In folks who want more than they need.
As secret bakers we must strive
To keep our Goosely quest alive!”
“But what does it mean?” I asked.
“Just that every family has its no-goodniks and that ours is no exception.”
“You mean Raveneece?”
Aunt Doris raised an eyebrow. “Patience, kiddo. There’s a lot to tell before we get to her.”
I folded my hands in my lap and tried to look patient.
“Now, in the old days, everyone was a poet and rhymes were as common as bird chatter. Peddlers recited them to advertise their wares. Farmers bellowed them to call their herds. Shepherds sang them to bind new lambs to the flock. Cheese makers created them while waiting for their cheddars to ripen.”
I grinned as I imagined a place where rhyming was almost like talking. “I think I would have liked the old days.”
“Maybe—but it wasn’t all fun.” Aunt Doris shook her head and sighed. “Before Mother Goose began baking, she tried making her way as a poet. Even in a place where everyone was a rhymer, her verse stood out. Her rhymes could put babies to sleep and encourage rambunctious children to be good. They criticized unfair laws and ridiculed crooked rulers. But almost all of her rhymes made people laugh and raised their spirits. And in tough times, that was a lot. The townsfolk often gathered round as she planted her garden or tended her geese, just to hear her recite. Those who could afford it left her a few coins, though it was hardly enough to survive on.”
“At least she had goose eggs to eat,” I said.
“Right, kiddo. Though she had to sell most of the eggs in order to help support her sisters.”
“Sisters?”
Aunt Doris put a finger to her lips. I rested my chin on my fist.
“One day a resourceful young printer came to town,” she continued. “He offered to put Mother Goose’s rhymes in a book and share the profits with her. So she recited away—and he wrote them down.”
“I guess she got rich,” I interrupted. “Everyone knows her rhymes.”
“Now they do, kiddo. But this was back when there weren’t very many people who could read—or afford to buy a book just for entertainment. Mostly she gave them away.”
“She must have been disappointed,” I said.
“Well, perhaps. But there was one thing Mother Goose loved almost as much as rhyming.” Aunt Doris winked at me. “She traded her last few books for flour, sugar, raisins, ginger, cinnamon, nutmeg—whatever tasty bits and bites she could find. Then she started a bakeshop in her woodshed. Before long, her cakes became known as the moistest, lightest, most scrumptious anywhere. People saved their pennies all year in order to buy one of her cakes for a special occasion. The fame of those cakes grew quickly. Soon they were in such demand, it became too much for her. And for Dandelion, her favorite goose, too.”
“Dandelion’s a cute name,” I said. “But why would the goose care?”
Aunt Doris leaned close to my ear. “Because Dandy’s eggs were one of Mother Goose’s secret ingredients. Those eggs made the cakes light, receptive, and—”
“Wait,” I interrupted again, “what do you mean by receptive?”
“I mean ‘open’—in this case, open to magic.”
“What magic?”
“Hold your horses, kiddo! I’m getting there.”
I pulled on a pair of invisible horse reins, and we both grinned.
“To cut down on her workload, Mother Goose decided to bake cakes only for birthdays,” said Aunt Doris. “At least her customers had those just once a year. Soon a strange thing began to happen. Everyone who got a cake from her had a birthday wish come true.”
“How’d she do it?” I asked.
“Well, early each morning, she collected fresh goose eggs. Once she’d decided on the type of cakes she’d be baking that day, she foraged in her cupboard for the ingredients.”
So far it sounded pretty ordinary. I must have sighed loudly, because Aunt Doris raised an eyebrow at me before she continued. “And when it was time for Mother Goose to mix her batter, she kept one hand over her heart.”
“Oh.” I pressed my left hand to my chest and used my right to mix an imaginary batter. Aunt Doris couldn’t resist a smile. “Then what?” I asked. Her smile shrunk.
“Then she leaned over the bowl and whispered a rhyme into the batter.”
“But what did she say?”
Aunt Doris cracked her gum. “Magic isn’t magic if its secret isn’t kept! Besides, you’re not a Goose Lady yet.”
“I bet the combination of Dandy’s eggs and Mother Goose’s rhymes made it happen,” I mused, “like how accidentally spilling chocolate chips into cookie batter created the first chocolate chip cookies.” I thought for a moment. “But didn’t those wishing cakes attract even more customers?”
“You’re right about that,” Aunt Doris agreed. “Once people realized her cakes contained magic, Mother Goose’s tiny bakeshop—which wasn’t much more than a wood-burning oven, some bowls, and a slab of tree trunk for a table—was swamped with orders. People lied about their birthdays or the number of children they had in order to get extra cakes. They told their friends and relatives in other towns about the amazing cakes. Then it got worse. The greediest people—those who wished only for riches and power—began to scheme against Mother Goose.”
“Did Mother Goose ever refuse to bake anyone a cake?” I asked.
“She tried, kiddo. But those crummy crooks began threatening her. The sheriff warned that he’d lock her in jail if she didn’t sell him all her cakes. Thieves and thugs threatened to throw her in the river if she didn’t turn over every crumb in the bakery. Then word of her wish-granting cakes reached King Cole himself, and he sent her an invitation:
YOU ARE HEREBY INVITED TO BECOME MY ROYAL BAKER
ARRIVE AT THE CASTLE, FORTHWITH
OR . . .
BE LOCKED IN THE DUNGEON FOREVER AND A DAY
SEE YOU SOON!
“That wasn’t an invitation, it was an order,” I squawked.
“Yep. That’s why Mother Goose closed up shop. She and Dandy disappeared just before King Cole’s soldiers arrived for her. No one knew where she went.”
“What happened? Did she keep on baking?”
Aunt Doris drew a line along the purple tablecloth with her finger. “Unfortunately, that’s where the trail of history grows as cold as old porridge.”
“But what about her mission to keep hope alive? Why would anyone bother to wish if they didn’t know they had a wishing cake?”
Aunt Doris smiled as if she’d been waiting for me to ask. “To this day, people still make wishes on birthday cakes, kiddo. Why do you suppose that is?”
I thought about my own birthdays. After we’d lost Skye, I’d wished for a baby brother each year until we finally got Sammy. Could it be I’d gotten a wishing cake? Then I realized it didn’t matter.
“People make wishes because they have hope,” I said, thinking aloud. “And when one wish comes true, it gives hope to others that theirs might, too. It’s like a chain.”
“And you, kiddo, are part of that chain,” said Aunt Doris. “Many of Mother Goose’s descendants are. There are groups of Goose Ladies all over the world, baking wishing rhymes into cakes and spreading hope.”
“Isn’t it amazing, though,” I said as birthday memories filled my mind, “I always thought blowing out the candles was what made a wish come true. Everyone does! No one ever thinks the magic is in the cake.”
“That’s because as long as there have been cakes, there’ve been candles, kiddo. To the ancients, candles represented the light of life. Some people believed their smoke carried wishes to the gods or kept evil spirits away from children. In their own way, they represent hope, too.” Aunt Doris grinned at me. “And because people think blowing out the candles is what makes wishes come true, the magic in our cakes remains a secret.”
That kind of bugged me. “Don’t you or the other Goose L
adies ever wish people knew you’d made their dreams come true?”
“Oh no! Our lives are mostly peaceful these days. We’re not the only ones who keep hope alive in the world, but it’s enough to know we do our part.”
As if she were done telling secrets, she opened her purse and fished inside. “Ta-da!” she said, whipping out her really red lipstick like she’d just done a magic trick. She began touching up her lips.
I was pretty sure she was trying to avoid telling me what I wanted to know about most. But I wasn’t giving up. “What about Raveneece? You still haven’t told me about her.”
She shot me a sideways glance. “Are you sure you want to know?”
The question dropped into my gut like a rotten peanut, but I nodded yes anyway.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Ye Olde Kid Sisters
Aunt Doris’s next rhyme made me want to hide under the table.
“Open up the mystery
Of Mother Goose’s history.
Four selfish girls behave like snakes
Demanding to have wishing cakes.
Their hearts are full of avarice
And in their minds is nastiness
But none expects to pay the price
Of acting not so very nice!”
“There are an awful lot of baddies in this story,” I muttered.
Aunt Doris patted my hand. “Great gifts never come without problems. Unfortunately, Mother Goose had four problems—her kid sisters.
“When they were little, the girls would climb up on stools as their big sister worked, listening to her rhymes and—when they thought she wasn’t looking—dipping their fingers in the batter. Of course, they’d make wishes as they licked them off. But Mother Goose didn’t mind. Her sisters only wished for small things like kittens and seashells. She loved them so much, she never begrudged them those things.”
I squirmed in my chair. I was thinking of all the time I’d been spending with Destiny and my new friends lately. “Mother Goose was a really nice big sister. I don’t think I’ve been as good to Sammy.”
“Maybe Mother Goose was too generous, kiddo. Maybe that’s what spoiled them. As her sisters grew older, they grew greedier. They tried to convince her to give them entire cakes that they could trade at the market for the fine things they craved—leather boots, pearl earrings, legs of lamb, kegs of jam, fancy carriages, fine mares. . . . Oh, their list went on and on!”
“Pixie! Pixie! We’ve been looking all over for you!”
I glanced over my shoulder. Alexa and Lucy were waving from across the room.
“Oops, time for me to go, kiddo,” Aunt Doris said when she saw them heading our way. The light above us flickered and she began to dissolve around the edges. “Here, take these to share with your friends.” She nudged the plate of cookies toward me.
I stared at them for a moment. “But don’t you have to distribute them randomly?”
“Cookies are just for fun, kiddo. Sometimes we make them with a touch of leftover cake batter to give them a wisp of magic.” Aunt Doris winked at me.
“Thanks.” I had so many more questions. Like if Sister Goose’s Cautionary Verse for Brats had anything to do with Mother Goose’s sisters—and if Raveneece was one of their descendants. But Aunt Doris was becoming fuzzy really fast.
“Take care, kiddo.”
“Wait!” I yelped. “Where are you going? When will I see you again?”
“I’ve got to consult with the senior Goose Ladies. When I return, I’ll be able to advise you. In the meantime, be brave. And don’t let Raveneece near Destiny. That gosling is one of Dandy’s descendants!”
“I’ll keep her safe, Aunt Doris,” I promised. I wished I could hug her, but she’d become like a handful of glitter someone had tossed in the air. And then even that was gone.
“You’re very powerful, Pixie Piper,” her voice whispered in my ear. “Always remember that.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Ye Olde Unhappy Ending
I ran over to meet my friends before they got to the cookie table.
“Sorry we took so long. The bathroom had a big line,” said Lucy, crossing her eyes as if the wait had been painful.
“What did you do while we were gone?” Alexa asked.
“I got us the last of the peanut butter wish cookies from that table back there.” I opened the purple napkin I’d folded over the cookies. “You have to make your wish before the first bite. And don’t tell anyone what you wished for or it won’t come true.”
“Ha-ha!” Alexa said. But she and Lucy each took one and closed their eyes for a few seconds before taking a nibble.
“Yum, that was good.” Alexa licked a fingertip.
“Yeah. Why aren’t you eating yours?” Lucy mumbled through a mouthful of crumbs.
“I already had two while you were in the bathroom. I’m going to keep this one for Sammy.” I folded the last cookie up in the napkin and shoved it in my pocket. I couldn’t tell them I wanted to save it in case I needed a little extra luck.
“C’mon, let’s try Ring the Bottle,” said Alexa, hooking an arm through mine. Then she grabbed Lucy and led us off.
I let myself be pulled along, although what I really wanted to do was go home and check on Destiny. I didn’t understand how Aunt Doris managed to be a secret Goose Lady inside and a regular person outside. (Well, sort of regular.)
Ring the Bottle had a long line, maybe because it looked easy. All you had to do was toss a ring around the neck of one of the old-fashioned soda bottles lined up on a table only a short distance away. Or maybe it was popular because the two ladies who were running it were making everyone laugh. A short, round one with a name tag that said SALLY was taking tickets. Every few minutes, she shouted:
“Three tries, three tries
Get one on and win a prize!”
Ginnie, the other woman, was in charge of giving out the rings. She gave each player a nickname like Sport, Champ, Ace, and Killer. When she called someone “Kiddo,” I did a double take. But she wasn’t looking at me.
“I just want to be called Next,” said Alexa.
A sharp tapping sound made me turn around. Mrs. Green, Sage’s mom, was marching across the room. The smile on her face was so tight it looked as if it had been sewn on. But I could hear anger in the clicking of her spiky heels as she headed toward the Paint a Mug booth.
Grandma Gloria opened her arms when she saw her. Sage’s mom looked as if she were leaning in for a kiss. But I think she whispered something instead—something awful. Because Grandma Gloria’s smile disappeared.
I spotted my mom leaving her post at the ticket-selling booth and hurrying over to them. That’s when I got off the line.
“Pixie!” Alexa called, but I was already running to Paint a Mug and I didn’t stop. As I got closer, the voices became loud enough to hear:
“You’re too old to be shaking your booty like some teenager, Mother! I insist that you give up the play.”
“I can still make my own decisions, Meredith. Why can’t you understand that I’m having fun?”
“Having fun doesn’t have to mean acting ridiculous, Mother. I can’t bear to watch you making a fool of yourself.”
“Then please don’t bother attending the play.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t! And don’t expect to see Sage there, either.”
“Meredith, Gloria, please. Let’s discuss this. I’m sure we can work it out,” Mom said.
But Sage’s mother stormed off toward the Pitch a Penny booth where Sage and Gray were standing side by side. Sage’s fingers covered her mouth, and her eyes were wide and unblinking.
“Sage, we’re leaving!” Mrs. Green snapped.
Then someone screamed. It was my mother. “Call an ambulance! I think Gloria is having a heart attack!”
Instantly the fun fair turned into a disaster like the kind I’d only seen on the news. An ambulance arrived. Emergency technicians and nurses surrounded Grandma Gloria before she was rolled
out on a stretcher. Sage and her mother followed.
On the way home, my friends and I sat in the backseat of Mom’s car. None of us were talking, although we were holding hands. I was trying to concentrate on hope—to write a poem about it. But I couldn’t even think of a first line.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Ye Olde Knockout
I was the last one into the kitchen the next morning. My poor mom looked panda-like, with big dark rings around her eyes. I guess she’d been up all night worrying. Dad stood behind her, rubbing her back in soothing circles.
“Did you hear anything about Sage’s grandma yet?” I asked as I sat down for breakfast. Then I poured orange juice into my cereal. I guess I hadn’t slept so well myself.
“Uh-oh,” said Sammy.
“I called the hospital this morning, but they could only say that Gloria is still in intensive care,” answered Mom.
Dad’s slippers scuffed the floor as he went to get me a new bowl.
“That’s okay, Daddy. I don’t mind eating it this way.” I was thinking intensive care meant Grandma Gloria was still alive. That was hopeful, wasn’t it?
Before I left for school, I went into the mudroom to feed Destiny and change the newspapers in her pen. Dad and I had a joke that she was the best-read gosling in the world. I held her in my arms with her head under my chin. Her feathers felt as soft as breath on my neck. It was how we always said good-bye. But when I put her back in her pen, she honked in protest. She’d never done that before.
I turned on Mom’s mix tape to cheer her up. I wished I could put the little red cowgirl hat on her, too. It always made her happy. But Sweet Tooth had probably eaten it. I hoped it gave that fox a stomachache.
“We’ll play after school, Des,” I promised her. “Stay safe while I’m gone.”
Gray was sitting on the ground with his back against the bus stop signpost when I arrived. His knees were bent and he had his head in his arms.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Are you sick?”
He looked at me with one squinty eye. “Sage called me in the middle of the night. We were on the phone for hours. She wouldn’t let me hang up.”
The Secret Destiny of Pixie Piper Page 10