“Do you go to church? Back in New York, did you attend services?”
“No.” June reached for more syrup and tried to remember if Shirley Rosenbloom had ever told her about her parents going to church. “I mean, I definitely was baptized because I’ve seen the pictures. I had the most beautiful white christening gown and matching—”
“Good,” Aunt Bridget interrupted. “You were baptized. But since then?”
“Since then . . .” June shook her head. “But I’m happy to go. I mean, I’d like to learn how to pray and take the holy orders and whatnot.”
Aunt Bridget smiled into her coffee cup, then looked out the kitchen window at a small yellow bird that was having its breakfast at the bird feeder. “I go twice a year,” she said. “Christmas Eve and Easter Sunday. How does that sound?”
“Great!” said June. She was more amazed that her opinion had been sought than that Aunt Bridget didn’t go to church every Sunday.
“I donate, of course,” Aunt Bridget said hastily. “Give to the annual charity drive, and I always go to church suppers when it’s for a special cause.”
June nodded vigorously.
“Our family’s never been big church people,” Aunt Bridget said in a confidential tone, looking at June over the top of the newspaper. “But we always give what we can.”
She could tell Aunt Bridget was relieved that she wouldn’t have to go to church, and June silently repeated the words: Our family’s never been big church people, but we always give what we can. . . . Our family. It suddenly felt very important to be a member of “our family.”
“Time for dessert,” Aunt Bridget announced.
June was shocked. Dessert with breakfast was something she had never thought of before, though of course she was a huge fan of dessert.
Aunt Bridget walked over to the counter, where there was about half an apple pie sitting out from last night. She cut two hefty slices, then walked over to the freezer, pulled out a large carton of vanilla ice cream, and plopped a scoop on top of each slice.
Aunt Bridget dug right in, but June stared at her plate without picking up her fork.
Ice cream for breakfast.
“Don’t like ice cream?” Aunt Bridget asked after a few moments.
“No,” June said. “I mean yes. I like ice cream.”
Her aunt looked at her. “You seemed to like that pie just fine last night.”
“I love the pie!” June said, and forced herself to take a bite, but her stomach seemed to have closed up. Now there were three things on the list that she had done without even meaning to. This was getting spooky.
“Do you . . . do you always have ice cream for breakfast?” she asked after swallowing a mouthful (which was delicious).
“Only on birthdays,” Aunt Bridget said matter-of-factly.
“Is it your birthday, Aunt Bridget?” June was suddenly filled with guilt. But how could she have known?
“Nope.” Aunt Bridget took another huge mouthful. “But as I recall you were born on September twenty-third, at three forty-seven in the morning.”
June put her fork down and stared.
“That was last Thursday. So this is your belated birthday breakfast. I seem to be out of birthday candles, but I figured ice cream and pie would do just fine.”
June stared down at her plate. So this had been her mother’s birthday tradition all these years. Her mother’s and Aunt Bridget’s. Our family.
If she closed her eyes, just maybe she could remember a birthday party with her parents. She had looked through the family albums, and she knew that she’d had cake and ice cream and blown out candles. But she had only been three when her parents died, and now she was twelve. She didn’t know if she was remembering the photo album or her actual birthday party. She opened her eyes and saw Aunt Bridget looking at her across the kitchen table. Just for a moment it looked like her aunt’s eyes might be a little moist.
“Time to do the chores.” Aunt Bridget pushed back her chair and was out the door to the barn before June could be sure of anything.
September inevitably turned to October, and as the weeks went by and the weather got colder, June got accustomed to wearing more and more layers of clothing. She worked every weekend at the This ’n’ That shop, so there was plenty of opportunity for her to build her wardrobe, and she checked the drop box every weekend for the Penny Book. Moses was under strict orders to grab it if he saw it during the week, but so far it had simply disappeared. June was afraid to bring it up to Aunt Bridget, hoping that her aunt assumed it had gone from Red Bank to some big collection place in Sioux Falls, and then on to a landfill. She hadn’t seen Bob Burgess since that morning at the barn, and she didn’t want to mention him to Aunt Bridget either, in case he reminded her of the Penny Book.
School was boring, but at least it was easy, and June figured out how to stay out of Mr. Fitzroy’s way and avoid detention. It was true that Joe was considered an oddball, partly because he didn’t play sports and partly because he clammed up around nearly everyone. As the weeks went by, June and Joe drifted to the same table at lunch. Joe didn’t mind if June propped her library book up against a pile of textbooks to read while she was eating, too lost in her book to have a conversation. He also didn’t ask her to join anything, the way some of the girls had when she first arrived.
June knew she had probably made a bad impression by politely refusing all invitations to join school clubs and teams. It turned out that Aliyah and Keisha were in her class, so they sat next to each other sometimes. But June saw this entire episode of her life as temporary and didn’t want to get too involved. Did prisoners cast into dungeons join the glee club? She thought not.
Then came the Halloween dance. It was being held to benefit the PTA, but Aunt Bridget didn’t volunteer to decorate, bake, or clean up. She told June that she was too busy for such foolishness, mailed a check to the PTA, and showed June where the cupcake pans were.
June was not so lucky. Even if you weren’t going to the dance, the rule was that you still had to participate in decorating. The class parents had the misguided notion that it would be so much fun to decorate that any students who had thought they didn’t want to go to the dance would change their minds after spending the afternoon with black and orange crepe paper. When they were finally finished, the cages around the gym lights were dutifully covered with green construction paper, and jointed paper skeletons hung glumly on the walls.
As everyone was heading out, June got a note from the office that her aunt’s car was broken down and she needed to get a ride home, because the school bus had left at the usual time with the younger kids. June read the note twice. There was nobody she could ask for a ride. None of the parents were friends with Aunt Bridget, and except for Keisha and Aliyah, none of the girls had made friends with her. She knew this was partly her own fault but still wished she could’ve brought Indigo to school; everybody liked Indigo. June walked out to the parking lot, hoping to see Joe, but he had gotten out of decorating because the school newspaper was supposed to come out the next day, and he had to stay late to “put the paper to bed,” as he told her at lunch. June wasn’t sure how long it took to put a newspaper to bed, but she didn’t see Joe’s tractor anywhere and figured he had already left. It was a gray, windy day, and it was going to be a long walk home.
June started walking along the highway, wishing her backpack wasn’t so heavy. The sky was one big gray cloud, and most of the trees had lost their leaves, so there was nothing to break the wind. She figured it would take about an hour, but with any luck it would still be light out when she got home. She couldn’t wait to see Indigo, who was indignant that miniature pigs weren’t allowed to attend the Halloween dance even if they wore an opera cape and had fabulous moves. June and Indigo had always loved dressing up for Halloween, and she would have gone to the dance if Indigo had been allowed to come—but she didn’t want to leave him home alone on one of his favorite holidays.
After about half a mile (or ten b
locks, as June estimated it), she heard a low rumble behind her. The rumble got louder and it sounded as if someone was driving on the shoulder of the road right behind her. It was Joe on his tractor, driving on the side of the road so that cars could pass him. He was wearing a matching red cap and scarf, both of which were so lumpy, she knew they had been knit by his mother. As soon as the weather turned cold, Joe had started showing up at school wearing brightly colored homemade sweaters, which didn’t exactly help his reputation. Joe looked gangly and ridiculous with his red scarf trailing behind him on the big tractor, and she had never been so glad to see him. He pulled over with a toothy smile and pulled her up onto the seat behind him without waiting for her explanation.
They trundled along companionably, though it was still going to take quite a while to get to Aunt Bridget’s house. The engine was too loud for much talking, but June leaned forward at one point and asked, “Is it far for you to get home?”
Joe shook his head. “I’m out past you,” he yelled, and June wondered how long it took him to drive anywhere on the tractor. On the other hand, it was awfully nice to go only slightly faster than a bicycle so that you could really see everything. They passed a green sign that said “Solid Waste/Recycling Center One Mile,” and Joe yelled, “That’s the dump! Moses lives there, just a little ways down from your aunt’s place.”
June made a mental note of the sign. She definitely wanted to see the dump and knew that Moses would be happy to show her around. The farm they were passing now had a newly painted red barn with a gleaming metal roof behind a white board fence. It was the neatest farm they had passed so far.
“That’s the Burgess place!” Joe yelled, pointing. “Looks like Bob’s not home!”
June grabbed him by the shoulders. “Bob! That’s Bob’s place?”
“Yep. You’re almost home,” he called back to her.
“Wait!” yelled June. “Turn in here!”
“What?”
“Turn in! Stop!” she yelled, digging her fingers into his shoulders.
Joe slowed down and turned to look at her. “He’s not home, June. There’s no car in the drive.”
“Perfect!”
“What do you mean?”
“I have to look for my Penny Book!”
He stopped the tractor and it tilted into the ditch that ran along the side of the road.
Joe looked at her very seriously. “We can’t go there when he’s not home.”
“Why not?” said June. “We’re not going to steal anything; we’re going to just take a look around and if I see what’s mine, I’ll take it back.”
“I don’t know. . . .” Joe looked extremely doubtful. He glanced from the farmhouse to the driveway and back at the house. “He’s not home, June.”
“That’s the point!” June said, jumping down off the back of the tractor. “I may never get another chance like this!”
“I don’t know,” Joe said again.
“You don’t have to know,” June said impatiently. “I’ll go and you can head home.” June started across the road. “Thanks for the ride, but you don’t have to wait for me,” she said airily.
“But June—”
“I can walk from here. See you in school!” She turned and smiled at him. She didn’t want Joe to know how much she wished he would come with her. Maybe Bob had left the Penny Book in a box on the back porch, June thought as she approached the house. She could just grab it and go. Everything was in such perfect order, she was scared that Bob would notice if she flattened a blade of grass with her sneakers. The front porch had two rockers on it, but it looked like nobody sat there very often. There was a doormat with “WELCOME” printed across it, but June decided to skirt the front door and go around the side to the kitchen. The front door was visible from the road.
She walked around to the back steps. This looked like the entrance to the house that was actually used. A pair of enormous rubber boots was on the top step, and there was a small faucet sticking out of the house that looked like it was used to wash the mud off. No wonder everything is so clean, thought June. Imagine a clean farmer! Then she remembered how he had laughed when she splattered him with manure that morning (was it only a month ago?), so maybe he wasn’t too clean. June was starting to realize that all the farms were sort of on display for each other. New Yorkers did the same thing when they dressed to go out—they were strutting their stuff with the clothes they wore. A neat farm was a chance to show off a little bit, and it would be nice to come home to this gleaming pair of rubber boots instead of the mud-caked pile strewn across Aunt Bridget’s back porch.
She started up the back stairs and reached for the kitchen door.
She heard the sound of footsteps behind her.
“Stop!” It was Joe. He wasn’t really shouting, but he was whispering as loud as he could.
“What are you doing here?” June asked, whispering back even though there was nobody else around.
Joe shrugged. “I parked the tractor down the road,” he said.
June looked hard at him. “Then you’re in?” she asked.
“Okay,” he said nervously. “But we can’t go inside the house, June. We really can’t. That’s breaking and entering.”
“What’s to break?” June asked, pulling open the kitchen door. “Nothing’s locked.”
“Nobody locks up around here unless they’re going away on vacation,” said Joe. “You can’t just walk into places.”
“Well then, what do you suggest?” June let go of the door, which banged shut. Joe jumped at the sound.
“Let’s just look in the windows,” he said. “See what we can see.”
June looked doubtfully at the house. The windows were too high to look inside without a ladder, and there was a whole second story. “We could look in the windows from the porch, I guess,” she said. “But then we can be seen from the road.”
“Climb up on my shoulders,” said Joe. “Come on, quick. I can walk around every side but the porch, and you can look inside.”
“What if it’s right there inside the front room?” asked June.
“Better do the porch last,” Joe said uneasily. “That way if anybody stops to ask, we can play dumb. It’s not so suspicious to be on the front porch.”
“What’s really suspicious is taking someone else’s Penny Book!” June said, hands on hips.
“Okay, okay! Let’s get this over with.” Joe crouched down so that she could grab his hands and climb onto his shoulders from the back-porch steps.
Joe was a little tippy at first, but then he found his balance and they started at the back of the house. They got caught up in some bushes but managed to push their way to the closest window.
“It’s his bedroom,” June whispered. “Maybe it’s on his night table. . . .” She quickly scanned the room. Just like the rest of the farm, the room was in perfect order. The bed was made with a green plaid bedspread, and there was absolutely nothing on top of the bureau or on either bedside table. “Nothing,” June said. “Let’s go to the next one.”
“This is wrong,” murmured Joe, but he picked his way through some more shrubbery to the next window, which looked into the back of the dining room. Inside was a dark brown oval table, polished and gleaming, with portraits in small oval frames on the walls. There was a sideboard with an empty glass dish that looked like it was supposed to hold glass fruit.
“This is the most boring house I have ever seen,” June said.
“Come on!” Joe said, shifting from one leg to another. “You’re getting heavy!”
Next were the kitchen windows, which were slightly higher for some reason, but June grabbed the sill and pulled herself up to peek inside. It was harder to look into the kitchen because there were small checked curtains covering half of each window, but there was an open newspaper on the table.
“At least he’s human,” June said.
“What?” asked Joe. “You see something?”
“Evidence of life. Go to the next ones.�
��
“These are the last two,” Joe said. “Must be the pantry.”
“Okay,” June said, and grabbed the sill closest to her so that she could see past the large holly bush blocking her way. “Ouch!” she yelled as one of the spiky leaves cut into her hand. She started sucking her finger where the blood seeped out.
“Hurry!” said Joe.
June pulled herself up, bloody finger and all, and scanned the room. High shelves were filled with Mason jars and canned goods. A pile of material sat on the counter in a box marked “Rags,” and June rolled her eyes. This guy probably kept count of his dust mites. Then her eyes widened. On the highest shelf of the pantry there was a gap in the rows of Mason jars—and there it was, a fat spiral notebook.
“Joe!” she yelled, letting go of the sill and sitting back hard on Joe’s shoulders. “I found it! The Penny Book!”
“Don’t move so fast!” Joe yelled, but he was teetering, and June clutched at the sill as he began to fall backward. They both crashed into the holly bush and fell out onto the lawn just as Bob’s truck came to a halt at the top of the driveway.
“What! Why—what is going on here?”
Bob stood over them, dumbstruck. June and Joe scrambled to their feet.
“I’m sorry,” June began. “We were just . . .” For once she was completely out of ideas. How could she explain why they were peering into Bob’s windows? Bob’s eyes were popping out of his head. She tried again: “I— We— It’s all my fault—”
“We were being nosy,” Joe said, looking Bob straight in the eye. “I apologize, Mr. Burgess, but it’s the truth. We were poking around where we shouldn’t have been.”
“You certainly should not!” said Bob, looking from one to the other as if he was still unsure that these two children were actually standing in his perfect yard, at the side of his perfect house, where it looked as if nothing ever happened that wasn’t planned well in advance.
“It’s all my fault,” June said again. “I wanted to see what your house looked like, and Joe was just helping me—”
June Sparrow and the Million-Dollar Penny Page 12