Penny Dreadful (19 page)

T
he next day Penny’s father intercepted her on her way to the front door after breakfast and informed her that she was not allowed to leave the house until she had finished unpacking the last of her boxes and gotten her room in order. “I mean it,” he said. “You need to do your fair share around here, Penny. Starting today.”

“Can’t I do it later?” begged Penny. “Luella is waiting!
Pleeeease?
”

“Well then, she can wait a little longer,” said Dirk. “You’re becoming a slob, and I won’t have it. I’m putting my foot down about this.”

Penny stopped arguing. “Really?” she asked, intrigued. Her father had never noticed the state of her room before in her life. He’d also never put his foot down. “Why?”

“Because this place is getting to be an absolute
disaster,
” he insisted. “I mean, you haven’t even unpacked all
your clothes yet, and your stuff is beginning to creep out into the hallway and the living room. We don’t have Josie to clean up after us anymore, and everyone has to work a little harder. Look over there!”

He pointed to a brown stuffed bear that was, indeed, peeking out into the hallway, and then to a pink sweatshirt on the floor at his feet. Dirk tapped his foot beside the shirt impatiently until Penny leaned over and picked it up, revealing Dirk’s own discarded newspaper on the floor beneath it. She looked up at her father.

“Yes, well, ahem,” said Dirk, bending over to retrieve his paper. “As I was saying, we
all
have to pitch in.” He folded the paper and stuck it under his arm.

“Jeez,” said Penny, trying out her best Luella voice. “I’ve been very busy.”

“Well, good for you. I’m glad you’re finding things to do,” said her father. “But I’m here all day in this mess, alone, and
I
get sick of looking at it.”

“Where
is
Mother, anyway?” asked Penny.

“She ran out of the house at the crack of dawn today. Said something about not wanting to be late for her first day. I asked her where exactly she was going, but she refused to tell me. She said it was a surprise,” said Dirk, heading back to the kitchen to tie on an apron. “Although, I have a sneaking suspicion.”

Penny had suspicions of her own, though she almost couldn’t believe them. Since she didn’t seem to have a choice in the matter, Penny returned to her room, where she found she actually sort of enjoyed organizing her bookshelves, hanging pictures on her walls, folding her clothes neatly, and arranging her art supplies.

As she worked, she listened through the open doors of the apartment to her father clattering in the kitchen. Things sizzled and popped on the stove, and periodically Dirk yelled through the apartment, calling out interesting snippets he was reading in the
Junction Sun
while he waited for things to boil and brown and bake.

“Hey, Penny! Old Man Gettinger found four teenagers goofing around the water tower with spray paint last week,” he said. “Made them all paint the tower for punishment, then took the kids home and had them do his barn too. Ha! Good for him!”

“That’s nice, Dad,” Penny would call out in response. She didn’t listen carefully to anything he said since he didn’t seem to be saying much.

When at last she was done, she stepped back to survey her kingdom. She was pleased at how nice her box collection looked lined up on the windowsill beneath the pink curtains. Her old stuffed animals looked just right sitting on the iron bed. Her old room had been bigger,
but somehow this room matched the way Penny felt on the inside. This was funny, given that most of the things were Aunt Betty’s. A spray of ivy waved hello to her from just beyond the window.

Penny heard the door open and shut. Her mother’s voice joined her father’s in the kitchen, and Penny left her room and headed to the kitchen for lunch. There she found Delia, dressed in a rather un-Delia-like ensemble of Dirk’s jeans and a brown work shirt, sitting at the table smelling funny.

“Hi, honey,” Delia said.

“Where were you, Mother?” asked Penny, obviously examining her mother’s attire.

“Oh, nowhere special. Just at work,” said Delia. “A little part-time job I found.” She looked mildly embarrassed, but also proud.

“What
kind
of a job?” asked Penny, pulling out a chair and sliding into it.

Delia smiled and sighed. “I don’t know why I’m being so secretive about it.” She stood up straight and said proudly, “You are looking at the very first garbagewoman in the history of Thrush Junction. I’m a pioneer!”

Dirk stopped stirring. He turned with his spatula aloft and his eyes wide. “Wow! You really did it!”

“I did indeed,” said Delia. “What do you think?”

Dirk bowed to his wife, flourishing with his spatula. “Delia, you are a woman of many surprises.”

Delia beamed, her cheeks rosy and her eyes bright.

Penny nodded, but she couldn’t help asking, “Isn’t it kind of—I don’t know—stinky?”

“It’s not so bad, actually,” said Delia. “There’s a smell, that’s for sure, but you get used to it after the first hour or so. Plus, I’ll get a decent health plan for the whole family. I quite enjoyed myself, if you want to know the truth. I met lots of nice people and learned the lay of the land. I even got a tip from one nice lady for carrying her trash around from the backyard.” She sighed. “I fear I’m not terribly good at it yet. I’m slow. You’d be surprised at the skills and the strength required. But I’ll get better. And stronger.” Delia flexed her arm muscles and grinned.

Dirk returned to his cooking. Over his shoulder he called out, “I’m sure you’ll be great!”

“Yeah,” added Penny. “And now we don’t have to worry about the house anymore. We can stay and not think about the money.” She unfolded her napkin and set it neatly in her lap, thinking that it was nice to have the problem solved, even if it
did
mean her mother would have to smell bad on a daily basis.

Delia’s brow wrinkled as it had in the offices of
Donsky & Donsky. “Well, I’m not sure this totally solves our problem. It’s
a
job, but I don’t think it’ll be
enough
of a job. So I still need to get another, unless our old house rents out soon.” She sighed again. “I do have another interview—this afternoon, for something secretarial … but enough of this talk. What’s for lunch? I’m
starving
!”

“
Another
job?” asked Penny.

“Lunch!” cried Dirk. He whipped around from the stove and set a plate of turkey hash in front of his wife. “
Voilà!
” he said. “For the working girl.” Then he kissed Delia on the top of her stinky head. “I’m very proud of you, darling.” He turned around to fix plates for Penny and himself, and before he’d turned back around, Delia was shoveling in the hash.

Watching her mother eat, Penny was both impressed and startled. Her mother’s perfect manners were still in place—napkin in the lap, mouth closed demurely as she chewed—but Delia ate like a movie in fast-forward. It wasn’t until there was nothing left on her plate that she looked up with a fork in one hand and pleading eyes. “Mmph?” she asked.

Dirk laughed. “More?”

Delia nodded as she swallowed, and Penny giggled into her potatoes. Delia laughed herself, and said, “I guess I worked up something of an appetite.”

“I’m delighted you’re enjoying my hash. Pretty good, right?” Dirk proudly shoveled another portion onto his wife’s plate. Then he plopped down a biscuit. “I baked biscuits too! Me, a baker!” He hovered with raised eyebrows until Delia took a bite.

“Scrumptious!” said Delia, swallowing her bite. “Are there currants in them?”

Dirk nodded excitedly. “Just a crazy idea I had!”

“Dirk, I had no idea you had such talent in the kitchen! You’re certainly better at it than I ever have been.”

Penny had to agree. Her mother’s cooking was nowhere near as good as this. She took another bite of biscuit dripping with honey.

“Thanks,” said Dirk. “I wish I could take
all
the credit, but really, your great-great-aunt Betty concocted some remarkable recipes. Mostly I’m just following her directions, and enjoying myself quite a lot.”

“Maybe,” said Delia with a thoughtful look on her face, “there’s something you could cook and sell. A lot of people around here seem to do that, sell jams and jars and cakes and things.”

“But then,” said Dirk, “it wouldn’t be fun anymore. It would become
work.
” He scowled at the last word. “Which I’d probably mess all up, not having a mind for
business. Though I probably should get a job, shouldn’t I? Hardly seems fair for you to be slaving away at—well, garbage, when I’m here just enjoying myself.”

Delia shook her head. “No. You’re working too. You are! Cooking and gardening and running the house and watching out for Penny. Someone has to do it, and you do it all so well. It counts for a lot. Besides, there’s not any good work to be had around Thrush Junction, really.”

“I’m glad you think I’m holding my own,” said Dirk. “But I feel bad. I’m having too much fun.”

“No,” answered Delia, “I
want
to do this. I wanted to move here, and it was my nutty aunt who left us this money mess to deal with, so it feels good to be doing something to help fix it.” She looked from her family to the sunlit window and sat back contentedly in her chair. “And it’s worth it, I think. It
is
nice here, isn’t it? We are happy, aren’t we?”

Penny and Dirk both nodded in quiet agreement. In the distance a single car puttered down the drive, spitting gravel. A dove cooed on the windowsill, and a wind chime changled an afternoon song. Yes, whatever the adjustments, they were all very happy here.

“I only hope we don’t have to leave,” said Delia, rubbing at a mark on the kitchen table with her thumb.
“We’re nowhere near having the money for our first payment, and the deadline is so soon.”

Penny stared at the mark her mother was rubbing into the table and thought that surely, surely things would fix themselves sooner or later. They wouldn’t
really
have to leave, would they?

“I still think we should charge all those folks down in the little houses rent,” said Dirk. “Who gets free rent?”

Delia shook her head emphatically. “Even if we could, I’m
not
going to go begging total strangers for money they don’t have. My aunt made them a promise. But maybe the Donskys would give us a little more time.” She changed the subject. “Speaking of work, how’s the novel coming?”

Penny looked at her dad with a curious gaze. She hadn’t seen him shuffling around with his box of papers for days.

Dirk gave a dismissive wave in the direction of his office. “Hard to say. I’ve got some ideas, but honestly, between the garden and the meals, and just getting to know a few of the neighbors, I haven’t thought about it much. I feel busy enough without it. Speaking of which, did you know that Old Joe marched with Martin Luther King Jr.? He’s quite a fellow, Joe is. Maybe I should pick his brain for stories. Civil rights. Southern history. Do
some research—for my book.” He stood up and began to grate lemons.

Delia smiled at her husband and stood up to set her dishes in the sink. “That’s a nice idea, dear,” she said. “And now, if nobody minds, I think I’ll take a very hot, very long shower. I have that interview later today, and I doubt they’ll be impressed if I go in smelling like this.”

Penny watched her mother leave. On her way to the shower, Delia stopped off in the living room, where she put something into a carved wooden box on a high shelf. Then she disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Penny to wonder what was in the box.

Penny took note of her father, absorbed in his lemony work, and excused herself. Stealthily, she made her way to the tall built-in bookshelves in the living room. Each shelf was covered in knickknacks left by Aunt Betty. Penny cleared space on the bottom shelves for her feet. Then she climbed up and silently lifted the box down. When her father didn’t pop his head out of the kitchen and the sound of her mother’s shower continued, Penny took the fancy carved box to a hidden spot behind the couch, sat down on the rug, and opened it.

Inside the box was money! Piles and bunches of money! At first Penny felt relief seeing all those wadded and folded bills. What was her mother so worried about?
Then she began to count. As she did, she saw the bills were mostly small, one-dollar bills and five-dollar bills, with just a few tens and twenties folded in. The bills felt tired and thin between Penny’s fingers. For some reason they made her sad. Penny counted the contents of the box and set the money aside. Then she turned her attention to the piece of paper folded neatly under the money.

The letterhead at the top of the paper said
Donsky & Donsky, Esqs.
, and beneath that were a number of notations and numbers. Penny felt sick to her stomach seeing all those numbers. It took her a few minutes to understand what she was reading. According to the piece of paper, her mother would need to pay a
very
large number of dollars every month in order to keep the Whippoorwillows.

Penny was fairly sure that even if they scrimped and saved, it would not be enough. She wasn’t sure what a part-time garbagewoman, even a very good garbagewoman, made. Penny didn’t think it was very much.