Whitefern

by V. C. Andrews

  “Don’t faint now,” I warned.

  He smiled. “I won’t.”

  “A little more than six weeks,” I replied to his question, making sure to agree with what Mrs. Matthews had told Mrs. Haider. Conspirators have to dot their i’s and cross their t’s when they’re telling a contrived story.

  “How far do you have to go?” he asked when we reached the car.

  “Fifteen miles. I live in the Whitefern mansion.”

  He shook his head. That had no meaning for him. “My family and I moved here recently. I don’t know the area that well yet,” he said apologetically.

  “Do you go to college?” I asked.

  He laughed. “I guess I’ll never look older. I graduated three years ago. I majored in business administration. Should we rest a moment?”

  “Just a moment,” I said. I really did want to catch my breath, but I was also feeling bad about what I was doing to his nerves. He would surely spend the rest of the day describing me and what had happened. And it was all a lie.

  “How long have you lived here?” he asked.

  “All my life. My family is one of the oldest ones in the Tidewater area.”

  “Oh. It’s nice here,” he said, searching for things to say.

  “Very. Are you still going with the girl from the movie theater?”

  “No. She dropped me for the captain of the football team, but I have a nice girlfriend here. We’re talking about marriage.”

  “Talking about it?”

  “Planning,” he said, smiling.

  “Get her into the car!” we heard Mrs. Matthews shout. “I want her sitting.”

  “Right away,” he called back, and leaped into action, taking me to the car, opening the door, and helping me in. He breathed a sigh of relief the moment I was out of his hands. “Good luck with your delivery, and stay out of movie theaters,” he joked.

  “I haven’t been to one in years,” I said.

  He looked surprised at my admitting that and then stepped back as Mrs. Matthews shoved her cart of groceries toward the car as if she was delivering a missile. He rushed forward to catch it and then helped her unload and pack the car. She opened her purse to give him a tip, but he refused and backed away.

  “Good luck,” he called to me, and hurried back to the safety of his supermarket.

  “Very good,” Mrs. Matthews said when she got in. “Your husband will be pleased about how you behaved.”

  “How I behaved?”

  She made it sound like I was a child on an outing. “You know what I mean. That principal was watching us the whole time. I’m sure she’ll gossip.”

  “She doesn’t gossip,” I said.

  “How would you know?”

  “I just know. From knowing her in the past,” I added.

  “We’ll see. Whatever, it’s fine now. There were many others who will talk about it.”

  “What do you know about Mr. Price?” I asked. She was silent. “And Sylvia?” I added firmly.

  “I know what your husband told me. How he and you handle this is your business. I don’t have to know everything.” She paused and then said, “I know enough.”

  I bet you do, I thought. I bet you’ve had your ear to the door of Arden’s office whenever I was in there. I asked her, “Did you know he had a stroke?”

  “No. Why would I want to know? It would be very unwise to show any interest in him right now, Audrina. You are such an innocent.” She shook her head as if that was a sign of failure.

  “Wouldn’t people just think you were being considerate, compassionate, if you asked about him?” Maybe I was innocent, but why would her questioning about him cause any suspicions?

  “Why have them think anything at all?” she countered. “Besides, his welfare especially is the least of our concerns. We should stay focused on the project.”

  “Project.”

  “Whatever you want to call it—fake pregnancy, switch, whatever. Choose the words you want. Anyway, after this, you’ll have no trouble staying inside until Sylvia gives birth and even a little while afterward. People who saw you today or those who hear about you will question me whenever I’m out and about. I’m going to tell them you’re confined to bed now. In fact, I’d be happier if Sylvia was.”

  I didn’t like her tone, the way she was ordering me about, taking charge of everything, even Arden’s and my lives. “I’ll discuss it with Arden,” I said.

  “I’ve already done that. He agrees, of course. Concentrate on your sister, not yourself,” she said.

  “That’s what I’m doing,” I practically shouted back at her.

  Anyone else would have realized she had insulted me by suggesting otherwise, but not our Mrs. Matthews. She simply shrugged and drove on, not even batting an eyelash. How had she ever become a nurse, I wondered, someone who had to have extra sensitivity and compassion for others?

  “You weren’t a nurse in a prison, were you?” I asked, still frustrated.

  “What?” She actually smiled, a real smile toying with a laugh. “Why did you ask that?”

  “You seem to have the right temperament for it,” I said.

  Her smile quickly evaporated. “There’ll come a time when you’ll look back at all this and be very grateful that I had the right temperament,” she said, not hiding her crossness.

  Had I finally chipped the walls of that cocoon in which she dwelled? I was sure she would tell Arden. They seemed to share a lot more with each other than they shared with me these days.

  Mr. Ralph was waiting for us at the steps of Whitefern. He rushed forward, as well as he could rush, to help bring in the groceries.

  “Go rest,” Mrs. Matthews told me. “It’s obviously been an emotional morning for you.”

  Without comment, I went into the house. Arden, obviously anxious to leave, was dressed for work and standing like a relay runner about to hand me the baton.

  “She’s in her room now, resting,” he said. “How did it go?”

  “You’ll get a full report from your chief of staff,” I replied, and walked past him quickly to go see how Sylvia was doing.

  She was lying with her eyes open but looking up at the ceiling like someone in a daze.

  “Sylvia,” I said, sitting on the bed and taking her hand. “Are you okay?”

  She looked at me without expression and then suddenly realized it was I. “Audrina, Papa spoke to me here this morning. I kept sitting in the chair, waiting, and he didn’t speak, but today he spoke.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “He said I should stay in my room now and wait. The baby will be coming. He said I have to be extra careful. You’ll have to stay in your room, too,” she added.

  I looked back at the doorway. How odd, I thought, that the whispering Sylvia imagined coordinated so well with the orders Mrs. Matthews gave. It was a fleeting thought, but it lingered for the rest of the afternoon, until I asked Mrs. Matthews if she had said anything to Sylvia about being confined to her room.

  “I might have mentioned that the day would come when she would be. Why?”

  “She thinks she has to do that now.”

  “Perfect. It makes my job so much easier when the patient anticipates my orders and carries them out.” She flashed her usual cold smile and went into Sylvia’s room.

  When the phone rang, I was anticipating Arden to be calling to tell me why he couldn’t be at dinner again tonight, but I was surprised and even frightened to hear Dr. Prescott’s voice.

  “Audrina? Dr. Prescott here,” he said. “I heard the craziest story today,” he continued. “One of my patients, Ceil Rubin, told me she saw you at the supermarket and that you were quite pregnant, as she put it. She mentioned that Helen Matthews was with you and there was some sort of emergency scene at the cash registers. What’s this about?”

  This
was something neither Arden nor I had anticipated. We certainly should have, I thought. Dr. Prescott was our family doctor. Of course, he would be interested in anything involving us. My brain scrambled for the right answers. I could mess up everything, all that we had worked for these past months. I wasn’t concerned as much about my efforts going for naught as I was concerned about what would happen to Sylvia. We would fail to prevent all that would follow, all that we knew would be unpleasant. Arden would be enraged for sure.

  Why? I asked myself, imagining the question he would ask. Why would we not have immediately called Dr. Prescott if I was indeed pregnant?

  “I’m sorry, Dr. Prescott.”

  “Sorry? Are you pregnant, Audrina?”

  “Yes, I am,” I said.

  He was silent for a moment. I waited, afraid to utter another word. “Why didn’t you come to me?” he asked finally.

  “Arden hired Mrs. Matthews to look after me. She’s full-time here now.”

  “Pregnant. Well, I am happy to hear it. I know that’s what you and Arden wanted. I’m just surprised when you consider the odds.”

  “Maybe it was something that was meant to be,” I offered.

  “Yes, apparently so. Well, I don’t mean to sound upset or anything. I’m quite pleased.” He paused. It was coming. “But really, I am surprised you didn’t come to see me.”

  “Arden was upset with the results you got from the testing and the prediction you made for us,” I said. “He wanted us to handle it this way, but as soon as the baby is born, I intend to bring him or her to you to examine and care for all the time.”

  “Pleased to be of service,” he said, but his voice was heavy with hurt. “What happened at the supermarket?”

  “Oh, just a little spotting. It turned out to be nothing. I’m doing fine,” I said. “I’m going to take it a lot easier for the remaining time.”

  “Spotting? How far along are you?”

  “I’m a little more than six weeks away,” I said.

  “And Mrs. Matthews told you that, gave you the approximate date of delivery?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very well. I’m aware of who she is and how vast her experience is. I’m sure your father would have been very excited about it. Good luck, and call me if I can be of any help.”

  “Thank you. Thank you for calling, Dr. Prescott,” I said.

  He hung up without saying good-bye. I held the receiver for a few moments, my heart still pounding. Dr. Prescott’s voice had been full of skepticism. I didn’t think he would make the leap to Sylvia immediately, but he was certainly suspicious. And I was feeling very guilty. I knew how Papa would have disapproved of our not using Dr. Prescott, but then again, how could we? It would surely be unethical, even illegal, for a doctor to do what Mrs. Matthews was doing for us.

  I hung up and called Arden.

  “What is it now?” he asked as soon as he got on the phone.

  I told him about Dr. Prescott’s call. “He was full of disbelief,” I added when he was silent. “What if he starts talking to people, asking more questions?”

  “He won’t. A doctor’s relationship with his patient is private. I could sue him if he told anyone about the tests he gave us. Don’t worry about that.”

  “I can’t help but worry. I can’t imagine what we would look like in this community if the truth came out.”

  “You don’t have to tell me that. But I said not to worry,” he snapped. Then he changed his tone. “I received a call already from one of our clients whose wife happened to see you in the supermarket. They’re swallowing it all out there, hook, line, and sinker. Mrs. Matthews is ingenious. Trust in her. Now, I have to get back to work. I’ll soon have a child’s welfare to consider, his or her education, other needs. Lots more money must be made.”

  “Arden, did you know that Mr. Price had a stroke? He’s paralyzed on one side and can no longer do his artwork.”

  “No, but that’s truly poetic justice,” he said. “Oh,” he added quickly before hanging up, “I won’t be at dinner tonight. I’m taking the Allans to dinner. You were supposed to come along, but they’ll understand. Another opportunity to solidify our story,” he said. “Take care of Sylvia. And yourself, of course.” He laughed and hung up.

  When I turned around, Mrs. Matthews was standing there. “It would help the situation now if you would retire to your room. I’ll bring you your dinner tonight,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Your sister keeps asking about you. We don’t want her unnecessarily disturbed. A pregnant woman’s emotional health is just as important as her physical health. Calmness is the word of the month.”

  For a moment, I stood staring at her. I was becoming a prisoner in every sense of the word. “How would she know if I was in that room or not?”

  “She could call for you and you wouldn’t be there to hear her. Then she would want to get up to find you. I don’t know why we’re arguing about it. I would hope that you would be the most cooperative of all.”

  “I’m not arguing.”

  “Good, then do it.”

  It was easy for her to say. When I was confined to our house and grounds during my youth, I’d at least had my mother, Aunt Ellsbeth, Vera, despite her jealousies, and, of course, Papa to keep me company. My real entertainment came from watching all of them interact. How I looked forward to the Tuesday teas, when Aunt Ellsbeth and Momma resurrected Aunt Mercy Marie. It was major entertainment. Sometimes Vera would be nice, and we would play a game together, and I did feel like her ally when her mother punished her or scolded her for something she did wrong.

  The point was that during my confinement, there were other people, their laughter bringing smiles to my face. I was even fascinated by the arguing. Now there was mostly silence in my confinement. The things I would hear were mostly the memories of old voices. I feared the flood of nightmares, forbidden dreams invading both my waking hours and my sleep. I assumed that Mrs. Matthews had no idea why I was so reluctant to cooperate. Arden could paint broad strokes of my youth for her, but he was not aware of the myriad details that I had tried to bury in the empty grave of my false self.

  “Well?” Mrs. Matthews said, holding the spoon with which she was preparing our dinner. I imagined it to be a ring of jailer’s keys.

  “Don’t you need help with dinner?”

  “From now on, I’ll do it by myself. I’ll even wash the dishes myself,” she added, and smiled her cold smile, as if that was going to make me feel better. “And yes, I’ll do more to keep up the house. I know how concerned you are, but frankly, sometimes you act as if Whitefern is a national treasure, a museum. Most of what I see here would have no special meaning for anyone other than yourself.”

  “Which is reason enough to protect it,” I snapped back. “It’s a sacred obligation to care for all that your family held dear. Don’t you have any heirlooms? Have you inherited nothing from your parents and grandparents that you cherish?”

  “I live for the here and now. We have museums for everything else. Besides, what I have and how I live are not the issue here. We have a job to do, and that’s all that matters. You, of all three of us, should feel this the most. When this is over, it’s you who will have to carry the deception forward. You’ll have to be a real mother to this child, and don’t forget, you’ll have to convince your child that you are his or her mother, too.” She paused and nodded, as though what she said made a great deal of sense. Then she added, “Consider all this as nothing more than practice for that day—preparation.”

  This time, she smiled with such self-satisfaction I felt sick to my stomach. Maybe I should go to bed, I thought. The episode in the supermarket, Dr. Prescott’s call, Arden’s glee, and now this witch of a woman’s obvious enjoyment at wielding power over me all sent a dark sword of helplessness through my very soul. I wobbled for a moment as the room seemed to spin.
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  “Are you all right?” she asked, suddenly very concerned. After all, if something happened to me, what would she say? How would she explain what went on here, too?

  It occurred to me that she was taking just as much of a risk as Arden and I were. How could she explain her behavior? She was retired from any regular work, but what sort of reputation would she have then? She might have to move away. Any friends she had, and I had trouble imagining that she had any, would certainly take a step away from her. Why, it would be like running a gauntlet to go shopping in this community because of all the looks and whispers behind her back.

  “I am tired. This,” I said, placing my two hands over the bundle of wool that I had to wear, even sleep in, just in case Sylvia saw me during the night, “is becoming a real burden.”

  “Imagine what a burden it is for truly pregnant women. Imagine what Sylvia is enduring,” she said, the slight note of sympathy I thought I had heard gone. “Go lie down.”

  She stepped aside, and I walked out and to Sylvia’s room. She was sitting up at the side of her bed, her legs dangling. She was scribbling on a pad in her lap.

  “Sylvia, what are you drawing?”

  “I’m writing a name,” she said.

  “A name?”

  “When Papa told me to stay in my room, he told me a name,” she said. “A name for the baby.”

  “He did?”

  She nodded. “He whispered it in my ear and told me to practice writing it.”

  “But you can’t pick a name until you know if the baby is a boy or a girl.”

  “It’s a girl’s name,” she said.

  “Okay. What is the name?”

  “A-d-e-l-l-e,” she spelled.

  “Adelle? Adelle is my middle name,” I said. She had heard it, of course, but as far as I knew, she had never said it or indicated that she remembered it. Arden and Papa often said it in her presence. If she was in a room when it was mentioned, she was usually distracted with some toy, a doll, even a piece of cardboard she had formed into something only she understood. She didn’t listen to anyone but herself. In any case, I had no idea how she knew to spell it correctly.