Beezus and Ramona (5 page)

“We have to get him out before then,” said Beezus. “Father wouldn't like it if he came home and found Ribsy had locked him out of the bathroom.”

“Ribsy couldn't have locked the door if Ramona hadn't put him in the bathroom in the first place,” Henry pointed out. “What a dumb thing to do!”

Beezus had nothing to say to this. What could she say when it really had been Ramona's fault?

Mother and Ramona soon returned. “I think we'll get Ribsy out now,” said Mother cheerfully. “The lady next door says her little grandson locks himself in the bathroom every time he comes to visit her, and she always unlocks the door with a nail file. She told me how to do it.” Mother found a nail file, which she inserted in the keyhole. She wiggled it around, the doorknob clicked, and Mother opened the door. It was as easy as that!

With a joyous bark Ribsy bounded out and jumped up on Henry. “Good old Ribsy,” said Henry. “Did you think we were going to leave you in there?” Ribsy wriggled and wagged his tail happily because he was free at last.

“Now maybe he'll be a good dog,” said Ramona sulkily.

“He is a good dog, aren't you, Ribsy?” Henry patted him.

“He is
not
a good dog,” contradicted Ramona. “He took my cookie away from me and gobbled it right up.”

“Oh,” said Henry uncomfortably. “I didn't know he ate your cookie.”

“Well, he did,” said Ramona, “and I made him go in the bathroom until he could be a good dog.”

From the way Henry looked at Ramona, Beezus could tell he didn't think much of her reason for shutting Ribsy in the bathroom.

“Oh, Ramona.” Mother looked amused and exasperated at the same time. “Just because you were sent to your room is no reason for you to try to punish Henry's dog.”

“It is, too,” said Ramona defiantly. “He was bad.”

“Well, I guess I better be going,” said Henry. “Come on, Ribsy.”

“Don't go, Henry,” begged Beezus.

“Maybe we could go out on the porch or someplace and play a game.”

“Some other time maybe,” answered Henry. “I've got things to do.”

“All right,” agreed Beezus reluctantly. Henry probably knew they wouldn't be safe from Ramona anywhere, the way she was behaving today.

When Henry had gone, Ramona gave a hop to make her rabbit ears flop. “
Now
we can play tiddlywinks!” she announced, as if she had been waiting for this moment all afternoon.

“No, we can't,” snapped Beezus, who could not remember when she had been so annoyed with Ramona.

“Yes, we can,” said Ramona. “Henry's gone now.”

“We can't, because I won't play. So there!” answered Beezus. It wasn't as though Henry came over every day to play checkers. He came only once in a while, and then they couldn't play because Ramona was so awful.

Just then the telephone rang and Mother answered it. “Oh, hello, Beatrice,” Beezus heard her say. “I was hoping you'd call.”

“Tiddlywinks, tiddlywinks, I want to play tiddlywinks,” chanted Ramona, shaking her head back and forth.

“Not after the way you spoiled our checker game,” said Beezus. “I wouldn't play tiddlywinks with you for a million dollars.”

“Yes!” shouted Ramona.

“Children!” Mother put her hand over the mouthpiece of the telephone. “I'm trying to talk to your Aunt Beatrice.”

For a moment Beezus forgot her quarrel with Ramona. “Is she coming over today?” she asked eagerly.

“Not today.” Mother smiled at Beezus.

“But I'll tell her you wish she'd come.”

“Tell her she hasn't been here for two whole weeks,” said Beezus.

“Tiddlywinks, tiddlywinks,” chanted Ramona, more quietly this time. “We're going to play tiddlywinks.”

“We are not!” whispered Beezus furiously. And as she looked at Ramona a terrible thought came to her. Right that very instant she was so exasperated with Ramona that she did not like her at all. Not one little bit. Crashing her tricycle into the checkerboard, throwing a tantrum, and shoving a dog into the bathroom—how could one four-year-old be such a pest all in one afternoon? And Ramona wasn't one bit sorry about it, either. She was glad she had driven Henry home with her naughtiness. Just look at her, thought Beezus. Cookie crumbs sticking to the front of her overalls, her
hands and face dirty, and those silly paper ears. She's just awful, that's what she is, perfectly awful—and she looks so cheerful. To look at her you wouldn't know she'd done a thing. She's spoiled my whole afternoon and she's happy. She even thinks she'll get me to play tiddlywinks with her. Well, I won't. I won't, because I don't like her
one little bit!

To get away from Ramona, Beezus stalked into the living room and threw herself into her father's big chair. Not one little
bit, she thought fiercely. But as Beezus sat listening to her mother chatting and laughing over the telephone, she began to feel uncomfortable. She ought to like Ramona. Sisters always liked each other. They were supposed to. Like Mother and Aunt Beatrice. But that was different, Beezus thought quickly. Aunt Beatrice wasn't like Ramona. She was—well, she was Aunt Beatrice, loving and understanding and full of fun. Ramona was noisy and grubby and exasperating.

I feel so mixed up, thought Beezus. Sometimes I don't like Ramona at all, and I'm supposed to like her because she's my sister, and…Oh, dear, even if she's little, can't she ever be more like other people's sisters?

“M
other, I'm home,” Beezus called, as she burst into the house one afternoon after school.

Mother appeared, wearing her hat and coat and carrying a shopping list in her hand. She kissed Beezus. “How was school today?” she asked.

“All right. We studied about Christopher Columbus,” said Beezus.

“Did you, dear?” said Mother absentmindedly. “I wonder if you'd mind keeping an eye on Ramona for half an hour or so while I do the marketing. She was up so late last night I let her have a long nap this afternoon, and I wasn't able to go out until she woke up.”

“All right, I'll look after her,” agreed Beezus.

“I told her she could have two marshmallows,” said Mother, as she left the house.

Ramona came out of the kitchen with a marshmallow in each hand. Her nose was covered with white powder. “What's Christopher Colummus?” she asked.

“Christopher Columbus,” Beezus corrected. “Come here, Ramona. Let me wipe off your nose.”

“No,” said Ramona, backing away. “I just powdered it.” Closing her eyes, Ramona pounded one of the marshmallows against
her nose. Powdered sugar flew all over her face. “These are my powder puffs,” she explained.

Beezus started to tell Ramona not to be silly, she'd get all sticky, but then decided it would be useless. Ramona never minded being sticky. Instead, she said, “Christopher Columbus is the man who discovered America. He was trying to prove that the world is round.”

“Is it?” Ramona sounded puzzled. She beat the other marshmallow against her chin.

“Why, Ramona, don't you know the world is round?” Beezus asked.

Ramona shook her head and powdered her forehead with a marshmallow.

“Well, the world is round just like an orange,” Beezus told her. “If you could start out and travel in a perfectly straight line you would come right back where you started from.”

“I would?” Ramona looked as if she didn't understand this at all. She also looked as if she didn't care much, because she went right on powdering her face with the marshmallows.

Oh, well, thought Beezus, there's no use trying to explain it to her. She went into the bedroom to change from her school clothes into her play clothes. As usual, she found Ramona's doll, Bendix, lying on her bed, and with a feeling of annoyance she tossed it across the room to Ramona's bed. When she had changed her clothes she went into the kitchen, ate some graham crackers and peanut butter, and helped herself to two marshmallows. If Ramona could have two, it was only fair that she should have two also.

After eating the marshmallows and licking the powdered sugar from her fingers, Beezus decided that reading about Big Steve would be the easiest way to keep Ramona
from thinking up some mischief to get into while Mother was away. “Come here, Ramona,” she said as she went into the living room. “I'll read to you.”

There was no answer. Ramona was not there.

That's funny, thought Beezus, and went into the bedroom. The room was empty. I wonder where she can be, said Beezus to herself. She looked in Mother and Father's room. No one was there. “Ramona!” she called. No answer. “Ramona, where are you?” Still no answer.

Beezus was worried. She did not think Ramona had left the house, because she had not heard any doors open and close. Still, with Ramona you never knew. Maybe she was hiding. Beezus looked under the beds. No Ramona. She looked in the bedroom closets, the hall closet, the linen closet, even the broom closet. Still no Ramona. She ran
upstairs to the attic and looked behind the trunks.

Then she ran downstairs to the basement. “Ramona!” she called anxiously, as she peered around in the dim light. The basement was an eerie place with its gray cement walls and the grotesque white arms of the furnace reaching out in all directions. Except for a faint sound from the pilot light everything was silent. Suddenly the furnace lit itself with such a whoosh that Beezus, her heart pounding, turned and ran upstairs. Even though she knew it was only the furnace, she could not help being frightened. The house seemed so empty when no one answered her calls.

Uneasily Beezus sat down in the living room to try to think while she listened to the silence. She must not get panicky. Ramona couldn't be far away. And if she didn't turn up soon, she would telephone
the police, the way Mother did the time Ramona got lost because she started out to find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

Thinking of the rainbow reminded Beezus of her attempt to explain to Ramona that the world is round like an orange. Ramona hadn't looked as if she understood, but sometimes it was hard to tell about Ramona. Maybe she just understood the part about coming back where she started from. If Ramona set out to walk to the end of the rainbow, she could easily decide to try walking around the world. That was exactly what she must have done.

The idea frightened Beezus. How would she ever find Ramona? And what would Mother say when she came home and found Ramona gone? To think of Ramona walking in a straight line, hoping to go straight around the world and come back
where she started from, trying to cross busy streets alone, honked at by trucks, barked at by strange dogs, tired, hungry…But I can't just sit here, thought Beezus. I've got to do something. I'll run out and look up and down the street. She can't have gone far.

At that moment Beezus heard a noise. She thought it came from the basement, but she was not certain. Tiptoeing to the cold-air intake in the hall, she bent over and listened. Sure enough, a noise so faint she could scarcely hear it came up through the furnace pipe. So the house wasn't empty after all! Just wait until she got hold of Ramona!

Beezus snapped on the basement light and ran down the steps. “Ramona, come out,” she ordered. “I know you're here.”

The only answer was a chomping sound from the corner of the basement. Beezus ran around the furnace and there, in the dimly
lit corner, sat Ramona, eating an apple.

Beezus was so relieved to see Ramona safe, and at the same time so angry with her for hiding, that she couldn't say anything. She just stood there filled with the exasperated mixed-up feeling that Ramona so often gave her.

“Hello,” said Ramona through a bite of apple.

“Ramona Geraldine Quimby!” exclaimed Beezus, when she had found her voice.

“What do you think you're doing?”

“Playing hide-and-seek,” answered Ramona.

“Well, I'm not!” snapped Beezus. “It takes two to play hide-and-seek.”

“You found me,” Ramona pointed out.

“Oh…” Once again Beezus couldn't find any words. To think she had worried so, when all the time Ramona was sitting in the basement listening to her call. And eating an apple, too!

As she stood in front of Ramona, Beezus's eyes began to grow accustomed to the dim light and she realized what Ramona was doing. She stared, horrified at what she saw. As if hiding were not enough! What would Mother say when she came home and found what Ramona had been up to this time?

Ramona was sitting on the floor beside a box of apples. Lying around her on the cement floor were a number of apples—each with one bite out of it. While Beezus stared, Ramona reached into the box, selected an apple, took one big bite out of the reddest part, and tossed the rest of the apple onto the floor. While she noisily chewed that bite, she reached into the apple box again.

“Ramona!” cried Beezus, horrified. “You can't do that.”

“I can, too,” said Ramona through her mouthful.

“Stop it,” ordered Beezus. “Stop it this instant! You can't eat one bite and then throw the rest away.”

“But the first bite tastes best,” explained Ramona reasonably, as she reached into the box again.

Beezus had to admit that Ramona was right. The first bite of an apple always did
taste best. Ramona's sharp little teeth were about to sink into another apple when Beezus snatched it from her.

“That's my apple,” screamed Ramona.

“It is not!” said Beezus angrily, stamping her foot. “One apple is all you're supposed to have. Just wait till Mother finds out!”

Ramona stopped screaming and watched Beezus. Then, seeing how angry Beezus was, she smiled and offered her an apple. “I want to share the apples,” she said sweetly.

“Oh, no, you don't,” said Beezus. “And don't try to work that sharing business on me!” That was one of the difficult things about Ramona. When she had done something wrong, she often tried to get out of it by offering to share something. She heard a lot about sharing at nursery school.

Now what am I going to do, Beezus wondered. I promised Mother I would keep an eye on Ramona, and look what she's
gone and done. How am I going to explain this to Mother? I'll get scolded too. And all the apples. What can we do with them?

Beezus was sure about one thing. She no longer felt mixed up about Ramona. Ramona was perfectly impossible. She snatched Ramona's hand. “You come upstairs with me and be good until Mother gets back,” she ordered, pulling her sister up the basement stairs.

Ramona broke away from her and ran into the living room. She climbed onto a chair, where she sat with her legs sticking straight out in front of her. She folded her hands in her lap and said in a little voice, “Don't bother me. This is my quiet time. I'm supposed to be resting.”

Quiet times were something else Ramona had learned about at nursery school. When she didn't want to do something, she often insisted she was supposed to be having a
quiet time. Beezus was about to say that Ramona didn't need a quiet time, because she hadn't been playing hard and Mother had said she had already had a nap, but then she thought better of it. If Ramona wanted to sit in a chair and be quiet, let her. She might stay out of mischief until Mother came home.

Beezus had no sooner sat down to work on her pot holders, planning to keep an eye on Ramona at the same time, when the
telephone rang. It must be Aunt Beatrice, she thought, before she answered. Mother and Aunt Beatrice almost always talked to each other about this time of day.

“Hello, darling, how are you?” asked Aunt Beatrice.

“Oh, Aunt Beatrice,” cried Beezus,

“Ramona has just done something awful, and I was supposed to be looking after her. I don't know what to do.” She told about Ramona's hiding in the cellar and biting into half a box of apples.

Aunt Beatrice laughed. “Leave it to Ramona to think up something new,” she said. “Do you know what I'd do if I were you?”

“What?” asked Beezus eagerly, already feeling better because she had confided her troubles to her aunt.

“I wouldn't say anything more about it,” said Aunt Beatrice. “Lots of times little chil
dren are naughty because they want to attract attention. I have an idea that saying nothing about her naughtiness will worry Ramona more than a scolding.”

Beezus thought this over and decided her aunt was right. If there was one thing Ramona couldn't stand, it was being ignored. “I'll try it,” she said.

“And about the apples,” Aunt Beatrice went on. “All I can suggest is that your mother might make applesauce.”

This struck Beezus as being funny, and as she and her aunt laughed together over the telephone she felt much better.

“Tell your mother I phoned,” said Aunt Beatrice.

“I will,” promised Beezus. “And please come over soon.”

When Beezus heard her mother drive up, she rushed out to meet her and tell her the story of what Ramona had done. She also
told her Aunt Beatrice's suggestion.

“Oh, dear, leave it to Ramona,” sighed Mother. “Your aunt is right. We won't say a word about it.”

Beezus helped her mother carry the groceries into the house. Ramona came into the kitchen to see if there were any animal crackers among the packages. She waited a few minutes for her sister to tattle on her. Then, when Beezus did not say anything, she announced, “I was bad this afternoon.” She sounded pleased with herself.