It did seem as if Mama fixed the majority of Laney’s mistakes, like the time Laney accidentally spilled nail polish on a library book (Mama paid to replace it) or the unfortunate day when Laney flushed Isa’s violin rosin down the toilet (Laney still could not provide a reasonable explanation for how that happened). Mama had run to the music shop and bought more rosin because Isa had a concert that evening, and without rosin the bow wouldn’t make a sound against the strings.
“Laney, you just had a birthday, right?” Isa said.
Laney nodded.
“Well, you’re six now. When you’re older, you get to do lots of new things, but you also have to be more responsible,” Isa explained.
Laney frowned. “That doesn’t sound like a lot of fun.”
Isa sighed deeply, and Jessie stood up and gestured for her siblings to follow her. “Come on, Isa needs to practice.”
“But we still have to figure out what to do about this inspection disaster,” Isa said.
“I thought we decided to move the pets during the inspection,” Jessie said, brushing her hands together. “Easy.”
Hyacinth rubbed her stomach. “I don’t feel so good about that plan. It’s not solving the problem.”
“It’s a temporary fix,” Jessie explained. “We just need to get through the photo shoot, and then we can figure out what to do next.” Her cell phone buzzed, and she checked the message. “Hey, Oliver, that was Uncle Arthur. He wanted to let you know that he’s not coming today. The weather is too bad to work on the treehouse.”
“Ugh!” Oliver yelled as he stomped up the stairs.
Isa watched as her siblings disappeared from view. A moment later, she could hear their footsteps above, distinct in their own ways: Jessie’s purposeful tread, Oliver’s angry stomps, Hyacinth’s quiet walk, and Laney’s thumps from rolling and cartwheeling. Isa rubbed her temples. She didn’t feel good about their plan to get Mama’s license back, she felt bad for Oliver and his canceled treehouse plans, and her upcoming audition weighed on her as if she were carrying a backpack filled with rocks up a mountain.
Isa sat thinking about all these things, and a wave of loneliness washed over her. For so many years, she had found the solitude of the basement comforting and necessary. She had started playing the violin eight years ago, which meant thousands of trips downstairs to practice. But recently, some days felt so heavy, as if the practicing was a pointless exercise. Was she even improving? What if she got to the audition and didn’t measure up?
Isa unzipped her violin case and removed the soft cloths that covered her instrument. Next to her, the radiator let out a low, comforting whistle. Isa knew the whistles would fade in a few weeks with the arrival of spring weather, and as she rubbed rosin onto her bow, she thought about how she would miss the sound.
She tuned her strings, letting the music fill the basement and wrap around her. She breathed in the notes, allowing them to roll through her lungs. She warmed up with some slow scales, letting her bow sink deep into the strings and send vibrations through the brownstone. The sound was satisfying and solid, and Isa relaxed into her practice—
Bang! Bang!
Oliver was hammering something upstairs. Sometimes he pounded nails into a large block of wood when he was mad.
Concentrate, Isa chastised herself.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Isa took a deep breath. You need to play through any situation, she lectured herself. You’re not some diva who needs utter quiet.
Isa channeled the composer Camille Saint-Saëns, who had written the music nearly one hundred and fifty years earlier. She played the first chord of the third movement of the Violin Concerto in B Minor, remembering the advice of her teacher, Mr. Van Hooten: Sink into the sound! Vibrate to the ends of the notes! The radiator whistled next to her.
Bang!
This time, Isa gritted her teeth and did not stop.
Six
While Isa was practicing, Hyacinth helped Mama finish the new batch of cookies. Laney made her way upstairs for her daily visit to Mr. Jeet and Miss Josie. She’d packed Paganini into the animal carrier and grabbed a fistful of the buttercup winterhazel that was growing in their backyard. The brownstone murmured its welcome-to-my-stairs noises—gentle creaks and sighs—as she ascended. When she got to the second floor, Laney put her ear to the door and listened. Hearing kitchen sounds, she knocked while Paganini shuffled restlessly in his carrier. Miss Josie’s laugh drifted through the door, and then it opened.
“Ah, my Laney,” Miss Josie said. “How nice to see you this morning.” Miss Josie wore a dress with magenta flowers printed all over it, and she wrapped Laney in a bear hug—Laney had to hold the winterhazel away from her body to keep it from getting squished. When she was released, she presented the bouquet, which Miss Josie fussed over before walking to the kitchen and filling a glass vase with water.
Laney glanced at the living room, but Mr. Jeet was missing from his usual armchair.
“Is Mr. Jeet still in bed?” Laney asked. This was unusual; both Mr. Jeet and Miss Josie rose with the sun.
“He is,” Miss Josie said.
“Is he sick?” Laney asked.
Miss Josie shook her head. “Let’s sit down. I want to talk to you.”
Laney nodded and tried to swallow, but it was as if a little rock were lodged in her throat. She perched herself at the very edge of the couch, and before Miss Josie could say another word, Laney jumped up and blurted out, “Mr. Jeet probably needs water. I’ll get him some. Water is very important. Miss Fran told me that.” Miss Fran was the nurse who came to check on Mr. Jeet twice a week.
Miss Josie reached out a hand and touched Laney’s elbow. “Honey, sit for a second.”
Laney lowered herself back onto the couch.
“Mr. Jeet is slowing down,” Miss Josie told her. “He needs more rest now.”
Laney knew that, but she wished things didn’t have to change. Mr. Jeet didn’t talk anymore after his second stroke the previous summer, and he rarely left the apartment because stairs were difficult for him. “Does he need to go back to the doctor? Does he need more medicine?”
“Miss Fran will be coming around more to help us,” Miss Josie told her. “Mr. Jeet will probably be in bed a lot more than usual.”
Laney frowned. “Can I see him now?”
Miss Josie nodded, and Laney went to the kitchen to fill a glass of water for Mr. Jeet.
Laney carried the water into the small bedroom. She had never spent much time there—usually they hung out in the living room. She put the water on the bedside table next to a framed photo of Mr. Jeet, Miss Josie, and the Vanderbeekers all sitting on the outside steps of the brownstone. Laney was a baby in the photo; she was in Mr. Jeet’s lap, swaddled in a blanket. Mr. Jeet was wearing a crisp striped shirt and a navy-blue bow tie.
Laney looked from the photo to the bed. Mr. Jeet seemed so small under the covers. His eyes were closed and his arms lay at his sides. Miss Josie entered the room quietly and placed Paganini’s carrier next to the bed. Laney unzipped it, lifted the rabbit out, and put him next to Mr. Jeet. The old man’s eyes opened, and he looked at Laney and smiled. Paganini put his front paws on Mr. Jeet’s chest, and Mr. Jeet’s right hand stroked the soft bunny fur. Paganini’s eyes closed in delight.
Laney took Mr. Jeet’s other hand and squeezed it three times. It was a sign they had determined would mean “I love you.” Laney picked up his glass of water.
“Are you thirsty?” she asked.
Mr. Jeet shook his head.
“You should drink some water anyway,” Laney told him. “Hydration is very important.”
He closed his eyes briefly, then nodded. She lifted the glass to his mouth, and he took a few sips, then moved his head back, indicating he was finished. His eyes drifted closed again, and Paganini flattened himself onto the bed and pressed his body next to Mr. Jeet’s side.
Laney watched Mr. Jeet sleep and wondered if she would ever hear his voice again. Hyacinth had o
nce told her that when she turned eighty-six like Mr. Jeet, she probably would have used up all the words she had ever wanted to say. Laney really hoped that Mr. Jeet had not used up all of his words already. She missed his words very much.
Ten minutes later, Miss Josie came into the room and settled down in the armchair. Laney snuggled into Miss Josie’s lap, and together they sat, already missing the Mr. Jeet who got dressed in a crisp shirt and bow tie every morning, the Mr. Jeet who sat in the armchair and talked to Laney about how seeds grow and why dog tails wag and where clouds come from. Even though he was lying right there, Laney felt as if she were losing her best friend.
* * *
Oliver was not in a good mood. He was mad at the inspector for ruining Mama’s business, mad at the rain for making it impossible to work on the treehouse, and mad at Uncle Arthur for canceling on him. He pounded nail after nail into the thick wood plank, stopping only when Mama put on her raincoat and got ready to leave with a new batch of chocolate sea salt caramel cookies. She leaned down and ruffled Oliver’s hair, then looked into his eyes.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
Oliver shrugged.
“I’m sorry you couldn’t work on the treehouse today. This weather stinks,” Mama said. She pulled two cookies out of the box and handed them to him with a wink and a kiss on the forehead. “Love you.”
Mama grabbed her umbrella and headed out the door, and Oliver took a bite of cookie and immediately felt the day getting better. Over at the dining room table, Jessie had three huge science books open and was jotting furiously in a notebook. Oliver could hear Isa doing scales in the basement, and Laney and Hyacinth were upstairs. Outside, the rain continued to pound against the walls and windows of the brownstone. Franz flew down the stairs and ran to the back door, whimpering.
“Hyacinth, your dog needs to go out!” Oliver called, but Hyacinth didn’t respond. Franz scratched at the door.
With a huge sigh, Oliver got up, walked to the back door, and opened it. Instead of racing out into the yard, Franz whimpered and sank to the ground.
“C’mon, Franz,” Oliver said. Then he caught sight of a box—a very wet box—on the top step. He reached down to pick it up, but just before his hands connected with it, the box wobbled.
Oliver blinked, unsure whether he had imagined it.
The box shook again, and Oliver scrambled backwards. Franz howled.
“Uh, Jessie?” Oliver called.
“Yeah?” she said in a distracted, I’m-thinking-about-science way.
“Can you come here?” Oliver asked.
“No,” she answered.
“Really, I think you should come here. Maybe you can use your science brain to help me figure out what could make a box move on its own.”
Jessie’s head popped up, just as Laney and Hyacinth appeared, gliding down the stairs wrapped in long pieces of silk over their clothes.
“Look at our beautiful dresses!” Laney exclaimed, spinning around.
“That box is moving!” Oliver shouted, pointing at the door.
Laney and Hyacinth stopped in their tracks.
Oliver didn’t budge from his spot a few yards from the open door. He pointed. “Over there.”
His sisters looked at the box. It was as still as a box could be.
“Are you sure, Oliver?” Jessie said.
“It just moved. I saw it,” Oliver insisted.
Dutifully, Jessie, Hyacinth, and Laney looked again at the box.
It didn’t move.
“Don’t take your eyes off it,” Oliver instructed.
Jessie went to the box and tapped it with her foot. She turned around to face her siblings, her hands spread out beside her. “See? It’s a normal box, Oliver.”
Then the box jiggled, all on its own.
Laney and Hyacinth screamed. Franz lifted his head and howled. The brownstone creaked ominously.
Jessie jumped, tripped over a kitchen stool, and looked back at the box. “What? What happened?”
No one answered, because they were too busy leaping for safety. Laney and Hyacinth slid behind the kitchen island, Franz following closely. Oliver jumped over the couch and huddled behind it. Jessie, still not sure what they had all seen, was so alarmed by their reactions that she fled toward the basement to get Isa.
Footsteps thundered up the steps and Isa burst through the door, nearly squashing Jessie as she flung it open. “Is something on fire?” she asked, breathless.
Jessie pointed toward the back door. “There’s something alive in there.”
“Really?” Isa said, walking toward the box.
This time, with all the Vanderbeekers’ eyes on it, the box moved again.
“Ahhh!” yelled Laney, Oliver, Jessie, and Hyacinth. Franz howled.
“There’s definitely something alive in there,” Isa said matter-of-factly. “Franz, quiet!” She walked right up to the box, nudged it with her shoe, then leaned down to open the top flap.
“Isa, wait!” Hyacinth yelled.
But Isa didn’t listen.
Seven
Isa was pretty sure there was nothing in the box to worry about, but as she leaned down and reached for the flaps, she saw something bump against the side. Then the wet cardboard split in two from what appeared to be a vicious claw.
She glanced at her siblings, their faces a mixture of worry and dread.
“Don’t be a hero!” Jessie called to Isa.
Isa turned back around and lifted the flap. Instantly a black-and-white clawed paw reached out and attached to her hand.
“Ouch!” Isa said. It was like getting four shots at once.
“Isa! Are you okay?” Jessie yelled from her spot by the basement door.
“Yeah, but—ouch!” Another claw—this one gray—latched on.
“What is it?” Hyacinth asked, her arm around Franz’s neck.
Isa tried to detach the claws. “I think they’re—ouch!—kittens.”
“Kittens!” exclaimed Laney, Hyacinth, Oliver, and Jessie all at once, approaching the box.
Isa successfully detached the claws, then lifted the other flap so they could see inside. Sure enough, five kittens the size of grapefruits were scrambling all over one another. Franz galloped over and sniffed around.
The five Vanderbeeker kids oohed and aahed over the kittens, a sad-looking bunch with patchy hair and prominent ribs. Hyacinth ran to get some towels to dry them off, and Franz stuck his head over the edge of the box, then pulled it out abruptly when a kitten batted his nose. He backed up five paces and barked.
“They’re so skinny,” Laney observed. She had already picked up a tuxedo kitten and was snuggling it under her chin.
“Don’t touch them!” Oliver said. “They might have rabies.” He glanced back at Isa in alarm. “Maybe you have rabies right now!”
“I didn’t get bitten. Anyway, I thought only dogs got rabies,” Isa said. “Franz, shhh!”
Franz did not stop barking.
“What’s rabies?” Laney asked, kissing the top of the kitten’s head.
“It’s a disease that makes you foam at the mouth. It looks like your mouth is full of toothpaste bubbles,” Oliver explained, yelling to be heard over Franz. “And cats can definitely get rabies. I read about it in a book.” Laney hastily returned the kitten to the box, where it mewled and stood on its hind legs, begging to be picked up again.
“But transmission only happens if the kittens were exposed to wild animals,” Jessie said.
“They look like wild animals,” Oliver commented. “Poor sweethearts,” Hyacinth said, trying to calm Franz down by scratching his head. “I think they need to see the veterinarian. Franz, hush!”
“You always think that,” Oliver said. “You worry too much.”
“Isa should go to the doctor, to see if she has rabies,” Hyacinth added, looking at her sister as if she expected Isa to turn into a werewolf at any moment.
“I don’t have rabies!” Isa said. “It’s a scratch, not a bite.�
� She wasn’t sure about the whole rabies thing, but the kittens did look like they needed to see a veterinarian.
“Wait a second,” Jessie said. “Forget rabies. We have bigger problems.”
“A bigger problem than rabies? ” Oliver said.
“The inspection?” Jessie reminded him. “The photo shoot? Saving Mama’s business? We need to be clearing the apartment of animals, not adding more.”
The Vanderbeekers fell quiet, until Isa finally took a breath. “Let’s tackle this one step at a time. First we should take the kittens to Dr. Singh. She’ll know what to do.”
* * *
The Vanderbeekers decided that the safest way to transport the kittens to Dr. Singh was to use their trusty Radio Flyer wagon. Jessie moved the kittens to a dry box and put the box in the wagon; then she ordered everyone to put on their raincoats and boots. Hyacinth leashed up Franz and draped a bright yellow doggie raincoat over him, because she was certain he would not want to miss a visit to Dr. Singh. Unlike most dogs, Franz loved going to the vet. He was a favorite there, and the office manager and vet technicians spoiled him with dog treats.
The Vanderbeekers set off down the block with the box of kittens, Franz, and the three umbrellas they found under the shoe rack by the front door. A tarp was thrown over the kitten box to keep them dry, and they sloshed their way to the veterinarian’s office, where they were well known. At least once a week, the siblings went there after school so they could hang out with the hospitalized or lonely animals that were being boarded. Laney, who refused to use an umbrella, jumped into every puddle until all of her siblings scolded her to stop because she kept splashing everyone’s pants.
“We’ll take the kittens back home after Dr. Singh makes them feel better, right?” Laney asked, brushing her wet hair away from her face.
“That would be a negative,” Oliver said. “Remember the inspection?”
“No more animals,” Isa reminded her, huddled under an umbrella with Jessie. “Dr. Singh takes in rescues. We’ll give the kittens to her, and she’ll take great care of them until they get homes.”
The Vanderbeekers to the Rescue Page 3