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It wasn’t until Mrs. Matthews physically moved into the house that the reality of what would happen struck me. Every moment of our day and all our waking hours at night, there would be a stranger present. The privacy we had enjoyed, even the privacy associated with our family memories, would be invaded. I was, of course, afraid of what would come out of Sylvia’s mouth. Mrs. Matthews was to be there at our dinners, breakfasts, and lunches. She would hear everything Arden would tell us about the business, or as much as he would want to share. There would be real privacy only in our bedroom or if I met with him in his office. I kept telling myself that it would only be for a few months.

But if anyone knew that months could seem like years at Whitefern, it was I.

As soon as Mrs. Matthews brought her things, she ordered that Sylvia be moved downstairs immediately, which meant that I would move, too. During all the time those rooms were being prepared, Sylvia had never asked me why. When I had to tell her now that Mrs. Matthews was here and insisted that Sylvia sleep in one of those rooms, she looked as frightened as she had when she was a little girl of five or six. She retreated from me, nearly backing herself against the wall behind her bed.

“I can’t go downstairs to sleep,” she said, shaking her head. “No, Papa won’t like that.”

“Papa would want you to be safe,” I said, and explained again why Mrs. Matthews required it.

Sylvia clutched the bedpost.

Would Mrs. Matthews and I have to tear her away from it and force her downstairs? I couldn’t do that.

“I have to stay here, Audrina.”

“It’s only for a little while, Sylvia. It will be okay. I promise. Remember, I’ll be sleeping downstairs, too. I’ll be in the room next to yours.”

She shook her head even harder. “I can’t be downstairs at night.”

“Why can’t you, Sylvia?”

“I have to talk to Papa. I have to be in the rocking chair,” she said.

“You’re still going there? When do you go there?”

“When you’re asleep.”

It stunned me for a moment. Had Arden ever heard her doing that again?

“I won’t sleep downstairs,” she repeated, raising her voice. “I won’t!”

“What’s going on here?” Mrs. Matthews asked, entering quickly when she heard Sylvia shouting.

“I told you she wasn’t going to like sleeping downstairs. Why can’t I bring her things? I don’t mind going up and down the stairs, and . . .”

“It’s not simply bringing her things. I thought you understood,” she snapped at me, then turned to my sister. “Now, you will go downstairs, Sylvia, and that’s that.”

Sylvia was close to crying.

“This can’t be good for a pregnant woman,” I said.

“Woman? Don’t you mean child?” Mrs. Matthews said. “I don’t have time for this nonsense. There are things to do.”

“Okay, okay. I tell you what, Sylvia. I’ll have Arden bring the rocking chair down and put it in your room for now. Okay?”

“Rocking chair?” Mrs. Matthews said. “This is all about a rocking chair?”

Sylvia thought for a moment, relaxed, and then nodded.

“Well, now that the nonsense has ended, let’s get on with it,” Mrs. Matthews said. “Let’s move the things we need downstairs.” She went to Sylvia’s armoire to choose what she would be wearing.

“Audrina’s things, too,” Sylvia said.

Mrs. Matthews looked at me. I thought she smiled, although with her you could never be sure it wasn’t a smirk of disgust. “Yes, Audrina’s, too,” she said. And then she really did smile when she added, “Maybe she will rock in the chair, too.”

Sylvia widened her eyes. “Papa would like that,” she said.

“Well, then, it’s settled.” Mrs. Matthews laughed. “We’ll be able to sing ‘Rock-a-bye Baby’ and mean it.”