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I’d argued this out before and lost; I was sure to lose again. Then Papa smiled at me. “Well, my love, my impatient one, you are soon to have again what you want most. Tomorrow morning early, I’m taking off to drive to where Sylvia has lived since she left the hospital. I’ve already called and made all the necessary arrangements. Sylvia will come home with me tomorrow morning.”
“Oh, Papa!” I cried happily, “thank you, thank you!”
How strange his sad smile, how very strange.
Early the next morning, long before Papa was out of bed and was ready to drive to Sylvia, I raced through the woods to the cottage on the other side. The woods were lush and green, full of the beauty of spring. I was hoping to catch Arden before he rode off on his bicycle to deliver the morning papers. His old car had “conked out” and was now just junk to clutter the yard as he tried to repair it again.
Robins and purple martins were on the grass, paying little attention to me as I ran to the cottage door and threw it open without knocking. Straight on into the kitchen I ran, only to pull up short and gasp.
There was Billie wearing shorts and a red tank top. For the first time I was seeing her without all those long, full skirts that made it seem she did have two legs hidden somewhere underneath. Her hair was loose and waving, and the knit top revealed a remarkably voluptuous bosom, but all I could see were the little eight-inch stumps thrusting out from the legs of her short shorts. They seemed like fat sausages that slimmed down quickly so they could be neatly tied at the ends. Faint radiating lines made folds like wrinkles from where the excess skin had been drawn and somehow fastened. I shrank away.
It was so pitiful, those stumps where her beautiful legs used to be. I glanced toward the living room where she had all those photographs of herself in costume. I choked back a cry of distress, when I hadn’t wanted to show pity. I had wanted to see them, and not remark, or even seem to notice.
To my surprise, Billie began to laugh. She reached to touch my cheek, then tousled my already windblown hair. “Well, go ahead and stare all you want to. Can’t say I blame you. They’re not pretty to look at, are they? But remember that once I had two of the most beautiful, skillful and creative legs any woman could desire. They served me well when I had them, and most people will never have what I did.”
Again I was left without words.
“People learn to adjust, Audrina,” she said softly, refraining from touching me again as if afraid now I wouldn’t want her to. “You’re putting yourself in my place and thinking you couldn’t stand to live with my handicap, but somehow, when it’s your own, it isn’t nearly as horrible as it seems to someone else. Then again, as contrary as we humans are, I can look around and think, why me and not her, or him? I could throw myself into an abyss of self-pity if I wanted to. Most of the time I don’t even think about the loss of my legs.”
I stood there, all gangly and awkward, feeling humbled. I could almost see her legs that weren’t there. “Arden told me he sees you with your legs. He never sees the stumps.”
“Yes,” she said, her eyes shining, “he’s a wonderful son. Without him I probably would have given up. He saved me. Having Arden forced me to carry on and teach myself to do everything. And Arden would do anything for me. Somehow because we had each other, we’ve managed. None of it has been easy, and yet because it was difficult we have more to be proud of. Now, darlin’, enough said about me. What are you doing over here at such an early hour?”
She went on with her canning as I hesitated. Her high stool on rollers was placed so she could scoot from here to there with hardly any effort, just by shoving or pulling with her hands. Then it happened quicker than I could wink—she slipped from the stool and fell to the floor with a thud. She lay at my feet for a brief second like half a large doll.
I started to help.
“Don’t help,” she ordered, and in no time at all she had used those strong arms to heft herself back onto the stool. “Audrina, look in the pantry and you’ll see a little red cart I use when I want to really speed around. Arden made it for me. He wants to paint it a different color each year, but I won’t let him. I like red best. Nothing shy about me, darlin’.”
Weakly I smiled, wishing I could be as brave. Then I asked if Arden had already left.
“Yep, he’s gone. If that lousy, stingy husband of mine would send more money, my son wouldn’t have to work himself to death.” She turned and smiled brightly and asked again, “C’mon, tell me what you’re doing over here so bright and early?”
“Billie, Sylvia’s coming home today. My aunt’s told me she isn’t normal, but I don’t care. I feel so bad that a poor little baby never had a mother, and no family but Papa to love her. That’s not enough, especially when Papa only visits her once or twice a month—if he does. You can never tell when my father tells the truth, Billie,” I said with some shame. “He lies, and you know he’s lying; and he knows you know he’s lying, and still he doesn’t care.”
“Your father sounds like a real dilly.”
“I told Arden yesterday that Sylvia might come home today. Knowing how Papa is I wasn’t really sure, but I eavesdropped and heard him talking on the telephone last night. He is bringing her home. He also called his office and told them not to expect him in today. Did I tell you he’s manager now?”
“Yes, darlin’, you’ve told me at least two dozen times. And now I’m going to tell you something perhaps you don’t know. You are very proud of your papa. Even when you think you dislike him, you dislike him regretfully. Darlin’, don’t feel bad about loving and hating your daddy. None of us is all good or all bad. People come in all shades of gray. No out-and-out devils, and no true angels and saints.” She smiled. “Honey, you go right on loving your papa even if he is straight from a cake. Arden feels the same way about his father.”
Two hours later, with my heart lodged somewhere in my throat, I stood on the front steps of Whitefern with my aunt beside me and waited to see my baby sister for the first time. I looked around, knowing I had to remember this special day so that later I could tell my little sister just how it had been when she first came home. The sun was out bright and full. Not a cloud was in the sky. Some haze hung over the woods and muffled the cries of the birds. Dampness from the dew, I told myself, only that. The warm breezes from the River Lyle stirred my hair.
The spacious lawn had been mowed by a man from the village; he’d trimmed the shrubs, weeded the gardens, swept the front walk. The house had been repainted white, and its roof was new, too—red as dark as congealed blood, like the blinds at the windows. We were dressed in our best to welcome Sylvia home. Vera was there, too, seated lazily on the swing, a small secret smile curving her lips and making her dark eyes sparkle wickedly. I suspected she knew far more about Sylvia than I did, as she knew more about everything than I did.
“Aud … dreen … ah …,” she chanted, “soon you’re going to see … see for yourself. Boy, are you gonna be sor… reee you kept pleading to have your baby sister—because I disown her. For me, Sylvia Adare just does not exist.”
In no way was I going to let Vera kill my excitement or my happiness. I suspected Vera was jealous that it was my mother’s baby and not my aunt’s.
“Audrina,” said my aunt, “are you really as happy as you look?” She could seldom keep from frowning when Sylvia’s name was mentioned, and this was obviously no happy day for her.
“Look, look! Here they come!” I cried excitedly, pointing to Papa’s Mercedes ducking in and out of the thick rows of trees that lined our curving drive. I edged a bit nearer to my aunt, who straightened her spine and stood taller. For a brief second her hand reached for mine, but she didn’t take my hand, as she’d never taken it.
Behind us Vera tittered as she swung to and fro, to and fro, chanting her “You’ll be sorry” tune.
The shiny black car drew to a stop before our entranceway. Papa got out and strolled around to the passenger side, opened the door—and for the life of me I couldn’t see anyone in there. Then Papa reached inside and lifted from the seat a very small child.
Papa called to me, “Here’s Sylvia.” He beamed a broad smile my way and then put Sylvia on the ground.
