Better to Wish

by Ann M. Martin

  Abby took Rose’s hand and they turned on to the main street, and before them lay the market and the movie theatre and the hardware store and the toy store. Gulls called above their heads and landed on the roofs of the stores, standing in important lines. Men left their jobs as clerks and bankers and waited impatiently for sandwiches and bowls of soup at the counter in Griswold’s. Ladies hurried in and out of Treat’s with their packages of meat and bags of flour.

  “No more Hammer’s,” said Abby happily. “No more ‘Don’t touch, little girl!’”

  Abby and Rose peeked into the library and Abby asked the librarian if Nancy’s Mysterious Letter was in. “Due back tomorrow” was the reply, and Abby realized she could stop in again on her way home from school the next day.

  Later, Abby and Rose, full of strawberry ice cream from the counter at the drugstore, walked to their new home with sticky hands. They turned onto Haddon and Abby studied the houses they passed. The first one was tall, painted white, with black shutters. Sitting on what Pop had told her was called a veranda were an old man and an old woman, who both seemed to be asleep. But as Abby and Rose hurried by the house, the woman suddenly opened her eyes, leaned forward in her rocking chair, and called, “Where are your manners? Didn’t anyone ever teach you to address your elders?”

  Rose looked helplessly at Abby, and Abby said timidly, “Good afternoon.” Then she added, “My name is Abby Nichols and this is my sister, Rose. We just moved here.”

  “I know who you are!” yelled the woman.

  “Shouldn’t you tell us your names?” asked Rose.

  Abby looked at her sister in horror, but the woman began to laugh. She settled back in her chair and said, “I certainly should. I’m Mrs. Evans, and that’s Mr. Evans taking his nap.”

  “We’re going to have a baby soon” was Rose’s reply. “Babies nap all the —”

  “Well, it was nice meeting you!” said Abby loudly. “We have to get home now. Come on, Rose.”

  Abby hustled her sister along Haddon. “You can’t say things like that to grown-ups!” she whispered loudly.

  At the next house, a baby carriage was parked in the middle of the front lawn, and in it was a fat baby wearing a white bonnet. Curled up on a blanket at the baby’s feet was an orange kitten. A little girl and a little boy tossed a ball back and forth, but they stopped and stared when they saw Abby and Rose.

  “Hello!” called Abby, and the girl waved solemnly at her.

  At the house next to that one, Abby paused and gazed up at the windows and the turrets and the fancy wooden decorations over the porch and under the eaves. Mama called them gingerbread.

  “You know who lives there?” Abby asked Rose.

  “The Burleys.”

  “Zander Burley,” said Abby.

  “Who’s he?”

  “That boy in seventh grade. The one who’s always reading and always writing and always winning awards.”

  “You mean me?”

  Abby whirled around and behind her stood Zander Burley, tall and lanky and perfectly handsome, his round glasses sliding down his nose. He grinned at Abby, who was blushing deeply.

  “You should look before you speak,” he added.

  “I —” said Abby. “I —”

  “So I guess you’re the new neighbors,” said Zander. “Well, see you.” He strode up the walk to his house and let himself inside, the screen door slamming behind him.

  “He thinks he’s so great,” muttered Abby, and strode into her own house.

  When darkness fell that night, Abby closed the door to her room, turned off her light, and knelt on the window seat. Framed in her own window was a bedroom window at the Burleys’. And in the middle of the window was Zander, sitting at a desk, books piled beside him, writing furiously on a tablet. He wrote with a pencil and every now and then he paused to lick the point. Abby stared at him for a while, then drew her curtains, crept off of the window seat, changed into her nightgown, and slid under the blankets on her new bed.

  She listened for a long time and thought maybe she could hear the faintest whisper of the ocean, but she wasn’t sure. The wind rustled the branches of the pine trees behind the house and the damp air swept her hair back from her face. She rolled from side to side. A whole big bed all to herself. A whole big bed, and no Rose breathing heavily beside her or wrapping her cold feet around Abby’s legs.

  The door to her room opened then, and silhouetted in the light from the hallway was her sister.

  Abby said nothing.

  Rose said nothing.

  Before Abby knew it, Rose had tiptoed across the room and curled against her sister’s back, and they slept like kittens until the sun rose.

  “Fred, Fred, Freddy … Fred?”

  Abby crossed her arms and leaned against Fred’s crib, staring down at the baby. He gazed solemnly back at her. She raised his shirt and tickled his belly. He made a face and kicked his legs.

  “Won’t you smile at me?” Abby asked her brother. “Please? Just one smile?”

  Fred rolled his eyes to the side.

  Abby thought Fred’s head looked a little too large for his body. And that it was lopsided. Maybe. If she looked at his head from one direction, it seemed okay, but when she looked straight down at him, she could see the faint bulge on the left side. She knew her parents saw it, too, but they didn’t like to talk about it. Mama kept taking Fred to Dr. Rainey, though. And Abby had heard her discussing Fred with Sheila, the baby nurse.

  “Shouldn’t he be sitting up by now?” Mama had asked Sheila more than once. “Abby was crawling by the time she was nine months old. And Rose had already said her first word at this age. But Fred can’t even hold himself up.”

  Fred wasn’t sitting up or crawling or talking. He didn’t hold on to his bottle either, and he showed absolutely no interest in rattles or his teddy bear or games of peekaboo.

  “I want to hear his voice,” Rose had said one day to Mama, and Abby had seen tears in Mama’s eyes because Fred didn’t make a sound, except when he was crying, which was often.

  Abby had turned on her sister. “Rose. He’s a baby. He can’t talk yet.”

  But Mama had replied, “Rose has a point. He should be babbling by now.”

  Fred was like a big doll. You could feed him and change him, but he didn’t give much back.

  Now Abby tried to sit Fred up in his crib. He slumped to the side and then slid all the way over until he was sprawled on his back again. Abby sighed and left him there. Sheila would come in and dress him for the party soon.

  Abby, already wearing her new white dress, the one from Haworth’s, ran downstairs to the dining room where she found Mama and Pop and Rose seated around the table, eating Ellen’s scrambled eggs and muffins.

  “Good morning, birthday girl,” said Mama.

  “Even though it isn’t really your birthday,” said Rose.

  “Well, it will be soon enough,” said Mama. “And look.” She gestured through the open French doors. “Perfect weather for a beach picnic.”

  Abby smiled and took her place at the table. She wondered if she dared ask Pop one more time if she couldn’t invite Orrin to her eleventh birthday party. The planning of the party, from beginning to end, had been a little like President Roosevelt trying to pass the programs in the New Deal, which Abby had been reading about in the newspaper. The New Deal sounded like a good idea to her, even though plenty of people opposed it, including Pop. Mr. Roosevelt wanted to get the nation back on its feet and out of the Great Depression, and he had all sorts of plans for doing that. But he had to bargain and fight and compromise every step of the way. And that was how the planning of the party had gone.

  “What would you like to do for your birthday, Abby?” Pop had asked her several weeks earlier.

  Abby, who had already given her birthday quite a bit of thought, had answered instantly, “Could I please have a party this year? A real party? With guests? And games in the yard?” Neither she nor Rose had ever had an actual birthd
ay party. Sometimes Aunt Betty and Uncle Marshall and the cousins had come by for supper, but birthday parties with cake and ice cream and guests and games and presents were for wealthy children.

  Abby had been surprised when Pop had said no, since he seemed to want to convince all of Barnegat Point that the Nicholses had plenty of money now. But it turned out that he simply had other ideas about Abby’s first party, and he suggested a picnic at the beach. “For all our friends,” he said. “I mean, your friends. And their parents. A fancy picnic with all the trimmings. Ellen will make a feast.”

  Abby had reluctantly agreed. It wasn’t quite what she had imagined, but maybe the kids could wear hats and play games in the sand. She started her guest list. Sarah’s name headed it. Pop added Sarah’s parents to the list. Abby wrote down Orrin and his mother and father. Pop crossed off the Umhays (all of them) and replaced them with the Burleys.

  Eventually, Abby let Pop and Ellen plan the party, which would be held on Saturday, because Sunday, her actual birthday, was the Lord’s day. Ellen worked out the menu. Pop finished the guest list. And Mama took Abby and Rose to Haworth’s for new dresses.

  “Fancy ones!” Pop had called as they’d left for the store.

  “How are we supposed to play games in lace dresses?” Abby had whined as they’d walked into town, and her mother had leaned over to straighten the blankets in Fred’s carriage and pretended she hadn’t heard her.

  In Haworth’s, Miss Amelia, who walked around all day long with a measuring tape around her neck and a mouthful of pins, had removed the pins long enough to say, “My, how you two girls have grown just since the last time you were in the store. Abby, you especially.” She had eyed Abby’s chest and Abby had ducked her head and blushed, and Mama had once again busied herself with Fred. “I think you can go with something a little more grown-up, Abby. We’ll make the bust a bit fuller….”

  At this, Rose had burst into a fit of giggles and Mama had made her sit in a corner of the store until Miss Amelia had finished measuring Abby.

  It was when they were leaving the store later, Abby red-faced but secretly pleased about her new measurements, that they had passed the Spinning Top, and Abby had come to a stop so fast that Mama had run Fred’s carriage into the backs of her legs.

  “Mama! Look!” Abby had cried. She pointed to the store window. “That wasn’t there yesterday. Oh, she’s beautiful.”

  In the very center of the Spinning Top’s window stood the loveliest doll Abby had ever seen. She was ten inches tall, and clearly the kind of doll that was just for looking at, not for playing with.

  “She’s a fairy queen,” Rose had said, in awe.

  Abby had studied every inch of the doll. She was wearing a white dress with panels of lace trimmed in gold, and fastened to her back were wings of white feathers, also trimmed in gold. On her head was a gold crown, and her golden hair fell in curls to her shoulders. Her mouth had been painted in a tiny, knowing smile.

  “Mama,” Abby had whispered, “that’s what I want for my birthday. Could I have her? Please?” Abby couldn’t see a price tag, but she figured Pop could afford her.

  To Mama’s credit, she didn’t say, “Aren’t you a little old for dolls?” Maybe that was because Mama understood that this wasn’t just a doll; this was something beautiful to be treasured and admired and loved every day, even when Abby was a grown-up.

  Mama had given Abby a small smile. “We’ll see,” she’d said, and they’d walked along silently, Abby picturing the fairy-queen doll until they’d turned onto Haddon and Fred had begun to cry.

  So many people had been invited to Abby’s birthday beach picnic, and Ellen had prepared so many dishes, that Mike had to drive two carloads of food, plates, glasses, and silverware to the beach beforehand. Pop and Ellen went along with the first load and stayed on the beach to watch over things. After the second load, Mike returned to the house for Mama, Abby, Rose, Fred, and Sheila.

  Abby felt glamorous in her new dress with the fuller bust — which she knew Rose secretly envied — and she rode primly through town to the section of beach that Pop had declared was the perfect spot for a party. But once Mike had parked the car and Abby caught sight of Sarah and of her cousins and aunt and uncle, she couldn’t help running like a kid across the sand and opening the box that she knew contained party hats. She handed a tiara to Sarah and a straw hat with a bird on it to Rose and stuck a crown on Fred’s head as he lay in Sheila’s lap. She reached into the box once more, pulled out a cowboy hat, spun around, and found herself facing Zander Burley.

  Zander peered at her owlishly.

  “Um, I guess you don’t want a hat,” said Abby.

  “I —” He hesitated, then thrust his hand into his pocket and held out a small box. “This is for you.”

  “Really? For me?” Abby’s hands began to shake, and she clasped them behind her back, out of Zander’s sight. This boy, the one she gazed upon most nights, wanting to know everything about him, had apparently noticed her, too. And he had brought her a present. “Should I open it?” she asked.

  “Well, eventually.”

  Abby reached for the box and dropped the hat.

  They both bent to pick up the hat and their heads knocked together. Zander laughed and Abby blushed.

  “I’ll just put the box over there,” said Zander, and placed it on a blanket where a pile of small parcels was growing. Then he strode away to join a group of boys who Abby guessed must be the sons of people who worked for Pop.

  “Abby!” Rose called then. “Let’s play blindman’s bluff!”

  Abby was gathering her friends — the ones she actually knew — when she heard Fred begin to cry. She looked up for an instant, and was startled to see a figure standing beyond the rocks at the edge of the beach.

  Orrin.

  What was Orrin doing in Barnegat Point? Abby wondered, and at that moment Sarah tugged her elbow and said, “Abby! Look! Orrin’s here. Did you invite him?”

  Once again, Abby’s cheeks burned. She shook her head. “Pop … well, you know.”

  Sarah frowned.

  But Abby began to smile. She waved to Orrin, then ran across the beach to the skinny figure who now towered over her, his white-blond hair glistening in the sun. “You came!” she said breathlessly. “I — Pop wouldn’t let me send you an invitation.”

  Orrin nodded. “I figured.” His ruddy cheeks flamed even redder.

  “How did you know about the party?”

  “I just heard.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re here.”

  “I won’t stay, though. I just wanted to say happy birthday. I wanted to give you a present, too, only … well, it isn’t anything special.”

  Orrin offered Abby a small paper bag, then stuffed his hands in his pockets and clambered back over the rocks.

  Abby watched him for a moment. “Orrin!” she called. “Orrin!” Then, realizing how loud her voice was, she looked guiltily over her shoulder and spotted Pop on the beach. He was talking with Zander’s father, his back to her.

  “Orrin,” Abby called again, but more softly, and Orrin didn’t hear her. He had already disappeared beyond the rocks. She wanted to shout at Pop, to punish him for all his unfairness. Instead she looked at the spot where Orrin had been standing and then opened the bag. Inside was a piece of red sea glass, one of the rarest colors, tumbled as smooth and as soft as Fred’s cheek. Abby had collected plenty of blue and green and white sea glass, but she had never found a piece that glowed like a warm coal.

  “Abigail!”

  Abby turned at the sound of Pop’s voice and ran back to the party.

  “What are you doing over there?” he asked, glancing toward the rocks. “It’s time to eat.”

  Abby’s guests were standing at tables laden with salads (she counted three different kinds) and rolls and chicken and lobster. There was a platter of cold roast beef, a plate of deviled eggs, and jugs of tea and lemonade. The adults were laughing and talking, sitting self-consciously with
their plates of food on blankets that Mike had spread on the sand. Abby saw Rose and two of the Blue Harbor Lane kids sit directly in the sand, waving pieces of chicken in the air and giggling. She longed to join them, but the sea glass in her hand pulled her thoughts back to Orrin, and to the sight of him disappearing from her world.

  “Aren’t you going to eat? It’s your birthday party.” Abby jumped at the sound of Zander’s voice, and he grinned at her. “Come on.” He took her by the elbow and steered her toward the food. He handed her a plate and she took it gratefully, jamming Orrin’s gift into a pocket of her dress.

  It was later, when Abby was so full she thought she would burst and the guests were sitting lazily on the blankets, drunk with sunshine and heavy food, that Pop stood and clinked a fork against a glass.

  “This is a very special day,” he announced. Everyone stirred and shaded their eyes to peer at him. “We’re celebrating my daughter’s eleventh birthday. I thank you all for coming. And now, Abigail, will you join me?” He extended his arm to Abby, who was sitting between Rose and Sarah on a rumpled, sandy blanket.

  Abby, butterflies beating their wings in her stomach, got to her feet, stumbling slightly, and stood next to Pop.

  “In honor of the day, I would like to present you with this gift,” Pop announced, sounding as if he were addressing the town council. He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a long, thin box.

  Abby held out her hand, but Pop pulled the box back, lifted the lid, and displayed the gift inside for the guests to see. From the sand below, Abby heard Rose draw her breath in sharply. “A watch,” her sister said in awe.

  The box was velvet, black velvet, and inside was indeed a watch with a narrow silver band and a delicate silver face.

  “Oh, Pop,” Abby whispered.

  She heard her sister’s voice again. “What about the doll?”

  Abby shook her head at Rose.

  “A grown-up gift for a grown-up girl,” Pop continued. He beamed around the beach at the guests.

  Abby bit her lip. “Thanks, Pop. It’s perfect,” she said, aware that all eyes were on her, and that the guests — most of them anyway — would be impressed by this extravagant gift from a man who appeared to know his daughter, but who really did not know her at all.