“It isn’t that.” Elise shook her head. “It’s the We have the best soup sign in the window. People are buying your soup every day.”
At the end of the week, just before the cement was dry, Mr. Smith lined us up at Theresa’s pool to sink our handprints in around the edge: Elise’s thin ones, Celine’s plump ones, Mr. Ohland’s, Mrs. Smith’s with the imprint of her ring, and Andrew’s, Millie’s, and mine.
Last, Mr. Smith knelt down to dig in the year: 1945. “Someday soon,” he said, “the war will be over, and the rest of the guys will come home from the Pacific.”
I knew he wanted to give me hope.
Celine had been with us a week. Every day she talked about going home, but Elise said, “Stay a little while. See the garden finished.”
Then Celine would sit back, pushing her hairpiece into place, reaching for one of Elise’s Florentines or a crusty end of rye bread, listening to Mr. Ohland’s lessons, interrupting.…
That Celine! But I couldn’t be angry with her anymore. I heard Rob’s voice in my head: a good friend.
Now the garden was finished.
“Shall I bring Theresa to the pond?” I asked.
“The poor thing hasn’t had a real bath in weeks,” Andrew said.
Elise held up her hand. “We’ll have to have a grand celebration for that. Tables outside, candles, and a lovely dinner.”
I went back inside and began to cut vegetables for a soup. I listened to everyone talking. It was cool in the kitchen, though. I could hear faint drips of water in the icebox.
I stood entirely still; something was different. A breath of air against my cheek? I turned slowly; faint fingerprints marked the floury table.
My hand went to my throat. “You’re back.”
Her fingers drew lines in the flour. “I tried,” she said. “I’m not sure. I dropped the stone down on the lifeboat. Such a small stone. Such huge waves. It seemed as if the whole ocean were tilting in that typhoon. We have to hope.…”
There was that word again. Hope. But it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. “Is he alive?”
“I don’t know, Jayna.”
All that, and nothing had changed. I sank into one of the chairs and put my head on the table, feeling the flour against my cheek.
“We must hope,” she said. “That’s all we have.” Her fingers fluttered across my shoulder. “I have to leave you tonight.”
“No, please,” I said.
“I was here to help you find a family,” she began. But the door opened. Mr. Smith and Andrew came in. I stood up quickly, wiping my face. I watched them wash the table and bring it outside.
By now it was almost dark and Elise was lighting tiny candles. I had to bring the soup outside. I couldn’t disappoint everyone, no matter how terrible I felt about what the ghost had told me. “Don’t go yet,” I said over my shoulder.
Everyone was there as I set the soup tureen down in the center of the table.
“It’s time for Theresa to try her pool,” Andrew said.
I nodded and opened the door of her cage. She was cautious, but only for a moment. She left claw marks in the soft earth and headed straight for the pool, sliding down the sloped side and into the water.
We admired her swimming, head up. Ella stood at the side of the pool, watching her anxiously as we sat at the table.
“Right about now,” the ghost whispered.
In the glow of the candlelight, I looked at all of us at the table. Andrew was pretending to lead a band in honor of Theresa, while Millie drummed on the table with her soup spoon.
Celine looked as if she’d faint at their manners. She caught my eye and shook her head, as if I’d agree.
Across from me, Mr. and Mrs. Smith leaned toward each other. When they saw me glance at them, they both smiled.
Mr. Ohland wasn’t sitting yet. With one hand on Ella’s collar, he studied Theresa in her new home.
Elise set a tray of bread on the table, then put her arms across my shoulders. “Do you see what you’ve done, Jayna? You’ve brought us together.”
“No, it was Theresa,” I said.
“Don’t forget about me,” the ghost whispered.
I felt something in my chest, a warmth that went up to my throat. I wanted Rob to be here. I wanted that more than anything. But here was a family, my family. I knew I’d have them forever.
I heard the ghost for the last time. “Yes,” she said. “At last.”
Family Soup
INGREDIENTS
A bunch of frankfurters from Harry, the butcher
A can of baked beans from Mrs. Smith’s pantry
Chopped parsley from Theresa’s garden
Some of that beef stock I made last week
A couple of strips of bacon that Elise has been saving
Carrots that Celine chopped up for us
An onion from Mr. Ohland, or some cabbage
WHAT TO DO
Cook the bacon, add the onions.
Drain off the fat.
Throw in everything else.
It’s almost like stone soup.
The bigger the family, the more ingredients.
Chapter 25
Celine left in a flurry. Where was her sweater? Her hat? How would she manage to squeeze everything back into her suitcase?
Elise and I walked her to the subway, telling her to come back soon. I was surprised; I really would miss her.
“Don’t forget your manners,” Celine said at the subway entrance. “Be careful when you use the stove.…” She was still talking, still worrying as she disappeared down the steps.
I went down after her. “Call the stationery store, Celine, the minute you’re home. I have to know you’re safe.”
I couldn’t believe it. I was beginning to sound like her.
Elise and I grinned at each other; then we walked back to the bakery together. In the garden, the plums were ripe. I picked all I could reach so that Elise could bake a pie.
I spent most of the day with Mr. Ohland. We talked about the war and the peace that was surely coming. It was so warm that I sat at the edge of the pool, my feet dangling.
Late in the afternoon, the old man from the stationery store came to the door. I wasn’t worried. I expected Celine’s call. But still, when it came, I ran barefoot across the street to pick up the phone.
“Home,” I said. “You’re home.”
“There’s a telegram, Jayna. Two of them. Stuart said he didn’t know where you were, or where I was.”
I slid down against the wall, onto the floor.
“It’s from the War Department,” she said. “He gave it to me after all.”
She was crying. I closed my eyes and braced myself. Would it take her forever to tell me about Rob?
But that wasn’t what she said, not what the telegram said. He was alive. He’d been found on an island and had been recuperating in a hospital in the Philippines. He was coming home.
“And more, Jayna,” Celine said. “The second telegram for you. From Rob himself.”
I couldn’t answer; I just nodded.
“ ‘My dear sister, Jayna. I’m on my way home. We’ll have soup!’ ”
Celine went on talking. “I telegrammed back immediately with the bakery’s address so he knows where you are. He won’t want to waste a minute getting to you.”
After we’d hung up, I stayed against the wall, my head on my raised knees. All the waiting was almost over.
The old man came over and patted my shoulder. “Are you all right, Jayna?”
How surprised he was when I reached out and put my arms around his neck. Imagine! A man I hardly knew.
I danced across the street, into the bakery, and spun Elise around. “Alive!” I said. “Coming home!” I couldn’t imagine words that were more beautiful.
The war ended on a hot sunny day in August. Kids banged pots and pans on Carey Street, church bells pealed, and fire engines clanged their horns.
Elise twirled me around the kitchen and pulled
Mr. Ohland in with us. Ella was yapping excitedly and we were laughing, crying.
For days, I kept looking down the street, watching the entrance to the subway station.
But when Rob came, when he finally came, I didn’t see him walking along Carey Street. I heard the bell in front, though, and Elise calling, “Jayna, I think he’s here.”
I reached for the curtain, pushed it open, and he ran toward me, yellow flowers in his hand.
After we hugged, hugged forever, I took the flowers. “You remembered that day at the pond.” I looked up at him. “I knew you’d come.”
He didn’t answer. He just smiled. But I saw his eyes fill with tears.
We went outside to see Theresa in her new pool, and it didn’t take long for everyone to be there with us. Andrew and Millie, Mr. Ohland and his pug, and Elise … of course, Elise.
I thought about the ghost and where she might be. Then I went back to the kitchen. I’d saved the recipe for this day.
Welcome-Home Soup
INGREDIENTS
A lot of fresh blueberries
Water
Sugar to taste
A bit of lemon (I like a lot.)
A couple of tablespoons of cornstarch
WHAT TO DO
Wash the blueberries. Get rid of any stems.
Eat a couple.
In a pot, cover the rest of the berries with water.
Add some sugar and the lemon.
Cook over low heat. DON’T BURN.
When the blueberries are soft, stir in the cornstarch.
Keep stirring until it thickens a bit.
You can serve it hot, cold, or medium!
MONTHS LATER …
I know what you’re thinking. You believe there never was a ghost. After all, she had my ginger hair; she wore my nail polish and even my jacket with the silver buttons.
But listen to this. Just listen.
Rob and I went to Coney Island. We swam in the surf, our heads tilted up to catch the warm sun. Afterward, we sat on a blanket, eating the sandwiches and gingersnaps Elise had packed for us.
Would I tell him about the ghost? He always believed me.
But he had something to say first. “I was on that raft for weeks,” he said. “Once in a while, I caught a fish. Sometimes it rained. But the sunburn was terrible, and the waves were high. And at last, I was ready to give up.”
I shook my head, hardly able to swallow.
“But the oddest thing, Jayna,” he said. “There in the middle of the ocean, I thought I saw a stone on the edge of the raft.”
He looked at me. “Really, a stone.”
“I believe you,” I said.
“I reached out for it, but the raft was so unsteady, it rolled into the ocean. I remembered the funny little stone we’d found in the pond, and I knew I had to stay alive for you.”
I was crying, crying again. How many tears had I shed in the last year?
Rob went on. “I sat up for the first time in days and saw green trees, an island, not so far. I managed to swim. I stayed alive until I was found.”
I let the sun warm me. I knew we were going to stay in Brooklyn. I’d make soup for the bakery and we’d open a restaurant.
So there it is. Believe in the ghost or not. I send her my thoughts. I hope she hears them.
Oh, dear ghost, wherever you are resting at your silver lake, thank you. I do thank you.
Acknowledgments
Memories of my father, Bill, and my mother, Alice, first made me want to write this story. My father built lovely ponds in Lynbrook and Deposit, New York. My mother counted homecoming points for our neighbor’s return from the war.
I owe an enormous debt to my cousin and lifelong friend, Ed Reilly, who generously shared his books about the war in the Pacific with me.
My son Jim said, “I knew you’d come,” words that I cherish. My son Bill read the manuscript over and over, talking me through it. My daughter, Alice, was always there, supporting me and offering help.
As always, my editor, Wendy Lamb, was the source of tremendous encouragement and advice. Dana Carey, assistant editor, had many insights for me and lent me her name for the bakery on Carey Street.
Most of all, I must thank my dear husband, Jim, who served in the Pacific during World War II and told me his stories.
And I can’t forget Brooklyn, home of my heart.
About the Author
PATRICIA REILLY GIFF is the author of many beloved books for children, including the Kids of the Polk Street School books, the Friends and Amigos books, and the Polka Dot Private Eye books. Several of her novels for older readers have been chosen as ALA-ALSC Notable Children’s Books and ALA-YALSA Best Books for Young Adults. They include The Gift of the Pirate Queen; All the Way Home; Water Street; Nory Ryan’s Song, a Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators Golden Kite Honor Book for Fiction; and the Newbery Honor Books Lily’s Crossing and Pictures of Hollis Woods. Lily’s Crossing was also chosen as a Boston Globe–Horn Book Honor Book. Her most recent books are R My Name Is Rachel, Storyteller, Wild Girl, and Eleven, as well as the Zigzag Kids series. She lives in Connecticut.
Patricia Reilly Giff is available for select readings and lectures. To inquire about a possible appearance, please contact the Random House Speakers Bureau at [email protected].
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