Whitefern (Audrina 2)

He looked at Sylvia and then hurried past me, pausing in the hallway. “I’m an artist,” he insisted. “Don’t you tell anyone anything else. I can sue you,” he warned, and then hurried down the stairs.

I turned back to Sylvia, my hands still pressed firmly on the base of my throat.

“Is that the end of my lesson?” she asked.

I was trembling so hard that I didn’t think I could speak or move, but I slipped into the artist’s chair and took deep breaths. Sylvia stood there looking at me in confusion but with great interest. She had never seen me like this. I glanced at her and then looked at the canvas. He had finished the drawing and done a remarkably good job of capturing both her face and her body. I reached up quickly and ripped it off the easel, then folded it and stood up.

“Did he tell you to tell me you were nervous when I was in the room?”

She thought a moment, remembering, and then smiled and nodded.

“Get dressed and come downstairs, Sylvia,” I said. “Quickly!”

I was afraid that Mr. Price was still in the house, so I descended slowly, but he was gone.

“Sit on the settee,” I told Sylvia when she appeared, and I went to the phone to call Arden. That self-important Mrs. Crown had started to tell me he was busy when I screamed, “Get my husband on the phone now!”

She stammered and squeaked out a “Right away.”

Moments later, Arden, irritated, said, “What is it, Audrina? You have Mrs. Crown shaking.”

I rattled off the details so quickly that I was sure he didn’t understand.

He was silent for a few moments. “Tell me that again,” he said in a much quieter tone of voice than before.

I went through it slowly this time, even mentioning Mr. Price’s threat to sue us.

“Is he gone?”

“Yes.”

“And Sylvia?”

“She’s in the living room. She doesn’t understand what’s happened, what she has done, or why I am so upset,” I said, and then I started to cry.

“You didn’t call the police, did you?” Arden asked.

“What? No. Should I?”

“No,” he said, quickly and firmly. “That would be the worst thing for us—and for Sylvia. Can you imagine them arriving to question her? And when it got out to the public . . . oh, boy. Just do nothing until I get there.”

“We can’t just do nothing. I have his drawing. It’s clear evidence.”

“I’m not saying we will do nothing, but I’ll handle it. Just keep her calm.”

“She’s very calm, Arden. I assure you that she has no idea why what was going on was wrong.”

“Okay, okay. Just have tea or something. Wait for me,” he said, and hung up.

I hung up, too, and as calmly as I could, I returned to Sylvia, who waited with the expression of a little girl, frightened but confused, wondering whether or not she had to cry.

“Oh, Sylvia,” I said. I sat beside her and took her hand. “This is not your fault.”

“Art?”

“No, I’m not talking about art. This man, Mr. Price, he took advantage of you.”

She shook her head, not un