The Penderwicks at Point Mouette

by Jeanne Birdsall

  “Wait a minute!” Skye shouted. “All this is Dominic’s fault? Did he try to shoot you?”

  “Of course not. He skateboarded past me and I wanted to wave but I slipped and I was holding this rock …” Jane sheepishly held up the rock.

  “Which she hit herself in the nose with,” said Turron. “Accidentally.”

  “I can’t stand it. I give up.” Skye sank onto the couch.

  “And then Turron rescued you, Jane, and brought you home,” said Aunt Claire brightly. “That was nice of him.”

  “Dominic Orne!” This came out of Skye as a kind of growl. She was no longer following the conversation.

  Jane glanced uneasily at her OAP. “My nose isn’t broken. No special doctors.”

  “That’s good,” said Jeffrey.

  “Yes, that’s excellent,” said Aunt Claire. “Jeffrey, could you please show Turron out? And, Turron, thank you so much.”

  “Anytime.” He waved to her and smiled, then was gone.

  “All right, then. Forward.” Aunt Claire took a closer look at Jane’s nose. “Jane, you go change out of those clothes. Then if Jeffrey could find some bandages and cotton—in the bathroom cabinet, I think—we can get you patched up.”

  While Jane was being cleaned and repaired, Skye stayed slumped on the couch, brooding. She’d been so confident, the great and powerful leader doing deep knee bends, and all the while a second Penderwick was undergoing serious damage. It was quite clear that she rated about a zero as the OAP. She’d told her father so—she’d warned him. She’d warned them all, and no one had listened, and now the family was being picked off one at a time, one body part at a time. Next it would be Batty blowing up her arm, and then Hound would lose a rib, and then Jeffrey his head. Complete disaster.

  Nevertheless, Skye knew she couldn’t quit. Not yet. Failing as the OAP was embarrassing, but quitting would be rank humiliation. She sat up straight, took a few deep breaths, and then sprang off the couch and back into the fray. Seconds later, she was bundling Batty into the orange life jacket. Then she was searching out Hound, to tighten his collar and hook up his leash. She went for Jeffrey and Jane next, determined to make them accident-proof, but without more life jackets—or leashes—there was nothing she could do but order them never to go anywhere alone.

  “Teams of at least two at all times,” she said.

  “That’s ridiculous,” protested Jeffrey.

  “Promise!” But Skye was already moving on, insisting that Aunt Claire could no longer move without help.

  When she actually tried to lock Aunt Claire’s crutches in a closet, a rebellion erupted, followed by a coup. The end result was that Aunt Claire got her crutches back and declared Jeffrey Temporary OAP for as long as it took Skye to get hold of herself.

  It took most of the day. Skye wouldn’t have managed it even in that time if Jeffrey hadn’t worked her so hard. He made her run all the way to Moose Market for the groceries Jane didn’t get, and run back again. After that, he put her through two hours of soccer practice, the grueling kind, not at all fun. Lunch came next, at which Skye drank up all the milk while finishing the last of Churchie’s gingerbread, so after lunch, Jeffrey sent her back again to the market for more milk. When she returned, Skye told him that she was fine now and not at all nervous, but moments later he caught her once more trying to stuff Batty into the life jacket, though she was nowhere near the ocean. So off Skye was sent again, to run down to the inn and back—five times. That licked her. She was finally too worn out to fear instant catastrophe, and when it was almost time to leave for dinner at Alec’s, Jeffrey gladly handed back the reins of OAP-dom.

  “I don’t like being in charge,” he said.

  “Neither do I.” Skye wearily surveyed her small troop, assembling now for the walk to the red house. While Jeffrey was in great shape, glowing from all the sun and exercise, the rest of them were not at their best. Batty’s hair was in a tangle. Hound was hiding under the table, woozy from eating who knew what. Aunt Claire had been forced to slit open the leg of her best jeans to get them on over her plastic boot. And then there was Jane. Her nose was no longer stuffed with bloody wads of cotton, but its swollenness was still covered with a gigantic bandage.

  “How do I look?” she asked, making herself cross-eyed by trying to see her own nose.

  “Horrendous,” said Skye.

  “Scary,” added Batty.

  “Different,” teased Jeffrey, “than you used to look.”

  “My phone is ringing,” said Aunt Claire. “It’s in my bag, if someone could get it for me.”

  Everyone went for the phone, but Skye got there first, just in case the display had Rosalind’s name on it. Skye snatched it up and, yes, it was the true OAP. Skye’s newfound calm evaporated.

  “It’s Rosy! No one tell her about all the accidents! Please!”

  Again taking charge, Jeffrey wrested the phone away from Skye, tossed it to Aunt Claire, then dragged Skye out of the house and sat her down on the seawall.

  “You’re acting nuts, you know,” he said.

  “I can’t help it. All that work to keep people safe and then Jane smashes her nose because she’s waving at Dominic. It kills me.”

  Jeffrey leaned in to look at her closely. “Are you crying?”

  “I never cry.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “I’m just tired,” said Skye. “If Aunt Claire doesn’t mind, I probably shouldn’t go to Alec’s for dinner.”

  “Do you want me to stay with you?”

  Skye knew what it took for Jeffrey to offer that. He’d been talking all day about music after dinner with Alec and Turron—that is, whenever he hadn’t been torturing her. “Don’t be silly. I need you to make sure Batty doesn’t drown or blow up.”

  “Skye, repeat after me. Nobody is going to blow up!”

  She refused to say it—not after the day she’d had—until he threatened to shake her, and even then, she’d only muttered the first few words when Jane came out onto the deck to call All Clear. Skye and Jeffrey went back inside.

  “Rosalind is fine and reading lots of mysteries, and Anna has a crush on a lifeguard named Serge,” said Jane.

  “And they rode on a Ferris wheel,” said Batty.

  “Rosalind and Anna, not Serge,” added Aunt Claire. “And though I told Rosy that my ankle was hurt, I may have left her with the impression that it wasn’t as bad as it is. There’s no point in her worrying.”

  “And I didn’t mention this.” Jane pointed at her nose. “It’s too embarrassing.”

  “Good. Thank you,” said Skye.

  Aunt Claire didn’t mind at all if Skye wanted to stay home, as long as Hound stayed with her, in case she had a sudden desire to protect someone from certain danger. Jeffrey offered to send Hoover back to Birches, too, so that Skye could have another potential victim to save, but she declined the offer—and could almost summon the energy to smile at the joke. And then it was time for the dinner contingent to set out for Alec’s. Jane and Jeffrey were taking up positions on either side of Aunt Claire and her crutches when Turron unexpectedly appeared at the sliding glass doors.

  “Taxi service,” he said, and scooped a giggling Aunt Claire into his arms as easily as he’d lifted Jane that afternoon.

  “Be careful with her,” cried Skye.

  “You bet.” And he took off, with the others trailing after him.

  Skye sank onto the couch and stayed there, too worn out to move, until Hound jumped up to lick her face. When she still didn’t move, he gently took her arm in his mouth and tugged.

  “I’m all right,” she said, taking her arm back. “It’s just that no matter what anyone says, I know that people wouldn’t be getting hurt if Rosalind were here. And I can’t believe I’m talking to you.”

  “Woof.”

  “Right.”

  She was glad she’d stayed behind. When she got hungry, she could have a sandwich, and until then she’d read Death by Black Hole, and when it got dark enough, she
could go outside with her binoculars to look at the stars. It would be a peaceful and intellectually satisfying evening, and the first time she’d had to herself since coming to Maine.

  But Skye never got to the sandwich, let alone the stars. She managed only to wander out to the sleeping porch and collapse onto her cot with Death by Black Hole. After two paragraphs about cosmic plasma, the book slipped from her hands, and Skye was gone, sleeping the sleep of an overtaxed OAP.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Moose

  SOMEONE WAS POKING AT SKYE, trying to wake her up. But because she was determined to stay lost in dreams unburdened with younger sisters, she jammed her fist in the general direction of the poking.

  “Ouch!”

  She opened her eyes and saw Jeffrey hovering next to her cot, rubbing his stomach.

  “What are you doing?” she asked. It was ridiculously early in the morning. “Is somebody else hurt?”

  “No, everyone’s fine.”

  “Then I’m going to continue sleeping.” Her eyes closed, but before she could escape back into slumber, Jeffrey was shaking her.

  “No, you have to get up, because I’m too happy to sleep and I want company.”

  He moved on to Jane and started poking her. It took a while, but finally Jane rolled over and muttered, “I do adore you, Gary.”

  “Who’s Gary?” Jeffrey asked Skye.

  “Probably one of Sabrina Starr’s boyfriends,” she answered, reluctantly sitting up. “You’d better leave Jane alone if she’s in that kind of mood—and go away so I can dress.”

  “You are dressed,” he said. “When we came home last night, you were out cold and Hound was standing guard over you.”

  Skye looked down and saw that she was indeed wearing the clothes she’d fallen asleep in. Death by Black Hole was beside her pillow, looking like it had been rolled on. Now she remembered—she’d gone to sleep and hadn’t woken up again.

  “Then who put Batty to bed?”

  Jane suddenly threw out an arm as though to catch at someone. “And I adore you, too, Herschel! Stay with me.”

  “She did,” said Jeffrey.

  “Jane?” Skye told herself that Jane was surely capable of putting Batty to bed without help. “Maybe I should just go look …”

  “I’ll meet you outside.”

  Skye swung out of bed and made her way through the dark to Batty’s room. In the pink glow of the night-light, she could see Batty’s dark head on the pillow, and next to her Hound, who thumped his tail twice, his way of saying a silent hello. Little green Ellie had tumbled out of bed—Skye picked her up and tucked her in next to Batty, who now stirred and murmured a few words that sounded like “bee” and “sharp.” This made no sense to Skye—and then she wondered if Rosalind had ever gone around at night listening to her sisters talking in their sleep. How strange. But Skye had nothing to worry about. She was certain that anything she herself said would be more interesting than boys’ names or bees.

  She slipped away and found Jeffrey waiting for her in front of Birches. It was that bewitching hour when night has gone but day hasn’t arrived, when there are no greens anywhere—not in the grass or in the leaves—but instead only grays and shadowy blues, and the birds are frenziedly singing, encouraging the sun to rise yet one more time. Skye shivered, because it was also chilly.

  “Come on,” said Jeffrey. “You’ll warm up when you start moving.”

  Skye thought that she would more easily warm up by going back to bed. Still, when Jeffrey took off toward Ocean Boulevard, she followed, sleepily curious about this happiness of his. When he turned left instead of right on the road, she almost balked. There was nothing in that direction but the pinewood, and she saw no reason to explore it so early in the morning. But Jeffrey took her hand and pulled her to the end of Ocean Boulevard and on into the trees. It was another world in there—dark, with the thick branches blocking the faint light of dawn, the ground slippery with fallen needles, and the heady smell of a thousand Christmas trees. Skye couldn’t see at all, but Jeffrey led her safely past tree after tree after tree until they spotted a glimmer of light up ahead. A moment later, they were out of the wood and on the edge of yet another world altogether. To their left were the same rocks and ocean they’d left behind, but in front of them and to their right was a great expanse of short grass, broken only by the occasional tree, big patch of sand, or small pole with a numbered flag on it. One of these flags was only yards from where Jeffrey and Skye stood—number twelve.

  “It’s a golf course.” Skye couldn’t believe it. “Why are we here? We hate golf. Besides, your clubs are back at the house.”

  “We’re not going to play golf. Alec told me that sometimes if you’re out here early enough, you can see moose.”

  “You dragged me out of bed at dawn to maybe see a moose?” But the truth was that she was already hooked. She’d never seen a real moose, only pictures, and of course that statue in front of Moose Market.

  So once again she followed Jeffrey. Heading away from the ocean, they kept to the edge of the pine trees and found themselves gradually climbing. They’d seen several of the flags—and Skye had long been warm enough to forget about shivering—when Jeffrey stopped at a large boulder jutting out of the pines. Here the golf course sloped down away from them, and at the bottom was a small lake rimmed with tall marsh grass.

  “Alec said that the lake is the best place for moose. We’ll wait.” Jeffrey sat down and leaned against the rock. “Admit you’re glad to be here.”

  “I won’t give you that satisfaction.”

  “Then I won’t tell you why I’m so happy.”

  “Okay, don’t.” She knew he would anyway.

  “Because of last night and the music. Alec played the sax—Skye, he’s so good—and Turron played the drums, of course, and they were fooling around with some jazz, which I know nothing about, but Alec told me to listen and drop in with the piano whenever I could, and I didn’t think I’d be able to, but after a bit it started to make sense, and I could follow along a little. Then Alec told me that once I understood the melody, I could work out some chord progressions, and that was hard until all of a sudden it was easy.” Jeffrey stopped his rush of words. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

  “Nope.” She yawned and stretched out on the ground. She enjoyed listening to Jeffrey, especially when he didn’t care whether or not she understood him. And when he didn’t expect her to respond with long speeches about what she herself was thinking. Or feeling—feeling was the worst.

  “Never mind about that part, then, but listen to this. The red house belongs to Alec’s family—he’s been coming here for summers most of his life. His real home is in Boston, though, not very far from my school, and he already said that I could visit him there. And Turron lives in New York City, but he plays in Boston sometimes, so maybe I’ll see him, too. Skye, I could learn so much just from hanging around them.”

  “I know.”

  “You actually were listening to me, then?”

  “Sort of.” She grinned up at him. “Want to arm-wrestle?”

  “Skye!”

  “Oh, come on. The moose isn’t here or anything.”

  With a show of reluctance, Jeffrey lay down opposite Skye and grasped her right hand with his. After a brief struggle, Skye’s arm was flat on the ground.

  She protested. “You’re stronger than I am!”

  “No kidding.”

  “Let’s do it with our left hands.”

  They switched hands and once again Jeffrey won, even more quickly this time.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “Never mind,” Skye answered grouchily. “You’d better go back to talking about music.”

  “Right. Well, you know how much I want to make music my whole life. Then last night, when Jane was asking Alec and Turron questions about love—”

  “Please, no.” Skye shook her head. “I should have gone after all.”

  “It was all right, becaus
e Aunt Claire didn’t let her ask anything too embarrassing. Anyway, Alec and Turron ended up talking about how difficult it is to mix family with music, because of all the travel and uncertainty. They’re both divorced and neither of them have any children. Alec’s marriage was so bad he won’t even talk about it—just that he was young and it lasted only a few months. That’s sad, don’t you think?” Jeffrey shook his head at the sadness. “I hope I never get divorced.”

  “You can’t even get married for years and years. Why worry about getting divorced? Besides, I’m sure there are plenty of musicians who manage to stay married.”

  “I guess so,” he said, then: “Do you ever wonder if we’ll get married?”

  “To each other? Good grief.” She felt his forehead for a fever. “What’s wrong with you? Is Jane getting to you with all her crazy talk?”

  Jeffrey laughed. “Maybe.”

  The sky was brightening now, its pink-edged clouds reflected in the lake below. Skye watched as the grass on the golf course turned from blue to green and tried not to be discouraged about the arm wrestling. But the summer before, at Arundel, she’d been just as strong as Jeffrey, and almost as fast a runner.

  “Let’s see who can do the most push-ups,” she said.

  “I already know. I can do twenty-nine.”

  “Twenty-nine!” Skye could do ten, twelve at the most. “You never told me that.”

  “I don’t tell you everything.”

  “I thought you did.” She stuck out her tongue at him. At least she was still a slightly better soccer player than he was.

  “But I should tell you what happened with Batty last night. Alec was showing her a few things on the piano—”

  “So that he could avoid Jane’s love questions.”

  “No, Skye, listen. When he showed Batty the difference between major and minor chords, she understood right away. He thinks she might have real musical talent. And you should have seen her listening to us play.”