The Vanderbeekers to the Rescue

by Karina Yan Glaser

  “Absolutely not.”

  “But you wouldn’t even have to do anything!” Oliver said. “We’d be doing you a favor.”

  Behind them, the elevator dinged. Isa came out with New Dog in tow.

  “Hey, guys!” she said. “Buster and I thought we would check up on you.”

  Mr. Huxley stilled. “That dog’s name is Buster?”

  “Yep,” said Isa. “She’s the sweetest. We’re fostering her.”

  “Uh-huh,” Mr. Huxley said, and Hyacinth could tell from his reaction that the plan was going a little bit off the rails. She did her best to guide the train back on course.

  “We’re looking for a good home for her,” Hyacinth said. “She’s homeless.”

  “I had a dog named Buster once that looked just like that.” Mr. Huxley pointed at New Dog, who whimpered and shrank under his glare.

  “Oh, really?” Jessie said in the most nonchalant way she knew how. She tried to nudge New Dog closer to Mr. Huxley, but New Dog planted her feet and leaned back.

  “Maybe you might want to adopt her,” Isa ventured.

  “She is super smart,” Laney said. She looked at New Dog. “Sit,” she commanded.

  New Dog looked at her with wide eyes and wagged her tail tentatively. She did not sit.

  “She’s a work in progress,” Jessie told Mr. Huxley. Mr. Huxley looked back at the Vanderbeekers with bewilderment written all over his face. “Why would you ever think I would want a dog?”

  “Um,” Jessie said. “Because she reminds you of your childhood dog? Nostalgia, or something?”

  Mr. Huxley waved a hand. “My dad made us give it away after a week. It ripped up the new carpet in the living room.”

  The Vanderbeekers cast one another worried glances. The glue that was holding the plan together was coming undone.

  Unfortunately, Herman, unaware that the original plan had just gone awry, appeared in the doorway.

  “Wow, what a cool dog!” Herman said.

  Mr. Huxley turned to look at his son, and the Vanderbeekers all started waving wildly at him, trying to wordlessly convey, “Abort mission!” Herman was so focused on his lines that he didn’t even notice.

  “Oh wow!” he continued, dropping to the floor and petting New Dog with enthusiasm. “I wish we could get a dog. Dad, didn’t you have a dog once?”

  “Absolutely not,” Mr. Huxley said. “Come on, I’ve got a meeting to prepare for.”

  “But—”

  The door closed before Hyacinth could stick her foot in it again. The Vanderbeekers could hear Mr. Huxley’s loud voice through the door. “I told you not to associate with that family!” Then they couldn’t hear any more because Mr. Huxley and Herman moved further into their apartment. The Vanderbeekers were glad for that. Their voices were replaced by the building hallway’s still, empty quiet.

  As they got back in the elevator and left the building, their dream for securing Mama’s bakery—a vision that had seemed so crystal clear just an hour earlier—popped like a bubble and floated off in the Harlem breeze.

  * * *

  After they left Mr. Huxley’s, they headed home. When they got to 143rd Street, Laney detoured and beelined straight for the storefront. Her siblings and Orlando followed without a word.

  Laney wanted to sweep the sidewalk of the storefront one more time. She had been so absolutely certain that this was the right place for Mama’s bakery. Disappointment clogged her throat as the broom bristles whispered goodbye with every scrape of the sidewalk.

  While Laney swept, the rest of the group sat on the stoop of the building next door and discussed their failed plan. A dog started barking from an open window, and as they looked up, a woman came into view—the same woman they had seen the day before with the dachshund. She waved when she saw the kids. They waved back, but without their typical enthusiasm. On the tree branch above the storefront, the same tuxedo cat watched them with round, unblinking eyes, her tail swishing in a figure-eight pattern. When the sidewalk was clean, Laney returned the broom to the restaurant next door, and the Vanderbeekers said goodbye to Orlando and headed home.

  When they got to the brownstone, they looked through the living room window and saw Mama sitting at the dining room table, her huge accounting book opened before her. Her fingers were rubbing her temples, as if she had a headache.

  Not wanting to disturb her, the kids headed up to Miss Josie and Mr. Jeet’s apartment. When they knocked on the door, Miss Josie opened it to find five forlorn Vanderbeekers.

  “Come in,” Miss Josie said. “You look so cold! Come in and warm up.” She opened the door wide, and everyone trooped in. Franz’s nose immediately led him to the kitchen to look for fallen scraps, but New Dog went right into the bedroom to see Mr. Jeet.

  Miss Josie looked at Laney. “I think Mr. Jeet wants to adopt New Dog.”

  Laney’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

  “Really,” Miss Josie said. “But he’s not the one who will have to walk her in all sorts of weather.”

  “I can walk her for you,” Hyacinth offered. “I already walk Franz.”

  “We’ll see,” Miss Josie said, but she looked through the bedroom door at Mr. Jeet and New Dog and her eyes softened. “Now, what’s got all of you so gloomy?”

  Oliver flopped down on the couch and explained the whole situation. When he was done, Miss Josie went around and hugged all the Vanderbeekers. Then she said, “From where I’m standing, I see five kids who are growing up and wanting to do good in the world. And that fills me with hope.”

  And the brownstone creaked in agreement, wrapping the kids in warmth on that very cold, very bitter spring day.

  * * *

  That evening, Papa took Mama to dinner and a movie for her birthday, their annual tradition. The Vanderbeeker kids were left at home to feed the five kittens, one cat, two guinea pigs, two dogs, one rabbit, and seven chickens. When they were done, they collapsed on the couches in the living room, trying desperately to think of an amazing last-minute birthday gift for their mom.

  Laney was the only one with an idea. She dragged out the big artist pad that Allegra had left behind and began writing enormous letters on the paper. Paganini hopped over the paper, scattering crayons, which led the kittens to bat the crayons until they rolled under the couch.

  “What are you working on, Laney?” Isa said, looking over her sister’s shoulder.

  “Mama’s present.”

  Isa leaned down and examined Laney’s work. “Honey, you know we didn’t get the store, right?”

  Laney concentrated on writing the most perfect “C” she could. “I know that.”

  “Then what is this for?”

  “Mama’s birthday present,” Laney repeated. “We can’t give up. Mr. Beiderman and Herman and Miss Josie all said that.”

  Isa sighed. “We tried everything. It’s impossible.”

  “It’s not,” Laney said. “It’s only impossible if we give up.”

  Isa stared at her youngest sister for a long moment. Then she took a deep breath and said, “Can I help?”

  Laney looked up. “Only if you can make it super-duper good.”

  “I know just the right person to ask.” Isa picked up her phone and texted Allegra. “Help needed, pronto,” she typed.

  “Oliver,” Isa called. “You have some leftover boards from the treehouse, right?”

  Oliver nodded.

  “Can you get them? We’ve got a project to do tonight.”

  Saturday, April 6

  Thirty-Three

  The next morning, the Vanderbeeker kids woke up at five o’clock, even though waking up that early on a weekend was a special type of torture.

  Mama always said that breakfast was her favorite meal of the day, and the Vanderbeekers had decided the night before that she needed a Surprise Birthday Breakfast Shindig. When Isa’s alarm went off, she hopped out of bed and dragged her four sleepy siblings out of their beds. They made sure the white-noise machine was on in their parents’ room (it
was), fed the eighteen animals, then got to work in the kitchen.

  Hyacinth was the originator of the breakfast-party idea, and she had a very specific vision. She gave her siblings the menu: an omelet bar with lots of vegetable and cheese options, granola with fruit and nut topping choices, breakfast cookies, and her favorite idea of all: a smoothie bar with a variety of frozen fruit, yogurt, and juice. Guests were instructed to arrive at eight twenty on the dot, and there was a lot to do before they came.

  Oliver, who had impressive chopping skills, got to work cutting up bell peppers, onions, and tomatoes for the omelets. Jessie was in charge of the smoothie station, Isa prepared the granola, and Hyacinth assigned herself to the cookies. Laney set up the cereal bar, utensils, and napkins.

  Laney posted herself by the door at eight twenty, and to her amazement, people were right on time, bearing gifts of the most bizarre kitchen tools they could find (also part of the Surprise Birthday Breakfast Shindig instructions). By eight thirty, the living room was filled with their favorite people, everyone in their pajamas: Auntie Harrigan and Uncle Arthur and Mr. Beiderman, Mr. Jones the postman and Herman Huxley, Mr. Smiley and Angie, Jimmy L and his mom, Allegra, Benjamin and his parents, and even quiet Mr. Ritchie, who operated the flower and Christmas tree stand across the river. Orlando and Miss Josie had helped Mr. Jeet down the stairs, and they settled him into his wheelchair by the kitchen.

  Everyone crouched behind couches and hid in corners. A few minutes later, when Mama’s bedroom door opened and they saw her appear at the top of the stairs, everyone popped out from their respective hiding places and yelled, “Happy birthday!”

  Mama froze. Her hands went first to her mouth, then to her hair. She turned around and disappeared from sight. “I love you all!” she called. “But I need to brush my teeth and hair first!”

  The brownstone rocked with laughter, and soon the Vanderbeeker home was filled with the voices of friends and the aroma of onions frying and omelets cooking. Mama came downstairs, her teeth clean and her hair brushed. She exclaimed over everyone, complimented Mr. Beiderman’s polka-dotted pajamas (“Your kids said I had to wear these,” Mr. B grumbled), gave out lots of hugs, and laughed at the elaborate breakfast bar.

  “A surprise pajama breakfast birthday party?” Mama beamed at her kids. “I cannot imagine a more perfect celebration!”

  Mama visited all the food bars and loaded up her plate with an omelet and a breakfast cookie. She sampled Laney’s cereal recommendations and requested a mango lassi at the smoothie station. Once she was done eating, the Vanderbeeker kids urged her to open presents from the rest of the guests. Some were useful (the whisk wiper), some funny (dachshund dog corn holders), and others ridiculous (oven mitts made to look like enormous bear paws). People chatted and laughed and Papa put music on, and for a moment everyone forgot that Mama’s baking business was officially closed.

  And that was when the phone rang.

  * * *

  Oliver was closest. He picked up the phone. “Hello, Vanderbeeker residence.”

  A woman’s voice came through the line. “Hello? Is there a Ms. Vanderbeeker there?”

  “She’s at her Surprise Birthday Breakfast Shindig right now,” Oliver yelled over the party noise. “Can she call you back later?”

  “Oh, I do love birthdays,” the woman said. “Can she spare a quick minute?”

  “Who’s calling?” Oliver asked.

  “This is Shirley Adelaide Chester, at your service.”

  “O-kay.” Oliver had never heard of a Shirley Addie Whatever, but he put down the phone and interrupted Mama’s conversation with Mr. Jones. “Some lady named Shirley is on the phone for you, and she doesn’t sound like a telemarketer.”

  Mama apologized to Mr. Jones and followed Oliver to the phone. Oliver could only hear Mama’s side of the conversation, and it sounded pretty bizarre.

  “Thank you . . . Really? . . .No, they never mentioned anything . . . Well, I don’t know . . . I do have a job interview this Monday, actually . . . Is that right? . . .I guess we should head over? . . .All right, I’ll ask them . . . See you soon, Mrs. Chester.”

  Mama hung up the phone and looked at Oliver, then at his sisters, who all sensed that something was up and had gathered around with Papa.

  “That was Shirley Adelaide Chester,” Mama said. “She wants me to meet her on 143rd Street.”

  “On 143rd Street?” every single one of the Vanderbeeker kids said at the same time.

  “I’m assuming you know who Shirley Adelaide Chester is?” Mama inquired, her eyebrow raised at her kids’ reactions.

  The kids looked at one another in bewilderment.

  “Honestly, Mama,” Isa said. “We have no idea who she is . . . but we have been spending some time on 143rd Street.”

  “Why?” Mama asked.

  Oliver swallowed. “It would make the most sense to show it to you.” His siblings nodded in agreement.

  Papa squinted at his kids. “This isn’t dangerous, is it?”

  They shook their heads.

  “Illegal? Expensive? Something that will make us ground you until you’re senior citizens?”

  Again they shook their heads.

  Mama glanced at Papa, and he nodded.

  “Let’s go,” Mama said.

  Oliver grabbed the secret wrapped project they had worked on the night before. Hyacinth safely stored the kittens in their crate home, Laney shoved her arms into her coat sleeves before grabbing Mama’s hand, Jessie and Isa leashed up Franz and New Dog, and off they all went to 143rd Street. The birthday party guests, intrigued by this last-minute development, followed.

  “And now we’re going outside in our pajamas,” Mr. Beiderman complained.

  “It’s never a dull day with the Vanderbeekers,” Uncle Arthur commented.

  The morning air was crisp, the kind of air that felt good against your face and inside your lungs. Puffy clouds that looked as if they had come right off the ceilings of the New York Public Library’s main branch dotted the sky and reflected against the brownstone windows.

  The entire breakfast party made its way across 141st Street, up Malcolm X Boulevard, and eastward on 143rd Street. It was a bizarre yet joyful procession of dogs, kids, and adults of all ages marching along in their pajamas. Papa pushed Mr. Jeet in his wheelchair, and New Dog insisted on trotting right next to them. In addition to her flannel pajamas, Mama was wearing the birthday hat Hyacinth had made, a felt creation festooned with feathers and flowers.

  When they arrived, 143rd Street was positively sleepy. Only one woman—with a dachshund in a sweater with a hot dog on it—was to be seen on the sidewalk, the same woman and dog they had seen yesterday from the window and on their first trip to the storefront. She was standing in front of the Not-to-Be Bakery, her hair flipping gently in the breeze. In her hand was one of their kitten posters.

  Franz and New Dog barked their greetings to the dachshund, and the Vanderbeekers kneeled down to pat the adorable low-rider on the head.

  “Hi again,” Laney said to the woman. She pointed at the kitten poster. “Did you change your mind about adopting a kitten?”

  “No,” the woman said back, “but this poster did help me find you. I’m Shirley Adelaide Chester,” she said. Then she turned to Mama. “And I wanted to let you know that if you want this place, you can have it.”

  “That’s so . . . generous of you,” Mama said, then looked at the kids. “Am I missing something?”

  “You’re giving this to us?” Laney asked, her eyes as round as cherries.

  “But how? I thought it belonged to Mr. Huxley,” Isa said, confusion written in the creases of her forehead.

  “It certainly does not belong to Mr. Huxley,” Shirley Adelaide Chester said, frowning. “I live on the third floor, and the owner of the building has been trying to get someone to take over this retail lease for ages. But the last tenant left it in such a wreck, and the building owner never had money to renovate. It’s been sitting here like an eye
sore, and then I overheard you kids talking about how you want to make it into a bakery for your mom. I watched you sweep and clean the front. Well, you bet I called the building owner right away and let him know.”

  Mama froze. “A bakery?”

  “But Mr. Huxley said he would never let us lease this place in a million years,” Oliver said.

  “Well, good thing he doesn’t own the building,” Ms. Chester said. “We fired him.”

  “Fired him?” Hyacinth asked. “You can do that?” She glanced at Herman. He shrugged, completely unconcerned that his dad had been fired.

  “We sure can,” Ms. Chester said. “There’s more than one real estate broker in Harlem, and after a few calls, we hired a new agent, who will represent our interests. And here we are! If you think you can renovate it, it’s yours.”

  Hyacinth turned to Herman. “I’m sorry we made your dad lose the space.”

  “It’s fine. He thinks it’s a dump.” Herman looked at Ms. Chester. “No offense.”

  “Uncle Arthur can renovate it!” Laney said.

  “I can?” Uncle Arthur said, still trying to keep up with what was going on.

  “I can help on the weekends,” Mr. Smiley offered.

  “Me too,” Papa said. “Ooh, can I use your power tools?” he asked Uncle Arthur.

  Mama raised her arms in the air. “Wait. Just . . . wait. This is moving too fast. I can’t do something like this. And I can’t ask all of you to give up your time to make it happen.” One trembling hand covered her mouth.

  “But Mama,” Isa said, “this has been the plan all along, hasn’t it?”

  Oliver picked up the project they had all worked on the night before and propped it up in front of Mama. Her hands still shaking, she pulled the paper off the front. When she saw the big café sign, designed by Allegra and painted by her children, she really did cry.

  “Mama,” Isa said, “you should use the Fiver Account to renovate this space.”

  Mama shook her head. “But that’s our travel money. We’ve been saving for years.”