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I stood there thinking. I recalled one of Momma and Aunt Ellsbeth’s Tuesday teatimes in which Momma, playing Aunt Mercy Marie, had pointed her finger accusingly at Aunt Ellsbeth and shouted with venom, “Lies are like rats. You give them a home, and they will devour it and everyone in it.”
“Why?” Vera had asked. She always loved to sit on the floor and watch them go at each other, taking turns to be Aunt Mercy Marie.
Momma had turned to her, her eyes narrowed. “Because one lie begets another, and that begets another, and woe be to anyone who swims in that swamp.”
Vera hadn’t been afraid of anyone or anything, even Papa. She’d giggled.
Momma had turned to Aunt Ellsbeth and, pointing to Vera, said, “See?”
I hadn’t been sure what she meant by that, but in time, I understood. Aunt Ellsbeth’s whole life with Vera was born from a lie.
Now I went to join Sylvia to try to keep her busy and not thinking about what lay ahead—for both of us.
The next day, Mrs. Matthews brought Sylvia her prenatal vitamins and a bottle full of the same pills for me, telling me it couldn’t hurt me to take vitamins. She checked Sylvia’s vitals, blood pressure, and temperature and, with Sylvia watching, did the same for me.
“She has better blood pressure than you do,” Mrs. Matthews muttered.
How could she not expect that? Sylvia was totally relaxed and trusting; I was the one who was tense and nervous. No matter what Arden had agreed to with Mrs. Matthews, I was still embarrassed by the deception.
“As I understand it, your sister performs many household duties?” Mrs. Matthews asked.
“She helps out, yes.”
“At one point, we’ll want to restrict her activities. I encourage walking, but you have a special circumstance here, so you’ll have to restrict that after a while to inside only.”
The full impact of all this subterfuge hit me, and for a few moments, I was stunned. Too often, I remembered how restricted I had been when I was growing up. Papa wouldn’t let me go to school for years, and I practically never left the house, except for church and visits to “my” grave in the cemetery.
“My goodness,” Mrs. Matthews said, seeing the expression on my face. “You’ve not been sentenced to life imprisonment. Frankly, I think your husband has come up with a very clever plan. Just think of all the nastiness you’ll avoid. Believe me, people are unforgiving and eager to pounce when they have an opportunity to take joy in someone else’s misery. I’ve seen plenty of that,” she added, and closed her satchel.
“Yes, so have I,” I said.
“Then you understand.” She smiled, if I could call it that. Her skin seemed to fold in at her cheeks, and her thin lips stretched so that I could see tiny ripples in them. Her smile was more like a flashbulb going off, an instant of light and gone. “I’ve put my telephone number on the refrigerator. Call me if there is the slightest problem. You want to watch for unexpected bleeding, shortness of breath, sudden dizziness, or any swelling and pain in her calf muscles.”
I didn’t think Sylvia was listening. She seemed absorbed in one of my new fashion magazines. But without looking up, she asked, “Audrina, too?”
We both looked
at her and simultaneously said, “Yes.”
I glanced at Mrs. Matthews, realizing I had a co-conspirator.
“I’ll stop by every two days for the time being and then more frequently,” she said. She nodded at Sylvia and left.
“She’s very nice,” Sylvia said. “You were right, Audrina. She told me she gave birth to a boy.”
“I can’t imagine what his life was like,” I muttered, and went into the Roman Revival salon to ponder the journey we were embarking on, as short as it might seem. There were months to go, and I painfully recalled how slowly time would pass when I was confined. I hated the thought that I might once again be sitting by a window, gazing out, and dreaming of going off to be with other girls and boys my age, something that should have been so natural and easy to do.
Every day now, I tried to forget all that by working harder in the house. In the weeks that followed, I prepared the two unused bedrooms in the rear. I wanted to give their walls a fresh coat of paint, but Mrs. Matthews thought the odor would disturb Sylvia. Arden brought home the portable heaters and hooked them up. He moved some lamps and even rolled one of our bedroom rugs up and carried it with Mr. Ralph to the bedroom he’d decided I would be using. I wanted him to put it in Sylvia’s, but he insisted, claiming that I was the one who was making the greater sacrifice.
Although Mr. Ralph was as trusted a servant as anyone could have, he naturally was curious about why we were preparing the rooms. I heard Arden explain that I was pregnant and the maternity nurse had insisted on my not having to go up and down the stairs. There could be a lot of medical attention needed.
“Sylvia,” he said, “is so dependent on Audrina, as you know. She imitates everything she does.”
The explanation satisfied Mr. Ralph. Arden whispered something to him that caused him to laugh. I nodded to myself, thinking that Arden really was good at handling people. He could be charming and convincing when he had to be. In more and more ways, he reminded me of Papa. They were both comfortable with lies.
For now, he had nothing more to explain. Sylvia wasn’t showing, of course. That didn’t happen until she was in her fourth month, and it was then that Mrs. Matthews brought the customized girdle for me to wear in public. Sylvia didn’t have to move downstairs yet, and I was still permitted to leave the house to do basic shopping, but Sylvia was not. I had to do it while she was taking a nap or involved in her art up in the cupola. Enough people saw me and believed that I was pregnant. Arden would brag about who had been deceived and how well our plan was working.
The following week, Sylvia began complaining about lower back pain, and one day, she had some blood spotting on her panties. I called Mrs. Matthews, who came over quickly and examined her. She said Sylvia was all right, but she decided that the time had come for her to move in with us. To make Sylvia happy, I complained about lower back pain, too. Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought I actually felt it.
