That’s when the creaking of the wooden slab swing stopped. Vera rose reluctantly to her feet and drifted closer. I glanced to see her eyes fixed on me, as if she were onl
y interested in my reactions and didn’t care about Sylvia at all. Not once did she look at my sister. How odd.
Despite Vera, and my aunt’s grim expression, I was so happy as I stared at that pretty little girl who was my sister. In another second I was seeing her as not just pretty, but beautiful. She had a bright head of chestnut-colored curls, reddish blonde where the sun highlighted, and how marvelously shiny they were. I saw her sweet little dimpled hands that reached pleadingly toward Papa, wanting him to pick her up. He had to stoop to catch hold of her hand, yet he did that and began to guide her toward the steps. “One step at a time, Sylvia,” he encouraged. “That’s the way it’s done, just one step at a time.”
How dear were the little white shoes she wore. What fun she was going to be, a living doll of my very own to dress and play with. Too excited for words, I stepped down lower, just one step—and then paused. Something … something about her eyes, about the way she walked, the way she held her mouth. Oh, dear God—what was wrong with her?
“Come, Sylvia,” urged Papa, tugging on her miniature hand, which must be lost in his. “You come too, Audrina. Step down to our level and meet the little sister you’ve been dying to have. Come closer so you can admire Sylvia’s aquamarine eyes that tilt so charmingly upward. See how widely spaced they are. See Sylvia’s long, curling, dark lashes. See all the beauty that Sylvia possesses—and forget everything else.”
He paused, looked at me and waited. Vera giggled and moved for a better place from which she could observe my every reaction.
Frozen, I thought at that moment that all of nature stood still waiting for my decision and my judgment of Sylvia. It was my move now, but I couldn’t move and couldn’t speak.
Grown impatient, Papa spoke. “Well, if you can’t come to us, then we’ll come to you.” Undaunted as always, he flashed me a charming smile that made his teeth flash in the sunlight. “You have been pestering me for more than two years to bring home your baby sister. Well, here she is. Aren’t you delighted?”
Step by tortured step, Papa had to assist Sylvia to walk. She couldn’t lift either foot with any degree of skill. She shuffled her feet along, making them slide over obstacles. Even as she did this, her head lolled to the right, then to the left; it fell forward; it jerked and fell backward as if she stared at the sky. Then back again, and the ground would draw her attention—if that nothing stare could be called attention.
Sylvia’s bones seemed made of rubber. Before she’d taken five small steps, she’d scuffed her new white shoes, fallen to her knees three times and been hauled up by Papa. Easily enough Papa tugged her up the steps by lifting her by one frail arm. As they advanced, I backed up the stairs, not even realizing I was retreating. Still Sylvia was coming closer and closer so I could see details. Her lips never met but gaped so that she drooled, her eyes never focused.
I trembled, feeling sick. Papa, it was all his fault! He was responsible for Sylvia’s condition! All those arguments, the times he used his belt for a whip. I sobbed then for Momma, who had done her bit, too, when she drank that hot tea laced with bourbon, even when Papa told her not to.
Coming closer every second was the end result of all this abuse, this lovely little girl who looked absolutely moronic.
I backed up until I felt that house hard behind my back. Relentlessly Papa pursued, dragging my sister along. Then he swooped to pick her up, and in the cradle of just one of his arms, he held her so she was at my eye level.
“Look, Audrina, see Sylvia. Don’t turn your head aside. Don’t close your eyes. See how Sylvia drools and can’t focus her eyes or even make her feet move correctly. She’ll reach for what she wants a dozen or more times before she can figure out how to grasp it. She’ll try to shove food into her mouth and miss, though eventually she’ll find a way to eat. She’s like an animal, a wild thing—but isn’t she beautiful, charming and terrible, too? Now that you see, perhaps you’ll understand why I kept her away for so long. I was giving you freedom and not once did you thank me. Not once.”
“Sylvia is a crazy … a crazy … a crazy …” chanted Vera softly in the background. “Now Audrina’s got a nutty … a nutty … a nutty …”
Papa roared, “Vera, get in the house and stay there!”
For some reason, Vera paled. She stalked closer to where Papa stood with Sylvia. “You’d rather have that idiot little girl than me, wouldn’t you?” screamed Vera, glaring at him and Sylvia, too. Something tortured twisted her mouth and made her look old and ugly. “There will come a time when you’ll want me more than you’ve ever wanted anyone else—but I’ll spit in your face before I’ll help you when you need it!”
“You are not telling me anything I don’t already know,” said Papa coldly. “You are like your mother—free with your hate and spite, stingy with your love. I don’t need your help, Vera. Not now, and not in the future—I have Audrina.”
“You have nothing when you have Audrina!” yelled Vera shrilly, striking out at him. “She hates you, too, only she doesn’t know it yet!”
Easily Papa continued to hold Sylvia as his free hand shot out and delivered such a hard slap to Vera’s face that she fell to the porch floor. Crumpled there she screamed wildly, almost insanely. Sylvia began a loud wailing.
“Damn you for hitting her!” cried my aunt. “Damian, all that girl wants is a little show of affection from you. You’ve never given her anything but indifference. And you know who she is—you know!”
“I don’t know anything,” Papa said in a voice so deadly cold I shivered with fear. He riveted his dark, menacing eyes on my aunt, almost visually ordering her to keep her mouth shut or perhaps he’d knock her down, too.
Panic was taking me over. Vera crawled to where she could use the screen door to pull herself up. Then, still crying, she disappeared into the house. And I was left still staring at Sylvia, who couldn’t focus on anything or anyone.
What kind of eyes did she have? Vacant eyes. Nowhere eyes. Though their color was striking and her long lashes were dark and curling, what difference? What difference when there was no intelligence behind that void stare.
I swallowed over that aching lump that came again to thicken my voice and sting my eyes with tears. My fist balled and I swiped at my tears, trying not to let Papa see.
Papa was staring at me. “No comment, Audrina? Come, now, you must be thinking something.”
My eyes lifted to meet his. His smile came then, slight and cynical. “Why can’t Sylvia close her mouth and focus her eyes?” I asked in a weak voice. “And why can’t she walk as well as other children almost three years old?”
“Leave us,” said Papa to my aunt, who appeared rooted to one spot. I could still hear Vera’s cries rebounding down the stairs. Though our huge house was cluttered with dark and massive furniture, when someone screamed as Vera was screaming now it seemed a hollow house, ghostlike and full of echoes.
“Why should I leave, Damian? Tell me that.”
“Nobody’s influence should come between Audrina and her sister. Ellsbeth, take that disapproving scowl from your face. It’s not becoming.”