The Penderwicks at Last

by Jeanne Birdsall

  “My best to you, my dear god, and farewell, except for when I get a chance to wave in passing.”

  Lydia was on her way to the carriage house apartment, for a pre-wedding Meeting of Penderwick Siblings (MOPS) plus Jeffrey—or a MOPSPJ, to be precise. Rosalind had announced it last night without explaining what she wanted to discuss. MOPS topics were never announced ahead of time. As Skye said, if people knew, they might refuse to go.

  “Lydia, Lydia!”

  No, thought Lydia, No, no, no. Mrs. Tifton should not be looking for her, not today, the day of the wedding. Or any other day until forever. Lydia had already said her good-byes.

  “Lydia? Are you over there?”

  Mrs. Tifton was calling from the cottage side of the hedge. Since she probably didn’t know about the hedge tunnel, she’d have to go the long way around to get here. Lydia had time to run away or, better, hide. What about that empty urn near Zeus? It looked large enough to hold an eleven-year-old girl. She tiptoed over to see if she could manage to get herself into it. Yes, she could, but unless someone helped her get out again, she’d be stuck in an urn for the rest of her life. And now it was too late—Mrs. Tifton was crashing through the hedge tunnel. Lydia sighed, and was glad Alice wasn’t there to witness the trespass.

  “There you are.” Mrs. Tifton was in her hat and sunglasses again and was carrying a large silver shopping bag with CLOTHILDE’S printed in gold letters. “Natalie told me you’re on your way to see your sisters and that I might catch you if I went through the tunnel. Not my usual route, but better than risking the driveway and being spotted by you-know-who.”

  “I guess.” The tunnel was low and, if people didn’t know what they were doing, could scratch. Mrs. Tifton’s hat seemed to have gotten the worst of it—a twig was now embedded in its crown. Lydia stifled a vision of Mrs. Tifton using plant life for camouflage. “Nice to see you this morning. Unfortunately, I don’t have much time to chat.”

  “Don’t be huffy. This won’t take long.” She showed Lydia the contents of the Clothilde’s bag, two large boxes with gold and silver bows. “Mimi and I were shopping yesterday afternoon and came upon these. We thought they’d be just the thing for your sisters’ wedding and bought them. That is, I bought and paid for them and want you to deliver them to your sisters.”

  “You bought presents for my sisters?” This was wilder than the idea of Mrs. Tifton in plant camouflage.

  “I do buy gifts for people.”

  “But for my sisters?”

  “Just the two getting married. Forget it.” Mrs. Tifton closed the bag. “I told Mimi it was a bad idea.”

  Lydia desperately wished she could see beyond the hat and sunglasses. “Did I hurt your feelings?”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Because I wouldn’t want to. And, thank you—umm—thank you for—” Lydia didn’t know how to finish the sentence. She’d been taught to thank people who gave gifts, but not what to say to people who changed their minds and decided not to.

  “This isn’t worth stuttering over, Lydia. Oh, here, take them.” She handed Lydia the bag and let go, making sure she’d keep hold of it. “If your sisters like them, fine. If not, they can do whatever they want—use them for dust cloths—I don’t care. I suppose this is the last time I’ll see you.”

  “Yes.” Lydia clutched the bag, not sure what to do if Mrs. Tifton wanted a hug—after the shock of presents, anything seemed possible. “Good-bye.”

  “Yes. Good-bye, and good luck in the future.” Mrs. Tifton went back to the hedge tunnel and crashed through it to the other side.

  * * *

  —

  “We have a special guest for our MOPS, Honorary Penderwick Jeffrey,” said Rosalind. “He says this is his first one—”

  “It is my first,” said Jeffrey.

  “It certainly isn’t,” said Skye. “You were part of our emergency MOPS fifteen years ago—the night you wanted to run away. Remember, you shot arrows at my window to wake me up?”

  “I know I shot arrows.”

  “There was definitely a meeting,” said Jane. “You told us you were going to take a bus to Boston.”

  “Was that a formal MOPS?” asked Rosalind. “I do remember, Jane, that you wanted to go with him, to keep him company on the bus.”

  “And you said I couldn’t.”

  “Was I there?” asked Batty.

  The ones who had attended this long-ago meeting thought about it. The rest thought about other things. Ben thought about light and camera angles. Feldspar thought about Batty, food, and his red shoe, in that order. Sonata thought about taking a nap, and did.

  Lydia thought about the Clothilde’s bag, now hidden behind a bush right outside the carriage house. She’d taken a closer look at the boxes before stowing them away, and thought she knew what they contained. And how Rosalind and Skye would react when they opened them. Especially Skye.

  She hadn’t yet decided when to bring them out into the open. Too early, and she’d disrupt the meeting’s cheerful tranquility. Too late, and someone—probably Batty—would notice how jumpy she was.

  “Batty, I think you and Hound were at that meeting,” said Jeffrey. “You wanted to go to Boston with me, too.”

  “Sounds right,” she said. “I wasn’t a practical child.”

  “Big heart, though.”

  “People,” said Rosalind. “We’re supposed to be having a meeting.”

  “And, Jeffrey,” said Ben, “a few years ago, you and I had a Meeting of Penderwick Boys.”

  “That was a secret, wasn’t it?” said Jeffrey. “Shh.”

  “What did you talk about?” asked Skye.

  “We talked about girls,” said Ben. “Jeffrey gave me tips.”

  “What tips did he give you?” This was Skye again.

  “It was a secret meeting,” said Jeffrey. “Therefore, he can’t tell you. Ben, I mean it.”

  “Quiet, everybody, and please pay attention,” said Rosalind. “We haven’t even started and we’re way off course. MOPS come to order.”

  “Second it,” said Skye.

  “All swear to keep secret what is said here,” said Rosalind, “unless you think someone might do something truly bad. Which certainly won’t happen today, and now that I think of it, nothing I want to talk about has to be a secret anyway. Still, we should swear for the sake of tradition, if nothing else.”

  Rosalind made a fist and stuck it into the middle of the circle. Skye did the same, putting her fist on top of Rosalind’s, and so on. As the youngest, Lydia was supposed to go last, but she hesitated. Maybe Mrs. Tifton’s gifts weren’t appropriate for a MOPS. Maybe she should get them out now before the MOPS officially began.

  “Lydia, your fist,” said Batty.

  Lydia’s fist was still hovering when the screen door burst open, and here came Blakey and Dyson, rushing inside to give slobbery kisses to the people so conveniently sitting on the floor, then urging Feldspar and Sonata to join them in a race around the apartment. It took the combined efforts of Batty, Ben, Jeffrey, and Lydia to catch the dogs and organize them into some kind of order and quiet. At the end, Blakey joined Sonata on the couch, Dyson settled into Jeffrey’s lap, and Feldspar crouched behind Batty so that he could periodically poke her with his red shoe.

  “Skye, stop laughing, please,” said Rosalind. “Let’s start over. MOPS come to order.”

  Lydia chided herself for her earlier hesitation. Of course the gifts should be part of the MOPS. There would be no better place or time to discuss such a highly sensitive topic. This time she would dive right in after the oath.

  “Second it,” said Skye, sitting up.

  “All swear to keep secret what is said here, unless you think someone might do—”

  Jane’s phone started making its typewriter sound.

  “Sorry,” s
aid Jane, pulling it out.

  “I thought phones weren’t allowed in MOPS,” said Ben. “Because remember that time I was waiting for Rafael to—”

  “Shush, it’s Aunt Claire,” said Jane. “Good morning, most beloved aunt….Sure, that sounds easy….We’re in the middle of something right now, but I’ll be over soon to take care of it. Bye.”

  “Trouble?” asked Rosalind.

  “She’s found a rip in the dress she’s wearing for the wedding—she thinks it has something to do with Blakey.” Jane shook her finger at Blakey, who put his chin down in shame. He had torn the dress, but just a tiny bit, and he hadn’t meant to. “I’ll stitch it up for her when we’re through here.”

  “Good,” said Rosalind. “Third time’s the charm. MOPS come to order.”

  Lydia made a fist, ready to get it onto the top of the pile no matter what happened.

  “Second it,” said Skye.

  “All swear—”

  “Hey, guys?” someone called through the door. “Do you have Blakey and Dyson?”

  Rosalind groaned and covered her face with her hands.

  “It’s Enam,” said Lydia.

  “Come in!” called Skye.

  It turned out to be both Enam and Marty. A bright spot for Lydia—the first since her encounter with Mrs. Tifton—was that Enam was finally wearing an Enam and the E-Sharp Band shirt. She waved and pointed to hers, and he grinned sheepishly. Meanwhile, Marty had brought along his camera and was already using it.

  “Stop shooting, Marty,” said Ben. “This is a secret meeting.”

  “It doesn’t look very secret,” said Marty, lowering his camera.

  “We are indeed having trouble with the secrecy aspect,” said Rosalind. “If you two take the runaway dogs with you, that would help.”

  While Marty untwined Blakey from Sonata, Enam picked up Dyson.

  “Jeffrey, when’s our next band practice?” he asked.

  “We’ll have a quick one midmorning, before the guests start arriving.”

  “Excellent.” Enam succumbed to passionate face-licking from Dyson and, temporarily blinded by dog tongue, had to be led out of the cottage by his brother.

  “Fourth time’s the charm?” asked Jane. “What do you think, Rosy?”

  Rosalind thought that she was determined to have a MOPS whatever it took, and began once more. Lydia decided that if they were interrupted again, maybe it was destiny’s way of telling her not to produce the gifts, to instead take them to her parents and let them figure out what to do.

  This time they went so far as to complete the fist pile, with Lydia’s victoriously on the top, and were beginning the swearing-in.

  “This I swear—” said everyone.

  “Rosy, love, wife-to-be, are you in there?” It was Tommy, calling through the screen door.

  “Yes.” Rosalind looked sternly around the circle, forbidding anyone to break apart the fist pile now, not after they’d worked so hard to build it. “But I’m still in that secret meeting I told you about.”

  “How secret could it be? We just saw Marty and Enam leave with the dogs. Can we come in?”

  “The twins and the dogs were a mistake. Please, Tommy.”

  “Rosy, ask him who ‘we’ are,” said Jane. “Just in case it’s Mrs. Tifton out there, looking for Jeffrey.”

  Lydia could have reassured her about Mrs. Tifton, but it wasn’t necessary, as the other half of “we” was now speaking in Czech.

  “Pojď k mně, ty moje malá mořská hvězdice.”

  Whatever Dušek was saying out there, it had an extraordinary effect on Skye. She blushed—Lydia could see it start at her neck and spread upward until her face was aflame—and she smiled, thinking secret thoughts, and answered him.

  “Chvíli na mě počkej, Dušku.”

  “Honem. Stýská se mi.”

  Skye let her fist drop out of the pile, which then fell apart completely. “Ano. I do, too.”

  “Care to translate?” murmured Jeffrey.

  Skye shook her head—and Rosalind took hold of her sister’s arm, as if to keep her from floating away.

  “Maybe we should just skip the swearing-in,” she said. “I want to thank all of you for putting together this perfect wedding for us, and I love you very much and always will. Anything else? No? Oh, one more thing—Skye, stop!—remember, we’re gathering our own bouquets this morning. All right? Skye, did you hear me? Yes? Now go to him.”

  * * *

  —

  Lydia had waited for everyone to leave—Jane went last, with her sewing kit for Aunt Claire’s dress—then waited more before retrieving the Clothilde’s bag, which by now she loathed with a passion, from its hiding place. Even then, she looked and listened carefully and only dared to take it from behind the bush when she was certain she was alone.

  “There you are, you dumb bag,” she said. “How am I going to get you to Mom and Dad without anyone noticing?”

  It wouldn’t fit under the Enam and the E-Sharp Band shirt, not even close. But she could make the bag less obvious by turning it inside out. When that was done, she’d changed a look-at-me bag into a simple white one that could have had any old thing in it. A spare outfit or a snack, in case she got hungry.

  Lydia had barely set out for the mansion when she was suddenly trapped, hedged in. Batty had a firm hold on her left arm, Jeffrey her right, and Feldspar and Sonata were blocking her path.

  “Spill, Lydia,” said Batty.

  “You mean about what’s in the bag? Just a snack, in case I get hungry.”

  “I’m not asking about your bag. I want to know why you were so jumpy during the meeting.”

  “You came in jumpy,” said Jeffrey. “You kept tugging your right earlobe. That’s what you do when you’re nervous.”

  “I do not!” Lydia had never heard of such a thing, but found herself wanting to tug her right earlobe.

  “Honey, we’re not trying to harass you. But you seem worried.” Batty stared into Lydia’s face, making one of her inspections. “You’re definitely worried.”

  “Lyds, do you want me to leave?” asked Jeffrey. “Can you tell Batty without me here?”

  “No! If I’m going to explain, I want you here, too. You can help.”

  “Help with what?” asked Batty. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”

  “I can show you,” said Lydia, “but you have to let go of me, and tell the dogs to back up, please.”

  “Feldspar and Sonata, stand down,” said Batty.

  When Lydia could move again, she put the bag on the ground and pulled out the two boxes with their bows. “These are presents for Skye and Rosalind from Jeffrey’s mother. She gave them to me this morning and told me to deliver them.”

  Batty and Jeffrey were shocked, stricken into silence, which seemed to ripple out from them, spreading utter quiet as it went. Lydia would have sworn that even the birds had stopped singing. “I think they might be veils. The boxes are the right size, and she definitely thinks brides should wear veils.”

  Jeffrey recovered first. “She asked me if she should get gifts for Rosy and Skye. I thought she was being sarcastic.”

  “A natural assumption,” said Batty. “Because why would your mother even think about giving them presents? It makes no sense.”

  “She did say something about being grateful to them for marrying men who aren’t me.” Jeffrey groaned. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I never know what she’ll do next.”

  Now that others were sharing Lydia’s burden, she was cheering up. “Let’s see what’s in the boxes. If it’s veils, we’ll just hide them until later. Skye and Rosy won’t wear them, so it’s not like we’d be keeping special gifts away from them.”

  “I agree,” said Batty.

  “Not out here in the open, though,” said Jeffrey
. “Anyone could see us.”

  They decided on the greenhouse, which thrilled the dogs—they’d loved their stay there way back on the day that Mrs. Tifton had first accused Jane of wanting to marry Jeffrey. The same day Lydia had first heard Mrs. Tifton discuss veils. Already it seemed so long ago.

  It wasn’t the cleanest spot for fancy gifts, but they ripped the bag open and spread it out on a table, then set the boxes down on that. Batty undid one bow, and Lydia the other.

  “Open them together?” asked Batty. “One, two, three, reveal!”

  Lydia had been right. Inside each box was an exquisite bridal veil, as superior to Skye’s joke thrift-shop veil as a Bach concerto was to “Jingle Bells.” That was Batty’s first reaction, anyway, and the others couldn’t disagree. The veils were identical, with thin headpieces covered in ivory linen—the same color as the gowns—and topped with small roses, crafted from the palest of pink chiffon. In addition, dozens of these roses had been sewn to the tulle, a tulle so delicate, it could have been spun by Batty’s spider friends.

  “I guess my mother has good taste in clothes, anyway,” said Jeffrey.

  Lydia and Batty were still lost in the beauty of the veils, the last thing either of their sisters would ever want to wear but, nonetheless, the stuff fairy tales are made of.

  “But what should we do with them?” Lydia shuddered, remembering Mrs. Tifton’s suggestion that the veils could be used as dust rags.

  “We’ll find someone to give them to,” said Batty, “someone who would love them.”

  “Do you think we could”—Lydia touched the tulle; it truly was as light as cobwebs—“try them on, if we’re really, really, really careful?”

  “Why not?” asked Jeffrey.

  They did, and they were really, really, really careful until Jeffrey started to sing “Chapel of Love,” which is about getting married. It was peppy and impossible not to dance to, and so Lydia did, and Batty did, too, and Batty also sang harmony with Jeffrey, and the dogs got excited—Sonata wagging her tail in time with the music, and Feldspar losing his red shoe under a burlap sack, then barking until Sonata found it for him—and altogether it turned out to be one of Lydia’s favorite times at Arundel.