Beezus and Ramona (6 page)

“Were you?” remarked Mother calmly.

“Beezus, I think applesauce would be good for dessert tonight. Will you run down and bring up some apples?”

When Ramona looked disappointed at having failed to arouse any interest, Beezus and her mother exchanged smiles. “I want to help,” said Ramona, rather than be left out.

Beezus and Ramona made four trips to
the basement to bring up all the bitten apples. Mother said nothing about their appearance, but spent the rest of the afternoon peeling and cooking apples. After she had finished, she filled her two largest mixing bowls, a casserole, and the bowl of her electric mixer with applesauce. It took her quite a while to rearrange the contents of the refrigerator to make room for all the applesauce.

When Beezus saw her father coming home she ran out on the front walk to tell him what had happened. He, too, agreed that Aunt Beatrice's suggestion was a good one.

“Daddy!” shrieked Ramona when her father came in.

“How's my girl?” asked Father as he picked Ramona up and kissed her.

“Oh, I was bad today,” said Ramona.

“Were you?” said Father as he put her down. “Was there any mail today?”

Ramona looked crestfallen. “I was very bad,” she persisted. “I was awful.”

Father sat down and picked up the evening paper.

“I hid from Beezus and I bit lots and lots of apples,” Ramona went on insistently.

“Mmm,” remarked Father from behind the paper. “I see they're going to raise bus fares again.”

“Lots and lots of apples,” repeated Ramona in a loud voice.

“They raised bus fares last year,” Father went on, winking at Beezus from behind the paper. “The public isn't going to stand for this.”

Ramona looked puzzled and then disappointed, but she did not say anything.

Father dropped his paper. “Something certainly smells good,” he said. “It smells like applesauce. I hope so. There's nothing I like better than a big dish of applesauce for dessert.”

Because Mother had been so busy making applesauce, dinner was a little late that night. At the table Ramona was unusually well behaved. She did not interrupt and she did not try to share her carrots, the way she
usually did because she did not like carrots.

As Beezus cleared the table and Mother served dessert—which was fig Newtons and, of course, applesauce—Ramona's good behavior continued. Beezus found she was not very hungry for applesauce, but the rest of the family appeared to enjoy it. After Beezus had wiped the dishes for Mother she sat down to embroider her pot holders. She had decided to give Aunt Beatrice the pot holder with the dancing knife and fork on it instead of the one with the laughing teakettle.

Ramona approached her with
Big Steve the Steam Shovel
in her hand. “Beezus, will you read to me?” she asked.

She thinks I'll say no and then she can make a fuss, thought Beezus. Well, I won't give her a chance. “All right,” she said, putting down her pot holder and taking the book, while Ramona climbed into the chair beside her.

“Big Steve was a steam shovel. He was the biggest steam shovel in the whole city,” Beezus read. “‘Gr-r-r,' growled Big Steve when he moved the earth to make way for the new highway.”

Father dropped his newspaper and looked at his two daughters sitting side by side. “I wonder,” he said, “exactly how long this is going to last.”

“Just enjoy it while it does,” said Mother, who was basting patches on the knees of a pair of Ramona's overalls.

“Gr-r-r,” growled Ramona. “Gr-r-r.”

Beezus also wondered just how long this would go on. She didn't enjoy growling like a steam shovel and she felt that perhaps Ramona was getting her own way after all. I'm trying to like her like I'm supposed to, anyhow, Beezus thought, and I do like her more than I did this afternoon when I found her in the basement. But what on earth will Mother ever do with all that applesauce?

S
aturday morning turned out to be cold and rainy. Beezus wiped the breakfast dishes for her mother and listened to Ramona, who was riding her tricycle around the house, singing, “Copycat, cappycot, copycat, cappycot,” over and over at the top of her voice, because she liked the sound of the words.

Beezus and her mother finished the
dishes and went into the bedroom to put clean sheets on the beds. “Copycat, cappycot,” droned Ramona's singsong.

“Ramona, why don't you sing something else?” Mother asked at last. “We've been listening to that for a long time.”

“O.K.,” agreed Ramona. “I'm going to have a par-tee,” she sang. “I'm going to have a par-tee.”

“Thank you, Ramona. That's better.” Mother held one end of a pillow under her chin while she slipped the other end into a fresh case. “You know, that reminds me,” she said to Beezus. “What would you like to do to celebrate your birthday next week?”

Beezus thought a minute. “Well…I'd like to have Aunt Beatrice over for dinner. She hasn't been here for such a long time. And I'd like to have a birthday cake with pink frosting.” Beezus smoothed a fresh sheet over the bed. She almost enjoyed helping Mother
when they could talk without Ramona's interrupting all the time. The rain beating on the windows and Ramona's happy singsong made the day seem cozy and peaceful.

“All right, that's exactly what we'll do.” Mother seemed really pleased with Beezus's suggestions. “It's a long time since we've seen Aunt Beatrice, but of course teachers always have a lot to do when school starts.” Beezus noticed that Mother gave a little sigh as she smoothed her side of the sheet. “She'll probably have more time now that the semester has started and it really isn't long before Thanksgiving and Christmas vacations. We'll see a lot of her then.”

Why, Mother misses Aunt Beatrice too, thought Beezus. I believe she misses her as much as I do, even though she never says so.

Leaving Beezus with the new and surprising thought that grown-ups sometimes missed each other, Mother gathered up the
sheets and pillowcases that had been removed from the beds and carried them to the basement. While she was downstairs the telephone rang. “Answer it, will you, Beezus,” Mother called.

When Beezus picked up the telephone, a hurried voice said, “This is Mrs. Kemp. Do you mind if I leave Willa Jean when I bring Howie over this afternoon?”

“Just a minute. I'll ask Mother.” Beezus called down the basement stairs, repeating the question.

“Why, no, I guess not,” Mother replied.

“Mother says it's all right,” Beezus said into the telephone.

“Thank you,” said Mrs. Kemp. “Now I'll (Howie, stop banging!) have a chance to do some shopping.”

Well, thought Beezus when she had hung up, things won't be quiet around here much longer. Howie, who was in Ramona's class at
nursery school, was the noisiest little boy she knew, and he and Ramona often quarreled. Willa Jean was at the awkward age—too big to be a baby and not big enough to be out of diapers.

“You know,” said Mother, when she came up from the basement, “I don't remember telling Mrs. Kemp that Howie could come over this afternoon, but maybe I did. I've had so much on my mind lately, trying to get the nursery-school rummage sale organized.”

After an early lunch Mother decided there would be enough time to wash everybody's hair before Howie and Willa Jean arrived. She put on her oldest dress, because Ramona always squirmed and got soap all over her. Then she stood Ramona on a chair, made her lean over the kitchen sink, and went to work. Ramona howled, as she always did when her hair was washed. When
Mother finished she rubbed Ramona's hair with a bath towel, turned up the furnace thermostat so the house would be extra-warm, and gave Ramona two graham crackers to make up for the indignity of having her hair washed.

Then Beezus stepped onto the stool and bent over the sink for her turn. After Mother had washed her own hair and before she went into the bathroom to put it up in pin curls, she said to Beezus, “Would you mind getting out the vacuum cleaner and picking up those graham-cracker crumbs Ramona spilled on the rug?”

Beezus did not mind. She rather liked running the vacuum cleaner if her mother didn't make a regular chore of it.

“I'm going to have a par-tee,” sang Ramona above the roar of the vacuum cleaner. Then she changed her song. “Here comes my par-tee!” she chanted.

Beezus glanced out the window and quickly switched off the vacuum cleaner. Four small children were coming up the front walk through the rain. A car stopped in front of the house and three children climbed out. Two more were splashing across the street.

“Mother!” cried Beezus. “Come here, quick. Ramona wasn't pretending!”

Mother appeared in the living room just as the doorbell rang. One side of her hair was up in pin curls and the other side hung wet and dripping on the towel around her neck. “Oh, my goodness!” she exclaimed when she understood the situation. “That explains Mrs. Kemp's phone call. Ramona, how could you?”

“I wanted to have a party,” explained Ramona. “I invited everybody yesterday.”

The doorbell rang again, this time long and hard. There was the sound of many
rubber boots jumping up and down on the porch.

“Mother, we just can't have a party with our hair wet,” wailed Beezus.

“What else can we do?” Mother sounded desperate. “They're here and we can't very well send them home. Their mothers have probably planned to shop or something while we look after them.”

Ramona struggled with the doorknob and managed to open the heavy front door. Mrs. Kemp stopped her car in front of the Quimbys', and Howie and Willa Jean hopped out. “I'll pick them up at four,” she called gaily. “I'm so glad to have a chance to get out and do some shopping.”

Mother smiled weakly and looked at all the children on the porch.

“Where do you suppose she found them all?” whispered Beezus. “I don't even know some of them.”

“All right, children.” Mother spoke firmly. “Leave your wet boots and raincoats on the porch.”

“I've got a par-tee,” sang Ramona happily.

Beezus, who had plenty of experience with Ramona and her boots, knew where she was needed. She started pulling off boots and unbuttoning raincoats.

“What on earth shall we do with them on a day like this?” whispered Mother.

Beezus grabbed a muddy boot. “Hold still,” she said firmly to its owner. “They'll expect refreshments,” she said.

“I know,” sighed Mother. “You'll have to put on your coat and run down to the market—Oh, no, you can't go out in this rain with your hair wet.” Mother tugged at another boot. “I'll have to see what I can find in the kitchen.”

Beezus and her mother herded the wiggling, squealing crowd into the front bedroom
and went to work removing sweaters, jackets, caps, and mittens. In between Beezus pulled three children out of the closet, dragged one out from under the bed, and snatched her mother's bottle of best perfume from another.

“All right, everybody out of here,” Beezus ordered, when the last mitten was removed and her mother had hurried into the kitchen. “We'll go into the living room and…and do something,” she finished lamely. “Ramona, bring some of your toys out of your room.”

“Bingle-bongle-by!” shouted Howie, just to make some noise.

“Bingle-bongle-by!” The others joined in with great delight. It was such a nice noisy thing to yell. “Bingle-bongle-by,” they screamed at the tops of their voices as they scampered into the living room. “Bingle-bongle-by.”

Howie grabbed the vacuum cleaner, turned on the switch, and charged across the
room. “I'll suck you up!” he shouted. “I'll suck everybody up in the vacuum cleaner!”

“Bingle-bongle-by!” shouted the others above the roar of the vacuum cleaner.

One little girl began to cry. “I don't want to be sucked up in the vacuum cleaner,” she sobbed. Willa Jean, looking bulgy because of the diapers and plastic pants under her overalls, clung to a chair and wept.

Ramona appeared with her arms full of toys, but no one paid any attention to them. The vacuum cleaner was much more fun.

“I want to push the vacuum cleaner,” screamed Susan, who lived in the next block.

Ramona offered Susan her panda bear, but Susan did not want it. Ramona hit Susan with the panda. “You take my bear,” she ordered. “This is my party and you're supposed to do what I say.”

“I don't want your old bear,” answered Susan.

Beezus tried to grab the vacuum cleaner, but Howie was too quick for her. The room was getting uncomfortably hot, so Beezus darted to the thermostat to turn down the heat. Then she dashed to the other side of the room and disconnected the vacuum cleaner at the wall. It died with a noisy groan. Suddenly everyone was quiet, waiting to see what would happen.

“Hey,” protested Howie, “you can't do that.”

Beezus frantically tried to think of some way to keep fifteen small children busy and out of mischief. At least, she thought there were fifteen. They didn't stand still long enough to be counted.

“Where's the party?” one little boy asked.

Ramona appeared with more toys, which she dumped on the floor. This time she brought a drum. Howie quickly lost interest in the vacuum cleaner and grabbed the drum. Beezus seized the vacuum cleaner and shoved it into the hall closet, while Howie began to beat the drum. “I'm leading a parade,” he said.

“You are not,” contradicted Ramona.

“This is my party.”

Susan snatched a pink plastic horn and tooted it. “I'm in the parade too,” she said.

“I want to be in the parade! I want to be
in the parade!” cried the others.

That was it! They could play parade! Beezus ran to the bedroom and found a whistle and a couple of horns left over from a Halloween party. What else could be used in a parade? Flags, of course! But what could she use for flags? Beezus thought fast. She gathered up two yardsticks and several rulers; then she ran to the front bedroom and snatched some of her father's handkerchiefs from a drawer. She had to move fast before the children grew tired of the idea.

“I want to be in the parade!” screamed the children.

“Mother, help me,” cried Beezus.

Somehow Beezus and her mother got Father's handkerchiefs tied to the sticks and distributed to the children who did not have noisemakers.

Howie banged the drum. “Follow me,” he ordered, beginning to march. The others
followed, blowing whistles, tooting horns, waving flags.

“No!” screamed Ramona, who wanted to boss her own party.

“You wanted a party,” Mother reminded her. “If your guests want to play parade, you'd better join them.”

Ramona scowled, but she took a flag and joined the parade rather than be left out entirely at her own party.

“Playing parade was a wonderful idea.” Mother smiled at Beezus. “I hope it lasts.”

“So do I,” Beezus agreed.

“Bingle-bongle-by,” yelled the flag wavers.

Howie led the parade, including a sulky Ramona, out of the living room, down the hall, through the kitchen and dining room, and back into the living room again. Willa Jean toddled along at the end of the procession. Beezus was afraid the parade might
break up, but all the children appeared delighted with the game. Into the bedroom they marched and out again. Beezus opened the basement door. Down the steps Howie led the parade. Willa Jean had to go down the steps backwards on her hands and knees. Three times around the furnace marched the parade and up the steps again before Willa Jean was halfway down.