Nervously wondering what nigh meant, Batty watched as Jeffrey and Skye raced across the field. They had split apart. Skye was coming toward Batty. Jeffrey was heading straight to the bull.
Jeffrey shouted, “YAH! YAH! COME AT ME, BULL!”
Poor bull. He had simply wanted to quietly munch daisies in the sunshine, and now his private paradise was full of active and extremely noisy creatures. He hadn't the wits for it. He looked from Jane, to Jeffrey, to Skye, and back to Batty, clearly deciding which to eliminate first. His beady eyes fixed on the one closest to him, the one who had dared pick his daisies. He lowered his head and horns and began a lumbering march to Batty.
Batty saw him coming. She made herself as flat as possible, almost a pancake, then closed her eyes and wondered how much it would hurt. Next thing she knew, she was being lifted like a sack of flour and thrown across someone's shoulder. She opened her eyes. It was Skye! Skye had gotten to her before the bull!
Now Jeffrey was shouting again. “TAKE THAT! AND THAT!” and with each THAT came the sound of a small stone hitting the bull's hindquarters. Jeffrey was drawing the bull's attention to himself so that Skye could get away with Batty. And it was working. The bull was not going to put up with stones being thrown at him, no matter how small. He turned to face this new enemy.
From the wall, Jane screamed, “NOW, SKYE, RUN!”
Carrying Batty, Skye took off at a lopsided run, while the bull pawed the ground and lowered his gigantic head at Jeffrey. CHARGE!
Batty had never had a hero outside her own family. She had always figured that her father and Rosalind were enough heroes for anyone. But as she bounced crazily up and down on Skye's shoulder during that wild run to safety, a new hero came into her life. She watched Jeffrey work that bull as though trained from birth as a toreador. This way and that he went— darting, weaving, spinning, jumping—always heading away from Skye and Batty. And the bull followed, frantic to rid himself of this exasperating intruder.
Slam! Skye threw Batty to the ground and shoved her under the gate. As Skye started through after her, Jane howled at Jeffrey, “ALL IN FREE, JEFFREY! RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!”
In the field, the final race began. Skye struggled to her feet and planted herself at the gate's knothole. Batty stayed on the ground and peered underneath. Jane kept to her perch on top of the wall. All three watched, terrified, as Jeffrey dashed toward them, the bull only yards behind him.
“OH, HURRY, JEFFREY, RUN, JEFFREY, RUN!” came shrilly from three throats.
Closer. Closer. Closer.
In one swift motion, Jeffrey was on the ground, under the gate, and up again. He and Skye each grabbed one of Batty's arms and lifted her up as Jane leapt off the wall.
“Go!” said Jeffrey, and they all took off just as the bull crashed his great horns into the gate. The gate shook on its hinges and the bull bellowed with rage, but nobody looked back—they never wanted to see that gate again.
The children were halfway back to the cottage before they felt safe enough to stop. Skye called a halt and everyone collapsed, panting, under a tall pine tree. For a long time there was only silence, as people caught their breath and made sure they had all their arms and legs.
Batty, perhaps unwisely, was the first to speak. “I left my daisies in the field,” she said.
Skye raised herself up with murder on her face.
“Don't kill her now, just when we've gone to all that trouble to rescue her,” said Jeffrey.
Skye said, “Batty, of all the stupid things you've ever said, that was the stupidest.”
“Why did you go into that field, anyway?” said Jane.
“I thought it would be horses,” said Batty, checking her wings, which had torn in several places when Skye pushed her under the gate.
“Well, it wasn't horses, you idiot. You almost got us all killed,” said Skye.
“We would have been if it wasn't for Jeffrey,” said Jane, while Jeffrey blushed and looked at the ground. “Jeffrey, you're a true hero.”
“Stop, Jane. It's up to me to thank him. I'm the OAP.” Skye sat up and faced Jeffrey, who looked at the ground harder. “I thank you on behalf of the Penderwick family. Even though I kicked you when you went under the gate before me, and even though I could have taunted the bull just as well as you—”
“Skye!” said Jane.
Skye took a few seconds to concentrate, then went on. “You were brave and intelligent and you saved Batty's life.” Here she took a great gulp of air, then rushed on. “I was a jerk before and I apologize, and this is my real apology, because Rosalind and Jane wrote the first one.”
Skye stuck out her hand. Jeffrey looked up from the ground and stuck out his hand, too. They shook.
Jane said, “Their hearts laid bare by the near loss of a loved one, the two enemies declared a truce.”
“I want to shake his hand, too,” said Batty. Jeffrey shook her hand, then Jane's hand for good measure.
A crashing noise from a nearby tree made everyone jump.
“Probably just a squirrel,” said Jeffrey.
“Just the same, do you think the bull could break down that gate?” said Jane.
“No,” said Skye, but she looked questioningly at Jeffrey.
“No,” he said positively.
“Maybe Daddy should go make sure it's safe,” said Batty.
“Batty, no! You can't tell Daddy about the bull. You can't even tell Rosalind,” said Skye.
“Why not?”
“Because they'll think Jane and I didn't look after you properly.”
“You didn't.”
“Promise you won't tell,” said Jane.
“Can we do Penderwick Family Honor?” asked Batty.
“That's just for the family, Batty, you know that,” said Skye, trying to point to Jeffrey without him noticing. Ever since Rosalind and Skye had made up the ceremony after reading a book about a family named Bastable, only Penderwick sisters had done it or seen it done.
“It's okay, I'll leave,” said Jeffrey.
“He doesn't have to leave. He saved my life,” said Batty. “He's an honory Penderwick.”
“Honorary,” corrected Jane.
“What do you think?” Skye asked Jane.
“What would Rosalind think?” Jane asked Skye.
“Since it was a question of life and death, I think she'd agree,” said Skye slowly. “All right, Jeffrey, you can stay and watch us do it, but you've got to promise you won't tell anybody, even Cagney.”
“Okay,” said Jeffrey.
“No, no, you've got to swear solemnly,” said Jane.
“I solemnly swear not to tell anyone about what you're about to do.”
“That's good enough,” said Skye, making her hand into a fist and holding it out. “We, the three younger Penderwick sisters, will never tell Daddy or Rosalind about Batty and the bull. We'll come up with a good story about how Batty's wings got torn, and although it will not be the strict truth, it will not be an evil lie, because Batty has learned her lesson and will never go into the bull's field again. Right, Batty?”
“Right,” said Batty.
“Okay, I'm done,” said Skye.
Jane put her fist on top of Skye's, and Batty put hers on top of Jane's.
“This I swear, by the Penderwick Family Honor!”
Suddenly there came another crashing noise from nearby, and the children knew it was much too loud to be a squirrel. Once again Batty was thrown onto someone's shoulder—this time, Jeffrey's—and everyone took off running. Within seconds, the pine tree was deserted.
So there was no one to see the large, black, terrifying—well, not terrifying—dog when he arrived a moment later. Mr. Penderwick had been wrong about the latch on Hound's gate. It wasn't dog-proof, or at least not Hound-proof, and when the bull was chasing Batty, Hound had sensed her danger with his own peculiar brand of ESP and busted out of his pen.
But where was Batty now? Hound sniffed around the pine tree, puzzled. She had just been here. He l
ifted his nose to the air and—aha!—caught the scent. Relieved, and faithful through and through, Hound trotted away after Batty.
CHAPTER SIX
Rabbits and a Long Ladder
AFTER BREAKFAST THE NEXT MORNING, Batty took Hound out to his pen to tell him about her adventure with the bull. As he had already heard the story four times the night before, he ignored her and tried to undo the latch on his gate again. But Mr. Penderwick had fixed that after his escape the day before. Hound was trapped.
Batty had just reached the part where Jeffrey yelled YAH! YAH! when Jeffrey himself arrived.
“Hey, Batty,” he said. “You swore not to tell anybody what happened.”
Batty ran over to the gate and unlatched it to let Jeffrey inside. Jeffrey took a piece of cold sausage out of his pocket and gave it to Hound.
“Hound doesn't count,” said Batty. “I tell him everything.”
“What did Skye say to your father and Rosalind about your wings?”
“That I got stuck in some prickers, and she and you and Jane had to get me out, and my wings tore. Rosalind fixed them for me.”
Jeffrey inspected the neat patches and darns in the filmy fabric. “She did a good job.”
“She always does. She takes care of me because Mommy died when I was a tiny baby.”
“Do you miss her?”
“No, because I can't remember. Rosalind misses her. She cries in her sleep sometimes. Don't tell anybody I told you that,” said Batty. “Now you have to tell me a secret.”
Jeffrey leaned down and whispered in her ear, “I was really scared of that bull yesterday. You don't tell anybody, either.”
“Okay,” said Batty, and they shook hands.
Rosalind came out of the cottage and over to the pen. “Good morning, Jeffrey. Thanks for helping get Batty out of the prickers yesterday.”
“You're welcome,” he said, looking sideways at Batty, who gave a happy little jump.
“Cagney has invited Batty and me over to meet his rabbits this morning,” said Rosalind.
“And he said too many people would scare the bunnies, so Skye and Jane aren't allowed to go, ha ha,” said Batty.
“That's enough, Batty. Come on, time to go.”
“Sit and say good-bye, Hound,” said Batty in her best imitation of Skye being bossy. Hound rolled over on his back. “Hound! You heard me!”
He barked and waved his legs in the air, until Rosalind opened the gate and tugged Batty out of the pen. “Good-bye, Jeffrey. We've got to leave. We don't want to be late for Cagney,” she said, heading toward Arundel Hall with Batty in tow.
Earlier that morning, Cagney had arrived at the cottage to water the rosebush. At the same moment, Rosalind had needed to go outside and fill Hound's food bowl. Or so she pretended. What she had really needed was to apologize for the brouhaha of the day before. Almost burning down buildings and saying nasty things was not the picture Rosalind wanted people to have of the Penderwick family. But Cagney had just laughed and said all that had been nothing and when he was nine, not only had he and his brother set their uncle's truck on fire with a firecracker, they had tried to blame it on their sister. And Rosalind had thought that Cagney was very generous to try to make her feel better and wondered why she had never before realized how much she liked baseball caps on boys. Then Batty had come outside looking for Rosalind, and Cagney asked if she wanted to meet the rabbits, and Batty managed to stay visible long enough to say yes. So meet me at ten o'clock at my apartment, said Cagney.
His apartment! Rosalind had never been in a teenage boy's apartment. As she hurried Batty along, she wondered what it would look like. Anna, who had two brothers in college, said that all boys were slobs, that it was in their genetic makeup, but Rosalind wasn't so sure. It was hard to imagine her father, for example, making the messes Anna's brothers did— potato chips in underwear drawers and pizza crusts in beds!—even when he was young.
Rosalind and Batty arrived at the carriage house exactly on time and found the screen door Cagney had described, with a BEWARE OF ATTACK RABBITS! sign nailed alongside.
“Here we are,” said Rosalind to Batty, but Batty had vanished. Rosalind found her around the corner, hiding behind a big barrel full of geraniums.
“I've changed my mind,” said Batty.
“Oh, sweetheart, Cagney's not a scary boy,” said Rosalind.
“Yes, he is.”
“But he's already told the rabbits about you. Think how sad they'll be if they don't meet you.”
“Tell them I'll come another day.”
“They're waiting for you now.”
Batty knew how it felt to be disappointed, like when Skye had promised to play Peter Pan with her, then forgotten. She crept out from behind the barrel and walked back to the screen door with Rosalind. Rosalind knocked on the door.
“Come on in! Shut the screen door tight behind you!” came Cagney's voice.
Inside, Rosalind was interested—and relieved—to find a clean and cozy living room with a tidy little kitchen off to the side. She stored up details for her next letter to Anna: a green plaid couch, a pile of books about the Civil War, a half-dozen baseball caps hanging in a row, a framed photograph of Cagney playing basketball.
Cagney stepped out of the kitchen carrying a bunch of fresh parsley. If he was disturbed by the wings that seemed to sprout from the back of Rosalind's legs, he didn't show it.
“Yaz and Carla are under the couch,” he said. “Yaz'll come out for parsley, but don't be disappointed if Carla stays under there. She's very shy.”
Rosalind heard a tiny “Oh!” behind her. She reached around and took Batty's hand, and together they lay down on the floor and stared under the couch.
Cagney stretched out next to Rosalind and pushed the parsley toward the couch. “Can you see them?” he asked. “Yaz is the brown one with spots, and Carla is that chubby white blob behind him.”
At first Rosalind could see only vague shapes, but as her eyes adjusted to the dark, she saw four glittering eyes and four ears swiveling in her direction. Just as Cagney had said, Yaz soon crawled out, stretched—and yawned!—then grabbed a large piece of parsley and solemnly chewed it to bits. As he started on another, Cagney touched Rosalind's arm and pointed. Fat little Carla was scrabbling out from her hiding place.
“She's not going to let Yaz eat all the parsley without her,” said Cagney.
But Carla, for once, wasn't interested in parsley. Something in her tiny rabbit brain had recognized the presence of a kindred spirit in the room. Toward Batty she headed. One hop, two hops, and Carla was nuzzling Batty's hand with her soft nose. This was too much for Yaz. Parsley was one thing, but attention was quite another. In another second, he was snuffling at Batty's other hand.
“What do I do?” whispered Batty, so excited her wings were quivering.
“They want you to pet them, Batty,” said Cagney. “It's a great honor. I've never seen Carla go right to a stranger before.”
Batty gently stroked the rabbits, Yaz on her left and Carla on her right. “Oh, Rosalind, they love me.”
Rosalind and Cagney smiled at each other.
“Thank you,” said Rosalind.
“Anytime,” said Cagney
* * *
When Rosalind and Batty left to visit the rabbits, Jeffrey went in search of Skye and Jane. He found them sitting on the front porch of the cottage. Between them was a very flat soccer ball.
“Look what Hound did!” said Jane. “How am I supposed to practice with a punctured ball?”
“Jane's our team's center forward,” said Skye. “She's so good that the middle school coach is already coming to games to watch her.”
“Don't exaggerate,” said Jane, but didn't really mean it. Soccer was the only thing at which she outshone Skye—other than writing books—and she loved it when Skye was generous enough to brag about it.
Jeffrey said, “You can borrow my ball. I'll go back home and get it now if you want.”
Jane jum
ped down from the porch. “Can we go with you?”
“Sure.”
But Skye hung back. “What about—I mean—”
“You're worried about Mother,” said Jeffrey.
“No. It's not like I'm scared of her. I was just wondering if maybe she'd mind us being there.”
“Of course not. Why should she?” said Jeffrey, and started to walk away. Then he looked back over his shoulder at Skye. “Besides, she's not home. She's at a Garden Club committee meeting. Come on.”
* * *
Jeffrey took Skye and Jane into Arundel Hall through the carved oak door at the front. They found themselves in a magnificent entranceway so big the whole cottage could have been put into it and there still would have been room for Hound to run around the outside. The wood floors gleamed, as did the wide staircase that rose in front of them. Stained-glass windows on either side of the oak door tinted the sunlight a hundred different colors. Giant blue-and-white vases filled with fresh flowers stood in every corner.
“The splendor of a hundred civilizations,” said Jane.
“Don't touch anything,” said Skye.
“Let's go to my room,” said Jeffrey, heading for the stairs.
But Jane had to see at least one of the rooms that opened off the entranceway She tiptoed over to the wide doorway on the left. Yet more grandeur. Antique wooden tables with intricately carved legs. Hand-woven tapestries with scenes of unicorns and ladies in tall, pointed hats. Delicate alabaster statues of birds and exquisite oil paintings of gardens. As she told Rosalind later, it was like a museum, except with no velvet ropes or uniformed guards.
Skye dragged Jane away, and the two followed Jeffrey up the staircase, circling around and around, up to the third floor and Jeffrey's bedroom, which was, thankfully a regular room, not like a museum at all. There were normal old rugs on the floor, ones you wouldn't be afraid to walk on in your shoes, and the furniture was plain and looked like you could bump into it without scratching it. There was, however, one very special thing that neither sister had ever before seen in a bedroom.
“A piano!” said Skye.
“It's just an upright,” said Jeffrey apologetically. “The big one's downstairs.”
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