Whitefern (15 page)

“Darkness seeks those who keep their candles of hope unlit,” Momma once told me. I had to brighten mine.

Arden ordered a bottle of champagne. Everyone was watching when the waiter popped it open. Sylvia laughed as some of it bubbled over, but it was poured quickly into our glasses, and then Arden raised his. Sylvia looked at me to copy everything I was doing.

“To the future of Whitefern,” Arden said. “May it finally become the grand home it was meant to be.”

Sylvia giggled at the clink of glasses and carefully sipped hers while watching how I sipped mine.

“Should I order a bottle of wine?” Arden asked.

“I think this is all the alcohol we should have right now,” I replied, nodding at Sylvia.

“Okay. I'll get my favorite red by the glass. Tonight I want to have the filet mignon.” He winked. “Maybe Sylvia should have that, too.”

I ordered it for her, so I had to order it for myself, even though I had nowhere near the appetite to finish half of it.

All the table manners I had taught Sylvia over the years had their first real test this particular night, because she didn't have the comfort and security her own home provided. Whenever anyone nearby laughed, she looked quickly to see if she had done something wrong. What made me laugh was the way she inspected the salad.

“They don't cut the carrots right,” she said. “Some pieces are bigger than others.”

“It's okay, Sylvia,” I said. “They don't have someone with your artistic talent doing it, but it will taste the same.”

She looked at me skeptically. Maybe it would taste the same to me, I realized, but not to her. She did like the filet mignon and especially enjoyed the chocolate soufflé we had for dessert.

While we ate, some men stopped by to say hello to Arden. He introduced us, and Sylvia recited the “Pleased to meet you” I had practiced often with her. I could see all the men were attracted to her, but she
was oblivious to the looks of admiration and desire in their eyes.

Before one particular man approached us, Arden informed me that he was one of the top five investors in our brokerage firm. He looked to be in his mid-sixties, with a tanned face and beautiful blue eyes. I thought he was close to Papa's height. I recalled his name, Charles Billings, and I remembered him now from Papa's funeral. He was one of the few who had attended the church service, but he hadn't come to the house later.

“Now, how do you deserve two beautiful women, Arden, while most men here are lucky to have one?” he asked, feigning annoyance.

Sylvia's eyes widened. She looked at me to see how I was going to react.

“Thank you, Mr. Billings,” I said, before Arden introduced us. “This is my sister, Sylvia.”

“I can see the resemblance. You lucky dog,” he told Arden.

“I married well,” Arden said, sounding a little peeved at the way I had taken control.

“In more ways than one,” Mr. Billings said. “Tough week in the market. I hope we see a little bull in the coming days.”

“We will,” Arden said, as if he had control of the stocks and bonds.

“So, what are you celebrating?” Mr. Billings asked, nodding at the champagne bottle in the bucket.

Arden looked at me for a moment with an expression
on his face that I rarely saw these days. He looked like he was fighting not to burst with pride.

“We are almost one hundred percent sure,” he began, and turned to Mr. Billings, “that my wife is pregnant.”

Every muscle in my body seemed to collapse with shock. I had to put my glass of water down quickly, or I thought I would drop it.

“Well, congratulations,” Mr. Billings said. “Making money is great, but making a family is divine.”

“Exactly,” Arden said. “Thank you.”

I watched Mr. Billings walk away and saw him start to tell his wife and everyone at his table what Arden had just said. Sylvia had her attention completely on the chocolate soufflé now and apparently hadn't heard a word. I stared at Arden, my eyes full of questions.

He just shook his head. “Don't look so worried, Audrina.”

“Worried? Why did you say that?”

He smiled and finished his wine. Then he looked at the bottle of champagne. “A little left.” He poured it into his glass and drank it.

“Arden, answer me.”

“Relax, Audrina. I have a brilliant plan.”

I said nothing. After he paid the bill and we started to leave, he paused at Mr. Billings's table, and Mr. Billings introduced his wife and his two friends.

“I'm so happy for you,” Mrs. Billings told us.

“Me, too,” Sylvia said. I hadn't noticed, but she had some chocolate soufflé on her lips. “I love chocolate.”

No one spoke, Sylvia's words hanging in the air.

“Thank you, Flora,” Arden said to Mrs. Billings, before turning to Mr. Billings. “Here's to a bull market.”

“Amen to that,” Mr. Billings said, and we walked out.

The valet brought our car around, and we got in.

“Did you enjoy your dinner, ladies?” Arden asked as we drove off.

“They could have cut the carrots better,” Sylvia said.

Arden laughed loudly.

I said nothing until we had gotten home and I had Sylvia get out of her clothes and prepare for bed. Then I went to our bedroom, where he was already in bed, browsing through one of his business magazines. He looked up sharply when I entered.

“Everything is set with Mrs. Matthews. She'll be here tomorrow. I'll take a break and come home, but you had better prepare Sylvia for her.”

“What were you saying at the restaurant? What is this plan you have?” I asked.

He put down his magazine and put his hands behind his head.

“Everything you said about how Sylvia's child would be treated is true, and everything you said about how difficult it would be for her to be any sort of mother is even more true. Now, no one knows that Sylvia might be pregnant. Hardly anyone knows her, while most who know us, this family, know how she is.”

“And?”

“So why not have people believe the baby coming is your baby, our baby?”

“My baby?”

I knew what he wanted, but the idea of my simulating pregnancy was daunting. What if someone found out I was pretending? The embarrassment would be frightening, but it was a way to protect Sylvia. Maybe I had to risk it.

“How do we do that, Arden?” I started to take off my dress.

“Simple. We have you go through the pregnancy just as Sylvia is going through it. If anything,” he added, sitting forward, “it might make it easier on her to have you mimicking whatever happens to her and whatever she has to do.”

“But people will see me and—”

He put his hand up. “I have that figured out, Audrina. After about four or five months, we'll keep people from seeing you.” He shrugged. “We can have something made for you to wear that makes you look pregnant. Maybe we'll deliberately let some of the weekly groundskeepers, or someone else who comes onto the property, get a look at you and be able to tell people you're pregnant.”

“What about Mr. Ralph? He will see Sylvia. He's in and out of the house often to fix things.”

“Mr. Ralph will do and say whatever I tell him. He sees nothing and says nothing. He's always been that way. You know that.”

“And Sylvia?”

“We've kept her pretty much sheltered here. We'll
just make it more intense when the time is right. We'll keep her up in her room. You can tell her she has to stay in bed, or Mrs. Matthews will tell her.”

I stood there in my bra and panties, looking at him and thinking about his plan. “This Mrs. Matthews, she'll know the truth.”

“She'll just have to keep two secrets,” he said, smiling. “As I've said many times, what's another secret or two at Whitefern?”

“That's a lot of trust to place in a stranger, Arden.”

“It's not a matter of trust. It's a tradeoff. Don't worry about it. I have it all under control.”

He picked up his magazine, glanced at it, and then lowered it again. “The best part of this, Audrina, is that you will be a mother after all. But,” he said cautiously, “let's wait for Mrs. Matthews to confirm that Sylvia's pregnant.”

He started to read his magazine as if I had agreed to everything. It wasn't that easy for me. For one thing, I would be pretending to be something I wasn't again. I'd have to act a part, like in a play. It was still painful to remember how I'd been convinced that I was a second Audrina. Even when I'd believed it, I had wanted so much to be myself. For another thing, this would be as much as admitting that my becoming pregnant and having my own child was truly a dead idea. It would never happen.

I felt his eyes on me as I crossed the room to the bathroom to prepare for bed.

“I hope you enjoyed our dinner otherwise,” he said when I reappeared in my nightgown. “I thought
Sylvia did very well, too. That's all thanks to you. You both did look beautiful.”

“I enjoyed it, yes.”

“Well, if there is a baby, when he or she is old enough, we'll go out a lot more. I've always envied fathers taking their wives and children out for Sunday brunch. Just think. We can really be a family . . . finally.” And as if that explained everything, he put out his lamp and lay down.

“You told Mrs. Matthews about Sylvia, right?” I asked. “She understands that she's special and needs special treatment?”

He turned. “Of course I did, Audrina. You've got to stop worrying. As I said, I have it all under control now. You will have to trust me.”

After a moment of thinking, I said, “That horrible man. He shouldn't get away with this.”

“Don't start that again. If we accuse him of something, we'll ruin our plan. For now, just let it go. We have more important things to occupy our attention. And if you cross-examine Sylvia about it, about how it happened, when it happened, where it happened, any of it, you'll make things worse. I know her well enough after all these years to predict she'll feel guilty and terrible and sit around crying all the time. A bad thing happened. It's done, over with. Now we have to be sure nothing else terrible occurs, like a miscarriage. You probably remember Vera's vividly enough to know what that could mean for Sylvia.”

“Papa would have taken out his Civil War pistol and driven over to the Prices' and shot him,” I said.

“You mean like he shot the boys who raped you?” Arden asked.

It was a cold and cruel thing to say, but I understood why he was saying it. I was implying that he wasn't doing the manly thing for Sylvia.

“Clever people handle things like this in a way that doesn't bring more pain and trouble to themselves,” he continued. He looked away as if he was remembering something. “Stop thinking about it, or you'll never fall asleep.”

He turned toward me again, and although there was just a glimmer of light from the moon peeking between trees, I could see his wry smile.

“Think about being a mother instead,” he said.

If he meant that as a comfort, he was wrong. That kept me from falling asleep even more.

Living a Lie

Arden had said that Mrs. Matthews was scheduled to come to Whitefern at around eleven in the morning. Right after we had cleaned up our breakfast dishes and put everything away, I had Sylvia sit on the settee in the living room, and I began an explanation to prepare her for a stranger coming to our home to examine her. The way she smiled at me was eerie. It was almost as if she knew exactly what I was going to say, and, contrary to what I might think, that made her happy.

“Something is going on inside you, Sylvia,” I began. “Arden and I think you might be pregnant.”

She nodded. There was certainly no shock, surprise, or fear on her face. This was unexpected. Perhaps she didn't understand and was simply trying to please me.

“Do you understand what I'm telling you, Sylvia? When I say we think you might be pregnant, we mean there might be a baby forming inside you.”

“Yes, I know,” she said. Then she smiled and said, “Papa told me, and he said the baby would be forming in you, too, Audrina.”

For a moment, I was speechless. If I ever said anything clever or prophetic when I was little, Momma would always smile, tenderly brush my hair, and say, “Out of the mouths of babes . . .” I felt like saying that to Sylvia. Even if she had somehow overheard the things Arden had said, his plan in particular, she would never be able to comprehend it and embrace it. However, I couldn't imagine her coming up with this idea herself. Her even suggesting such a thing gave me a chill. Out of habit, I looked at Papa's chair. So often when I was teaching something to Sylvia, he would sit there and half-listen, occasionally smiling at how hard I pursued something with her until she had grasped it. I could easily imagine him sitting there now, with a similar smile on his face, encouraging me to go on.

“This is a house that welcomes ghosts,” Aunt Ellsbeth had once told Vera and me. She'd hugged herself when she'd said it, and both of us had looked around, expecting to see some spirit whisk past us.

“When did Papa say this to you, Sylvia?” I asked now. It was like following someone you knew was lost, traveling down roads that led nowhere, but I had to question her.

“One time when I was in the rocking chair,” she said.

“What time? When?”

“I don't know the time, Audrina. I didn't look at a clock.” She looked like she was going to cry because she was disappointing me. “I don't remember.”

“Okay, okay. Forget about that. There is a woman coming to see you this morning. Her name is Mrs.
Matthews. She's like a doctor. She helps deliver babies when it's time for them to come out. She will make sure you are pregnant and that you are doing okay, and then she will help us with everything that has to be done. I'll be with you all the time.”

“You have to be. She has to make sure everything is all right with you, too,” Sylvia said.

I closed my eyes. She was fixated on this idea. Perhaps, though, Arden was right. It would make things easier for her, and for us taking care of her, if she thought it was true and I mimicked everything happening to her.

“Right. Me, too. She'll be like Dr. Prescott, okay?”

She nodded, continuing to smile.

I still wasn't sure she understood the significance of what I was telling her. How detailed and scientific should I get? For most women, being pregnant wasn't exactly a picnic. There was expected discomfort. Sylvia, who liked to rush around the house and practically fly up the stairs, would find it a terrible burden, especially when she was four or five months along, and when she was seven or eight months . . . I simply couldn't imagine it. It wasn't only what she would look like and how confused she would be. There were dangers, too, not only to the baby but also to the mother.

However, I decided not to say too much more before Mrs. Matthews arrived. Arden's advice that morning as we dressed to go down to breakfast was to take it day by day and not obsess about it. He was the one who had warned, “We don't want to panic Sylvia or frighten her about all this. That could turn out worse.”

“
I know that, Arden,” I'd told him. “Will Mrs. Matthews know that?
”

“She's been well informed about Sylvia,” he had assured me. “She is quite capable. We'll be lucky to have her. She'll make this far easier than you could imagine.”

Nevertheless, I was on pins and needles until the doorbell rang. I had told Sylvia to go up to her room, change into her nightgown, and wait. She would be examined there. I wanted a few minutes alone with Mrs. Matthews before she saw Sylvia and before Arden got home, too.

When I opened the door, I found a lean woman, as tall as Arden, with dark gray hair trimmed sharply halfway down her long neck. She had a hard face, her cheeks flat, with skin so white it was almost transparent. Inky blue veins could be seen in her temples. I thought you wouldn't need an X-ray to discover if she had fractured a cheekbone. Her nose was small but a bit pointed, and her pale pink lips were as thin as string. Her eyes were coal-black with tiny gray spots. She wore a navy-blue coat over a nurse's uniform and carried a satchel that looked exactly like Dr. Prescott's, clutching it in her long fingers so tightly I could see the veins in the top of her hand. It was as if she was afraid she'd drop it or have it snatched away.

“Mrs. Matthews?” I asked. I knew it was a silly question. Who else would be at our door precisely at eleven? But I didn't want to just say hello.

“That's who I am,” she said. She nodded her head
and stepped forward as a way of saying,
Please step back and let me in
.

It was a gray, cold early-February day. I retreated quickly, and she entered and paused to gaze at the house, her head bobbing from nine o'clock to twelve o'clock to three o'clock.

“It's as big as I expected,” she said. “Quite cluttered. Family heirlooms, most of it, I imagine.”

“Everything has some memory for us, yes,” I said.

She looked at me, nodded, looked at the house again, and then turned back to me. “You are Mrs. Lowe, then?”

Did she think I was a maid?

“Yes, ma'am. Audrina Lowe, Arden's wife.”

She studied me as if I really was the one who was pregnant. “I remember you when you were a little girl. You've grown into an attractive woman.”

“Thank you.”

“I recall your mother was quite beautiful.”

“Yes, she was.”

“That's a tragedy we don't want repeated,” she said, the corners of her mouth drawn in.

“I hope not,” I said. “The very thought terrifies me.”

“As it should anyone. Well, let's get to it. Where's your sister?”

“She's in her room. I'll take you there. You understand what she's like?”

“Mentally retarded. I would hate to count how many girls like that I've delivered or assisted in delivering. Nature gave them the ability to produce offspring but left them unprotected when it comes to sexual
matters, not that some of the smartest girls don't get into trouble. I've had plenty of them, too. Whenever I see that, I believe there very likely is a vengeful God.”

“I wouldn't categorize her as mentally retarded. She's slow to understand things, but that's because she was underdeveloped when she was born prematurely and—”

“Call her what you want. I know what to expect.”

“She's very, very sensitive, Mrs. Matthews. She has the body of a woman but the emotional development of a little girl.”

She turned to me, the corners of her mouth drawn in again as she pressed her upper lip over the lower one before speaking. “I think I've been doing this long enough to know how to handle a pregnant girl regardless of her mental and emotional age. The physical aspects aren't different. Shall we get on with it? According to Mr. Lowe, you're not even certain she's pregnant, and it could be that this is all idle chatter.”

“I am sure of it, I'm afraid,” I said. “I don't have medical training like you do, but there are things a woman can sense.”

She raised her eyebrows. “We'll soon see.”

I nodded and led the way to the stairs. After I started up, I realized she wasn't following. She had paused at the bottom and stood looking up. “Something wrong?” I asked.

“Any bedrooms downstairs?”

“There are two in the rear of the house, but neither one has been used for ages, decades, really. They were meant for servants, and we've never even thought of
them as part of the house. They don't have fireplaces and haven't even been cleaned for ages. Why?”

“I don't fancy climbing up and down the stairs between the kitchen and her room as many times as I might have to. If she is indeed pregnant, at one point I'll be attending to your sister closely, and it will be easier if she is down here. It's also wise to avoid any possibilities of falling when you're pregnant, and I think we both know that stairways can be deadly. If she's pregnant, you'll put her in one of the rear bedrooms,” she declared with the tone of a fait accompli.

“But . . . they don't even have heat. The central heating my father had installed didn't provide for them.”

“You'll get portable heaters. Really, this is not a world-shattering problem.”

“It will be for Sylvia. She is very comfortable in her room. She's been there ever since she was brought home from the hospital. It's not easy for her to adjust to changes.”

She made a
humph
sound. “Imagine the changes that come over you when you get pregnant. She'll have a lot to adjust to. This should be the least of it.” She started up after me, glaring at me when I didn't move.

“What about her going up to her studio to do her art?” I asked.

“Are you serious? Send her up another flight of stairs for a hobby?”

“It's not a hobby for her. It's very important to her.”

She sighed deeply and shook her head. “Bring her art supplies down to her room.”

“But—”

“Am I to see her or not?”

“I'm sorry,” I said, and continued up quickly. I led her to Sylvia's bedroom. When we entered, Sylvia was at her vanity table. She had brushed her hair and tied it with a red ribbon. Now she was putting on lipstick, too.

“What is she doing?” Mrs. Matthews asked. “We're not taking pictures for a maternity magazine.”

“Sylvia, don't you remember I said Mrs. Matthews was coming to examine you this morning?”

“Oh, yes, Audrina.” She smiled. “I just wanted to look nice for her.”

Mrs. Matthews's thin, mostly gray eyebrows knitted, and then she stepped further into the room. “Hello, Sylvia,” she said. “I'm Helen Matthews. I'm here to see what's going on with you.”

“We're having a baby,” Sylvia said.

“Perhaps,” Mrs. Matthews said, not picking up on the “we.” “Let's check you out. Just lie down on your bed, please. Nothing will hurt, I promise.”

“It hurts when the baby comes out, but it doesn't last long. Papa told me that.”

“Hopefully that's so,” Mrs. Matthews said. She looked at me and almost, I thought, smiled.

I stood back to watch her. Sylvia watched her, too, her eyes wide with interest after Mrs. Matthews had put on plastic gloves. Sylvia's face was full of surprise, but she did not utter a sound when Mrs. Matthews had her bend her legs and spread them.

“Can you see the baby?” Sylvia asked. I brought my hand up to cover my smile.

Her innocent trust never ceased to amaze me. It was probably the main reason Papa had made me swear I would always look after her. But I hadn't done that very well, I reminded myself.

“Not yet,” Mrs. Matthews said. When she stepped back, she took off her gloves and turned to me. “We can confirm it with a urine sample, but I would say she's a good six weeks along.”

“Six weeks? You're sure.”

“I said we'd confirm it with a urine sample, but yes, I'm sure. I've seen more wombs than Henry the Eighth,” she added, which was a line I imagined she had used often.

“Hello!” We heard Arden shout from below. He had come in and was heading up the steps.

“I'll see to the urine test,” Mrs. Matthews said. She turned to Sylvia. “Let's go into the bathroom, Sylvia. We have one more thing to do today.”

I stepped out into the hallway as Arden turned toward Sylvia's room.

“Well?” he asked.

“She's confident it's a yes. Six weeks, probably, which makes it right when Mr. Price was giving her art lessons. She's conducting a urine test to confirm it.”

He nodded, not looking as upset as I felt or as I'd imagined he would be. “Well, then, there's nothing to do but go forward with our plan.”

“Your plan,” I said. He looked at me sharply. “But
a plan, yes. I understand. It's just that now that it's all true, I feel a bit numb.”

“You'll get over it,” he said. He walked past me to the bathroom and stood in the doorway, looking in. “Hi, Helen,” he said. “When you're finished here, Audrina will show you to my office downstairs, and we'll discuss the arrangements. Come quickly, as I have to get back to my office.”