Terrible, Horrible Edie

by E. C. Spykman

  She did have enough head start, however, to get to the top of the ravine and crawl out onto the lawn, where the lights from Aunt Louise’s shone clear to the boathouse. There she stayed on her hands and knees with her head down, fixed and finished, and James, on the run, tripped over her and fell flat on his face with the wind knocked out of him. When he grunted, Edie looked up.

  “Theodore!” she said. “It’s you!”

  “It’s you, you mean,” said Theodore jerkily. He held his ribs rolling from side to side. “I thought you were the burglar. But I might have known it, I might have known it.”

  Edie’s relief was so enormous that for once in her life, just this once, she began to cry, tremendous sobs that shook her back and forth.

  “Hey,” said Theodore, “is there something the matter with you?”

  “I thought you were going to kill me.”

  “Who—me?”

  “No—James.”

  “Who!” said Theodore, sitting up.

  “James,” said Edie, trying to sit up too in order to wipe her face.

  “Are you really a lunatic,” asked Theodore earnestly, “or are you just pretending to be? And will you kindly tell me what you were doing—” Then he saw that she was half dressed and covered with some sort of ornaments and became speechless. As he told Hubert that night, he thought they would be taking their sister to an asylum in the morning.

  “Oh,” said Edie, embarrassed by his staring. “They’re fat Mrs. Johnson’s and I had to take off my dress to swim.”

  Theodore lay back again on the grass to try to make head or tail of it.

  “You know,” he said finally, seriously, “there’s such a thing as going too far. People might get the idea you were balmy.”

  “All right,” said Edie, “we’ll go to Mrs. Johnson’s right now.”

  “Not like that, you won’t,” said Theodore quickly, getting up to stop her.

  She could not have done it anyway as she even needed Ted’s help to get to her feet. Very graciously he allowed her to lean on his arm as if she were a lady, but he would not let her go into Aunt Louise’s without being decently clothed.

  “They’re all in there,” he explained. “Si Parker and the Harlows too. Si thought you would be in trouble and sure enough—”

  “Oh,” said Edie, stricken, “I promised I wouldn’t go off the lawn.”

  “And why did you?” asked Theodore with the utmost politeness.

  “I was taken in the sloop,” said Edie.

  It was all beyond his weak brain to understand, Ted said, but he would grant Edie this. When she wanted to, she could make things as clear as mud.

  “You’ll see,” said Edie.

  She had to stand on one leg in the shadows while he went in to get something to cover her nakedness. He was so proper he couldn’t even stand the sight of a petticoat.

  “They’ve vamoosed,” he told her when he came back. “They’ve probably gone to watch Si hang himself. Here, put this on anyway; it’s all I could find.”

  It was her Sunday coat, of course, and there would be a good deal of salt water on it in a few minutes, but Edie could not wait. As she limped down the shell road, she tried to explain.

  “I suppose you know there’s a reward,” said Ted when he could see through a glass darkly. “One thousand bucks,” he added solemnly.

  “It won’t do me any good,” said Edie, “you know that. Father’ll just put it in the bank.”

  “Well, what would you do with a thousand bucks?”

  “Buy a boat,” said Edie promptly.

  “You ought to have a medal at any rate,” said Theodore generously, “for bravery I should think.”

  “Well, thanks,” said Edie, feeling bashful.

  “But if you do get a boat, I hope you’ll remember I guarded those things every night for two weeks.”

  “Well, sure,” said Edie, very much wishing to be generous too.

  Mrs. Johnson’s house was lighted from cellar to attic as if she were having a party, but she wasn’t. She had just kept it that way, she said, ever since the jewels were taken. James, of course, locked up for the night later on. They knew enough not to go to the front door where he might open it for them. Instead they walked through the pines and up the terrace steps to the big glass doors. Mrs. Johnson was sitting inside by herself looking at the newspaper, and it did not make a good impression on her when they scratched at the door.

  “Hmm,” she said, “rather late for a call isn’t it, but come in for a minute, I suppose. Will you sit down?”

  “No,” said Edie. “Look!” And she took off her coat.

  Mrs. Johnson herself sat down so that she jolted, and at once for no good reason became very angry.

  “Did you steal my jewels, you naughty child? I’ve had my suspicions ever since that episode with your sister. Sucking sapphires indeed! It’s a wonder she isn’t dead!”

  “That’s just what Hood says,” said Edie, trying to be agreeable.

  “And why haven’t you any clothes on!” said Mrs. Johnson with sudden surprise and disapproval.

  Both Edie and Theodore attempted to explain this at the same time, and in the end they did not think they had been very successful, Edie wanted to tell so much, and Theodore so little. The one thing that Mrs. Johnson did get was that James was a burglar.

  “My new wonderful James!” said Mrs. Johnson, sitting back. “Impossible!” Edie had known it was going to happen and was ready for it. All she wanted to do was get rid of the jewels. “Here,” she said, “take them off,” and she held out her wrists and wiggled her thumbs to get the rings to fall off into what there was of Mrs. Johnson’s lap.

  “Ring for James!” said Mrs. Johnson, clutching the rings but not looking at them. “There’s the bell, boy; do as I say. We’ll fix these accusations immediately. They say you have quite an imagination, Miss Edith Cares.”

  “Help me take ’em off just the same,” said Edie, unwinding the pearls and trying to undo the string at her neck as if she had become frightened of them.

  “If James is coming, hadn’t she better put her coat on?” said Theodore

  “This is no time to be prudish,” said Mrs. Johnson. “Yes, Marie? What’s the matter with you? Have you seen a ghost?”

  The maid was standing at the door, trembling all over.

  “I don’t know how to tell you, Madam,” she said. “But James has left the house, and the flat silver’s gone with him, Madam.”

  Whereupon, Theodore told Hubert that night after they had closed their door on the world of females, the maid threw her apron over her head and went off to the kitchen, caterwauling.

  Mrs. Johnson caterwauled too for a moment, at least she screamed, and said to send for the police. “Instantly,” she said. “Instantly!”

  But since the militia had left nearly ten days ago, there was only Captain Harbuck and he had gone to his cousin’s funeral in East Barnet, the operator told Theodore, and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow night.

  “So I had to take the situation in hand,” Theodore told Hubert.

  He and Edie had picked up the diamonds and pearls that had rolled off Mrs. Johnson’s lap and piled them on one of the chair cushions. He made her count them to see if they were all there, and when she said she thought they were, “except the one your sister chewed,” she had the nerve to add, he commanded Edie to put on her coat and come home.

  “And would you believe it, old man,” said Theodore, “she wouldn’t stir a stump.”

  Edie had behaved in the most shameful manner. Even after Mrs. Johnson had assured her that she would attend to the reward in the morning, she still wouldn’t move.

  “It’s my leg,” she said. “It won’t hold me up.”

  And right then and there she had turned green and fallen on the floor.

  “Take her home, take her home,” said Mrs. Johnson. “What is she fainting for right in my living room!”

  “Which,” said Theodore, “I had been wanting to do right al
ong.” But he had to carry her, and she had not had time to put on her coat, so it had been quite embarrassing when they met Si Parker at Aunt Louise’s door and Edie had begun to come to. “Nothing could embarrass that kid, though,” said Theodore.

  “Let me down,” Edie had said. “What are you hugging me for? I just need something to eat.” She had looked sideways at Mr. Parker. “I thought you’d gone to hang yourself,” she said. “But it wasn’t my fault.”

  “Maybe I’ll still do it,” said Mr. Parker, “but I think your family’s coming home.”

  “On account of me?” said Edie. “Oh, they don’t need to do that at all.”

  “I’d like to think it was on account of me,” said poor old Si Parker.

  The next day it was bed rest for Edie, at any rate until the doctor could get there, but why should she care? Gander brought up her breakfast tray herself instead of standing at the bottom of the stairs and shrieking for Jane. And on it was an envelope from Mrs. Johnson with a thin piece of paper—“Pay to order of Edith Cares,” it said, “$1,000.” Everyone had to see it. Cook came and looked at her from the door and said: “Ye done fine, Miss Edith, keeping us all from being murdered in our beds.” Mr. Parker came right in and told her that all was forgiven—he had now heard the whole story, he said—but not forgotten. He hoped he would never forget it. Good news kept pouring in. Jane reported that she was sure the mouse mother was alive; she thought she had seen her going toward the boathouse when she was on her way to feed Laza and Jocko. Hubert actually brought her a bunch of flowers and made a low bow as he handed them to her, saying: “For more than exceptional bravery beyond the call of duty!” Theodore, after contemplating the check for a good while, had said: “It won’t buy a boat, you know,” and had then offered to go partners if he could scrape up a bit more to put with what he had in the savings bank. But what was the best, the very best—no one seemed able to stay away from her room for very long. They kept coming and going and talking and telling over and over. They were all either walking up and down or sitting around when Gander came upstairs a second time, looking, said Hubert, as if she had caught the fainting disease herself.

  “Master Theodore,” she said through the door, “will you come out here a minute, sir?”

  Gander only put on her best manners when something important had happened.

  “How do they get the news before anybody else?” said Hubert. “I bet there’s something more up.”

  Theodore was gone quite a while, and the others were just going to follow him when he came back.

  “Now keep your shirts on,” he said.

  “Not unless you tell us,” said Edie.

  “They’ve just found a man’s body by the railroad tracks,” said Theodore. “They think he tried to board the up train in the night and got his neck broken when he fell. And who do you think it is?” he said directly to Edie.

  “Who?” said Edie.

  “Fat Mrs. Johnson’s butler. That guy James.”

  “Oh,” said Edie. She looked at her feet. “Oh dear, he was a very good-looking man.

  “At least,” she said, “he won’t have to go to jail.”

  Looking at her feet and the end of the bed had made her think of something far, far more important.

  “Widgy!” she said. “Oh, my poor little dog. Would you get him? He’s been shut in the boathouse all night.”

  “And tell him right away,” she called as Jane left immediately, “I’ll never, never, never, do it again.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Lou

  It was true what Mr. Parker had said. Father and Madam were coming home, but his hopeful expectations of having an easier time when they arrived were not fulfilled. He had to go away himself a week before they came in order to get ready for some more education and, instead, Mr. Carpenter, Father’s college friend, sailed down from Bay’s Landing with Penelope, his calico cat, to be with them until their honored parent should return. It was a lovely week. They were used to Mr. Carpenter’s having good ideas, as he had stayed with them before, but this time they were the best he had ever had. At least Edie thought so.

  The first was about mice. Aunt Louise’s house was infested with them, Mr. Carpenter said, and for friendship’s sake he meant to clean them out.

  “With Penelope?” asked Edie while she was being allowed to clean brass on his catboat.

  “Not at all,” said Mr. Carpenter. “She’s far too much of a cat for mice as unsophisticated as yours appear to be.” He sent Hubert and Edie in the Ford all up and down the beach villages looking for merciful traps. When they couldn’t find any, he changed his plan. “If a cat can watch a mouse hole, so can we,” he said. Edie, in the wicker chair room, was set for hours to grab the mouse he had seen go under the wainscoting. She never got one, but Mr. Carpenter did from where he was watching in the hall, and he brought it in to show her. Its little bright eyes and pricked ears stuck up out of the circle of his hand.

  “What are you going to do with him?” Edie asked.

  “I suppose we might as well let him go,” said Mr. Carpenter. “One really isn’t enough to make much difference, and he would probably like to get home.”

  Of all the men she knew—but two, Edie thought, remembering her gold football—she approved of Mr. Carpenter the most.

  The next day he asked her if she would like to get something to celebrate the travelers’ return.

  “What?” said Edie over the top of Frowzle the Runaway, which she was reading on the window seat. “If you mean clothes, no.”

  “Food,” said Mr. Carpenter, pushing his lips between his red beard and mustache. “Fooood. Have you ever been lobstering?”

  They chugged about the bay in Mr. Carpenter’s catboat with Penelope sitting on the hatch, caught up buoys with the boat hook, and then hauled in the pots. It was better than finding Mrs. Johnson’s jewels. You never knew what you might get or what Mr. Carpenter would do about it. He had a grudge against starfish.

  “Low life,” he said. “They eat with their stomachs.” And he left them to suffer on the deck. Sculpins and spider crabs he snarled at and threw as far as he could out to sea. Puffers he scratched until they blew up and then whacked to make them pop. When he had taken out the lobsters and the pot was ready to go back in the water, he told Edie to wait a jiffy and he took a small white bag out of his pocket and filled it with silver money, drew its string tight, and tied it to the buoy rope.

  “There,” he said, flinging the buoy and its cargo over the side, “I pay as I go.”

  “I thought they were your pots,” said Edie.

  “Dear me, no,” said Mr. Carpenter. “They belong to Sam Portagee, but I know him and he knows me, and between us both we allus agree. Didn’t know I could make poetry, didja? We’ve enough now. You take the helm and head for home.”

  It crossed Edie’s mind more than once that it might almost be more fun living with Mr. Carpenter than with her own family especially on his catboat.

  For the evenings Mr. Carpenter had brought fire balloons. They were to while away the time after the work of the busy world was done, he said, which is what they certainly did. So much so that Jane went off to sulk in the boat-house with the player piano, saying she could not stand such stupid people and Theodore, Hubert, and Edie never wanted to go to bed at all.

  Fire balloons came out of a flat box neatly pressed together, but when one was shaken out, it became a large real balloon with a small basket held by wires. What made Jane have a fit was that Mr. Carpenter put a big fat lighted candle in the basket while Theodore held the top of the balloon, waited until the heated air made it swell and tug at Theodore’s hand, and then said: “Whoosh! Let ’er go.” And the balloon did go, sailing off into the night.

  “With this fine seaward breeze, my dears, it’s as safe as kittens,” Mr. Carpenter had said, but still Jane would not stay to enjoy the fun.

  When one balloon sailed right for the Harlows’ across the harbor, they all raced over there at high speed in t
he Ford to let them know it was coming, and the Harlows all came out on the lawn to watch it skim over their trees and go out to sea. It made them want fire balloons themselves after Mr. Carpenter had explained that the candle would only stay lighted if the balloon was high in the air. If it came down, it would go out.

  “Just so,” said Mr. Harlow, who was a scientist. Mrs. Harlow missed it because she was visiting her sister.

  The fire balloons lasted right up until the night before Father and Madam arrived. It was really a lovely, lovely week, but they were coming and expected to be met at the five o’clock train at the Mount Harbor station by all their family, and two cars, and anyone else, Father said over the telephone, who felt strong enough to help them disembark.

  “I don’t think he can mean me,” said Mr. Carpenter. “I’m a very weak sister when it comes to carrying bags because my beard gets in the way. Hang out the ensign and I’ll come back later. Penelope needs recreation.”

  They had to say good-by to him after lunch and watch him go off in his catboat after bringing up a basket of lobsters and delivering it to Cook.