Better to Wish

by Ann M. Martin

  “Hey, look,” said Abby. “There’s Orrin. Orrin!” she called. “Orrin!”

  Orrin was trudging barefoot along Blue Harbor Lane. He had, Abby decided, the skinniest legs she’d ever seen on a twelve-year-old boy.

  “Where’s your bucket?” asked Sarah.

  “Don’t need it. I’m looking for work,” Orrin replied. The sun beat down on his head, turning his blond hair as white as beach sand.

  “You mean for a real job?” said Abby.

  “I got to. Ma and Pap aren’t working. It’s up to me.”

  “What kind of work?” asked Sarah.

  “Whatever anyone wants to give me. Nothing I can’t do. Well, almost nothing. I can paint stuff or collect stuff or repair stuff or haul stuff.”

  “You are good at all those things,” said Sarah loyally.

  “Are your parents out looking for work, too?” asked Abby.

  “Nawp,” said Orrin after a moment. “They’re asleep. They’re — Hey, what’s that?”

  “What’s what?” asked Abby.

  “That.” Orrin pointed across the lane and behind the row of houses. “That shiny thing back there.”

  Abby shaded her eyes. “Don’t know.”

  “Come on,” said Orrin. “Let’s go see. Shouldn’t be anything back there.”

  Orrin and Abby ran across the road and between Abby’s cottage and the Becketts’, Sarah trailing behind, until they reached the track that ran behind the Blue Harbor houses.

  “Wow,” said Orrin under his breath as he stopped short by a gleaming red-and-white car. “A Chrysler Sport Coupe. She’s not brand-new — I think she’s a year or two old — but she’s a beauty.” He ran his hand along the door, the spoked wheels, the headlamps. “I’d give anything for a car like this.” He paused. “I’d give anything for a car of any kind.”

  “What’s it doing back here?” asked Sarah. “Orrin, you’d better stop touching it. The owner won’t like it.”

  “Well, the owner isn’t here. Whoever he is. Besides, I’m not doing anything.”

  Abby glanced up and down the track and then at the backs of the houses. No one was in sight. “Let’s sit in it,” she said. “This is the fanciest car I’ve ever seen.”

  “No!” said Sarah. “You’d better not. Why do you want to sit in it?”

  Abby looked at Orrin. “I just do. You do, too, don’t you, Orrin?”

  Sarah backed up a few paces, but Orrin jumped behind the wheel of the car and Abby climbed in on the other side.

  “I feel like a rich person,” said Orrin, grinning.

  “Sarah, come on!” called Abby. “There’s room for you.”

  Sarah shook her head, cheeks pink. “You don’t know who it belongs to. What if you get caught?”

  “Well, no one’s around but us,” Orrin pointed out. He placed his hands on the steering wheel and twisted it. “Look at me in my fancy car. Just out for a drive. Driving along, waving to girls and rich people. Tonight I’m going to have steak for supper because I’m so rich…. Sarah, come on.”

  “Yeah, why are you being such a baby?” said Abby. “You’re ruining everything.”

  “What am I ruining?” asked Sarah. Abby heard a tremor in her voice, but ignored it.

  “You’re like a teacher,” said Orrin.

  “You’re a scaredy-cat,” said Abby.

  Sarah said nothing and Abby felt treacherous, but couldn’t stop herself because Orrin was next to her and the car was dangerous and beautiful, and the sun was shining, and it was the first day of her vacation.

  “Scaredy-cat,” Abby repeated, and the next thing she knew, Sarah was climbing into the car, wedging herself between Abby and the door.

  “All right,” said Orrin. “That’s better.” He twisted the steering wheel again, and bounced up and down in his seat. Then Abby bounced up and down in her seat until the car was shaking, and the next thing any of them knew, the Chrysler had started to roll forward.

  “Hey!” shrieked Sarah. “Stop! Make it stop!”

  “Get out now!” cried Abby.

  The car had been parked at the top of a slope, a slope so slight, it was hardly even noticeable. But the car gathered speed and Sarah couldn’t figure out how to open her door and Orrin was concentrating on steering so that they wouldn’t hit a tree.

  “Stop, stop, stop!” Sarah shouted.

  “I can’t get the brake to work!” Orrin shouted back.

  “Open your door!” Abby yelled at Sarah. “Orrin, open yours!”

  The Chrysler hurtled forward, crashing through bushes and scraping against rocks. Abby began to scream and just when she was thinking of climbing over Sarah and jumping out of the car, she saw two things directly ahead: a fir tree and Pop.

  Pop’s mouth had opened into a shocked O. He jumped out of the path of the car and waved his arm to their left.

  “Steer that way!” cried Abby. “Turn left, Orrin!”

  Orrin jerked the wheel to the left and the car rumbled off the track and around Pop and the tree. Orrin stomped furiously on the brake and at last the car came to rest in a rocky field.

  Pop was at Orrin’s door in an instant. He yanked it open and jerked Orrin out of the car. “What do you think you’re doing? I should throttle you!”

  “Pop!” shouted Abby, leaping out of the car after Orrin. “Pop, stop! It wasn’t his fault.”

  “He was driving my car, wasn’t he? Who else’s fault could it be?”

  “Your car?” said Abby as Sarah finally wrenched her own door open and tumbled to the ground.

  “Yes, my car. I just bought it. It needs repairs. I was going to work on it here on the weekends. But that’s not the point. You three could have gotten yourselves killed. Not to mention that you’ve wrecked an expensive car.” Pop walked all around the Chrysler, running his hands over dents and scratches, a broken headlamp.

  “Pop, we didn’t mean any —”

  Pop held up his hand and Abby fell silent. “Abigail, you are forbidden to see Orrin and Sarah.”

  “What? Ever? But they’re my — I mean, Sarah is my best friend. Besides, this didn’t have anything to do with her. She didn’t want to get in the car. She even told Orrin and me not to get in.”

  “Go home, then, Sarah,” said Pop, and Sarah turned and fled. Pop glared at Orrin. “You’re a bad influence. I don’t want you in my house or in my yard or anywhere near my daughter again. Do you understand?”

  Orrin crossed one bare foot over the other and stared at the ground.

  “Orrin?” said Pop in the quiet voice that Abby found much more frightening than his shouting.

  “Sorry,” whispered Orrin.

  “I asked if you understood me.”

  “Yuh.”

  “Then you go home, too. I’d ask you to pay for the damages, but I know you can’t.”

  Abby saw Orrin flinch. “Maybe you could let Orrin work in your shop until —” she started to say.

  “Out of the question,” said Pop. “I know what kind of workers his people are. Let him stew. Let him think about what he’s done and the fact that he can’t make it right. Go, Orrin.”

  Orrin turned wounded eyes to Abby. She started to reach for his hand but drew back in a hurry. “Sorry,” she whispered as Orrin, keeping his eyes now on the track, began the walk back to Blue Harbor Lane.

  Abby looked from her father to the damaged car. “I’ll help pay to have it fixed. I’ll do —”

  “We’ll discuss it later,” said Pop. “Just stay away from Orrin Umhay.”

  Abby could hear the cries before she was fully awake, before she realized they were a newborn’s cries and not Fred’s. She leaped out of bed, pulled on her dressing gown, and collided with Rose in the hallway.

  “Doesn’t that baby ever stop crying?” demanded Rose crossly.

  “Babies are babies,” Abby replied sensibly. “Adele doesn’t cry any more than Fred did.”

  “Well, she’s louder.”

  “Go back to sleep.”

  �
��I can’t. She’s too noisy. Anyway, I’ll just have to get up in fifteen minutes to get ready for school.” Rose studied her sister. “Are you going to school today?”

  “I don’t think so. Mama needs me. I’ll go back on Monday.”

  “But Ellen and Sheila are here to help Mama.”

  “She needs me,” Abby said. “So does Fred. It’s just for one more day.” She lowered her voice. “You saw Mama last night. She should be happy. She has a new baby. But something’s not right. She didn’t cry this much after Fred was born.”

  “I know,” said Rose, and ducked back in her bedroom.

  Abby tiptoed down the hall to her parents’ room and peeked inside. Her mother was leaning against two large pillows, Adele cradled to her chest, and she was crying softly while Adele wailed. Abby looked at them in alarm.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked. She glanced around the room and wondered where her father was.

  “She won’t feed,” Mama sobbed. “She just won’t. And then she cries because she’s hungry. Why won’t she feed?”

  Abby remembered Mama on the day after Fred had been born, complaining that he wouldn’t feed, and she felt as if someone had stabbed her with an icicle. This couldn’t possibly be happening again. “Oh, I’m sure —” she started to say. She had been about to say that she was sure Adele wasn’t going to be anything like Fred, but how could she be sure of that? Instead she said, “I’m sure she’ll feed when she gets really hungry.”

  “She’s really hungry now,” Mama replied quietly.

  “Just try a little longer.” Abby sat on the bed and put her arm around her mother. “Maybe if you stop crying, she’ll calm down. Remember when Rose and I were little and you would sing ‘My Bonnie’ to us?”

  Mama nodded and leaned into Abby. Abby began to sing, “My bonnie lies over the ocean. My bonnie lies over the sea. My bonnie lies over the ocean….”

  “Now Fred’s crying,” said Mama a moment later.

  “But Adele is feeding,” Abby whispered. She got silently to her feet, not daring to move the bed for fear of disturbing her new little sister. “I’ll go get Fred. Don’t worry about anything.”

  Abby hurried down the hall just as Sheila appeared at the top of the stairs. “Adele’s feeding,” Abby reported. “I’ll take care of Fred.”

  “There won’t be anything left for me to do,” said Sheila. She patted Abby’s arm. “You’re a good little mother.”

  “Where’s Pop?” asked Abby, pausing outside Fred’s room.

  “Gone to work.”

  “Already? Rose hasn’t even left for school.”

  Sheila shrugged, and Abby turned her attention to Fred’s soggy diaper. “He’s never here,” she said to her brother. “He’s very good at disappearing.” Then, realizing that she was holding Fred’s legs far too tightly, she leaned over and kissed his forehead. “Sorry. Sorry, Fred.”

  The day was dreary, dreary in the way only the middle of February can be. The sky was pale gray, and a cold rain pounded the two inches of snow that had fallen the previous day. Abby had hoped the snow might be a good omen. Purity, a new start. A Valentine’s Day snowfall for a Valentine’s Day baby. But Mama’s delivery of Adele had been difficult — twice the doctor had been called to the house. And then there were Mama’s tears, which never seemed to stop flowing. But yesterday was yesterday, and today was today, and Mama was finally asleep, and now that Adele’s tummy was full, she was asleep, too.

  Late that morning Abby and Fred sat in the window seat in the parlor, and Abby gazed outside at the dim, dark morning. The snow had already turned as gray as the sky, and the rain was washing ragged rivulets of slush into the street.

  “Ba?” said Fred, holding a block aloft.

  “Yes! Block!” Abby cried. “Good boy!”

  “Hoo?” asked Fred, holding a different block aloft.

  Abby stared at him. “Block,” she said again finally. “It’s a block, Fred.”

  “Abby?” called Ellen from the kitchen. “Are you and Fred ready for lunch?”

  “Is Pop coming home?”

  “For lunch? I don’t think so.”

  “He should be here with his new baby,” muttered Abby, but not so loudly that Ellen could hear her. At the same time she realized that she was relieved not to have to see Pop until dinnertime. Everyone else in the household probably felt the same way.

  “We’ll eat in a little while,” said Abby. “Thanks.” Her mind wandered to the subject of the mail and what might arrive in it that day. She was hoping for a letter from Orrin, but Orrin, partly because he didn’t have much use for reading or writing, and partly, Abby supposed, because he was a boy, wrote to her only every few weeks or so. Once, over a month had passed between his letters, even though Abby wrote to him several times a week.

  Three years earlier, Abby had worried that their friendship would suffer when she moved to Barnegat Point, but at least back then she and Orrin could still see each other in school. Now, however, the Umhays lived fifty miles north of Barnegat Point. They had moved suddenly the previous August, just before Abby and Sarah and Orrin were to begin seventh grade. This was all the more wrenching since Abby hadn’t found out about it until the Umhays had been gone for two days. She hadn’t been able to say good-bye to Orrin, and if he hadn’t thought to mail her a letter early in September (he sent it to Sarah’s house so Pop wouldn’t see it) she might never have known where he was. The only good thing about the Umhays’ flight (Abby suspected that Orrin’s father had run into a little trouble with the law) was that Pop’s punishment no longer held any water. Abby couldn’t see Orrin even if she wanted to.

  But the letters had to remain a secret.

  At exactly three o’clock that afternoon, the front door burst open and Rose clattered into the front hall, followed by Sarah.

  “Sarah wants to meet the baby!” Rose announced.

  “If that’s okay,” Sarah added, sounding apologetic. She stood uncertainly by the door, cradling her books and leaning forward slightly. Abby knew she was listening for Pop. “Only if it’s okay,” she repeated. “My mother’s in town and she said I could visit you until she’s finished with her shopping.”

  “Actually,” said Abby, “I think it might be better if you saw the baby another time. Mama isn’t … I think she’s asleep.”

  “I understand,” said Sarah. She glanced upstairs. “Is Adele cute?”

  “She’s all red and wrinkled like an old plum,” Rose replied. “An old red plum with hair.”

  Sarah laughed. “She’ll get better.”

  “I hope so,” said Rose, “because she looks pretty awful right now.”

  “Maybe you could visit her on Monday,” Abby suggested.

  Sarah nodded. “Well … I’ll just go, then.”

  “Wait,” said Abby. “We’ll come with you. Fred and I have been stuck indoors all day, but look — the sun’s coming out. Let’s put Fred in his carriage and we’ll all walk into town. You can meet your mother there.”

  Abby had just bundled Fred into his jacket, mittens, and hat when the doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it,” said Abby. She opened the front door to find old Mrs. Evans, from down the street, holding a basket covered with a checked dishcloth, Mr. Evans hovering behind her.

  Mrs. Evans smiled broadly. “I heard the stork visited your house.”

  “That’s true,” said Abby proudly. “He brought a little girl. Her name is Adele.”

  “She looks like a plum!” called Rose from the hall.

  “Well, we just thought we’d drop by and leave you this pie. Goodness, it seems like only yesterday that Fred was born.” Mrs. Evans leaned into the hall. “Where is Fred? How’s he getting on?”

  “Oh, he’s fine,” said Abby. She stepped forward, inching Mrs. Evans back onto the porch. “We’re just about to take a walk.”

  Mrs. Evans glanced at the carriage, which was parked at the bottom of the porch steps. “He’s getting a little big to ride in a carriage, is
n’t he?”

  He was. But eight months had passed since Fred had first stood up, and he was no closer to walking than before. And since he was getting too big for Abby to carry, she had no choice but to wheel him around in the carriage.

  “Thank you so much for the pie, Mrs. Evans,” said Abby. “Thanks, Mr. Evans. I’ll let Mama know you stopped by.”

  She closed the door, whisked the pie into the kitchen, and handed it to Ellen, saying, “This is from Mrs. Evans. We’re going for a walk. We’ll take Fred with us.”

  “All right, Little Mother.”

  Outside, Abby heaved Fred into the carriage and she, Rose, and Sarah set off for town.

  “I wish we didn’t have to walk by the Evanses’ house every day,” whispered Rose. “They look out their windows and stare at Fred. So do half the people on the street.”

  “Well, don’t pay any attention,” Abby replied. “They’re busybodies, all of them.”

  In town, Abby bought suckers for Rose and Fred, and she and Sarah looked in the window of Clayton’s, which had a display of ladies’ hats.

  “If you could buy any of those hats, which one would it be?” Sarah asked.

  “That one,” said Rose instantly, pointing to a straw hat with an alarming collection of flowers and birds around the rim.

  “What about you, Abby?”

  Abby shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Come on. Just choose one.”

  “I can’t.”

  Sarah scrutinized Abby. “You look awful tired,” she said, as Rose ran ahead to the toy store.

  Abby shrugged again.

  “You don’t have to do everything yourself, you know. That’s what Sheila and Ellen are there for. You should be back in school.”

  “You don’t know what it’s like, Sarah,” said Abby quietly.

  “Sorry. I — Never mind. I didn’t mean anything by it.” Sarah reached for her friend’s hand and squeezed it. Abby squeezed back.

  Then Fred dropped his sucker and began to cry, and Abby said, “We’d better get on home. I’ll see you on Monday, Sarah, okay?” And Abby and Rose took turns pushing the very heavy carriage back to Haddon Road.

  They were just passing the Evanses’ house, Rose making gruesome faces in case they were spying out their windows, when Abby felt someone take her elbow, and she turned to find Zander Burley, his arm now linked with hers.