The Penderwicks on Gardam Street (15 page)

“Please don’t take my dislike of you personally,” she told Ben, thrilled to have gotten him into his crib without mishap. “I suppose you can’t help being a baby.”

He blinked at her, wrapped one fist around the white duck’s bill, then closed his eyes. Now what? Skye looked around, lost, then figured that the yellow-and-red-checked quilt draped over the crib rail belonged on Ben, so she unfolded it and spread it over him. And realized that he was already asleep. Without thinking, she leaned over and—what was she doing? She jerked upright and took two steps backward, away from the crib. What insanity had come over her? She’d almost kissed Ben good night!

She turned out his light and ran downstairs, lighthearted despite the near kiss. For she was wildly curious about what Iantha was doing in the backyard. Whatever it was would be interesting. An astrophysicist was incapable of being boring.

Absolutely not boring! Iantha was setting up a telescope, an honest-to-goodness telescope on a tripod and everything. Skye pranced across the yard. “Oh, Iantha!”

“It’s not really dark enough at this time of night, especially this close to town, but it’ll do for what I want to show you.”

“What?” breathed Skye. Not that she cared. Seeing anything at all through a telescope would be fascinating.

Now Iantha was pointing the telescope and adjusting it while looking through the eyepiece. She stood up and gestured for Skye to look.

Skye leaned down and peered in—how beautiful! The whole eyepiece was full of a glowing, glimmering disk.

“Venus,” said Iantha. “The Aztecs called it ‘Quetzalcoatl,’ which means ‘feathered serpent.’ It was their symbol of death and rebirth.”

“The Aztecs.” It was the first time in weeks that Skye had been able to say that without a surge of dread. Why hadn’t she ever thought about the Aztecs looking up at the sky, just as she did from her roof?

Iantha went on. “I wish I could show you the Pleiades, but they’re hiding behind Quigley Woods now, down on the horizon. The Aztecs called them ‘Tianquiztli,’ and used their position in the sky to figure out when to hold the ritual sacrifices. Though not the sacrifice in your play, which Jane tells me is weather-related.”

Skye watched Venus and its shimmering loveliness for a long time, then reluctantly straightened up. “Thank you.”

“Does that make you feel better about the play?” asked Iantha.

“No.” Skye was sorry to disappoint her. “I really appreciate you trying to help, but it’s not actually the Aztecs I mind, it’s the acting. And I don’t exactly mind acting as much as it terrifies me.”

Iantha was staring through her telescope again, moving it this way and that, then adjusting and refocusing. “When I was in the fourth grade, I was supposed to be a flower in my school play. I didn’t even have any lines, and I fainted before I had to go on.”

Skye tried to picture Iantha as a little girl—a sort of older Ben with long hair and a petal hat—fainting dead away.

“Is it hard to learn how to faint?”

“I think it has to come naturally,” said Iantha. “Here, look now.”

Skye bent to the telescope. This time there was no glowing planet to see. There was only blackness. “I don’t see anything.”

“Yes, you do. You’re seeing dark matter.”

Iantha started to explain, and though Skye understood only bits and pieces, she was enthralled, and wanted it never to stop. Terms swirled around her—‘ether,’ and ‘void,’ and ‘flux and flow,’ and ‘whirling gases,’ and ‘Big Bang,’ and always this ‘dark matter’ thing, a theory of what filled the vast regions between stars. Then Iantha moved on to her own research, and how she’d discovered something important about dark matter and would soon publish an article about it in a scientific journal, and thus would add to the knowledge of astrophysicists all over the world, who were all trying to understand how the universe began, how it’s expanding—

“And how it will end,” said Iantha. “I’ve talked too much.”

“No!” What Skye wouldn’t give to be able to talk like that! “You were wonderful. And you
have
cheered me up. Who knows—maybe the universe will expand so quickly in the next few weeks that life as we know it will end, and I’ll never have to be in the play.”

“I suppose we could hope for that,” said Iantha.

“I do, I do, I do, I do,” answered Skye fervently.

Soon after that, Skye ran home, her terrible load of Aztec anxiety truly lightened. Sure, the universe expansion thing was a long shot. But, really, anything can happen in eighteen days and twenty-three hours—no, twenty-two hours. Anything at all.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Halloween

M
ANY THINGS DID HAPPEN
in the next eighteen days and twenty-two hours. Batty and Iantha brought Hound and Asimov face to face for a full minute without any fights breaking out. Rosalind finished memorizing the Shakespeare sonnet and recited it in class without anyone guessing it might be about love. The Antonio’s Pizza soccer team played several games and won them all without Skye losing her temper. Batty got a bloody nose from climbing too high on the jungle gym at Goldie’s Day Care, and then again when she tripped over her wagon during a spying mission on Bug Man. Rosalind, tired of cleaning up nosebleeds, told Batty never to spy on or mention Bug Man again. Jane ground out two more essays for Miss Bunda—one about Chinese ecology and one about the Erie Canal—without any mention of Sabrina Starr, though it almost killed her.

But one thing didn’t happen—the universe refused to expand quickly enough to force the cancellation of
Sisters and Sacrifice.
Jane, never even hoping for such a rescue, dedicated herself to helping Skye survive the nightmare. Every afternoon she attended play rehearsals, taking copious notes for Skye, and every evening she went over the notes, and then Skye’s lines, again and again and again—until Skye was reciting them in her sleep. She was still a terrible actress, but Mr. Geballe was no longer getting headaches during rehearsals.

And, oh, yes, another thing didn’t happen. Though their father went on several more dates with Marianne, the sisters learned nothing new about her. They tried; goodness, how they tried. But the tougher and more incisive their questions became, the more vague were their father’s replies, until no one could pretend he wasn’t doing it on purpose. Rosalind then changed her plan of attack. They would no longer ask about Marianne, they would ask to meet her. So they did, using sly hints, polite suggestions, and, finally, direct requests. But their father always had excuses. Marianne was too busy. Marianne had a cold. Marianne was in London—that one really drove Rosalind crazy, and made her more determined than ever to meet the woman.

She decided to move on to outright demands. Halloween was coming up, and the night after that was Sixth Grade Performance Night, and a few days after
that
was the gala event at Cameron University, the one where her father and Iantha were both featured speakers. Surely Marianne could be produced for one of these important occasions. If not, Rosalind didn’t know what she’d do, but it might have to involve shouting. Fervently hoping it wouldn’t go that far, she started asking about Marianne visiting on Halloween several days ahead of time, but when darkness fell on October 31, she still didn’t have an answer.

Rosalind carefully lowered the dinosaur head onto Batty’s shoulders.

“Can you see?” she asked.

“No,” came the muffled answer.

Rosalind rotated the head half an inch. “Now?”

“No. Maybe I should be a lion instead, like Hound.”

“We don’t have a lion costume for you, and besides, you’re always a dinosaur.” Rosalind settled the head more firmly. “Are you sure you’re looking through the mouth?”

The dinosaur head tipped up slightly. “Now I can see a little bit. Am I scary?”

“Terrifying. Come on, practice swinging your tail.”

The small green dinosaur turned one way, then the other, tentatively at first, then suddenly more energetically, banging her tail into Hound, who had been trying to remove the thick yellow fringe tied around his neck. Hound barked in protest, Batty gave out a dinosaur roar, and then they were tussling with each other. Within seconds, the dinosaur head was off Batty and on the floor, its nose slightly squashed.

“All right, that’s enough practicing.” Rosalind separated them and, for the dozenth time, adjusted the white bedsheet she was wearing. She and Anna were trick-or-treating as Roman goddesses, and Rosalind was already tired of being all trussed up. It seemed a waste to be a goddess if you could barely move without tripping.

She got Batty back into the dinosaur head, handed her a bag for candy collection, and led her carefully down the steps. Their father was in the hallway, lighting the jack-o’-lantern that glared out the window.

“My goodness,” he said. “What have you done with my daughters?”

“Daddy, it’s me,” said the dinosaur.

“Who?”

“BATTY!”

“Why, so it is.” Mr. Penderwick adjusted his glasses. “Who would ever have known?”

“Daddy.” Rosalind nervously cleared her throat. “About Marianne.”

Before he could answer, the doorbell rang. It was Anna, wrapped in another bedsheet. Batty lunged toward her, roaring loudly, but tripped over Hound before she got very far, damaging the nose even further.

“No more lunging,” said Rosalind, picking her up.

“Yet another goddess,” said Mr. Penderwick to Anna.

“I am Venus, goddess of matchmaking.” She winked at Rosalind.

“Omitte nugas,”
said Rosalind, not winking back, for the last thing she wanted was for Anna to make any more jokes, like about blind dates with skating coaches.

“What did Rosalind say, Daddy?” asked Batty.

“She told Anna not to speak nonsense,” said Mr. Penderwick. “Quite impressive, Rosy.”

“Mr. Smith says it whenever we make mistakes in Latin class. And speaking of mistakes—” Rosalind stopped herself, for that was no way to introduce Marianne into the conversation. “Daddy, what I meant is, did you invite Marianne over tonight?”

The front door burst open, and in came Skye and Jane, their bags half full of candy they’d collected from the streets on either side of Gardam Street. Jane was wearing a football uniform that was much too big for her, with a large red 86 on the jersey.

“Tommy!” exclaimed Anna. “How you’ve shrunk.”

“I’m representing him tonight,” said Jane. “During his unwilling and widely mourned absence from his home street.”

“You’re the only one mourning his absence.” In Rosalind’s opinion, anyone over the age of six who dressed up as Superman was beneath notice.

“What are you supposed to be?” Anna asked Skye, who was wearing black jeans, a black sweater, black sneakers, and a black hat.

“Dark matter, and don’t ask me what it is. I’m tired of explaining to everyone.”

“You can ask me,” said Jane. “It’s a mystery of the universe, like from
A Wrinkle in Time.
”

“It’s nothing like
A Wrinkle in Time.
You don’t understand at all.”

“Dark matter is Iantha’s specialty,” said Mr. Penderwick. “She’s quite brilliant in her field, you know.”

“We do know, Daddy,” said Skye.

“At least that’s what I hear,” he said. “Well, goddesses and otherwise, are you ready to go?”

“Yes, but, Daddy—” Rosalind refused to leave without getting an answer from him. “What about Marianne? Is she coming over tonight to meet us?”

“I forgot to invite her, Rosy. I’m sorry.”

“You forgot?” Rosalind felt herself getting dangerously close to the shouting stage.

The doorbell rang again, and with the look of a man rescued from near-drowning, Mr. Penderwick opened the door. Outside was an army of small ghosts, all shouting “Boo!” Anna took the opportunity to steer Rosalind and her sisters out of the house.

“He forgot?” huffed Rosalind when they’d gotten past all the ghosts.

“Maybe he doesn’t want her to meet us,” said Jane. “I read in a magazine once about how divorced and widowed men will keep their children a secret when they start dating again.”

“Keep us a secret!” Rosalind had never considered such a thing. “Could he be worried about what Marianne will think of us?”

“Of course not,” said Anna. “Maybe she’ll come to Skye’s play tomorrow night.”

“Garghh.” Skye sounded like she was choking to death, and looked almost that bad, too.

“Try not to mention the play,” said Jane. “It’s a sore subject.”

Rosalind would have liked to ask how Skye was going to be in a play that no one was allowed to mention, but then she noticed that she was missing a dinosaur. “Where’s Batty?”

Batty was still inside, saying a long and regretful good-bye to Hound. Despite his lion collar, he wasn’t allowed to go trick-or-treating. Though Batty knew why—too much barking at other trick-or-treaters—she didn’t like leaving him behind. But when Rosalind came back inside for her, she let herself be led away and out into the night.

Even without Hound, Batty was glad they were finally on the move. Halloween was not for worrying about Daddy and dates. Halloween was for candy and being out later than you usually were allowed, and for showing your new dinosaur costume to the neighbors. And now that she was outside, she was glad that she was a dinosaur instead of a lion. She liked being all wrapped up inside this costume, for it was warm and safe in here, even if she still couldn’t see very well. She tipped the dinosaur head this way and that, catching peeks of carved pumpkins lit with flickering candles, dry leaves blowing in the wind, and—oh! what was that?—spooky figures flitting up and down Gardam Street. Batty shuddered happily. This was a scary night, just as Halloween should be.

They went first to Iantha’s. Batty had told Iantha and Ben about her dinosaur costume, yet when Iantha opened the door and everyone yelled “TRICK OR TREAT!” she didn’t know who they were. So Batty roared, because then Iantha would understand that she was a dinosaur and remember it was Batty, but Ben, who was dressed all in orange—he was a bag of Cheez Doodles—started to sob, and Batty had to tell him over and over that she was his own Batty until the tears stopped, and then Iantha gave everyone a candy bar and a dog cookie shaped like a pumpkin to take home for Hound. It was very satisfying.

It was just as satisfying at the other houses. Mr. and Mrs. Geiger were confused by the costumes—they thought that Jane was really Tommy, and they didn’t have any idea at all who Batty was, even after she’d roared. The Corkhills, on the corner, gave them homemade butterscotch brownies just like they did every year and told Batty she could eat hers right away if she wanted. The Tuttles had a ghost hanging in their tree that moaned, and Batty wasn’t frightened at all—that is, she wasn’t frightened after Rosalind showed her the tape recorder in the branches. And all of the grown-up Bosna sisters were home and made a tremendous fuss over Batty and each gave her an extra candy bar, until she figured she had enough candy to last her forever.

After that, it was especially satisfying when Nick Geiger and a lot of other big boys surrounded and teased them, though Batty wasn’t impressed with their costumes, which were just regular old clothes and masks of some man they called “Nixon.” Then Nick yelled “Switch!” and all the boys changed masks, and now they were some man called “Clinton,” and then he yelled “Switch!” again, and Batty wasn’t sure who they were this time. Nick said they could keep going back to the same houses with different masks, and Skye scolded them for taking all the good candy, and then one of the boys tossed Jane a football, and suddenly everyone was running around in the street playing football, though Rosalind and Anna had to hike up their sheets to do it.

This was less satisfying for Batty, since it’s hard to play football in a dinosaur costume, and then one of the big boys tripped on her tail, so she got out of the way like he told her to. But she didn’t go far, until a bunch of ghosts from another street came along, and as she was too shy to talk to them, she found a bush to hide behind. She could still hear Rosalind and the others playing football just a little bit away, so though it was dark behind the bush, she knew she was perfectly safe.

Which made it all the scarier when she swung her dinosaur tail and it bumped into something and that something turned out to be a someone, for it said “OOF,” as though surprised to be bumped by a dinosaur tail. At first she thought the person would turn out to be one of Nick’s friends, but then he started to talk in a grown-up man’s voice, which was uncomfortable, and what made it even more uncomfortable was that his words didn’t make sense. Frightened, Batty took a few steps backward and then managed to catch a glimpse of him through her dinosaur mouth. Now her heart was going like crazy, and she promised herself that she would never be a secret agent again, because there was just enough moonlight to show her exactly who the man was, even though he didn’t have sunglasses on and somehow his ears had become pointed. As hard as she could, she hurled her bag of candy at him, then ran blindly in the direction of the street, shrieking and shrieking, until she was scooped up by someone, which made her shriek louder until he said he was Nick, and then she went limp, and her shrieks turned to sobs, and she kept sobbing while Nick carried her home and rang the doorbell, and she didn’t stop even when Daddy carried her into the living room and put her on the couch and took off her dinosaur head. And still she sobbed, even when Daddy put a blanket over her and Hound licked her face and Rosalind ran in, looking so worried, and still she sobbed, and still and still.

Rosalind thought the sobs would never stop, but at last Batty wore herself out and just lay there with her face damp and her eyes closed. By then her father had sent Anna home and told Skye and Jane to go to bed. Nick, though, had insisted on staying. It was his friends who’d driven the little dinosaur off the streets and into the bushes, and he refused to leave until he knew Batty was all right.