Pies & Prejudice

by Heather Vogel Frederick

  Stewart is pacing up and down. His hair is still wet from the shower, and I can tell he just shaved because there’s a smear of shaving cream behind his left ear. He smells good too. I wonder fleetingly whether Darcy will smell good too, and what it would feel like to have a boy be nervous enough about seeing you that he’d take a little extra care getting ready. It must be nice.

  “Hey, isn’t that Simon Berkeley?” says Becca, pointing across the waiting area.

  I frown. “Yeah. I wonder what he’s doing here?”

  Simon is with his brother and parents, and they all come hurrying over when they spot us. Megan lights up as she sees Simon, which makes me wonder if I’m as obvious about the way I feel about Darcy. The two of them start chattering away while Cassidy and Tristan make stiff conversation with Mrs. Bergson.

  “We tried to call, but you’d already left,” Mrs. Berkeley tells Mrs. Sloane-Kinkaid. “The boys’ cousin—well, my second cousin’s daughter, actually—decided at the last minute to accompany your young friends on their flight.”

  Cassidy and I exchange a glance. She can’t be talking about Annabelle, can she?

  She can.

  “Annabelle’s coach thought it would be an excellent idea for her to spend the week over here with Tristan, practicing for this summer’s competition,” Mrs. Berkeley continues. “She’s never been to the U.S. before, and she’s very excited to visit. We thought we might take her and the boys to New York and Washington for a few days.”

  “I’m sure our girls will enjoy getting to know her,” says my mother.

  Cassidy turns slightly so that her back is toward our mothers and Mrs. Berkeley, then mimes sticking her finger down her throat. Before we can discuss this horrible new development further, though, Stewart suddenly gives a shout.

  “There they are!” he cries, waving wildly. I see a hand fluttering above the heads of the oncoming crowd in response.

  It’s Emma!

  I start waving wildly too. If it hadn’t been for our video chats, I would hardly recognize her. She’s grown her hair out, and it’s down to her shoulders now. It’s really pretty, and makes her look different—more grown-up. She breaks into a run and flings her arms around me.

  “BFBB,” she whispers in my ear, and I grin. Best friends before boyfriends.

  I shove her toward Stewart. “Your turn,” I tell him, and he swoops her up in a bear hug.

  Darcy is making his way down the mom reception line, politely hugging everybody, including Becca, who kisses him on the cheek while she’s at it. Cassidy gives him a high five. Megan, who is still standing next to Simon Berkeley, does the same.

  Then it’s my turn. Darcy looks at me with those deep brown eyes of his, and I feel myself melt, like the inside of a warm chocolate chip cookie.

  “Hey, Jess,” he says softly.

  “Hey,” I whisper back, feeling shy all of a sudden. He leans down to hug me and I have to stand on my tiptoes to reach around his neck. He smells just as good as Stewart. He squeezes me tight, leaving me breathless. And happy.

  “It’s really good to see you,” he says.

  “You too.”

  “You guys have accents!” Becca squeals. “How cute is that?”

  Mrs. Sloane-Kinkaid crosses over to where Mr. and Mrs. Berkeley are standing with Tristan and his cousin. “Welcome,” she says warmly. “You must be Annabelle.”

  “Stinkerbelle,” Cassidy mutters to us under her breath.

  “I would have warned you guys, but we only found out at the last minute!” Emma whispers as our moms cluster around Annabelle, chattering away about what a fun week she’s in for. She’s all warmth and sparkle talking to them, but when she’s introduced to us she goes all cool and formal. She’s very pretty, with her long dark hair and blue eyes, and I notice the way she sticks to Tristan, hanging on his arm possessively.

  “What’s up with that?” I whisper. “I thought they were just ice dancing partners. And cousins. Eww.”

  Emma shrugs. “Distant cousins, as she always reminds me. I think she’s got a crush on him.”

  Cassidy watches them, a thoughtful expression on her face.

  Annabelle is watching us all, too, and I realize with a jolt that she’s sizing us up. She looks directly at Cassidy for a long minute, then her gaze falls on each of us in turn, Megan and Simon, Emma and Stewart, and Darcy Hawthorne before finally settling on me. I look away quickly.

  Why do I feel like a fox who’s just been sighted by a hound?

  Emma

  “What an eventful week!”

  —Letter from Jane Austen to her sister, Cassandra, 1801

  It’s so good to be home again!

  I really missed Concord. I absolutely adore living in England—I love Ivy Cottage, and I love our village and the city of Bath and the beautiful countryside, and I never get tired of listening to the way people talk over here. But there really is no place like home.

  I still can’t believe that my friends got me a plane ticket to Boston. And I especially can’t believe that they started a whole business in order to earn the money for it. That day they surprised me with the news that I was coming home for spring break and told me about Pies & Prejudice, it didn’t really hit me just what a big deal it was. It wasn’t until later, when I got to thinking about all those weekends of work, baking pies and delivering them, that I started feeling kind of overwhelmed, like there was no way I could ever repay them.

  “They’re not expecting you to repay them,” my mother said when I told her how I was feeling. “They’re your friends, and they did this just because they love you.”

  The best friends anyone could ever ask for, I think, glancing across the room at Jess, who’s still sound asleep in her bed. I’ve been awake for a while now, because I’m jet-lagged and because it’s almost lunchtime back in England.

  The spare bed in Jess’s room is right by a window, and I prop my chin on the sill and look outside at the world waking up. England is beautiful, but Concord is beautiful too. Especially Half Moon Farm in the springtime. It’s light enough to make out the front yard, and the split-rail fence by the road with the wide swath of daffodils that stretches along its entire length. Mrs. Delaney loves daffodils, and she planted them all around the farm. They look gorgeous in the spring.

  I yawn and squint at my watch. I’m dying to call Stewart but there’s no way I’m going to do that at five o’clock in the morning.

  The good thing about jet lag is that I’ll be wide awake for the first time ever tomorrow morning for Patriot’s Day. We’re having a book club meeting tonight at Megan’s house, and she’s organized a sleepover for all of us. Tomorrow, we’re going to get up early and go to the battle reenactment and pancake breakfast at the Old North Bridge. That’s been my family’s tradition forever, but most of my friends skip it and sleep in. The last time we all went together was back in sixth grade.

  A few minutes later, Jess’s alarm goes off. She leaps out of bed, wide awake. I don’t know how she does that, but I guess it has something to do with growing up on a farm. Plus, I think she’s excited about introducing me to her fox. I promised I’d ride over there with her before church.

  “I still can’t believe you named her Lydia!” I whisper, pulling on my jeans.

  Jess grins at me. “You’ve got to admit it’s perfect, though, right?”

  We try and suppress our giggles as we get dressed, but it doesn’t really matter because her parents are already up. Mornings start early for the Delaneys. Dylan and Ryan stumble downstairs as we’re having breakfast, giving me shy smiles.

  “Do you guys remember me?” I ask.

  “Duh,” says Dylan, rubbing his eyes.

  “You talk funny,” adds Ryan. “How come?”

  I shrug. “I don’t think I talk funny, but perhaps it’s because I’ve been living in England.” My friends told me that my brother and I picked up English accents, and I thought they were imagining it, but as I reply to Ryan I hear myself say “bean” instead of “bee
n,” so maybe they’re right.

  After we eat, the boys head out to the barn with Mr. Delaney to start their chores, while Jess and I grab our jackets and hop on our bikes. Mine has been in storage in their barn while I was away. The streets are deserted this early in the morning, and we ride side by side into town.

  “I want to show you something!” Jess calls over her shoulder. She turns down Main Street and I follow, gliding to a stop behind her in front of the bookshop.

  “Check it out,” she says.

  “Oh, wow!” I exclaim. My father’s new novel, Spring’s Reckoning, is displayed prominently in the window. It’s set during the Revolutionary War, so publication was timed to coincide with Patriot’s Day. “I’ve gotta come back later and take a picture. Dad will be thrilled.”

  “It’s so cool he got his book published,” Jess replies. “Have you read it yet?”

  I nod. “It’s really good.”

  “What’s it about?”

  “This family who lives here in Concord. The father and sons are patriots, and go off to fight in the war. But the daughter falls in love with a British soldier.”

  “Sounds really good.” She smiles at me. “Someday your books will be in that window too.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so.”

  I haven’t told Jess yet about the new story I’m working on. It’s different from the kinds of things I’ve written before. It’s for little kids, for one thing, like Chloe’s age or a little older, and for another thing, it’s funny. My stuff is usually more serious. Especially my poetry. Anyway, I want to keep it a secret until it’s finished. I haven’t even told Stewart.

  We mount our bikes again and swing back toward Monument Square and then on down Lowell Road. It feels weird to ride past my house and know that other people are inside, sleeping in our beds. I’m dying to stop and visit Melville, but it’s still too early. Plus, I’m not keen on running into Annabelle.

  We cross over the Concord River and turn up Liberty Street. As we pass the entrance to Minuteman Park and the Old North Bridge, my eyes start to sting a little—it’s just so good to be back in my hometown!

  Like the Delaneys, Mr. Mueller is up early too.

  “Jess told me you’d be coming,” he says. “I made coffee cake.”

  “So how did you figure out what a baby fox will eat?” I ask, settling onto a battered wooden stool. I watch as Jess prepares a bottle of something that looks like milk, but comes in a can.

  “Dr. Gardiner got me started, and Mr. Mueller knows absolutely everything about everything else,” she replies.

  “I don’t know about that,” says Mr. Mueller, his eyes crinkling around the edges in a smile. He reminds me a little of Mrs. Bergson. He hands me a paper plate with some coffee cake on it.

  Lydia has been moved from her cage to a nearby stall that the Muellers have fitted out especially for injured animals. I can hear her pacing back and forth in anticipation, making little yipping sounds.

  “She knows you’re here,” I say to Jess, who nods.

  “Foxes have a really good sense of smell. Plus, she recognizes my voice.”

  She pulls on big leather gloves, then crosses to the stall and opens the door. A small creature about the size of Melville bounds out and stretches up toward Jess, nuzzling hungrily at the bottle.

  “That’s right, baby,” she murmurs, picking her up. “Drink up. I’ve got you.”

  Lydia turns her head from time to time to peer at me. She’s a curious little thing, with a long pointed nose and huge ears.

  “She’s adorable!” I whisper.

  “Isn’t she? She’s going to be a real beauty, too. I can’t believe how bushy her tail has gotten in the past few weeks.”

  “And that leg is healing up nicely too,” says Mr. Mueller. “She’s barely limping at all anymore. Her cast will need to be taken off soon.”

  “Can I pat her?” I ask, already knowing what the answer will be. Jess explained everything to me last night about wildlife rehabilitation.

  “I hate to say no, Em,” says Jess, “but I’m really, really trying to do this right.”

  “And you’re doing a crackerjack job,” says Mr. Mueller. “I hope you’ll think about getting your license in a few years. You’re a natural.”

  Jess smiles.

  Watching Lydia, I don’t know how Jess will be able to let her go. I had a hard enough time leaving Pip behind this year, knowing he’d be safe and happy with Mrs. Bergson. But Jess said that as soon as the fox’s leg was healed and she was strong enough, they were planning to release her back into the wild.

  We watch Lydia for a while, then ride home and get ready for church. Afterward, Mr. Delaney drops Darcy and me at Mrs. Bergson’s before taking Jess back to Mr. Mueller’s. He left a message that someone just brought in an injured red-tailed hawk, and wanted to know if Jess was interested in helping him get it settled.

  Cassidy organized a special session of Chicks with Sticks this afternoon with Darcy as the guest instructor, and I’ve got a skating lesson—an early birthday present from Mrs. Bergson. But first, it’s time to see Pip.

  He recognizes me instantly.

  “I was so worried you’d forgotten me, boy!” I tell him, as he flings himself through the doorway of Mrs. Bergson’s condo and covers me with frantic doggie kisses.

  “No chance of that,” says Mrs. Bergson. “I show him your picture all the time.”

  I stand up and wipe the slobber off my face, then give her a hug. “Thanks.”

  We visit for a little while, then she gets her coat and we take off for the rink. Pip is pulling hard on his leash. It’s a gorgeous afternoon, almost warm enough to go without a jacket. Sometimes in New England there can still be snow on Patriot’s Day weekend, but not this year. It’s supposed to be sunny all week.

  Stewart is planning to meet us at the rink and take Pip for me while I’m skating, then walk me back to Half Moon Farm. I’m hoping maybe we can detour through Sleepy Hollow Cemetery. There’s a secluded spot on a bench under a willow tree I’d really like to revisit. I haven’t had any time alone with Stewart since I got here, and just thinking about it makes my heart beat a little faster.

  When we reach the parking lot at the rink, I do a double take as I see our old car pull in. Then I remember—it’s the Berkeleys. We did a car swap as well as a house swap with them. I stiffen as Annabelle gets out of the car, followed by Tristan.

  “Hullo, Darcy,” she coos, ignoring me.

  “Hey, Annabelle.”

  I squat down next to Pip. “Stinkerbelle,” I whisper to him, then aloud to Tristan I say, “By the way, Toby is doing fine.”

  He smiles, the first smile I’ve seen from him. “He’s a handful, isn’t he?”

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  “We especially like the way you trained him to say, ‘UNITED!’ whenever there’s a soccer game on TV,” adds Darcy. “Nice touch, dude.”

  Tristan laughs. “Melville is doing fine too,” he replies. “You guys should stop by and see him.”

  “Listen to you, with your ‘you guys,’ ” Annabelle teases. “What happened to ‘you lot’? You sound like a real American.”

  Tristan ignores her, and squats down next to me. “Hullo, boy,” he says, scratching Pip behind the ears.

  “I’ll see you kids inside,” says Mrs. Bergson. “Don’t be long.”

  As she heads into the rink, Stewart trots around the corner into the parking lot. He stops short when he sees me and Tristan. I stand up quickly and smile at him. “Hey, Stewart.”

  “Hey, Emma.” He crosses the parking lot and takes my hand, glaring at Tristan.

  Annabelle watches us, a smile playing on her lips. I try to ignore her as I give Stewart the leash. “Thanks for walking Pip,” I tell him. “I should be done in an hour or so.”

  “No problem,” he tells me, shooting Tristan another sharp glance. “Have fun.” He leans over and kisses my cheek.

  Stewart Chadwick is jealous! I smothe
r a grin. How funny. Especially since he has absolutely no reason to be.

  Inside, as Darcy and Tristan and Annabelle and I sit down to lace up our skates, Cassidy skates over. “Hey, guys!” she says. “Thanks for helping me out, Darcy. The girls will be here in about an hour, after Tristan and I are done, and after Emma’s lesson.”

  “No problem,” Darcy tells her. “I haven’t skated much this year—I’ll just warm up and stay out of everybody’s way.”

  He steps out onto the ice and skates away. Annabelle stands up. She’s taller on her skates, of course, but nowhere near as tall as Cassidy. Annabelle is like one of the bantam chickens that the Delaneys raise, though, the little ones who think they’re a whole lot bigger than they really are. She crosses her arms and looks Cassidy coolly up and down. “So Tristan tells me you play hockey. What was it he called you? Big, bad Cassidy Sloane?”

  A hurt look passes over Cassidy’s face, and her eyes slide over to Tristan, who frowns at his cousin but doesn’t say anything.

  “Come on, Tris, let’s skate,” says Annabelle. She grabs his arm and drags him past Cassidy and me onto the ice.

  We watch as they skate off. “Do you think that’s really what he told her about me?” says Cassidy in a low voice. “I mean, I know I’m kind of a moose and everything. . . .”

  “You are not a moose!” I reply hotly. “Besides, what do you care what the Duke of Puke says? He’s a jerk, you told me so yourself.”

  “Yeah, I know, and I don’t care. Not really. It’s just—” She pauses, and her voice trails off. She takes a deep breath. “It’s just when I think of all the hours I’ve spent helping him practice, hours I could have spent doing something I really wanted to be doing—when I think of all the weight-lifting and crunches and running—I even took a couple of ballet lessons! And for what? So that he can trash talk me to that, that—”

  “Stinkerbelle?” I offer.

  “Exactly!” she fumes.

  “Forget it, Cassidy. She’s not worth it and neither is he.”

  Cassidy stomps off to round up the equipment for Chicks with Sticks, and I glide out onto the ice to warm up for my lesson. I haven’t put in a whole lot of ice time in England, and I’ve gotten pretty rusty, but Mrs. Bergson sets me back on track. I’ll never be anywhere near as good as Cassidy, or my brother, or Tristan and Annabelle—who are almost impossible to ignore, since first of all they’re hogging the rink and second of all they’re really amazing to watch—but I love love love being out on the ice. And that’s all that matters, I tell myself loftily as I stumble and land on my backside once again.