Missy Piggle-Wiggle and the Whatever Cure

by Ann M. Martin

  “I’m afraid it doesn’t mention snacks here,” she said, stroking Penelope’s feathers. “Sometimes we wish something so hard that it begins to seem real when it’s really just in our imagination.”

  Penelope looked away and muttered, “We want snack time,” over and over until the shade above the kitchen window began to snap up and down, up and down.

  Missy clapped her hands together as Penelope let out a startled squawk. “House, that’s quite enough out of you. You frightened Penelope!” The house creaked and groaned. “I’m going to be here for a while,” Missy continued. “So we’d better learn to get along. Now I’m off to pay a visit to Harold, and then I’ll see about the Freeforalls. I wonder where Merriweather Court is.”

  Missy went back to her room to retrieve her satchel, the one that was always so helpful when dealing with children. She heaved it over her shoulder, and it disappeared from view. She took one last look at her cupboard of potions, and then she called for Wag.

  2

  Juniper Street

  MISSY CLIPPED WAG’S leash to his collar and patted the satchel that hung over her shoulder. She couldn’t see the satchel, but it was comforting to know it was there.

  “Ready for a walk, Wag?” she asked.

  Wag wagged his tail, then sat on his haunches by the door.

  “Good-bye, Lightfoot; good-bye, Penelope; good-bye, Lester,” Missy called. “Good-bye, House.” She added, “Lester, you’re in charge while I’m out.”

  Lester straightened his back and smiled at her.

  But Penelope, who was perched on the banister, rustled her feathers and hopped up and down, squawking, “A fine thing! A fine thing!”

  “Please behave yourselves,” said Missy. She let Wag outside and locked the door. The lock got a firm grip on her key and held tight. Missy stepped back and looked at the house. It was the same look she would give a child who has asked for an ice-cream cone forty-five times in one afternoon. The same look she would give a brother and sister who are holding on to a basketball and pulling it back and forth yelling, “It’s my turn!” “No, it’s my turn!” “No, it’s my turn!” “No, it’s MY turn!” The same look she once gave a little boy who had interrupted her while she was on the phone in order to whisper urgently, “At snack time, give me the biggest cookie.”

  “House,” said Missy warningly. She heard a faint rattling from the doorknob as the house released the key. Missy relaxed. “Thank you.”

  Missy and Wag made it safely along the path to the sidewalk. The stones shifted only once. The moment they did, Missy gave the house another look, and the stones settled down and behaved themselves.

  Missy turned onto the street. Wag trotted ahead of her, tail held high like a flag. He paused often to sniff the air, then trotted on again once he had given his approval of whatever scent had attracted his attention.

  Missy looked at the familiar sights of Little Spring Valley. It was a quiet Saturday morning. Children rode their bicycles and played tag and climbed trees and called to one another. On one porch an old man and an old woman sat side by side, holding hands.

  Missy had just caught sight of Juniper Street, the street where all the stores and interesting things were, when she spotted a girl in front of a large house painted blue with yellow shutters and a pink porch. The girl was standing at a gate at the end of a walk, leaning against it in a sad sort of way, her chin resting on her crossed arms.

  “Hi!” Missy called to her.

  The girl shifted her eyes from the nothingness she’d been staring at to Missy and Wag. “Hi,” she said forlornly.

  “I’m Missy Piggle-Wiggle and this is Wag.”

  “I’m Melody Flowers.” She swung back and forth on the gate. “I guess you’re my new neighbor.”

  “Do you know Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle?” asked Missy.

  “I met her twice, but I just moved here, and I really don’t know anybody at all.”

  “Hasn’t anyone come to call?”

  “They did, but I hid in my room.”

  “What about friends at school?”

  “I haven’t made any yet.”

  My goodness, thought Missy. Melody certainly is shy. “Wag and I are walking into town,” she told her. “Why don’t you come with us?”

  Melody continued to swing on the gate. “Are you Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle’s niece?” she asked.

  “I’m her great-niece.”

  “Are you staying in that upside-down house?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do you sleep upside down?”

  “Haven’t you been in the upside-down house?” asked Missy. Almost every child in Little Spring Valley had been in the upside-down house at one time or another. They knew how things worked there.

  “Nope. We only moved here two weeks and one day ago. Do you sleep upside down like a bat?”

  “Heavens, no. I sleep right side up in a bed. It’s just that the bed is on the floor, but the floor is the ceiling.” Missy pointed ahead of her to an intersection. “Wag and I are going to explore Juniper Street. Then we’re going to see if we can find Harold Spectacle at A to Z Books.”

  Melody looked directly at Missy. “The bookstore?”

  “Aha! You’re a reader,” said Missy.

  “How can you tell?”

  “By your eyes. True readers look fond and excited when the subject of books and bookstores comes up.”

  “I can take you to the bookstore,” exclaimed Melody. “I know exactly where it is. I’ll be right back.” Melody dashed to her house, clattered up the front steps, and returned a few minutes later. “My mom says it’s okay for me to go with you.”

  So Melody set off with Missy and Wag. She walked behind them until Missy called over her shoulder, “Wag and I are terribly lonely up here, and we’d love to have some company.” Then Melody hurried ahead and walked by Missy’s side. She kept glancing at Wag’s leash until Missy handed it to her and said, “I only let extremely responsible people walk him.”

  Melody smiled.

  At the intersection, Missy turned right. “Juniper Street at last,” she said.

  All up and down Juniper Street were the stores and businesses of Little Spring Valley. “My, it’s been a long time since my last visit with Auntie,” said Missy.

  “Auntie?”

  “Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle. I call her Auntie. I haven’t been here in ages. Now, where is A to Z Books? I don’t think there was a bookstore on Juniper Street the last time I visited.”

  “It’s up there!” cried Melody. “See the sign with the open book?”

  “Ah. Wonderful. Let’s not go right away, though,” said Missy. “Let’s explore a little first. Have you ever been an explorer?”

  “Well, no,” said Melody, frowning.

  “No matter. Have you ever been a twin?”

  “Have I ever been a twin? That’s a funny question.”

  “Not at all. We can pretend to be twins right now.”

  “But—but—”

  “I know we don’t look alike, but not all twins do,” said Missy.

  “Aren’t we supposed to be the same age, though?” asked Melody.

  “Don’t be so serious. Come along. We’re the explorer twins. And Wag is our intrepid Saint Bernard.”

  “He is?”

  “Of course. And we’ve just come upon a town that sprang up before our very eyes. Oh my.” Missy shaded her eyes and stared ahead.

  “What? What is it?”

  “Why, it’s Aunt Martha’s General Store. Our very first sighting of a general store! Record that in our journal, Flowers.”

  “Um, okay.” Melody pretended to open a book and write in it. Then she said, “So I guess your last name is Flowers, too. Since we’re twins.”

  “No, I’m still a Piggle-Wiggle. Come along, Explorer Flowers. What else do you see?”

  Melody grinned. “I see … wait—yes, it’s a coffee shop! ‘Bean’s Coffee Shop,’” she added, reading the sign. “‘Proprietors—Dean and Jean Bean.’”

&nb
sp; Missy peered through the window. “I believe we should buy some refreshment. We’ve been exploring for days. I’m parched.”

  Missy and Melody bought iced tea and sipped it at a table outside. Wag fell asleep under their chairs while Melody told Missy about a store called the Art of Magic on a side street. She leaned across the table and whispered, “It’s spooky. I went in, and it was all dark and dusty, and there was a black cat in a basket, and the nameplate on the basket read Mephistopheles.”

  “No!” said Missy.

  “Yes. And there was no one in the store at first, and then this man dressed all in black suddenly stepped in front of me and began speaking in the language of Magic. Really,” said Melody, as if Missy had doubted her. He said, ‘Deplow ees fronket phooey?’ and somehow I knew that was Magic for ‘How may I help you?’” Melody shivered.

  “You’ll have to show me the store later.” Missy stood up and woke Wag.

  “Are we the explorer twins again?” asked Melody.

  “No, now we are French. Ooh-la-la. Qu’est-ce que c’est?”

  “I don’t exactly speak French,” said Melody. “Could we be something else?”

  “Bien sûr. What would you like to be?”

  “Tourists,” replied Melody. “And after that, long-lost relatives.”

  Melody and Missy and Wag set off again. They peeked into a grocery store and introduced themselves to Mr. Duchess, the owner. They passed the post office, where Mary Grace and her cats were at work behind the window. They passed a dental office, a hardware store, two clothing stores, a shoe store, and a sewing store.

  “And across the street is the library,” said Melody, pointing.

  “Ah, the library. I remember it well.”

  What Missy actually remembered was the day when she was ten years old, still experimenting with her magic, and, in the lobby, she had opened a vial of orange vapor that she hoped would correct children who had the bad habit of not returning books on time. Missy wanted the overdue books returned so that she could read them herself. Instead, when she uncorked the bottle, she heard cries of “Oh, ew! What is that smell?” “It smells like rotten eggs!” “It smells like poop!” “Where is it coming from?” Before she knew it, the library had been evacuated, and she was the only person left in it, hiding behind a shelf of mysteries. The potion did absolutely nothing to cure the problem of overdue library books.

  Of course, Missy didn’t mention this to Melody. Some things were better kept to oneself.

  Melody suddenly clutched at Missy’s arm. “Look! Down there! It’s Spell Street. That’s where the Art of Magic is.”

  “What fun!” exclaimed Missy. “Let’s be explorers again. I want to see the Art of Magic for myself.”

  “No!” shrieked Melody. Then she said more calmly, “I mean, no. Not today. Some other time. Let’s go to A to Z Books now. Please?”

  “Very well.”

  Like her great-aunt, Missy understood that it is better not to push certain children. “Onward to the bookstore,” she said.

  Melody Flowers hustled along, turning her head now and then to glance at Missy. What an odd woman Missy was, with her big straw hat and her wild red hair springing out from under it, and her shoes, which were sparkly and red. She was quite short, not much taller than Melody, who wasn’t very tall for a ten-year-old, and she was as skinny as a stick. She wore a dress with a beautiful shawl, even on this warm day, and the colors of the dress reminded Melody of an ocean—green and blue and aqua. The shawl shimmered with sequins, which Missy had sewn on herself, although of course Melody didn’t know this. All she knew was that here was an adult who treated her like a person, not like a child, and who understood how it felt to be afraid of magic shops and new neighbors.

  Melody slipped one hand into Missy’s and clutched Wag’s leash with her other hand, since she wanted to continue to demonstrate how responsible she was. Together, Melody and Missy crossed the street to A to Z Books.

  “Now, the first thing to know about the bookstore,” said Melody as they stood outside, “is that the bell over the door sounds like a sneeze. So I guess it isn’t really a bell.”

  “A sneeze,” said Missy. “How original.”

  “Harold says it can get confusing if someone inside the store actually sneezes. He doesn’t know whether to greet a customer or to say ‘Gesundheit.’ But the sneezing door is so loud that mostly he can tell the difference.”

  Missy reached for the door and pushed it open.

  AH-AH-AH-CHOO!

  “Hello?” called a voice from the back.

  “Hi, Harold. It’s me, Melody,” said Melody. “And Missy Piggle-Wiggle.”

  “You’ll have to speak up,” Missy told her. “I don’t think he can hear that soft voice.”

  Melody looked helplessly at Missy. “I don’t like to yell.”

  “You don’t like to yell?” Missy was more used to yelling children who needed to lower the volume on their voices. “Well, that’s all right. Just speak up, then.” She gave Melody’s hand a squeeze.

  “Hi, Harold,” said Melody in a voice that was even smaller than before.

  From the back of the store hurried a very tall young man who, you could tell right away, cared a great deal about his appearance. He wore a top hat with a daisy stuck in the band. Most top hats are made from black silk, but Harold’s was red velvet. He wore a red velvet tuxedo, too, and the tails of the jacket were so long they reached the backs of his knees. His shoes, which were a soothing shade of purple, were highly polished. Missy saw a black cane leaning against the checkout counter, and she wondered whether Harold actually needed it or if it was for show. It would go quite nicely with his outfit.

  Harold rushed toward the door so fast that Missy decided then and there that his cane must be for show. He hurtled between shelves, knocking several books to the floor in his rush.

  “Oh dear! Oh my!” he exclaimed. “I’ve knocked Treasure Island down. Now, that’s a book you don’t want to miss reading. Have you read it yet, Melody? Oh, and there goes Half Magic.” He scrambled to his knees, gathered up the books, returned them to their spots on the shelves, then banged into Caps for Sale and Make Way for Ducklings as he tore through the picture-book section.

  “I’ll get them,” said Melody.

  “Thank you. Thank you, Melody. By the way, a new book has come in that you must take a look at. It’s up by the register.” Harold rounded a corner and stopped short when he caught sight of Missy, who had stopped short at the sight of Harold and was gazing at him, her mouth open. Harold stuck his hand out toward her, tripped over a display of a book about cats that can paint, and fell against Missy’s shoulder.

  A shower of sparks glittered briefly in the air and sputtered out.

  Missy and Harold stared at each other.

  “I just,” Missy began breathlessly, “I just wanted to say thank you for taking care of Wag and Lightfoot and the others.”

  “My pleasure,” replied Harold. He was looking in confusion at the spot where the glittering sparks had been. He saw only Missy’s sleeve.

  “I know it’s a big job. There are so many animals on the farm,” Missy went on, just as Harold said, “Your great-aunt left very specific instructions.”

  “Anyway, thank you,” Missy said again.

  Missy had never seen anyone quite like Harold, and Harold had never seen anyone quite like Missy.

  Harold reached down to pat Wag’s head. “Hello, boy.”

  “Everything is picked up,” announced Melody from between shelves of books. She made a slight effort to raise her voice. “Is there anything else I can do, Harold?”

  Harold looked outside. “It’s such a lovely day. Thank you for the offer, but why don’t you go play with your friends?”

  “No. That’s okay,” mumbled Melody.

  The door sneezed loudly then, and in walked a boy and a girl about Melody’s age. “Hello, Tulip. Hello, Rusty,” Harold greeted them.

  Missy watched as Melody’s eyes grew wide, a
nd she picked her way toward the back of the store. She looked like a crook in a cartoon, tiptoeing away from a crime scene, shoulders hunched, lifting her feet high as if she were marching.

  “Where are you going, Melody?” asked Missy.

  Melody ignored her. She tiptoed through the biography section.

  “Tulip and Rusty Goodenough,” said Harold, “meet Missy Piggle-Wiggle. Missy is staying in the upside-down house.”

  “Huh,” said Tulip.

  “We thought Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle would be here forever,” added Rusty, speaking to his shoes.

  “Don’t you worry. Things are a bit different now, but Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle will be back,” said Missy cheerfully. She left Wag with Harold and made her way through the store. “Melody?” she called. “Come say hi to Tulip and Rusty. Melody?” She saw no one between the stacks of books. She cracked open the door to the storeroom and peeked inside. No Melody. She opened the back door and looked into the alley. “Melody?” she called again.

  Missy looked up and down every aisle in the store. It was when she returned to the front of the store and was talking with Harold and the Goodenough children that she caught sight of Melody walking briskly along Juniper Street in the direction of her home.

  Aha, thought Missy. Here was a problem to be solved. Missy had a growing to-do list in her head, and now she added Think up Shyness Cure for Melody to it. The cure might not be in the form of a potion. Not everyone needed a potion. But the exact right thing must be thought of to help Melody Flowers.

  Missy turned her attention to other matters. “Does anyone know where Merriweather Court is?” she asked. “I need to pay a call on the Freeforalls.”

  “Those kids?” said Rusty. He snorted unattractively.

  “Should I be worried?” asked Missy.

  “I would if I were you” was Tulip’s answer. “They’re grabby and loud. They’re wild.”

  “Honoriah is a know-it-all,” said Rusty.

  “Petulance is greedy,” said Tulip.

  “Frankfort doesn’t care about anything in the whole world,” said Rusty. “The whole wide world.”

  “Goodness,” said Missy. “I’d better be on my way.”