Pies & Prejudice

by Heather Vogel Frederick

  “Well done, m’lady,” he says with a mocking bow.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.” She dances around the room, holding her root beer up like a trophy.

  Simon picked Revenge of the Space Bugs for our movie, which is more sci-fi than what I usually go to see but I don’t care, especially when he plops down beside me on the couch. He doesn’t hold my hand or anything, but so many people are crowded onto the sofa we’re kind of squashed together, and his knee and shoulder are pressed against mine. I notice he doesn’t try and move away, and that makes me really happy.

  After the movie is finished, Mrs. Berkeley comes downstairs carrying a birthday cake. We sing to Simon, and then he blows out the candles. His eyes meet mine when he finishes, and I can’t help wondering what he wished for. I notice Tristan watching us again.

  I give Simon a gift certificate to the local movie theater for his present, in hopes that maybe he’ll decide to ask me to go with him. He looks pleased when he opens it, and says that it will definitely come in handy, which sounds pretty promising.

  We’re just getting set up for a game of Risk when Professor Berkeley opens the basement door and pokes his head in. “Megan!” he calls. “Your father is here!”

  “It’s too early!” Simon protests. “We’re just about to start a board game.”

  I glance at my watch. Nine o’clock on the dot. “Sorry,” I tell him. “My parents are kind of strict.”

  “I understand,” he says, “but it’s still not fair.”

  I say good-bye to everyone and Simon follows me up the stairs. I can hear his parents laughing with my dad in the front hall. As I start to head out of the kitchen, he puts his hand on my arm.

  “Wait,” he says. “I want to thank you for coming.”

  “Thanks for inviting me,” I reply shyly, and he leans over and kisses me on the cheek.

  I smile all the way home.

  I think I might finally have a boyfriend.

  Jess

  “Let us hear what has happened

  to you all, since you went away.

  Have you seen any pleasant men?

  Have you had any flirting?”

  —Pride and Prejudice

  “Hurry up, Jess! We’re going to be late!”

  I take one final look in the mirror—long black skirt and white shirt, Colonial Academy’s regulation concert dress—and tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Coming!” I call back, and grabbing the folder of sheet music off my bed, I jog down the hall of my dorm.

  Adele and Savannah are waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. They’re dressed in identical outfits to mine, and the three of us race across the quad to the auditorium. A crowd is already gathered outside. I spot my parents and wave. Senator and Mrs. Sinclair have flown in from Washington and are sitting with them. They wave too.

  Tonight’s the night of Colonial Academy’s spring concert. It’s always a popular event, but even more so this year since the MadriGals did so well at regionals. We didn’t quite make the cut to go to nationals, but we were really, really close. Mr. Elton says there’s always next year.

  The orchestra plays first, then the jazz band, and after the choir it’s the MadriGals’ turn. As we file onto the risers, I look out at the audience. The book club is here, of course—they have to be, to man the table in the lobby afterward. Mr. Elton loved the idea of having Pies & Prejudice cater the refreshments, and he arranged everything with Colonial Academy. Baking six dozen pies kept us all incredibly busy the past few days, but we managed, thanks to my mom and Mrs. Wong, who jumped in at the last minute to help Gigi finish up while we were all in school. The money was just what we needed to put us over the top for Emma’s plane ticket.

  I wish I’d had a picture of her face when we told her.

  We sprang the news last Sunday. The two of us were supposed to do our usual videoconference, but instead of setting up my laptop in my room the way I usually do, I set it up in our kitchen instead. The rest of the book club hid in the dining room waiting for my signal.

  Emma knew right away something was up. I’m hopeless at keeping secrets from her.

  “Go get your mom,” I told her, when she asked why I had such a funny look on my face.

  “What? Why?”

  “Don’t ask questions—just go get your mom.”

  She shrugged and left the room, then returned a minute later with her mother, who was grinning hugely.

  “Mrs. Hawthorne,” I said, “could you give Emma the envelope, please?”

  As she handed it over three thousand miles away in England, Cassidy started drumming on the dining room door. Emma looked up, mystified.

  “Open it!” I told her.

  As she did, I counted “one, two, three” under my breath, and then everybody piled into the kitchen and we all shouted in unison: “You’re coming home for spring break!”

  Emma stared at the plane ticket in her hand, then let out a shriek.

  We all started to talk at once. I explained how we wanted to do something to cheer her up after the incident with Stinkerbelle and the mistletoe, and then Becca and Cassidy and Megan leaped in and told her about Pies & Prejudice.

  “So that’s what all that pie stuff was about,” Emma replied. “Now it makes sense.” She turned to her mother. “Have you known all along?” she said accusingly.

  Mrs. Hawthorne raised her eyebrows. “Mmm,” she replied. “Maybe.” When we all finally quieted down, she added, “I have an announcement to make too. Nicholas and I have been talking, and we’ve decided to chip in and send Darcy home along with Emma!”

  All the breath had whooshed out of my body. Darcy was coming back to Concord too? Then Becca started to squeal, and onscreen Emma’s eyes slid over to me. I knew exactly what she was thinking. Chadwickius frenemus. That’s the Latin name I made up for Becca, when she’s in frenemy mode. Becca doesn’t know that I like Darcy—I’ve been good about keeping that secret—but it’s no secret that she likes him too. Of course, she likes a lot of boys, including Zach Norton. She’s kind of like Elizabeth Bennet’s boy-crazy younger sisters Lydia and Kitty that way.

  Right now, Chadwickius frenemus is sitting in the audience at Colonial Academy, waiting to hear the MadriGals sing. So is Kevin Mullins, who is sitting next to her.

  “Hope dies hard,” my father always says whenever Kevin’s name is mentioned.

  I’ve tried to convince Kevin that I’m not interested, but he just doesn’t take a hint. Sometimes I wish I could explain to him about Darcy.

  They’re both smiling at me. I smile back, wishing again that I’d gotten a solo part. It would have been nice to sing a solo in front of my family and friends.

  I also wish the concert could have been scheduled for next weekend instead, when Emma and Darcy will be here. They could have seen my mother’s play, too, but it closes tomorrow night. She’s been starring in a revival of I Remember Mama at a small theater in Boston. She got paid for it and everything. Not as much as she did when she was on the soap opera HeartBeats a few years ago, but enough to make her feel like a professional, she says. Plus, she’s had a lot of fun. She says she might try out for a play every winter, now that my brothers are a little older and we’ve hired an assistant for our cheesemaking business.

  Mr. Elton taps his baton, and the audience grows quiet. Even though it’s still April we start with “Now is the Month of Maying”—“The spring, clad all in gladness, doth laugh at winter’s sadness”—and then segue into “Of All the Birds that I Do Know,” my least favorite song in our repertoire. It’s about a pet sparrow called Philip who’s really a girl, and the lyrics are totally stupid. We sing in French—“Il est bel et bon”—and in Italian—“Lirum bililirum” again, the one that always reminds me of Darcy, and then Savannah and Adele team up for a duet of “Greensleeves,” which is always an audience favorite. Their voices blend beautifully together, and when they finish, Senator Sinclair pulls his handkerchief out and blows his nose.

  We end with “My Bo
nnie Lass She Smileth,” another crowd-pleaser. I try not to catch Adele’s eye while we’re singing this one. Her dad sent us a recording of it that changed the opening line to “My Bonnie Lass She Smelleth,” and we just howl every time we listen to it. I’m trying so hard not to look at her, that I make the mistake of looking out at the audience again, where I spot Cassidy holding her nose and grinning at me. I have to quickly turn my gaze to Mr. Elton so I don’t crack up.

  Afterward, I make a beeline for the dessert table, where my book club friends are already gathered, getting ready to serve the pies. Gigi hands us each a gift bag.

  “What’s this?” I ask, peering in.

  “A little something to celebrate your spring concert and our success.”

  We reach into our bags and pull out matching aprons. They’re hot pink, and the Pies & Prejudice logo is emblazoned on the front.

  “Oh, how cute!” says Mrs. Sloane-Kinkaid. “Put them on, girls, and stand behind the pies. I’ll get a picture.”

  “Dude, it’s pink,” Cassidy protests. She hates pink.

  Her mother raises her eyebrows and nods toward Gigi, who is busy bossing Mrs. Chadwick in how best to cut the pies into slices. Cassidy heaves a dramatic sigh. “Fine,” she snaps, and pulls the apron on.

  We line up behind the table and put our arms around one another. People are trickling in from the auditorium now, including the Sinclairs, and as they line up for refreshments they watch us curiously.

  “Say ‘pie’!” jokes Cassidy’s mother. We do, and she snaps our picture. “I’ll frame it for Emma,” she tells us.

  “So this is the business you started?” says Mrs. Sinclair, as the line moves forward and she reaches for a plate and fork. “The one Savannah told us about?”

  I nod. Savannah and I have gotten along a lot better this year now that we’re not roommates. I don’t see her all that much at school—we’re in completely different classes, except for choir and MadriGals—but we spend nearly every Sunday afternoon together at the animal shelter, and she’s heard plenty about Pies & Prejudice, and about Emma’s run-in with Annabelle Fairfax.

  “Well, I think y’all are brilliant,” says Mrs. Sinclair. She nudges her husband. “Don’t you agree, darling?”

  “Yes, Poppy,” says Senator Sinclair absently. He’s busy eyeing the pie selection.

  “A slice of all-American apple pie for you, Senator?” asks Gigi, offering him a plate.

  Mrs. Chadwick sticks her arm out in front of Megan’s grandmother. In her hand is another plate. One with a piece of her pie on it. She gives Senator Sinclair a coy smile. “Didn’t Poppy tell me that coconut cream is your favorite?”

  Savannah’s father looks from her to Gigi and smiles. “Actually, ladies, tonight I’m hungry enough to eat a slice of both.” He tucks a twenty-dollar bill into our tip jar and helps himself to their offered plates.

  Gigi laughs. “Spoken like a true politician.”

  “Well done, dear,” says Mrs. Sinclair. Seeing the disappointed look on Mrs. Chadwick’s face, she leans across the table and whispers, “But if it makes you feel any better, Calliope, it’s true that he’s especially fond of coconut cream.”

  Later, I say good-bye to my parents and friends and head back to the dorm with Frankie and Adele. The three of us stay up until after midnight talking in our room. Hanging out with my friends is the best part about boarding school. I don’t know what I would have done without the two of them this year, with Emma away in England.

  The next night it’s my turn to sit in the audience, this time to watch my mother. She’s a great actress, and it’s really fun to see her onstage. Even my brothers, who usually won’t sit still for more than about three seconds, are completely mesmerized. The Norwegian accent she had to learn for the part has them discombobulated, and when we go backstage afterward they hang back shyly and keep looking at her as if she’s a stranger.

  Since it’s closing night, there’s a cast party. Someone offers to drive Mom home afterward, so Dad and I and the boys head back to Concord without her. It’s late, and Dylan and Ryan quickly fall asleep in the back.

  “Does it bother you that Mom’s acting again?” I ask my father in the quiet darkness.

  “Not a bit,” he replies. “Why should it?”

  “You know.” I pause. “Like maybe she’ll decide to run away from home again.” That’s what the two of us called it the year she went off to New York for HeartBeats.

  He reaches over and pats my knee. “Jess, your mom and I are on the same page about this. We both love running Half Moon Farm, but acting makes your mom happy too. It’s what she was born to do. I’m glad she’s found a way to do both.”

  I stare out the window at the highway. What was I born to do? It’s the same question that’s been nagging me all year. My parents just laugh when I try to talk to them about it. I’m fifteen, they say. I shouldn’t be worrying about this—I have plenty of time to figure things out.

  They’re right, of course, but the thing is, I do worry about it. And the MadriGals concert this weekend just dredged up those worries all over again. I used to think that music was what I was born to do, the way acting is for Mom. But ever since I didn’t get picked for a solo, I’ve started doubting myself. Maybe it just means I should keep practicing and try harder. Or, maybe it means I’m meant to do something else, like a career in science or math. How am I supposed to know?

  It’s just so confusing. I don’t know why I feel like I need to know the answer now. Telling myself firmly to knock it off, I push the niggling thoughts away and focus on thinking about Emma and Darcy instead.

  I can hardly wait until next weekend. Emma’s going to stay at Half Moon Farm with us, and Darcy is going to stay with his best friend Kyle Anderson. I hope I get to see him a lot too, though.

  The next day, after church and lunch, I kick around the farm for a while helping my father. Things are always busy for us in the spring, and I throw myself into my chores, glad for the chance to help out. With all that’s going on at school, I don’t feel like I’m holding up my end of things at home anymore. I give the equipment in the creamery a thorough scrub, and supervise my brothers as they clean out the chicken coop, and check in on Sundance and Cedar, who are both pregnant and close to their due dates. After that, it’s time to head over to the animal shelter for my volunteer shift. I want to get there a little early, because with her parents in town this weekend Savannah won’t be able to come, and that means extra work for me. I don’t mind, though—Savannah would do the same for me if I couldn’t make it. She’s a really good sport that way.

  It’s funny to think that we were such enemies last year. She’s changed a lot. She can still be a little prickly sometimes, sort of the same way that Becca Chadwick can be prickly, but for the most part we’re good friends. I feel sorry for her, stuck rooming with Peyton Winslow. That can’t be much fun.

  “Oh, Jess, I’m so glad to see you,” says Janice, the new weekend receptionist, when I walk in the door. She looks upset.

  “What’s going on?”

  She points to a box on the counter. “I’m not sure what to do. Someone just dropped this off. He was pretty shaken up, and kept saying he didn’t mean to hurt it.”

  My heart sinks. I peek into the box. At first I think it’s a puppy or a small cat, but then I see the ears. I suck in my breath sharply. A fox! It’s a young one too. I’ve never seen one this close before.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with it,” Janice says. “The man who brought it in said he was mountain biking in Estabrook Woods when he hit it. It was shivering, so I put a towel over it. I think it’s in shock.”

  “Have you tried to get ahold of Ms. Mitchell?”

  Ms. Mitchell is the shelter supervisor.

  Janice nods. “I left her a voice mail. She hasn’t returned my call yet.”

  “How about the Audubon Society?”

  “Good idea.”

  She dials and I hear her saying, “uh-huh, uh-huh” while she scribb
les down some information. She hangs up and turns back to me. “They gave me the name of a local wildlife rehabilitator here in Concord. I’ll go ahead and give him a call.”

  She does, but he’s out of town for the weekend, so she

  leaves another voice mail. “I’m not sure what to do now.”

  I glance in the box. The fox hasn’t moved. “I think we should probably have a vet take a look at it,” I tell her. “Dr. Gardiner takes care of all the animals on our farm, and she’s really nice. I could call home and get her number.”

  Janice thinks this is a good idea, so I do.

  “Well, hi there, Jess,” Dr. Gardiner says when I reach her. “What can I do for you? Is everything okay with Sundance and Cedar?”

  I assure her that my goats are fine, and then I explain about the injured fox.

  “A fox, huh? I’ve treated raccoons and possums and even a skunk once, but never a fox. Why don’t you bring it over here to my office and I’ll take a look.”

  Janice has to stay and hold down the fort, so I call my dad again, who agrees to drive me. We put the box with the injured fox in it onto the front seat of his truck between us. The fox is still motionless under the towel, and I can’t tell if it’s sleeping, or unconscious, or what. I hope it’s not “or what.” But it looks like it’s still breathing.

  Dr. Gardiner greets us at the door. She’s wearing a pair of heavy leather gloves. “Very important when you’re dealing with wild animals,” she tells us, holding up her hands and wiggling her fingers. “They can be unpredictable, and even the babies have needle-sharp teeth.”

  She takes the box from my dad and we follow her inside to one of the examination rooms. Very gently, she picks the fox up and lays it on the stainless steel table.

  “It looks like she—it’s a she, by the way, a vixen—got lucky,” she says. “No major injuries, but I want to take an X-ray of this back leg of hers. It looks like it may be broken.”