Rosalind would be along in a minute to tell Batty a story. She came every night, just as every night Daddy came after the story to tuck Batty in and kiss her good night. Batty thought that she'd like the story tonight to be about her mother. She had heard Rosalind's stories about Mrs. Penderwick many many times, but that didn't make them any less wonderful, especially when the only place to go to sleep afterward was a strange and unfamiliar bed.
Batty sat on the edge of the bed and bounced. It felt all right, she guessed. She wouldn't mind so much about it being strange if Hound could sleep with her or if Rosalind was going to be in the room next door right away. But Hound was never allowed to sleep in the bedrooms because he insisted on licking faces in the middle of the night. And Rosalind wouldn't be going to her room for a while, because Skye had called for a MOOPS at eight o'clock. A MOOPS was a Meeting Of Older Penderwick Sisters. Rosalind, Skye, and Jane called it MOOPS to keep Mr. Penderwick from knowing what they were talking about. Batty wasn't supposed to know either, but she knew about MOPS, which was a Meeting Of Penderwick Sisters, because she was always invited to them. And MOOPS had only one more letter. Skye had spelled it out, em-oh-oh-pee-ess, as though that would keep Batty from knowing what it was. Batty swung her feet back and forth and wished Skye didn't always leave her out of things.
The door to Batty's bedroom swung open, and Hound slipped through, his tail wagging wildly.
“Hound!” cried Batty. “How did you get up here?”
There was no time for talk. Rosalind would be along soon. Batty shoved Hound into the closet and shut the door behind him. Later, she would let him out and they could hold their own meeting and not invite anyone else. Batty jumped back onto the bed to wait for Rosalind.
But when someone came in through her bedroom door a minute later, it wasn't Rosalind. It was Hound all over again, looking pleased with himself.
“Hound!” cried Batty again, but this time with despair. He must have taken the secret passage and come all the way around. She dashed into the closet, shut the door into Rosalind's room, and was trying to drag Hound back into hiding when Rosalind arrived.
“It's all right,” said Rosalind. “Daddy's letting Hound stay up here with you for a special treat. We thought you might be worried about sleeping alone in a new room.”
“I'm not worried.”
“Just remember, he's not allowed on the bed.”
“Okay,” Batty said, and let go of Hound. He ran across the room and jumped onto the bed.
Rosalind pushed him back down to the floor and asked Batty, “Have you picked your story yet?”
Batty slid in between the sheets. The bed suddenly seemed more welcoming now that Hound was going to be there all night. “Tell me how Mommy gave me my name.”
Rosalind would rather have told a different story, one from when Mrs. Penderwick was younger and not so close to dying. But she knew this was one of Batty's favorites. After all, there were so few stories about Batty and her mother together. Rosalind sat on the bed next to Batty and began, “Right after you were born, Daddy and I visited you and Mommy in the hospital.”
“But Skye and Jane weren't there,” said Batty with great satisfaction.
“Right. Aunt Claire was staying with us to help out, and Skye and Jane were home with her. Mommy was sitting up in the hospital bed and wearing a beautiful blue robe and cuddling you in her arms. Daddy asked, ‘What should we name her, darling?' and Mommy said, ‘Name her after me.'”
“Then Daddy got sad.”
“That's right. Daddy got sad and said there could only ever be one Elizabeth for him. So Mommy said, ‘Then name her Elizabeth, but call her Batty. I think she has a sense of humor.'”
“And then I smiled.”
“And Mommy said, ‘You see, Martin? She's smiling. She likes it. Don't you, Batty?' And she kissed you and you smiled again.”
“Then two weeks later, Mommy died from cancer and I came home from the hospital.”
“Yes.” Rosalind turned her head away so that Batty couldn't see the sadness in her face.
“And you called me Beautiful Baby Batty, and Skye and Jane called me Banana Batty.”
“And we all lived happily ever after. Now go to sleep. Daddy will be up in a minute,” Rosalind finished. She straightened Batty's covers, kissed her forehead, and turned out the room light. As she was closing the door on her way out, she heard a big thump and knew that Hound had jumped back onto the bed. She sighed, then headed down the hallway toward Skye's bedroom. It was time for the MOOPS.
“I thought you'd never get here,” said Jane when Rosalind opened the door. “Skye won't give me any hints about the MOOPS topic, and she keeps trying to explain irrational numbers to me. I don't need that stuff until at least seventh grade.”
“You won't get anywhere in life with that attitude,” said Skye.
“That's enough, Skye,” said Rosalind, and sat on the Tuesday-Thursday-Saturday bed with Jane. Skye was on the Monday-Wednesday-Friday bed, facing them. “MOOPS come to order.”
“Second the motion,” said Skye.
“Third it,” said Jane, bouncing excitedly.
“All swear to keep secret what is said here, even from Daddy, unless you think someone might do something truly bad,” said Rosalind, with a particular look at Skye, who ignored her. Rosalind made her right hand into a fist and held it out toward her sisters. Skye put her fist on top of Rosalind's, and Jane put hers on top of Skye's.
In unison, they chanted, “This I swear, by the Penderwick Family Honor,” then broke their fists apart.
“Okay, Skye, now tell!” said Jane.
Skye leaned forward and whispered, “I got into those gardens.”
“You called a MOOPS for that?” said Jane. “That's no big deal. I'm going to sneak in there tomorrow.”
“Let me finish. I met that Mrs. Tifton. That is, I heard her talking. I couldn't actually meet her, because Cagney had just stuck me into an urn.”
“Oh, Skye, what were you up to?” moaned Rosalind.
Skye hurried on. “But that's not what I need to tell you. There's a boy over there, I mean besides Cagney A boy my age.”
“Oh!” said Jane. “So I did see a boy at the window.”
“What?” asked Skye.
“Earlier today, when we drove up, I saw a boy watching us from a window in the mansion. I told you that,” said Jane.
“You said you imagined him,” said Skye.
“No, you said I imagined him. And I said that I didn't think so, and it looks like I didn't, right?”
“One of these days, Jane, you're going to send me right over the edge,” said Skye.
“All right, Skye,” said Rosalind. “Did you talk to this boy?”
“Yes,” Skye said, and shut her mouth like a trap.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Skye!”
“All right!” said Skye. “We crashed into each other and he seemed like he was knocked out, but then he woke up and I figured he was some kid from the neighborhood, so I said some bad things about Mrs. Tifton and upset him. It wasn't my fault. I had just hit my head—maybe I had a little concussion. How could I know who he was? My wacko sister Jane doesn't know reality from fantasy, and Harry the Tomato Man didn't say anything about a son, and neither did Cagney.”
“A son?” asked Rosalind.
“This kid—his name is Jeffrey—is Mrs. Tifton's son.”
“Her son!” said Jane. “Oh, my!”
“Well, what happened? Did you straighten it all out?” asked Rosalind.
“No. She was yelling for him, and he left,” said Skye.
“You've got to apologize to him,” said Rosalind.
“I can't, I can't. I'm too embarrassed.”
“Then one of us has to apologize for you, for the family honor.”
“I will,” said Jane eagerly.
“Oh, no, you won't!” said Skye. “You'll start babbling about Sabrina Starr and he'll think we're all fru
itcakes.”
“He probably already thinks that after meeting you,” said Jane.
“Rosalind, please, you do it,” said Skye.
Rosalind looked gravely at her two younger sisters. Skye was right, she thought. No one ever knew what Jane would say once her imagination took hold. On the other hand, maybe it was time Rosalind stopped bailing Skye out. “I vote that Jane apologize to this boy,” she said slowly.
“Two votes to one,” crowed Jane, while Skye slapped her hand to her forehead like she had just gotten a terrible headache.
“But—” said Rosalind, and Skye looked at her, hopeful. “But we all decide everything together ahead of time. No wild flights of fantasy.”
“No fantasy at all,” added Skye.
“I promise,” said Jane.
“And we have to tell Daddy beforehand,” said Rosalind.
“Can we leave out the stuff I said about Mrs. Tifton?” pleaded Skye. “I'll give you my next week's allowance.”
“Bribery is immoral,” Rosalind said sternly.
“I'll take your allowance,” said Jane.
“Why should you—” said Skye.
“Order!” Rosalind pounded her fist on the bed. “There will be no exchange of money Skye, I'll let you decide how much to tell Daddy, as long as you do it before Jane goes over there.”
“Thank you,” said Skye.
“You're welcome,” said Rosalind. “Now, Jane, here's what you'll say to Jeffrey….”
CHAPTER FOUR
The Apology
WHY CAN'T WE GIVE THAT BOY regular old cookies from the supermarket?” said Skye, poking at a bowl of batter with a wooden spoon. She and Rosalind were in the kitchen, making cookies for Jeffrey. Jane had left a few minutes earlier for Arundel Hall to deliver the apology, soothe Jeffrey's wounded feelings, and try to bring him back to the cottage for an apology party.
“Don't attack the batter. Stir the way Mommy taught us,” said Rosalind.
“I don't remember anything about stirring. I remember Mommy singing that song about all the little chocolate chips goin' to cookie heaven and I remember putting batter in Jane's hair.”
Rosalind took the bowl and spoon, demonstrated how to stir, then handed them back.
“You know Jane's going to mess it all up. Jeffrey will get more upset and hate all of us instead of just me. This cookie thing is a waste of time,” said Skye with an only slightly improved stirring method.
“Jane will do fine.”
“Even if she does, he won't accept the apology. Why should he? I wouldn't if someone said that kind of stuff about Daddy.”
“Nobody would say anything bad about Daddy,” said Rosalind, then looked out the window to see why Hound was barking. It was Cagney, pulling up in a pickup truck. “What do you think Cagney's doing here? He's got a big bush in a truck.”
“It must be the rescued rose. Cagney scores one, Mrs. Tifton zero.”
“I'll see if he needs any help with it.” Rosalind took off her apron and smoothed back her hair.
“Rosalind, wait! Don't leave me here alone—I don't know what to do next.”
“Use a teaspoon to drop the batter onto the cookie sheets, then put them in the oven. Don't panic. I'll be back in a few minutes,” said Rosalind, slipping out the door. She found Cagney at Hound's pen, rubbing Hound's ears and trying to get Batty to say hello to him. A minute before, Batty had been playing ballerinas with Hound, but now she was standing very still, being invisible.
“Good morning,” said Rosalind to Cagney.
“Rosalind, right?”
Rosalind nodded, pleased he had remembered.
“Your little sister won't talk to me.”
“She never does with new people. She waits until she's found a common interest.”
Cagney leaned over and whispered to Rosalind. “What about rabbits?”
“She loves rabbits,” Rosalind whispered back.
“I have two living with me.”
“Oh, Batty, Cagney has two rabbits,” said Rosalind.
Batty's eyes grew big with wonder and she forgot to be invisible.
“Bring her over sometime to meet them,” said Cagney. “I live in the carriage house next to Arundel Hall.”
Rosalind suddenly felt as shy as Batty. She turned toward the truck and asked, “Where are you going to put the bush?”
“Over there,” he said, pointing. “In that sunny spot by the porch.”
“I'll get it for you.” Rosalind jumped onto the back bumper of the truck, wrapped her arms around the bush, and shrieked as a dozen thorns dug into her skin. Now, Rosalind had never cared about plants. She had wanted to for her father's sake, but in her secret heart, a plant was just one more thing that needed feeding and coddling. Even so, she should have remembered that roses have thorns. She was the practical Penderwick. And practical people, she thought, shouldn't go all silly and forgetful around handsome teenage boys. She knew what her friend Anna would say about it: The cuter the boy, the mushier your brain.
“I do that all the time. Hurts, doesn't it?” said Cagney.
“It's not too bad.”
Cagney helped her off the back of the truck, then lifted the rosebush down himself.
“You grab the shovel,” he said. “We'll plant it together.”
While Rosalind tussled with the rosebush, Jane marched steadily along the driveway toward Arundel Hall. No sneaking through the hedge tunnel, Rosalind had said. Jane must go the long way around and show herself honestly.
“Good morning, Mrs. Tifton,” she recited as she went. She was practicing one of the two speeches prepared at last night's MOOPS. “I'm Jane Penderwick, daughter of Martin Penderwick, who is renting Arundel Cottage. Please, may I speak with Jeffrey?” Jane hoped that she wouldn't meet Mrs. Tifton and then she wouldn't have to use this speech. Who knew what the boy Jeffrey had told his mother? She might already be disgusted with Penderwicks.
Jane began the other speech. “Good morning, Jeffrey. I'm Jane Penderwick, officially elected spokesperson for Skye Penderwick, whom you met yesterday, to your own sorrow. Whoops.” Skye had sworn she'd kill Jane if she kept in the part about sorrow, but it sounded so romantic that Jane kept wanting to say it, anyway.
Jane followed the driveway as it cut through the big hedge and curved through the formal gardens. There it was, Arundel Hall. She slowed her steps, nervously beginning the Jeffrey speech again. “Good morning, Jeffrey. I'm Jane Penderwick, elected spokesperson for Skye Penderwick, whom you met yesterday, to your— to your not anything. Skye asked me to express her regret at—oh, nuts, what was the rest?”
Jane was now close enough to the mansion to look up at the window where she had seen Jeffrey the day before. She had been hoping he would be there again, and she could wave to him and maybe he would come down for her speech. But today the window was empty. She was going to have to knock on one of the mansion's doors. There had been much discussion at the MOOPS about which door to choose. The fancy carved oak door at the front had been rejected as the most likely to have Mrs. Tifton behind it. But that still left a lot of doors. The sisters had noticed at least three or four, and that was just in the parts of the mansion they'd driven by. In the end, Rosalind had said that Jane should look for the simplest door she could find. With any luck, Mrs. Tifton wouldn't open a simple door.
Jane circled the mansion, passing door after door, all too la-di-da for comfort. Until, all the way around at the back of Arundel Hall, she came to a plain green door with a shiny brass doorbell and a mat that said WELCOME. Jane said, “Sabrina Starr surveyed the scene. She saw nothing dangerous. Could it be a trap? But who cares about danger when there's an assignment to carry out?”
She rang the doorbell.
“Hold on,” a woman's voice called from inside the house.
Jane muttered under her breath, “Good morning, Mrs. Tifton. I'm Jane Penderwick, daughter of Arundel Cottage. No, oh, no, no, daughter of Martin—”
The door opened and a plump woman with
short gray hair looked out at Jane. This couldn't be Mrs. Tifton, thought Jane. No one would ever call this woman snooty. Comfortable, that's what people would call her.
“What a relief,” said Jane. “For although Sabrina Starr had enough courage to face her adversaries, it was nicer when she didn't have to.”
“And you are?” said the woman, who didn't look at all put out by Sabrina Starr. Jane decided on the spot to like her.
“Jane Penderwick.”
“From the cottage. Cagney told me your family had arrived. A professor and a lot of girls, he said.”
“And Hound.”
“Oh, yes, the dog we're keeping secret from Mrs. Tifton.”
“She doesn't like dogs?”
“Let's just say that your Hound doesn't sound like her type. By the way, I'm Mrs. Churchill, the housekeeper here, but everyone calls me Churchie. Would you like to come in?”
More than anything, Jane would have liked to go inside. There was some wonderful baking smell floating out the door, and probably Churchie would offer Jane whatever it was that smelled so good and they could have a cozy chat about the Tiftons, and maybe Churchie would even give Jane a tour. But now was not the time for frivolity. Jane had a mission to accomplish. She said, “Thank you very much, but perhaps another time. I need to speak with Jeffrey. Is he here?”
“Hang on,” Churchie said, and disappeared back into the mansion.
Jane had been concentrating too hard on memorizing speeches to have time to wonder what Jeffrey looked like. Skye had said nothing about it, and Jane's own glimpse of him had been too brief and from too far away to get much of an idea. On the other hand, Jane knew exactly how Arthur, the boy in her new Sabrina Starr book, was going to look. He would have tawny eyes like a lion, and dark auburn curls, and a sad but noble expression brought on by his years of suffering. All who saw him would love him and sing praises to the goodness of his nature, such as—
The Penderwicks Page 3