Ellsbeth loved him as much as you say you do, and he
claimed he loved her in return, too. Regardless, he
soon tired of her, and night after night, after she'd
slaved all day to prepare his meals and keep his house
clean, and take care of his children, he still had other
women. She ended up just his slave. That's what she
used to call herself--his kitchen and bedroom slave.
Is that what you want for yourself?"
I paused, gasping for breath as I heard the TV
in Vera's bedroom giving the morning news. Lazy,
lazy Vera, who seldom got up until noon.
"There will come a day when he will stop
loving you, Billie. A day when he'll look at you and
say such ugly words you won't have any ego left. He'll
have some other woman he'll say he loves like no
other before, and you'll be only another notch on his
belt with many notches of conquest."
She winced as if I'd slapped her. Fresh tears
came to shine her blue, blue eyes. But perhaps she'd
cried too many times before to let them spill because
of anything I could say.
"If a kitchen slave is all I'll ever mean to
Damian, or just another conquest . . even so, Audrina,
I'd be grateful, even so." Her voice lowered. "When I
lost my legs I thought that never again would a man
want to hold me and love me. Damian has made me
feel like a whole woman again. Tell me that I smile
and act cheerful, Audrina, but that's the facade I wear,
like a pretty dress. The ugly dress I wear is the fact
that I hate the way I am now. There's not a day goes
by when I don't think of the way I used to be, graceful
and strong, with the agility to do anything, and when I
walked down the street I pulled all admiring eyes my
way. Damian has given me back the pride I used to
feel. You don't know what it's like to feel half a
woman. To be restored and complete again, even if
only temporarily, is better than the bleakness I faced
before."
She opened her arms wide and pleaded with her
eyes. "You are just like my own daughter. To lose
your respect hurts so much. Audrina, forgive me for
disappointing you and giving you pain. I love you, Audrina, as I've loved you since you were a child and you came running to me through the woods as if you'd found a second mother. Please don't hate me now, not
now when I've found such happiness. . ."
Unable to resist, I fell into her arms, forgiving
her anything, crying as she cried. And praying that
when the time came, Papa would be kinder to her than
he had been to Aunt Ellsbeth--and Momma. "He'll marry you, Billie!" I cried as I embraced
her. "I'll see that he does!"
"No, darlin' . . . not that way, please. I want to
be his wife only if he wants that. No force, no
blackmail. Just let him decide what's the right thing to
do. No man is made happy by a marriage he doesn't
want."
A small snort of disgust in the doorway made
me look. There stood Vera with the cane she had to
use until that lame leg strengthened. How long had
Vera stood there eavesdropping?
"What wonderful news," said Vera drily, her
dark eyes hard and cold. "Another freak to add to the
Whitefern collection."
"I've never seen my mother happier," Arden
commented a few weeks later as we ate breakfast
together in the refurbished solarium. Hundreds of beautiful plants surrounded us. It was April and the trees were leafing out. The dogwoods were in bloom, and the azaleas made a riot of color. This was one of the rare occasions when we had the chance to be alone. Vera was on a side porch lounge chair wearing a brief little bikini, pretending to be sunbathing.
Arden took great pains not to notice she was there. Sylvia was on the floor with a stuffed cat taken
from the playroom upstairs. "Kitty," she said over and
over again. "Pretty kitty," and then, dropping the cat,
her attention span always short-lived, she picked up
one of the crystal prisms and began to hold it in such
ways as to throw rainbows everywhere. She had
gained considerable skill at directing the rays, and it
seemed she wanted to dazzle Vera's eyes. Vera,
however, wore sunglasses.
Feeling uneasy, I glanced away. Sylvia stepped
on all the refracted colors that I avoided--what was
that Arden was saying?
"Mom said last night that this is the way she
always wanted to live, in a wonderful house, with
people she loves. Audrina, has it occurred to you my
mother might be falling in love with your father? We
can't expose his fraud. It would ruin him, and destroy
her. speak to him privately and tell him he has to
stop." Gathering up his papers, Arden neatly bumped
them on the table to even the edges, then stashed them
in his attache case before he leaned to kiss me
goodbye. "See you around six. Have a good time with
Sylvia down by the river. Be careful, and remember, I
love you . . ."
Before he left he had to steal a glance at Vera,
who had taken off the top of her bikini. I glared at
him, but he didn't turn to see me. Her breasts were
medium-sized and firm---very pretty breasts I wished
she'd keep covered.
"Come along, Sylvia," I said, getting to my feet.
"Help me put the dishes in the washer."
Papa came into the kitchen as I finished putting
everything away. "Audrina, I've been wanting to talk
to you about Billie. You've avoided me since that
night you caught us. Billie says she talked to you and
you understood. Do you understand?"
I met his eyes squarely. "I understand her, yes,
but not you. You'll never marry her."
He seemed thunderstruck. "She wants me to
marry her? Why, I'll be damned . . . it's not such a bad
idea at that." He grinned and chucked me under my
chin as if I were two years old. "If I had a wife again who adored me, I wouldn't need daughters at all,
would I?"
He grinned again as I stared at him, trying to
see if he was serious or only teasing. He said goodbye
and hurried out to ride to work with Arden.
"Come along, Sylvia," I said, catching hold of
her hand and guiding her to the side door. "We're
going to have a lesson on nature today. The flowers
are all in bloom, and it's time you knew how to name
them, too."
"Where are you going?" Vera sang out as we
passed her. She'd put her bra back on now that Arden
had gone. "Why don't you ask me to go with you? I
can walk now . . . if you don't go too fast."
I refused to answer. The sooner she left, the
better.
Trotting at my heels, Sylvia tried to keep up.
"Going to see the fish jump," I called to her. "Going
to see the ducks, the geese, the squirrels, rabbits,
birds, frogs and flowers. It's spring, Sylvia, spring!
Poets write about spring more than any other season
because it's the time for rebirth, for celebrating the
end of winter--and, hopefully, the departure of Vera.
Summer comes next. We're going to teach you how to
swim. Sylvia will soon be a young woman, and no longer a child. And by the time she is, we want Sylvia to be able to do everything other young women her
age do."
Reaching the riverbank, I turned to look for my
ten-year-old sister. She wasn't behind me. I glanced
back at the house and saw Vera had carried a blanket
down onto the lawn and was sunning herself out there
as she read a book.
A small sound from the edge of the woods
made me suspect that at last Sylvia was going to play
a hide-and-seek game, something I'd been trying to
teach her to do for months. "Okay, Sylvia," I called.
"Ready or not . . here I come."
Nothing but silence in the woods. I stood there
looking around. Sylvia was nowhere in sight. I began
to run. The paths here were faint and randomly made.
Unfamiliar paths that soon had me befuddled and very
anxious. Suddenly a golden raintree loomed just
ahead of me, and beneath it was a low, grassy mound.
I froze and just stared. They'd found the First and Best
Audrina lying dead on the mound under a golden
raintree, killed by those terrible boys. I began to back
off. The woods were usually alive with the sounds of
birds claiming their territory, with insects making
perpetual hums and buzzes. Why was it so quiet? Deadly quiet. Even the leaves on the trees didn't move. An unearthly stillness visited as my eyes stayed
glued to that mound that had to be the one.
A drum began to pound behind my ears. Death.
I could smell death. Whirling around, I
screamed Sylvia's name again. "Where are you? Don't
hide now, Sylvia . . do you hear me? I can't find you.
I'm going back to the house, Sylvia. See if you can
catch me!"
Near the house I found a stem of pink
sweetheart roses that had fallen to the ground. They
gave me a hint. There was only one place where they
grew--near the cottage where Arden and Billie used
to live. Had she made it there and back in such a short
time? It had been Sylvia's habit, since the first day she
came, to always pull the prettiest flowers and sniff
them. Again I looked around, wondering what to do
next. The rose I now had in my hand was warm, the
tiny blossoms crushed, as if held too tightly in a small
hand. I stared up at the sky. It was cloudy and looked
like rain. I could see Whitefern, though it was a good
distance away . . but where the devil was Sylvia?
Home, of course. That had to be the answer. All the
time I'd skipped along the trail to the river, thinking Sylvia was directly behind me, she must have headed for the cottage, thinking that was our destination. She'd pulled the roses, changed her mind and headed
home. She did have an animal's instinct about storms. Yet I didn't want to leave her if she was still in
the woods. All these years I'd waited for Sylvia to do
something independent of me except steal Billie's red
cart . . and she had to choose this day to wander of
alone. Maybe Sylvia had even gone down to the river
to find me, and when she reached there, I'd been in the
woods staring at that raintree.
A chill wind whipped up to beat the branches of
the trees so that they fanned and struck at my face.
The sun became a sly fugitive, racing to escape the
wind, ducking behind the dark clouds that came
rushing over the treetops like black pirate ships. I
looked for Vera on the lawn, hoping she could tell me
if she'd seen Sylvia. Vera wasn't there. I again raced
for home. Sylvia had to be there.
Inside the door in the nick of time, I heard the
first terrible clap of thunder sound directly overhead.
Lightning sizzled and struck something down by the
river. The rain beating at the windows seemed likely
to break them. It was always dim in our house but for
the brief moments when the sun could shine through the stained-glass windows. Without the sun it was almost dark. I thought about finding matches, lighting a kerosene lamp. Then I heard a cry. Shrill! Loud!
Terrifying!
Something clattered down the stairs. I cried out
and ran forward to catch whatever it was. I collided
with a chair that was out of place--and both Billie
and I were always careful to put every chair in the
same dents it made in the soft rugs.
"Sylvia . . . is that you?" I called in distress.
"Have you fallen?" Or had Vera done it again, and
we'd have to wait for another bone to heal before she
left?
Near the newel post I stumbled over something
soft. I fell to my knees and began to crawl around in
the dark, feeling with my hands for whatever had
made me fall. My right hand slid on something wet,
warm and sticky. At first I thought it was water from
one sf the fern pots, but the odor. . . the thickness of it
. . blood. It had to be blood. More gingerly I reached
with my left hand. Hair. Long, thick, curling hair.
Strong hair that I knew from the feel was dark blueblack.
"Billie . . . oh, Billie. Please, Billie . . ." Far away in the high cupola the wind chimes tinkled. Pure crystalline notes that shivered down my
spine.
Gathering Billie's shortened body in my arms, I
cried and rocked back and forth, comforting her as I
would Sylvia. Even as I did, silly thoughts flitted in
and out of my brain. How did the wind get in the
house? Who had opened one of the high windows in
the cupola that nobody but me ever visited?
Over and over again, the same ringing notes.
Easing Billie's dead weight to the floor, I crawled to
where an oil lamp should have been and felt in a table
drawer for matches. Soon the beaded shade allowed a
soft mellow glow to brighten our foyer.
I didn't want to turn and see her lying dead. I
should call a doctor, an ambulance, do something just
in case she was still alive. I shouldn't believe she was
already dead.
Aunt Ellsbeth, Billie, Aunt Ellsbeth, Billie . .
confused, time repeating itself. . .
With great difficulty, I managed to stand.
Leadenly I approached the still figure of Billie on the
floor, her eyes staring up at the embellished ceiling,
just as my aunt's eyes had stared.
I hovered above Billie. Too late for a doctor to
save her, her glazed eyes told me that. I panicked then, felt weak and faint, though I wanted to scream. On and on in the flickering, struggling gaslight I stared down at the beautiful doll without legs, lying at the bottom of the stairs. Six feet away was the little red cart she must have been riding before she misjudged her positioning, or maybe she'd been coming down the steps with the cart in tow. . to turn
on the lamps?
Time was trapping me in deja vu . . Aunt
Ellsbeth . . Billie, over and over again the two women
changed places. My hands rose to feel my face, which
felt numb.
Tears slipped between my fingers. That was no
princess doll on the floor, wearing bright blue with no
legs, no feet and no shoes. This was a human being
with black mascara smearing her cheeks with tears
only recently shed. Who had made Billie cry when
Papa was gone? What had smeared Billie's scarlet
lipstick when Papa was gone?
Frozen in shock, I was brought back to myself
by a familiar sound, the metal roll of small ballbearing wheels on the hard marble floor. Ready to
scream, I spun around to see Sylvia shoveling along
on Billie's cart, which had splintered but was still
usable. "Sylvia . . . what did you do? Did you push Billie down the stairs? Did you have to have that cart so much you would hurt Billie? Sylvia, what have you
done?"
In the same old way, as if I hadn't spent a good