“Then what happened?” Oliver asked.
“The Parks Department found out about it and made your mom stop. Said it was illegal to operate a business without a license.”
“That doesn’t make sense!” Oliver said. “Kids sell lemonade and Girl Scout cookies all the time.”
“Selling the baked goods was illegal, and apparently putting up a treehouse on government property was also illegal, so we had to take down the treehouse, too.”
“After all that work?”
“Yes,” Uncle Arthur said. “Hey, help me with this siding.” They attached the side wall to a pulley he had strung high in a tree, and they pulled it up until it rested on the platform. They repeated the work for the other sides, and then it was time to install them.
There wasn’t much talking after that, because power tools make a lot of noise; plus sawdust was flying around, and Oliver didn’t want to get any in his mouth. But as they worked, he thought about Uncle Arthur and Mama doing this same thing decades earlier. For some reason, Oliver never thought about Mama as a kid. He certainly never knew she had started a treehouse bakery.
Uncle Arthur was like a machine, and pretty soon all four walls were in place. They continued to work the rest of the day, pausing only for lunch, and by dinner the siding was up and secured, and a small second story had been added.
Oliver was sore, sweaty, and covered in sawdust. He couldn’t remember a better day.
Seventeen
Papa came home that night energized from his MS-DOS victory, skidding to a stop when he reached the living room. Franz and the five kittens scrambled to greet him and careened into his feet.
Papa sniffed the air. “Is it taco night?”
Taco night was a once-a-month tradition, and Papa and Laney in particular loved tacos with the force of a thousand suns. Since Uncle Arthur had been working on the treehouse all afternoon, he joined them (he also loved tacos). After Mama said grace, everyone dug into the food.
Laney was careful to load up her taco shell to optimize the amount of diced tomatoes she could fit inside. This required a delicate balance of creating little pockets in the meat, lettuce, and cheese so the tomatoes could nestle inside without danger of falling out.
“We made good progress today,” Uncle Arthur said. “I think we can finish the treehouse tomorrow.”
Oliver, who had been cramming tacos into his mouth at a remarkable rate, raised his free hand into the air in victory.
Laney paused in her tomato placement to look at Oliver. “So does that mean I can have your room?”
Oliver froze mid-bite. “Why would you get my room?” he finally asked around a mouthful of food.
“Oliver, manners,” Mama scolded.
Laney pointed her taco at him. “Because you’re moving into the treehouse.”
Oliver’s face turned stormy as he swallowed. “I’m not moving into the treehouse! Why would you think that?”
Laney’s eyebrows shot in toward each other. “But that’s not fair that you get a treehouse and your own room!”
“Mama won’t let me sleep in the treehouse,” Oliver said. “She worries too much.”
“Like mother, like daughter,” Uncle Arthur noted. “Can you pass me another taco?”
Mama snatched the taco platter away from her brother. “Excuse me! I am not like her at all.”
“Uh-huh,” Uncle Arthur teased.
Mama narrowed her eyes at her brother, then looked at her son. “Oliver, you can sleep in the treehouse once it’s done and I have personally inspected it. Also, it has to be good weather. How’s that? How many cool-mom points do I get?”
Oliver was so shocked, he dropped his taco. The shell cracked and the filling fell out onto his plate.
“Can I sleep in Oliver’s room when he sleeps in the treehouse?” Laney asked.
Hyacinth’s head popped up. “Why do you want your own room all of a sudden? I thought you liked being roommates.”
Laney tilted her head, considering. “I do like it. I just want to see what it feels like. Aurelia and Zelalem and Jake all have their own rooms. They say it’s the best.”
Oliver again regained his powers of speech. “Does that mean . . . I could sleep in the treehouse . . . tonight?”
Mama glanced at Uncle Arthur.
“Not tonight, bud,” Uncle Arthur said. “But I think we’ll be done by tomorrow.”
Oliver pumped a fist in the air. “Can I invite Angie?”
“Sure,” Mama said. “As long as Mr. Smiley says it’s okay.”
“Can Jimmy L come too?”
“As long as his mom says it’s okay,” Mama agreed.
“What about Herman Huxley?” Hyacinth asked.
Oliver shook his head. “His dad would never let him sleep over in a million years.”
The rest of the Vanderbeeker kids nodded. After they had singlehandedly destroyed Mr. Huxley’s dreams of building a multimillion-dollar condominium on the land next to the church last summer, Mr. Huxley disliked the Vanderbeekers with a passion and even forbade his son Herman to hang out with them. That meant Hyacinth and Oliver, who liked Herman very much, only got to spend time with him at school.
“Sleeping in the treehouse! Wow. Can I be excused?” Oliver said, pushing his chair out and getting up from the table. “I’ve got to tell Angie and Jimmy L.”
“You’re welcome!” Mama said.
Oliver ran to his mom and hugged her. “Thank you! You’re the best mom ever!” And then he ran to the backyard to tell his friends. Laney knew all about their “secret” ways of communicating. Oliver would use his walkie-talkie to tell Jimmy L, who lived right behind their brownstone. Then he would write a note to Angie and pin it to their clothesline note-sharing system, which went from their backyard to Angie’s bedroom window.
Meanwhile, Mama reached under the table to pet a kitten that had fallen asleep using her foot as a pillow. “I could get used to having more pets around,” she said. “It makes the brownstone feel cozy.”
Laney’s heart leaped in hopefulness—maybe Mama would let her keep the tuxedo cat and the guinea pigs!—and then she felt someone kick her under the table. She looked up and saw Jessie looking at her and giving a little shake of her head. Laney slumped back down in her chair. No more pets, because of Mama’s license.
Sometimes the universe had lousy timing.
* * *
As the Vanderbeekers were cleaning up after dinner, the doorbell rang. No one was expecting a visitor, and when they opened the door, they found Cassandra standing outside.
“Hi!” Cassandra said. “Surprise!”
“I’m not surprised!” Laney said. “I knew you would come.”
“I’m surprised,” Papa said, looking at her mermaid hair. “Who are you?”
Cassandra stuck out a hand. “I’m Cassandra, veterinarian-in-training at Central Harlem Animal Hospital.”
“She gave the kittens their shots,” Hyacinth told Papa.
“So we have you to thank for these kittens,” Papa said.
“Yes, sir,” Cassandra said. “My parents were so proud to see me finally treating patients. ‘Took long enough,’ my dad told me. Then he asked whether I was going to start paying back my college loans anytime soon. Anyway, I wanted to come and see how the little sweethearts are doing.”
The Vanderbeekers welcomed her inside. Cassandra stopped to exclaim over the fuchsia paint job. “Dr. Singh should totally paint our office that color!” she exclaimed. Then she kneeled down to examine the kittens.
“I thought they just got checkups yesterday,” Mama said.
“Better safe than sorry,” Cassandra explained. After she was satisfied that the kittens were healthy, she showed the Vanderbeekers how to give them full-body massages.
“It helps them be comfortable with people,” Cassandra said, using her fingertips to rub little circles on their bellies. “I should make a YouTube video about how to do this.”
The kittens loved this new experience, and they ru
mbled with satisfaction as the kids followed Cassandra’s instructions. Her work done, Cassandra packed her stethoscope back into her purse. Mama gave her a bag of double chocolate pecan cookies as a thank-you gift, and Cassandra said goodbye.
The Vanderbeeker kids carried the sleepy, post-massage kittens upstairs.
“What are we going to do with these guys on Thursday?” Oliver asked as he watched the kittens get settled into the crate.
“Cassandra said we could call on Thursday morning and see if there was space in their adoption area by then,” Jessie said. “The inspection isn’t until three thirty, so we have time in the morning.”
“And if that doesn’t work?” Oliver persisted.
“I asked Mr. Beiderman about watching the pets,” Hyacinth informed them. “He said he’d take Franz, George Washington, and Paganini, but he didn’t seem very happy about it. He definitely doesn’t want the kittens or guinea pigs.”
Oliver fiddled with his basketball, throwing it up in the air and catching it as it fell. “So we really need to get them adopted.”
“I am not going back to the Animal Care Center,” Jessie declared.
Isa picked up her phone. “I wonder if anyone answered our adoption advertisement yet.” She opened her email and found two messages. She read the first one out loud. “‘I saw your ad for kittens. Would you be interested in a joint venture where we train the kittens for the circus?’”
“Yes!” Laney said, jumping up and down. “Tell that person yes!”
Oliver agreed with Laney. “That would be cool. A cat circus. Nice.”
“No way,” Hyacinth said. “Those cats deserve to live their lives in peace, not working for the circus!”
“That email sounds shady,” Jessie said. “Delete it.”
Laney slumped in disappointment.
“Here’s the second one,” Isa said, “from a Mrs. Swallowbee. ‘Keep up the marvelous work!!! Trap, Neuter, Release Forever!!!’”
“What does that even mean?” Oliver asked.
“It’s for cats that live on the streets,” Jessie explained. “People capture them and give them a surgery so they can’t have kittens, then release them back into the neighborhood.”
“That’s sad they can’t have babies,” Laney said, sticking her fingers into the cage and petting the head of the tuxedo cat. “I love kittens.”
Jessie sighed. “I was hoping that people who wanted to adopt them would email us. And no interest in the guinea pigs at all.”
“The flyers have only been up for a few hours,” Isa pointed out before leaving. “I’m sure we’ll get more emails tomorrow.”
Laney and Hyacinth changed into their pajamas, and Papa arrived to read a chapter of The Trumpet of the Swan to them, making sure he really exaggerated all the parts when Louis’s father was talking. A few minutes after he began reading, Laney’s soft snores came through the pile of blankets she had buried herself under. When Papa finished the chapter, Hyacinth declared his read-aloud performance a “masterpiece.” He took a bow, kissed his daughters on the cheek, and checked on the kittens. Then he patted Franz on the head and called him a good dog and plugged in the night-light before going downstairs to hang out with Mama.
Hyacinth curled up against the crate, and Franz snuggled on her other side. She fell asleep to the sound of the kittens’ whispered breathing, Franz’s rumbling snores, and the guinea pigs taking turns on the exercise wheel. Hours later, when the last Vanderbeeker fell asleep, the brownstone finally settled down for the night with a contented creak, wrapping the family and their ten animals safely in its embrace for another day.
Wednesday, April 3
Eighteen
Jessie woke up the next morning to the sound of barking.
Lots of barking.
She opened her eyes and wondered what it might be like to wake up to the rustle of leaves in the wind, or birdsong, or maybe even silence for once in her life.
Isa must have stayed up late again the previous night, because she was fast asleep despite the barking. Jessie threw on her mom’s old college sweatshirt, then left her bedroom to investigate.
Stepping into the hallway, she ran right into Laney, Oliver, and Hyacinth with a frantic and loud Franz. Their parents’ door opened, and Mama and Papa stood in the doorway, their eyes heavy with sleep.
“What’s the racket?” Papa asked, rubbing his hair so it stood up even more than usual.
Meanwhile, Franz was barking and running in circles. He tugged at the bottom of Hyacinth’s pajama shirt before letting go and racing down the stairs. They followed him and found him pawing at the back door.
When Hyacinth looked out the door windows, she saw a medium-sized dog with short reddish-brown hair and white fur on the tips of its paws. The dog had a fresh cut across its nose, and at the sight of the six Vanderbeekers through the window, its stub of a tail wagged tentatively.
Hyacinth looked up at her parents. “Can I go outside?”
“Absolutely not,” Mama said at the same time Papa said, “Yes.”
Hyacinth’s eyes bounced between them.
“We mean yes, you can go out with adult supervision,” Papa amended.
The rest of the Vanderbeekers backed up so Papa could open the door. Jessie held Franz’s collar, and Hyacinth stepped toward the dog outside and squatted to let it sniff her hand. The dog dipped its head and licked her fingers.
Papa turned around and gave Mama a thumbs-up, and the other Vanderbeekers tumbled out the door. Franz scrambled to reach the new dog, but Jessie kept a firm grip on his collar.
“First the kittens, then guinea pigs, now a dog.” Papa shook his head but reached down to pet the new dog. “Whew, this dog smells.”
“This animal thing is getting out of hand,” Jessie said. “What is going on?”
“I think we should name her Frida, after Frida Kahlo,” Hyacinth said, wetting a paper towel to wipe the dirt around the cut on her nose.
“We’re not naming them, remember?” Jessie said.
“I think we should name her Ginger Pye,” Laney said, ignoring Jessie. “Like the dog in the book Mama read to me.”
“WE ARE NOT NAMING THEM!” Jessie bellowed.
Everyone froze. When Jessie got upset, she usually rolled her eyes, or stomped, or pouted. Very rarely did she yell.
But as much as Oliver tried to resist, he couldn’t help himself. “Don’t you think she looks more like a Beyoncé?”
* * *
After showing the-dog-that-must-not-have-a-name around the apartment, Hyacinth set out breakfast for the dogs while the rest of the Vanderbeekers fed the kittens, George Washington, the guinea pigs, and Paganini. New Dog, as Jessie made everyone call her, was not interested in eating, so after Franz finished his bowl, he sat staring at the second bowl of food. Hyacinth warned him not to touch it, but when she went to the bathroom to brush her teeth, Franz helped himself to a second breakfast. New Dog didn’t mind. She went back and forth between Franz and the kittens, offering the occasional tail wag when someone walked by and scratched behind her ears.
Immediately following breakfast, the Vanderbeekers retreated to Oliver’s bedroom to talk about this emergency development. Isa had been dragged out of bed to consult on the issue, and now they were crammed into Oliver’s narrow room with all the animals except Paganini, who was not allowed in the bedrooms because of his tendency to chew mattresses. Jessie handed Isa a smoothie.
“We need to get to the bottom of this,” Jessie said. “We have five kittens, two guinea pigs, and now a dog.”
“Who is leaving these animals?” Isa wondered, stifling a yawn as she spoke.
“I’m making a list of suspects.” Oliver pulled out his notebook and a magnifying glass. He held the magnifying glass up to New Dog’s face, and New Dog instantly licked it. “Ugh, your breath stinks,” Oliver said to her.
“It’s got to be someone who knows us,” Jessie said. “Someone who knows we’re an animal family.”
“I still think i
t’s someone who hates us,” Oliver said, wiping the magnifying glass with the bottom of his shirt. “Someone who wants to sabotage Mama’s business.”
“What’s ‘sabotage’?” Laney asked.
“It’s when someone purposely does something to get you in trouble,” Oliver said.
Isa spoke up. “Oliver, no one besides us knows about the inspection. They can’t sabotage it if they didn’t even know about it.” She yawned again.
“I’m putting Mr. West’s name down,” Oliver said. “Also Mr. Huxley.”
“No way it’s either of them,” Jessie said.
“Maybe it’s someone who likes us and knows that we love animals,” Hyacinth said. “Like Triple J, or Mr. Jones.” Triple J was the pastor of the church down the street, and Mr. Jones was their postman. “Maybe the animals had really bad owners, and Triple J and Mr. Jones rescued them and brought them to us for safekeeping.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Oliver said. “Why would they leave the animals outside in boxes instead of just knocking on the door and asking?”
Jessie sighed. “Your suspects didn’t make sense either.”
Oliver made a face at her, but he wrote the names down anyway.
“How about that guy who puts his Chihuahuas in sweaters?” Isa suggested. “He’s always struck me as a little strange.”
“His name,” Hyacinth said, “is Mr. Greenwillow, and his Chihuahuas’ names are Barry and Francisco.”
“Um, okay,” Oliver said. “Should I write him down, or . . .”
“Yes,” Isa said at the same time Hyacinth said, “No.”
“So are we just writing down anyone who lives in the neighborhood now?” Oliver said.
“Everyone is a suspect,” Jessie said, her eyes landing on her brother. “Even you.”
The Vanderbeekers to the Rescue Page 9