Free Whitefern by V.C. Andrews Page B

taught her how to make the coffee, and there were juices and cereals she liked, but I could count on the fingers of one hand how many times she had woken, dressed, and gone down without me, and that was over years and years.
    Now that I was up and recalled how Arden had attacked me, I decided I had to shower before getting dressed. My body still ached in places, and I found scratches on my thighs where he had seized me, clawing at me to mold me into a position comfortable for him. Just washing my face wasn’t going to be enough.
    There was a chill in the air, and I realized the temperature must have taken a dive during the night. When I glanced out the window, I saw it was raining lightly, the drops sparkling like liquid ice. The wind had stripped many of the trees in the woods of theironce pretty orange and brown leaves. The branches looked like the arms of spidery skeletons. I hated this time of the year. It lasted too long for me, and we couldn’t avoid it. Our house had woods on three sides.
    But at least Whitefern was comfortable all year round now. A few years ago, Papa had upgraded the bathrooms and bedrooms and installed central heating in the old house, except for two unused rooms on the first floor in the rear. Before I took my shower, I put up the thermostat, and afterward, I chose warmer clothes to wear, a pair of heavier jeans and a pink cable-knit sweater. A good part of the morning had already passed. By the time I walked out of the bedroom, I felt certain Sylvia would be up and waiting for me in the kitchen. She hadn’t come looking for me. She probably thought I had gone down without her.
    I started down the stairs and then hesitated. It was too quiet below. I listened for the sound of the rocking chair but didn’t hear that, either. She wouldn’t start painting without her breakfast. I went to her bedroom. Of course, my biggest fear was that she had gone out of the house and to the cemetery again. Maybe she had been there most of the night!
    I breathed with relief. She was still sleeping, but her blanket was cast aside and she was naked. How odd, I thought. Had it been that hot in here? I looked at her thermostat. She had never touched any thermostats in the house. She didn’t understand them. Hers hadn’t been pushed up at all, and the room temperaturewas a little below sixty. I picked up her blanket and put it gently on the bed. She stirred and looked up
at me.
    â€œWere you that hot last night, Sylvia?” I asked. Maybe her dreams and tossing and turning had put her in a sweat.
    â€œHot?”
    â€œYour blanket was on the floor.” She looked at herself and then at me, seeming very confused. Then she shook her head. She looked like she was going to cry.
    â€œIt’s all right. Nothing’s wrong, Sylvia. Are you hungry? Let’s make a bigger breakfast this morning, omelets and toast, okay?”
    â€œWith cheese?”
    â€œYes,” I said, smiling. “With cheese. Do you want to take a shower first?”
    â€œYes,” she said. “Shower.”
    I picked out clothes for her and set out her shoes and socks while she showered. Then I sat her at her vanity table and brushed out her hair. When I stood behind her and looked at her in the mirror, I thought she was truly beautiful, angelic. For some reason, even more so this morning. Her cheeks looked rosy, her lips full, and her eyes brighter than ever.
    What a dirty trick nature had played on her, to give her this much beauty but not enough mentally to have a wonderful life. She could easily attract a handsome, young, wealthy man who would devote himself to her, build her a bigger home than Whitefern and all the jewelry and clothes she could want. Every man like that would turn to look at her now, but a momentlater, when he tried to speak to her, he would surely lose his enthusiasm quickly and look for a fast exit.
    And she wouldn’t even understand why.
    â€œLet’s go down,” I