Whitefern

  I went back into the house and walked up the stairs slowly. I felt like I was in a hypnotic daze. I could feel the past, with all its voices, closing in on me. It was as if I was falling back through time with every step. There was Vera smiling at me from the doorway of her room, the way she often did when something I had done made someone in the house upset or when something I asked for was denied. Her smile told me that her usually insatiable jealousy was satisfied.

  There was Aunt Ellsbeth with some clothing I had not put away properly, holding it up like evidence in a murder trial. I could hear her voice cutting my ears. “Do you think your mother would be happy to see this?”

  I touched the wall above my head to be sure I was not shorter, not a little girl again. Then I walked to Sylvia’s room, my whole body as tight as a fist. For a while, I stood in the doorway. Watching Sylvia sing and rock intensified the rage building inside of me.

  “Sylvia,” I said, “I want you to put Adelle in the bassinet now.”

  She looked at the sleeping child and then did what I said.

  “Come with me,” I ordered.

  She followed me downstairs and sat beside me on the sofa. I took her hands in mine. She wore her soft, innocent, and trusting smile, but she was a little frightened by my intense look. I could feel her fingers tremble.

  “It is time for you to tell me a secret, Sylvia.”

  “Papa’s secret?”

  “Yes. Did he tell you to let Arden make the baby?”

  I could see the wrestling going on in her mind.

  “It’s all right to tell now. Adelle has been born.”

  She nodded.

  “It was Papa who told you that we would both be pregnant?”

  “Papa said so.” She looked like she was going to cry.

  “It’s all right, Sylvia. Don’t worry. Papa talks to me, too.”

  She smiled. “I know,” she said.

  She wanted to go back upstairs and watch Adelle. She was never comfortable being too far from her. I poured myself some blackberry brandy and sat for a while. Sylvia came down to tell me that Adelle had woken up and that she was preparing her bottle. As if she could sense something different and important was going to happen but was afraid of it, she asked if she could take her dinner upstairs and eat alongside Adelle tonight.

  I told her I thought that was a good idea. I had no intention of eating anything myself. I drank some more brandy and looked at some old pictures. I dozed for a while, and when I woke, it was dark. The sun had gone down, and I hadn’t yet put on any lights. I decided to turn on only the lamp by the sofa. It had a very weak bulb. Momma had liked it that way. She could sprawl out and fall asleep here. I thought the low illumination had comforted her. I recalled how her arm would slide off the edge, and when I was a little girl, I would crawl up to the sofa and hold her hand. Sometimes she’d wake up and smile at me, and sometimes she wouldn’t wake even though I’d held her hand for quite a while.

  I wished I could hold her hand now.

  Hours later, I saw light from the headlights of Arden’s car streak through the windows and trace along the walls before going dark. Soon after, I heard him open the front door and mutter about no one leaving a light on for him. When he first entered the salon, he didn’t see me. He looked like he had drunk too much, as usual, and stood there acclimating himself to the subdued light. Finally, he noticed me and shuddered.

  “Christ,” he said. “You look like a ghost, and in this house, that’s not an exaggeration.”

  “Do I? Maybe you’re seeing Aunt Mercy Marie.”

  “Why are you sitting in the dark? And why didn’t you leave lights on for me?”

  “I feel like I’ve been in the dark for a long, long time in this house, Arden.”

  “Hmm,” he said. “Well, you can blame your father for that.”

  “Apparently, I can blame him for a lot more.”

  “Huh?” He unbuttoned his jacket.

  “We had a visitor today, Arden.”

  “What visitor? Did Dr. Prescott come here?”

  “No, it wasn’t Dr. Prescott, and it wasn’t Mrs. Matthews.”

  “Well, who the hell was it? What’s the mystery?”

  “It was Mrs. Price.”

  “Price? Why the hell would she come here?”

  “You never told me he had died.”

  “Yeah, well, good riddance.” He saw the bottle of brandy on the coffee table. “Drinking? Good idea. A nightcap is in order,” he said. “Another successful dinner to celebrate.”

  “Really.” I watched him pour himself a glass.

  He wobbled a bit and then drank half of it in one gulp. “Good stuff,” he said. “So? Why did this Price woman come here?”

  “She had promised her husband she would come to plead for forgiveness. She wanted to explain about him, to tell me how he was truly an artist and had only an artist’s interest in Sylvia’s beauty.”

  “Sure,” Arden said, and finished his brandy. “Maybe she thought we might still press charges or something.”

  “She got me very angry, Arden. I wasn’t going to forgive Mr. Price, and she was upset by how I treated her explanation. She said some nasty things about my family and our reputation in the community. I couldn’t help myself.”

  “What . . .” He refocused on me and poured himself a little more brandy.

  “She saw Adelle and Sylvia, and she thought Sylvia was beautiful and the baby was beautiful.”

  “So?”

  “So then I told her we weren’t only accusing her husband of groping my sister. We were accusing him of rape.”

  My words seemed to sober him instantly. “You told her what?”

  “She was shocked and had to sit again.”

  “For Christ’s sake, Audrina, she could go and tell someone, maybe a lawyer or someone, because she’d be afraid we’d press charges.”

  “Against a dead man?”

  “Or discredit her in some way. How could you make such a mistake now? I don’t care how angry she got you.”

  “What followed was very interesting, Arden. As it turns out, Mr. Price couldn’t have raped Sylvia and gotten her pregnant with Adelle.”

  “Oh, yeah? Why not?”

  “He had testicular cancer when he was younger and was made infertile. They had to adopt all their children.”

  Arden stood before me, blinking fast. “I’m sure that’s a lie,” he said. “Her way of covering up for him. She’s worried about herself, that’s all.”

  “She has the medical reports and is giving me the doctor’s name. She will have him tell the truth. She’s not lying.”

  “Yeah, well . . .”

  “I had these dreams—at least, I thought they were dreams—of you standing outside the first Audrina’s room and whispering through the door while Sylvia rocked in the rocking chair. You impersonated my father and told her to do things. You told her she had to keep everything secret. It wasn’t a dream, was it?”

  He didn’t reply. He stood there looking at me.

  “You’re the one who raped my sister, Arden. You’re the one who took advantage of her. Did you do this for your own selfish pleasure?”

  “No,” he said, maybe too quickly, because he wasn’t quite finished trying to deny it. “I mean . . . Oh, what are you so surprised about, Audrina? We both wanted a child, and you couldn’t give me one. It worked out well, didn’t it? Now we have a child who carries your father’s blood and my blood. It’s almost the same thing, and besides, everyone believes it. That woman won’t convince anyone of anything.”

  “You raped my sister,” I said.

  “Stop saying that. I did what had to be done.” He stared at the floor for a few moments and then looked up. “And maybe it will have to be done again. I want a son; you should want a son, too.”

  I stood up slowly.
His words now and his confession, although anticipated, still struck me hard—but doubly hard when he threatened to have another child with Sylvia.

  “You deceived us both, and you had me believing that schoolteacher was the rapist. It was all lies.” A new thought occurred. “Did your Mrs. Matthews know the truth? Did she go along with it? Was it part of your plan? You don’t have to answer. I think now that was why she was so disrespectful to me. She knew I was being a fool, and oh, what a fool you made of me.”

  “Now, you listen to me, Audrina—”

  “No, you listen. You put the idea in Sylvia’s mind that we’d both have to be pregnant. You set it all up, planning ahead for when the baby was born. Are you proud of yourself?”

  “It was all part of the plan.”

  “Yes, the plan. I should have wondered more why you conceived it.”

  He sighed deeply and looked pathetically weak, wobbling and struggling to come up with a good response. “I did what had to be done,” he said. “And yes, it was a clever plan, and I am proud of how well it was executed. Now, stop this indignation. You have a child to raise, and the world believes she’s yours. You have a family. You should be thanking me.”

  “Thanking you? I have a family? Yes, I have a family, a family born of lies and deceit.”

  “That’s not unusual for you, Audrina, or for Whitefern,” he said, smiling. “Look at what your father planned and how well he planned it. Everyone in this house, including your own mother, followed his design. It was all a lie. They even had me and my mother believing it. To go as far as to install an empty grave with a tombstone . . . Don’t try to make it look like your family was any better than I am.”

  “You’re right, Arden. This home is hospitable to lies, but I don’t intend for them to go on.”

  “So what are you going to do? Tell everyone Adelle is really Sylvia’s baby? We both thought that would hurt the child and how she will be perceived.”

  “She’ll remain our child, Sylvia’s and mine,” I said. “But someday she’ll know the truth.” I straightened my shoulders, just the way Papa would when he was going to make one of his definitive proposals. “I think it would be best if you left Whitefern, Arden. I don’t want to share meals with you, much less my bed.” I started to walk away, then stopped. “And as far as the company goes, it will remain as it is—in my control.”

  “What?”

  “Go sleep in one of the downstairs bedrooms tonight,” I told him.

  “Like hell I will. And I won’t leave here, either. You’ll do what I say with those legal documents,” he vowed, shaking his fist at me. “I’m your husband. You’ll obey your husband.”

  “I won’t,” I said. “In fact, I’ll be calling Mr. Johnson tomorrow and advising him of the same, so he’ll know that if you try to forge anything, it will be a crime that he will be associated with, too. Good night.” I started up the stairway.

  “Audrina!” he screamed. “You’re part of this. You can’t escape it by sending me away or going to sleep or rocking in that damn chair!”

  I ignored him and kept going.

  “Audrina!” he shouted from the foot of the stairway. “Don’t you dare walk away from me!”

  Sylvia came out of her room and hurried to the stairs. “Adelle is crying,” she said, looking down at me and at Arden. “She heard the screaming.”

  “Yes. Well, she won’t have to hear it much longer. Arden is going to move out,” I said.

  “Damn you!” he screamed. He rushed up the stairs. “You won’t tell me what to do. And you will sign those papers.”

  I was nearly to the top.

  He lunged at me and grabbed my arm. “I’m Papa here! I’m Papa!” he bellowed. He shook me hard.

  “Stop hurting Audrina,” Sylvia ordered. She sounded just like Momma telling Papa to stop hurting me or Vera.

  Arden let go of my left arm to push her away from us, and I turned, freeing myself from his right hand. Before he could reach out to grab me again, Sylvia came forward with her arms out and pushed at his shoulder.

  He tottered, looked at us both with surprise, and fell backward, his arms flailing out, his hands grasping air as he dropped onto his back and then flipped over, his legs flying over his torso and giving his body the momentum to flip again, this time coming down hard, his neck hitting squarely on the edge of a step. His body slid a little and stopped.

  He didn’t move or cry.

  Sylvia and I didn’t move, either.

  “Arden fell,” she said.

  I held out my hand to keep her from following me and walked down to him slowly. As I approached, I was experiencing déjà vu. This was how I had approached Aunt Ellsbeth’s body when she had fallen down the stairs. She’s not dead, I’d kept telling myself, not dead, not dead, only hurt. She had been facedown, and I’d had to turn her body to look at her face. I remembered her head had lolled, unnaturally loose, and I had shaken her to wake her up, but she never did.

  Arden was lying faceup. His eyes were wide open, already two orbs of lifeless glass. He had carried his expression of surprise all the way down and died with it. I knelt beside him and felt for a pulse nevertheless. There was none.

  “Is he hurt?” Sylvia asked.

  “Go look after Adelle,” I said. I could hear the baby crying. It was the loudest she had cried yet. Maybe she sensed that her real father was gone. “Go on, Sylvia.”

  “Yes,” she said, and walked back up and to her room. “Adelle . . .”

  I stood and looked down at Arden. Perhaps I was in shock, because I didn’t cry. I should have cried. I should have been screaming his name and begging him to be alive. Memories of how kind and loving he had been to me when I was young and just emerging from Whitefern were pushing away the anger and disappointment I had just felt. There had been wonderful smiles and laughter between us, too. They didn’t want to be buried.

  I sat on a higher step and continued to gaze at him. Sylvia came to the top of the stairs again, this time with Adelle in her arms. The baby was no longer crying.

  “Did I hurt him?” she asked.

  “No, Sylvia. He hurt himself.”

  I looked around at the dark house. Whitefern had done it again, I thought. Whitefern had exacted its revenge. The ghosts were gathered, whispering to one another and looking at Arden.

  Papa, I thought. Where are you?

  He was here; he was with us. I stood up again and stepped around Arden’s body.

  “Where are you going, Audrina?” Sylvia asked.

  “To warm Adelle’s bottle. Then I have to call an ambulance for Arden. You can wait in your room.”

  “I can warm the bottle,” she said.

  “No, I don’t want you or the baby down here until this is over,” I said. “Just wait in your room. Please, Sylvia.”

  “I’ll sit in the rocking chair,” she said. She said it as if that would make everything better again.

  “Yes, go sit in the rocking chair,” I told her, and went to put on lights in the house.

  I called for the ambulance. Then I went up and handed Sylvia the bottle and let her feed Adelle while she held her in the rocking chair. It had never seemed more appropriate.

  “Sylvia, the ambulance is coming, and with it will be policemen who will want to know what happened to Arden,” I began.

  “I pushed him,” she said.

  “No. You reached out to help him because you saw he was going to fall backward. Just like you helped Papa, remember?”

  “Yes,” she said, smiling.

  “Arden drank too much alcohol, Sylvia. It made him dizzy. That’s what happened, okay?”

  She nodded and went about feeding Adelle. I could only hope that she would remember what I had told her to say. It would obviously be so much easier than having to explain why we had argued, how Arden had come up after me, and how Sylvia had instinc
tively come to my defense.

  Less than half an hour later, the ambulance arrived, with a police patrol car behind it. The paramedics rushed in when I opened the door and pointed to Arden.

  The two policemen looked terribly suspicious. How could I blame them? Another death at Whitefern was surely at the forefront of their thoughts.

  One of the paramedics confirmed that Arden was dead. “Looks like a broken neck,” he said.

  “Don’t move the body yet,” the taller of the two policemen ordered. “We have a detective on the way.” He turned to me. I was standing with my hands clasped and resting on my breasts. I was sure I appeared to be in shock. I felt I still really was.

  “Can you tell us what happened here?” the shorter policeman asked.

  “We were going to bed,” I said. “My husband had been out to dinner with some clients. I think he had too much to drink at dinner, but he drank some more brandy when he got home. I pleaded with him to stop drinking and just go to bed, and finally we set out to do so. He was walking behind me. I thought he was okay. My sister came out. She’s watching the baby in her room for me right now. She was the one who screamed that Arden was losing his balance. I turned. She reached past me to grab him, but he fell back and flipped over and over, until he landed like this.”

  Neither of them spoke. I gasped and tottered.

  The shorter officer put his arm around my waist. “Hey, you’d better sit down.”

  “Yes, thank you,” I said, and let him help me to the sofa, where the soft light had remained on. He went to get me a glass of water.

  When the detective arrived, they told him what I had said, and then he asked to speak with Sylvia.

  “My sister was born prematurely and had early development problems,” I explained. “She’s never been to a formal school, and she’s what they call mentally challenged.”

  He nodded. He looked like he knew about us. When they had removed Arden’s body, I went up to get Sylvia. Adelle was asleep again, so I asked the detective to come up. I thought it would be better anyway to have her questioned away from the stairway.