Whitefern (19 page)

“I am, but I've come out of retirement to assist Mrs. Lowe. Her husband persuaded me,” Mrs. Matthews said. “She's having a difficult pregnancy. In fact, I'd rather she didn't come out of the house to do shopping, but I gave in this once.” She smiled with icy lips.

Mrs. Haider nodded. “I'm sorry you're having difficulties, Audrina. I do hope it all works out well for you. How is Sylvia?” she asked, still ignoring Mrs. Matthews, who was exhibiting her impatience by pushing and pulling on the cart.

“She's well, thank you.”

“I'm sorry Mr. Price took sick and couldn't continue with her art lessons,” she said.

“Took sick?”

“Oh, didn't you know? I would have thought you would.”

Mrs. Matthews raised her eyebrows, her face reflecting annoyance now.

This was the hardest part for me, pretending that I cared and not revealing the terrible things Mr. Price had done. I practically choked on the words. “I knew it was getting harder for him. He seemed very tired, but I thought in time . . .”

“Yes, well, I'm surprised you don't know. He had a stroke. It's left him paralyzed on his right side, and for an artist who draws with his right hand, that's devastating. Perhaps you can give the Prices a call. They'd appreciate it.”

“She has to be concerned about herself right now,” Mrs. Matthews said sharply. “Perhaps after the baby is born.”

“Yes, when are you due?”

“A little more than six weeks,” Mrs. Matthews answered for me.

“Do you know if it will be a boy or a girl?”

I shook my head. I really was having trouble breathing now.

Mrs. Haider laughed. Why was she laughing? “Well,” she said, glancing at Mrs. Matthews, “my grandmother used to swear that if a pregnant woman's face turns red while you're speaking to her, she is definitely having a girl. I can't wait to see if she was right. Good luck.” She continued on her way.

I looked at Mrs. Matthews.

She was smiling, and not coldly. “You really do look sick to your stomach, Audrina. I think we do have to cut the shopping short.” Gleefully, she hurried along.

Ancient Voices,
Forbidden Dreams

“Do exactly what I tell you,” Mrs. Matthews said when we reached the front of the store after having done all our shopping twenty minutes later. “Now, lean on the cart as if to catch your breath.”

As soon as I did, she hollered, “Can I get some help here?”

She was loud enough for nearly everyone in the ­supermarket to hear. Customers stopped and turned our way. The busy cashiers paused, and the store manager came running.

“What's wrong?” he asked, looking like he might burst into tears or throw up his breakfast. He was a short, stocky man, with thinning dark brown hair and round eyes that seemed sunken in his pudgy face like dark cherries in soft vanilla ice cream.

“Mrs. Lowe isn't feeling well. She has a very delicate pregnancy. Open a register for us.” When he hesitated, she added, raising her voice, “Do you want a terrible scene played out on the floor here?”

He leaped to open the register himself and signaled for a packer, who rushed over.

The manager's assistant came over, too. He was taller and younger, with the slim physique of a tennis player. “Can I help?” he asked Mrs. Matthews.

She thought a moment, glanced at me, and then told him to take me out to her car very carefully while she finished with the groceries.

“Walk slowly,” she added when he offered his hand.

His name tag read “Marv Russel, Assistant Manager.” He had a boyish face and cerulean-blue eyes, and his light brown hair was cut in a short, military style. He looked more frightened than I was supposed to be, but when I took his hand, he let go and decided instead to put his arm around my shoulders. We started out. “Where's your car?” he asked, seeming afraid to look at me.

“It's that blue station wagon,” I said, nodding at it.

“When are you giving birth? I hope not any minute. I once saw a woman go into labor in a movie theater. I think I came close to fainting. My girlfriend thought it was quite funny.” I could hear the trembling in his voice.

“Don't faint now,” I warned.

He smiled. “I won't.”

“A little more than six weeks,” I replied to his question, making sure to agree with what Mrs. Matthews had told Mrs. Haider. Conspirators have to dot their
i
's and cross their
t
's when they're telling a contrived story.

“How far do you have to go?” he asked when we reached the car.

“Fifteen miles. I live in the Whitefern mansion.”

He shook his head. That had no meaning for him. “My family and I moved here recently. I don't know the area that well yet,” he said apologetically.

“Do you go to college?” I asked.

He laughed. “I guess I'll never look older. I graduated three years ago. I majored in business administration. Should we rest a moment?”

“Just a moment,” I said. I really did want to catch my breath, but I was also feeling bad about what I was doing to his nerves. He would surely spend the rest of the day describing me and what had happened. And it was all a lie.

“How long have you lived here?” he asked.

“All my life. My family is one of the oldest ones in the Tidewater area.”

“Oh. It's nice here,” he said, searching for things to say.

“Very. Are you still going with the girl from the movie theater?”

“No. She dropped me for the captain of the football team, but I have a nice girlfriend here. We're talking about marriage.”

“Talking about it?”

“Planning,” he said, smiling.

“Get her into the car!” we heard Mrs. Matthews shout. “I want her sitting.”

“Right away,” he called back, and leaped into action, taking me to the car, opening the door, and helping
me in. He breathed a sigh of relief the moment I was out of his hands. “Good luck with your delivery, and stay out of movie theaters,” he joked.

“I haven't been to one in years,” I said.

He looked surprised at my admitting that and then stepped back as Mrs. Matthews shoved her cart of groceries toward the car as if she was delivering a missile. He rushed forward to catch it and then helped her unload and pack the car. She opened her purse to give him a tip, but he refused and backed away.

“Good luck,” he called to me, and hurried back to the safety of his supermarket.

“Very good,” Mrs. Matthews said when she got in. “Your husband will be pleased about how you behaved.”

“How I behaved?”

She made it sound like I was a child on an outing. “You know what I mean. That principal was watching us the whole time. I'm sure she'll gossip.”

“She doesn't gossip,” I said.

“How would you know?”

“I just know. From knowing her in the past,” I added.

“We'll see. Whatever, it's fine now. There were many others who will talk about it.”

“What do you know about Mr. Price?” I asked. She was silent. “And Sylvia?” I added firmly.

“I know what your husband told me. How he and you handle this is your business. I don't have to know everything.” She paused and then said, “I know enough.”

I bet you do
, I thought.
I bet you've had your ear to the door of Arden's office whenever I was in there.
I asked her,
“Did you know he had a stroke?”

“No. Why would I want to know? It would be very unwise to show any interest in him right now, Audrina. You are such an innocent.” She shook her head as if that was a sign of failure.

“Wouldn't people just think you were being considerate, compassionate, if you asked about him?” Maybe I was innocent, but why would her questioning about him cause any suspicions?

“Why have them think anything at all?” she countered. “Besides, his welfare especially is the least of our concerns. We should stay focused on the project.”

“Project.”

“Whatever you want to call it—fake pregnancy, switch, whatever. Choose the words you want. Anyway, after this, you'll have no trouble staying inside until Sylvia gives birth and even a little while afterward. People who saw you today or those who hear about you will question me whenever I'm out and about. I'm going to tell them you're confined to bed now. In fact, I'd be happier if Sylvia was.”

I didn't like her tone, the way she was ordering me about, taking charge of everything, even Arden's and my lives. “I'll discuss it with Arden,” I said.

“I've already done that. He agrees, of course. Concentrate on your sister, not yourself,” she said.

“That's what I'm doing,” I practically shouted back at her.

Anyone else would have realized she had insulted
me by suggesting otherwise, but not our Mrs. Matthews. She simply shrugged and drove on, not even batting an eyelash. How had she ever become a nurse, I wondered, someone who had to have extra sensitivity and compassion for others?

“You weren't a nurse in a prison, were you?” I asked, still frustrated.

“What?” She actually smiled, a real smile toying with a laugh. “Why did you ask that?”

“You seem to have the right temperament for it,” I said.

Her smile quickly evaporated. “There'll come a time when you'll look back at all this and be very grateful that I had the right temperament,” she said, not hiding her crossness.

Had I finally chipped the walls of that cocoon in which she dwelled? I was sure she would tell Arden. They seemed to share a lot more with each other than they shared with me these days.

Mr. Ralph was waiting for us at the steps of Whitefern. He rushed forward, as well as he could rush, to help bring in the groceries.

“Go rest,” Mrs. Matthews told me. “It's obviously been an emotional morning for you.”

Without comment, I went into the house. Arden, obviously anxious to leave, was dressed for work and standing like a relay runner about to hand me the baton.

“She's in her room now, resting,” he said. “How did it go?”

“You'll get a full report from your chief of staff,”
I replied, and walked past him quickly to go see how Sylvia was doing.

She was lying with her eyes open but looking up at the ceiling like someone in a daze.

“Sylvia,” I said, sitting on the bed and taking her hand. “Are you okay?”

She looked at me without expression and then suddenly realized it was I. “Audrina, Papa spoke to me here this morning. I kept sitting in the chair, waiting, and he didn't speak, but today he spoke.”

“And what did he say?”

“He said I should stay in my room now and wait. The baby will be coming. He said I have to be extra careful. You'll have to stay in your room, too,” she added.

I looked back at the doorway. How odd, I thought, that the whispering Sylvia imagined coordinated so well with the orders Mrs. Matthews gave. It was a fleeting thought, but it lingered for the rest of the afternoon, until I asked Mrs. Matthews if she had said anything to Sylvia about being confined to her room.

“I might have mentioned that the day would come when she would be. Why?”

“She thinks she has to do that now.”

“Perfect. It makes my job so much easier when the patient anticipates my orders and carries them out.” She flashed her usual cold smile and went into Sylvia's room.

When the phone rang, I was anticipating Arden to be calling to tell me why he couldn't be at dinner again
tonight, but I was surprised and even frightened to hear Dr. Prescott's voice.

“Audrina? Dr. Prescott here,” he said. “I heard the craziest story today,” he continued. “One of my patients, Ceil Rubin, told me she saw you at the supermarket and that you were quite pregnant, as she put it. She mentioned that Helen Matthews was with you and there was some sort of emergency scene at the cash registers. What's this about?”

This was something neither Arden nor I had anticipated. We certainly should have, I thought. Dr. Prescott was our family doctor. Of course, he would be interested in anything involving us. My brain scrambled for the right answers. I could mess up everything, all that we had worked for these past months. I wasn't concerned as much about my efforts going for naught as I was concerned about what would happen to Sylvia. We would fail to prevent all that would follow, all that we knew would be unpleasant. Arden would be enraged for sure.

Why? I asked myself, imagining the question he would ask. Why would we not have immediately called Dr. Prescott if I was indeed pregnant?

“I'm sorry, Dr. Prescott.”

“Sorry? Are you pregnant, Audrina?”

“Yes, I am,” I said.

He was silent for a moment. I waited, afraid to utter another word. “Why didn't you come to me?” he asked finally.

“Arden hired Mrs. Matthews to look after me. She's full-time here now.”

“Pregnant. Well, I am happy to hear it. I know that's what you and Arden wanted. I'm just surprised when you consider the odds.”

“Maybe it was something that was meant to be,” I offered.

“Yes, apparently so. Well, I don't mean to sound upset or anything. I'm quite pleased.” He paused. It was coming. “But really, I am surprised you didn't come to see me.”

“Arden was upset with the results you got from the testing and the prediction you made for us,” I said. “He wanted us to handle it this way, but as soon as the baby is born, I intend to bring him or her to you to examine and care for all the time.”

“Pleased to be of service,” he said, but his voice was heavy with hurt. “What happened at the supermarket?”

“Oh, just a little spotting. It turned out to be nothing. I'm doing fine,” I said. “I'm going to take it a lot easier for the remaining time.”

“Spotting? How far along are you?”

“I'm a little more than six weeks away,” I said.

“And Mrs. Matthews told you that, gave you the approximate date of delivery?”

“Yes.”

“Very well. I'm aware of who she is and how vast her experience is. I'm sure your father would have been very excited about it. Good luck, and call me if I can be of any help.”

“Thank you. Thank you for calling, Dr. Prescott,” I said.

He hung up without saying good-bye. I held the receiver for a few moments, my heart still pounding. Dr. Prescott's voice had been full of skepticism. I didn't think he would make the leap to Sylvia immediately, but he was certainly suspicious. And I was feeling very guilty. I knew how Papa would have disapproved of our not using Dr. Prescott, but then again, how could we? It would surely be unethical, even illegal, for a doctor to do what Mrs. Matthews was doing for us.

I hung up and called Arden.

“What is it now?” he asked as soon as he got on the phone.

I told him about Dr. Prescott's call. “He was full of disbelief,” I added when he was silent. “What if he starts talking to people, asking more questions?”

“He won't. A doctor's relationship with his patient is private. I could sue him if he told anyone about the tests he gave us. Don't worry about that.”