Jessie brought her water bottle over to the east side of the brownstone, where an industrial metal funnel rested on the roof ledge. Jessie carefully positioned the water bottle in the wire cage, aimed the spout into the base of the funnel, then unscrewed the bottle cap. The water flowed into the funnel, where it descended through a black hose and settled into a metal container secured to the edge of the building. It then trickled along chutes that zigzagged along the side of the building, causing a series of water wheels with spokes to ping three sets of miniature wind chimes as they rotated.
Next, the water set off a lever attached to a wooden rain stick, nudging the rain stick to sway back and forth like a lazy seesaw. The water then came to a drop-off, where it waterfalled one story down to a rounded piece of tin that Jessie had found on the curb coming home from school one day. The tin was magic; it vibrated and produced a different sound depending on what angle the water hit it. Then the water rolled off right into Mama’s herb garden and kept the plants hydrated during the growing season, which was probably the only reason she had let Jessie construct the water wall in the first place.
A two-liter bottle of water was enough to keep the water wall’s music going for about fifteen minutes. The sound from the water wall was what Isa imagined a wind quartet would sound like if the musicians played on a grassy field on a rainy day (with umbrellas to protect the instruments, of course). Isa had been speechless when Jessie unveiled it on their birthday. Jessie had shrugged and said, “It’s just physics, no big deal.” The music was loud enough for the Vanderbeekers to hear from the roof but quiet enough not to penetrate the Beiderman’s soundproof windows.
With the water wall singing, the Vanderbeekers gathered at the south side of the brownstone, leaning their elbows along the ledge (except Laney, who could only rest her fingertips on the ledge and had to be picked up by Isa so she could see over the wall). The south view was the best. From there they could see the rows of buildings up and down the block. In the distance, City College was lit up on the hill, looking like an ancient castle complete with turrets.
“Let’s play ‘listen without paying attention,’” suggested Laney. This was one of her favorite games—she had made it up herself—and it didn’t make sense to the rest of the kids until they were in the middle of the game. Then it made perfect sense.
“Close your eyes,” instructed Laney.
A few moments later, Hyacinth heard the sounds of merengue music coming from one of the apartments down the block. Oliver heard a sliding door opening and their next-door neighbor click a lighter for a cigarette. Jessie heard unrestrained laughter from a group of people walking down the street on the other side of the building. Isa heard the rain stick’s pebbles shift back and forth on the water wall. Laney, whose eyes were squeezed as tight as she could squeeze them, tried not to hear anything. Still, she heard Miss Josie’s rich voice singing a gospel tune. It was amazing what the Vanderbeekers could hear when they weren’t trying to listen to anything.
Hyacinth’s voice interrupted the not-listening. “Do you think we’ll really stay in Harlem?”
“Of course,” scoffed Jessie, opening her eyes. “Papa said so.”
Hyacinth shook her head. “You know, he never really said we’d stay. And he looked sort of weird when he was talking about it. He had that same look he gets when he tells Grandma he loves that yucky anchovy casserole she always makes when she comes here.”
“Papa has lived here all his life,” Oliver said. “He’s like the mayor of our block. He’d never leave.”
“And his computer repair job is here,” Jessie pointed out. “He said he would hire me as his assistant when I turn sixteen.” Jessie paused for a nanosecond. “Only one thousand, two hundred and fifty-seven days to go.”
“Papa doesn’t lie,” Laney said. “Lying is bad news.”
“I agree, Laney.” Isa looked out at the neighborhood. “This is my favorite view ever,” she said.
“Do you think the Beiderman worked at the castle?” Hyacinth asked, looking at City College. “I thought only nice people were allowed to work in the castle.”
“Princesses live there,” Laney stated, bracing her arms on Isa’s shoulders so she could get a better view.
“Princesses do not live there,” Oliver said. “That’s a college, dummy.”
“Don’t call your sister ‘dummy,’” Hyacinth and Isa said in unison.
“Come on,” Isa said. “We have work to do.” She led her siblings to the blankets, where they sat down for the second meeting of Operation Beiderman. Hyacinth handed out the buttons she’d made, and her siblings attached them to their hoodies.
“Remember, not a word to Mama and Papa,” Jessie reminded them. The Vanderbeeker kids formed a tight circle and did a communal fist bump.
“What if we fail?” asked Hyacinth.
“We won’t,” Oliver said, pulling out a startlingly realistic pirate sword that was attached to a belt loop on his jeans and lifting it high in the air. “My idea is for all of us to get swords—”
“So I’ve been thinking,” Isa interrupted, “that the key to winning the Beiderman over is to play to our strengths.”
“Good thing I have so many fine qualities to show off to the Beiderman,” Oliver boasted.
“Who wants to share their ideas first?” asked Isa.
“Hyacinth should do the first Beiderman mission,” Jessie said. “She’s the craftiest person in the world.”
Hyacinth froze, then shook her head in short, quick bursts.
“C’mon, Hyacinth! You’re the perfect person to go first. Not too overwhelming”—here Jessie shot a glance at Laney, who was busy drawing hearts on everyone’s hands with a felt-tip pen she had found in the REP bag—“and not too obnoxious.” Here Jessie glared at Oliver, who was trying to untie Isa’s sneakers with the tip of his sword.
“Hyacinth the Brave could totally do it,” Isa suggested.
Hyacinth continued to shake her head.
“Since Hyacinth is out . . .” Isa said, surveying her siblings, “Jessie, you better go first.”
“Why not you?” said Jessie.
“Because of our musical disagreements,” replied Isa. Her siblings knew it was true. They all thought it was a shame the Beiderman reacted so strongly to stringed instruments, especially given Isa’s extraordinary progress over the last six years. She had left the “scary, screechy” phase of violin playing shortly after that first year, and had even won a couple of violin competitions recently.
Jessie sighed. “Fine. Send me to my doom. But someone’s coming with me.”
“I’ll help, I’ll do it!” Laney yelled, waving an arm in the air.
“Shhh!” said Isa, Jessie, and Hyacinth.
“I’ll help too,” Oliver said.
Jessie looked over the two candidates. “Okay, Laney. You’re in.”
“Hey, what about me?” Oliver said.
“You’re a little . . .” Jessie began.
“What?” demanded Oliver.
“Unpredictable,” suggested Isa.
“Volatile,” added Jessie.
Hyacinth didn’t say anything, but she gazed at Oliver adoringly.
“I’m not that bad!” said Oliver.
“No, you’re not—for a boy—but you could use some . . . finesse,” said Jessie.
“Finesse,” grumbled Oliver. “I have so much finesse, you don’t even know.”
The water wall had long stopped singing, and the sky had darkened to an endless black by the time the kids were finished bouncing ideas back and forth. It turned out that Oliver did have the best idea for the first Operation Beiderman. However, even Oliver ultimately agreed that he was not the best delivery person. In addition to the baseball and sprinkler incidents, Oliver felt the Beiderman had a particular dislike for him because he used to practice dribbling on the sidewalk in front of the brownstone. This bothered no one in the entire neighborhood . . . unless your name was Beiderman.
“Good idea, Oli
ver,” Isa said as she packed up the REP bag. “I think this is going to work.”
“See,” Oliver said over his shoulder. He swaggered back to the fire escape, his pirate sword swinging from his belt loop. “I told you I got finesse.”
Saturday, December 21
Five
The radiator woke Hyacinth the next day, whistling a joyful good morning. Instead of feeling cheered by it like she usually did, Hyacinth felt as if sewing needles were poking around in her stomach. It was Saturday, the official start to Operation Beiderman. Through her window she could see the last wrinkled leaves gripping the branches of the ancient red maple, refusing to drift down to the ground until absolutely necessary.
Hyacinth could tell Laney was still in a deep sleep without even looking at her. Laney made a funny whistling sound when she slept. Hyacinth climbed down from her bunk, shoved her feet into her bear slippers, and tugged on her favorite fuzzy sweatshirt, which she had stolen from Oliver. She stepped over a snoozing Franz and crept out the door, careful to turn the doorknob in that special way to keep it from squeaking.
Despite being second-to-last in the Vanderbeeker family line, Hyacinth often felt she was the true middle child. Of course, Oliver had earned that right by being born between two sets of sisters, but he had the honor of being the only boy, which held him apart. The twins were exactly the same age, so in Hyacinth’s mind they sort of counted as one. If you didn’t include Oliver because he was a boy, that left Hyacinth taking the true middle spot, fending for herself in a household of loud, strong-willed, attention-grabbing siblings.
To get her fair share of time with her parents, Hyacinth had developed the habit of getting up early. She tiptoed downstairs. Her dad was sitting on the couch, cradling his mug of steaming coffee, a thick book opened before him. Paganini was hopping in bizarre patterns around the living room carpet, periodically flinging himself into the air and spinning as if auditioning for a Broadway show. George Washington lay sprawled on his back, lazily swatting the bunny as he zipped past.
Hyacinth stepped around the animals and snuggled in next to her dad. He slipped his arm around her, drawing her close. He smelled like coffee and peppermint drops.
“Papa, why does the Beiderman hate us so much?” Hyacinth asked.
Papa kissed the top of Hyacinth’s head. “Hate is such a strong word. I definitely don’t think he hates you. I think he’s unhappy, which has nothing to do with you kids.”
Hyacinth thought about the Beiderman mission they had planned for that morning and was glad they were going to do something so nice for him. Then she felt ashamed that she was too afraid to do the first mission, even though all her siblings wanted her to.
“Papa?” asked Hyacinth.
“Yes?”
“How can I get more brave?” Hyacinth squeezed her eyes shut and curled in nearer to Papa. She was afraid he would tell her she would never be brave.
“Why, Hyacinth, you’re one of the bravest people I know,” Papa said.
“Really?” asked Hyacinth, her eyes popping open.
“Really,” said Papa. “It takes a super-brave person to be as generous as you are, Hyacinth. Not many people are brave enough to be so loving.”
Hyacinth thought about this while she watched Paganini nibble on a stack of books and George Washington groom his ears.
Papa smiled at the animals. “‘Until one has loved an animal, a part of one’s soul remains unawakened.’”
Hyacinth looked up at her father. “What does that mean, Papa?”
“It means that animals make our hearts happy in a very special way. A French man named Anatole France said that a long time ago.”
The sound of a door opening, then another one, marked the end of Papa and Hyacinth’s morning alone time. A faucet turned on in the upstairs bathroom, and they heard water whoosh through the pipes within the brownstone walls. A big thunk followed, which was most likely Oliver jumping off the last few ladder rungs of his loft bed.
Soft footsteps padded down the upstairs hallway and paused at the top of the stairs. Laney was awake. She descended one step at a time, the stairs creaking happily. When she got to the bottom, she speedwalked to Papa, climbed into his lap, and nuzzled in close.
And there they sat for a precious few minutes, Papa and his two youngest children, while the rest of the family awoke and the sounds of the city began its crescendo all around them.
Ten minutes later, the Vanderbeeker apartment buzzed with kids and parents going in and out of bedrooms and bathrooms and up and down the stairs. When Isa came downstairs, she saw Oliver, his hair rumpled on one side, sitting slouched on a stool by the kitchen island, staring at an open book. She pulled out the stool across from him and sat down.
“Do you really think we can win the Beiderman over in four days?” she asked as she gathered her hair back and braided it in a long plait.
Oliver spoke without looking away from his book. “Sure, and why don’t we solve America’s budget crisis and save the orcas while we’re at it?”
Isa paused. “So . . . that’s a no?”
“Honestly,” Oliver said, “I have no idea.”
“I think your idea was brilliant.”
“Really?” Oliver perked up a bit.
“Oh yeah,” Isa replied. “I have a good feeling about it.”
“Then you should hear my other idea,” said Oliver, closing his book. “I think we should use a combination of Laney, Hyacinth, and Jessie. First Jessie can pick the lock to the Beiderman’s door. Next Hyacinth can torture him with her sewing needles. Then Laney can suffocate him with kisses and hugs until he—”
“Let’s just hope the first idea works and he realizes how wonderful we are and begs us to stay,” Isa interrupted.
Oliver grinned. “Too bad you’re too nice. I could probably think of a way to get you in on the plan . . .”
While Oliver and Isa discussed the Beiderman mission, Hyacinth came downstairs with an armload of felt. She settled down on the living room carpet and busied herself cutting red felt circles for her holly berry placemats. Franz looked on with his woeful basset hound eyes, then went to his food bowl and began the slow process of nudging it across the room until it banged into her knee.
Hyacinth recognized the gravity of the situation immediately. “Oh, my poor Franz! You must be starving!”
Franz looked at Hyacinth and forgave her at once. Hyacinth filled his bowl with precisely one scoop of dry dog food. The veterinarian had warned her against giving Franz more than that for fear he would get too heavy. Oliver, who had been beside her at the appointment, muttered “Too late” under his breath, just loud enough for Hyacinth to hear. It was a particular gift of Oliver’s that he could say things that adults couldn’t hear but his sisters could.
Hyacinth was feeding Franz when a disheveled Jessie came downstairs with her signature bed head, followed by Laney wearing a glittery crown.
“We’re off!” Jessie announced to Isa, Oliver, and Hyacinth as she wrangled Laney into her puffy purple jacket and sparkly winter boots.
“Make sure to buy extra cheese croissants,” Oliver said.
“Good idea!” Jessie said as she grabbed a ragged scarf and wrapped it around her neck. “All the better to persuade the Beiderman with.”
“The extra cheese croissants were for me,” Oliver clarified. “But I guess you can get some for the Beiderman too.”
Jessie and Isa shared an eye roll, then Jessie took Laney’s hand and led her outside, where they promptly bumped into Mr. Smiley, the superintendent at the big apartment building on their block, and his daughter Angie, who was friends with Oliver.
“Hello, Laney! Hello, Jessie!” Mr. Smiley said.
“Tell Oliver he owes me a basketball game!” Angie said. Oliver and Angie were constantly challenging each other to one-on-one basketball games, and it had to be said that Angie was so good, the boys’ basketball team begged her to play for them.
Jessie and Laney waved goodbye. They passed by
the brownstone with the turrets, then the brownstone covered with ivy, then the brownstone where garlands of pine were draped along all the windows and a huge wreath with a wavy burgundy bow decorated the heavy wooden door. They turned the corner onto the boulevard, where the quiet of their street gave way to city buses with their screeching brakes and shop owners unlocking and rolling up the metal grates they had pulled down over their stores the night before. A garbage truck squealed to a stop down the street, and Mark, one of their neighborhood sanitation men, jumped off the back and tossed the contents of an overflowing trash bin into the hopper of the garbage truck.
“You’re strong,” Laney called. “I’m going to be strong one day too.” Laney pumped her arms to show her biceps.
Mark laughed and said, “Hey, I got a good joke for you, Laney. What’s red and white and red and white and red and white?”
Laney tilted her head, considering. “A candy cane?”
“That’s one answer, but I’m thinking of something else,” Mark said, grabbing hold of the end of the garbage truck once again. The truck began to move.
“Tell me!” yelled Laney at the retreating truck.
Mark bellowed the answer. “Santa Claus rolling down a hill!”
Laney giggled and waved as Mark saluted her from the back of the garbage truck.
Down the avenue they went. They passed by Harlem Coffee with their long line of bleary-eyed customers, A to Z Deli, which was just opening up, then the library, still closed for another few hours. Once they passed the library, the sisters made a right at 137th Street. They smelled the delicious, buttery sweet bread smells from Castleman’s Bakery before they saw the storefront.
The Vanderbeekers of 141st Street Page 4