The Penderwicks on Gardam Street (18 page)

“No, I wouldn’t have.” One corner of Skye’s mouth twitched. She’d almost smiled.

“How about this line, Skye?” said Jane.
“You must wed Coyote, dear sister. Bear him many children and name one of your daughters after me.”

“Nope, I wouldn’t have written that one, either. Jane, say it the way I did.”

With a look of mingled boredom and annoyance that was pure Skye, Jane did the line again. Then Skye took a turn being Jane as a madly emoting Rainbow, and Jane did Melissa as an upstaged—and furious about it—Grass Flower. Rosalind did Pearson stumbling through his love scenes with Melissa, Batty did the priests yelling “BLOOD!” and there was much laughter, for nothing is better for the spirits than unburdening a terrible load of guilt. Skye felt so much better that she inhaled a cheese-and-tomato sandwich, then started on a quart of fudge-and-caramel ice cream, which her sisters insisted on sharing.

In all the excitement of berserk mimicry and rattling bowls and spoons, only Rosalind noticed that their father wasn’t joining in the festivities. After a while, she watched him leave the kitchen, then come back with the orange-spined book he’d been carrying around for weeks.

“Sense and Sensibility,”
she said, reading the title.

“Yes.” He put it down in the middle of the table.

All the sisters were paying attention now. Consumption of ice cream slowed to a halt.

“Are you going to read it to us?” asked Jane, though she couldn’t imagine why he would.

“No. Actually, yes, a few lines,” he answered. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be mysterious. It’s just that I have a confession to make, too, and I’m not looking forward to it.”

“What could you possibly confess about, Daddy?” asked Rosalind.

“Not murder or embezzlement, I hope,” said Jane. “Skye, stop kicking me.”

“Then stop being an idiot.”

“It’s not murder or embezzlement,” said Mr. Penderwick. “Skye, earlier this evening, I told you what I believed about deceit. Something about being selfish.”

She remembered it exactly. “You said that even a tiny bit of deceit is dishonorable when it’s used for selfish or cowardly reasons.”

“Ah. Well, lately I’ve been using more than a tiny bit of deceit around here.”

“No,” said Skye, adamant. “You never do.”

“I wish you were right, Skye, but yes, I have been deceiving you girls about Marianne.”

Jane gasped. “Have you secretly married her?”

“Jane!” This was Rosalind, close to kicking someone herself.

“Girls, maybe it would be best if you could let me tell the story without interruption.” He ruffled Batty’s hair. “How about you, pumpkin? Can you stay awake for a little longer?”

Rosalind took Batty onto her lap again. “We’re listening, Daddy.”

“I have to begin years ago, with your mother. Do you older girls remember how stubborn she was? Skye, you inherited more than blond hair and blue eyes from her. Sometimes when you narrow your eyes and tip your chin a certain way, I—I miss her so terribly.”

Though Skye had been told hundreds of times about having her mother’s hair and eyes, this was the first time she’d heard about having the stubbornness, too. She sat very still, trying not to explode with pride.

Her father went on. “I’m a little off the track of my confession already, but not really. Lizzy knew I’d miss her. She knew all about it—toward the end she seemed to know all about everything. She talked to me then about dating, and asked me to promise her I wouldn’t be alone forever, but I couldn’t promise anything like that. I couldn’t bear even to think about other women, so I begged her to stop asking. I suppose it was then Lizzy wrote the blue letter and gave it to Aunt Claire. Girls, that letter was so full of love and caring—for all of you, and for me. It simply wasn’t the kind of letter I could put away in a drawer and forget about. So I went on that first blind date, and it was about as unpleasant as a blind date could be.” He stopped to shake his head at the memory.

“Cruciatus,”
said Rosalind. “I heard you tell Aunt Claire.”

“Yes, absolute torture. But it was nothing compared to the second date, with that skating woman. She was—” He was interrupted by a flutter of embarrassment among his daughters. “What is it now? You all look as though you’ve been caught robbing a bank.”

Rosalind thought that confessing to bank robbery would be easier than explaining the basics of the Save-Daddy Plan. But how could she be less courageous than her younger sisters? “Daddy, the skating coach was our fault. We decided—no, I decided, and made the others go along with me—that if we found you truly awful dates, you’d never want to date again, and then Anna suggested Lara.”

“Anna set me up?” He seemed to find this amusing.

“She was just doing it because I asked her to. Don’t blame the others, especially Skye. She said from the beginning it was all dishonorable.”

“All right, Rosy, you may help Skye and Jane with the extra chores around the house. Still, though I can’t approve of what you did, I’ll give you credit for clear thinking. What you hoped would happen did, in fact, happen. My evening with Lara was so horrific that I never wanted to date again.”

“Until you met Marianne,” said Jane.

“Yes and no. This is where my confession comes in.” He opened
Sense and Sensibility
and read out loud, “‘She was sensible and clever, but eager in everything; her sorrows, her joys, could have no moderation.’”

“That sounds familiar,” said Rosalind, puzzled.

“Hold on, here’s another passage: ‘ “With me a flannel waistcoat is invariably connected with aches, cramps, rheumatisms, and every species of ailment that can afflict the old and the feeble.” ’ And another: ‘They gaily ascended the downs…. “Is there a felicity in the world,” said Marianne, “superior to this? Margaret, we will walk here at least two hours.” ’”

“Why, Marianne’s in a book,” said Jane with wonder. “She isn’t a real person.”

“Of course she’s real,” said Skye. “Daddy’s been going on dates with her.”

Rosalind felt like she was on a falling elevator, plunging into some dreadful unknown. “What are you saying, Daddy? What’s going on?”

“I’m so sorry, but Jane’s correct,” he said. “Marianne is only a character in this book.”

Skye couldn’t believe it. “You haven’t been going on dates?”

“No, though I did spend the time with Marianne. I told that much truth. I went to my office and read
Sense and Sensibility.
It’s an excellent book.”

Rosalind was in a tumult. She was upset that her father had been misleading them and yet was overwhelmingly relieved that since Marianne wasn’t real, she’d never come to their home, never take over the kitchen, never marry Daddy—it would all be fabulous if it weren’t so bewildering. “But why did you lie to us, Daddy? I don’t understand.”

“I’m ashamed to say that I panicked,” he answered, and indeed he did look ashamed. “Claire was about to come up with another blind date, so I grabbed at the first crazy scheme that would get me out of it. Then I just kept going. I knew it wasn’t fair to any of you, but I didn’t feel ready to start dating for real again. I also couldn’t admit that I wasn’t doing what your mother asked of me—not to you girls, or maybe even to myself. Does any of that make sense?”

“Maybe,” said Skye. “As much as anything about dating makes sense.”

“I get it, Daddy,” said Jane. “You made one false step, then found yourself mired in deception.”

“I suppose that is what happened.” Looking to see if Batty understood, he found that this time she
had
fallen asleep, her head on Rosalind’s shoulder. “Another parental crime, keeping my youngest up past her bedtime to unburden my conscience, and she misses it. I’ll explain it all to her in the morning.”

“What about explaining it to Aunt Claire?” asked Rosalind, not yet ready to absolve him. “You fooled her, too. And other people.”

“I’ll make a full confession to Claire when she comes tomorrow,” he said. “What other people?”

“Nick and Tommy,” said Jane. “And Iantha. I told her.”

“Iantha!” He sighed. “I’ll explain it to her, too. One of you girls can straighten it out with Nick and Tommy.”

“Not me,” said Rosalind. “Jane, you do it.”

“I’d love to.” Jane beamed. “Daddy, despite your unfortunate experiences so far, do you think you’ll ever date again?”

“No kicking, Skye,” he said just in time. “It’s a good question, but I don’t know the answer. If I ever do date, however, it will be when and with whom I choose. No more interference.
Intellegitisne
? Do you understand?”

Three nods and a slight snore from Batty satisfied him. He went on.

“One more thing, and then we’re all off to bed and badly needed rest. I solemnly swear on the Penderwick Family Honor—sullied, but not irreparably—that I’ll never choose a woman you girls don’t like and approve of. All right? Oh, Rosy, are you crying now?” Yes, she was, surprising herself as much as her father. He sorrowfully shook his head. “All this dating has been the hardest on you, hasn’t it, sweetheart? Can you forgive me?”

She couldn’t yet stop crying, but she could forgive him.

“And the rest of you?”

They all could. Had they ever not forgiven him anything?

“Though I’m not sure about forgetting,” added Jane many hugs later. “The mystifying Marianne who hated flannel will long linger in my memory—Skye, stop kicking me!”

CHAPTER TWENTY

The New Save-Daddy Plan

M
UCH TOO EARLY
the next morning, Rosalind woke from a dream about having a big wet nose pressed against her face. When she pried her eyes open, she found that indeed she did have a wet nose in her face—Hound’s. Her shocked gasp bothered him not at all, nor did it bother Batty, whose nose wasn’t that far away, either.

“Everyone is still asleep, Rosalind,” she said. “And Hound and I want someone to talk to, so is it okay if we visit Ben?”

Drowsily shoving Hound away, Rosalind checked her clock. It was before seven. “I don’t think so, honey. Wait until later.”

“But I already looked in their kitchen window and Iantha invited me in, but I said I had to ask first. So now I asked. Good-bye.”

Rosalind knew there was something wrong with that reasoning, but she was too groggy to work it out, and by the time Batty and Hound were gone from her room, she was once again asleep.

The second time she woke up, it was because Jane was sitting on her bed.

“Oh, good, Rosy, you’re finally awake,” she said. “I’ve been trying to lure you from your sleep with my intense gaze.”

“I wish you hadn’t.” Rosalind yawned.

“Sorry, but Skye’s ignoring me, and I just had to tell someone. Listen to this:
The archaeologist despaired of ever again seeing his dear home and his even more dear loved ones. He was trapped—hopelessly, horribly—in the ruins of an ancient Aztec temple, without food or water. But little did he know
—wait a minute.” Jane scribbled furiously in a blue notebook.

“You’re writing a new Sabrina Starr book,” said Rosalind. Why did her sisters have so much energy this morning? She herself had none, for with so much to mull over and regret, it had taken her hours to fall asleep.

“
Sabrina Starr Rescues an Archaeologist.
I’m using all of my research on the Aztecs. The archaeologist gets trapped in the very temple where Rainbow was almost sacrificed, and then the ghost of Rainbow comes back to help Sabrina Starr rescue him. What do you think?”

“It’s fascinating, though, honestly, I’d rather talk about it later.”

“Okay.” Jane got off the bed and almost left, then came back. “Do you think I should invite Iantha and Ben to today’s soccer game?”

But Rosalind was asleep again, and the next thing she knew, there was a great SLAM, and Skye was tromping into the room. She’d thrown the door open so vehemently that it banged against the wall.

“Did you hear the phone?” she asked just as vehemently.

“I was asleep,” answered Rosalind piteously. “Was it for me?”

“No, it was for me. It was Pearson.” Skye scowled at Rosalind’s dresser, which didn’t deserve it. “He asked me to go to the movies this afternoon, and I told him to go soak his head.”

“And?” asked Rosalind after a long wait for more information.

“And what?”

“And do you want to talk about it?”

“Of course not.” Skye looked at Rosalind as though she’d suddenly sprouted an extra head or two.

“Then please let me go back to sleep.”

“All right. It’s time to begin my pre-soccer routine anyway. Oh, and Rosalind…”

Rosalind resisted the impulse to throw the bedside lamp at her. “What?”

“Iantha asked if we can take care of Ben tomorrow night. She has to go to that gala science wing dedication thing at the university, and her babysitter just canceled.”

“Tell her yes. Now go away.”

“I already did. That is, I told her yes as long as Daddy didn’t make us have our own babysitter, but he said he thinks we’ve grown up enough lately, and as long as we start on our punishment chores—hey!”

Though the bedside lamp was still safe, Rosalind had launched herself out of her bed and, with one great shove, cleared the room and gotten her privacy back. She would be able to sleep now, for she’d run out of sisters. Gratefully, she snuggled back under her covers and slept, and slept, until she was woken up for the last time that morning by a polite knock on her door.

“It’s me, Aunt Claire. Time to get ready for the soccer game.”

At last someone worth getting up for! Rosalind leapt out of bed, threw open the door, and gave her aunt a giant hug.

“There’s my Rosy,” said Aunt Claire.

Rosalind knew what she meant. “I
have
been awfully grumpy lately. I’m so sorry.”

“I wouldn’t say grumpy, dear.” Aunt Claire brushed Rosalind’s stray curls off her face. “Just more private than usual.”

“Did Daddy tell you everything? Are you angry with us?”

“Yes, everything, and no, I’m not angry. Do I look angry?”

No, she didn’t. She looked just right, just like she always had all of Rosalind’s life. Oh, it was wonderful to be done with the half-truths and fibs. Rosalind again hugged her own, dear aunt, squeezed her tight, full of love. But there was yet another question that had to be asked, one that had kept Rosalind tossing and turning the night before. “Do you think Mommy would be angry?”

“Angry at our plans and counterplans, with your father sneaking out in the middle of it all to read a book? No, Rosy. I think she’d be laughing herself into fits.”

“Really?” But suddenly there it was, a memory of her mother laughing—roaring!—at one of Aunt Claire’s silly jokes. How had she forgotten her mother’s joyous sense of humor? Rosalind smiled up at her aunt. “Never mind. I think you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. I always am, except when it has to do with your father and dating. Whoa, what a yawn!”

“I didn’t get much sleep.”

“And unfortunately there’s no time to get more. Only ten minutes till departure for the soccer game.”

A quick shower and the bagel Rosalind grabbed for breakfast did little to wake her up, and neither did the drive to the soccer game, though the rest of the family was lively enough, what with Skye, Jane, and Batty chanting about annihilation and humiliation, while Aunt Claire kept making Mr. Penderwick laugh with ever more ridiculous ideas for dates out of books. Scarlett O’Hara! Miss Marple! Mary Poppins! It wasn’t unpleasant, the sleepy, foggy feeling, as Rosalind described it later to Anna. Still, she was glad when they reached the soccer fields, for wandering vaguely was more suited to her mood than being with loud relatives. And after she wandered for a moment, she was even more glad, for she came upon Iantha and Ben, and Ben stretched out his chubby arms to her, and she took him and held him, and there’s nothing less foggy than a warm, happy baby.

“Duck,” he said quietly in her ear.

“I know,” she answered, and wandered again until she found a bench to sit on during the game.

This final game of the season was the second matchup between Antonio’s Pizza and Cameron Hardware, and thus a blood match. No one had forgotten the wild brouhaha that had broken out the last time they’d met on the field. And, too, whoever won this game would be league champion. Both teams knew it. The crowd—swollen today with half of Cameron Hardware’s staff and all of Antonio’s Pizza’s staff—knew it. Even Rosalind knew it, though by the time the game started, she was barely awake, having slipped into a sleepy trance.

It all had to be described to her later—how Skye calmly captained her team to perfection, and how she was strong and fast, and so completely owned the backfield that her goalkeeper had too little to do; this was the only complaint. And Rosalind had to be told that Jane, too, had played her best, combining the speed of a track star with the precise footwork of a ballerina, and though she did once or twice call on the Aztec gods for help, she never for a moment became Mick Hart, which was a great relief to everyone.

By the end of the first half, Rosalind had gotten herself off the bench and into a more comfortable position on the grass. Ben fell asleep in her lap, and she fell into a doze with him, barely taking in that neither team had yet scored. For Melissa Patenaude, refusing to be overshadowed yet again by Penderwicks, was playing better that anyone had ever seen her play—better than anyone had ever dreamed she could play—and her team was rising to her example, working in sync, like a purple-and-white soccer machine. One of the things they were doing best was making sure that Jane Penderwick couldn’t score any goals. They stuck to her like shadows, and yet no one fouled her. It was brilliantly done.

All of this meant that the game could go either way, and the crowd—except for Rosalind and Ben—was in a state of wild excitement as the second half began. There were rumors later about Mr. Penderwick shouting Latin war cries, and Iantha and Aunt Claire teaching Batty how to lead cheers, though Rosalind only ever believed half of them. For surely, she protested, if there had been that much noise, she would have heard
some
of it.

All through the second half, the teams battled on, until there was so little time left that the specter of a scoreless tie rose up and hovered over the field. No one could have borne that, especially not Skye and Melissa, who would have had to share the league trophy, passing it back and forth between their homes. It was unthinkable. And since it was, Skye pulled one last, desperate stunt out of her captain’s brain and, with only one minute left on the clock, shouted “SACRIFICE!” so loudly that everyone but Rosalind—and Ben—heard it. But though everyone heard, only one person understood what Skye meant, not because they’d discussed it or planned it, but because they were sisters and knew each other through and through. So when Jane next received the ball, she settled it, dribbling this way and that, crazily, fantastically, as one after another of Melissa’s defenders came to her, surrounding her, making sure she couldn’t get close enough to the goal to shoot. So intent were they on Jane that they didn’t notice they were being maneuvered away from the goal while someone else was sneaking out of the backfield, taking a long route around the action, until, at just the right moment—

Wham!
Jane crossed the ball past Melissa and directly to Skye, unnoticed Skye, cunning Skye, who in a move worthy of the greatest—a Pelé or a Hamm—danced past a startled defender, raised her arms in triumph, and neatly scored. Antonio’s Pizza had won the game, and the season.

The roar of the crowd—and particularly of the Penderwicks—penetrated then even to Rosalind. She roused herself and looked down at Ben, who looked back up at her, smiling, for he was awake now, too, and then she looked out onto the field and saw that something odd was happening. Antonio’s Pizza was on one half of the field, jumping up and down and screeching in triumph, and Cameron Hardware was on the other half, wandering around with their heads hanging in humiliation. That was all normal. But in the middle—where no one should have been—were the two team captains. They weren’t beating each other up. They didn’t even seem to be arguing. They were—talking? And if Rosalind wasn’t mistaken, now Melissa was crying. And now—this was beyond imagining—Skye was putting an arm around Melissa. It was perhaps the briefest and most reluctant hug ever known to mankind, but it was a hug, nonetheless. If that really just happened, Rosalind thought, anything in this world can happen. She picked up Ben and joined her family and Iantha.

A moment later, Skye trotted off the field and graciously accepted everyone’s proud congratulations and handshakes. Then Aunt Claire asked, “What happened out there with Melissa?”

“Oh, that.” Skye looked disgusted. “She had some stuff to tell me.”

“What stuff? That is, if it’s private, you don’t have to tell us.”

“It’s not private, it’s just stupid.” But Skye looked round at everyone, and it seemed that they’d all seen the hug and wanted an explanation, even her father, who usually didn’t notice things like that, and Iantha, who was too polite to ask. Skye heaved a great sigh, then said what she had to say in a great rush. “Melissa said that she didn’t hate me at all, but that she’s been jerky to me because she’s always been jealous of me because I’m so smart and pr—and a good soccer player. Oh, and because of stupid Pearson. She says she likes him. That’s when she started to cry. So I told her she was smart, too, though she’s not. Then I told her—and this was absolutely, totally true—that she could have Pearson, because I don’t want him, and besides, I’d already told him to go soak his head, so I was sure he didn’t like me anymore. And then she thanked me over and over, and so I hugged her to get her to shut up.”

“That was very kind of you,” said Mr. Penderwick when it was clear that she was done. He sounded like he was choking.

“Maybe you and Melissa could become friends now,” added Iantha.

Skye looked as if Iantha had just suggested she take up needlepoint. “Holy bananas, I hope not,” she said, then ran off, for now her team was calling for their captain.

Heavens, thought Rosalind, trying with great seriousness to take in this new version of Melissa. The three adults with her, though, didn’t seem to be affected the same way. That is, they weren’t serious. They were laughing. They were laughing so hard that they were all three leaning into each other to keep themselves upright. See them lean, Rosalind told herself, as time slowed down for her and the remains of her foggy trance started to lift. See Aunt Claire lean into Daddy, and see Iantha lean into him, too. And see him reach out to steady Iantha. See how gently he does it, and see how he looks down at her while he reaches out. And see—