My Sweet Audrina (Audrina 1)

Oh, what did she mean?

“He’s bringing Sylvia home this spring,” she said in that flat monotone that sent chills down my spine. “Once she’s here you won’t have time for music lessons, or time to do anything but wait on her.”

I was thrilled to know that at last Sylvia was coming, but the joy of that was shadowed by her words and her expression. “Sylvia was two years old last September, Aunt Ellsbeth. Doesn’t that mean she’s past the time of being a troublesome baby?”

She snorted. “Your father doesn’t want me to discuss Sylvia. He wants you to grow very attached to her. I’m warning you, don’t let that happen.”

I stared at her, completely bewildered. Wasn’t I supposed to love my own sister? Didn’t Sylvia need me to love her?

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m thinking of you, not her. Nothing can help Sylvia, and that’s too bad, but you can be saved and that’s what I’m trying to do. Keep yourself detached. Do for her what you can, but don’t love her too much. In the long run you’ll thank me for saying this now and not when it’s too late.”

“She’s deformed!” I cried out, horribly distressed. “Why didn’t Papa tell me, Aunt Ellsbeth? I have the right to know. What is wrong with Sylvia, Aunt Ellsbeth, please tell me. I need to be prepared.”

“She’s not deformed,” she said in a kind way, looking at me with such pity. “Indeed, she’s a beautiful child, and in many ways she looks very much as you did at her age. Her hair is not colored as remarkably as yours, but then, she’s hardly more than a baby, and it may change and become exactly like yours—and your mother’s. I only hope that someday she will look exactly like you. Lord God above, if that happened, perhaps he’d set you free from playing those silly dream games he believes in so much. For an adult man with a high degree of intelligence, he can sometimes be as superstitious as any moron. I’ve seen you swing that ring on a string over the stock lists you make, so I give you credit for being clever. Be clever enough to save yourself when the time comes.”

What did she mean?

“Audrina, heed my advice and stop what you’re doing. Don’t try to help him. Try, instead, to see him for what he is, someone determined to keep you tied to him in as many ways as he can dream up. He’s convinced himself that you are the only female in the world worthy of his love and devotion, and to you he will give everything he possesses, never realizing he’s stealing from you the best the world has to offer.”

“But I don’t understand!”

“Think about it, then. Think of how afraid he is of growing old and infirm so he’ll be put away in some old-age home. It’s like a phobia with him, a sickness, Audrina. We all have to grow old. There’s nothing we can do to stop it.”

“But, but…” I sputtered. “Why are you trying to help me, when I didn’t know you even liked me?”

“Let me try to explain,” she said, folding her work-reddened hands primly on the slight lap she made. “When I came back here to live with my daughter, I was made into a servant. I was afraid to let myself feel anything for you. I had Vera, and Vera had nobody but me. The trouble was, Vera adored Lucietta and soon grew to despise me for being a slave, when I had to be that or get out. I had my reasons for wanting to stay. And I was right to stay on … for it worked out just as I knew it would if I had the patience.”

My breath caught. “Tell me more,” I whispered.

“In the beauty race your mother always won, so naturally I was envious of her in all ways. I was jealous of her figure, her face, her talent and, most of all, of her ability to make men love her exceedingly well.” A tightness came into her voice. “There was one man I loved, only one—and then he saw her. Once he saw her, it was all over for me. It hurts to lose, Audrina, hurts so badly sometimes you wonder how you can live with it. But I did live with it, and perhaps one day I will even win one race by default.”

It hit me then, hard, why my aunt had always been so jealous of Momma, and why Momma had always flung back at her sister that she always got what she wanted and my aunt never did. Aunt Ellsbeth had been in love with my father! Despite the fact that she argued with him, disapproved of him, still she loved him. It seemed that way back in my mind I’d guessed this long, long ago and tried to tuck it away into one of my memory holes.

“Aunt Ellie, do you love him even when you know he cheats and deceives and has no honor and no integrity?”

Alarmed, her eyes fled from mine. “I’ve talked enough for one day,” she answered shortly, stalking into the dining room with a fresh tablecloth. “But you take heed of what I said, and be aware that things are not always as they seem to be. Put your trust in no man, and, most especially, discard any dreams that disturb you.”

Sylvia

Time had slowed down for me. Now I could retain my memories and store them in the safest places in my brain. With the help of my daily journal, I read over my memories daily to deeply implant them. The rocking chair was helping in more ways than one. I had hold of peace now. I had a refuge now, a sanctuary where I could find Momma’s image floating on the clouds.

I was eleven years and eight months old that May when Sylvia came home. My aunt had confirmed this, and I believed she was telling me the truth this time. She also confirmed Vera’s age as being three years and ten months my senior. Nothing, I told myself, would ever make me forget my age again. I wouldn’t allow the gray mists of forgetfulness to come again and obscure important events. I looked in my mirrors and saw small, hard breasts swelling out my sweaters. I wore my sweaters loose, hoping Arden wouldn’t notice, but already I’d seen him looking there and trying not to let me see him when he did. I saw other boys in school taking interested surveys on how my figure was improving. I ignored them and concentrated on Arden, who was still in the same school Vera attended. What I had under my sweaters was small in comparison to what Vera displayed by wearing the tightest sweaters she could squeeze into.

Papa never objected to Vera’s tight sweaters. Vera was allowed to date and go to movies and school proms. She belonged to half a dozen clubs, or so she reported when she came home very late sometimes. I never had time

to socialize. I had to hurry to Mr. Rensdale every day after school, but I was uneasy with him now. I couldn’t help but think of what Vera had told me about what she did with him. Half the time I thought she lied; half the time I thought maybe she didn’t. One day he had his sports shirt open at the throat, and his chest was very hairy, just as she’d said. She had described his naked body to me in such detail it was almost as if he wore transparent clothes. I couldn’t look his way.

The girls I met at school asked me to their slumber parties, but Papa always refused to let me go. He wanted me home with him, listening to him, watching him shave, hearing of his trials and tribulations at work. While he shaved and I still perched on the edge of his tub, I learned how to short stocks, what buying long meant. I heard about wash sales and municipal bonds, and tax shelters, and percentage rates, and hedging, and tax loopholes. The stock market was a crazy gambling game for the very rich. Only the ones with millions were sure to profit—unless they were somehow “intuitive.”

“And you are,” said Papa with a wide smile as he wiped off the excess shaving father. “Audrina, the rocking chair did help, didn’t it?”

“Yes, Papa. Can I go now? I want to call Arden and make plans to meet him tomorrow. There’s a movie showing I’d like to see.”

“I’ll take you to the movie.”

“Vera goes to the movies with boys. Why can’t I?”

“Because I don’t give a damn what Vera does.”