Christmas Treasure (5 page)

“I’ll say!” Lisa sprinkled flour on the greased cookie sheets. “Where are they all going to sleep?”

“Well, I thought I’d put James and Sarah in the guest room. Eliot and Douglas can sleep on the sofa bed in the den, and the twins—well, I’m not sure where we’ll put the twins.”

“Isn’t that going to make things a little crowded?”

“Yes, it is. Look, sweetie. This year we’re going to have to work together as a family. Sarah and James, of course, will take care of the twins. I’ll be doing the cooking, and your father volunteered to make sure the house stayed clean. I thought maybe you could be in charge of entertaining Eliot and Douglas.”

Lisa blinked. “But, Mom, I haven’t talked or written to Eliot and Douglas in years. What do they like to do?”

“I don’t know.” Mrs. Atwood looked up from her mixing bowl. “Whatever Scottish boys like to do, I suppose. Eliot is fourteen and Douglas is thirteen. Play soccer, or maybe rugby. What’s that sport where they slide stones on icy ponds? Curling?”

“Mom, there aren’t that many icy ponds around here. And if we went out and started sliding stones across one, people would think we were crazy.”

“Well, I’m sure there are other things you can do. You can take them to the movies or the shopping mall. They’d probably love Pine Hollow.” Mrs. Atwood smiled.

“Do they wear regular clothes?” Lisa asked hesitantly.

“What do you mean, Lisa?” Mrs. Atwood was creaming butter and sugar together. “I’m sure Sarah dresses them delightfully.”

“I mean do they wear jeans like regular kids, or do they wear kilts?” Lisa could just picture showing up at Pine Hollow with two teenage boys dressed in kilts. Everyone would laugh at her for the rest of her life!

“They don’t wear kilts all the time over there,” Mrs. Atwood assured her. “But they do wear them for special occasions.” She stopped mixing the sugar and butter and smiled at Lisa. “The important thing is to be friendly and make sure the Rosses have a good time. They’re spending a lot of money to come here and be with us.”

“I know, Mom,” Lisa said with a sigh.

She greased the last cookie sheet and sat down at the kitchen table. This was getting worse and worse. Now not only did she have to figure out what to do for Max and retrain Prancer not to fear crossing water, but she also had to distribute toys for the Marines and entertain her cousins from Scotland. Plus, according to her mother, they ate
sheep guts, wore skirts, and played sports that she’d mostly never heard of. She’d played soccer at school, but rugby? And curling?

She sighed. This was going to be the strangest Christmas ever!

“G
OLLY
,”
HUFFED
S
TEVIE
as she pedaled her bike faster up the street. “I’m going to be late for this, too.” It had been a less than perfect day for her from the beginning. First she’d overslept. Then she’d drawn snooty Veronica di-Angelo’s name when Max passed around the Secret Santa helmet. And now, after she’d gotten back from TD’s, the time had just slipped away and she was about to be late for her last voice lesson. Her only hope was that Ms. Bennefield’s lessons tended to run overtime, so there was the slightest possibility that the student ahead of her might still be there.

She pedaled even faster. The cold air whistled past her ears.
Bicycles aren’t nearly as efficient as horses
, she decided as she steered around a manhole cover.
Belle and I could
cut through these yards and jump the hedges. On a bicycle, you have to stay on one side of the street.

She zoomed around the last corner. Ms. Bennefield’s little redbrick house stood in the middle of the block. Stevie could see the boy who took lessons before her getting into his mother’s car. Ms. Bennefield was waving at them as they pulled away from the curb.

“Thank heavens!” Stevie breathed. She pedaled furiously the rest of the way down the street, then turned into Ms. Bennefield’s driveway. She squeezed on the brakes and turned sideways to stop, throwing a fine spray of gravel against Ms. Bennefield’s garage.

“Goodness, Stevie, don’t have a wreck!” Ms. Bennefield cried. “A voice lesson isn’t worth breaking your neck over.”

“I know,” said Stevie, gasping for breath. “But I’ve been late for everything else today, and I wanted to get to my last lesson on time.”

Ms. Bennefield laughed. She had short auburn hair, pretty green eyes, and a friendly smile. “Well, I just finished with my other student, so I would say you’ve timed it perfectly. Come on in!”

Stevie parked her bike and followed her teacher inside. Stevie had never seen a house quite like Ms. Bennefield’s, but she loved it. There was a huge grand piano in the living room with a full-length mirror beside it. The walls were filled with pictures of Ms. Bennefield in all the
musicals she’d been in, and there were several shots of her with movie stars. On the table across the room was a glittery headdress made out of fake bananas and coconuts that she’d worn in some Broadway play, and just behind the piano, on a tall perch, sat Tootie, Ms. Bennefield’s gray cockatiel.

“Hi, Tootie,” Stevie said, waving at the bird as she took off her coat and backpack.

“Hey, good-lookin’,” croaked Tootie. “Merry Christmas!”

“Now, Tootie, you behave yourself,” Ms. Bennefield scolded the bird, who just flapped his wings and let out an ear-piercing wolf whistle. She laughed and shook her head. “I almost had to cover him up during my last lesson. He seemed to think he could sing ‘Ave Maria’ better than my student could.” Ms. Bennefield sat down at the piano, put on a pair of reading glasses, and studied her notes. “Okay, Stevie,” she said. “Monday’s your big audition, isn’t it?”

Stevie nodded. “I’m so excited. I just know I’m going to get the part!”

“Have you been practicing all week?” asked Ms. Bennefield.

“Oh, yes.” Stevie beamed. “This last month I’ve practiced my singing more than I’ve practiced my horseback riding.”

“Well, let’s do a few warm-ups and hear how you
sound.” Ms. Bennefield played five notes. “Now, sing along with the piano, and remember to breathe the way I showed you!”

Stevie stood in front of the mirror and expanded her stomach muscles. At her first lesson Ms. Bennefield had explained that singing was a lot like riding a horse—you used the same muscles to sit on a horse that you did to push air through your vocal cords. Stevie had practiced hard every day on her breathing, but she still suspected that her stomach muscles were better at holding her up on Belle than they were at helping her sing a song.

“Okay, Stevie. Let me hear your E. One, two, three …”

“Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.”
Stevie took a deep breath, opened her mouth, and sang. Tootie squawked once and cocked his head as if Stevie had produced a sound he’d never heard before.

“Good.” Ms. Bennefield played on. “Tootie, be quiet. Stevie, try A.”

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa”
sang Stevie.

“Wonderful.” Ms. Bennefield gave her a big smile. “Try to keep your jaw muscles loose. Now try I.”

“
Iiiiiiiiiiiiii
,” sang Stevie. Then she started to giggle. “Sorry,” she said when she saw Ms. Bennefield’s puzzled expression. “That one always reminds me of Tarzan.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Ms. Bennefield chuckled. “It sounds like you’ve been getting in some good practicing, though. Did you bring your music today?”

“Yes, it’s right here.” Stevie pulled three pieces of sheet music from her backpack and handed them to Ms. Bennefield.

“Have you decided which song you want to sing at your audition?”

“ ‘What Child Is This?’, I think.” Stevie liked all the songs Ms. Bennefield had assigned her, but she thought she sounded the best on “What Child Is This?” since it didn’t go up quite so high as some of the others.

“Good choice,” said Ms. Bennefield, studying the music. “It’s a beautiful carol. Would you like to try it now?”

Stevie nodded. “I think I’m ready.”

Ms. Bennefield arranged the music on her piano. “Okay. Now stand in front of the mirror and watch yourself as you sing. Concentrate on making a pleasant picture as well as a pleasant sound.” She played an introductory chord as Stevie got into position.

“Remember what we’ve worked on. Stand up straight. Shoulders back, eyes alert and looking at your audience. Remember to breathe evenly, with your diaphragm. Keep your mouth and jaw relaxed, and try not to make faces. Remember, you’re singing a song, not having a tooth drilled.”

She sounds just like Max
, Stevie thought as she tried to arrange herself in front of the mirror. She could just hear Max in the indoor ring saying, “Heels down, shoulders back, eyes soft, don’t arch your back and remember to breathe!”

“Ready?” Ms. Bennefield played her beginning note on the piano.

Stevie nodded. She took a deep breath and opened her mouth, but instead of a perfect, pear-shaped note, out came a thunderous belch! Ms. Bennefield stopped playing in midnote, and Tootie squawked on his perch with alarm.

“Oh, Ms. Bennefield, I’m so sorry,” Stevie cried, her face growing hot with embarrassment. “I didn’t know I was going to do that. It must be the ice cream I just ate at TD’s!”

Ms. Bennefield raised one eyebrow at Stevie, then began to laugh. “It’s okay, Stevie. I was just expecting a B flat instead of a burp.” She hit Stevie’s note again. “Shall we take it from the top?”

Stevie nodded and resettled herself in front of the mirror. Ms. Bennefield began playing again. This time Stevie opened her mouth and actual notes came out. For a moment she felt as awkward as she usually did when she sang; then she remembered all the things Ms. Bennefield had told her to do.
Relax, smile, let the music bubble up from within you.
Suddenly the noise she was making actually began to sound pretty. She noticed that Ms. Bennefield was smiling as she played, and even Tootie seemed to listen, looking at her with his beady little eyes. Stevie sang all three verses of the song, and Ms. Bennefield finished with a flourish on the piano.

“Excellent, Stevie!” she cried. “You really have been working hard.”

“Thanks.” Stevie blushed with pleasure.

“There are just a few little areas where we need to do some work.” Ms. Bennefield made some more notes on her music. “Let’s take it from bar sixteen. You’re going a little flat on the very last phrase.”

Stevie took a deep breath and sang bar sixteen again. Thirty minutes later she was still standing in front of the mirror, still singing bar sixteen.

“Gosh,” Stevie said when they had finished the twentieth rendition. “Learning to sing is just as hard as learning to ride.”

“It really is, Stevie,” Ms. Bennefield said. “Most people think you just open your mouth and this wonderful sound comes out, but singers have to practice constantly. It’s very hard work.” She smiled. “Would you like a glass of orange juice?”

“Is that okay to drink when you sing?” Stevie asked.

“Yes,” said Ms. Bennefield. “Ice cream coats your vocal cords and makes your voice sound funny, so it’s much better to drink water or orange juice. Come on in the kitchen and I’ll pour you a glass.”

Stevie followed Ms. Bennefield into her kitchen, which was almost as interesting as her living room. It was painted dark brown and more photographs lined the walls, but this time they were mixed in with
Playbills
from Broadway plays. A funny kind of Asian mask hung above
the doorway, and a big papier-mâché Christmas tree stood on top of the refrigerator.

“Stevie, I know you’ve always wanted to be a good horsewoman, but when did you decide to become a good singer?” Ms. Bennefield asked as she poured a tall glass of orange juice.

“Well, I’ve always liked to sing, but I guess I really got interested in sounding good when Mr. Vance took over our drama program at school. He’s a super-neat teacher, and when he announced the auditions for this Christmas play, I really wanted to try out.”

“Oh?” Ms. Bennefield handed Stevie her juice.

“Yes. There’s this other girl who’s trying out for the part, too. Only she’s this big snobby jerk who thinks just because she’s rich she can do everything.”

Ms. Bennefield frowned. “Does she sing, too?”

Stevie took a swallow of orange juice and nodded. “Only she sounds like a sick cat when she goes up high.”

“Well.” Ms. Bennefield laughed. “You certainly don’t sound like that.” She gave Stevie a warm smile. “I’m really proud of the way you’ve worked, Stevie. Not everybody is blessed with a beautiful voice, but everybody can improve their singing, and you’ve certainly done that.”

“Thanks,” Stevie said as she finished her juice.

“Shall we go through your song one more time?” asked Ms. Bennefield.

“Sure,” said Stevie.

They returned to the living room, where Tootie was
waiting on his perch. Ms. Bennefield took her seat at the piano while Stevie stood in front of the mirror.

“Okay.” Ms. Bennefield played an arpeggio. “Here’s your intro.”

Stevie took a deep breath, listened for her cue, and began to sing. All of a sudden her voice came effortlessly out of her mouth. She hit every note perfectly, she stayed in time with the music, and at the very end, where she’d kept going flat, she stayed right on the pitch. As the song ended, her voice and Ms. Bennefield’s piano seemed to blend together perfectly.