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“I took it to a silk-mender, Papa,” she said demurely, bowing down her head. “It cost me fifteen dollars, so that means I lost five of my savings.”
He was listening attentively. If there was one kind of person my papa admired, it was one who knew how to save. “Where did you earn the money to save, Vera?”
“I run errands for old people. Help by shopping for their groceries,” she said in a small, shy voice. “On Saturdays, I walk all the way to the village and do what I said. Sometimes I babysit, too.”
My mouth gaped. Sure, once in a while Vera disappeared on Saturdays, but it was hard to picture her walking fifteen miles to and another fifteen fro. Papa was triply impressed, and pulled out another ten and gave that to her. “Now this shirt cost me a hundred and twenty, but it’s better than throwing it away.”
He didn’t even look at me as he impulsively planted a resounding kiss on her cheek. “You surprise me, girl. I haven’t always been nice to you. I thought you wouldn’t care about my ruined shirt. I even thought you didn’t love me.”
“Oh, Papa,” she said with her eyes gleaming, “I love you from the top of your hair to the tip of your toenails.”
I hated her, really hated her for calling him Papa, when he was my father, not hers.
For some strange reason, he backed away from Vera, glancing down at his shoes as if to check the horny toenails that embarrassed him. He cleared his throat and looked disconcerted. “Well, it’s an overdone compliment, but if it’s genuine, I’m pleased and touched.”
Stunned, I watched him leave the room without once glancing my way. He didn’t come in that night to tuck me into bed, or kiss my cheek, or hear my prayers, and if I dreamed of boys in the woods, I was pretty sure on this night he wouldn’t come running to save me.
In the morning it was Vera who poured Papa’s coffee, spelling Momma, who seemed wilted and looked very pale. She jumped up to put on three slices of toast and stood close to see that it didn’t toast too long. He liked it golden on the outside, tender on the inside. Vera fried his bacon to perfection, and I didn’t hear one complaint from him. When he finished eating, he thanked her for waiting on him, then got up to leave for work. Limping after him, Vera caught hold of his hand. “Papa, even though I know you’re not my real father, can’t we pretend you are … can’t we, Papa?”
He seemed uncomfortable, as if not knowing what to say, and at the same time, touched. Papa belonged to me and Momma, not to Vera. I glanced at my aunt, who sat tight-lipped and grim, and I wished that both she and Vera would leave and go anywhere away from here.
Soon Papa left. I watched as his car turned off the dirt road that would take him onto the expressway and into town, where he’d have lunch with businessmen and call it work. To my surprise, he stopped momentarily at the mailbox on the corner where our private road forked off to meet the main road. I wondered why he hadn’t picked up the mail last night. Had he been so eager to reach Momma and see how she fared that he’d forgotten again to check the mailbox?
When I reached our mailbox, I found the mail was still there. In fact, magazines and newspapers were bulging from the door, which wouldn’t close.
It took some doing to stack my arms with all that was addressed to Papa. This was just what I needed. I would win Papa back. I knew what he wanted from me. I knew what Papa cared about most—money. I had to use my “gift” to make Papa money. Then he’d love me best forever. I was trying to read the front page of The Wall Street Journal even before I reached the kitchen to toss the mail on the table. I raced off to find the items I needed: a pencil and notepad, and a length of string and a straight pin.
In the closet under the back stairs was all the junk we wanted to keep and later throw out. It was there I found old copies of The Journal. I laid out the quote sheets and began to list the most active stocks, thinking two weeks should give me time span enough. Even as I worked I could hear Vera upstairs arguing with my aunt, who wanted her to help with the laundry. Vera wanted to go to the movies. She was meeting a friend.
“No!” yelled my aunt. “You’re too young to start dating.” Vera said something else I couldn’t make out. “No, no, no!” I could hear very well. “Stop pleading. Once I say no I mean no—I’m not like some others around here who say no and later change their minds.”
“You let me do as I want or I’ll spill out all our family secrets in the middle of Main Street,” shrilled Vera. “I’ll stand there until everybody knows who my father is, and what you did—and the Whitefern name will go even farther down on the list of scoundrels!”
“Open your mouth about family secrets and you won’t get one dime from me or from anyone else. If you behave yourself, there’s a chance for us to profit sooner or later. You antagonize Damian and Lucietta. You’re a thorn in both their sides, but it can pay off for both of us if you just try to behave yourself. I used to rue the day I conceived you. Many a time I wished I’d have had an abortion, but when you had Damian’s shirt repaired and I saw how impressed he was, I regained some hope.” Pleading came into her voice. “Audrina doesn’t have to be the darling in this family, Vera. Remember all that’s happened to her has given you a certain edge. Take advantage of it. You know how he is, and what he needs. Admire him. Respect him. Flatter him, and you’ll become his favorite.”
There was a long silence up there and some whispering I couldn’t hear. That all too familiar lead ball came to reside in my chest again. They were plotting against me—and they knew what had happened to me when I didn’t.
I had almost believed that my aunt liked me. Now I was hearing that she, too, was my enemy. I went back to the table to work with more determination to find just the right stock that would go up, up, up, and make Papa very, very, very rich.
I tied my little birthstone ring to the string, figuring I could do the same as Mrs. Allismore and predict which stock would be a winner. Papa was always saying trading stocks was not a science but an art, and what I was doing seemed very creative. I’d fastened a pin to the ring with a bit of thread to use it for a pointer. Twice it touched down on the same stock. I tried to force it to touch a third time. Three of anything was a magic number. But it refused to choose the same stock three times, even when I opened my eyes and tried to control the ring. It seemed to have some power of its own, faltering, indecisive, the same as Momma’s wedding ring had been confused over her abdomen.
Just then I heard a loud howl. “Where are my diamond-stud earrings?” shouted Aunt Ellsbeth. “They’re the only things my father left me of value, and my mother’s own engagement ring. They’re gone! Vera, did you steal my jewelry?”
“No,” bellowed Vera. “Perhaps you misplaced them like you do everything else.”
“It’s been years since I wore that ring. You know I keep all my best jewelry locked in a box. Vera, don’t lie. You’re the only one who ever enters my bedroom. Now, where are those things?”
“Why don’t you ask Audrina?”
“Her? Don’t be ridiculous. That girl would never steal anything; she’s got too much conscience. It’s you who doesn’t have any.” She paused as I began to fold up the newspapers, my stock list put safely away. “Now I know what you did to restore Damian’s one-hundred-dollar pink silk shirt,” said my aunt scornfully. “You stole my earrings and ring, hocked them and bought him a new shirt. Damn you for doing that, Vera! No, you are not going to the movies. Not today, or any Saturday! Until the day you earn enough money to reclaim my jewelry, you stay home!”
I’d drifted to the bottom of the stairs to hear better; then I heard a thump, like someone falling. Then Vera came rushing down the stairs, with my aunt limping after her. “When I catch you, you’re going to be locked in your room the remainder of this summer!”
Vera came flying in her best dress and new white shoes. I stood in her way. Brutally she shoved me aside and reached the front door before my aunt was down the back stairs. “Audrina, you can tell that beast of a woman that I hate her as much as I hate you, your mother, your father and this house! I’m going to the village, and when I get there I’m going to sell my body on the streets. I’m going to stand out before Papa’s barbershop and yell ‘Get your Whitefern daughter!’ I’ll yell it out so loud that the men in the city will hear, and they’ll all come running! And I’ll be the richest one yet!”
“You tramp!” yelled my aunt, running through the kitchen and heading for Vera. “You come back here! Don’t you dare open that door and leave!”
But the door was opened and slammed shut before my aunt ran out to the porch. I stood looking out a window, watching Vera disappear around the bend. The village was fifteen miles away. The city was thirty. Was she going to hitchhike?
