Whitefern (Audrina 2)

“No. I don’t have to,” she said. I knew what she meant, but I didn’t want to keep talking about it. Maybe I was afraid to think about it, especially tonight. After all, I had grown up in this house with visions and voices calling to me from the deepest places in my mind born out of my rocking-chair dreams. No one could appreciate what Sylvia was thinking more than I could.

“All right. I’m going to sleep, too, then,” I said. I kissed her good night and put out her lights, but I didn’t close the door. I never did. She never liked the door closed. The sounds the rest of us made gave her comfort.

Arden was still awake when I got to our bedroom. I was surprised that he was sitting up and reading a folder, looking like he had quickly sobered up.

“I thought you were tired,” I said.

“I am, but I remembered some work I had to get done. I don’t simply work an eight-hour day, you know. Things happen before the market opens and after it closes. There’s not much room for blundering, especially when it’s someone else’s money and your reputation depends on succeeding even with the smallest portfolios. This is a word-of-mouth business. Success breeds more success. It doesn’t take many failures to sink the ship.”

“You don’t have to tell me all that, Arden. I watched my father work for years and saw how concerned he could be about every little detail.”

“Not in the beginning,” he muttered. “If there wasn’t Whitefern money, what would have become of you all? You’d be out on the street, that’s what. He had lots of losses.”

“Why think of that now? He became a very well-respected businessman. Everyone makes mistakes, even you, especially in the beginning.”

“Yeah, well, whatever . . . he didn’t have to concern himself with reporting everything he did to your mother, did he?” he snapped back.

So that was it, I thought. He was putting on this show to emphasize again why he wanted me to sign those papers. He wasn’t really doing anything important.

“Did it ever occur to you that I might want something more in my life, Arden? I’d like to be part of the work, the business Papa built. I’d like to do things outside of this house.”

He put his papers down. “Oh, really? And just how do you propose to do that and continue to be a nursemaid for your brain-damaged sister?”

“She’s not brain-damaged. Don’t say that.”

“No, she’s just sloooooow. Call it whatever you want. Well?”

“She’ll be taking art lessons. I’ll find other ways to keep her occupied and independent. You’d be surprised at some of the progress she’s made. She’s not as helpless as you think. I’ll arrange for more professional tutoring in all subjects. In time—”

“In time, in time . . . what’s to say she won’t run out and start digging up your father’s grave again? Please. You’ve chosen to keep her here, so you care for her, full-time. So do it. I do the work we need to keep the house and our lives going, and to do that, I need to be in total control. End of story.”

He could be so frustrating, I thought. I went into the bathroom and started to wash my face and brush my teeth.

“If we had a child, you wouldn’t even hesitate two seconds to do what I ask,” he called. “You’d be busy being a real mother instead of a nursemaid to a woman who should be in an institution.”

I felt the tears coming to my eyes and put my toothbrush down and took deep breaths. If anyone should realize how sensitive I was to sexual failure, it was Arden, and not simply because he was my husband. He knew the psychological problems I had. He had witnessed why. His own words when we were younger echoed in my mind: “Audrina, I’m sorry. It’s not enough to say. I know that. Now I wish I’d stayed and tried to defend you.”

Were those words all lies?

I went to the door.

“You know I want to be a real mother, Arden. You know I want that very much. We can keep trying. The doctor didn’t say it would absolutely never happen.”

“Sure, we can try until I dry up,” he muttered.

“Men don’t dry up. You were the one who told me Ted Douglas made his much younger wife pregnant, and he’s seventy-eight.”

“So he says,” Arden muttered. “I’ve seen that young wife of his out and about. Who knows if he really was the one to father her child?”

“Where? Where did you see her?”

“That’s not the point. The point is you should think more about being a housewife than a stockbroker. I’m the stockbroker. Get a hobby. Do needlework or join a book club, and have the women over for tea and talk like some of the other brokers’ wives I know. I don’t know why your father did this, this vengeful thing!” he said, slapping at his papers.

I returned to the bathroom. Neither of us said another word. He had put out his table lamp and turned over so that his back was to me, clearly telling me that he would not be trying for us to have a child tonight. I lay there looking up at the darkness and thinking. Maybe I would give in to what he wanted and just sign the papers. It would bother me for a while that I had defied Papa’s final wishes, but I had my husband’s wishes to consider. And I did recall my mother telling me not to be too talented, not to be better than my husband at anything: “Men won’t approve if it’s likely you’ll earn more money than they do.” Even when I was young, that sounded very unfair to me. Why were men more important than women?

I didn’t want to think about it any more tonight, so I closed my eyes and tried to remember happier times, especially the early days, when Arden was so loving and devoted to me.

I dozed off dreaming