Dollenganger 06 My Sweet Audrina (21 page)

That's when I ran to tackle Vera, yelling as I did, "Don't you ever hit Sylvia again, Vera!"
I was on top of Vera, holding her down as she writhed and kicked and tried to scratch out my eyes. She fought me wildly, trying to rake my face with her long, sharp nails. Sylvia was still screaming. I sprang to my feet and ran to pick her up. Using a chair to pull herself up, Vera was finally on her feet. She stumbled toward the bedroom door and the hall outside. She didn't notice a small prism that Sylvia had been playing with. She stepped on it, lost her balance and fell again to the floor.
Sylvia howled in great distress, but it was Vera who screamed the loudest. When I looked, I was amazed to see great pools of blood on the floor.
With Sylvia in my arms I ran for my aunt. "Aunt Ellsbeth, come quickly! Vera is bleeding all over my bedroom floor!"
Indifferentlymy aunt looked my way, flour smudged on her chin.
"She's really bleeding, and the blood is running down
her
legs . ."
Only then did my aunt stride to the sink to wash the flour from her hands. She dried them on her spotless white apron. "Well, come along. I may need your help. There's a wild, destructive side to that girl, and no doubt she's managed to get herself in trouble."
We arrived in time to see Vera crawling on the floor, drenched with her own blood by now and still bleeding as she pawed through the congealing pools of blood, crying out, "The baby. . . I've lost my baby . . " Wild and distraught looking, she raised her head when we entered the room. I hugged Sylvia closer.
"Were you pregnant?" asked my aunt coldly, doing nothing to help her daughter.
"Yes!" screamed Vera, still feeling around in the blood.
"I've got to have that baby! I've got to! I need that baby! It's my ticket out of this hellhole, and now it's gone. Help me, Momma, help me save my baby!"
My aunt glanced down at all the blood. "If you've lost it, better so."
Demented looking, Vera's eyes went wild and her fingers curled around one huge clot of blood that she hurled at her mother. It struck my aunt's apron and fell to the floor with a sickening clomp. "Now he'll never take me with him," Vera wailed.
"Clean up the mess you've made, Vera," ordered my aunt, seizing me by the hand and trying to drag me away. "When I come back I want to see this room as spotless as it was this morning. Use cold water on that rug."
"Mother," cried Vera, looking weak now and ready to faint. "I've just miscarried--and you worry about the rug?"
"The Oriental is valuable."
Closing the door behind us, my aunt shoved me in front of her as Sylvia continued to whimper. "I should have known it would happen this way. She's no good, like her father." She paused, seeming to reflect before she added, "And yet he made other children without her flaws . .
Feeling sick, I still managed to find a voice. "Is Vera really Papa's child?"
Without answering, my aunt hurried back to the kitchen, where she immediately washed her hands again, scrubbing them with a brush. She hurled her soiled apron into the laundry sink, which she filled with cold water, and then took a fresh apron from a cabinet drawer. The apron was white with sharp, ironed creases. Once she had the apron strings tied, she began to roll the pie pastry she'd abandoned.
"You look paler than usual," Papa said to Vera at the dinner table. "Are you sick with a cold or something? If so, you should eat in the kitchen. You should know better than to spread your viruses around."
The look Vera gave him was so thick with hatred it could have been sliced with a knife. She got up and left her dinner unfinished. I felt sorry for her as I watched her stumble weakly from the dining room. She always limped worse when she was tired. "Vera, is there anything I can do to help?" I called.
"You can stay the hell away from me!"
Vera didn't even make an effort to clean my rug of all that blood. She just left it for me to do. For hours and hours that night before I went to bed, I scrubbed on my hands and knees at the bloody stains that refused to leave the deep woolen pile. My aunt came in and saw what I was doing, left to return shortly with a second pail and a hard brush. Side by side we both worked on the rug. "Your father has gone to bed," she said in a low tone. "He must never know about this. He'd skin Vera alive. Audrina, tell me what he's like, this music teacher of yours. She told me he's the father."
How could I tell her when I knew absolutely nothing about men? To me he'd seemed a fine, kind and noble gentleman who would never seduce a young girl--but then, what did-I. know?
But the rocking chair knew. Knew everything that Papa knew about how evil men were, and the terrible things they did to girls.
"Where's Vera?" asked Papa when I carried a clean and sweet-smelling Sylvia down into the kitchen the next morning. I strapped her securely into her highchair, tied a huge bib under her chin and gave her the prisms to play with twill had her breakfast ready. Finally he looked up from his morning paper and saw me. "What's wrong with your face? Were you in a fight? Audrina . . who hit you in your eye and scratched your cheek?"
"Papa, you know I sleepwalk sometimes. I did that last night and fell."
"I think you're lying. I noticed your face looked red last night, but Vera made me so damned mad that I didn't pay much attention to you. Now you tell me the truth."
Refusing to say more, I began the bacon that Papa ordered. Again he picked up the newspaper and began to read. Until lately the newspapers had never been delivered to our house but had been mailed. I frowned as I gave this some thought. "Papa," I said, dropping bread into the toaster, "why do you need the morning paper now, when you didn't want it before Momma died?"
"It is just something to do, love, besides argue with your aunt."
His words brought my aunt striding into the kitchen. The moment she saw what I was doing, she shoved me aside and took over turning the bacon.
Breakfast was over before my aunt said one word, then quietly came her information. "She's gone, Damian."
"Who's gone?" he asked blandly, turning the newspaper before he neatly folded it so he could read the next page.
"Vera's gone."
"Good riddance."
My aunt paled. Her head bowed for a moment, and then she pulled a folded note from her apron pocket. "Here," she said, handing it to him. "She left this for you on her pillow. I've already read it. I'd like you to read it aloud for Audrina to hear."
"I don't care to read it, Ellsbeth. She's your daughter, and I'm sure she's said nothing that will make my day happier."
Instead, Ellsbeth handed the note to me. Tears came to my eyes as I read what she'd written.
"Wait a minute, Papa," I called as he stood to pull on his jacket. "You need to hear this for the good of your own soul."
For some reason he paused, looking ill at ease as he shifted his weight from one leg to another. He kept his face in profile as I read:
Dear Papa,
You have never allowed me to call you Papa, or Father, but this time I'm going to disobey and call you Papa as Audrina does. You are my father and you know it, my mother knows it, Audrina knows it and I know it.
When I was very young all I wanted was for you to love me, even just a little bit. I used to stay awake at nights plotting all the good things I could do to make you notice me and say, "Thank you, Vera." But I was never able to win your affection, no matter how hard I tried, so soon I gave up.
I used to watch your wife so I could learn to be like she was--soft-spoken, always well dressed and smelling of perfume, and you spanked me for using her perfume, and spanked me for wearing my good clothes when I played. You spanked me for any reason at all. So I stopped trying to please you, especially after you had "your sweet Audrina," who could do no wrong. She was the one who pleased you in all ways.
No doubt at this moment as you read this you are glad to be rid of me, since you never wanted me in the first place. I'm sure you'd be happy to see me dead. But you can't get rid of me so easily. For I'm coming back, Damian Adare, and everybody who made me cry is going to cry ten times more than I ever did.
I won't give away any secrets in this letter, but there will come a day when all your secrets will be dragged out in the open for all to view. Count on that, dear Papa. Dream about that at night. Think about my dark eyes, which are just like yours, and wonder just what I've got in store for you and yours. And remember most of all, you brought it all on yourself by being heartless and cruel to your very own flesh and blood.
Without love now, I am the daughter who will serve you best. . . and serve you longest.
Vera
Slowly, slowly, Papa turned around and stared at me. "Why did you want me to hear that? Audrina. Don't you love me either?"
"I don't know," I answered in a small, uncertain voice, "except I thought you owed her a great deal she never got. Vera's gone, Papa--and she told you the truth. You didn't listen when she talked. You tried not to see her. You never spoke to her except to order her to do this or do that. Papa, if she is your daughter, don't you owe her something? Would a little kindness and a little love have been too much to give?"
Papa squared his massive shoulders. "You've heard Vera's side of it, Audrina, not mine. I'm not going to defend my actions. I say this one thing: Beware the day when Vera comes back into our lives. Go down on your knees tonight and pray that she stays away. But for your aunt I would have had her put in some distant boarding school a long, long time ago. There are some who should never have been born."
Unwaveringly, he looked my aunt in the eyes. I seemed to hear their dark eyes clashing with the sound of swords. It was she who lowered her eyes first, then her head bowed so low her long, straight part showed. Her voice was small and thin when she spoke. "You've said enough, Damian. You were right and I was wrong. But she is mine, and I had hopes she'd turn out differently."
"We all had hopes, didn't we?" With those words he left the kitchen.

Solving Dilemmas
.
Alone with Aunt Ellsbeth, I didn't know what to

say. She sat on and on at the kitchen table staring into space. Quietly I cleared the table and filled the dishwasher. Then I lifted Sylvia out of her highchair, washed her face again and took her upstairs with me while I dressed for school.

I tore off my robe, realizing I might be late for the school bus, and searched my drawers for the sweaters I washed each Saturday. Only my old and too small sweaters were in the drawers. Every good cashmere was gone. All the pretty blouses, too, the ones Papa brought home for me from time to time, all gone. Vera must have taken my best clothes that fit her. I ran to the chest of drawers to see what else might be missing. She didn't want my underwear, all that was there, but when I opened the jewelry case that had once been Momma's, everything of real value left to me by my mother was gone. Even the cuff links and tie clasps meant for my future husband, gone. I cried when I discovered my mother's engagement ring and wedding band had been stolen, too. How ugly and hateful to rob me of things I treasured so much. All the fine jewelry Momma had inherited from her ancestors had no doubt been hocked in some pawnshop. The only thing left of any value was the tiny birthstone ring I always wore on a chain about my neck and the quartz rose that Arden had given me. It's a wonder she hadn't tried to take those off while I slept.

When I returned to the kitchen with Sylvia in my arms, I found my aunt still sitting at the table. "Vera took all my good sweaters and blouses, and the jewelry Momma left me."

"She took what jewelry I had, too," said my aunt in a fiat voice, "and also my best coat. I only bought that coat last winter. The first new coat I've had in five years, and Lord knows when I'll have another."

"Papa will buy you another." But I wasn't so sure he would.
All day long, while I tried to concentrate on what the teachers said, I kept thinking of Vera and how she'd slipped away in the night like a thief, not caring whom she hurt. As soon as the schoolbell rang at the end of the last session, I was out the door and running to plead a ride with a friendly girl I knew.
The little cottage where I'd studied music for three years looked deserted. I stood on the front porch and pounded on the door as the wind behind me whistled and tore at my hair. "Hey, you, kid," called the lady next door. "Won't do you no good to keep hitting the door like that. He's gone. Heard him drive off in the middle of the night. Took some woman with him."
"Thank you," I said, turning away and not knowing what to do now. Arden would be home from his school by this time and preparing to deliver his papers, but I didn't have a dime to call him and tell him where I was. I hadn't asked my aunt for change when I left home, since her purse had been emptied by Vera.
With my stomach growling, I began the long fifteen-mile trek to my home. It began to rain long before I reached home. The wind whipped the trees along the roadside and tore at my wet hair, and soon I was so cold, despite my heavy coat, that I began to sneeze. Men slowed their cars and offered me rides. I felt wild with panic as I pretended not to hear them. I speeded my steps. Then a car pulled to a stop and a man got out as if to catch me and drag me into his car. Wild with terror, I screamed as I raced on. It was like a rocking chair nightmare.
A hand grabbed my arm and spun me about. Screaming still, I struck out at him. Then he had my other arm, and I was captured even as I continued to kick and struggle. "What the devil's wrong with you, Audrina?"
It was Arden who had me. His amber eyes came closer as he pulled me into his arms. His hair was pasted down on his forehead. "You're all right. It's only me. Why are you trembling? You shouldn't be out here on the highway, you know that. Why didn't you call?"
My teeth chattered so that I couldn't speak. What was wrong with me? It was only Arden. Why did I feel like I wanted to slap him? Shaking his head in puzzlement, he led me to his car. I huddled on the front seat, cringing to the far side, not wanting to be near him. He turned up the heat so high that he soon said he felt he was cooking--but I was having chills.
"You're going. to be sick," he said as he glanced my way. "You're already feverish looking. Audrina, why did you go to the village? I heard in the village that Mr. Rensdale left last night for New York."
"He . . he . . . did." I sneezed, then told him about Vera. "I think she's the woman he took with him. Papa's going to throw a fit. He knows she's run away, but he doesn't guess she ran away with my music teacher." I shivered and felt all the goose bumps on my arms under the coat.
"Take care," said Arden as he let me out. Swiftly, he leaned to brush a kiss over my cheek. That kiss made me want to scream again. "Don't you go worrying about Vera. She knows how to look out for herself."
I was sick in bed with a terrible cold that gave me four days to think about nothing much but Vera and Lamar Rensdale. "Do you think he'll marry her?" I whispered to my aunt one night soon after dinner.
"No," she said with authority, "men don't marry girls like Vera."
The new year started, and though Vera was gone from our lives now, she was far from forgotten. "Damian," began my aunt one morning, "why don't you ask about Vera? Do you miss her? Do you worry about where she is and what's happening to her? She's only sixteen. Don't you feel any concern for her?"
"All right," said Papa, neatly folding the morning paper and putting it beside his plate. "I don't want to ask about Vera because I don't want you to tell me something I might not want to hear. I don't miss her. This house is a much nicer place to come home to now that she's gone. Nor do I worry about her, or feel concern for her. She's given me just cause to despise her. If she did what I think she did, what I have a very good reason for believing she did, I could take her neck and gladly wring it. But you protected her even then, and tried to convince me she couldn't have been that cruel. I was a fool to have let you protect her. Now pass the butter. I think I'll have another English muffin and another cup of coffee."
I wanted to ask what Vera might have done that made him want to wring her neck. But already I'd learned that neither he nor my aunt ever answered questions, except by asking me questions about what I remembered. I couldn't remember Vera when she was younger than ten, or twelve, or whatever age she'd been when my memory began again.
"No doubt she ran off with that good-fornothing piano player," said Papa with his mouth full. "Rumors are all over the village, speculating on the woman who left with him in the middle of the night." He gave me a quick surveying glance, then smiled approvingly. "Audrina, I know you know what can happen when you fool around with boys. And if you never believe another word I say, believe this--you'd better not try the same trick. I'd follow
you
to the ends of the earth to bring you back where you belong."
In some ways life was much better without Vera in the house. Still, I wondered how Vera was faring with a man who hadn't wanted her.
Every day I asked my aunt, "Have you heard from Vera?" Every day she told me the same thing. "No. I don't expect to hear from her. I made the worst mistake of my life the day I came back here. But now that I've made my bed, I'm going to make the most of it. That's the winning attitude in life, Audrina, remember that. Once you decide what you want, stick with it until you have it."
"What is it you want?"
She didn't answer, just plodded about the kitchen in floppy shoes that made slip-slop sounds-- shoes that she took off before Papa came home. An hour before he was due, she raced upstairs, bathed, dressed, arranged her hair, which she'd had trimmed so it hung loose sometimes. She looked years younger, mostly because she'd found a smile to wear.
Without Vera our lives took on a certain sameness, an unexciting routine that was comforting. I turned thirteen, then fourteen. Sylvia grew but did not progress. She took up all my spare time, but still I saw Arden every day. Papa had resigned himself to Arden, confident I'd see so much of him that I'd soon be bored with the sameness. I was filled with sadness when Arden told me that next fall he'd be going away to college. I didn't want to think of life without Arden.
"Oh, Audrina," cried Arden suddenly, picking me up by my waist and swinging me around so my white skirt flared wide. His amber eyes were on a level with mine now. "Sometimes when I look at you and see how lovely you've become, it makes my heart hurt. I'm so afraid while I'm gone you're going to find someone else. Audrina, please don't fall in love with anyone else. Save yourself for me." Somehow or other my arms had gone around his neck, and I was clinging to him. "I wake up in the night," he went on, "thinking of how you'll look when you're fully grown, and I think as your father does then, that you'll feel toward me like a brother. That's not what I want. I've heard my mom say she changed her mind about boyfriends three times a week when she was your age."
Suddenly I was very conscious of being in his arms, and I squirmed until my toes were on the ground, though he still held me. "I'm not your mother." How serious I felt, how adult and wise, when I wasn't adult or wise.
Something soft and wonderful happened in his eyes, making his pupils enlarge, grow darker. The light that grew in them told me even before his head inclined that at the tender age of fourteen I was going to be kissed by the only boy I'd allowed into my life. How tender his lips were on mine, so tentative and light I felt shivers both hot and cold race up and down my spine. Joy and fear combined as I tried to decide if I liked that kiss or not. Why should I fear? Then he kissed me again, a bit more passionately, and I was filled with apprehension as the rainy day in the woods came back to haunt me. It belonged to the First Audrina, that awful day--why was it tormenting me, and punishing Arden?
"Why are you trembling?" Arden asked, looking hurt. "I'm sorry. I just couldn't help but be a little alarmed. I've never been kissed like that before."
"I'm sorry if I shocked you--but I just couldn't help myself. A million times I've held back . . . this time I couldn't."
Then I was sorry. "Oh, Arden, isn't it silly of me to be scared when I've wondered what was taking you so long." Why had I said that? It sounded like something Vera would say, and all along I'd been scared to death.
"Are you going to be a pushover? My mother was like that. I was hoping you'd be different, and that would prove to me that what we have now might last forever. Maybe Mom hasn't told you, but she's been married more than once. She was only seventeen the first time, and it was over in a few months. My father was her third husband, and, so she claims, her best. Sometimes I think she says that just to make me feel good about him."
Three times? "I'm no pushover," I said quickly. "It's just that I love you. Puppy love, Aunt Ellsbeth tells me. I never tell her anything. She just looks at me and says it's more than just being outside so much that makes my eyes shine and my skin glow. Even Papa says I never looked healthier or happier. But I think it's you, and I think it's because I've learned to love Sylvia so much. And she loves me, too, Arden. When I'm not around she crouches in a dim corner as if she doesn't want anyone to notice her. I think she's terrified of Aunt Ellsbeth. Then when I come into the room, she comes over to me and she tugs on my hand, or on the hem of my skirt, and her small face tilts backward . . . and she makes me the center of her life."
He looked uncomfortable, refusing to turn and look at Sylvia, who was always with me--if not in sight, somewhere close by. She made him uneasy, yet he never said this. I think she embarrassed him with her odors, her messy habits, her inability to talk or focus her eyes.
Not too far away Sylvia crawled on the ground, following a long string of ants to their hole in the ground.
"Stop looking at Sylvia looking at the ants," he teased, "and look at me." Playfully he slapped at me when I refused to look at him. I shoved him away, and he shoved back, and then we both fell on the ground and wrestled around before his arms encircled me and we were soulfully staring into the eyes of the other. "I do love you," he whispered hoarsely. "I know I'm too young to feel this way, but all my life I've been hoping it would be like this, while I'm young, with the kind of girl you are--special, clean, decent."
My heart began its nervous throbbing as his amber eyes traveled slowly downward from my face to my neck, my bosom, my waist. Then he was looking to a lower place that made me blush. Staring into my eyes, and even looking at my breasts had made me feel beloved and beautiful, but to look there sent shivers of recognition darting through my memory, stirring up the nightmares of the rocking chair and all that had been done to the First Audrina, who had died because all three of those boys had looked there, despite her frantic efforts to kick them away. Shame filled me. Quickly I moved my leg to a concealing position. What I did made Arden blush.
"Don't be ashamed of being a girl, Audrina," he whispered with his head turned away. All of a sudden I began to cry.
She's made
me ashamed. All my life I'd been tortured because of her.
I hated her!
I wished she'd never been born, and then maybe I'd feel right and natural, instead of wrong and unnatural.
Still I kept on shivering, even more violently. What feet were walking on my grave? Hers?
"I'm going home now," I said stiffly, getting up to brush off my slacks.
"You're angry with me."
"No, I'm not."
"It's half an hour before twilight. Plenty of time before dark."
"I'll make up for it tomorrow." I ran for Sylvia and seized her small hand, pulling her to her feet before I turned to smile weakly at Arden. "Just stand where you are and don't walk us to the edge of the woods. If anything bad happens, I'll call for you. I need to do this, Arden."
The sun was in his eyes, preventing me from reading his expression. "Call out when you reach your lawn to let me know you're all right."
"Arden, even if sometimes I act strange, and I pull away and tremble, don't pull away from me. Without you I wouldn't know how to get through the woods, or the days." Embarrassed, I whirled around and tried to run. But Sylvia didn't know how to run. She stumbled on tree roots, tripped on sticks, fell over her own feet, and soon I had her in my arms. She was six years old now and getting heavy. The crystal prisms she carried in her pockets everywhere she went made her heavier. Soon I put her down and slowed my hurrying feet. Home before dark, I kept saying to myself. Home before it rained.
"I'm here, Arden!" I called. "Safe in our own yard."
"Go inside. . . and good night. If you dream, dream of me."
His voice from the woods sounded very close, making me smile sadly. He'd followed us, as if he knew what had happened to the First Audrina and wanted to save me from her fate.
Arden had been in college one year when I had my sixteenth birthday. He made top grades, but it was a dull year for me, lonely in the house, and even lonelier when I ran through the woods, hauling Sylvia with me when I visited Billie. The cottage seemed half empty without Arden, without its heart. I marveled that Billie could stay there alone and still manage to smile. Over and over again she read his letters to me, as I read bits and pieces of his letters to me to her. She'd smile when I skipped some little endearment, for in his letters he dared much more than he did in person.
High school pleased me more than grammar school, but the boys there were much more persistent. Sometimes it was hard to concentrate solely on Arden, whom I saw so seldom. I was sure he was dating other girls he never wrote about, but I was faithful, dating no one but him when he came home on school vacations. All the girls were envious that I had a college-age boyfriend.
Taking care, of Sylvia filled my life, stole every spare moment when I could have made friends with girls my own age. I didn't have time for any of the social activities they enjoyed. Every day I had to rush home as quickly as possible in case I had to rescue Sylvia from the switch my aunt liked to wield--and out of pure indifference my aunt made Sylvia suffer unnecessarily, waiting for me to tend to her physical needs.