“Oh, Papa!” I cried happily, “thank you, thank you!”
How strange his sad smile, how very strange.
Early the next morning, long before Papa was out of bed and was ready to drive to Sylvia, I raced through the woods to the cottage on the other side. The woods were lush and green, full of the beauty of spring. I was hoping to catch Arden before he rode off on his bicycle to deliver the morning papers. His old car had “conked out” and was now just junk to clutter the yard as he tried to repair it again.
Robins and purple martins were on the grass, paying little attention to me as I ran to the cottage door and threw it open without knocking. Straight on into the kitchen I ran, only to pull up short and gasp.
There was Billie wearing shorts and a red tank top. For the first time I was seeing her without all those long, full skirts that made it seem she did have two legs hidden somewhere underneath. Her hair was loose and waving, and the knit top revealed a remarkably voluptuous bosom, but all I could see were the little eight-inch stumps thrusting out from the legs of her short shorts. They seemed like fat sausages that slimmed down quickly so they could be neatly tied at the ends. Faint radiating lines made folds like wrinkles from where the excess skin had been drawn and somehow fastened. I shrank away.
It was so pitiful, those stumps where her beautiful legs used to be. I glanced toward the living room where she had all those photographs of herself in costume. I choked back a cry of distress, when I hadn’t wanted to show pity. I had wanted to see them, and not remark, or even seem to notice.
To my surprise, Billie began to laugh. She reached to touch my cheek, then tousled my already windblown hair. “Well, go ahead and stare all you want to. Can’t say I blame you. They’re not pretty to look at, are they? But remember that once I had two of the most beautiful, skillful and creative legs any woman could desire. They served me well when I had them, and most people will never have what I did.”
Again I was left without words.
“People learn to adjust, Audrina,” she said softly, refraining from touching me again as if afraid now I wouldn’t want her to. “You’re putting yourself in my place and thinking you couldn’t stand to live with my handicap, but somehow, when it’s your own, it isn’t nearly as horrible as it seems to someone else. Then again, as contrary as we humans are, I can look around and think, why me and not her, or him? I could throw myself into an abyss of self-pity if I wanted to. Most of the time I don’t even think about the loss of my legs.”
I stood there, all gangly and awkward, feeling humbled. I could almost see her legs that weren’t there. “Arden told me he sees you with your legs. He never sees the stumps.”
“Yes,” she said, her eyes shining, “he’s a wonderful son. Without him I probably would have given up. He saved me. Having Arden forced me to carry on and teach myself to do everything. And Arden would do anything for me. Somehow because we had each other, we’ve managed. None of it has been easy, and yet because it was difficult we have more to be proud of. Now, darlin’, enough said about me. What are you doing over here at such an early hour?”
She went on with her canning as I hesitated. Her high stool on rollers was placed so she could scoot from here to there with hardly any effort, just by shoving or pulling with her hands. Then it happened quicker than I could wink—she slipped from the stool and fell to the floor with a thud. She lay at my feet for a brief second like half a large doll.
I started to help.
“Don’t help,” she ordered, and in no time at all she had used those strong arms to heft herself back onto the stool. “Audrina, look in the pantry and you’ll see a little red cart I use when I want to really speed around. Arden made it for me. He wants to paint it a different color each year, but I won’t let him. I like red best. Nothing shy about me, darlin’.”
Weakly I smiled, wishing I could be as brave. Then I asked if Arden had already left.
“Yep, he’s gone. If that lousy, stingy husband of mine would send more money, my son wouldn’t have to work himself to death.” She turned and smiled brightly and asked again, “C’mon, tell me what you’re doing over here so bright and early?”
“Billie, Sylvia’s coming home today. My aunt’s told me she isn’t normal, but I don’t care. I feel so bad that a poor little baby never had a mother, and no family but Papa to love her. That’s not enough, especially when Papa only visits her once or twice a month—if he does. You can never tell when my father tells the truth, Billie,” I said with some shame. “He lies, and you know he’s lying; and he knows you know he’s lying, and still he doesn’t care.”
“Your father sounds like a real dilly.”
“I told Arden yesterday that Sylvia might come home today. Knowing how Papa is I wasn’t really sure, but I eavesdropped and heard him talking on the telephone last night. He is bringing her home. He also called his office and told them not to expect him in today. Did I tell you he’s manager now?”
“Yes, darlin’, you’ve told me at least two dozen times. And now I’m going to tell you something perhaps you don’t know. You are very proud of your papa. Even when you think you dislike him, you dislike him regretfully. Darlin’, don’t feel bad about loving and hating your daddy. None of us is all good or all bad. People come in all shades of gray. No out-and-out devils, and no true angels and saints.” She smiled. “Honey, you go right on loving your papa even if he is straight from a cake. Arden feels the same way about his father.”
Two hours later, with my heart lodged somewhere in my throat, I stood on the front steps of Whitefern with my aunt beside me and waited to see my baby sister for the first time. I looked around, knowing I had to remember this special day so that later I could tell my little sister just how it had been when she first came home. The sun was out bright and full. Not a cloud was in the sky. Some haze hung over the woods and muffled the cries of the birds. Dampness from the dew, I told myself, only that. The warm breezes from the River Lyle stirred my hair.
The spacious lawn had been mowed by a man from the village; he’d trimmed the shrubs, weeded the gardens, swept the front walk. The house had been repainted white, and its roof was new, too—red as dark as congealed blood, like the blinds at the windows. We were dressed in our best to welcome Sylvia home. Vera was there, too, seated lazily on the swing, a small secret smile curving her lips and making her dark eyes sparkle wickedly. I suspected she knew far more about Sylvia than I did, as she knew more about everything than I did.
“Aud … dreen … ah …,” she chanted, “soon you’re going to see … see for yourself. Boy, are you gonna be sor… reee you kept pleading to have your baby sister—because I disown her. For me, Sylvia Adare just does not exist.”
In no way was I going to let Vera kill my excitement or my happiness. I suspected Vera was jealous that it was my mother’s baby and not my aunt’s.
“Audrina,” said my aunt, “are you really as happy as you look?” She could seldom keep from frowning when Sylvia’s name was mentioned, and this was obviously no happy day for her.
“Look, look! Here they come!” I cried excitedly, pointing to Papa’s Mercedes ducking in and out of the thick rows of trees that lined our curving drive. I edged a bit nearer to my aunt, who straightened her spine and stood taller. For a brief second her hand reached for mine, but she didn’t take my hand, as she’d never taken it.
Behind us Vera tittered as she swung to and fro, to and fro, chanting her “You’ll be sorry” tune.
The shiny black car drew to a stop before our entranceway. Papa got out and strolled around to the passenger side, opened the door—and for the life of me I couldn’t see anyone in there. Then Papa reached inside and lifted from the seat a very small child.
Papa called to me, “Here’s Sylvia.” He beamed a broad smile my way and then put Sylvia on the ground.
That’s when the creaking of the wooden slab swing stopped. Vera rose reluctantly to her feet and drifted closer. I glanced to see her eyes fixed on me, as if she were onl
y interested in my reactions and didn’t care about Sylvia at all. Not once did she look at my sister. How odd.
Despite Vera, and my aunt’s grim expression, I was so happy as I stared at that pretty little girl who was my sister. In another second I was seeing her as not just pretty, but beautiful. She had a bright head of chestnut-colored curls, reddish blonde where the sun highlighted, and how marvelously shiny they were. I saw her sweet little dimpled hands that reached pleadingly toward Papa, wanting him to pick her up. He had to stoop to catch hold of her hand, yet he did that and began to guide her toward the steps. “One step at a time, Sylvia,” he encouraged. “That’s the way it’s done, just one step at a time.”
How dear were the little white shoes she wore. What fun she was going to be, a living doll of my very own to dress and play with. Too excited for words, I stepped down lower, just one step—and then paused. Something … something about her eyes, about the way she walked, the way she held her mouth. Oh, dear God—what was wrong with her?
“Come, Sylvia,” urged Papa, tugging on her miniature hand, which must be lost in his. “You come too, Audrina. Step down to our level and meet the little sister you’ve been dying to have. Come closer so you can admire Sylvia’s aquamarine eyes that tilt so charmingly upward. See how widely spaced they are. See Sylvia’s long, curling, dark lashes. See all the beauty that Sylvia possesses—and forget everything else.”
He paused, looked at me and waited. Vera giggled and moved for a better place from which she could observe my every reaction.
Frozen, I thought at that moment that all of nature stood still waiting for my decision and my judgment of Sylvia. It was my move now, but I couldn’t move and couldn’t speak.
Grown impatient, Papa spoke. “Well, if you can’t come to us, then we’ll come to you.” Undaunted as always, he flashed me a charming smile that made his teeth flash in the sunlight. “You have been pestering me for more than two years to bring home your baby sister. Well, here she is. Aren’t you delighted?”
Step by tortured step, Papa had to assist Sylvia to walk. She couldn’t lift either foot with any degree of skill. She shuffled her feet along, making them slide over obstacles. Even as she did this, her head lolled to the right, then to the left; it fell forward; it jerked and fell backward as if she stared at the sky. Then back again, and the ground would draw her attention—if that nothing stare could be called attention.
Sylvia’s bones seemed made of rubber. Before she’d taken five small steps, she’d scuffed her new white shoes, fallen to her knees three times and been hauled up by Papa. Easily enough Papa tugged her up the steps by lifting her by one frail arm. As they advanced, I backed up the stairs, not even realizing I was retreating. Still Sylvia was coming closer and closer so I could see details. Her lips never met but gaped so that she drooled, her eyes never focused.
I trembled, feeling sick. Papa, it was all his fault! He was responsible for Sylvia’s condition! All those arguments, the times he used his belt for a whip. I sobbed then for Momma, who had done her bit, too, when she drank that hot tea laced with bourbon, even when Papa told her not to.
Coming closer every second was the end result of all this abuse, this lovely little girl who looked absolutely moronic.
I backed up until I felt that house hard behind my back. Relentlessly Papa pursued, dragging my sister along. Then he swooped to pick her up, and in the cradle of just one of his arms, he held her so she was at my eye level.
“Look, Audrina, see Sylvia. Don’t turn your head aside. Don’t close your eyes. See how Sylvia drools and can’t focus her eyes or even make her feet move correctly. She’ll reach for what she wants a dozen or more times before she can figure out how to grasp it. She’ll try to shove food into her mouth and miss, though eventually she’ll find a way to eat. She’s like an animal, a wild thing—but isn’t she beautiful, charming and terrible, too? Now that you see, perhaps you’ll understand why I kept her away for so long. I was giving you freedom and not once did you thank me. Not once.”
“Sylvia is a crazy … a crazy … a crazy …” chanted Vera softly in the background. “Now Audrina’s got a nutty … a nutty … a nutty …”
Papa roared, “Vera, get in the house and stay there!”
For some reason, Vera paled. She stalked closer to where Papa stood with Sylvia. “You’d rather have that idiot little girl than me, wouldn’t you?” screamed Vera, glaring at him and Sylvia, too. Something tortured twisted her mouth and made her look old and ugly. “There will come a time when you’ll want me more than you’ve ever wanted anyone else—but I’ll spit in your face before I’ll help you when you need it!”
“You are not telling me anything I don’t already know,” said Papa coldly. “You are like your mother—free with your hate and spite, stingy with your love. I don’t need your help, Vera. Not now, and not in the future—I have Audrina.”
“You have nothing when you have Audrina!” yelled Vera shrilly, striking out at him. “She hates you, too, only she doesn’t know it yet!”
Easily Papa continued to hold Sylvia as his free hand shot out and delivered such a hard slap to Vera’s face that she fell to the porch floor. Crumpled there she screamed wildly, almost insanely. Sylvia began a loud wailing.
“Damn you for hitting her!” cried my aunt. “Damian, all that girl wants is a little show of affection from you. You’ve never given her anything but indifference. And you know who she is—you know!”
“I don’t know anything,” Papa said in a voice so deadly cold I shivered with fear. He riveted his dark, menacing eyes on my aunt, almost visually ordering her to keep her mouth shut or perhaps he’d knock her down, too.
Panic was taking me over. Vera crawled to where she could use the screen door to pull herself up. Then, still crying, she disappeared into the house. And I was left still staring at Sylvia, who couldn’t focus on anything or anyone.
What kind of eyes did she have? Vacant eyes. Nowhere eyes. Though their color was striking and her long lashes were dark and curling, what difference? What difference when there was no intelligence behind that void stare.
I swallowed over that aching lump that came again to thicken my voice and sting my eyes with tears. My fist balled and I swiped at my tears, trying not to let Papa see.
Papa was staring at me. “No comment, Audrina? Come, now, you must be thinking something.”
My eyes lifted to meet his. His smile came then, slight and cynical. “Why can’t Sylvia close her mouth and focus her eyes?” I asked in a weak voice. “And why can’t she walk as well as other children almost three years old?”
“Leave us,” said Papa to my aunt, who appeared rooted to one spot. I could still hear Vera’s cries rebounding down the stairs. Though our huge house was cluttered with dark and massive furniture, when someone screamed as Vera was screaming now it seemed a hollow house, ghostlike and full of echoes.
“Why should I leave, Damian? Tell me that.”
“Nobody’s influence should come between Audrina and her sister. Ellsbeth, take that disapproving scowl from your face. It’s not becoming.”
Without another protest, my aunt entered the house and slammed the door. Papa put Sylvia on the porch and released her hand. Immediately she began to wander about, aimlessly heading this way, then that, turning to clumsily bump into a wicker rocker, to upset a potted fern placed on the white wicker stand, so that the fern tumbled off the stand before it, too, fell over.
Oh! “She’s blind, isn’t she, Papa?” I cried, all of a sudden realizing why her eyes were void and couldn’t focus. “Why didn’t you tell me that a long time ago?”
“It would be better if she were blind,” said Papa sadly. “Sylvia may look blind, but she can see almost as well as you or I—only she can’t control the muscles of her eyes and make them stay in focus. Her doctors thought soon after she was born that she had one of those nerve diseases and they tested her for those. She’s been through every examination known to modern medicine to find out what?
??s wrong with her. She can see, and she can hear, but still she doesn’t react to anything as she should. Now, go ahead and ask how the doctors know, and I’ll go into great boring details to explain all the tests they gave her as soon as they suspected something was wrong.”
“Tell me,” I whispered.
“If you watch carefully, you’ll see that she will bump into chairs and knock things over, but she will not fall down the stairs.” He had his eyes on me, and not Sylvia, who really needed watching. “If you call her name repeatedly, she will respond eventually. She may walk right by you, but she’ll come. I wanted to leave her with the therapists for another year. I hoped in that time they might have succeeded in teaching her how to control her body functions.” He saw the look on my face and said softly, “Audrina, Sylvia wears diapers like many other children her age, but unlike other children, Sylvia will no doubt have to wear diapers the rest of her life.”
Oh, how awful! I stared at Sylvia disbelievingly.
Papa went on. “If what her specialists say is true, Sylvia is permanently and severely retarded. I don’t like believing that, yet I have to accept the fact. Still, some little part of me keeps thinking that maybe Sylvia will one day be normal if given the right care—that is, if any of us know just what normal is.”
I’d prepared myself for anything but this. Blind, deaf, lame I thought I could handle—but not this. I didn’t need a retarded sister to complicate the rest of my life.
That’s when I turned to see that Sylvia was dangerously near the steps. Rushing forward, I grabbed her just in time. “Papa, you said she could see!”
“She can see. She is also very intuitive. She wouldn’t have fallen. She’s very much like a wild creature that lives by its instincts. Love her a little, Audrina, even if you can’t love her a lot. She needs someone to love her and if you love every stray cat and dog and nurse every wounded bird you find, then you can love your retarded sister and care for her as long as she needs you.”
I stared up into his full, handsome face just beginning to show a few lines. A bit of silver softened the dark hair at his temples. I wasn’t twelve years old yet, and he was putting me in charge of a child that would stay a perpetual baby.