The Penderwicks in Spring (18 page)

W
HEN
B
EN WOKE UP
on the morning of Skye’s birthday, he decided that she should be given her present immediately, a
Doctor Who
sweatshirt being too special to mix in with all the other presents at her party. But he couldn’t do it by himself, since the sweatshirt was also from Batty. And Lydia, but she wouldn’t know the difference.

He went across the hall to see if Batty was awake, and yes, she already had music on her record player—one of those musicals she liked so much. He gave the secret knock and went in. Not only was Batty awake, Lydia was there, too, dancing to the music.

“Did she escape again?” he asked Batty.

“She showed up two hours ago and wanted to sleep in here with me.”

“Lydia doesn’t like the big-girl bed,” said Lydia.

“But you weren’t even
in
it,” Ben told her. “You were in your crib. Besides, Batty’s bed is even bigger than your big-girl bed.”

Lydia put on her you’re-missing-the-point face and went on dancing.

“Maybe she’ll like the new bed more after I sleep in it tonight,” said Batty. “We’re having a sleepover, right, Lydia?”

“La-la-la-la-la-
LAAAAA
,” sang Lydia too loudly.

Batty turned off the record player, and Ben stopped feeling the need to cover his ears.

“Let’s give Skye her present now,” he said.

“You know she’s probably still asleep. They were out really late. Besides, the present is downstairs in the piano bench.” The piano bench was near the couch where Oliver was sleeping.

“I’ll go get it anyway. It’s my house.”

Batty was glad when Ben returned safely with the sweatshirt. Not that she thought Oliver would hurt Ben, but a man willing to bribe children could be capable of who knows what.

“He snores,” said Ben.

“Figures.”

Since a present is no good without being wrapped, they let Lydia scribble across several pieces of paper, taped them together, and wrapped the sweatshirt in the untidy-but-personalized result. Then they quietly marched to Skye and Jane’s room and peeked
inside. Both older sisters were dead asleep in their beds.

“We should just leave it for her,” whispered Batty. Waking up Skye was not for the timid.

Ben was shaking his head no—he wanted to see Skye’s face when she opened her gift—when the decision was taken away from them. Lydia, on her own, had gone boldly into the room and was now touching Skye’s nose. Ben followed, and then Batty. At least, she thought, this might give her a chance to find out when Jeffrey was arriving. If Skye weren’t too annoyed to share information.

“Nariz,”
said Lydia, again touching Skye’s nose.

Skye opened her eyes. “And where is my
boca
?”

Lydia touched Skye’s mouth, then her own.
“Boca.”

“We’re sorry we woke you up,” said Batty.

“We brought your birthday present, though,” said Ben.

Skye looked at the clock and groaned. “Give it to me, you little monsters.”

Yawning, she carefully took off the wrapping, making a fuss about each of Lydia’s squiggles, and when she got to the sweatshirt, she loved it as much as Ben had known she would. She put it on over her pajamas and flopped back down onto her pillow.

“So, happy birthday,” said Ben.

“Thank you, I love it, now leave.”

“Ojos,”
said Lydia, pointing to Skye’s eyes.

“
Sí, ojos.
I mean it, get out of here. You, too, Batty.”

“Umm—”

“What?”

“Do you know what time Jeffrey is coming?”

“One-thirty,” said Skye, and put the pillow over her head.

At one-twenty, Batty guided Lydia through the basketball game spilling out of the Geigers’ driveway and onto Gardam Street. All the other Penderwick siblings were involved, including Ben, who was delighted to be playing not only with his sisters, but Nick, Artie, Pearson, Katy, Molly, both Donovans, and even Jérôme, who had no idea what he was doing but was doing it gallantly. Oliver was playing, too. Batty thought that he’d be a better player if he paid more attention to the ball and less to Nick’s every move.

“Lydia wants to play,” said Lydia.

“No, you don’t.” Batty kept a firm grip on her little sister, who could get smashed in a basketball game that energetic. “We’re going to the corner to wait for Jeffrey, remember?”

“Little Bunny Foo Foo.”

“Yes, exactly, good remembering. Jeffrey who sings ‘Little Bunny Foo Foo.’ ” He had a special version just for Lydia, done as bad Italian opera, with the facial expressions and hand gestures to match.

The morning had been a disappointment for Batty, spent lurking around the house just in case Rosalind found time for her. But Oliver seemed always to be in the way, making private talk impossible. Batty almost wished Rosalind hadn’t come home this weekend, and she tried to cheer herself up by reverting to her original countdown. Only seven days now until her favorite sister came home from college for the summer
—without
Oliver and his cheekbones. Not long at all.

“Flower,” said Lydia, pointing to a dandelion brightening up a lawn. Her own dandelions were now sadly wilted, turning her crown into a flower graveyard, but she continued to resist any attempts to replace them. “Lydia loves Nick.”

The disappointing morning had made Batty yearn even more for Jeffrey’s arrival. Not that she had false hopes about how much attention she’d get from him. Her plan was to catch him just as he arrived on Gardam Street and before he was swept into the excitement and crowd. Not to sing for him right away—that was impractical, especially with basketball taking up the street—but to reserve a time for later. She hoped for Sunday morning. If she could get him away from the house and everyone in it for just an hour, they could talk and she could demonstrate the miraculous thing that had happened with her voice, and then they would plan her Grand Eleventh Birthday Concert, and life would be perfect.

She and Lydia waved as they passed the Ayvazians’ house, in case Duchess was looking out the window, then rounded the corner. Another hundred feet and they’d reached their goal, a glass-enclosed bus stop with its own bench, the best spot for watching for a certain battered little car.

“It’s black, with white stripes on the hood,” Batty told Lydia. “We’ll shout and jump up and down when we see it, okay?”

Over the years, Batty had spent lots of time at this bus stop. When she was small, Rosalind had sometimes brought her down to watch and cheer on the big buses that rumbled by every fifteen minutes. On some glorious occasions, they’d climbed aboard one of the buses heading to Wooton, the next town over, where they’d eaten ice cream at Herrell’s or visited Broadside Bookshop, with its entire wall of books for children. And once—the adventure of it was crystal clear in Batty’s memory—when they got to Wooton, they boarded another bus that took them all the way into Boston for a day’s visit with Jeffrey. Skye and Jane had come along, too (but not Ben, who was deemed too young, or Lydia, who didn’t yet exist), and they’d had lunch at a spaghetti restaurant and taken subways here and there, and Jeffrey had treated them to a Swan Boat ride in the Boston Public Garden.

“Black car,” said Lydia.

“What? Oh! Jump and yell! Jump and yell!”

They jumped and yelled as the black car zipped toward them, slowing down at the last minute, and there was Jeffrey rolling down his window and waving like a maniac.

“Follow me!” he cried, then putted along as they ran beside him.

But Lydia’s legs couldn’t go fast enough, and Batty hoisted her up on the run. They caught Jeffrey just as he turned onto Gardam Street, pulled over to the side, and opened his door. Batty tossed Lydia to him for the usual welcoming tummy raspberries, which always made Lydia shriek and giggle. Too old for raspberries, Batty decorously climbed in on the passenger’s side and carefully inspected Jeffrey, with his freckles and his smile and his hair with the place that would never lie down, even now, all these years later. This falling-in-love-with-Skye nonsense hadn’t changed how he looked.

“I don’t think I could have stood it if you hadn’t come this time,” she said.

“Me neither,” he said. “Why are you staring at me?”

“I’m making sure you’re still you.”

“And?”

“You are. What a relief.”

Lydia wriggled to get Jeffrey’s attention back. “Goldie put Frank in a box.”

“No, Lydia, we’re done with Frank,” Batty told her.

“But who is he?” asked Jeffrey.

“A dead guinea pig. Change the subject.”

“Okay, what about you? Written any of those book reports yet?”

“Ugh, no. Change the subject again.”

“What about the ongoing research into crushes? Have you and Keiko made any progress?”

“That’s Keiko’s research, not mine. She’s still working on it, but she did drop Ryan the movie star.”

“I never thought he was right for her. What else, Batty?”

“Talk to me about music!”

“You want to hear about the Boston Symphony Orchestra?”

“No,” said Lydia.

“Yes,” said Batty. “Please!”

Jeffrey had been at Symphony Hall that past week to see the Boston Symphony Orchestra perform Berlioz’s
Symphonie Fantastique
, which he could describe to Batty in detail, and with such passion and excitement that even Lydia sort of listened. He demonstrated part of the second movement on an imaginary clarinet—and Batty scolded him for not bringing his actual clarinet along. From Berlioz he went on to the local bands he kept track of, the music he was writing, and then to news of his dad, whom Batty knew well and loved, too. A professional saxophone player, he lived in Boston near Jeffrey’s school, and they often worked on their music together.

“And, Batty, I’ve started playing clubs with him, just the small ones, but still. Dad said that when I’m
older, we can tour together, even go abroad. He’s told me about playing in Germany, how they love jazz over there. Can you imagine how great that would be?”

Batty could imagine that and more. She already saw herself as the singer on their tour.

“And I’ll go, too,” she said, without thinking.

Restless from lack of attention, Lydia tried to stick her head through the steering wheel, which made her crown fall off, scattering limp dandelions onto Jeffrey and his car. There was a great deal of drama getting her head back out and the dandelions back onto the crown and the crown back onto her head.

“Life will be much easier when she gives up on the crown,” said Batty.

“Yet I remember someone who wore butterfly wings when she was even older than Lydia.”

“That was different.” The wings had been Batty’s. “I think.”

“Little Bunny Foo Foo,” said Lydia.

“Oh-ho!” Jeffrey reached into the backseat and produced a large pink stuffed rabbit. “Little Bunny Foo Foo!”

Jeffrey burst into the song, hopping the pink rabbit around the car and sending Lydia into joyful squeals. Batty sang along in a voice as silly as his, though more Viennese opera than Italian, and was so happy that she wished she could take these moments and store them away to be brought out and relived whenever she wanted.

When they’d gone through all the “Bunny Foo Foo” verses—and they were legion—Jeffrey reached again into the backseat. This time he brought back a record album,
Kiss Me, Kate.

“Here’s some Cole Porter to keep your musical taste sharp and sophisticated. Make sure you listen to ‘So in Love,’ one of the truly great love songs of the twentieth century. What?
Now
, why are you looking at me?”

“Just, you know, love songs.”

“You’re scolding me about Skye, aren’t you?”

“Sort of. Anyway, thanks for this. You spoil us.” She hugged the album. “I have something important I need to tell you.”

“Is it about love? Skye’s found a boyfriend who isn’t me?”

“If she doesn’t want you for a boyfriend, why would she want anyone else?”

“What would I do without you, Battikins?”

“You’d miss me terribly. And the something important I need to tell you is about me and it’s a special topic and it’ll take time and we need to be alone. Also, Jeffrey, I know what you are now! You’re my
mentore
!”

“I like that. What made you think of it?”

“That’s part of what I need to tell you.”

“How about we go out to breakfast tomorrow morning, just you and me? Sylvester’s?”

“Yes!” Sylvester’s had the most delicious pancakes, almost as good as her father’s.

“Okay, good.” Squinting into the tiny mirror over the dashboard, he tried unsuccessfully to smooth down his hair. “I guess I’d better go forward into battle. Do you have any tips for me?”

“Musica anima mea est.”

“Yes, there is that. Anything else?”

Batty shook her head. What else was there, really? “Well, you’re arriving in the middle of a basketball game.”

“I can handle basketball.” That was true. Nick had taught him, too.

“And stay away from Oliver—”

“Who is
not
Skye’s new boyfriend?”

“Try to concentrate. Oliver is an annoying person that is supposed to be attractive because of cheekbones. He likes Rosalind and lectures everyone about movies. So stay away from him, and, Jeffrey, do your best not to talk about love to Skye. You know how she is when she doesn’t want to talk about stuff.”

“Yeah, I know.” He made one last attempt with his hair but gave up in disgust. “I guess I’m ready. You two have to walk—no car seat for Lydia. And, Batty, breakfast tomorrow, because we’ve got a date, right?”

Batty nodded, too full of happiness and excitement to speak, too close to letting her sprite burst out into song. After Jeffrey drove up the street, she hustled Lydia and her new pink rabbit back home for a nap and then shut herself up in her room, planning what she’d say to Jeffrey the next morning, and what
she’d sing. And she listened carefully to
Kiss Me, Kate,
coming to the conclusion that “So in Love” was indeed a good song, but she preferred the funnier ones. She had “Brush Up Your Shakespeare” memorized by the time she left to walk the dogs.