Skye slapped her hand over Jane's mouth. “Hello, Mrs. Tifton,” she said in a desperate display of bravado. “How's the competition going?”
There had been bad moments at Arundel and there were more to come, but the total badness of this moment lived in the girls' memories for a long time. They and Jeffrey untangled themselves and struggled to their feet feeling like they were about to face a firing squad, one that had every right to shoot them. For they were completely in the wrong, and whatever anger and punishment the firing squad—that is, Mrs. Tifton—wanted to mete out, they deserved it.
Yet when they were upright and facing Mrs. Tifton, she didn't say the terrible things she must be thinking. Her face was dreadful to see—the fury, humiliation, and frustration, it was all there—but she was silent. For this was all in her face, too—that if she tried to speak, she would yell, and if she yelled, she wouldn't be able to stop yelling, which absolutely could not happen in front of Sir Barnaby Patterne and the Garden Club. It was an epic struggle for Mrs. Tifton, and Skye and Jane would almost have felt sorry for her if they weren't too busy being frightened.
Then someone chuckled. It was a man's chuckle, and everyone looked away from Mrs. Tifton and toward Sir Barnaby To their surprise, he had quite a nice face, with a friendly smile and lots of laugh wrinkles around his eyes.
“My son plays football—your soccer, you know—at his school in England. Too bad I didn't bring him along.” He turned to Mrs. Tifton. “Are all these charming children yours?”
He had made it worse, and the Penderwicks were still debating years later whether or not he'd done it on purpose. Mrs. Tifton's conflict became visibly so much more painful that Skye was afraid she'd explode right there. Then for the first time Skye felt a—fleeting—twinge of admiration for the woman, as somehow she pulled herself together and turned calmly to Sir Barnaby.
“Jeffrey is my son. The girls are—” She stopped, unable to find a polite enough word.
“Friends,” finished Jeffrey. “Skye and Jane Penderwick.”
“We're renters,” said Jane. “Mere renters at the cottage here at Arundel, that is, our father is the renter and we are two of his four daughters, and we're awfully sorry about this mess, but I was wondering if being English and therefore from England, you've ever seen a World Cup—”
Skye kicked Jane to silence her. “We should go. We'll just clean up the jasmine first.”
“Leave it,” said Mrs. Tifton sharply. Her self-control was almost gone.
“Well, good luck with the competition, Mrs. Tifton. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Sir Patterne, and hello to all of you, too.” Skye nodded to the rest of the Garden Club, some of whom—she was relieved to see— looked as though they were trying not to laugh. “Come on, Jane.”
But Jane in her panic was still staring at Sir Barnaby—he was the least scary adult present, besides being English and therefore fascinating—and hadn't heard a word. In the end, Skye had to take her hand and drag her away. They waved to Jeffrey as they went, hoping they weren't leaving him to be maimed or murdered or worse. Feeling the eyes of thousands boring into their backs, they ran like the wind to the tunnel, ducked, and scuttled to safety. If Skye could have kicked herself at the same time, she would have. What fools they'd been to forget about the Garden Club competition. Stupid fools! Stupid! STUPID!
* * *
“Do you think Mrs. Tifton and all those other people heard that stuff I shouted?” asked Jane. It was evening of the same day, and she and Skye were once again sitting on the cottage porch. On the lawn in front of them, Rosalind and Batty were chasing fireflies.
“Are you nuts? People in Connecticut must have heard you,” said Skye.
Jane groaned. “I hope we didn't get Jeffrey into too much trouble.”
“Ha.” Skye knew there was no chance Jeffrey wasn't in lots and lots of trouble.
Batty ran up, her hands cupped together. “I caught one named Horatio,” she said, and spread open her hands. A lightning bug balanced uncertainly on her thumb.
“Look, he's blinking,” said Jane. “He's trying to tell us something in Morse code.”
“What?” asked Batty.
“Please… let… me … go,” said Jane.
The bug flew away.
“Now I can't put him in the jar with the other ones,” said Batty.
“Good,” said Jane. “Let's play something else. How about circus acrobats?”
Across the yard, Rosalind unscrewed the lid of Batty's jar and watched the imprisoned lightning bugs bump their way to freedom. When the last one took flight, she had a sudden weird crawly feeling on the back of her neck. As she later wrote to Anna, it wasn't like spiders—or lightning bugs—that you want to brush away. It was more like the soft touch of fate's finger, announcing the arrival of something—or someone— special.
Rosalind stood up. Walking toward her through the soft evening light was a tall, smiling young man wearing a baseball cap. He looked, if possible, even more adorable than the last time she had seen him.
“Hi, Cagney,” she said, and tried to screw the lid onto the jar backward.
“Here, let me.” Cagney secured the lid with a quick twist. “I've got a message for your sisters.”
“They're on the porch.” As Rosalind walked across the lawn beside him, she lengthened her stride to match his and noted that the top of her head barely reached his shoulder.
On the porch, Batty was upside down, balancing on her hands while Jane held her ankles. Skye saw Cagney and Rosalind approach. “Any news about Jeffrey?”
“He's been in his room all afternoon and has to stay there until morning,” said Cagney. “He asked me to come over and tell you he's fine.”
“Does Mrs. Tifton have him on bread and water?” asked Jane.
“No, Churchie's got him on hamburgers, corn on the cob, and blueberry pie.”
“Is he locked in? Does he have enough books to read?” Jane paused while Skye whispered in her ear. “Oh! Good idea! Rosalind, we're going for a walk.” She handed Batty's ankles over to Rosalind and jumped off the porch with Skye.
“Don't be long. It's getting dark,” said Rosalind as they melted away into the trees.
“Nice kids,” said Cagney.
“For their age.”
“Mmphph,” said Batty, still upside down.
“Looks like we might finally get some rain,” Cagney said. “The gardens sure need it.”
“There hasn't been any rain at all since we got here,” said Rosalind.
“MMPHPH!” said Batty.
“Oh, my, I forgot about you.”
“I'm right here!”
“I know you are. I'm sorry.” Rosalind gently lowered Batty to the floor. “Why don't you go get the surprise for Cagney?”
Batty scampered inside. She was back in a minute with a big plastic bag stuffed full of dandelion greens. “Rosalind and I porridged these for Yaz and Carla.”
“Foraged,” said Rosalind. “But, Batty, I meant the other surprise. The one we got in town with Daddy yesterday.”
“Oh, that.” Batty went inside again. This time she came back with a gift-wrapped package that she handed to Cagney. “This is because I let Yaz escape. I wanted to get you the rabbit calendar, but Rosalind said you'd like this better. She used up her allowance for the next two months on it, since she'd already spent all her money on Jeffrey's present.”
“Shh,” said Rosalind.
“A book of Civil War photographs!” said Cagney, tearing off the wrapping paper. “What a wonderful surprise! But you didn't have to.”
“Yes, we did.”
“You know, I think Batty did Yaz a favor. He's stopped trying to escape all the time. He won't even go near the door. But thanks, Rosalind. This was very thoughtful.”
“Let's catch more lightning bugs,” said Batty.
“It's time for you to get ready for bed,” said Rosalind. “I'll be up there in a few minutes for a story.”
“I need a bath first.”
> “You just had one last night.”
“My feet are dirty again.” Batty slid one foot out of its sandal and held it up between Rosalind and Cagney It was indeed dirty.
“Okay, you need a bath,” said Rosalind. “Ask Daddy to run the water for you, and I'll be inside soon to help with the rinsing and drying.”
“I want you to run the water.”
Rosalind glanced at Cagney He was paging through his new book, holding it close to his eyes to see the pictures in the fading light. She gave him until the count of three to look away from the Civil War and over at her. One. Two. Three. She sighed and said, “We have to go inside now, Cagney. Good night.”
Only then did he look at Rosalind. “Good night, and thanks again for the book and the dandelions.”
Rosalind took Batty's hand and led her into the house.
“I still think he would have liked that rabbit calendar better,” said Batty.
“Thank goodness Cagney installed a rope ladder,” said Skye to Jane. They were underneath the big tree outside Jeffrey's bedroom, and Skye was untying a length of twine from a nail hammered into the tree trunk. “Jeffrey showed me how it works the other day. This twine is keeping the ladder rolled up in the tree. You undo the knot, let go of the twine, and the ladder falls down. There's another knot up at the top if someone's trying to get down instead of up.”
“Ouch!” The ladder had fallen on Jane's head.
“You aren't supposed to stand right under it.”
“You could have told me that before.”
“Climb.”
They clambered to the top of the rope ladder and eased themselves carefully onto the lowest tree branch, the one where they had gotten stuck their first week at the cottage. Jane looked straight up. The daylight was gone, and thick clouds were hiding the moon and stars. All she could see were black branches against an almost-black sky.
“Scared to climb in the dark?” said Skye.
“Fear never stops Sabrina Starr.”
“When we get further up, we'll have the light from Jeffrey's window” Skye pointed to a rectangle of light high up on the house.
“Hark, I hear music.”
Skye tipped her head to listen. “It's Jeffrey.”
“The boy poured his misery and loneliness into his beloved piano,” said Jane. Good line, she thought, but too late for my book. She had already begun Sabrina Starr's rescue scene—complete with bow and arrow—and there was no way Arthur could take a piano along on that hot-air balloon ride. Of course, she could go back and add the misery and loneliness line to a previous chapter, but Jane hated to revise. She believed in sticking with her original creative vision.
“Climb,” said Skye.
Slowly and carefully, they hauled themselves up the tree, higher and higher, until they reached the branch outside Jeffrey's window They peered into his room. He was sitting slumped on the piano stool, no longer playing, just staring into space.
“Psst,” said Jane.
He jumped up and ran to the window. “What are you doing here?”
“Cagney said you were okay, but we felt guilty and wanted to see you.”
“We're really sorry,” said Skye. “It was idiotic to forget about the competition.”
“It wasn't your job to remember,” said Jeffrey. “I live here.”
“I guess so, but if we hadn't been distracting you, especially Jane with her dumb Mick Hart—”
“Honest, it's okay.”
“It's not okay.” Skye pulled the Pencey pamphlet out of her pocket and handed it to Jeffrey. “Anyway, you left this on the porch.”
“I should have thrown it down the toilet,” said Jeffrey. “Can you come inside?”
“We'd better not,” said Skye. “It's late and Daddy will be looking for us soon.”
“What did your mother say to you after all those people left?” asked Jane.
“She said—she yelled—all about how I don't care about her feelings anymore. I do care. She's my mother.”
“We know,” said Jane.
“Then she found out Arundel got second place in the competition and yelled at me all over again. Mrs. Robinette got first place,” said Jeffrey. “That really killed Mother. She kept talking about me needing more discipline.”
“She didn't say anything about going to Pencey this year, did she?” said Skye.
“No, but she hinted that she and Dexter have a lot to talk about tonight.”
“That doesn't sound good.”
Jeffrey turned his head, listening. “I hear someone coming. You'd better go.”
“See you tomorrow morning?” said Jane.
“At the cottage,” said Jeffrey. “Do or die.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Piano Lesson
“THIS IS LOUSY,” SAID SKYE, looking out the window at the pouring rain. The four sisters were in the cottage kitchen. Jane and Batty were finishing up their breakfast, and Rosalind was making brownies again.
“The gardens sure need it, though,” said Rosalind.
“Why couldn't it have rained yesterday instead, when the Garden Club was here? Then we wouldn't have been playing soccer and we wouldn't have gone through the hedge,” said Skye.
“You wouldn't have gone through the hedge if you'd listened to me,” said Rosalind.
“Oh, Rosalind, don't. We're worried enough without you rubbing it in,” said Jane.
“I'm not worried,” said Skye. She was fibbing. The Penderwicks were going home to Cameron in three days. How could that possibly be enough time to help Jeffrey out of the trouble they'd gotten him into? If they even could help. Oh, where was he?
“Achoo,” sneezed Jane.
“Yuch, you spit on my cereal,” said Batty.
Rosalind swept the tainted cereal bowl away from Batty with one hand and felt Jane's forehead with the other. “You feel like you have a fever, Jane.”
“I'm fine, really.”
“Jeffrey's here!” Skye threw open the door. “Thank goodness you made it.”
“I said I would.” He shrugged off his rain-drenched jacket.
“We were afraid you'd still be locked up,” said Jane.
“Mother let me come out of my room this morning, and then she and Dexter left for Vermont to shop for antiques. So I'm free.”
“ACHOO!” said Jane.
“YUCH!” said Batty.
“Jane, go upstairs to your room and rest,” said Rosalind.
“I don't want to rest,” said Jane.
“You don't have a choice,” said Rosalind. “Go upstairs to your bedroom.”
“Sabrina Starr always obeys orders. But I won't rest. I'll work on my book. It's almost finished. Isn't that exciting?”
“Very exciting,” said Jeffrey.
“Good-bye, Jeffrey. Don't let Skye get you into any more trouble,” said Jane.
“Me?” said Skye. “At least I won't turn into Mick Hart.”
“Sabrina Starr departed with dignity.” Jane sneezed three times, each sneeze bigger than the last, then left for her bedroom.
“What should we do?” Skye asked Jeffrey. “I wanted to practice with the bows and arrows again, but we can't in the rain.”
“I have an idea of something we can do at my house,” said Jeffrey. “But it's a surprise and I'm not going to tell you what it is until we get there. Would you like to come, too, Rosalind?”
“I'll stay here, in case Jane needs anything,” said Rosalind. “I have a book about the Battle of Gettysburg I want to read, anyway.”
“Cagney lent it to her,” said Skye to Jeffrey. “She already whipped through his oh-so-fascinating one about Civil War generals.”
“Yawn,” said Jeffrey.
Rosalind ignored them.
“Can I come with you, Jeffrey?” said Batty.
“Sure,” said Jeffrey.
“No,” said Skye.
“How much trouble can she be?”
“You'll find out.”
“Can we take carrots to Yaz and
Carla first? And then can we stop by the lily pond to visit the frogs?” said Batty.
“Oh, Batty.” Jeffrey looked helplessly at Skye.
“Be tough.”
“Rabbits, yes, frogs, no,” said Jeffrey.
“Cool. I was sure you'd say no to both,” said Batty, and dove into the refrigerator for carrots.
“This is your big idea, Jeffrey? Teaching me how to play the piano?” said Skye. They were in the music room at Arundel Hall and she was staring with dismay at the grand piano in the corner. It was the biggest piano she had ever seen. Right now, with the threat looming of having to make music on it, it seemed like the biggest thing she had ever seen, period. Like a black, shiny whale ready to eat her up with embarrassment.
“You'll like it. Music is a lot like math. You're good at math, right?” said Jeffrey.
“I'm excellent at math and my clarinet was nothing like that at all. It was torture. Let's go up into the attic again. There's tons of stuff up there to mess around with.”
“Coward.”
“I'm not a coward.” Skye made a ferocious, uncowardly face at him.
“Then just try it. It'll be fun, I promise.”
“Couldn't we at least use the piano in your room? It isn't so big.”
“There's only a stool up there. We couldn't both sit.” Jeffrey sat down on one side of the piano bench and patted the empty space next to him. “Come on.”
Gingerly Skye squeezed herself behind the piano and lowered herself onto the bench. She felt trapped. In back of her was a corner with no door or window In front of her was the gigantic piano with its eighty-eight teeth and soaring lid. She couldn't even see past it into the rest of the room.
“Okay now listen for a minute,” said Jeffrey shaking the tension out of his hands, then lowering them to the keys.
Before Jeffrey could strike a note, Batty's head popped up on his side of the piano bench. Skye jumped. The little squirt must have crawled under the piano to get there.
“Hey, Jeffrey,” said Batty. “Can I play with those pillows on the couch?”
“Sure,” he said. Batty's head disappeared.
“What pillows?” said Skye.
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