Dollenganger 06 My Sweet Audrina (10 page)

I raced upstairs to dress, sure that soon I'd have my memories back, too. Maybe the string-and-ring trick would work if I swung it over the Bible. I laughed as I sped on by the First Audrina's bedroom and hurried down to the kitchen, still tying my sash.
Momma was up and in the kitchen with blue curlers as fat as tin cans in her hair. "Audrina," she began in a weary voice, "would you mind watching the bacon while I whip the eggs?" Dark circles were under her eyes. "I tossed and turned all night. This baby is unusually restless. Just as I fell asleep toward dawn, your father's alarm went off, and he was up and talking ten miles a minute, trying to tell me not to worry about what that old woman said. He thinks I'm depressed, not tired, so he decided that he's going to invite twenty people over tonight to a party! Can you imagine anything more ridiculous? Here I am, in my sixth month, so tired I can hardly manage to get out of bed, and he thinks I need cheering up by preparing fancy little goodies for his friends. He tells me I'm bored, when he's the one who's bored. I wish to God he'd take up golf or tennis, or anything that would use up some of his energy and keep him away from home on the weekends."
Oh, oh, now I understood perfectly! Somehow that sixth sense Papa possessed had told him that today I had the gift--that had to be the real reason he wanted to celebrate. A hundred or more times he'd told me he'd celebrate with a party on the day my gift came to light. So it was true. I did have the gift now. Otherwise, the ring wouldn't have settled
twice
on the same stock, when nine others were listed there. I felt so good I wanted to shout.
"Where're Ellsbeth and Vera?" asked Momma.
I couldn't tell her about the argument and what Vera had threatened to do. Momma's maiden name was her most cherished possession. And if someone had picked Vera up, at this very moment she could be in the village shouting out all our secrets.
To think of Vera was to think of reality, and soon my confidence in my gift began to wane. All my life, or so it seemed, Papa had dumped all kinds of junk into my head about the supernatural, which he believed in and Momma didn't. I was convinced what he told me was true when I was with him, and convinced it wasn't true the moment he left the house.
"Where's Ellsbeth?" Momma asked.
"She tripped and fell, Momma."
"Cursed," murmured Momma, reaching to prod me into turning over the bacon. "A house of idiots, determined to make you and me idiots, too. Audrina, I don't want you to sit in that rocking chair anymore. The only gift your older dead sister had was an extraordinary amount of love and respect for her father, and that's what he misses. She believed every word he said. Every one of his crackpot notions she took seriously. Think for yourself, don't let him rule you. Just stay out of the woods--take that warning very seriously."
"But Momma," I began uncomfortably, "Arden Lowe lives in the gardener's cottage in the woods. He's my only friend. I'd want to die if I couldn't see him often."
"I know it's lonely for you without friends your own age. But when the baby comes, you'll have a friend. And you can invite Arden over here. And we'll invite his mother to tea, and we won't let Aunt Mercy Marie sit on the piano." I ran to hug her, feeling so happy I could have burst.
"You like him a lot, don't you?"
"Yes, Momma. He never tells lies. He never breaks a promise. He isn't so fussy he's afraid to get his hands dirty, like Papa. We talk about real things, not like the things Papa talks about so often. He told me once he read somewhere that a coward dies many deaths. He says that once he was so petrified he acted like a coward, and he can never forgive himself. Momma, he looks so troubled when he says that."
Pity filled her beautiful eyes. "Tell Arden that sometimes it's better to run away and live to fight another day, for there is such a thing as odds too great."
I wanted to ask what she meant, but she had everything ready now to put on the table, and Papa wasn't home, and my aunt was upstairs, and Vera . . . Lord only knew what Vera was doing this minute.
"Set the table, darling, and stop looking worried. I think Arden is a very noble-sounding name, and he's living up to his name as best he can. Just try to love your father as much as his first daughter did, and he'll stop forcing you into the chair."
"Momma, when he comes home, I'm going to tell him to cancel the party."
"You can't do that," she answered dully. "He's driven into town to pick up party food and fresh flowers. As soon as his business meeting is over, he'll be rushing back here. You see, your father never had parties when he was a boy, and now he uses any excuse to make up for that lack. Men stay children at heart, Audrina, remember that. No matter how old they become they manage to keep some boy inside them, always wanting what they wanted then, not realizing that when they were boys, they wanted to be manly instead of boyish. It's strange, isn't it? When I was a girl I wished we'd never have parties, for when we did have them I wasn't invited and I had to stay upstairs, dying to come down. I'd hide and watch and feel so unwanted. It wasn't until I was sixteen that I danced in my own house."
"Where did you dance?"
"We'd roll up the rugs and dance in the Roman Revival room or in the back parlor. Other times I'd steal out the window and meet a boyfriend who'd drive rue to a dance. My mother would leave the back door unlocked so I could sneak back in and my father would never know. She'd come into my room when she heard me return and sit on my bed so I could tell her everything. That's the way it's going to be with us. When you're old enough to go to dances, I'll see that you go."
If my gift didn't set me free, maybe my mother would. "Did you have lots of boyfriends, Momma?"
"Yes, I guess I did." Wistfully, she stared over my head. "I used to promise myself I wouldn't marry until I was thirty. I wanted my musical career more than I wanted a husband and children--and look what I got."
"I'm sorry, Momma."
Then she was touching my hair lightly. "Darling, I'm sorry. I'm talking too much and making you feel guilty when it was I who made the choice. I fell in love with your father, and love has a way of brushing aside all other considerations. He swept me off my feet, and if he hadn't, I would probably have died of a broken heart anyway. But you be careful not to let love steal what aspirations you have for yourself. Though your father fills your head with silly ideas, in one he's perfectly right. You are special. You're gifted, too, even if you don't know what that gift is. Your father is a good man who just doesn't always do the right thing."
I stared up into her face, feeling more and more confused. First she said Papa gave me idiotic notions, and then she told me his craziest one about my being special was true.
Moments later, Papa was home with his sacks of groceries and florist's flowers. Vera came straggling after him. She looked dirty; her hair was a mess, and she'd been crying. "Momma," she sobbed, running to my mother and making me feel mean again because she was trying to claim not only my father but also my mother. "Papa pulled me into his car by my hair--look what he did to my hair, and I just set it last night."
"Don't comfort her, Lucky!" shouted Papa when he saw my mother's arms go protectively about Vera. He grabbed hold of Vera and shoved her into a kitchen chair so forcefully that she began to wail. "That smart-mouth was stumbling along the highway when I saw her. When I stopped and ordered her into the car, she told me she was going to become a whore and shame us all. Ellsbeth, if you don't know how to tame your daughter, then I'll use my own method."
I hadn't even noticed my aunt had slipped into the kitchen, wearing one of her plaid cotton housedresses that seemed so cheap and ordinary compared to the pretty clothes my mother wore.
"Vera, go upstairs and stay there until I tell you to come down again," barked Papa. "And no meals until you can apologize to all of us. You should be grateful you have a place at all in this household."
"I'll go, but I'll never be grateful!" Vera picked herself up and trudged out of the kitchen. "And I'll come downstairs when I get good and ready!"
Papa rushed forward.
"Momma, don't let him whip her!" I cried. "She'll only do something to hurt herself if he does." Vera always caused her own accidents soon after she had enraged Papa so much he had to punish her.
My mother sighed and looked more fatigued. "Yes, I guess you're right. Damian, let her go. She's been punished enough."
Why didn't my aunt speak up to defend her own daughter? Sometimes it seemed she disliked Vera as much as Papa did. Then I filled with guilt. At times I, too, absolutely hated Vera. The only time I liked her was when I pitied her.
Upstairs Vera was screaming at the top of her lungs. "Nobody loves me! Nobody cares! Don't you dare ever hit me again, Damian Adare! If you do, tell! You know
whom tell, and you'll be sorry, you will be!"
In a flash Papa was out of the chair and flying up the stairs. That stupid Vera kept right on screaming until he threw open her door, and then there was a thud. Next came the loudest and longest howl I'd heard her make yet--and her lifetime had a long record of howls and screams. My blood chilled. Another loud thump. . and then total silence. All three of us left in the kitchen stared up at the ceiling, which was the floor of Vera's room. What had Papa done to Vera?
A few minutes later, Papa came back to the kitchen.
"What did you do to Vera?" asked Momma sharply, her eyes hard as she glared at him. "She's only a child, Damian. You don't have to be so harsh with a child."
"I didn't do a damn thing!" he roared. "I opened the door of her room. She backed off and tripped over a chair. She fell and started howling. She got up and started to run to hide in the closet where she put that lock on the inside, and darn if she didn't trip and fall again. I left her on the floor crying. You'd better go up, Ellie. She may have another broken bone."
Disbelievingly, I stared
at Papa. If I had fallen, he'd have run to help me up. He'd have kissed me, held me, said a hundred loving things, and yet he did nothing for Vera but walk away. And only yesterday he'd been so nice to her. I looked at my aunt, almost holding my breath, wondering what she would do to Papa for being so heartless.
"After breakfast go up," answered my aunt as she sat down again. "Another broken bone would spoil my appetite."
Momma rose to go upstairs and see to Vera. "Don't you dare!" ordered Papa. "You look tired enough to faint, and I want you well rested and pretty for the party tonight."
Shaken again, I got up and started for the stairs. Papa ordered me back, but I continued on, taking the steps three at a time. "I'm coming, Vera," I called.
Vera wasn't in her room lying on the floor with broken bones as I'd thought she'd be. I ran about, wondering where she could be. Then, to my utter amazement, I heard her singing in the First Audrina's bedroom.
Only a playroom, safe in my home,
Got no tears, no fears,
And nowhere else to roam,
'Cause my papa wants me always,
To stay home,
Safe in my playroom, safe in my home . . .
I thought I'd never heard such a pitiful tune, the sad way she sang it, as if she'd sell her soul to the devil to be me, and to be forced to sit in the chair I despised.
Reluctantly, I returned to the kitchen again, where an inexplicably jovial Papa was telling a grouchy Momma a party was indeed just the thing she needed to lift her spirits. "How's Vera?" Momma asked. I told her Vera was fine and not broken, though I didn't mention she was using the rocking chair and must have stolen that key from Papa's keyring.
"Didn't I tell you?" said Papa. "Lucky, as soon as Audrina finishes her brunch the two of us are taking a stroll down to the river." He stood, and it seemed he deliberately tossed his linen napkin so it fell into his half-full coffee cup. Momma plucked his napkin from the cup and gave him an expressive youhave-again-proved-yourself-a-slob stare. But she didn't dare to reprimand him. It wouldn't have done any good. Papa did as he wanted and always would.
He led me by the hand to our back lawn, which gradually descended to the river. Its sparkling ripples made the day seem wondrously fine. He smiled at me and said, "Tomorrow's your ninth birthday, darling."
"Papa," I cried, staring at him, "how can tomorrow be my ninth birthday when I'm only seven today?"
Momentarily he seemed at a loss for words. As always when he lacked ready explanations, he caressed my hair, then lightly rubbed his curled fingers over my cheeks. "My sweet, haven't I told you many times that's why we don't send you to school? You are one of those rare individuals who has no sense of time at all." He spoke precisely, looking directly into my eyes as if to engrave his information. "We don't celebrate birthdays in our house because somehow it confuses your own special calendar. Two years ago, or one day short, you were seven years old."
What he said was impossible! Why hadn't he told me that I was eight years old and not seven? Was he deliberately trying to make me crazy? I put my hands over my ears to shut out anything else he had to say. My eyelids squeezed tightly together as I racked my brain to remember someone telling me I was eight years old. I couldn't remember anyone mentioning any age but seven.
"Audrina, honey, don't look so panicked. Don't try to remember. Just trust what Papa tells you. Tomorrow is your ninth birthday. Papa loves you, Momma loves you, and even shrew-tongue Ellie loves you if she'd dare to admit it. She can't because Vera is there, and Vera envies you. Vera could love you, too, if I showed her more affection. I'm going to try, really try to like that girl just so you won't have an enemy living in your own home."
I swallowed, feeling a sore throat coming on and tears filling my eyes. Something was weird about my life. No matter how many times Papa told me about my specialness, it wasn't natural to forget an entire year, it just couldn't be natural. I'd ask Arden. But then he'd know something awful was wrong with me and he wouldn't like me, either.
So it seemed I'd have to believe Papa. I told myself that I was only a child, and what difference did it make if I lost just one year in the process of growing up. And if time skipped past quicker than I could keep track of, what difference did it really make?
Sometimes unconscious fears tried to sneak out, whispering slyly, disturbing me, threatening my tentative acceptance. Inside my brain, colors were flashing and I felt the rocking motion of my body, to and fro, to and fro, singing voices whispering to me of birthday parties when I had been eight years old and I'd worn a white dress with ruffles tied round with a violet satin sash.