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I wandered into the front salon and found Vera sprawled again on Momma’s purple chaise. Lately she had taken to lying around all the time on Momma’s favorite chaise, reading those paperback romances Momma had adored. She said they were teaching her about life and loving. And it seemed they were, for certainly something besides medical books was putting sophistication in Vera’s dark eyes, making them even harder and more brittle. Time and again she had told me that she was going to make herself so beautiful and charming that no man would notice her left leg was one inch shorter than her right.
“Vera,” I asked, “why don’t you have your shorter leg put in traction like your doctor advised? He said it would stretch out and be even with the other.”
“But it would hurt. You know I can’t stand pain, and I hate hospitals.”
A fine nurse she was going to make. “Wouldn’t the pain be worth the reward?”
She seemed to look inward and weigh the cure against the outcome. “I used to think so.” Then, after more consideration, she said, “Now I’ve changed my mind. If I walked normally, then my mother would make me a slave, as she makes you one. Now I can live the life of luxury, like your mother did while my mother slaved until she dropped exhausted into bed.” Meanly, she grinned. “I’m not stupid, idiot—or vacant headed. I’m thinking all the time. And my game leg is going to stand me in better stead than both your normal ones.”
There was no reasoning with Vera. It had to be her way or no way. Vera didn’t want to do anything. When it suited her purpose, and often it did, she’d torment me with saying my mother had faked her incessant fatigue just to gain Papa’s sympathy and her sister’s free housemaid services.
As I ran the next afternoon to visit Arden, the wind blew leaves and scuttled them everywhere. Geese overhead were flying southward. Soon the snow would be falling. We were both bundled to our ears in heavy coats. Our breath came in small puffs of steam. What were we doing walking in the woods in freezing weather like this? Why couldn’t we go into each other’s houses like most people? I sighed as I stared at him, then lowered my eyes.
“Arden, you know why I can’t invite you inside Whitefern. But I don’t understand why Billie doesn’t invite me inside your home. Does she think I’m not good enough for an indoor relationship?”
“I know what you’re thinking, and I understand.” He hung his head, looking more and more embarrassed. “You see, she’s fixing up everything. Both of us are painting and wallpapering. She’s sewing new slipcovers, making bedspreads, curtains. She’s been working on our place ever since the day we moved in, but because she has to stop and sew for other people, ours gets done last. Our house isn’t fine inside … not yet. One day soon, very soon, we’ll be finished, and then you can come in and sit down and have a nice visit.”
Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s came and went, and still Arden and Billie didn’t think their home fine enough to invite me in. Workmen came to our house in droves to paint, wallpaper, remove old finishes, put on new stain, polish and redo the whole house. We had many, many rooms. The cottage had only five.
“Arden,” I finally asked one day, “why is it taking the two of you so long to fix up your house? I don’t care if it’s pretty or not.”
He had a habit of holding my hand and comparing it to his own hand size, just as a way to keep from meeting my eyes. His fingers were twice as long. Although it was a sweet sensation, I wanted him to meet my eyes and speak honestly. Yet he was evasive. “I have a father somewhere. He left when … when—” He stumbled, stammered, blushed, shuffled his feet and looked panic-stricken. “It’s Mom …”
&nb
sp; “She doesn’t really like me.”
“Of course she likes you!” He tugged me forward, as if he were going to drag me into his home whether or not his mother approved. “It’s not easy to talk about, Audrina. Especially when she’s asked me not to tell you anything. I said from the beginning we should be honest, and that would have saved us both a lot of embarrassment, but she wouldn’t listen. I’ve seen you look at her, at me, and wonder what the heck was going on. I know your father doesn’t want me in your life, so I don’t question why I’m not invited inside Whitefern. Let’s get it over with. It’s time you knew.”
It seemed all my life had been spent inside one house. I’d never been in another house—one without ghosts from the past. The cottage’s small rooms couldn’t be dim and frightening like our giant rooms, nor could they be full of faded splendor and decaying antiques. I was going to see, for the first time in my life, a small house, a cozy house, a normal house.
We reached the cottage where smoke limp as chiffon scarfs drifted heavenward. Seagulls were flying and sounding off, making the day seem very bleak. I came to an abrupt stop when Arden was about to pull me through the door. “Before we go in, answer one question. Just how long have we known each other? I’ve asked before, and you didn’t give me a straight answer. This time I want the honest answer.”
Such a simple question to make him shift his eyes away. “When I think backward, I can’t remember when I didn’t know you. Maybe I dreamed of you even before I met you. When I saw you in the woods, hiding behind the bushes and tree, it was like a dream coming true—that’s the day I first knew you in reality. But I was born knowing you.”
His words spread a magic shawl of comfort about my shoulders as with eyes locked and hands clasping he opened the cottage door and stood back to let me enter first.
This time I hadn’t seen Billie at the window. Nor did I see her in the room I entered. Arden whispered, “I think my mom planned to postpone this day forever, so trust me as I trust you. Everything will work out fine.”
That’s all he said to prepare me. Many times I wondered afterwards why he didn’t say much, much more.
Billie
Arden slammed the door behind us. Loud. Very loud. A warning to signal her. A few dead leaves had blown in with us. Quickly, I bent to pick them up. When I had them in my hand, I straightened to quickly glance around with a great deal of curiosity. The living room was very pretty, with bright chintzy fabrics covering the sofa and two comfortable-looking chairs. Compared to our huge rooms, it did look very small. The ceilings were hardly eight feet above the floor, giving me a claustrophobic feeling. Still, the room had a cozy charm our kind of rooms would never have, no matter how much money was spent to rejuvenate its lost splendor, or how many sofas and chairs were covered by chintz.
There were no shadows here, only clear, winter sunlight that poured in brilliantly. There were no stained-glass windows to dazzle my eyes and enchant me with unwanted spells.
“Mom,” called Arden, “I’ve got Audrina with me. Come on out. You can’t keep your secret forever.”
I spun around to stare at him, the dead leaves forgotten in my hand. Secrets, secrets, everyone seemed to have secrets. I saw his anxiety, the nervous hands that he stuffed in his pockets as he looked back at me in apprehension. From the look in his eyes I knew that soon I would have to pass a test. God, I prayed, let me do this right—whatever it was.
“I’ll be right out,” called Billie from another room. She sounded as anxious as her son looked. Her usually warm voice had lost its welcoming tone. Now I felt uncomfortable and ready to turn and leave. Still I hesitated, seeing Arden narrow his eyes as he watched me closely. No, I wasn’t going to run this time. I was going to stay and find out at least one secret.
Nervously Arden glanced toward what I presumed was Billie’s bedroom door. He didn’t ask me to sit down. Perhaps he even forgot I wore a heavy winter coat with a hood, for he didn’t ask me to take off my coat. He was much too distracted by that closed door he kept watching. I shook off the hood but kept the coat on as I waited and waited, and waited some more. Arden hadn’t removed his coat, either, as if he expected we wouldn’t stay long.
Then, as he bowed his head and stared at his shoes, I noticed for the first time a wooden wall shelf that held dozens of gold medals with dates and names. Irresistibly drawn, I stepped closer. Oh, good golly day! Delighted, I whirled around to flash a happy smile at Arden.
“Arden! Billie used to be an ice-skating champion? How wonderful! Look at all these Olympic awards! How could you keep something so fantastic a secret for so long? Just wait until Papa hears about this.”
