The Penderwicks at Last

by Jeanne Birdsall

  Lydia had no desire to take more photos of Mrs. Tifton. “Send this one—Jack will be impressed.”

  “Photo, fly up to Canada to impress Jack,” said Alice, and sent it.

  “I guess we should tell Jane about Mrs. Tifton and tomorrow.” Lydia wasn’t looking forward to that discussion. “But maybe we don’t need to hurry.”

  “Let’s take a detour,” said Alice. “I’ll show you the greenhouse.”

  TO AVOID BEING SPOTTED by other Penderwicks, Alice and Lydia took a circuitous route to the greenhouse. They started out by traversing Bobolink Meadow One, where Lydia wondered if Alice was making their trip longer than necessary—some of the mown paths they followed went in obviously wrong directions. But, as in Bobolink Meadow Two, the sights, smells, and sounds were too delicious for Lydia to care how long they stayed.

  At the edge of the meadow was a narrow thicket that marked the border of Arundel. Silent and invisible—they hoped—the girls darted through its shrubs and trees until they were directly behind the greenhouse. This last stage of their expedition would put them at their most vulnerable. There was no cover, and, at least at the beginning, anyone looking out a back window of the carriage house would see them. But they made it. A quick dash—crouching to make themselves smaller targets—and they were safely inside the greenhouse, quite pleased with themselves.

  It was like being in a large garage, if the garage had been built of frosted glass and, instead of space for cars, there were rows of tables, with pebble paths running between them. The tables were now empty, but Lydia could imagine the welter of color that had once dwelled there. Storage shelves still held stacks of clay pots and tools that no one had picked up for several years. It occurred to Lydia that this would be a great home for spiders, but she decided not to ruin her experience by looking for them.

  “Dad used to take care of exotic plants for Mrs. Tifton in here,” said Alice. “But since she left, we don’t do anything fancy, and nobody comes here. Except me and Jack sometimes.”

  “I’d like to be a plant living in here,” said Lydia, and danced as if she were one—feet together and rooted, body waving gently, face tipped up to the light.

  Alice found a few dead vines in a corner and draped them over Lydia to make her more plantlike, then added the yarn that Blossom had rejected, tying it around Lydia’s right ear, which tickled.

  “Now you’re a plant, and I want to be something,” said Alice. She wandered through the greenhouse until she found a pile of empty burlap bags, then put one over her head. “What do I look like?”

  She looked like a burlap bag with two legs. “A gigantic seed, maybe. Or a rock.”

  “I’ll be a rock.” Alice hunkered down, tucking her legs into the bag, until she was a big blob of burlap. “A rolling rock.”

  She rolled down the aisle, bumping into tables and grumbling about life as a rock. “This is fun. Take my picture.”

  But since Lydia was a rooted plant, the rolling rock had to come to her, and then there was the problem of getting the phone out of the rock’s pocket. The plant was almost knocked over, and the rock got tangled up in itself. This was an unfortunate moment for Ben to show up.

  “Should I even try to guess?” he asked.

  “I’m a plant.” Lydia wanted to convey that any idiot would know she was a plant. “And Alice—”

  Alice was now beeping, setting off a newly frantic attempt to untangle herself. Lydia forgot about her roots to tear at the burlap, but Ben simply picked up Alice by her feet and dangled her upside down until the bag fell off. The phone also started to slip out of Alice’s pocket, but Lydia caught it in time and handed it to Alice.

  “Thank you.” Still upside down, Alice looked at the phone. “It’s Jack already.”

  When Alice was right-side up again, Lydia and Ben crowded around to see the new photo. In it, Jack looked nervous, as well he should have. Standing beside him was a man who was possibly dangerous, and definitely peculiar. His shirt was inside out, his eyes were shifty, and he was chewing on a cigar.

  “That’s my brother, on the right,” Alice told Ben.

  “Who’s the creepy guy?” asked Ben.

  “My uncle,” said Alice.

  “I’m sorry.” Lydia didn’t think him a nice uncle to have.

  “Oh, he’s not like that usually. He’s just goofing for the picture.” Alice eyed Ben speculatively. “Do you ever wear costumes?”

  “He and his friend Rafael dress up as characters from movies every Halloween.” Lydia was bragging in spite of herself. “One year they were Michael and Fredo Corleone—”

  “ ‘I know it was you, Fredo,’ ” said Ben. “ ‘You broke my heart.’ ”

  “—and last year they were the boat from Jaws.”

  “How were you a boat?” asked Alice.

  “We painted a big cardboard box,” said Ben, “and hacked off a big hunk to make it look like a shark had bitten it.”

  “You actually are very interesting.” She took a clay pot from a shelf and handed to it him. “Put this on your head and I’ll take a picture.”

  But Ben had a better idea. He tapped the pot against the edge of a table until it broke neatly in two. “I can pretend I’ve just broken it apart with my bare hands.”

  “Brilliant,” breathed Alice. “Like a superhero.”

  “Not really,” said Lydia, but she photographed Ben with his face contorted with superhero strength and the pot just coming apart in his hands. Alice was in the photo, too, gazing at Ben with admiration.

  “I’ll send it to Jack,” she said. “I’ll write a message, too. ‘This is Ben Penderwick, a better brother than you, and also very interesting. Love, Alice.’ Thank you, Ben. Jack will be devastated that you’re here.”

  “Glad to be of help,” said Ben. “And now, to my mission. I’m supposed to deliver you both to the carriage house.”

  “Why?” asked Lydia. “And how did you know we were here, anyway?”

  “I knew you were here because I was looking out the window when you burst out of the thicket—you looked pretty funny, by the way—”

  “No, we didn’t.” Lydia knew they’d looked like professional spies.

  “—and why, is because Jane and Batty are fixing lunch.”

  Although Lydia was getting hungry, she didn’t know if lunch was a good enough reason to stop stalling on sharing the Mrs. Tifton news. She’d leave the decision to Alice.

  “Are you hungry?” Lydia asked her.

  “Starving.”

  Lydia sighed. Time to face the furor.

  * * *

  —

  “That’s not funny, Lyds,” said Jane.

  “Not even a little bit,” added Batty.

  “I’m not trying to be funny. It’s true.”

  “It is true, really, Jane. I was there,” said Alice. “Mrs. Tifton is coming here tomorrow at ten to talk to you.”

  Jane put down her sandwich, her appetite gone. “Why?”

  “She wants to ask you when Alec is coming to the wedding,” said Lydia.

  “That makes sense,” said Ben. “He is her ex-husband.”

  “One of six,” said Batty. “And don’t defend her. You have no idea.”

  “I think she has other things to say, too.” Alice did the pickle face, and quoted Mrs. Tifton. “ ‘There’s more to it than Alec.’ ”

  “Is that what she looks and talks like?” asked Ben.

  Lydia nodded. “Exactly. Unfortunately.”

  “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” said Jane. “I just want to finish the wedding dresses and work on my book. I even had a new idea on the drive here, about the art forger and Degas. But I can’t be creative while worrying about Mrs. Tifton.”

  “It’ll probably only be a short meeting,” said Alice. “Mom says Mrs. Tifton won’t ta
lk long to people she doesn’t like, and Dad says my mom should do something to make Mrs. Tifton not like her.”

  “I’m sorry, Jane,” said Lydia. “We tried to get her to give us the message. We offered to memorize it, but she refused.”

  Jane had stopped listening and was staring at the mess around her. The sleeping bags from the night before were still in the middle of the floor, the dogs had taken over the couch, lunch fixings cluttered the kitchen counter, and an entire van’s worth of boxes and luggage was spread everywhere else.

  “I can’t let Mrs. Tifton see it like this.”

  “We’ll help you straighten up,” said Batty.

  “And clean,” added Jane.

  “We cleaned it yesterday,” said Lydia.

  “It needs to be sparkling clean, I mean. There should be nothing here for Mrs. Tifton to criticize.”

  “That’s impossible,” said Alice. “She’s like a complaining machine.”

  “Nevertheless,” said Jane.

  They were at it for the rest of the day. Lydia stuck with scrubbing—she’d done it once, she could do it again—with Alice as an enthusiastic partner. Ben helped Cagney track down and transport spare furniture that Jane could use, much of it from the cottage basement. Batty supervised the unpacking and organizing. Jane went from one task to another, or sometimes managed two at once, provided food and drink for anyone who lagged, continually thanked everybody, and here and there managed to stop fretting over Mrs. Tifton.

  When, finally, the apartment was as clean as it could be, Jane was more grateful than Lydia had ever seen her, more even than when she’d gotten a hundred-dollar tip for a cup of coffee at the restaurant. Lydia was also grateful, in a way. As little as she’d enjoyed the scrubbing, for the second night in a row she’d be exhausted enough to sleep well. And that would be extra helpful and important tonight. Tonight she’d be sleeping in the mansion, with its possible ghosts.

  * * *

  —

  “Just one more song, Batty, please.”

  “I can’t think of any more songs about courage. You’re going to have to go to sleep on what I’ve sung so far.”

  Batty had been singing songs about being brave, and Lydia had performed dances of valor to each, but she still didn’t feel strong enough to get into bed and let Batty turn out the light. Even knowing Batty and the dogs would be right there—they were sharing a room—wasn’t quite enough.

  “There’s that song in Sweeney Todd, about prowling demons,” she said. “It’s kind of about courage.”

  “ ‘Not While I’m Around’? All right, but just this one.”

  Batty loved this song and could often be convinced to sing it several times in a row, and dancing to it was a dream—going back and forth between slow movements and quick ones as the mood switched. Lydia had chosen wisely.

  “I’m ready,” she said, and took her position. “What, Feldspar?”

  Feldspar was banging his chair leg on the room’s door.

  “Is Ben out there?” Batty asked him.

  In a show of independence, Ben had chosen a bedroom far away from his sisters. Maybe he’d come for company. But when Lydia shoved Feldspar aside to open the door, Ben didn’t come in—Feldspar went out, and disappeared down the dark hall.

  “Feldspar, no!” shouted Batty. “Lydia, you grab Sonata, and I’ll go after him!”

  Grabbing Sonata wasn’t difficult, since she was sleeping through the excitement. But remaining there in the room without getting nervous and maybe shrieking took some effort. Lydia was now alone at night in the mansion, exactly what she hadn’t wanted to be. And for how long? Long enough to imagine horrors—that Feldspar had made it to the cellar and Batty and Lydia would have to go down there after him, that he’d made it to the empty attic, which would be just as scary as the cellar, that he’d come upon a ghost and attacked it with his chair leg—

  Phew. Here came Batty, dragging Feldspar back into the room. He showed no remorse. On the contrary, he was bursting with pride, for he’d run down a new and most horrifying prey and was thrilled to be bringing it back to his den.

  “Where did he get that shoe?” asked Lydia.

  “I don’t know,” said Batty grimly. “By the time I found him, he already had it.”

  Feldspar begrudgingly let them take a look, making it clear that he was going to keep the shoe. He liked it more than the chair leg, the lost feather duster, and the ax, possibly more even than his all-time favorite score from a year ago, Mr. Penderwick’s eyeglass case, which thank goodness had been empty when Feldspar swiped it.

  The shoe was red leather, with a high heel—higher than Lydia could imagine walking on—thin crisscrossing straps, and, on the toe, a delicate flower crafted from black leather.

  “It’s got to be Mrs. Tifton’s,” said Batty. “I can’t believe it. Feldspar stole one of Mrs. Tifton’s shoes.”

  “Though probably not right off her,” said Lydia.

  “I know that.”

  “And look, the heel is broken.”

  Feldspar let Batty confirm this by wiggling the heel back and forth.

  “Did you do this, Feldspar?” she asked.

  His look of outrage was convincing. And, anyway, the sisters couldn’t work out how a dog could break a heel without leaving teeth marks on it. Their conclusion: Mrs. Tifton had discarded the ruined shoe and left it behind when she moved to New York City.

  “So he can keep it, though now we’ll have to be extra careful to keep the dogs away from Mrs. Tifton.” Batty shivered at the vision of Mrs. Tifton spotting Feldspar with her red shoe in his mouth. “Okay, Lydia, no more excuses, no more songs. Feldspar took the last of my energy, and we’re going to sleep.”

  Being in bed with the lights out wasn’t as awful as Lydia had feared. Moonlight filtered in through the windows, and she could hear crickets and, farther away, the deep chorus of the lily pond frogs. This is a nice way to fall asleep, she thought, and maybe I’m almost asleep…was that an owl hooting?…sounded just like Alice…looking for Jack—

  Lydia sat up, wide awake again. No owl. Batty’s phone was dinging.

  “Sorry, I should have turned it off,” said Batty, staring at its screen. “I wish I had. Wesley just broke the no-contact rule with a picture.”

  The only photographs Wesley ever sent were of his dog or his art, but mostly of his dog.

  “If it’s Hitch, may I see?” asked Lydia.

  “Don’t you think seeing him will only make you miss him more?”

  “I don’t care.” She put out her hand for the phone.

  There he was, giant, wonderful Great Dane Hitch. His face, all nose and eyes, filled the screen. What little background showed around him was blurry, giving no hint of where the picture had been taken. He could have been inside or outside, in Massachusetts or Indiana. It was impossible to tell.

  “He isn’t wearing his crash helmet in the photo.” Hitch and Wesley traveled by motorcycle, with Wesley on the bike and Hitch riding along in his own private sidecar. “Maybe they haven’t left Boston yet.”

  “It’s possible,” said Batty. “Wesley didn’t tell me when they were leaving—and I didn’t want to know.”

  Lydia put the phone closer to her face, hunting for clues. “Hitch looks happy, anyway.”

  “He always does when he’s with Wesley.”

  “That means it’s Hitch’s destiny to stay with Wesley wherever he goes.” She reluctantly handed back the phone. Batty had been right. Seeing the photo had reawakened the ache of missing Hitch, the regret of not having said good-bye. “And I guess it was my destiny to love, then lose, Hitch.”

  “And mine.” Batty settled back down on her pillow. “Good night, Lyds.”

  “Good night.” But Lydia had another thought. “Do you think Mrs. Tifton is part of our destiny?”

  “I t
hink I should never have mentioned destiny to you.”

  “Or we’re part of hers. Unless that’s the same thing.”

  “Lydia!”

  “Yes?”

  “If you don’t stop talking about Mrs. Tifton and destiny, I’m going to find another bedroom and make you sleep by yourself.”

  “Good night, Batty.”

  “Good night, Lyds.”

  THE NEXT MORNING, THE Penderwicks and Alice gathered at the carriage house for one last discussion before Mrs. Tifton’s visit. At Jane’s insistence, everyone remained outside, temporarily banned from the apartment. She’d stayed up half the night arranging furniture, making sure the place was a hundred percent free from dirt and clutter, and wanted it to stay that way until Mrs. Tifton had come and gone.

  First they had to decide where to hide Batty, Sonata, and the bearer of the red shoe, Feldspar. Lydia suggested the greenhouse, Ben and Alice agreed—it was too full of dirt to attract Mrs. Tifton—and that was settled.

  Next up was whether or not Jane should be alone for this portentous meeting. Alice wanted to stay as a representative of the Pelletiers, and Lydia figured that if Alice stayed, she should, too, although Batty and the dogs in the greenhouse would be more fun. Ben wanted to stay because he was curious about a woman who could frighten his older sisters. But Jane said she wanted just Lydia, please. A crowd for backup could indicate weakness on her part, and according to Jeffrey, his mother considered Lydia to be less difficult than the usual Penderwick.

  Lydia protested. “I’m just as difficult as the rest of them, aren’t I, Alice?”

  “Absolutely,” said Alice.

  “We know you are,” said Jane, “but if Mrs. Tifton likes you, great—we can use that.”

  “Likes me!” objected Lydia. “She didn’t even know my name. She called me Linda.”

  “She used to call me Bitty.” Batty shuddered. “I just remembered that and wish I hadn’t.”

  “Try to forget again,” said Jane. “Ben and Alice, I want you to be lookouts for Batty, please. Make certain Mrs. Tifton goes nowhere near the greenhouse. If she does, you’ll have to distract her somehow.”