Whitefern (16 page)

From the way he spoke to her, the tone of his voice, I concluded he'd been telling the truth; he did have some secret he could hold over her. Did he have such confidence in her that he didn't have to wait for a confirmation? How did he know so much about her abilities? All sorts of suspicions burst like fireworks in my mind.

He walked past me without another word and hurried down the stairs. I heard Sylvia return to her room and went there. She was sitting comfortably on the bed, her hands in her lap. She didn't look at all disturbed or upset, so I had to conclude that Mrs. Matthews did know how to turn on good bedside manner when it was necessary. But that didn't give me full confidence in how she would handle Sylvia. After all, Mr. Price's assurance that he knew how to handle special education students was what had brought us here.

“You don't have to do it right away,” Mrs. Matthews said, “but prepare that bedroom downstairs. The test confirms it.” She closed up her satchel methodically. “I'll look into prenatal vitamins. Of course,
I'm assuming you and Mr. Lowe want to keep the baby.”

“Yes,” I said. I knew I sounded weak and indecisive, but she chose to ignore it.

As she started out, Sylvia called to her, and the prickly woman turned back.

“Don't you have to do it to Audrina, too?” my sister asked. “Audrina has to pee on that little stick.”

Mrs. Matthews looked at me, squeezing her nose and pursing her lips as if a whiff of something rotten had flown under her nostrils.

“She'll do it in my bedroom, Sylvia,” I said. Mrs. Matthews shook her head and stepped out. “I've got to show Mrs. Matthews something first. I'll be right back.”

“Pray tell, what was that about?” Mrs. Matthews asked.

“My husband will explain it, Mrs. Matthews. Right this way,” I said, and started down the stairs.

She followed me, and when we arrived at Arden's office, he looked up from his desk.

“Mrs. Matthews wants to know why Sylvia thinks I'm pregnant, too, Arden.”

“Thank you, Audrina,” he said. He stood up and came around his desk to the door. “Why don't you go back to see if everything is all right with Sylvia while I speak with Mrs. Matthews and explain it all.” He smiled with his all-too-familiar self-confidence.

I looked at her and nodded. The moment I stepped back, Arden closed the door.

Secrets had a natural life here, I thought as I went back upstairs. They were born and nurtured like precious flowers. They never died in revelation, either. They stuck to our walls and our lives.

“While I was peeing, I told Mrs. Matthews I had drawn and painted the baby,” Sylvia said, as soon as I returned to her room. She was lying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling.

“Did you?”

“Yes, and told her that's why I knew the baby was coming. I told her it might be a boy, too.”

“Was she surprised?”

“No. She said boys are harder. What's that mean?”

“Harder to bring up, I imagine.”

“Because they get dirty and get into fights?”

“Among other things, yes,” I said. “Let's get you dressed. Today we're supposed to clean the pantry, remember?”

“No.”

“Well, we are. You go there and start taking everything out the way we did a few months ago.”

“Is there going to be a mouse again?” she asked, sitting up and making a scrunched-up face.

“I hope not.”

“Maybe there'll be one dead in the trap. Don't worry. I'm not afraid of it.”

“I know you're not, Sylvia, but remember not to touch it. They can carry diseases, and you can't get sick now.”

“I can't?”

“I mean you shouldn't. Not when you're pregnant.”

“Then you can't get sick, either?”

“Right. Let's go.”

When we went downstairs, she went off to the pantry, and I returned to Arden's office. Mrs. Matthews was already gone, and he was on the phone. He put his hand up, finished his call, and turned to me.

“It's all set,” he said.

“What's all set?”

“What I described we would do, Audrina. She's fully aboard. She understood completely and will play along with your being pregnant, and Sylvia, as far as the world outside is to know, is not.” He sat back, smiling. “She's even going to come up with a sort of girdle apparatus that you can wear to show the months as time goes by.”

“I wish I knew why you were so confident in her, Arden.”

“You'll have to trust me.” He stood. “Now, I have to go back to the office.”

“She wants me to move Sylvia into one of the rear bedrooms downstairs.”

He nodded. “Yes. She mentioned that.”

“They'll need portable heaters and more light, and we'll have to bring her art supplies down. She won't like it.”

“Don't worry. We'll clean up both of those rooms and make them comfortable.”

“Both? Why both?”

“What Sylvia has to do you'll have to do, right? She'll put up with it if you are doing it, too. We'll have to prepare one of the rooms for Mrs. Matthews. She'll
move in after a while, Audrina. It will be like having a private-duty nurse around the clock. Don't worry about it,” he said. He kissed me quickly on the cheek and started to leave.

“But why would we have a private-duty maternity nurse, Arden?” I asked, chasing after him.

He paused. “Because you will be said to have problems with the pregnancy, and that's why you can't leave the house. See? It's a perfect plan.” He smiled and continued out.

I stood there thinking. I recalled one of Momma and Aunt Ellsbeth's Tuesday teatimes in which Momma, playing Aunt Mercy Marie, had pointed her finger accusingly at Aunt Ellsbeth and shouted with venom, “Lies are like rats. You give them a home, and they will devour it and everyone in it.”

“Why?” Vera had asked. She always loved to sit on the floor and watch them go at each other, taking turns to be Aunt Mercy Marie.

Momma had turned to her, her eyes narrowed. “Because one lie begets another, and that begets another, and woe be to anyone who swims in that swamp.”

Vera hadn't been afraid of anyone or anything, even Papa. She'd giggled.

Momma had turned to Aunt Ellsbeth and, pointing to Vera, said, “See?”

I hadn't been sure what she meant by that, but in time, I understood. Aunt Ellsbeth's whole life with Vera was born from a lie.

Now I went to join Sylvia to try to keep her busy and not thinking about what lay ahead—for both of us.

The next day, Mrs. Matthews brought Sylvia her prenatal vitamins and a bottle full of the same pills for me, telling me it couldn't hurt me to take vitamins. She checked Sylvia's vitals, blood pressure, and temperature and, with Sylvia watching, did the same for me.

“She has better blood pressure than you do,” Mrs. Matthews muttered.

How could she not expect that? Sylvia was totally relaxed and trusting; I was the one who was tense and nervous. No matter what Arden had agreed to with Mrs. Matthews, I was still embarrassed by the deception.

“As I understand it, your sister performs many household duties?” Mrs. Matthews asked.

“She helps out, yes.”

“At one point, we'll want to restrict her activities. I encourage walking, but you have a special circumstance here, so you'll have to restrict that after a while to inside only.”

The full impact of all this subterfuge hit me, and for a few moments, I was stunned. Too often, I remembered how restricted I had been when I was growing up. Papa wouldn't let me go to school for years, and I practically never left the house, except for church and visits to “my” grave in the cemetery.

“My goodness,” Mrs. Matthews said, seeing the expression on my face. “You've not been sentenced to life imprisonment. Frankly, I think your husband has come up with a very clever plan. Just think of all the nastiness you'll avoid. Believe me, people are unforgiving and eager to pounce when they have an opportunity to take
joy in someone else's misery. I've seen plenty of that,” she added, and closed her satchel.

“Yes, so have I,” I said.

“Then you understand.” She smiled, if I could call it that. Her skin seemed to fold in at her cheeks, and her thin lips stretched so that I could see tiny ripples in them. Her smile was more like a flashbulb going off, an instant of light and gone. “I've put my telephone number on the refrigerator. Call me if there is the slightest problem. You want to watch for unexpected bleeding, shortness of breath, sudden dizziness, or any swelling and pain in her calf muscles.”

I didn't think Sylvia was listening. She seemed absorbed in one of my new fashion magazines. But without looking up, she asked, “Audrina, too?”

We both looked at her and simultaneously said, “Yes.”

I glanced at Mrs. Matthews, realizing I had a co-conspirator.

“I'll stop by every two days for the time being and then more frequently,” she said. She nodded at Sylvia and left.

“She's very nice,” Sylvia said. “You were right, Audrina. She told me she gave birth to a boy.”

“I can't imagine what his life was like,” I muttered, and went into the Roman Revival salon to ponder the journey we were embarking on, as short as it might seem. There were months to go, and I painfully recalled how slowly time would pass when I was confined. I hated the thought that I might once again be sitting by a window, gazing out, and dreaming of going
off to be with other girls and boys my age, something that should have been so natural and easy to do.

Every day now, I tried to forget all that by working harder in the house. In the weeks that followed, I prepared the two unused bedrooms in the rear. I wanted to give their walls a fresh coat of paint, but Mrs. Matthews thought the odor would disturb Sylvia. Arden brought home the portable heaters and hooked them up. He moved some lamps and even rolled one of our bedroom rugs up and carried it with Mr. Ralph to the bedroom he'd decided I would be using. I wanted him to put it in Sylvia's, but he insisted, claiming that I was the one who was making the greater sacrifice.

Although Mr. Ralph was as trusted a servant as anyone could have, he naturally was curious about why we were preparing the rooms. I heard Arden explain that I was pregnant and the maternity nurse had insisted on my not having to go up and down the stairs. There could be a lot of medical attention needed.

“Sylvia,” he said, “is so dependent on Audrina, as you know. She imitates everything she does.”

The explanation satisfied Mr. Ralph. Arden whispered something to him that caused him to laugh. I nodded to myself, thinking that Arden really was good at handling people. He could be charming and convincing when he had to be. In more and more ways, he reminded me of Papa. They were both comfortable with lies.

For now, he had nothing more to explain. Sylvia
wasn't showing, of course. That didn't happen until she was in her fourth month, and it was then that Mrs. Matthews brought the customized girdle for me to wear in public. Sylvia didn't have to move downstairs yet, and I was still permitted to leave the house to do basic shopping, but Sylvia was not. I had to do it while she was taking a nap or involved in her art up in the cupola. Enough people saw me and believed that I was pregnant. Arden would brag about who had been deceived and how well our plan was working.

The following week, Sylvia began complaining about lower back pain, and one day, she had some blood spotting on her panties. I called Mrs. Matthews, who came over quickly and examined her. She said Sylvia was all right, but she decided that the time had come for her to move in with us. To make Sylvia happy, I complained about lower back pain, too. Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought I actually felt it.

It wasn't until Mrs. Matthews physically moved into the house that the reality of what would happen struck me. Every moment of our day and all our waking hours at night, there would be a stranger present. The privacy we had enjoyed, even the privacy associated with our family memories, would be invaded. I was, of course, afraid of what would come out of Sylvia's mouth. Mrs. Matthews was to be there at our dinners, breakfasts, and lunches. She would hear everything Arden would tell us about the business, or as much as he would want to share. There would be real privacy only in our bedroom or if I met with him
in his office. I kept telling myself that it would only be for a few months.

But if anyone knew that months could seem like years at Whitefern, it was I.

As soon as Mrs. Matthews brought her things, she ordered that Sylvia be moved downstairs immediately, which meant that I would move, too. During all the time those rooms were being prepared, Sylvia had never asked me why. When I had to tell her now that Mrs. Matthews was here and insisted that Sylvia sleep in one of those rooms, she looked as frightened as she had when she was a little girl of five or six. She retreated from me, nearly backing herself against the wall behind her bed.

“I can't go downstairs to sleep,” she said, shaking her head. “No, Papa won't like that.”

“Papa would want you to be safe,” I said, and explained again why Mrs. Matthews required it.

Sylvia clutched the bedpost.

Would Mrs. Matthews and I have to tear her away from it and force her downstairs? I couldn't do that.

“I have to stay here, Audrina.”

“It's only for a little while, Sylvia. It will be okay. I promise. Remember, I'll be sleeping downstairs, too. I'll be in the room next to yours.”

She shook her head even harder. “I can't be downstairs at night.”

“Why can't you, Sylvia?”

“I have to talk to Papa. I have to be in the rocking chair,” she said.

“You're still going there? When do you go there?”

“When you're asleep.”

It stunned me for a moment. Had Arden ever heard her doing that again?

“I won't sleep downstairs,” she repeated, raising her voice. “I won't!”