The Penderwicks at Last

by Jeanne Birdsall

  Lydia went back to listening. Alice’s mom was asking Mrs. Tifton if she meant to sleep at Arundel. Lydia hadn’t even considered that unpleasant possibility. But on this topic, at least, she and Mrs. Tifton were in agreement.

  “No, I’m staying with Mimi, but that doesn’t mean these people can move in.”

  “You understand Jeffrey invited the Penderwicks to stay here,” said Cagney, “and that we’re responsible to him now, don’t you?”

  “Yes, and I also understand that Jeffrey pays you out of a trust I set up.” She dropped her voice. “Maybe we should talk about this in private.”

  Both Penderwicks would be delighted to be separated from Mrs. Tifton, but they needed to maintain possession of the kitchen, with its doorway down to Feldspar and Sonata. Lydia was wondering how to say so without actually mentioning the dogs, when Batty spoke up. The possible risk to the dogs had given her both courage and a foolproof way to evacuate the enemy.

  “I think one of my spiders has escaped.” She lifted a lid and looked anxiously inside. “The extra-large one.”

  Mrs. Tifton was immediately on her feet, determined on a speedy exit with Cagney and Natalie behind her. On their way out, Mrs. Tifton’s phone rang—it was Jeffrey—and she began berating him in a voice so angry that Batty went white again and Lydia covered her ears until the woman was outside and no longer within hearing range.

  “Did you see her face?” Alice did the pickle face again. “Was I right? Didn’t I tell you she makes things more exciting? Jack’s going to be jealous he missed it.”

  “This isn’t exciting—it’s awful,” said Batty. “She’s screaming at Jeffrey.”

  “Mom and Dad will calm her down. They’ve had lots of practice.”

  “Then they must be miracle workers. Lydia, make sure the dogs are okay.”

  “I will, but can Mrs. Tifton force us to leave?”

  “Dad and Mom won’t let that happen,” said Alice. “They said so on the way over.”

  “I really want to stay,” said Lydia.

  “Don’t think about that right now,” said Batty. “Go find Feldspar and Sonata, but don’t bring them upstairs until I give you the signal.”

  Alice followed Lydia down the steps into the cellar. There were no dogs in sight, just large shadowy spaces that led through rough arches into other large shadowy spaces, all of them eerily empty. Lydia wondered if the spookiness in the mansion originated here. She’d learned in school that heat rises. What about spookiness?

  “Why is it so empty?” she asked Alice. “Did one of the husbands steal everything out of here, too?”

  “Dad says there’s never been much down here. Too damp and moldy.”

  “Yuck.” Lydia shook off images of mold growing and mutating, becoming sentient beings capable of making forays upstairs to, for example, the bedroom where Lydia was going to sleep. She considered giving this to Ben for a movie idea but decided not to—since she’d end up as a character being killed by mold. Worse, part of the movie would be shot down here, and she hoped this would be her last visit ever.

  “Mom said you can be an eastern towhee.” Alice whistled three notes—two quick ones, and a third that went up the scale and trilled. Ly-di-AH-AH-AH-AH. “Do you like it?”

  Lydia liked it very much—her feet itched to dance along. “But, Alice, I only need a birdcall if you want us to be friends. You didn’t seem sure before.”

  “I had to think about it. It wasn’t just my parents telling me to be nice to you. Before Jack left, he said you and I could be friends, and I’m tired of him telling me what to do.”

  “My brother does that, too.” Though Ben’s bossiness had less to do with Lydia’s friends and more to do with dying in his movies.

  “But now I’m sure,” said Alice, smiling her funny crooked smile. “Forget dopey Jack.”

  “Friends, then,” said Lydia. “Pinky promise.”

  They intertwined their little fingers, swearing lifetime fealty, then turned their attention to finding the dogs. The most logical strategy would have been to split up and go in opposite directions, but because neither wanted to be alone in those creepy caverns, they stuck together, moving cautiously from one dank space to another, whistling and calling for Feldspar and Sonata. When they came upon one of Lydia’s discarded aprons, and then another, they knew they were on the right track. A little farther, and they found Sonata asleep on the third apron.

  Lydia prodded her awake. “Whine, Sonata. Feldspar will come for you, if not for me.”

  Alice helpfully whined to show her how it was done, and here came Feldspar, trotting toward them, proudly carrying—

  “An ax!” cried Lydia. “Where did he get an ax?”

  “Maybe Mrs. Tifton used it to kill some of her husbands, and then bury them down here.” Alice scrutinized the ax for evidence.

  “I don’t think she’s strong enough to kill someone with an ax,” said Lydia hopefully, and tried to take the ax away from Feldspar. But it was his prize and he wasn’t letting go.

  “She could have poisoned them and used the ax to chop them into pieces. Look right there.” Alice pointed at the blade. “I bet that’s blood.”

  “Just rust, I think.” Lydia gave up the tug-of-war with Feldspar. She could possibly trick him into trading it if she could find his feather duster, but there was no way she was going deeper into the gloom in search of an old feather duster. It would have to lie down here for the remainder of time.

  “The husbands could now be ghosts, waiting for their revenge,” said Alice. “We could search for them, Lydia.”

  “But what would we do if we found any?”

  “I know tae kwon do.” Alice demonstrated.

  Alice’s tae kwon do looked more enthusiastic than fierce, and Lydia wasn’t sure how effective it would be against ghosts. But here came Batty’s “ALL CLEAR!” echoing through the cellar. No time for ghost-hunting now, with or without tae kwon do.

  The girls each took hold of one dog and coaxed them back to the staircase, picking up the aprons as they went. By the time they got there, the weight of the ax was becoming a problem for Feldspar, until he was doing more dragging than carrying. Still, he wouldn’t give it up. The clanging and banging he made on the steps disgusted even Sonata.

  The Pelletiers were back inside, without Mrs. Tifton—she was gone for now—and Batty was on the phone with Rosalind.

  “It was horrible hearing Mrs. T. shout at Jeffrey—poor guy, trying to have a life in Germany with his mother screeching at him across the Atlantic….Yes, I’m still scared of her….Wait, I’ll ask her. Lydia, you’re scared of Mrs. Tifton, too, right?”

  “Not really.”

  “You’re not?” Thunderstruck, Batty went back to the phone. “She says she isn’t, but I think she’s in shock.”

  “I’m not in shock, Batty,” said Lydia. “Tell Rosy.”

  But Batty had hung up and spotted Feldspar. “Why does he have an ax?”

  “We think Mrs. Tifton used it to chop up her husbands,” said Alice. “And buried them in the cellar, where their ghosts still roam at night.”

  “Alice, sweetheart, we’ve had so many discussions about ghosts,” said Natalie.

  “But, Mom, they could be real. No one can prove they’re not.”

  Even Batty couldn’t convince Feldspar to release the ax.

  “We’ll have to get him out of the mansion,” she said. “I don’t want him scratching furniture. Especially with Mrs. Tifton roaming around.”

  While Natalie and Cagney were almost certain that Mrs. Tifton wouldn’t be back that day, they couldn’t guess what would happen next, only that Jeffrey would do his best to calm her down.

  “You should be okay sleeping here,” added Natalie. “She wouldn’t come over in the middle of the night.”

  “She could, though,” said
Alice. “She’s unpredictable.”

  Lydia’s concern about sleeping in Arundel Hall was less about Mrs. Tifton and more about her dead husbands, but she was saved from having to face any ghosts that night, at least. Batty insisted they stay out of the mansion while there was any possibility of a Mrs. Tifton reappearance. Cagney and Natalie invited them to sleep at the cottage, but when Batty insisted on not imposing, they suggested Cagney’s old apartment in the carriage house. This Batty gratefully accepted.

  “It’s been empty for a long time, and will probably need some cleaning,” said Cagney.

  “We’re willing to clean, aren’t we, Lyds?” said Batty.

  More cleaning was definitely not Lydia’s first choice, but it would be worth it not to sleep with the ghosts. She put her three aprons back on. She was ready.

  AFTER THE MANSION, THE carriage house apartment felt deliciously cozy and human-sized. The living area had just one piece of furniture, an ancient couch. Off to the left was an alcove for sleeping, and a tiny kitchen. The bathroom was tinier still, and also pleasingly ancient, with a claw-foot bathtub and a blurry mirror. The toilet had a pull chain for flushing. Lydia had never before seen a pull chain—she and Alice took turns pulling it just for the experience, and to hear the gurgling rush of water.

  Batty was more interested in the spider colonization, which went far beyond what they’d found in the mansion.

  “Generations upon generations of them,” she said. “Go away, Lydia, until I’ve helped them emigrate. Neither they nor I want you screaming and bounding around like a lunatic.”

  “It was just that Godzilla one.” Lydia didn’t want to help with the spiders—she just felt the need to re-establish that she wasn’t a complete coward.

  “And I’ve already spotted a few more Godzillas, so you should leave. Alice, will you take her?”

  “Come on, Lydia,” said Alice. “I’ll show you one of my secret places.”

  Alice wasn’t kidding about the secret part. Before they set out, she made Lydia shut her eyes and keep them shut. This wasn’t so difficult when they were leaving the apartment, or while they were still on the paved driveway. But once they reached the grass, Alice spun her around three times, until Lydia was not only blind but dizzy, and had lost her sense of direction.

  “Take my hand,” said Alice. “I’ll lead you.”

  “How far are we going?”

  “I can’t tell you, but, honest, you’ll like it.”

  Walking along with her eyes closed, Lydia concentrated on her other senses. She felt changes in temperature as they crossed through shadows; she caught whiffs of roses at one point and lavender at another, and heard frogs croaking. At first the frogs sounded far away, but as they got louder—and closer—Lydia found it frustrating not to see them.

  “I want to open my eyes,” she said.

  “It’s just the frogs at the lily pond,” said Alice.

  “Please.”

  “One glance, that’s all.”

  Lydia opened her eyes to a serene pond, blue from the reflected sky and dotted with round green lily pads, floating plates for white flowers. Hopping among the pads were the frogs themselves, their tongues darting out at passing insects. Lydia would have been happy to stay for hours, but Alice made her close her eyes, then spun her around again. This time Lydia didn’t get dizzy, but she did start giggling, which can be almost as disorienting, particularly when the person leading you by the hand is also giggling, and walking in not exactly a straight line.

  Still, onward they went without any disasters. Alice did try to scare Lydia by shouting “GHOST!” but everyone knows that ghosts don’t come out in the sunshine, so that didn’t work. Then Lydia yelled “GHOST!” and that did scare Alice for a minute, because she hadn’t yet heard Lydia shout and didn’t know how loud she could be.

  Soon after that, the sounds changed for Lydia. The croaking frogs had faded away, and now there were more insects—crickets, mostly, and, with her heightened senses, Lydia could hear humming bees. Then the feel of the ground changed. The girls were no longer on smooth lawn—they were crushing small stubbles of growing things. Lydia could now guess where she was, and when she brushed up against high grass, she was certain. Alice had led her into a meadow, the one at the back of the estate.

  They stopped.

  “From here on, you have to move carefully,” said Alice. “Be like the lightest of winds, leaving no trace of your passage.”

  “It would be easier to be like the wind if I could see where I’m going.”

  “If you look now, you’ll spoil the surprise. Keep your eyes closed and think like the wind. Swoosh, swoosh.”

  “Swoosh, swoosh.” Lydia made her best attempt at thinking like the wind, imagining being midway through a graceful leap. “I’m ready.”

  They left the path and pushed their way into the meadow itself, a wild place—the Argentinian pampas, the Russian steppes, the Serengeti savannas! The grasses brushed and clung, and flitting bugs protested this invasion of their inner sanctum.

  “Two more steps,” said Alice. “Okay. Now just stand there, and keep your eyes closed.”

  There was an interval full of crackling noises—as if Alice was battling a plastic bag—and then another of her muttering to herself. Then she must have sat down, because her voice was coming from somewhere around Lydia’s knees.

  “Lift your right foot,” she told Lydia. “Good. Now put your right foot down and pick up your left. Good. And now you can lie down.”

  Another thing that isn’t easy to do with your eyes closed is gracefully lower yourself to the ground. Lydia ended up going down onto her hands and knees, wriggling into a sitting position, and then, with Alice’s guidance, stretching out. The ground was more comfortable than she would have imagined—she seemed to be lying on cloth rather than smashed meadow.

  “Open your eyes,” said Alice. “This is my secret place.”

  They were in a nest carved out of the meadow, just large enough for the two of them. Underneath them was a thick blanket, above them were tiny floating seeds that shimmered in the sunlight, and above the seeds was nothing but sky, the girls’ private patch of vivid blue. This was a flawless secret place, exquisite and absolute.

  “I’m honored to be here,” said Lydia, feeling solemn.

  “You should be. I keep the blanket in this bag, so it won’t get wet.” Alice picked up a corner of the blanket to show Lydia the plastic bag underneath. There was also a metal box with a tight lid. “And here’s food, in case of emergency.”

  Lydia didn’t want to ask what kind of emergency Alice had in mind, just in case it involved more dead husbands and ghosts. But she was happy enough to eat a granola bar out of the metal box.

  Now small rustlings started up, as the animals alarmed by the girls’ passage decided it was once again safe to move about. And the birds began to sing, reassuring each other that Lydia and Alice were not to be feared, especially Alice, because they’d seen her before.

  “Alice, teach me your chickadee call,” said Lydia.

  “It’s easy.”

  When Alice whistled the call, it did look easy, but Lydia couldn’t get anything to come out of her mouth that sounded remotely like a bird.

  “I guess whistling isn’t one of my strengths,” she said after multiple attempts.

  “You can do Jack’s call, anyway. It’s an owl, so you don’t have to whistle.”

  Both girls hooted like an owl for a while, and that was fun. For the girls, that is—the owls trying to sleep through the day were now confused and grumpy.

  “I wonder if I used to be a bird,” said Lydia. “I’m always dreaming about flying, and every time, I convince myself that it isn’t a dream and that I’m really flying. I feel it in my shoulder and back muscles—as if I had real wings.”

  “Show me.”

  Lydia
showed Alice what she’d learned from her dreams, throwing in bits of what she’d gathered from watching videos of Swan Lake, though she thought those swans made too much use of their hands and not enough of their back muscles. Alice imitated her—there was just enough space for both of them to be birds. When Alice had the flying down, she whistled again, this time doing a burbling call.

  “That’s a bobolink call,” she said. “We have lots of them. Mom named this Bobolink Meadow Two—the one in the front of the estate is Bobolink Meadow One.”

  Lydia attempted the bobolink whistle. This time at least she could form the notes, but only in a pathetic hissing kind of way. No bird would be fooled.

  And yet—or maybe it was because of Alice—a moment later, a small bird flew over their heads and gracefully settled onto a nearby stalk of grass. He was black and white, with a yellow patch on his head, and kept one bright eye on the girls.

  “It’s a bobolink.” Alice said it almost without moving her lips.

  Lydia tried whistling again—and the bird looked at her in disbelief. “You do it.”

  But before Alice could whistle, the bird was gone.

  “I’ve never seen one so close!” said Alice. “It’s you, Lydia! He came to welcome you to Arundel!”

  “Do you think so, really?”

  “I know so.”

  Lydia felt solemn all over again, and also determined to be worthy of the bobolink’s welcome.

  * * *

  —

  After the excitement with the bobolink, Alice assumed that all the birds in the meadow were delighted to have the girls visit. This caused her to ignore the first few black-capped chickadee calls, thinking they came from actual birds. When eventually she realized that it was her father, she headed home, and Lydia went in the other direction, back toward the carriage house—slowly, unwilling to get there before Batty had completed the spider-removal project. Lingering at the lily pond, Lydia told the frogs about the bobolink, and mentioned that she’d be grateful if they, too, wanted to welcome her to Arundel. None of them took her up on it, and some went so far as to jump into the water in protest of the request. She apologized effusively and waited for them to resurface, but none did, and there was no more excuse for delay.