Whitefern (24 page)

Mrs. Matthews was out and about more now. I took on my usual household duties, and as Sylvia grew stronger and felt better, she returned to some of her chores as if she had never stopped doing them. Most of the time, the two of us cared for Adelle and talked about every slight change we saw in her.

Arden often called during the day to be sure all was going well. He had dinner with clients only twice during the ten days after Adelle's birth. His interest in the baby amazed me. It seemed he couldn't wait to get home to see her and be sure all was well. Never once did he mention what had happened to Sylvia. I thought this was wonderful of him. He now cared more about her, talked to her more, and enjoyed how much she enjoyed Adelle. He even willingly had Mr. Ralph help him bring the rocking chair up to Sylvia's room.

“It's all turned out for the best,” he said one night.
“We have seized disaster from the jaws of the devil himself. I'm very proud of you, Audrina. We could never have done this without your full cooperation and determination. I imagine even your father would be proud of us, don't you?”

“No. He would never forgive me for what I let happen, Arden. I don't think I can ever fully forgive myself. I can live with this, but I don't believe that I've compensated enough for my mistake.”

“Oh, stuff that guilt, Audrina. You and your family have this tendency to hold on to every mistake any of you make forever and ever. Depressing and self-­defeating. Listen to the advice Mrs. Matthews gave you.”

The next morning, when I got up and went to prepare Adelle's bottle, I found Mrs. Matthews dressed and wearing her coat. Her small suitcase was at her feet. She was having a cup of coffee. At dinner, she had said nothing about leaving.

“Are you going?” I asked. I held my breath in anticipation.

“My work here is finished. Your sister is well, and you seem quite capable of caring for the baby.”

“Does Arden know you're leaving?”

“Of course,” she said, and put her cup in the sink. She flashed a smile and picked up her suitcase. “You are not fond of listening to my advice,” she said, standing right in front of me now, like a grade-school teacher in front of a student. “But I'll give it to you anyway. Don't dwell on what happened here. Don't ask too many questions about it. Tell yourself
nothing unusual occurred. A baby was born at home. It happens more often than people think it does. I have worked for families who had errant teenage daughters and kept their pregnancies secret. The girls even gave birth and returned to school a day or two later. The families gave the babies to church orphanages or such. Sometimes, couples who are having trouble having their own child adopt the baby. You live here in this mansion, fortified against the real world, and have no idea what really goes on out there. My advice is to keep it that way. You, my dear Audrina, are one of those women who are more comfortable with fantasy than reality. Your husband understands that. You're lucky. Other women like you have husbands who are far more intolerant when it comes to their refusal to face hard and ugly things. It's immature, of course, but as long as you're not out there involved in the day-to-day struggles most of us face, you'll do fine living in your own world. I wish you luck.”

“You have no idea who I am,” I said, shocked at her audacity.

She smiled. “Then maybe that's for the best. Your husband knows how to reach me if there are any problems.”

“We'll be taking Adelle to see Dr. Prescott now. He'll handle any problems we might encounter.”

“What a relief,” she said, and started for the front door. I followed and watched her stop, turn, and look at the house again. “I do hope your husband follows through and gets you out of the past,” she said. Then she opened the door and left.

For a moment, it was like she had taken all the air in the house out with her. Then I felt myself relax. I took a deep breath and, with renewed energy, began the new day. The odd thing, actually amusing to me, was that Sylvia didn't seem to notice Mrs. Matthews was gone. Perhaps she thought she had left to shop for us, but even later in the day, she never inquired about her whereabouts, and I said nothing to bring her to mind.

I couldn't forget her, of course, not as easily as Sylvia apparently did. Once again, I found myself envious of my disadvantaged sister. It brought a smile, which brought another and another. Later, we sat outside on the rear patio with Adelle wrapped comfortably in my arms. Sylvia laughed at the squirrels and the rabbits and pointed to them for Adelle to see and appreciate.

“When will she talk and walk?” Sylvia asked me.

“Sooner than you think, I'm sure, but not for a while, Sylvia. I remember when you first did, and I remember you crawling around out here.”

“I don't,” she said.

“That's all right. Everything you did, Adelle will do, and that might remind you.”

She stood there smiling at the baby and me.

“What?”

“We're lucky,” she said. I knew she was simply repeating something Arden or I might have said, but she said it as if she understood everything we had done together and everything that had happened. There wasn't an iota of disappointment or regret in her voice or in her smile. I wondered if she even thought now of Mr. Price.

“Yes, Sylvia,” I said. “We
are
lucky.”

We went in to prepare dinner. Whenever we did this now, we brought Adelle in with us. Sometimes she slept through the whole process, but often I caught her awake, listening and watching. The sounds surely made her curious, I thought. She was going to be a bright child. She would have the advantage of people not assuming she was slow-witted. Right now, with the three of us there and all of us well, I thought I was the happiest I had been in a very long time.

As soon as Arden arrived, I told him Mrs. Matthews had left. He nodded.

“Why didn't you mention it to me last night?” I asked. “I came down while she was having coffee and found her in her coat, with her suitcase packed.”

“I thought it best not to say anything until she actually left. There was the slight possibility that she might stay another day,” he said. For the first time in a long time, I sensed that he was lying.

“Dinner's ready,” I said. The faster I forgot that woman, the better off I'd be, I thought, but there was one more thing to be discussed about her.

I waited until we had eaten and Adelle was sleeping again. Sylvia was in the kitchen finishing the dishes. Arden had gone into the Roman Revival salon and sat on the settee, smoking his pipe and reading one of his business magazines. He looked up when I entered but kept reading. I sat across from him and waited. Finally, he lowered the magazine.

“What's up?” he asked.

“She's gone. You made a promise, Arden.”

“Promise?”

“To tell me the great secret you knew about her, the thing you had to hold over her that would ensure that she would never reveal ours. I want to know it. If I had known while she was here, I might not have been so intimidated by her all the time.”

“Intimidated? You did what had to be done, just like I did, Audrina. And no one forced either of us. We knew it was best for Sylvia and for Adelle. Don't start moaning and groaning about how horrible it was. It's over.”

“Okay, it's over. So tell me.”

He looked away and pressed his lips together. “It's not an easy thing for me to tell.”

“I need to know,” I insisted.

“You
need
,” he said, nodding. “Okay, I'll make you a deal. Now that you are obviously going to be heavily involved with caring for Adelle, there is no possibility that you will have any time for our business affairs. This wild idea of yours about becoming a broker is surely to be put aside. I'd like those papers signed properly. You'll go with me to Mr. Johnson's office, and we'll do it together. He was put off by your not signing and doing the fingerprint when I first brought it all here. Now he won't accept anything but the proper procedure. After all that is done, I'll tell you what you're asking. Do we have a deal?”

“We don't need to make a deal, Arden. You made a promise to me. First, you keep your promise, and then we'll discuss those damn papers,” I said. My words pounded into his ears like nails. I stared coldly at him, challenging him to move me even an inch.

He looked so astonished that I thought he was going to stop talking and start reading his magazine again, but he surprised me. “I'm not proud of what I'm about to tell you,” he said. “And for that reason, it's very difficult for me. I don't like bringing up the ugliest event of the past, both for you and for me. Yes, it's obviously uglier and more painful for you, but it's still painful for me, and it will always be. Do you still insist on knowing?”

I would readily admit that I was frightened, but I needed to know regardless of what it would mean to me. “Yes.”

“Mrs. Matthew's son, Philip, was one of the boys who attacked you in the woods. As you know, I saw them do it, and I was afraid to confront them. Later, they threatened me if I said a word, and I was afraid for my mother.”

“Her son?”

“Yes. I told her, so she knew that I could identify him. I promised never to mention it if she did this for us and kept our secret. If I did go to the police, they would investigate and maybe get him to confess or reveal the names of the others, which I could have done. One or more would rat on her son. She knew that. It was enough to ensure that she would never speak about what really happened here.”

His words seemed to lift me up and take me to the rocking chair. I heard the screams, my screams, and heard their horrible laughter. I saw myself running through the woods, crying hysterically, and saw my mother's face.

“Audrina,” he said. “Audrina!”

I seemed to open eyes that were already open.

“See?” he said, putting a hand on my shoulder and shaking me slightly. “I knew I shouldn't have told you. What difference does it make now?” His words were like icicles dripping into my ears. I felt myself shudder and tremble. What difference did it make now? How could he ask that? Did he ever have even a tiny bit of real love for me?

“She knew her son had violated me, was one of them. You would think she would have been kinder, gentler, even remorseful, but she treated me like I was spoiled and guilty myself. I was only a little girl!” I raised my fists in the air and barely kept myself from pounding his chest. How could he make any bargains with such a woman?

“I know. A lot of things have made that woman bitter, but she's good at what she does.”

“How did you know that so well, Arden?” I fired back at him. When he didn't speak, a thought that had been haunting me came to the surface. I practically yelled, “You've asked for her services before, haven't you? Well?”

“Nothing ever happened after we got married,” he said.

“Are you forgetting about Vera?”

“I thought we'd never mention that. It's like nothing ever happened with her. That's what we agreed on.”

“All right. So what are you talking about?” I was shaking inside. I wished I hadn't asked the questions but knew I'd had no choice. It was the story of my
life, scraping away the lies that disguised the ugliness and pain feeding the shadows of Whitefern and darkening my heart.

“I was a bit wild in college. I think you knew that anyway, Audrina, but what I did then has nothing to do with our lives now. You heard her. Don't force me or yourself to drag up any more of the past, Audrina. Enough! It's over,” he said firmly. He sat back and opened his magazine.

I stared at him for a few moments and then got up and walked out, feeling dazed. It was as if the floor had been torn away and I was hanging on by a thread.

Adelle had woken up and was crying for her bottle. Sylvia was rushing to get it ready. I watched her and stood back to see how she would do. She was gentle and loving. And for the first time in a very long time, I realized why we were closer than most sisters, despite her mental disabilities.

We had both been violated, and we both had to bury memories the way others might bury bodies.

Truth Will Not Die

Soon after Mrs. Matthews had left Whitefern, I had to shop for groceries. For the last month or so, she had done it alone. I wanted to take Sylvia and Adelle along for Adelle's first outing but wasn't sure if I should. I called Dr. Prescott and told him I would be bringing Adelle in for him to examine her and talk to me about what her care involved now, but I was really calling for his advice about taking her out.

“I'm looking forward to seeing her, Audrina. How are you doing?”

“I'm fine, Dr. Prescott. I was wondering if it's too early to take her out with me when I go shopping for groceries.”

“What did Mrs. Matthews say?” he asked. It was easy to read between the lines and hear how hurt he was at not being the doctor to deliver Adelle. “I'm sure she performed an Apgar assessment, right?”

“Yes, right away. She said it was all very good. Mrs. Matthews is no longer looking after Adelle.”

“No. I don't see why she would be. Well, I see no
problem with taking her out. We're having beautiful late-summer weather. I'm sure you'll take great care.”

“I will. Thank you.”

“Why don't we plan on my seeing you and the baby a week from today around two p.m. Is that okay?”

“That's good. Thank you, Dr. Prescott.”

“Is Arden going to be okay with that?”

“Yes,” I said. Again, it was easy to hear how hurt he was that we hadn't used him to deliver Adelle and oversee my supposed pregnancy. I hadn't spoken to Arden about going to Dr. Prescott so soon, but I was determined that I should.

I called Arden to tell him about the arrangements. He was so quiet that I thought he hadn't heard me because he was concentrating on something else. He'd often do that when I called, and I'd have to repeat myself.

“It's a week from today at two. You can come along if you want,” I said.

“No, that's all right. I was just thinking. You have to be careful about letting him examine you, Audrina. I'm not sure what he could tell quickly. Helen and I did discuss the eventuality of your going to him and having Adelle under his care, of course, but your breasts aren't swollen like Sylvia's. If he gets suspicious and realizes what's gone on, it could lead to complications for us.”

“I don't imagine he would announce it to the newspapers, Arden. There is an obligation to keep personal information between a patient and a doctor.”

“Yes, but you're forgetting that a crime was committed here, Audrina. He might feel obligated to report Sylvia's pregnancy.”

“Okay, okay. I won't go through any exam. I won't undress. I'll see that he just examines Adelle,” I said.

“Be sure you do that.”

“We're going to the supermarket. Anything special you might want?”

“No. Whatever you get is fine. Got to get back to work,” he said.

I wanted Sylvia to help, so I sat with her in the living room and discussed what we were going to do and how she should behave when people approached us to look at Adelle.

“Don't mention Mrs. Matthews, Sylvia. Don't say anything about how Adelle was born, understand? This is only for us to know.”

She nodded, but I was not confident that she understood. We packed what we needed for the baby and set out. Sylvia hovered over Adelle protectively during the drive. It brought a smile to my face.
We'll be fine
, I thought.
Everything will be fine from now on.

It wasn't too busy at the market. Sylvia pushed the cart with Adelle comfortable in her infant seat set in the top part. We had dressed her in a little pink hat, pink socks, and a pink dress. It was one of the first outfits Arden and I had bought her. Strangers stopped to speak to us, but all they wanted to know was how old she was and what her name was. Sylvia answered them all. One elderly man jokingly asked what aisle the newborn babies were in. He said he wanted to buy one for himself.

Sylvia's eyes bulged. “Buy babies in the supermarket?” she asked.

The man laughed, saw that we weren't laughing, and quickly walked away. As we rounded a turn, I saw Mrs. Haider ahead of us, studying a box of rice. I wanted to back out and go to a different aisle to avoid her, but she looked up and waved. I had no choice.

“Oh, what a beautiful baby!” she cried after rushing over. “How happy you and Mr. Lowe must be. And this must be Sylvia?”

“Yes, my sister, Sylvia. Sylvia, this is Mrs. Haider. She was principal of the school when I was there.”

“And long before that,” Mrs. Haider said.

Sylvia held out her hand and smiled. “Pleased to meet you,” she recited.

Mrs. Haider looked at me and nodded. “And I'm pleased to meet you and your niece, too.”

“Niece?”

“I'll explain it to you later, Sylvia. I really haven't gone through all that yet,” I told Mrs. Haider. “You understand.”

“Yes, certainly. So how is your artwork, Sylvia? Are you still drawing and painting?”

“No,” Sylvia said.

“Oh?”

“Too busy taking care of Adelle,” she said.

Mrs. Haider laughed, and then her expression darkened. “It's too bad about Mr. Price.”

“Yes, I know,” I said, hiding my real feelings about that man and his stroke.

“Did you ever get a chance to see him or speak to Mrs. Price?” she asked.

“Get a chance? No. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, didn't you know? He passed away last month. Heart failure. Probably part of the stroke. Very sad. I always admired him, and he was very popular with the students.” She paused. “I wondered why I didn't see you at the funeral. I just assumed you'd be there, but with your pregnancy and all, I'm sure you were quite occupied.”

“Yes,” I said. I didn't want to keep talking to Mrs. Haider about anything, particularly that man. Fortunately, Adelle began to squirm uncomfortably. “We'd better move along. Almost time for a feeding,” I said.

“I'll do it,” Sylvia announced. “We both do it.”

“That's very good, Sylvia. I'm sure you're a wonderful and helpful aunt. I'll see you again soon, I hope. Good luck with the baby, Audrina. Beautiful child,” she said, and walked away.

Sylvia looked very confused, but thankfully, Adelle was taking up all her attention now. For a few moments, I stood looking after Mrs. Haider as she pushed her cart away. I replayed what she had told me. Mr. Price was dead. I should be happy about it, and I was, but I couldn't show that, and the news had caught me by surprise. I was stunned. Why hadn't Arden mentioned Mr. Price's death? Surely, he would have known. I would have thought he'd come rushing with the news, saying how just it was that he had suffered. Maybe he thought it would have disturbed me, as it was disturbing me now, and decided not to mention it.
He was right. It would have reminded me of what I'd permitted to happen, practically right under my nose.

We finished our shopping and headed for home. Adelle was crying more and was very uncomfortable now. Just as we reached Whitefern, a car that had obviously been parked in front of the house began to pull away. It slowed as we approached and then stopped and backed up.

Mr. Ralph dropped what he was doing with a lawn mower and rushed to help us with the groceries. Sylvia wanted to carry Adelle.

“Put her in the bassinet, Sylvia,” I said, keeping my eyes on the strange car.

“And warm the bottle,” she recited.

Whoever was in the car just sat watching us. The afternoon sun threw a blinding glare on the car's windows, but I was able to see that the driver was a gray-haired woman. She watched us enter the house. How odd, I thought. Why would anyone come all the way out here and just sit in her car?

We hurried inside, and I began to put away the groceries while Sylvia tended to Adelle. Whatever problems she had taking care of herself didn't affect her care of the baby. I thought to myself that a mother's instincts were too strong to be discouraged. Sylvia read at the level of a seven- or eight-year-old, with a vocabulary barely more advanced. She had trouble with grade-school math, and her memory was like Swiss cheese, full of gaps, but she was as focused about the care of Adelle as any new mother would be.

When I had heard about Mr. Price's death, my anger
had been revived, and my satisfaction at how much pain and suffering he experienced had been heightened. But there was irony here, too. I was so happy for Sylvia now. Adelle truly was giving her life meaning, more perhaps than she was giving to Arden's and mine. Yes, we'd be her parents. We would make all the major decisions for her from now until she was an adult herself, but the bond between her and Sylvia would be forever strong, although invisible to outsiders. In my heart of hearts, I knew that Adelle would someday realize who her real mother was.

Perhaps she would confront us and demand to know the truth, especially as she grew and her features resembled Sylvia's more than Arden's or mine. She would go to sleep at night with the question on her lips:
Who am I?
I was sure that Arden and I would argue about it. I would want to tell her the truth, and he would insist that I never do. “What difference does it make now?” he would surely say.

How could I explain it so he would understand? Could I really get him to see how difficult it had been for me being told I was the second Audrina, never as perfect as the first? How could I get him to feel what I felt as I struggled to find my own identity while being haunted by an angelic older sister whose name I possessed but whose perfection I would never realize? It would certainly never be realized in my father's eyes, the eyes that were most important to me.

I smiled as I watched Sylvia kiss and coo at Adelle. She was fascinated by her tiny fingers and toes. I told myself that I had to put aside my thoughts about what
had happened and especially not dwell on the revenge fulfilled with Mr. Price's death. I hated to give her any credit, but Mrs. Matthews had been right. I should not dwell on the dark past. I should dwell on the future.

The sound of the doorbell jerked me out of my musings. Whoever was in that parked car probably had decided it was time to call on us. I had no reason for it, but I began trembling. I didn't move until the doorbell sounded again and Sylvia noticed.

“Someone's here,” she said.

“Just take care of Adelle, Sylvia. I'll go see.”

She smiled gratefully. She didn't want her care of the baby to be interrupted.

Maybe it was another Jehovah's Witness or the like, I thought, and went to the front entrance. I opened the front door. It was the elderly woman I had seen in the parked car. She looked like she couldn't be much more than five feet tall. Her gray hair was thinning but curly and trimmed at the base of her neck. She wore a vintage-looking knee-length, embroidered, single-breasted denim dress with a pair of very worn leather shoes. On her right wrist was a multicolored beaded bracelet. Arden would say she looked as if she'd been put together in some thrift shop.

“Yes?” I said.

The woman's cheeks seemed to bubble at their crests, and she was wearing too much lipstick and rouge. Aunt Ellsbeth would have slammed the door.

“I'm Emmaline Price,” she said. “Arthur's wife.”

For a few seconds, I felt like Lot's wife when she looked back at Sodom and was turned into a pillar of
salt. I was shot through with a stone-cold feeling that choked back my words.

Emmaline Price could see it in my face and began to speak quickly. “I know what you think of my husband, and I waited until the shadow of death left our home before coming to see you. I made him promises during his last days, and I beg you to let me come in and talk to you for a few minutes. I want nothing from you but possibly your understanding. His final days were full of such regret. I knew how heavy his heart was and how it would shatter under his sorrow. Please,” she begged.

“I have no idea why you have come here. I don't know what you want from me,” I finally said.

“Just your patience for a few minutes, please. When you make promises to someone you've loved with all your heart most of your life, you can't go on without keeping them. I'm sure you can understand that.”

Yes, I could understand that, I thought. The promise I had made to Papa concerning Sylvia was a promise I did not keep, and this woman was at our front door precisely because I hadn't. But my rage turned quickly to empathy. I saw myself at the front door of wherever Papa had gone, pleading with him to give me a chance to explain.

Without replying, I stepped back to let her enter. She walked in quickly and waited for me.

“This way,” I said, and took her to the Roman Revival salon, where I half-expected Aunt Mercy Marie's ghost to appear and begin shouting at her.

I indicated where she should sit, and I stood
watching her for a moment, deciding whether I should sit or simply look down at her with disdain. She looked at me with such desperation in her teary gray-blue eyes that I softened and sat on the settee.