Whitefern (Audrina 2)

about a Christmas dinner when Momma and I put up decorations, but something woke me not more than a half hour later. My eyes just popped open. There was a familiar sound in the house, a sound that belonged in nightmares. I turned slowly toward Arden, but he was dead asleep, breathing heavily with an occasional snore.

I sat up and listened harder. It was there. I was not dreaming or imagining it. The sound was hypnotizing. I didn’t need anyone to tell me why. It buzzed in my brain. I rose like a sleepwalker and left the bedroom. I thought the hall lights flickered as if the house was sending warnings: Stay back. Don’t go. The floor creaked, and the wind seemed to be scrubbing the windows. There were many cracks around frames in this old house. The wind whistled through them. Curtains danced, and above me at one point a chandelier gently swayed.

My heart began to pound. Despite all I had learned about the deception under which I had been raised, I couldn’t help imagining that there was a first Audrina. For most of my childhood, I would swear on a stack of Bibles that she whispered to me whenever I was alone. Be me. You must be me, or I will be dead forever and ever.

When I told my father about that once, he smiled and kissed me. “Yes,” he said. “That’s good. That’s what we want. Listen for her always.”

Practically tiptoeing now, I walked toward the first Audrina’s room. It would always be called that, and it would never be used, nor would any of the toys and dolls ever be taken out of it. Arden thought that was sick and sometimes ranted about it.

“We could give all that stuff to the children of poor people. We’ll make a big thing of it and have the newspapers take pictures. People will commend us for our charity, and guess what, we’ll get more clients, more business. That’s the reason most people announce their charitable gifts, most companies. They want more business, tit for tat.”

“Just leave it alone,” I warned him. At an earlier time, I would add, “Maybe our daughter will have those things.”

“Daughter?” He shook his head. “Go call Santa Claus and tell him you’ve been a good little girl. We’ll find a baby wrapped in ribbons on Christmas Day.”

When I was just about at the door, I stopped. There was no doubt. I heard the rocking chair rocking. I stepped up and gently opened the door. The sound stopped. I leaned to my left and found the light switch, my heart thumping.

Sylvia looked up at me.

“Sylvia, what are you doing? Why did you come in here? Why are you in the chair?”

She smiled, unafraid, looking at me as though I was the slow-witted sister and not her.

“Papa told me to,” she said. “He said whenever I wanted to talk to him, I should rock in the first Audrina’s chair, because that was the way you spoke to the first Audrina.”

“When did he tell you that?”

“I don’t know when. I don’t have a watch, and calendars are just full of numbers and days and numbers and days.”

“Was this the secret you wouldn’t tell me, the secret Papa told you never to tell?”

“Yes, but he said if I came here and rocked in the chair, he would tell me more secrets, Audrina.”

For a moment, standing there and looking at my sister, I thought Arden was probably right. I should have emptied this room. Maybe we could erase the past, if not forever, for years and years, or at least put it so far in the back of our minds it wouldn’t ruin our present lives.

“Oh, Sylvia,” I said. “Poor Sylvia. Come back to bed. Come.” I held out my hand.

“You can talk to him, too, Audrina. Just come here and rock,” she said, starting to rise so I could take her place.

“Okay. But it’s very late, so not tonight. Please, Sylvia, let’s go back to bed.”

“But Papa’s still here.”

“He’ll always be here, won’t he?” I asked.

That pleased her, and, still reluctant, she rose to take my hand. I turned off the light and closed the door behind us.

“Let’s try not to wake up Arden,” I warned, afraid she would start talking loudly. “You know how cranky he gets when he’s awakened in the middle of the night.”

She nodded. When we were almost to her room, she paused. She seemed very excited. I looked around. What was she seeing or hearing now?

“What is it, Sylvia?”

“I almost forgot to tell you,” she said. “Papa did have a secret for you that I was supposed to tell you.”

“What?” I said, so tired I had only inches of patience left for her.

“He said you’ll have a baby, not to worry.”