and started down the stairs.

“Sylvia,” I called. “Are you downstairs?”

At first, I heard nothing, and then I heard her answer me, but from above. She was in the cupola. I turned and went up to her. She was seated at her easel
and leaning over her work. She sat back, and I saw the baby she had begun to draw now completed and painted in watercolors. Only she had painted his eyes a flaming red, so bright they looked like a fire was burning behind them. Every little detail of the baby's face was just as vivid, from the twist in his mouth that gave him a ridiculing smile to the thinness of his slightly pointed nose and the gauntness in his cheeks. She had drawn a baby, but it looked like a man in a baby's body.

“Why did you paint him like that?” I asked, my voice breathless.

“It's how Papa told me to paint him.” She paused. “He's coming.”

“That's not a pretty baby, Sylvia. You told me you were going to draw a pretty baby.”

She looked up at me angrily. She hadn't looked at me that way for a very long time, since when she was a little girl and I would tell her she couldn't have something.

“It's Papa's pretty baby,” she insisted.

“All right. All right. Draw and paint what you want. Did you have your breakfast?”

“Yes. Arden and I had breakfast.”

“Arden and you? You got up yourself when he got up?”

She looked back at her picture. “I think the baby is beautiful.”

“Good. Look, I'm sorry I slept so late. I don't know what happened. It was probably that pill I took,” I said. She had no idea what I was talking about, but
I continued. “I shouldn't have had anything alcoholic with it. I guess I just passed out. I'm surprised neither of you woke me. You left me downstairs.”

She continued to stare at her picture. I didn't know if she even heard me or if she understood why I was upset. She slowly turned and looked up at me, her eyelids narrow as she focused on her thoughts. “Babies are grown first inside you. When it's time for them to come out, God pushes them gently, and they flow out,” she recited. “They have to be delivered to you. That's the man's job. Afterward, you carry the baby around like a mailman carries a letter in his pouch, and then the letter has to be opened.”

“Who told you all that? Did Mr. Price tell you that? Well? Answer me. Did he?”

“Papa told me,” she said.

“When? When?”

“I don't remember,” she said, and looked back at her picture. “Maybe he never told you, and that's why you don't have a baby yet.” She smiled. “But you will. There's a baby coming . . . see?”

“Not that baby, I hope,” I said. “Did Mr. Price ever take off his clothes when he was with you, Sylvia?”

“I don't remember,” she said too quickly.

“It won't be your fault if he did. Did he?”

“I don't remember,” she said. She smiled again. “I made you lunch. Egg salad. Is it time for lunch?”

“Oh, Sylvia,” I said, shaking my head. I glanced at her baby painting. “Yes, it's time for lunch. I hope you'll work on a prettier baby now.”

Looking at the image, she simply said, “If Papa tells me.”

Feeling exhausted again, I started out. She followed me, babbling about her egg salad, describing every step of the process the way I had taught her. I made myself some coffee and toast and actually ate the egg salad. It was delicious. She ate some, too, being as messy as ever.

Arden called a little while later to see how I was. “I tried to pick you up, but I wasn't exactly in a steady enough condition myself,” he explained. “I figured you'd come up when you were ready. We had a good time, though. It's been long in coming. Good to hear some laughter in our house, wouldn't you say?”

“If I could remember it, yes,” I said.

He laughed. “That's all right. You drank a little too much. I'll make sure that doesn't happen again.”

“I don't think I want to take another pill, Arden.”

“It did what it was supposed to, Audrina. Your sister was happy again. It felt good. Let's try to keep our house pleasant now. This coming weekend, I'll take both of you to Don's Steak House. It's a bit of a ride, but the food's great.”

“You will?”

“Yes, I will. As long as you make an effort, too. Okay?”

I paused, thinking. Could he be right?

“Okay?”

“Yes, Arden, okay,” I said.

I continued with the pills. It wasn't that they made me happy, exactly, but they kept me so subdued
and calm that I didn't do or say much to change the new atmosphere Arden wanted in our home. I found myself falling asleep faster and earlier and waking up confused. What was worst of all was that dream. It returned. One time, Arden was naked, and so was Sylvia in the rocking chair. I watched the whispering and then saw Papa's face, and the dream ended.

I was afraid to mention it. I was beginning to believe that one of the side effects of the pill was nightmares. I did tell Arden that without going into detail.

“Okay,” he said. “Maybe you'll do fine now without it. Put it aside for a while. Besides, I want you fully alert and hungry for our night out this weekend. Why don't you take Sylvia to buy a new dress and buy yourself one, too?”

“Yes,” I said. “That sounds good. Oh, Arden, I'm sorry I've put you through so much.”

“I'm not upset. Ups and downs are part of marriage, part of life. If anyone should know that, it's you, Audrina Lowe.”

He kissed me, and I felt happiness surging back. I did what he suggested, went shopping for new clothes for both Sylvia and myself. I got us matching shoes, too. Despite her poorer eating habits for a while after the incident with Mr. Price, I noticed she had gained weight. She didn't look too heavy; it wasn't anything like that. In fact, she looked like she was blossoming, filling out. Even her breasts looked somewhat larger.

On our way home, Sylvia talked more than usual. She asked many questions about the stores, the other houses we saw, and people on the street. Her curiosity
was never sharper. I laughed about it, and she laughed, too. We were all getting better, I thought. Arden was right about everything. But when Sylvia mentioned her picture of the baby again and asked me what name it would have, I decided I had better be firmer about it. There was too much dreaming going on at Whitefern. It was something I remembered Momma saying from time to time.

“I am not pregnant yet, Sylvia. I don't know if I will be, and unless you adopt a baby, go to an orphanage and choose one, you can't get a baby. I'm afraid the stork doesn't really bring them.” I smiled. “Understand?”

She shook her head. “Baby's coming,” she insisted.

Rather than upset her after such a pleasant day of shopping, I decided to drop the subject.

But to my surprise, she wouldn't. As soon as we entered the house, she turned to me and said, “Baby's inside me. He's coming.”

I grabbed her shoulder. “What? Sylvia, what did you say?”

She turned, her arms full of her packages. “Baby is coming.”

I thought for a moment. When was the last time I had checked on her period? Although she was good at taking care of herself once a month, I usually followed up, especially if she complained about cramps. I realized that she hadn't complained about anything.

I hurried to her as she started away and grabbed her arm so hard to turn her that she dropped her boxes. “Oh, look at what you made me do.”

“Forget that, Sylvia. Did you have your period? Did you take care of it?”

“No.”

“No? What are you saying?” I stood there, thinking hard, as she picked up her boxes. “Sylvia?”

“I don't remember,” she said. “But I don't care. I don't like it.” She walked to the stairway. “We have to get dressed up,” she said. “Come on, Audrina. You said we'd do my hair, too.”

I nodded and watched her walk up the stairs.

Was my heart still beating?

“I'll be right up,” I shouted to her, and hurried to the telephone.

To my surprise and delight, Arden picked up instead of Mrs. Crown. “Hey,” he said. “My secretary is in the restroom,” he added, as if that was important. “Did you get some nice things?”

“Arden . . .”

“I'm still here, Audrina. Yes?”

“I think . . . I'm afraid . . .”

“What?”

“Sylvia.”

“What about her now?”

“She might be pregnant,” I said. The words seemed to burn my lips. I couldn't swallow.

“Arden?”

“Why do you say that?”

“She missed periods. I forgot to check her, and she even said she had a baby in her.”

“How would she know that?”

“I don't know.”

“Next thing you'll tell me is she said your father told her,” he said. “Lucky this is a slow day. I'll come home early, but please be sure this isn't something imagined. I'm mentally exhausted. With both of you,” he added, and hung up.

From somewhere in the shadows of Whitefern, I could hear Vera's gleeful laugh.

Truth Is the Loneliest of All

“I hope this isn't a false alarm, Audrina. You tend to get very melodramatic about everything these days,” Arden said the moment he entered the house. He ripped off his scarf and took off his coat angrily. I knew he was upset about having to come home early.

The two of us went into the living room to talk. Sylvia was upstairs. He poured himself a drink quickly, claiming he needed it to settle himself down. He had rushed out of the office and left others to answer important calls.

“I'm sorry, Arden. I thought you should know right away.”

“It seems to me that all we do these days is move from one crisis to another. It makes my head spin.”

He turned to me with his drink in hand and took a long swallow.

I was tired of saying everything was my fault, but it was. Why didn't I check on Sylvia earlier? Why didn't I tell Arden that I had the terrible suspicion something more might have happened between Sylvia and Mr. Price?

He looked a bit calmer after the whiskey settled in his stomach. “Now, as I understand it, Audrina, women can miss periods for reasons other than pregnancy,” he said, sitting in his favorite chair, which had been Papa's favorite. He continued to sip his drink and looked at me, probably expecting me to be more optimistic, too. But I wasn't.

“She's missed two periods. After I called you, I went upstairs to talk to her. I asked her questions as directly and simply as I could.”

“And?” He leaned forward. “Well? What did she tell you?”

“All she talks about is Papa telling her she can bring a baby to Whitefern. That he will help.”

“He will help? How's he supposed to do that from the grave?”

“Nothing she says makes sense, but she did admit again that Mr. Price had touched her when she was completely naked.”

“You don't make someone pregnant by touching her,” he said, leaning back and finishing his drink.

“She never complained, but her breasts are somewhat swollen and tender. As far as I know, she has had no nausea, but that doesn't always occur. I don't count how many times she urinates, and she hasn't shown more fatigue than usual, but everyone reacts differently to being pregnant. While I was waiting for you, I read up on it as much as I could. So? What should we do?”

He stared at me a moment, his eyes taking on that now familiar mix of anger and determination. “For now, I'd like you to do nothing, Audrina,” he said.

“Nothing?”

“Don't say anything more to her about it. She'll just get more confused, and who knows what will happen?”

“We should at least bring her to Dr. Prescott,” I said. “He can give her a full examination and tell us exactly what's happening.”

“Let's wait. If it's something else, we'll only have opened a can of worms.”

“And if it's not something else?”

He stared at me so long that I thought he hadn't heard the question.

“I mean, if she is pregnant, Arden . . .”

He shrugged and relaxed again. “We wanted a baby,” he said softly.

“What?”

“She's your sister,” he said, his gaze never wavering. “You have the same blood. It's almost the same as you having a baby.”

“What?”

“Stop saying ‘What?' I'm just thinking aloud.”

“But it won't be our baby, Arden.”

“You once suggested we adopt . . . not so long ago, in fact, didn't you?”

“Yes, but . . .”

“Well, at least you know the mother of this child. If it's a boy, he could look more like your father.”

“But everyone would know.”

“They don't have to know,” he said. He put his empty glass down. “This is a house that has an easy time keeping secrets. What's another?”

“How do we keep this one? Eventually, she'll need real medical attention.”

He smiled. “First, do you agree with me that if she is pregnant, the baby is at least half an Adare? The baby's half you?”

“It's not half me—it's half Sylvia. But yes, it does have our family blood.”

“And certainly belongs here more than some strange orphan, then, right?”

“Yes, but I was thinking more about Sylvia, actually. She could never be a real mother, and people who find out about the child will assume the child is like her, with her disadvantages. He or she would have a difficult time in public school. I can't imagine other people permitting their children to play with Sylvia's.”

“Let's not worry about that yet,” he said. “Let's wait to confirm that this is true beyond a doubt, Audrina. I have a way of confirming it one way or another without risking any embarrassment.”

“What way?”

“I know someone who will definitely keep any secret involving us, whether the secret was born in Whitefern or not.”

“Who?”

“Her name is Helen Matthews. She's a retired maternity nurse. We have her retirement portfolio. It's not a very big one, but it's something. I know she could use the money, and she's very reliable. She would keep a confidence if I asked her to.”

“How do you know that?”

“Let's just say I know a secret pertaining to her.”

“What secret?”

“If I told you, it wouldn't be a secret, and she'd have no reason to believe I'd be reliable, trustworthy, thus she would have no reason to keep our confidence. But believe me, she does, and she will.”

“How did she come to be one of my father's clients?”

“She wasn't. She became one of mine. I approached her one day and persuaded her to transfer her funds into our brokerage. That's all beside the point,” he said, waving his hand at me as if he was chasing off a fly. “The point is, she was a practicing maternity nurse for more than thirty years and on many occasions delivered babies all by herself. I wouldn't exactly call her a midwife, either. She's more educated. She almost became a doctor.”

“She lives in our village?”

“Not far, on the outskirts. She did once, but when her husband died and her son moved off to marry and live in New York City, she got herself a smaller home.”

“But she's not a doctor, Arden. Sylvia would need real medical attention.”

“Stop saying that,” he snapped back at me. “I assure you that she can do whatever Dr. Prescott can do. And she has the wherewithal to do it all at my request. Can't you trust me on this? Don't you have any faith in me at all as the head of this household? Am I forever going to walk six paces behind in your father's shadow, a shadow you insist on casting over everything involving this house and us? How do you think this makes me feel?”

“It's not that. Honest it isn't, Arden. I feel so . . . overwhelmed and so stupid,” I said.

He smirked, shook his head, and took a deep breath. “Audrina, Audrina, Audrina, what would you have done if you realized it earlier? Would you have taken her for an abortion?”

I looked up at him. The thought had crossed my mind.

“Of course, I thought of it, too, but regardless of the situation, the child is still your father's grandchild, is it not?”

“But . . .”

“But nothing. It's too late to sit around and ponder. Let's get a confirmation of your suspicions, and then we'll make a decision, a decision best for us all, not just Sylvia,” he added. “Okay?”

“Matthews. That name is familiar.”

“Her son attended Whitefern High School, but he was a grade ahead of me. Well? I'd like to get things arranged today, Audrina. I do have a business to run.”

“Well, if you think she's capable . . .”

“I don't think it. I know it. Didn't you listen to anything I said?”

“All right. Then do what you think best, Arden. I feel too overwhelmed to think straight.”

“Exactly.” He stood and started for his office. “Where is she now?”

“She's up in her room getting herself ready for dinner at the restaurant tonight.”

“You sure you'll be up for it now?” he asked.

“Oh, yes. I don't want to disappoint her. Or myself,” I added.

He smiled. “Nor should you, nor should any of us. I'll make arrangements with Mrs. Matthews and come up to shower, shave, and dress. I'll think of something to celebrate,” he said. He turned to start away.

“We'll wait for Mrs. Matthews to examine her, but in my heart, I feel Sylvia was right,” I said.

“What?” He turned back. “About what? She didn't diagnose herself, did she? You haven't educated her that well.”

“No, but if you'll remember, she was the one who predicted that there was a baby coming,” I said.

He shrugged. “You're a tribe of witches. What can I say?” He laughed and walked on.

If Sylvia had even the slightest suspicion that I was worried about her now, she didn't show it or maybe even care. She was too excited about going to a restaurant for dinner. She flitted about, gazing at herself in the mirror every ten seconds, checking her hair and her makeup. I continually had to assure her that she looked pretty enough to go out. Finally, I decided to share some of Momma's jewelry with her, something I rarely wore myself.

She was stunned when I opened the case with the rectangular diamonds in a necklace and matching earrings.

“You can wear this tonight, Sylvia.”

“Me?”

I plucked the necklace out and put it on her. She sat gazing at herself in the mirror. It lay just at the peak of
her cleavage. She touched it, her eyes wide with more feminine pride than I ever thought her capable of having. Then I showed her how to put on the earrings. She looked at me to see if I approved.

“It all looks beautiful on you, Sylvia. Momma would have been very proud.”

“But what will you wear?”

“I have something Arden bought me four years ago. Don't worry.”

She turned to look at herself again and ran her fingers over the diamonds.

For a few minutes, at least, I thought maybe I could, for the evening, put aside my fears and anxiety and really enjoy myself. Helping her choose what to wear, sitting beside her at her vanity table, and doing my own makeup, I did feel as I had dreamed I would with my younger sister, two young women giggling and flirting with their images in a mirror.

Aunt Ellsbeth, Vera, and even Papa would surely be sitting up in their graves, astounded that I had brought her so far from the disabled little girl who had been brought to Whitefern and left for us all to treat as a burden. Of course, she was still a far bigger responsibility than a young woman half her age would be. Pregnancy would be terrifying for her. No matter how many times I explained things to her, she would be confused. I hoped this Mrs. Matthews would be sensitive to all that. I made a mental note to be sure Arden impressed her with just how special this patient would be.

Arden was dressed to the nines, as Papa would say.
He had never looked more handsome and successful in his charcoal-black suit and silver tie. And when Sylvia and I descended the stairs, he raved about how beautiful we were. Sylvia actually flushed with embarrassment when he winked at me and gave her a kiss before hooking his arm with hers and then with mine.

“I'll be the envy of every man there,” he declared. He walked us out and then surprised me by saying, “Why don't you two sit in the back? I'll be like your chauffeur tonight.”

He followed that with a look suggesting that I should stay close to Sylvia and keep her comfortable and confident. He held open the door for us, and we got into the car.

“I have the Whitefern girls,” he declared. “No man could ask for more.”

There was probably no one better at ignoring and avoiding unhappy thoughts than Arden. Look at how well he had done with all that had happened to me. The way he was behaving right now made it seem like everything we had discussed earlier was simply a misunderstanding. I was afraid to interfere with his joviality by asking after Mrs. Matthews, how the phone call had gone. It would wait until later, when we were alone.

After all, I had yet to tell Sylvia that I thought she was pregnant. It was probably better to wait until Mrs. Matthews confirmed it, and then the explanations would begin. How dark that tunnel through which we would pass looked to me now.
Blot it out for the moment, or you won't enjoy a second of the
evening
, I told myself. I turned to my sister, who sat so still with a smile frozen on her face. The excitement in her eyes made them glisten in the glow of passing car lights. She continually touched the diamonds, maybe to be sure they were still there and she hadn't imagined them.

I realized that for Sylvia, dressing up with makeup and jewelry and going out to dinner was like going to the moon. I was more excited for her than I was for myself. Arden had chosen one of the fancier restaurants just outside of Whitefern. He explained that he often came here to take very wealthy clients to lunch or sometimes dinner. They certainly knew him well enough at the restaurant. The maitre d' fawned over him and took us to what Arden said was the best table. He sat between Sylvia and me. When I gazed around the beautiful room, with its landscapes and mirrored wall sconces, the bulbs looking more like candles, and I saw how most of the other guests were gazing our way, I couldn't help but feel the optimism Arden cherished and sought.