“Okay, four: You plan the games, Willa, some sort of Halloween stuff.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Use that wild imagination of yours, Willa, just be sure they’re fun. No word games or anything. Think fun, Willa. Fun, fun, fun.”
I’m going to have to work on that one.
“And don’t worry.” Tina winks. “I’ll bring the right music for the last dance, when the party’s over and it’s getting late and all that’s left is that stairway to heaven.”
“What?” I’m confused.
Tina’s face takes on a dreamy glow. “Tanner McGee may get lured off to that stupid bonfire, but I bet your boy will show up. Joey Kennelly’s a team player.”
“What stairway to heaven?”
“Oh, Willa,” Tina says, shaking her head. “You’ve got to ditch Shakespeare and get to the movies more often.”
I’m still in the dark.
“The ladder, Willa,” Tina says. “In the barn. The ladder up to the loft.”
CHAPTER 5
This is America
Knowing I loved my books, he furnished me …
with volumes that I prize above my dukedom
—The “Bard of Avon,” The Tempest
After school, I bike to the library. The sign is still up, the door is locked. I put Gilly and Dickens in the returns box and walk around back to the courtyard. The whale spoutin’-fountain is off. The pennies are gone. I need to talk to Gramp.
The chimes overhead jingle as I enter Sweet Bramble Books. The smell of saltwater taffy makes me want to do a Snoopy dance. “Mrrrrah,” Muffles greets me from her perch in the window. I wonder what she’s keeping warm today.
Gramp Tweed and I have this tradition. Every Friday he puts a new book for me on the window ledge. Muffles sits on the book, like a furry mother bird on an egg, until I arrive. “Hey, Muff.” I scratch her and she leaps, ever the coy cat. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. I grab some fudge, plop on the couch, and open it. “Serene was a word you could put to Brooklyn, New York. Especially in the summer of …”
“I’ll be interested to hear what you think,” Gramp says, coming out of the Cape Cod Authors aisle with my Shakespeare teacher, Dr. Swaminathan.
“Thank you, sir,” Swammy says. “I appreciate your recommendations.”
When Swammy leaves, Gramp makes us some tea. Lemon, no sugar, the way we like it. “Where’s Nana, Gramp?”
“Out walking Scamp. I promised your Nana if she walks everyday, I’ll take her to New York City in December. Do you know she’s never seen a Broadway show?”
I’m glad Nana’s exercising. Her doctor changed her heart medication again and said to lose some weight.
“What do you know about the library, Gramp?”
“Nothing’s been decided yet. It’s on the agenda next council meeting.”
“Can kids talk at that meeting?”
“Well, you have to be eighteen to vote, but there’s no rule against talking. This is Cape Cod. First place the Pilgrims stopped, freedom of expression and all that….”
“Great,” I say. “I’ve got an expression for that council.” I get up to leave. “Thanks for the book, Gramp. It looks good. Tell Nana I said hello.”
“Wait, Willa. Your candy.” Gramp comes toward me with a bag.
That’s the other Friday tradition. Candy.
Books and candy. What’s a weekend without them?
I head toward the beach eating Swedish fish, but then something tells me to try the library again. It’s getting windy anyway, feels like it might rain.
The old brick building looks deserted. Green ivy hands wave sadly in the wind, Willa, Willa, Willa. I stare at the sign on the door.
That door seemed so heavy when I was a little girl, but I always insisted on opening it myself. Summer was Stella’s busiest wedding season and so she’d ship me here to stay with Nana on Cape. That’s what we locals say, “on Cape.” If you say “the” Cape, people will know you are a wash-ashore, or worse yet, a tourist. Nana had the library story-time schedule posted on the refrigerator and we’d go to every one.
Mrs. Saperstone dressed like characters in the books and surprised us with treats like honey on scones the time we read The Bee Tree. It was always so much fun. After, Nana and I would walk out to the courtyard and I’d pat the smooth back of the big gray whale. I’d close my eyes and make a wish and toss a penny in the water.
And I’ll never forget the day I got my own library card. Mrs. Saperstone presented it like it was a college diploma. I checked out twelve books, “the limit for a new patron.” Nana took me for ice cream to celebrate, but I couldn’t wait to get home and read. No way are they closing my library. Wait, that’s it. That’s what we’ll do. We’ll save the Bramble Library!
Just then, the door opens. Mrs. Saperstone steps out. I can’t wait to tell her my plan.
Mrs. Saperstone starts down the stairs slowly, a bag of books in each hand. She once said she reads three a day so she “won’t miss any good ones.” Although she’s probably older than Nana, Mrs. Saperstone is always so excited talking about books, she always looks young to me. Until today. Today Mrs. Saperstone looks old. There’s a swath of gray hair on her forehead and dark circles under her eyes.
“Hi, Mrs. Saperstone. I’m glad you’re here.”
“Hello, Willa.” Her face brightens. She sets her bags down. The tan one says “Librarians are Booked for Life.” The green one says “Got Books, Let’s Read!” She notices A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. “Good choice,” she says.
“Gramp picked it out for me.”
“Well, at least I know Alexander will point the good ones your way. You always were one of my best customers, Willa.”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Saperstone. I’ve got a plan.”
Mrs. Saperstone pulls a piece of lint from her coat. She fixes the yellow scarf around her neck. She doesn’t look at me. “I think it’s a done deal, Willa.”
“No,” I say so loudly that it startles Mrs. Saperstone. “I won’t let it happen.”
Mrs. Saperstone looks quickly at me, then away. She clears her throat. “No, Willa. I’m certain the council will sell the building. The roof is leaking, the brick is crumbling. We need a complete technology upgrade—”
“But what about the books?”
Mrs. Saperstone squeaks. “I’m done battling, Willa.” She picks up Brooklyn, then drops it. “The council’s making arrangements with another town to—”
“No. That’s not right.” My heart is pounding. “This is Bramble’s library These are Bramble books. And what about you? Where will you go?”
Mrs. Saperstone squawks like a gull caught in a net. I’m afraid she might start sobbing so I stop. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Saperstone. I won’t let them close our library.”
It starts pouring as I bike home. I stop and zip Brooklyn in my backpack. I think how if the book got ruined, Gramp would just order me another. I’m so lucky to have a bookstore in the family. But not everybody can afford to buy every book they want to read. That’s what libraries are for. Aren’t libraries a Constitutional right or something? What’s wrong with that stupid council anyway? This is America.
At home I go online and start searching. I download every article I can find on the importance of libraries. I find that Bramble isn’t the only town where libraries are in trouble. It seems stupidity is spreading. What will they close next? Schools? Candy stores?
CHAPTER 6
Trick-or-Treat
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.
—Shakespeare, Macbeth
“Trick-or-treat!”
Tina’s a genie. I’m a chef and already regretting it. It seemed like a good idea this morning, but now that I see Tina, I wish I picked something prettier.
JFK is coming to the party.
We weren’t going to dress up, but then Stella insisted we had to wear costumes if we were going to “ring people’s doorbells begging for candy.”
So we told everybody there would be a contest for best costume. Tina’s father came through with prizes.
When Tina came to get me, Stella was ladling out hot mulled cider for our guests on the porch wearing her tall black witch’s hat. Stella has two Halloween costumes. One year she’s the Cat in the Hat. The next year she’s a witch. Cat, witch, cat, witch. That’s all I’m going to say.
Main Street is packed with ghosts and goblins and superheroes of every sort. Friends from our class wave from across the street. Trish is a lion. Kelsey’s a scarecrow. Emily’s covered in tin foil.
“I think they’re from The Wizard of Oz,” Tina says.
“Hey, girls!” Two more friends, Lauren and Alexa, call to us. All the freshmen girls are coming to the barn party. We see some guys from our class, but no JFK yet.
Bramble knows how to do holidays. The hardware store, florist, card shop, fish market, pharmacy, cinema, every restaurant and clothing store, even the tourist places, are dressed for Halloween. And no store does it better than Sweet Bramble Books.
“There’s our girl!” Nana’s a black-and-yellow-striped bumblebee with two blinking bobble things on her head. She’s weighing penny candy for a customer. Scamp bounds over to say hello. When I squat down, he licks my face, then rolls on his back so I’ll scratch his belly. Wizard Gramp waves from the book register. He’s wearing a purple robe and a tall pointed cap covered with silver stars. Muffles drags her eyes away from the show outside for a quick mrrrrr, and then she’s off again.
“Trick-or-treat!”
Nana finishes and flies toward us, “buzzzzzzzz.” Tina steps back.
“Here, try this, Willa.” Nana hands me a piece of black saltwater taffy. She has me test out all her new flavors. She’s trying to retain her “Best Sweets on the Upper Cape” award in Cape Cod Life magazine. The competition is tough. Cape Cod’s loaded with great candy stores.
I pop it in and start to chew I’m expecting black licorice, but it’s lemon, sour lemon, so sour it’s making my tongue curl. “Yuck, Nana. What’s this?”
“Trick or treat,” Nana says, laughing. “Sorry, sweetie. I couldn’t resist. Pretty clever for an old bat, I mean bee, huh?”
“Hysterical, Nana.”
Tina tugs on my arm. “Come on, Willa. We’ve got to go. It’s almost eight.”
“Here, Willa,” Nana says, “we made these up special for you and your friends.” She hands us each a fat orange bag full of candy. It feels like it weighs five pounds.
“Thank you!” Tina says and gives Nana a hug.
“Can I have an extra one?” I ask Nana quietly.
Nana smiles, but doesn’t snoop. Stella’s snoopy enough for the whole family.
We hear the Buoy Boys warming up as we reach the inn. They started out as the Beach Boys, but Luke’s mother, who’s a lawyer, said that name was taken and she didn’t want to get sued. So the Beaches became the Buoys.
“Oh God, they sound awful,” Tina says.
The labyrinth, the circular garden maze behind the inn, looks especially awesome tonight. The labyrinth is Sam’s baby. He planted perennial flowers and bushes all along the winding pathway so that no matter the season, there’s always something colorful to see. Our guests enjoy walking the labyrinth for its peaceful effect, but for tonight, Sam-the-man turned it into a “Circle of Scares, Enter if You Dare.” You have to walk through it to get to the party in the barn.
Sam strung white netting across the labyrinth path, attaching it to the tops of cornstalks, creating a cobweb roof. Wet spaghetti hair and Jell-O eyeball booby traps are set to plop down in your face and there are secret spots where creatures leap out at you, screaming bloody murder. And, being the poet that he is, Sam made grave markers with creepy quotes from Edgar Allan Poe and Shakespeare like “Eye of newt, and toe of frog, wool of bat, and tongue of dog.”
Macbeth may be lost on some, but I appreciate the literary allusions.
“Hey, Willa. Hey, Tina.” All the girls are starting to arrive, mostly freshmen, some sophomores. Tina and I are sitting at a table at the entrance to the barn. I keep watching for JFK. It’s getting chilly. I’m glad I’m a chef. Tina’s shivering in her chiffon. We put the $5.00 admission fees into the glass jar and say, “have fun.”
The Buoy Boys sound like fog horns, but they could be lip-synching sand and it wouldn’t matter. The girls are knocking each other over to get in closer. Tina used to have a crush on Jessie, before Tanner McGee. JFK, where are you?
Sam sneaks by us quietly to check the warming trays under the food. He gives me a thumbs-up. “All set, Willa, have fun.”
“Thanks, Sam.”
Stella stomps in. “Keep the volume down, girls, some guests might be trying to sleep. And don’t forget it’s over at ten, Willa, and I mean ten. Not a minute …” Just then the Blazers appear.
“Can we join in?” Mama B asks, a giant pumpkin in orange boas.
Tina kicks me under the table.
“Been years since the prom,” Papa B says, in black cape and top hat, a vampire, I think.
“Why, certainly” Stella changes faces in a flash. “Isn’t this fun? A party in the barn! Makes you feel like a kid again, doesn’t it?”
Papa B sticks a rolled-up bill in the jar.
“Oh no, that’s okay,” I say. “You’re our guests.”
“We insist,” Mama B says, giggling, grabbing Papa B’s hand. “Come on, Bellford, let’s shake a leg.”
Oh, gosh, how embarrassing …
And then, I see him.
JFK.
He’s walking through the “Circle of Scares, Enter if You Dare,” and he’s smiling like he’s having fun. Yeah, Sam. Thanks, Sam.
JFK’s even got a costume on. He’s a chef, too.
“Ooh, looks like somebody’s compatible.” Tina kicks me again.
“Shhh.” I kick her back. “He’s almost here.”
Breathe, Willa, breathe.
CHAPTER 7
The Party in the Barn
If music be the food of love, play on.
—“Shake-it, Will” Shakespeare, Twelfth Night
Just as JFK reaches us, Tina says, “to pee or not to pee, that is the question.”
“What!?”
“Got to go, Willa.” Tina laughs and leaves.
“Tina, wait.” But she’s gone.
“Hi, Joseph,” I manage to say. “Thanks for coming.”
“So what do you like to cook?” he says.
“What?”
“You’re a chef, right?” JFK smiles. There’s that dimple. My head fills with fog.
“Oh, right. Nothing, really. Tuna fish is about the extent of my talent.”
JFK nods in toward the band. “Do they rot or what?” He laughs.
“They’re okay,” I say. “Besides, they’re eye … yaaffordable.”
JFK peers into the open barn. I peer into his ocean eyes and start to sail away “Willa, my darling, dance with me?”
“What!” I swerve back to shore.
JFK laughs. “I said ‘Willa, I’m starving, what’s there to eat?’”
“Oh sure, come on.” I push the admission jar forward so people will see it. All of the freshmen girls are here now anyway and I have a fishy feeling the rest of the boys got lured to the Burners’ bonfire.
JFK and I fill our plates and sit down on a bale of hay. The Buoys are playing a decent song and all of the girls are dancing. Tina’s flirting with Jessie. So much for Tanner McGee. I hope JFK doesn’t feel weird being the only boy here besides the Buoys, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
“The wings are good,” he says.
“Thanks, I’ll tell my dad Chef Kennelly approves.”
Joseph laughs and takes off his tall white hat. He smooths his hair. It did get curly while he was away or maybe it’s being back in the ocean air.
I take off my chef hat, and smooth my hair, too. I wish I had a mirror. I probably have hat hair. “How does your father like his new job?”
“He love
s it.” JFK tries Sam’s nacho supremos. Taco chips smothered with salsa, meat, and cheese. “These are awesome.” He wipes his mouth.
“Glad you like them,” I say He has beautiful lips.
“Yeah, my dad always wanted to run the Cape Times. It was his big dream.”
“Good for him. I think it’s great when people’s dreams come true.” Oh no, I sound like Pollyanna. Oh, so what Willa? That girl always gets a bad rap. All she was trying to do was make the world a happier—
“Hey, I made the Bucks,” Joseph says. “Second string, quarterback.”
Oh no, soccer I know. Football’s a foreign planet. “That’s great. Congratulations.”
“You like football?”
“I love it.” You are such a liar, Willa.
JFK’s face brightens. “Looking good for the Pats, huh?”
The New England Patriots football team. Thanks, Sam. Sam said even if you hate sports, there are two teams every Cape Codder absolutely must know. The Boston Red Sox, baseball, and the New England Patriots, football. Thanks, Sam.
“Yeah, they’re looking great,” I say. Mental note, start reading the sports page. “The Pats are my favorite team.” Remember Pinocchio, Willa.
“What book are you reading now?” JFK asks. “I always see you reading.”
How sweet of him to change the subject to something I’m interested in.
“I just finished A Tale of Two Cities and I’m starting A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. Are you reading anything?”
“Well, Shakespeare, like everybody. And I’m still trying to finish Moby Dick, I promised my father, but right now I’m into The Outsiders. It’s good.”
He reads for pleasure. This is great.
“What’s the best book you ever read?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” JFK says. “That’s hard to say. I have a lot of fav—”
There’s an earsplitting laugh. The Blazers are in the horse stall next to us, dancing to a different drummer indeed. Papa B spins Mama out like a yo-yo then snaps her back in his arms. She gives him a big slurpy kiss and they laugh like loony birds.
The Cupid Chronicles Page 3