Claudia and Crazy Peaches

by Ann M. Martin

  “I want this to be something the baby can use,” I explained. “I want to knit a blanket.”

  “I didn’t know you knew how to knit,” Mary Anne said.

  “I don’t. I want you to teach me, just like Mimi taught you.”

  Mimi was special to everyone, but she and Mary Anne had been extra close. This may sound kind of sappy but I thought since Mimi had taught Mary Anne to knit and since Mimi was Peaches’ mother, it would be fitting that Mary Anne teach me. The circle would be complete.

  “Gee, Claud …” Mary Anne hesitated. “A blanket is an awfully big project to start with. Why don’t you do something smaller, like booties?”

  “No, I’ve made up mind. I really want to knit a blanket.”

  “Well, okay. How about if we meet for our first lesson next Monday? That way I can have time to find some patterns, and buy whatever we’ll need.”

  After I hung up I dialed the rest of the BSC. Here’s what each of them had to say about how we could help Russ and Peaches after they moved to Stoneybrook.

  Kristy, the athlete and organizer, declared, “We can all help Peaches stay fit and healthy during her pregnancy. Maybe we should set up a schedule, and each of us can go for walks with her around Stoneybrook.”

  Mal, our writer, decided she’d create a mother’s journal for Peaches. “So she can write down all of the thoughts she’s having, and share them with her baby when she’s older.”

  Jessi, the ballerina, wanted to rush right over with some classical music tapes. “Babies can hear in the womb, you know,” she said. “Peaches can rest the headphones on her stomach and her baby will develop a taste for wonderful music, and be born with a sense of rhythm and a desire to dance.”

  “If you speak French to the baby from the very start,” Shannon explained after offering to bring over old beginning French textbooks and tapes, “your new cousin will be bilingual without any effort.”

  Logan’s response was the sweetest. “Your aunt sure is lucky because, if I know you and the rest of the BSC, she won’t have to lift a finger. All she’ll have to do is sit on her nest and wait for that little egg to hatch.”

  I even called Dawn in California. “Oh, I just hate you,” she cried. “You’re going to have so much fun without me.”

  “Hurry and come back,” I urged. “We all miss you.”

  “I miss you guys, too. The We Love Kids Club is fun, but it’s not the BSC.”

  After I hung up, I thought, Dawn’s right. The Baby-sitters Club is special. Not only was everyone nearly as thrilled about Russ and Peaches’ return to Stoneybrook as I was, they’d even thought of useful ways to help out with the baby. This was going to be an exciting year.

  “How about Karen Brewer?” I asked. “Didn’t you stay with her when your parents went away?”

  Natalie tugged at her sock, which was drooping around her ankle. “That was when Grandpa died. Karen’s nice to me, but her real friends are Hannie and Nancy. They’re the Three Muthketeers.”

  Natalie spoke so softly that at first I hadn’t noticed she had a lisp. But when she said, “Muthketeers,” I knew for certain.

  “Well, there must be someone from your class at school we could call to come play with you.”

  Natalie shrugged. “Nobody I can think of.”

  This was a little odd. I thought back to when I was in second grade. I had spent most of my time with Kristy or Mary Anne. And if they were busy, I had known a lot of other kids I could call. Natalie sounded like she didn’t have one single friend.

  “Is there anyone that you’d like to be your friend?”

  Natalie looked up at me with crooked glasses and a big smile. “You. I’d like it if you were my friend.”

  “Well, of course, I’ll be your friend,” I said, feeling flattered. And just to show Natalie I meant it, I gave her a big hug. “See? Now we’re pals.”

  “Can we pretend that we’re the Two Musketeers?” she asked.

  “Of course,” I said, saluting her with a pretend sword. “One for all. And all for one.”

  “Oh, boy.” Natalie hopped up and down and both socks drooped back around her ankles. “Wait till Karen Brewer hears that I have a friend who’s in eighth grade. She’ll be so jealous!”

  It didn’t really sink in until later, after we’d left Elm Street and circled the neighborhood together, how much my being her friend meant to Natalie. Every time we passed any other kid. Natalie’d slip her hand into mine and say, really loudly, “Claudia, I’m so glad you’re my friend.”

  When we got to Carle Playground she announced, “Now we should play Lovely Ladies.”

  Lovely Ladies, I remembered, was one of Karen Brewer’s favorite games, but I wasn’t sure I could recall the rules. “All right, Natalie, how do we play?”

  Natalie looked confused for a second. Hmmm. Maybe she had never even played it herself, but had only watched Karen and her friends playing it. I decided to forge ahead.

  Clasping my hands delicately in front of me, I pretended to be a very fancy lady. “My, my, Natalie,” I said in a high-pitched voice, “isn’t it an exquisite day?”

  Natalie imitated my movements and, in her own piping voice, lisped, “Yes, it’s just beautiful. A perfect day to walk my five poodles.”

  “Oh? Now you have five?” I raised one eyebrow. “And what, may I ask, is the new one’s name?”

  “Pierre,” she answered. “Naturally.”

  “That’s right. You name all of your poodles Pierre. I should have remembered.”

  Natalie dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her T-shirt and pretended to cry. “Pierre was my first husband. I’ll never forget him.”

  Several kids had gathered on the playground to stare at us.

  “What are they? Nuts?” one little kid asked his older brother.

  I turned around and said, “We’re not nuts, we’re Lovely Ladies.”

  The older boy nodded down at his brother. “That proves it. They’re nuts.”

  “Come along, Natalie,” I declared. “I can see we’re not wanted here.” Taking hands, we stood up and walked away from those boys and out of the park with all the dignity we could muster. But the second we were around the corner, we burst out laughing. Natalie was laughing so hard she made a little snort every time she caught her breath.

  “Did you see the (snort) look on that kid’s face?” she gasped. “He really thought we were (snort) nuts (snort, snort)!”

  “I can just hear them telling their parents that two Lovely Ladies have escaped from the looney bin,” I said, giggling. “Then their parents will think they’re crazy.”

  Natalie couldn’t even reply. She just laughed. “Snort! Snort! Snort!”

  When we got back to Natalie’s, I made us a sandwich of peanut butter, bananas, and mayonnaise. It looks kind of gross but really tastes great. Natalie thought so, too.

  “This is my most favorite sandwich I’ve ever eaten,” Natalie said as she munched away. “You sure are a good cook, Claudia.”

  “Call me Claud,” I told her. “A lot of my friends call me that.”

  Natalie gave me an ear-to-ear grin that was pretty disgusting, considering the peanut butter and bananas stuck to her teeth. “All right, Claud. And you can call me Nat.”

  I smiled back (keeping my lips together). “It’s a deal.”

  When I got home that afternoon, the Kishi household was in complete turmoil. Dad and Mom had moved some of the furniture out of the den and into the living room to make room for a bed for Peaches and Russ. One of the small dressers from our upstairs closet was sitting at the foot of the stairs, along with a bedside lamp from the garage. We spent the evening rearranging the house, and I didn’t have time to think about Natalie. In fact, I forgot all about her until Friday afternoon, when I came home from school. The phone rang the instant I walked through the front door.

  “Hi, Claud. How was school?”

  She didn’t say who she was but I recognized the lisp.

  “Hi, Nat,” I said.
“School was pretty good.” I wasn’t going to go into details with a second-grader, but actually, my classes had been hard. It was my fault because I wasn’t really concentrating. I’d spent the day making a mental list of the items we still needed for Russ and Peaches’ room. “How was your school day?”

  “The same,” Natalie said in her soft little voice.

  “Did you meet any new kids today?” I asked, remembering our conversation about friends.

  “No, but I did tell Karen Brewer that you were my friend and that we are the Two Musketeers now.”

  “What did she think?”

  “She didn’t believe me. She said you were Stacey’s best friend. Who is Stacey?”

  “Stacey McGill is my best friend. We’re in the Baby-sitters Club together. But you know, a person can have a lot of friends.”

  “Well, I just wanted to call to make sure you were still my friend.”

  “Don’t worry, Natalie,” I said. “I’m still your friend.”

  I thought it was sweet that Natalie had called and that our friendship meant so much to her. I even mentioned it that afternoon at the BSC meeting.

  “She’s not exactly Miss Popularity,” I explained to those in the club who hadn’t met her. “I mean, she looks a little unkempt. Her socks droop around her ankles, her glasses are always a bit crooked on her nose, and her hair is kind of a mess. But she’s very sweet.”

  “I remember Karen was worried about her, because Natalie didn’t seem to have any friends,” Kristy said.

  “That’s right. She really doesn’t,” I replied. “I promised to be her friend and that totally made her day.”

  “Poor Natalie,” Mary Anne said with a little sniff. (Remember, I told you she cries at TV commercials.) “I wish there was something we could do to help her.”

  The phone rang before anybody could come up with a solution to Natalie’s problem. And then it rang again. And again. In twenty minutes, eight parents called, and by the end of the meeting we had all booked jobs.

  The next day was Saturday — exactly one week before Peaches and Russ would arrive. One week doesn’t seem like very long. But when you are counting the hours and minutes, it is. I figured it would make the time go faster if I kept really busy.

  I found Mom’s work list on the kitchen table. Here’s what it said:

  I decided I could probably help with the first three items, and most definitely with the last one. It was a beautiful fall morning, so I grabbed a rake from the garage and headed for the front yard. Mom was already outside, beating the rug (so much for item three).

  I had just raked the leaves into three large piles when I heard the sound of a bicycle bell.

  Brring! Brring!

  “Hi, Claud. What are you doing?”

  I looked up to see Natalie Springer, wearing a jean jumper, turtleneck top … and saggy socks. She was grinning at me from the sidewalk.

  “Hi, Nat. We’re doing major housecleaning today, inside and —” I held up my rake. “Out.”

  “Can I help?” Natalie asked, setting her bike down on its side by one of the leaf piles. “I like to clean.”

  I had to think about it for a second. On one hand, I didn’t know what Natalie was really capable of doing. On the other, it would be nice to have some company while I scrubbed the bathroom and kitchen floors.

  “Sure, if it’s okay with your mom,” I said, putting my rake in the garage. “Come on, let’s go call her.”

  Of course, Mrs. Springer was delighted that I was spending time with Natalie. “Keep her for as long as you like,” she said. “Natalie is so happy that you’re her friend.”

  Actually, Natalie was more than just good company. She helped squeeze out the sponge mop and refill the bucket of water when I was cleaning the floors. And she did a pretty decent job of dusting the living room. I only had to do a few touch-ups.

  Three hours later, we’d eaten lunch and it was time for Natalie to go home. She hugged me and said, “Gee, Claud, that was really fun. Can we do it again soon?”

  It’s hard for me to think of cleaning as fun, but if Natalie found it that entertaining, I wasn’t about to change her mind. So I put on a perky smile and said, “I hope so!”

  Unfortunately, Natalie took that to mean that we would be cleaning often. In fact, she called every day for the next week to check on it. “How’s your house now?” she would ask. “Has it gotten dirty yet?”

  I thought it was cute.

  “They’re here!” I shouted on Saturday morning. “Peaches and Russ are here!”

  I watched their green Volvo station wagon creep up the street. I think Russ was driving slowly because it was packed to the brim. Bedspreads, suitcases, and boxes filled the rear of the car and several more boxes were tied onto the roof.

  Honk! Honk!

  Russ hit the horn as they pulled into our driveway. Peaches was out of the car before he’d even turned off the engine. She waved her arms and called, “Don’t panic! We’re only staying a month. Pillows take up a lot of space, and those boxes are filled with my office supplies.”

  I giggled and gave Peaches a gentle hug. I was afraid to squeeze her too hard because of the baby but Peaches didn’t seem to be concerned. She swooped me into a tight hug. Then Russ wrapped his arms around the two of us. (Russ and Peaches never miss a chance to hug people. That’s one of the best things about them.)

  “Hey, Claud,” Russ said. “Would you mind helping me unload?”

  I shrugged. “That’s why I’m here. Hand me a couple of boxes.”

  Peaches started to reach for a suitcase in the backseat but Russ leaped in front of her, barring the car door. “No way, little mother. You can carry your purse or the pillows, and maybe a small blanket, but that’s it. Doctor’s orders.”

  Peaches rolled her eyes at me. “The doctor happened to mention to Russ that I should be careful to not lift anything heavy, like a piano or a bus. Now Russ won’t leave me alone. This morning he snatched a gallon of milk out of my hands and said, ‘That’s it. From here on out, we’re buying half pints.’ ”

  I thought it was awfully sweet that Russ was so concerned. But I could see how it might bug Peaches, who is very independent and likes to do everything herself.

  It took a little while to get all of the boxes and suitcases out of the car. I helped Peaches hang up their clothes in the downstairs closet while Dad and Russ moved the office supplies into the garage.

  “You two are so great,” Peaches cooed when she saw the fresh flowers Janine and I had picked that morning and set in a vase beside their bed. “I’m going to love staying here. It’ll be like one big slumber party.”

  “Lunchtime,” Mom called from the kitchen. She sounded calm, but I knew that two hours earlier she had been in a complete tizzy over what to serve for the meal. “We need to eat foods high in iron and protein for the baby and for Peaches,” she’d declared, frantically thumbing through her recipe file.

  Three cookbooks and one mad dash to the grocery store later, she was serving up a very healthy (and, okay, I’ll admit it, delicious) lunch of spinach salad, fresh tomato soup, and melon slices.

  “That was simply scrumptious,” Peaches said as she dabbed her lips with a napkin. “You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble. I would have just sent out for a pizza.”

  Mom thanked her, adding, “I want to make sure you have the best diet for a mother-to-be.”

  “And speaking of mothers and babies, and all of those wonderful subjects,” Peaches said, looking around the table with a grin. “Who would like to go shopping with me? I’m in the mood to buy baby furniture.”

  My hand shot up into the air. “Take me. Oh, please take me!”

  Peaches pulled a shopping list out of her pocket and held it up for us to see. “Russ and I pored over issue after issue of Consumer Reports to find the most recommended baby items and, after many late nights, we finally came up with the definitive shopping list. We’ve even talked to a few stores, who said they’d hold our purchases un
til we can move into our house.”

  “Did you call Baby and Company?” I asked.

  Peaches grinned. “They were first on my list.”

  After helping Mom with the dishes, Peaches and I headed downtown to Baby and Company. It’s my favorite baby store, completely devoted to baby clothes and furniture. Karen Brewer once called it a baby museum. And she’s right. If it has anything at all to do with babies, they have it.

  Peaches and I spent a full two hours in there. By the time we finished, I was exhausted, not from the actual shopping but from going, “Oooh, look! Isn’t this darling!” every two seconds. We stared ohh!-ing and ah!-ing before we even made it through the door. The window display was a little bedroom decorated to look like a baby animal jungle, including a huge stuffed giraffe. It was adorable.

  “Let’s start with the big things,” Peaches said, reading from her list. “Crib, changing table, rocker, baby swing, and infant car seat.”

  The crib we chose was painted white, with graceful arches at each end and drawers along the bottom, beneath the mattress. Each crib had a girl’s name. This one was called a Mary Catherine. (I think it was the most expensive one in the store.) So, naturally, Peaches had to choose the Mary Catherine glider rocker and Mary Catherine changing table to match.

  Of course, while we were picking cribs and rockers we had to pick out crib bumpers, sheets, the bed ruffle, and matching rocker cushions. We thumbed through catalogue after catalogue of designer baby things. Eventually, Peaches picked out a pattern of pastel bears holding hands (or I guess I should say, paws), surrounded by stars, rainbows, and soft pink clouds. The bears were pink and blue and lime green and peach, and wore jackets and hats. There was even a little bear mobile to match the sheets and comforter.

  I couldn’t get over how much a person has to think about to get ready for a new baby. A mattress protector, a changing table pad, a dresser that a child couldn’t tip over, and a diaper pail that the child couldn’t open by herself. Luckily Baby and Company had complete “childproofing” kits that included electrical outlet guards, cupboard and toilet seat locks, and doorknob covers. Just looking at all you needed to make a house safe for a baby made me feel a little nervous.