Eugenia Lincoln and the Unexpected Package

by Kate DiCamillo

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Coda

  Eugenia Lincoln was a practical person, a sensible person. She did not have time for poetry, geegaws, whoop-de-whoops, or frivolity.

  She believed in attending to the task at hand.

  Eugenia Lincoln believed in Getting Things Done.

  Baby Lincoln, Eugenia’s younger sister, loved poetry, geegaws, and whoop-de-whoops of every sort and variety.

  She was especially fond of frivolity.

  “We are diametrically opposed,” said Eugenia to Baby. “You are woefully impractical. I am supremely practical.”

  “Yes, Sister,” said Baby.

  “You are soft, and I am sharpened to a very fine point, indeed,” said Eugenia.

  “Well, yes,” said Baby. “That’s true, I suppose.”

  “Suppose nothing,” said Eugenia. “Believe me when I say that your head is in the clouds, and my feet are planted firmly on the terra firma.”

  “If you say so, Sister,” said Baby.

  “I say so,” said Eugenia.

  And that is how it was with Eugenia Lincoln and Baby Lincoln.

  Until the day the unexpected package arrived.

  “Package for Eugenia Lincoln,” said the deliveryman.

  “I am Eugenia Lincoln,” said Eugenia. “But I am not expecting a package.”

  “Well, whether you are expecting it or not,” said the deliveryman, “it’s here.” He smiled a very big smile.

  “Oh, my,” said Baby Lincoln, “an unexpected package.” She clapped her hands together. “How entirely, absolutely unexpected! Aren’t you surprised, Eugenia? I am certainly surprised. Isn’t it exciting?”

  “There’s nothing exciting about it,” said Eugenia. “It’s annoying. It’s inconsiderate. People should not send unexpected packages.” General Washington, Eugenia’s cat, brushed up against the side of the box in a possessive way.

  “Mooooowwwwlll,” he said.

  “Stop that,” said Eugenia to the cat.

  She stared down at the package.

  “I refuse,” said Eugenia.

  “What?” said the deliveryman. He was wearing a name tag that said I’M FASSSST. I’M FREDERICK.

  “I refuse to accept delivery, Frederick,” said Eugenia.

  Frederick stopped smiling. He said, “Hold up there. Are you Eugenia Lincoln?”

  “I am,” said Eugenia.

  “Is this Fifty-Two Deckawoo Drive?”

  “It is,” said Eugenia.

  “Then this here is your package,” said Frederick. “And that’s the end of that particular story.”

  He gave the package a pat, tipped his hat, and then walked down the sidewalk to his delivery truck, whistling as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

  Frank, who lived at 50 Deckawoo Drive, came over as soon as the deliveryman left. He said, “I see you have received a large package, Miss Lincoln. May I be of some assistance?”

  “Yoo-hoo,” called Mrs. Watson, who lived at 54 Deckawoo Drive. “Whatever could be in that extremely large box?”

  “I have no idea,” said Eugenia.

  “Just one second,” said Mrs. Watson. “Mercy and I will come over and see.”

  “Do not come over here!” shouted Eugenia. “And do not bring that pig!”

  But it was too late. Mrs. Watson and her pig were already out the door and on their way.

  “It’s all so unexpected,” said Baby, “isn’t it, Sister? I, for one, have never been so surprised. Why don’t you open the package and see what’s inside?”

  Eugenia put her hands on her hips. She stared down at the box. She was very, very annoyed. She had things to do. She did not have time for an oversize, unexpected package.

  “I wonder if there’s something dangerous inside,” said Frank.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Eugenia.

  “Maybe someone sent you something to eat,” said Mrs. Watson. “Maybe it’s a fruit basket.”

  “Who would send me a fruit basket?” said Eugenia.

  The pig snuffled the box.

  “The return address says the Blizzintrap Schmocker Company,” said Frank. “What is the Blizzintrap Schmocker Company?”

  “I have no idea,” said Eugenia.

  The pig oinked. It snuffled the box some more.

  Life was too annoying and unpredictable and pig-filled to be borne, sometimes. That was Eugenia’s general feeling.

  “Open it, open it,” trilled Mrs. Watson.

  “I think you should open it, Sister,” said Baby. “I have a feeling that it is something wondrous.”

  “What a ridiculous feeling to have,” said Eugenia Lincoln.

  But then, entirely against her better judgment, Eugenia bent down and began to open the unexpected package.

  Eugenia cut through the tape. She dug through the packing material.

  “What in the world could it be?” said Baby. She clapped her hands. “Oh, it is so exciting! And also very unexpected.”

  “It’s terribly exciting,” said Mrs. Watson. “I am hoping that it is a fruit basket. Maybe it will contain oranges and bananas and perhaps a gigantic pineapple or two. Mercy loves a fruit basket.”

  It was not a fruit basket.

  It was an accordion.

  Baby and Eugenia and Mrs. Watson and Frank and the pig and General Washington all stood together and stared down at the opened box.

  “It’s an accordion,” said Frank.

  “Obviously,” said Eugenia.

  “I was hoping for a fruit basket,” said Mrs. Watson.

  “Yes,” said Eugenia. “You said so. Several times.”

  “Well, an accordion is a wonderful thing. It’s almost as wonderful as a fruit basket,” said Mrs. Watson. “Mercy just adores a fruit basket.”

  “Who cares what pigs adore?” said Eugenia. She stood with her hands on her hips and considered the accordion. She couldn’t think of anything more frivolous, more geegaw-esque, more whoop-de-whoop-ish than an accordion.

  Except perhaps a fruit-basket-adoring pig.

  “I guess I’ll head on home now,” said Mrs. Watson.

  “Good,” said Eugenia. “Take that pig with you.”

  Mrs. Watson left.

  The pig, however, stayed behind.

  Eugenia closed her eyes. She didn’t have time to deal with a pig. Little men with feathers in their caps were dancing through her head playing accordions and shouting “Oompah, oompah!”

  Eugenia Lincoln did not believe in shouting “Oompah!”

  Nor did she believe in putting a feather in one’s cap.

  She opened her eyes. “Franklin,” she said, “tell me again the name of the company imprinted on the box.”

  “Blizzintrap Schmocker,” said Frank.

  “Located where?” said Eugenia.

  “New York City,” said Frank.

  “Right,” said Eugenia. “I will have this straightened out in no time.”

  “But Sister,” said Baby. “It seems like such a nice accordion. Maybe someone wants you to have it. Maybe there is a reason you received it.”

  “Nonsense,” said Eugenia. “There is absolutely no reason for me to receive an accordion.”

  Eugenia marched to the phone. She dialed information. “I need the number for a Blizzintrap Schmocker Company in New York City,” said Eugenia. “Connect me immediately.”

  A very long way away, a phone rang. “Blizzintrap Schmocker Company,” said an annoyin
gly sweet voice. “This is Gladys Schmocker speaking. How may I help you?”

  “Yes,” said Eugenia. “I have inadvertently been sent an accordion, and I would like to return it forthwith.”

  “Oh, my,” said Gladys in her too-sweet voice. “I’m afraid that can’t be done.”

  “Of course it can be done,” said Eugenia. “All things can be done if one just applies oneself.”

  “All of our accordions are nonreturnable, you see,” said Gladys.

  “I don’t see,” said Eugenia. “I don’t see at all. You can’t stop me from returning it. I am sending it back to you right this very moment.”

  “Well,” said Gladys. “You can send it back. But we will just return it to you. We are duty-bound to do so. Accordions belong with their people.”

  “I am not,” said Eugenia, “this accordion’s people. Or person. Or what have you.”

  “Accordions can enrich your life in unexpected ways,” said Gladys. “They are doorways to the soul.”

  “Doorways to the soul?” sputtered Eugenia. She slammed down the phone.

  She had never been so frustrated in her life.

  Actually, this was not true.

  Eugenia spent a large portion of her life being frustrated. It was hard not to be frustrated. The world was just so . . . frustrating. It refused to bend. It refused to be reasonable, sensible.

  For instance, life presented you with accordions when the last thing you wanted was an accordion.

  “Are you okay, Miss Lincoln?” said Frank. “Your face is very red.”

  “I am perfectly fine,” said Eugenia.

  This was a lie, of course, but under the circumstances, it seemed entirely appropriate to fib.

  “What did the accordion company say, Sister?” said Baby.

  “Something idiotic about how accordions are doorways to the soul,” said Eugenia.

  “Fascinating,” said Baby. “I have also heard that accordions can be a pathway to great joy.”

  “Joy!” said Eugenia. She snorted. And then she narrowed her eyes. “What exactly do you know about this accordion, Baby Lincoln?”

  “Nothing,” said Baby. “Why would I know a thing about an accordion?” She cleared her throat. “I know exactly nothing about this accordion, or any other accordion.”

  “That had better be true,” said Eugenia. She walked past Baby. She went into the living room and saw that the pig from next door had invited itself into the house and was now sitting on the couch and staring into space as if it were thinking, which it most certainly was not.

  “Get off the couch immediately!” Eugenia shouted.

  The pig looked at her and then looked away. Eugenia felt light-headed. The world made no sense. How could a pig sit on a couch in one’s own home? How could you not return an accordion?

  “Maybe you should sit down, Miss Lincoln,” said Frank.

  “I’m fine,” said Eugenia. “I just need to make a list.”

  Eugenia Lincoln was very fond of lists. They helped her think. Lists calmed her. They made the world seem orderly and reasonable and manageable, even though the world was none of those things.

  Frank led Eugenia to the chair across from the pig. “Sit down here,” he said. “I will get you a piece of paper and a pencil.”

  Eugenia looked over at the accordion. It was sitting in the hallway; its keys were gleaming in a malevolent way.

  “Sister?” said Baby. She poked her head into the room.

  “I am thinking,” said Eugenia. “Don’t disturb me.”

  “Yes, Sister,” said Baby. “I will go away.”

  Frank returned with a glass of water and a pad of paper and a pencil. “Drink the water,” said Frank. “It will calm you down.”

  “I am perfectly calm,” said Eugenia. But she drank the water anyway.

  And then she took the pencil and the paper and wrote Possible Courses of Action Re: The Accordion. She underlined the words.

  She thought for a moment and then she wrote:

  Frank looked over her shoulder. “Those are all good ideas, Miss Lincoln,” he said.

  “I know,” said Eugenia. She tapped the pencil against her teeth.

  “You could also just, um, keep the accordion,” said Frank.

  “Not an option,” said Eugenia.

  She looked up from her list and stared at the accordion. Its white keys were glowing in the late afternoon light coming in through the front door. It looked extremely determined.

  “Miss Lincoln,” said Frank. “Don’t you want to know who sent you the accordion?”

  Eugenia felt a small ping of uncertainty. It was the ping of the unknown, the unexplainable. Eugenia did not care for such pings.

  “I do not want to know,” said Eugenia.

  “It’s very mysterious, isn’t it?” said Frank in a dreamy voice. “Whenever I want to find out more about something, I look it up in the encyclopedia.”

  “I do not believe in the mysterious,” said Eugenia. “And in this instance, the encyclopedia would be no help at all.”

  Baby came into the living room and said, “Wouldn’t it be divine if you learned how to play the accordion, Eugenia? Wouldn’t it be joyous?”

  “Would you please stop talking about accordions and joy?” said Eugenia. “I have absolutely no desire to learn how to play an accordion.”

  Baby sighed.

  “For heaven’s sake, Baby,” said Eugenia. “Why don’t you make yourself useful? Go over to the Watsons’ and tell them to remove their pig from my house. In the meantime, I will call the Gizzford Gazette.”

  “Yes, Sister,” said Baby. She sighed again.

  Eugenia went into the kitchen. She dialed the phone.

  “Good afternoon,” she said. “I would like to place an ad in the classifieds under the heading Items for Sale. Yes. Yes. Thank you. I would like for the copy to read: For Sale, Brand-New Accordion. Never Used. Reasonable Price. Inquire at Fifty-Two Deckawoo Drive.”

  Eugenia felt much better. Decisions had been made. Action had been taken. The accordion and its glowing keys would soon be gone. That would teach them (whoever they were) to send her an unexpected package.

  She walked back into the living room.

  Frank was in the chair reading Volume U-V of the encyclopedia.

  The pig was still sitting on the couch.

  “I should put an ad in the paper for you,” said Eugenia to the pig.

  The pig ignored her.

  Without looking up from the encyclopedia, Frank said, “Mr. and Mrs. Watson would be very upset if you tried to sell Mercy.”

  “And more is the pity,” said Eugenia.

  The next day, there was a knock at the door.

  Eugenia opened it and discovered a small, round man. The man was wearing a green velvet suit and a green velvet hat. The hat resembled a moldy mushroom.

  “Yes?” said Eugenia.

  The man removed the velvet mushroom from his head and bowed deeply. “I am Gaston LaTreaux.”

  “Good for you,” said Eugenia.

  “I have come about the accordion,” said Gaston. He put the mushroom back on his head and smiled. The man had a large number of teeth. More teeth than the average person, it seemed. Eugenia felt it would be dangerous to trust such an excessively toothy person. But still, she had an accordion to sell. She couldn’t afford to be overly particular.

  “I have here a card to prove my worth,” said Gaston. He smiled at her. He took the hat off his head and put it back on again. He removed a stack of cards from somewhere deep in his velvet pants.

  “A card is not necessary,” said Eugenia.

  Gaston LaTreaux thumbed through the cards. “But it will show you exactly who I am,” he said. “Everything is very good. All is just exactly as it should be.”

  “I doubt that most sincerely,” said Eugenia.

  Baby appeared. She said, “Oh, we have a visitor. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  “Hello, beautiful lady,” said Gaston to Baby. “I greet you wi
th excessive amounts of joy.” He took the hat off his head. He bowed deeply. The stack of cards fluttered to the ground.

  “For pity’s sake,” said Eugenia.

  “You should not worry,” said Gaston. He smiled at her with his many teeth. He put his hat back on and bent to pick up the cards. “I will find the card for you.”

  “As I said previously, I do not need a card,” said Eugenia. She could feel her face getting warm.

  “Ah, but I have located it,” said Gaston. “Here it is, the card of my worth!” He handed a card to Eugenia.

  She lowered the card. “I have absolutely no need for magic,” she said. “And I am not throwing a party.”

  “Wrong card, wrong card. Wait just a moment, please,” said Gaston. He shuffled through the cards. “Yes, yes. I have found it. Please, read it.” Gaston reached past Eugenia and handed a card to Baby.

  Baby smiled. “Isn’t that just wonderful? I do love a good song.”

  “So sorry,” said Gaston. “This is not the card I am searching for, either.”

  “No one needs a card!” said Eugenia. She stamped her foot. “Let us attend to the matter at hand. There is an accordion for sale. Do you wish to purchase it or not?”

  “Ah, please hold for only a minute,” said Gaston. “I have located it. Here is the correct card. You will see.” He handed another card to Eugenia.

  Eugenia lowered the card. She felt, as usual, extremely frustrated. Why was everyone so annoyingly obtuse? “I do not want accordion lessons,” she said. She spoke slowly. “I have an accordion. For sale. I am selling an accordion. Do you. Wish to. Purchase it?”

  “Ho, ho, ho,” said Gaston, as if Eugenia had just told him some very funny joke.

  At this point, Frank showed up. “Hello, Miss Lincoln,” he said to Eugenia. “Hello, Miss Lincoln,” he said to Baby. “I was thinking that I might study your encyclopedias some more today.”

  “Young, noble sir,” said Gaston. “I greet you. I salute your pursuit of the knowledge.” He took his mushroom off his head. He bowed.