“I guess this one’s more scientific than the one my dad made out of an old fish tank when Destiny was still an egg,” I said.
Gray nodded. “Wait till you see the brooder.”
Destiny’s “brooder” had been my brother’s old playpen. But this one resembled a wooden sandbox with wire over it. The floor was covered in wood shavings, feathers, and straw. Four tiny, fuzzy goslings were peeping and pecking. A fifth gosling, slightly bigger, was standing by itself.
“I can hardly remember Des being this size,” I said. “They’re adorable. But what’s the bigger one doing in there?”
“Oh, that’s Dewey,” Gray said. He opened the wire cage door and the little goose came hobbling over. Gray lifted it out and snuggled it. “Dewey’s got bumblefoot.”
“What’s that?”
Gently, Gray took the gosling’s foot and turned it so I could see a pink bump on the underside. “It’s an infection on his foot pad. He stepped on something and it got infected.”
“Poor Dewey! I know what that feels like,” I said, rubbing the little guy’s head. “Will he be okay?”
“I hope so. We wash it every day and put an antibiotic on it.” Gray’s forehead was wrinkled with worry. “The ganders—males—fight over the females. That’s why we only keep a couple of them. Dewey was supposed to be sent to another farm. But since he’s injured, he’s here indefinitely. Maybe he’ll get to stay.”
I knew it was what Gray wanted. “Maybe you’ll be a veterinarian someday,” I said. “You could specialize in geese and golden retrievers.” In fifth grade Gray had been obsessed with a golden retriever puppy that belonged to one of our classmates.
“Ha-ha,” he said. But he looked pretty pleased.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Ye Olde Thankless Job
On my first cake-baking day I woke up before the sun rose. After I’d washed and dressed, I mashed down the top of my hair with barrettes and pulled the rest back in a tight ponytail. I didn’t want a single strand getting into the cake batter. I was determined not to do anything that would make Aunt Cone Hat mad.
The kitchen was deserted when I got downstairs, but I knew it wouldn’t be for long. As quickly and quietly as I could, I set the table with thirteen of everything: placemats, plates, bowls, napkins, utensils, and glasses. Next I climbed a stepstool to search the top cabinets for serving bowls, platters, and a vase. While I was poking around, I found exactly what I needed.
In a dark corner, sitting behind some empty jam jars, was a yellow sugar bowl with a cracked top. Someone had glued the pieces of the lid back together, but I guess Aunt Cone Hat hadn’t liked how it looked, because the sugar bowl she used now was white and had a matching milk pitcher. I checked behind me before I pulled out the old one and lifted the lid. The little yellow bowl was still half full of sugar, though it had a hard crust. She must have forgotten about it long ago.
Perfect.
I poked my finger through the crust, dug a hole in the sugar, and dropped in Raveneece’s eye. Sprinkling sugar back over it made me feel queasy. It was a relief to put the lid on again and push the sugar bowl back into its dark corner.
Hurriedly, I chose a fruit bowl, grabbed a pair of kitchen scissors, and slipped out the back door. The morning air was cool and the blueberries in the kitchen garden, which Aunt Cone Hat called a “potager,” were still moist with dew. I picked enough to fill my bowl, and cut daisies and Sweet William for a bouquet. By the time the sun came up over the distant hills, I felt calmer—so calm I imagined those hills were singing to me. But as it got louder, I realized the song was coming from inside the house. Someone was singing “Climb Ev’ry Mountain” in a voice that sounded like a goose singing opera.
With my arms full of goodies, I used my backside to push the door open again. “Climb Ev’ry Mountain” grew louder. I took two steps backward and—YOWCH! Something snapped my backside! Even through my jean shorts, it really hurt.
“It’s you!” exclaimed Aunt Cone Hat as I whirled around. She grabbed the bowl before I dropped it, but the flowers I’d picked fell to the ground. She was wearing a fuzzy purple bathrobe and matching fuzzy slippers, but she still had her cone hat on. The only thing that kept me from laughing was the pain the mean-looking creature standing beside her had caused.
“Th—there’s a goose in the kitchen,” I stammered. “I thought they weren’t allowed.”
Old Coney narrowed her eyes at me. “It’s the apprentices who aren’t supposed to be here at this hour.”
I wondered if she’d made up that rule just for me. “I couldn’t sleep, so I came down to help with breakfast.” I glared at the goose while I rubbed my aching bottom.
“I’m sorry you got goose-bit, but La Blanca thinks she’s a watchdog. She doesn’t take kindly to intruders.”
But I wasn’t an intruder, and Aunt Cone Hat didn’t sound sorry at all. “Was that you singing ‘Climb Ev’ry Mountain’?” I asked.
She nodded. The mountain on her head rocked dangerously. “Singing is good exercise for the lungs.”
“My mom runs a chorus at the senior residence where she works. She sings it with her ladies.”
I caught a flicker of interest in Aunt Cone Hat’s eyes. But she said, “I don’t have time for conversation.”
“I’ll wash the berries and leave,” I muttered, reaching for the bowl.
La Blanca hissed at me again.
“Hush, Blankie. Bad goosey!” scolded Aunt Cone Hat, but she said it more gently than she ever spoke to me.
I stood there and watched that big, spoiled goose eat every last petal on the flowers I’d dropped.
“You can pick some more later.” Old Coney put her hands on her hips and studied me. “What else were you planning to serve for breakfast?”
I gulped back the lump in my throat before I could answer. “Toast with jam. Cereal with blueberries.”
“In this kitchen, we don’t serve cold cereal. What else can you cook?”
“Macaroni with squeeze cheese and hot dogs, but I think that’s better for lunch or dinner.” I finally got up the courage to look at her. She was eyeing me as if I had something gross stuck in my teeth. “My mom usually does the cooking. Her French toast is my favorite,” I said quietly.
“Do you want to learn how to make French toast?”
“Um, sure.”
“Get a half-dozen eggs from the refrigerator and crack them into that bowl.” She pointed to a silver soup tureen that was big enough for Destiny to swim in. “And make sure you don’t get even a sliver of shell in there. I’m going to get dressed and drop La Blanca at the barn.”
“Yes, Aunt Esperanza,” I said, fighting to keep my voice steady.
“Make sure you’re finished by the time I get back.” She walked out of the room, her purple slippers slapping the floor with each step.
I was used to helping my mom in the kitchen, but at home we used chicken eggs. Goose eggs are about twice as big as a chicken’s and heavier, too. I held my breath each time I cracked one. Somehow I managed to keep the shell bits out. Then I cut some more flowers from the garden and placed them in an empty honey jar I’d filled with water.
When Aunt Cone Hat returned, she handed me a long loaf of bread and a huge knife to slice it with. At home my parents would never have trusted me with such a big blade. I felt like a knight, getting her first sword—proud and a little dangerous.
Once I finished, I dipped each slice into a mixture of eggs, milk, honey, and cinnamon. Aunt Cone Hat fried them in butter on a big griddle pan.
“Run back upstairs now and don’t tell anyone you were in here this morning,” she said when we were finished. “I don’t want everyone thinking they can just barge into my kitchen whenever they want.”
She didn’t even thank me. I guess it was dumb of me to think she would.
I was pulling the door shut behind me when she called, “Pixie! Come back tomorrow morning, same time. Don’t be late!”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
; Ye Olde Baking Secrets
After breakfast and a quick rhyming session, we had a break for goose playtime. Gray and River were responsible for getting the geese down to the pond. I ran upstairs to get one of Destiny’s favorite toys, a long red ribbon decorated with jingle bells that Mom had made for her. Des loved a good game of tug-of-war, even if the ribbon was tied to a chair. She’d yank and yank, making the bells go crazy.
There were eighteen geese at Chuckling Goose Farm. Most of them were paddling in the pond or dabbling in the tall grasses. But a few curious ones came to hear Des play her bells. I recognized one of them right away.
“Here comes trouble wearing feathers,” I said to Gray.
He followed my gaze and laughed. “You mean La Blanca? She’s not so bad. Her honk is worse than her bite.”
“Yeah, unless she bites you.” I explained about helping in the kitchen, even though old Coney had warned me not to tell anyone. I could keep a secret better than almost anyone, but I was feeling spiteful.
“It’s not right that she lets La Blanca in the kitchen when the others aren’t allowed,” I grumbled. “Did you know she calls her Blankie?”
Gray sent me a sideways smirk. “I guess Destiny isn’t the only spoiled goose around here. And just so you know, Des and Blankie are buddies.”
As if to prove it, La Blanca waddled closer and took the other end of the ribbon in her beak. Gray let go of his end, so the two geese could shake the bells and their cute, feathered bottoms. “They’re like a girl band,” Gray hooted, “the Ding Dongs!” He shoved me with a shoulder.
“Ha-ha!” I shoved him back. I was glad Des had made a friend, but why did it have to be La Blanca?
“You know, if you don’t want to help with breakfast, you shouldn’t do such a good job,” Gray advised me. “That French toast was delicious. But next time, get some eggshell in the batter. Then Coney will fire you.”
“Nah, if I make her mad, she might not let me bake any wishing cakes. I can’t wait to see how that’s done.”
“Yeah. The guys aren’t allowed in on that. But I can’t wait until delivery day. Wyatt says it’s like being a secret agent. You get to see the apprentices using their special powers, too.”
“I know. It’s going to be cool,” I agreed. But I couldn’t see how my secret power would be useful. Freezing a birthday person so I could deliver a birthday cake would be extremely extreme.
After Des and La Blanca finished their musical performance, we followed them around while they searched the grass for pennycress and other favorite weeds. It was funny how they tested each plant for tenderness, like shoppers in the produce aisle. Gray plucked a long strand of tasseled grass and chewed it the way I’d seen Wyatt do.
When I heard clanging coming from the farmhouse, I swiveled around. It was Aunt Fancy, striking the big triangle that hung on the porch.
“I guess it’s time for baking,” I said. “See you later, Gray. Bye, Destiny!” For a moment she looked up at me, but she didn’t try to follow. Instead she and La Blanca went back to munching. It made my heart feel a little lighter.
After we washed up, Rain and I hurried to the dining room. The older apprentices were already seated at the table. Each of them had a large spoon on a cord or ribbon, dangling from around her neck like a strange necklace. The spoons were all different. Perrin’s was silver and had a long handle with a heart-shaped bowl. Winnie’s spoon had a pearly handle and a shell-shaped bowl. The handle on Nell’s looked like a stem and its bowl was shaped like the head of a daisy. And Pip’s spoon had a handle like a giant, old-fashioned key.
I was wondering where they’d gotten those amazing spoons when Aunt Cone Hat marched into the dining room with Fancy, Bernie, and Doris right behind her. The Aunts were all wearing crisp white aprons over billowy black dresses, as if today were a special occasion.
Aunt Cone Hat took her seat at the head of the table and plopped a fat book in front of her. It was covered in old, yellowed fabric that might once have been a flour sack and was stamped with designs of cakes—tall ones, flat ones, swirly ones, sloppy ones, and one with about twenty layers that looked like they were about to tumble.
“This cookbook was handwritten by Mother Goose herself,” she said, looking at Rain and me. “Every recipe we use is inside. There are more than enough to make a different cake every day of the year if we wanted to, though we repeat our customer’s favorites quite often.” She stopped and sipped some water from a jelly jar glass. It gave me a chance to breathe, which I’d hardly been doing because I was so excited.
“But a person can’t become an expert baker simply by reading a book,” Aunt Esperanza continued. “Like so many things, baking must be learned by observing and—are you listening, Pixie?”
“Yes!” I answered, jumping in my seat. But I’d also been looking at the bib of her apron where an amazing spoon was hanging. The handle was a goose’s head, the stem was its neck, and the bowl was its round, feathered body. Although the silver it was made of looked old, the goose seemed almost alive.
Old Cone Hat sniffed. “Over time you’ll develop a good eye, a good nose, and wrists that can coax a batter to cooperate. Of course, you will also need a pleasing rhyme and a good heart.” She raised an eyebrow at Rain and me. “Just remember that batters are sensitive. Some can be temperamental and others can be easygoing, but all are secretive by nature. Whatever happens between you and the bowl is private.”
I’d stirred cake batters for Mom before, but they hadn’t shown any more personality than cottage cheese. “Excuse me, but how can you tell what a bowl of batter is feeling?” I asked.
Aunt Esperanza’s nostrils flared so wide they looked like bat caves. “If you’d been paying attention, you would have heard me say ‘baking must be learned by observing.’”
“Sorry, I guess I’ve got first-day jitters,” I mumbled.
The old grump stroked her goose spoon like a pet. “Before we begin today’s baking, your aunts and cousins have each prepared a baking tip for you new girls. We’ll go around the table.” She poked Aunt Bernie in the shoulder with her bony finger. “Bern, you start.”
Aunt Bernie pointed her scratched silver spoon at us. “The first thing we do is line up the ingredients and the baking implements. It’s important to have everything at hand.”
Aunt Fancy was next. “We always read a recipe through twice before we begin. That way, we don’t leave anything out.” The handle of her spoon was studded with glittering purple jewels that looked like amethysts.
“We never take shortcuts,” continued Perrin. “We follow every step.”
“If you’re happy on baking day, your cake will be light and sweet,” said Winnie. “So you must think of happy things.”
“And if you’re worried or sad on baking day, your cake will flop,” said Nell. Then she bit a fingernail.
“When the cakes are in the oven, don’t shout, jump, or laugh,” said Pip. “That makes the cakes grouchy.”
“How do you know when a cake is grouchy?” I asked.
“Oh, you’ll know,” replied Pip.
Aunt Doris was the last to speak. “Have fun on your first baking day, kiddos.” She winked at Rain and me. “I can still remember mine.” The handle of her spoon had a tiny replica of her truck at the end.
Aunt Esperanza walked to the big cabinet on the side of the room. “Every Goose Girl gets her own mixing spoon,” she said. “If you treat it well and use it wisely, it will help you coax the batter to obey you.” She took a key from her pocket and beckoned to Rain and me. “Come here, girls.”
We slipped off the bench and padded over to her. I think I could hear both our hearts beating as she unlocked the top drawer. The older girls murmured with excitement. I guess they were remembering their own “spoon days.”
From deep in the drawer, Aunt Cone Hat removed a cloth bundle. It was powder blue and looked as soft as a baby’s blanket. As gently as if it held a real baby, she set the bundle on top of the cabinet.
; “Rain, you first,” she said, unrolling the cloth partway.
My heart melted at the sight of Rain’s spoon. It was silver with a handle that widened just enough to fit easily in her palm. But the real treasure was its bowl, which was shaped like an open book. The cover was slightly cupped for mixing or tasting, and it was open to a page with words etched into the silver. I leaned over Rain’s shoulder to read them:
Call upon hope
Rhyme recite
Mix in wish
Bake it right!
I felt envious watching Aunt Cone Hat tie the spoon’s black silken cord around Rain’s neck. I couldn’t help wishing it had been mine. Still, I gave Rain a hug before she went back to sit with the other girls. I knew if I’d gotten the book spoon, she’d have been happy for me.
“All right, Pixie, you’re next,” said Aunt Esperanza in the grouchy voice she always used for me. But I wanted a spoon of my own so badly I didn’t care. When she began unrolling the rest of the cloth, I sucked in my breath like I was slurping spaghetti. I kept holding it when she stopped to flex her cramped fingers. By the time she was on the last fold, I was feeling light-headed.
My spoon was not elegant, or charming, or fun. It was wooden. It was stumpy. Its bowl had a burnt spot. There wasn’t a hint of design on the front or back.
I gulped back my disappointment and whispered, “Thank you, Aunt.”
“Turn around.”
I took a deep breath while she tied it on my neck—and caught a whiff of something fragrant and spicy. “Cinnamon!” I murmured.
The hint of a smile appeared on Aunt Cone Hat’s face. Or maybe it was a smirk.
“Okay, girls. Off to the kitchen,” she ordered.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ye Olde Bratty Batter
Six places had been set atop the kitchen’s big cooking island. Each one had a bowl, a mixing cup, measuring spoons, and a neatly folded white apron. The ingredients—flour, sugar, spices, and a lot of other stuff—were neatly organized in the center, along with tools like whisks and spatulas. Maybe Aunt Bernie was the one who’d done that. I looked around for her, but none of the aunts were in the kitchen.
Pixie Piper and the Matter of the Batter Page 6