Whitefern (2 page)

Years ago, Papa had repaired the roof. He would do what was necessary, especially when he had made more money. But there were areas now that needed refurbishing and remodeling, and Papa wouldn't give permission to do it. It wasn't all about money. Arden had insisted that much of the structure was now an embarrassment, especially because we entertained so many wealthy clients, but Papa had said he saw some of the wear and tear as contributing to the house's vintage character.

He had especially never wanted to change anything about the cupola, which had windows of stained leaded glass with scenes that represented the angels of life and death. It had held too much history for him. I remembered how pleased he'd been to see the sunlight thread
through the stained-glass windows and fall in swirls like bright peacock feathers. There was even a long rectangle of painted glass in the roof. Chinese wind chimes hung from scarlet silken cords. It was still true to every original detail. This had been precious to Papa.

Actually, he had fought against changing any of Whitefern's decor, no matter what reasons Arden presented. When my husband would turn to me for support in these debates, I'd always try to remain neutral. Despite all that Papa had done to me, I couldn't hurt him, even in the smallest way. Consequently, not a single lamp was removed, nor were stronger bulbs put in any of them, even if they didn't provide enough light. It was as if Papa had been too comfortable with the shadows and would not drive one away.

At one point, Arden had wanted to replace our art, to sell some of the older pictures to take advantage of their escalating values and invest the money in stocks. But regardless of the financial reasons, Papa had resisted that, too. Some of the paintings were startling in their depictions of women. Papa had been particularly fascinated by the picture of a naked woman lying on a chaise and dropping grapes into her mouth. It reeked of sex, I thought, and certainly intrigued every dinner guest or visitor. Even as a young girl, I saw the lust in the eyes of the men who stood before it, smiling licentiously. I couldn't imagine the wall without that painting.

Some of the furniture had been replaced simply because it fell apart, but most of it was considered antique. Papa had replaced whatever was fake with the
real thing. I remembered my mother proudly describing the bed in her room as five hundred years old. Perhaps it was an exaggeration, but it certainly looked like a bed for a queen. I could never imagine selling it, and whenever Arden talked about refurbishing one room or another, I felt a pang of sadness and regret. It was like giving up old friends. When I told Arden as much, he laughed and called me a hopeless romantic. However, Papa had been happy I felt this way, which pleased me, even though it was a great disappointment to Arden when his wife was unsupportive.

Once I'd told him, “You can't change the past by changing wallpaper or furniture, Arden. You've got to stop trying. We have to live with it as best we can. It's not easy for me, especially, but we must.”

And that was what we did, both of us avoiding memories stirred by any references to my mother, to the piano she played, to Aunt Ellsbeth, and also to Billie, Arden's mother. Vera's name was almost a curse word now. If there was the slightest allusion to her, Arden would blush with guilt. His eyes would flee from mine, and he would find a way to quickly change the subject.

Oh, how did this house and the people living in it bear up under the weight of such pain and horror? Surely that proved it had the foundation to continue eternally, strong enough to hold up the world, like Atlas. It was a magnet for the soul, holding us within its radius. There was always a sense of relief now whenever I returned from a trip or even a simple shopping expedition. It loomed before me, its doors and
windows beckoning, urging me to get inside and feel the power of its protection against a cold and heartless world.

Sylvia was twenty the year Papa died. She was still like a child, even though she had a more than ample bosom and her body had carved into a figure most women would envy. Her hair was as pretty as mine. I often thought Sylvia had a healthier, richer complexion. She looked as if she might stay young forever, as if her mind not maturing meant that her body would stay frozen in its beauty.

Not socially mature enough, Sylvia had been kept at home during her school years rather than being sent to a place where we'd thought she would suffer at the hands of other students and also some teachers, who would be impatient with and intolerant of her. Instead, Papa and I had decided she should be tutored at home, as I had been for my first years. Maybe because of what had happened to me, Papa had wanted her to be kept close, protected.

Sometimes, when I would watch her with Papa and see the delight in his eyes, I would admit to myself that Arden was right. I was jealous of how much more Papa loved her than he loved me, even when he thought of me as the first Audrina. If I ever dared mention such a thought, he surely would deny it, of course, but anyone would have to be blind not to see the way his face lit up when Sylvia entered the room after I had.

“You must always look after your sister,” he had told me often. “Promise you'll never put her into one
of those homes for mentally deficient children.”

I'd promised. Of course I'd promised.

But the day would come when I would question the wisdom of that, when I would blame myself for what happened.

If anyone should have known it would, it should have been I, the best and only sweet Audrina.

Darkness before the Light

Papa would rest beside our mother, both just a few feet from the false grave that bore my name. Because Sylvia was taking Papa's death worse than any of us, I spent most of my time with her during the days that immediately followed, and Arden handled the arrangements for the funeral. In the course of doing that, he suffered a big shock. He met with Papa's attorney, Mr. Johnson, and learned that Papa had recently changed his will; he had left everything to the two of us and to Sylvia, as expected, but he had given me fifty-one percent ownership of the brokerage.

Arden returned home in a rage after the meeting. I hadn't attended because I thought, as he did, that it was not going to be anything significant.

“Why did he do this?” he ranted, marching up and down in front of Sylvia and me and waving his arms as violently as if he wanted to throw off his hands. He clutched a copy of the paperwork in his right hand. “Why? Why? I'll tell you why. He knew how much I knew about his earlier dealings, the graft and corruption.” He paused as he thought more about it.
“Sure, that's it. Of course. He did this to punish me for confronting him with his dishonesty years ago. How stupid to use you for his revenge.”

“It wasn't revenge,” I said, shocked but feeling like someone had to stick up for poor Papa. “He was worried about the way you were spending money and not concentrating on the work. All those nights you were out drinking while he went to bed early so he could greet the opening stock market.”

“That's . . . an exaggeration. I was at work doing what had to be done when it had to be done. You're getting me off the point. You don't really know anything about our business.”

“Papa always told me I was very smart. I knew enough to help you start, remember?”

“That was the basics that anyone would know. How can you vote on major decisions? You could count on your fingers how many times you've been there these past few years. You don't even know my secretary's name.”

“Yes, I do. Mrs. Crown, Nora Crown.”

He paused and glared at me. “Now, you listen and listen hard, Audrina. I want you to go to Mr. Johnson's office after the funeral and sign over everything to me. I'll call him and have the proper paperwork drawn up and ready for your signature so we can reverse this . . . this stupidity.”

He waited for my response. I was holding Sylvia's hand, and we were both looking at him, surprised. Even poor Sylvia could sense it, his contempt. This was not the time to rage about anything, especially
Papa. We were in mourning. It was disrespectful to Papa's memory. Maybe I didn't know as much as Arden did about the business that Papa had built and brought him into, but I had Papa's grit and determination. I could learn anything.

“I'll think about it, Arden,” I said softly. “When the time is proper.”

“Think about it? Think about what?”

“Lower your voice. You're frightening Sylvia,” I told him.

He barely gave her a glance. “Lower my voice? You've barely ever looked at the stock market these past years. You've probably forgotten the difference between a put and a call, selling short and buying on margin. The man was obviously not in his right mind when he had our attorney do this. If it wasn't out of some revenge, then it was because he was sick. That's it. He was sick. His brain wasn't getting enough blood, which was why he wasn't capable of thinking straight. Dr. Prescott will testify to that, and Mr. Johnson will agree.”

“There was nothing wrong with Papa's mind. And you know that he spent a lot of time with me explaining the stock market when I was younger. It's not something you forget quickly. He thought it was a good way to teach math.”

“Oh, boy, teaching a child math through the market. Like that makes you a broker.”

“I didn't say it made me a broker. But he did take me to the brokerage and even announced that I would be his partner someday when he had his own company.”

“He just wished he had a son to inherit everything. Every man wants that. I became his son. He said that to me after he married my mother. Or at least, I thought I had become his son. What father would do this to his son?” he asked, waving the papers in our faces.

“Stop it. Stop saying those things. I don't like talking about going against his orders while his body is waiting for burial.”

“Against his orders? Don't make me laugh. You think you could choose stocks for our clients the way you thought you could pick winners when you were a child? Tying your birthstone ring to a string and dangling it over a list of stocks in the paper until it pointed to the right one?”

“I did that, and Papa made money on the stock. You yourself were not so very good at it in the beginning. Did you forget?”

“Please!” he cried. “I was learning, whereas all you Whitefern women were crazy with your beliefs in magic . . . hoodoo, voodoo . . . paying that psychic to predict whether your mother would have a boy or a girl.”

“I'm sorry I told you that story.”

“I bet. Well, hear this, Audrina. There's no magic in our business. It takes knowledge and experience. You don't really have either when it comes to the stock market, especially today. It's too sophisticated. You'd do no better than . . . than
her
!” he screamed, pointing at Sylvia.

Sylvia began to cry.

“Don't point at her like that. She doesn't understand!” I shouted back at him. That only upset her more. Anyone arguing in the house put her into a panic.

“You don't understand, either,” he snapped back. “You don't understand how I feel being made a fool of like this. You can feel sorry for . . . for that,” he said, pointing at Sylvia again, “but not for your husband!”

Sylvia's sobbing increased, and her body shook.

“Look what you've done!” I cried. “I've been keeping her calm. It hasn't been easy.”

I put my arm around my sister and began to comfort her again. Since Papa's death, she would break out into crying jags and then howl with pain whenever there was any mention of Papa's passing. Every condolence phone call was like an electric shock. She would barely eat and wandered from room to room, expecting to find him. Every night, she called to him in her sleep, and every night, I ended up sleeping in her bed with her, her head on my breast, her tears dampening my nightgown.

“You know what? This is insane. I can't believe I'm even discussing it,” Arden said, and he marched angrily out of the living room, his arms stiffly at his sides, his hands clenched in fists.

We hardly said another word to each other until the funeral. I had my hands full caring for Sylvia anyway. I was terrified of how she would behave at the service, but fortunately, she was in more of a state of disbelief than one of mourning. She even looked surprised that we were there in the church listening
to the sermon and the eulogy. Every once in a while, she would gaze around the church, searching for Papa, especially whenever his name was uttered.

There were many businessmen in the Tidewater area who knew and liked my father very much. And of course, there were many community leaders who also knew him, so we anticipated a big attendance.

“Where is everyone? How can they not pay Papa the respect he deserves?” I asked Arden when I saw that no one else was coming and the service was about to begin.

He turned his amber-colored eyes on me. They were sparkling, but not with tears, the way I was sure mine were. His looked more excited than sad.

“Many of his friends and older clients have died. Besides, people always think, ‘The king is dead. Long live the king.' ”

“What does that mean, Arden? You're the new king, so they don't care about Papa anymore?”

“Something like that,” he said. “After all, he can't do anything more for them, but I can.” He patted himself on his chest.

Then he smiled, and for the first time, I realized that Arden wasn't as upset about Papa's death as I thought he should be. He was the head of the household now, and he thought he didn't need anyone else's permission to do whatever he wanted.

Then Arden surprised me by getting up to say a few words, honoring Papa for building such a successful business and promising everyone that he would do his best to uphold, protect, and further develop what
Papa had begun. The speech ended up being more of an assurance to our customers that he would keep the business successful than it was an homage to Papa.

When he was finished, he walked back to his seat beside me, his eyes searching my face for admiration and obedience, but instead, I turned away.

“You could put aside your grief for a moment and compliment me,” he whispered, “especially in front of these people. I am your husband, the head of the household, dedicated to protecting you and Sylvia. I deserve respect, more respect, now.”

“Today is Papa's day,” I said. That was all I said, but it was enough.

He turned away and didn't even hold my hand at the grave site. I had my arm around Sylvia, who finally began to realize what was happening.

“Audrina, we can't leave Papa down there,” she said when we were about to leave the cemetery.

The funeral workers would fill the grave after we all left. It was far too painful for me, and for Sylvia, to watch that. Arden had thrown the first shovelful of dirt onto Papa's lowered coffin. Although it was meant to be symbolic, it seemed to me he did it eagerly, even joyfully.

I could feel Sylvia's body tighten. She whispered, “Nooooo,” but I tightened my arm around her and kept her from charging forward to stop him or anyone else from covering the coffin.

I practically had to drag her away and at one point looked to Arden for help, but he was too busy shaking hands with those who had come to the burial. He was
behaving as if he was conducting just another business meeting. I even heard him mention some investment to Jonathan Logan, one of Papa's oldest clients, claiming that before he died, Papa had told him to tell Jonathan about it.

More people came to our house than to the church or the cemetery. I overheard that Arden had Mrs. Crown contact clients to give them the details of the funeral, but also to make sure they knew that if the church service conflicted with something they'd rather do, they were more than welcome to come to the house instead. He was treating it more like a party. I knew that people needed to avoid excessive grief and needed hope more than depression, but the way Arden was organizing things, I was almost expecting a band and dancing girls to show up.

Arden's boisterous conversations and continuous laughter stung. The whole thing confused Sylvia, who sometimes looked as if she might attack someone for smiling. I thought it best to get her up to her room, telling her to change and then lie down.

“You don't realize how tired you are,” I said.

She looked afraid to close her eyes, but eventually she did, and she fell asleep quickly.

When I went back downstairs, I was confronted again with loud laughter and conversation that had grown more raucous. More people had arrived. Arden had arranged for a bartender and two maids to serve hors d'oeuvres. I was determined to be polite, not festive. Many of the men greeted me with quick condolences but, thinking they had to, moved
instantly to assure me that my husband was capable of carrying on.

“After all, he was trained by an expert,” Rolf Nestor, one of Papa's high-net-worth clients, told me. “You can be very proud of him.”

Others said similar things to me, and when Arden, standing off to the side, overheard them, I could see his pleased, arrogant glare. Eventually, too physically and emotionally drained to remain, I excused myself.

“Of course, darling Audrina,” Arden said, loudly enough for everyone in the room to hear. “You've done more than enough for any father to be proud of you. He died knowing you would be well cared for, and you will be,” he vowed.

I saw the way the women were looking at him admiringly, and the men were nodding. It was not too different from the way they would look at Papa when he was younger and more energetic. Ironically, Arden was becoming more like Papa, the man he supposedly despised now.

I said nothing. My heart was heavy. When I went upstairs, I checked on Sylvia first. She was dead asleep. Out of habit, and maybe because I wanted to convince myself that this was not all a terrible nightmare, I opened the door to my father's bedroom and stood there full of wishful thinking. I imagined him propped up with two of his oversize pillows, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose, reading some economic charts or some company's profit-and-loss statement. In his final years, although he was working less, he'd kept up the research and preparation to
make sure that Arden made no significant blunders in his absence, the way he had in the beginning. In fact, now that I thought about it more, I could understand why he had wanted to keep Arden from galloping off with the company and thought that perhaps having the majority of the company's shares in my favor would make Arden more cautious. Papa always chose to be more conservative with other people's money. He hated to be blamed for losses.