The Penderwicks in Spring (30 page)

“Maybe I remember,” said Batty, tucking away this nugget of information to marvel at later.

“Maybe you do.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Ready for some more company?”

When he’d gone for Rosalind and Jane, Batty got out of bed, eager to try something now, in these few moments when she was alone. Standing up straight, she took several deep breaths, and several more for luck—then tried to sing.

A croak. It was still an ugly croak.

“Can we come in?” called Rosalind from the hall.

Batty got back into bed and made sure she was smiling before saying yes.

B
Y MID
-
MORNING ON
B
ATTY
’
S BIRTHDAY
, her room was buzzing with activity. Jane had taken over the desk with her computer, typing as Batty arduously composed book reports out loud. Ben was standing guard by the door to keep parents from entering unannounced and discovering the book report scheme, though truly there was nothing dishonorable about it. Lydia was dancing to
Camelot,
which Batty had put on the record player just for her. And Keiko was there, too, in better shape than when she’d first arrived. Then, seeing Batty glowing and healthy had sent Keiko into tears of relief that bedewed the flaxseed pumpkin brownies she’d brought along. Ben ate them anyway, tears and too much flaxseed and all.

“Batty, anything else on this one?” asked Jane,
who could type book reports more quickly than Batty could think about them. “Here’s your last sentence: ‘
The Dragonfly Pool
ends, like all of Eva Ibbotson’s books, with hope, and with one of the most comforting words in the English language: home.’ ”

“No, that’s the end, but didn’t I say ‘one of the nicest words in the universe’?” protested Batty. “Don’t edit, Jane. Ms. Rho will know I didn’t write it.”

“Sorry, bad habit. We’re on a roll—go find another book.” They’d finished six reports so far, and Jane was determined to get as close to ten as they could. “Though it could be fun to do a report on a made-up book. Let’s say … 
Ella and Her Uncle,
which could be about a girl whose uncle is some kind of animal. A kangaroo, maybe? And she should have a younger sister. ‘Clara,’ that’s a good name. What do you think, Batty?”

“No, no, and no,” said Batty, inspecting her bookshelves.

In the midst of all this, Keiko was getting caught up on the recent romantic dramas. Jane had already told her about Jérôme—he and Lauren were now officially a couple—and had moved on to, as Jane dubbed it, the Ouster of Oliver the Oaf.

“So then Oliver said …,” prompted Keiko.

“Then Oliver said ‘You’d be a fool to cast me aside, Rosalind. I can take you away from your vulgar family, they who drive the vulgar Flashvan and know nothing of the art of film.’ ”

“You don’t know what he said, Jane,” protested Ben from his position by the door. “You weren’t there.”

“I’m sure it’s what he was thinking,” said Jane. “Lydia, stop bumping into me.”

“Tra-la, la-la, la-la-la-la-la-la,” sang Lydia along to
Camelot.
By now she’d bumped into everyone in the room, thinking it part of the joy of dancing.

Someone on the other side of the door was knocking out the secret code they’d established.
Bang, bang, tap, tap, bang, bang, tap.

“Who’s there?” asked Ben.

“Me, Rosalind. Let me in, let me in.” She sounded terribly excited, and when Ben opened the door, she almost fell into the room.

“Guess who’s come home! Tommy!”

“To win you back, right?” cried Jane.

“I don’t know! Iantha’s gone across the street to see him.” Rosalind ran out again.

Ben tried to follow her because he was dying to see Tommy, and Keiko tried to follow him because this was an amazing opportunity for research, and Batty wanted to follow both of them, because it was exciting to see Rosalind so excited, but Lydia got in the way, and several people fell onto the floor. And, anyway, Jane had closed the door to keep them all where they were.

“Slow down, everybody,” said Jane. “Let’s wait to see what Iantha finds out. Batty, next book.”

“We can’t think about book reports with possible love reunions going on!” cried Keiko.

“Next book,” repeated Jane firmly, setting Lydia upright, then going back to the desk to type.

“Cosmic.”
Batty decided to stay on the floor to avoid being knocked over again.

“Excellent choice. We love Frank Cottrell Boyce,” said Jane, typing. “I’m ready. Go.”

“
Cosmic
is a funny book—”

“Touching and uproariously funny,” said Jane.

“Stop it!” protested Batty. “
Cosmic
is a funny book about what happens when you get what you think you want, in this case, going into space. Um …”

Jane typed, then turned back to Keiko. “So Rosalind, naturally furious and offended, said to Oliver ‘How dare you criticize my family, you snotty snob who isn’t as smart as he thinks he is. Go from here and never again darken our door, for I have always loved but one man, and his name is Sir Thomas Geiger of Gardam Street.’ ”

“Jane, you should write this story down,” said Keiko.

“Maybe I will.”

Rosalind fell into the room again without even trying the secret knock. “He came home to be with his parents! Mrs. Geiger’s really upset about Nick leaving, so Nick called Tommy and he said he’d drive home just to be with her and their dad. Isn’t that sensitive and wonderful of him? Isn’t that just what you’d think he’d do?”

“I guess so,” said Keiko. “Don’t you mind that he didn’t come for you?”

“How could I mind that he’s noble and cares about his family? It makes me lo—like him more.” She rushed out again but was back before anyone could try to follow her. “But how do I make sure I get to see him while he’s here?”

“Have Iantha invite him to Batty’s birthday dinner,” said Jane.

“Is that okay with you, Batty?” asked Rosalind.

“Yes! Yes, Rosy!”

“Thank you, I love you all, bye.” She almost left but then turned back. “I don’t think I should see him until I can be calmer, right?”

“That sounds like a good idea,” said Jane.

Rosalind left again.

“And just when Rosalind,” said Jane, “rid herself of the snooty knave Oliver, Sir Thomas—”

They were again interrupted by the secret knock.

“Who’s there?” Ben leaned hard on the door, determined to reassert his authority as gatekeeper.

But whoever was out there shoved it open anyway, and into the room rushed Duchess and Cilantro, with Skye at the other end of their leashes. This was the first time the dogs had ever been inside the Penderwicks’ house, let alone inside what they could sniff out as Batty’s den, and the thrill of it made them wild with excitement. Though they’d seen Batty the day before—when she’d resumed responsibility for their walks—they were still getting over the shock
of her previous vanishing. Plus, apparently Jane had tried to teach them French, further scrambling Cilantro’s poor brain.

Duchess launched herself at the bed and amazed everyone by nearly scaling its heights, while Cilantro howled the room’s trash can into submission.

“Sit, you numbskulls,” said Skye. After knocking over a stack of books and also Lydia, the dogs did sit, pleased at having established domination over a bedroom. “Batty, I thought you might want to take a walk.”

“Take a walk, clear your head,” said Jane. It was one of their father’s favorite sayings, and one of the few he always said in English.

“Yes, the walk was Dad’s idea.” Skye righted Lydia, who tried to get Cilantro to dance with her. “The dogs were mine.”

“If you want to go, Batty, we can do more of these reports later,” said Jane. “And I’ve still got lots to tell Keiko.”

Keiko was delighted—any excuse to spend time with Jane and hear more stories of love. So Batty shyly agreed to go with Skye, grateful to her for thinking of the dogs. This would be the sisters’ first time alone since Batty had been feeling better, and the dogs would help them through the silences.

“But before we go,” said Skye, “I’ve brought news. Tommy told Iantha he’d come to the party tonight, and Rosalind has gone out ‘shopping,’ to make sure he
doesn’t think she’s waiting around for him. She also asked that the rest of us stay away from Tommy, too—apparently she doesn’t trust us not to blow it. Jane, especially you.”

“Well,
excusez-moi,
” said Jane. “But she’s probably right.”

“Except for you, Ben,” said Skye. “You can go see Tommy if you want.”

That was the end of Ben as gatekeeper—he was out of the room and down the steps in a flash. The sound of the front door slamming behind him echoed through the house.

“Why Ben?” asked Keiko.

“He earned it, I think,” said Batty. By now Ben had told her about teaching Nick’s getting-rid-of-unwanted-suitors speech to Rosalind. Batty had been impressed that the same declaration had worked on both collegian Oliver and the kindergartner twins—more proof of Nick’s broad-based world knowledge. She’d even memorized it in case she herself ever needed it, but mostly for Keiko. “I’ll explain later.”

“So, Bats, you ready to go?” asked Skye.

During Batty’s darkness, she’d forgotten spring and its joyous advance. Suddenly cherry trees were dripping cotton-candy flowers, and the lilacs were coming into bloom, perfuming Gardam Street with May magic. In Quigley Woods, where Skye and Batty headed with the dogs, the trees were in full leaf, their greens
deepening every day, and the wild crab apples had thrown out white flowers, declaring that even in the forest one could flaunt fleeting beauty. Instead of a shy violet here and there, great clumps of them now dotted the paths. And here was Batty’s old friend the red cardinal come back, but only to scold the dogs and race away again.

On and on the sisters went with neither saying a word, until Batty couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Stop a minute,” she said to Skye, and pulled on Cilantro’s leash to make him stop, too.

“I’m no good at this, Batty.”

“Actually, you’re terrible at it,” Batty surprised herself by saying. She’d never before spoken that way to Skye.

“I know. And I’m still confused about everything.”

Cilantro tugged, but Batty wasn’t yet ready to move on. She had a particular confession to make, and she wanted to get it over with. “Skye, I apologize for listening to your conversation with Jeffrey. I didn’t plan to. I was in Lydia’s room and I heard you by mistake, and then it was too late.”

She trailed off, embarrassed at the enormity of her rudeness and the trouble it had caused, and steeled herself for her sister’s justifiable annoyance.

“It was a dumb place for a private conversation.” Skye gave Batty a sideways glance. “What? You thought I’d be furious, right? But I should have known better. Back when that was your room—when you
were still little—Jane and I would sit at the top of the steps listening while Rosalind told you stories. I was always glad when you asked for stories about Mom.”

Batty stared, dumbfounded. “I didn’t know.”

“How could you?” answered Skye. “Let’s keep walking. I have someplace I want to show you.”

Duchess and Cilantro tried to follow the usual paths, but Skye took them a different way, leading to the bridge over the creek, the one Batty should have used the day she got lost and hurt her ankle. It took a while to get across the bridge, for midway the dogs spotted a beaver dam in the water—a great piling up of branches and sticks—and even one brave brown beaver who stared defiantly at the barking invaders until Skye and Batty were able to drag them away.

Now Skye was taking them to a part of the woods Batty had never seen, not even in her trips across the creek with Rosalind. As they headed gradually uphill, they came across a double row of hugely overgrown lilac bushes, white, pink, and a dozen shades of purple. Even the dogs slowed down to enjoy this mysterious bit of civilization in the midst of wildness—this tunnel of intoxication that had to have been deliberately planted long ago. A little further on still, they abruptly came to a clearing with the bare remains of an ancient stone foundation. This had once been a house—there was the fireplace, and there, a gap where the door had been.

“This is my favorite place,” said Skye.

Batty knew the privilege that was being bestowed. Skye had long kept her favorite place in Quigley Woods a secret, even from Jane, maybe even from Jeffrey.

“It’s a really good one,” she said.

“Cecilia Lee and I used to play
Star Wars
here. I was always Han Solo and she was Luke, and when she had to bring her little sister along, we made her be C-3PO,” she said. “You don’t remember Cecilia. She moved away in the middle of fourth grade.”

“So you were crossing the creek by yourself when you were
nine
?”

“I started at seven, actually, but back then I’d bring Hound, too, when I could drag him away from you, so I wasn’t exactly by myself.” Skye sat down while Duchess sniffed among the stones. “But I freely admit that it was dangerous to come over here when I was that young, and I probably shouldn’t have told you. Promise you won’t tell Ben or Lydia. Swear.”

“I swear. Penderwick Family Honor. But, Skye …”