Terrible, Horrible Edie

by E. C. Spykman

  So it was Theodore who gave the orders about what they were to do. He and Hubert would drive the cars, he said, and anyone who wanted could have a ride downtown, but they would have to come back on “shanks’ mare.” The luggage when their parents had gone away, if they would take the trouble to remember, had filled both cars to the brim.

  “So just let your minds dwell on what it will be like now,” he said.

  Especially, they all knew, if Madam had bought any new hats.

  Jane and Hubert agreed it would be a pleasure to walk if there was any chance of bags being put on top of them, Edie knew she would get a ride on account of her knee, and Hood when told said that she would see that the children went and came in the goat cart.

  “A piece of unexpected nobility, I must say,” said Hubert, flicking his napkin across the table at Lou, because to make the goat go at all someone had to hold a bunch of carrots in front of his nose as well as hang on to the bridle. He was fairly big by this time, but had only had training when they had had nothing much else to do.

  “It’s because she can dress them up and they look so cute holding the reins everyone stops to speak to them,” said Jane. “Leave Lou alone, can’t you?”

  “Ten to one people are stopping to think how silly they look,” said Theodore. He did object to being the brother—even the half-brother—of sisters who out of the purest vanity made a display of themselves.

  Still, it seemed the only way to solve the problem and, anyway, Hood had made up her mind to it and there was not much to be done after that. She probably knew that if Lou’s legs got tired she would lie down on the road and pretend it was her own little bed. Even leading a goat would be better than that. Afterwards they supposed that Hood had had a premonition and their opinion of her went up by leaps and bounds.

  “She must have known how the kid was going to act,” Theodore said.

  When Madam got off the train in the largest hat she had ever had and a feather boa skirling and flying in the beach breeze, Lou did not know her at all. She stepped up to Edie from the back and said in her loudest voice:

  “Mith-thes, who ith that big woman?”

  “Shh,” said Edie, “it’s your mother.”

  “It ith not,” said Lou, and she went back to the goat cart, got in, and tried to start up the goat by slapping the reins. Hood had to hold him with both hands.

  No amount of persuasion from any of them did any good, and when Madam, after saying “Hello, everybody,” and kissing them all as she always did, took a few steps toward her, calling: “My Lou-li,” she scrambled from the front seat into the back and crouched there sucking her thumb and rolling her eyes. Father barked, “Louise!” at her, but she rolled her eyes at him too and did not move. With everyone on the station platform looking, it was so awful that even Edie’s short hair was not noticed.

  “Maybe it’s your hat,” said Hubert quickly.

  “She hasn’t much sense some of the time,” said Edie.

  “You do look awfully young,” Jane said.

  Theodore thought of mentioning the feather boa, but realized it wasn’t very polite and stopped. It must be pretty bad not to be known by your own child and that was a fact, but the worst of it was they all understood what Lou meant. Madam had come back from Paris looking so much like a lady that if you were as young as Lou, how could you tell it was your mother? Saying the right thing seemed impossible.

  “She probably thinks you’re an ogre,” said The Fair Christine.

  Well, anyhow, that wasn’t it. They stood around awkwardly, hating to see Madam looking as if someone had made her take medicine and Father helplessly pulling his mustache. Good old Hood saved them.

  “I’d better take the child home, ma’am. She’s not herself,” she said, and she turned the goat and started off. Only Lou had time to take out her thumb and say: “Yeth, I am too. Who’re you?” and put it in again.

  Madam laughed at that and so did Father, so that they all could laugh and then Father took charge. The trunks could be brought to the house this time by the station express wagon. Each of them was to put some one of the smaller bags in the Ford, leaving just room for Hubert and McLean, Madam’s maid, and everyone else could pack into the Packard. The Fair Christine could sit on her mother’s knee. On the way back they passed the goat cart and covered its passenger with dust as she deserved, but she only stared at them over the top of her thumb.

  That was the way she came to supper too, which was dinner tonight on account of Father and Madam, with Mr. Carpenter’s lobsters, corn on the cob, and baked Alaska for dessert to make a celebration. Cook and Gander had been at the door.

  “Lord love you, your honors,” said Cook. “It’s a mercy to see this day.”

  Gander just took coats and gloves and hats as fast as she could saying: “Welcome now, welcome.” And then they both went back to finish preparing the feast—with something special too for the children—which Lou could only look at sadly while Chris and the others ate it up.

  It took longer than usual in spite of its being so good on account of there being quite a few things that had happened during the summer that it was possible to tell even to Father. Not about Theodore and Mrs. Palmer, naturally, or Edie and Miss Black, or Hubert and Lady Alicia Throg in the wheelbarrow or somehow Mr. Carpenter and the fire balloons, but things got started with Edie’s hair. She had to get up and stand backwards to show it off.

  “Shocking,” said Father.

  They went on hurriedly to the hurricane.

  “Did you know we had one?” asked Jane.

  Everyone had to talk then no matter how full their mouths were of lobster.

  “Do you know what Jane and Theodore did?” said Edie. She told about the swim in from the P.D.Q.

  “Do you know what Edith did?” asked Theodore in revenge.

  “Caught a burglar,” said The Fair Christine before anyone else. But the rest of them could talk faster and told the story.

  “Jane won the tennis tournament incidentally,” said Hubert.

  “And Chris knows how to swim now.”

  “Hubert had a cruise on a yacht.”

  “He knows a Viz-count and a Viz-countess,” said Edie.

  “Wait, wait, wait,” said Father. “Go a little slower, please. Correct her somebody.” He put both hands over his ears. When he took them down, he said: “And Louise, if you don’t eat your dinner, you had better go upstairs.”

  Lou crouched down lower and didn’t move.

  It seemed a pity that Father had to notice that silly Lou. It was all because Madam kept looking at her, they supposed. Jane drew a long breath.

  “And do you know what Lou did?” she said in a voice that made it the most important thing of all. Everybody waited to hear.

  “No—what?” said Lou, taking out her thumb.

  “She,” said Jane, “caught crabs.”

  Lou nodded hard. “Yeth,” she said. “I caught thum and I killed thum.”

  “Lou-li,” said Madam quickly, “how brave!”

  Lou gave her a quick look.

  “Ith she my mother, Jane?”

  “Yeth,” said Madam. “Gracious, children, it’s catching.”

  There was so much laughter no one minded her excuses, and besides they were watching to see what Lou would do. The silly thing only went back to sucking her thumb. All of a sudden Father couldn’t stand it, Hood was sent for, and Lou was taken away. Her chair had to go with her because she would not let it go. Then there was silence. And, as Theodore said later, a frightful time was had by all until, after coffee in the chintz sitting room, Madam asked if the trunks had come. Hubert went to see.

  “Yeth,” he said to try to cheer things up. “They’ve been dumped on the front stepth.”

  “Theodore, you and Hubert bring the smallest one in here,” said Madam, smiling, “and tell Cook and Gander I want to see them.”

  No one was expecting presents and no one was looking for them, but when their stepmother began taking out tissue paper
after tissue paper from the smallest trunk, it was impossible not to get excited and stare. The first things were for Cook and Gander—rosaries that had seen the Pope and been blessed by him and after that gloves from France. Then the maids could retire. For Theodore and Hubert, hand-knit sweaters from England. Jane’s present was two tall bright blue Egyptian cats for book ends; dresses from Holland covered with flowers for Chris and Lou.

  They each liked what they got and said so gratefully.

  While Jane helped Chris put on her new dress, Madam said: “Now, Edie,” and Edie stepped forward and took her box, quite a big one. She took it to the window seat to open, and the others came after her to look. What they saw when she lifted the cover was a mass of bright red. Edie picked up an end. It seemed to be a pair of red trousers.

  “For me?” she said, looking at her stepmother.

  Madam smiled. “Yes,” she said, “if you like them.”

  Edie turned back the top layer and found a blue jacket and a French cap underneath.

  “It’s a beret,” said Theodore. “Perhaps you’d like to know.”

  “I know what it is,” said Jane suddenly. “I’ve seen a picture of it in The National Geographic. It’s a French boy’s fishing suit, isn’t it?”

  “Phweeee!” said Hubert.

  Father came over to look, too. “Elsie,” he said, “haven’t you gone too far?”

  In the middle of the blue jacket lay a small package that Edie was pushing with her finger. It was labeled “Cigarettes.” Underneath the label it said in much smaller letters “Chocolate.” As if that mattered! She took the top of the box and shut it over the costume quickly. Then she put it under her arm and darted through the surrounding circle of bodies, arms, and legs to where her stepmother was sitting. She stood in front of her as stiff as a soldier.

  “Anything you want me to do for you for the rest of my life, I’ll do,” she said, and walked out of the room.

  They could hear her going upstairs one at a time on account of her knee, and while they were again admiring their own presents, there were soft thudding noises in the room above. She came down even before the tissue paper was all picked up. The beret was on the side of her head, a handkerchief was at her neck, and there was a cigarette at the side of her mouth.

  “Really, Elsie!” said Father.

  “You know, children,” said Madam, “that these presents are from your father as well as from me.”

  For once in his life Father was helpless. The boys and Jane cheered, and to everyone’s surprise there was a man’s cheer from the hall.

  “It’s Harry,” said Madam, getting up.

  “You old rascal,” said Father. “Where did you come from and how did you get in?”

  “Every door wide open,” said Mr. Carpenter, “so I used my feet.”

  The cheer for Edie went on into a cheer for Mr. Carpenter, and he had to come in, see the presents, say what he had done with Penelope, and promise to stay another week.

  “No, no, no,” he said. “I only came back to say howdydo and see if I could get a one-man crew for a short cruise Penelope and I are taking to Minimet Bight.” He looked Edie up and down in her fisher suit. “It seems like I’ll get one with no trouble at all.”

  Edie ate up her cigarette quickly.

  “You mean me?” she said.

  Mr. Carpenter nodded and continued to inspect her over his glasses. Edie swept off her beret and made him a bow.

  “Avec plaisir,” she said.

  Although it delighted the family and Mr. Carpenter too, Edie herself was not so pleased when she went up to bed soon after, and as she lay on her back trying to stay awake, she began wishing she could do something about that foolish Lou. The reason was that so much good luck all at the same time made her feel queer. Luck always evened up, Theodore said. Suppose she turned out to be a Jonah on Mr. Carpenter’s catboat! If she could only fix Lou, that would take off the jinx. But Hood had said she was worse than ever. She had come in while Edie and Jane were undressing.

  “I can’t do a thing with that child,” she had said. “Why don’t you young ladies try? She keeps saying you’re her mother, Miss Edith. I can’t stop her.”

  “Maybe you better be her mother,” said Jane, “and see what she does then.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Edie had said.

  But maybe it wasn’t a bad idea. She could put on one of Madam’s dresses and a big hat, and Madam could put on ... Oh what? She didn’t know. There wasn’t anybody in the world the least like her. Edie gave up that idea.

  She had another quite soon. Dogs, she thought, know people by the way they smell. Madam smelled of violets. Maybe she could make a “drag” of scent from Lou’s room to her mother’s and let her follow it like a foxhound. Could foxhound puppies, though, follow a trail or did they have to learn? It wouldn’t do any harm to try at least.

  Edie found she could not stay awake one minute longer. She wiggled her toes to feel Widgy at the end of her bed, put one hand down to feel the French trousers on the floor beside her and one hand up to touch the cigarettes on the window sill, and was asleep almost before she felt them.

  It was one of those nights that only seemed a second until morning, and Edie was sure she had just closed her eyes when she had to open them again because there was a voice almost in her face.

  “Mith-thes,” it said, “are you awake?”

  “Yes, I am,” she answered quickly, but amazed that the sun was streaming in. It must be nearly breakfast because Hood would never let the children out until Father could be heard blowing his nose in the bathroom. She must see if her plan would work as quickly as she could. She slipped out of bed.

  “You stay here, Lou,” she said, “and take care of Widge. I’ll be right back.” She plumped Lou into her bed, told Widgy to stay behind, and went to knock at her stepmother’s door after she had listened for Father’s bath water.

  More luck, just more and more luck. No one answered. She was able to go into the empty room and snatch up Madam’s bottle of toilet water without any explanation at all. Madam must have gone to see the children just after Lou had come in to see her, and Madam was still there, talking to Hood and Chris probably. Edie was back in her own room like lightning.

  “What are you doing?” said Jane suddenly, sitting up on her elbows.

  “Nothing,” said Edie. “Got a handkerchief?”

  “No,” said Jane, flopping back. “I wish you didn’t always have to be so lively in the morning.”

  Hurry, hurry, thought Edie. Father would be out of the bathroom in a moment. She’d have to use a clean sock.

  This she got out of the bureau drawer and soused it with the toilet water. She waved it a little to get the air smelling properly and then dangled it in front of Lou. “Smell,” she said.

  Lou smelled hard and fell back on the pillows with her hands on top of her nose.

  “Go away,” she said, “I don’t like that big smell.”

  “What does it smell like?” said Edie. “Can you think? Try it! Come on, try.”

  “Pigth,” said Lou, from under her hands.

  “No!” said Edie. “That’s not the right thing. I’ll hold it further away. Now take a sniff, just a little sniff.”

  Lou drew in her breath through her hands.

  “Mith-thes,” she said, “do I smell a skunk?”

  “Oh, you old Lou,” said Edie, exasperated, “you’re no good. Get out of my bed.”

  “No,” said Lou, squirming down further.

  “Yes!” said Edie, and she pulled off the bedclothes.

  “I hate you,” said Lou, getting up and trying to hit her with a fat fist, “and I want my mother, my real mother. You’re just an old piece of skunk yourthelf.”

  “Go and find her then,” said Edie. “She’s in her room.”

  “I will do it,” said Lou.

  As she got to the door, Edie saw Madam coming by. She had on her soft long dressing gown, and her hair was done up in a loose knot at the back of her
head. But she wouldn’t notice Lou. She swept on by and into her own room. Edie had to follow them both. She didn’t see what happened, she was a little too late, but Lou was standing leaning against her mother’s knees.

  “Do you know who this ith,” she said when she saw Edie. She patted her mother’s knee. “Ith my own mother, and she smelth good.”

  “Edie, darling,” said Madam, “you’re a wonder.”

  The cruise started about eleven o’clock, and Edie went down the path to the shore with Widgy at her heels. He had been granted what Mr. Carpenter called “a special dispensation.”

  “If Penelope eats him up,” he added, “I take no responsibility.”

  Edie just laughed. Widge wasn’t very brave, but he could take care of a cat any old time. Anyway, it was hard not to laugh at everything. She had fixed the luck. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. There was a fair wind. She had on her red trousers and blue jacket. Her cigarettes were in her pocket. And she was missing a week of school. How could everything be better? Maybe she and Mr. Carpenter, after they got going, would decide to sail around the world.

  ELIZABETH CHOATE SPYKMAN (1896–1965) was born and raised in Southborough, Massachusetts, and was the fourth child in a family of four boys and two girls. Following her graduation from the Westover School in 1914, she traveled widely and adventurously, spending a year in Germany and another in England. In the 1920s, she wrote for The Atlantic Monthly, describing a journey to the South Seas by tramp steamer and life in small-town New England, among other subjects, but it was not until 1955 that she published a book, A Lemon and a Star, the first of four novels about the Cares family, which include The Wild Angel (1957), Terrible, Horrible Edie (1960), and Edie on the Warpath (1966). Elizabeth Choate Spykman was married to the co-founder of Yale’s Department of International Relations, Nicholas J. Spykman, with whom she had two daughters.