Mary Anne and the Little Princess

by Ann M. Martin

  Victoria and I washed down our meals with milk shakes (Miss Rutherford had tea, which she found “revolting”). As Victoria opened a small pack of cookies, she asked, “Have you ever been to New York City, Miss Spier?”

  “Mary Anne,” I corrected her. “Sure I have.”

  “Is it as abfab as the mall?”

  “Oh, much more so. Especially at this time of year. Everything is all lit up. There’s a Christmas tree as tall as a building, music everywhere —”

  “Then you simply must show me around there! We can visit my parents at the United Nations when they return.”

  “Return?”

  “Yes. They’ve been in Brussels since Saturday.”

  “Ohhh, that’s too bad,” I said. “My father’s on a business trip, too. I know how you must feel.”

  Victoria shrugged. “You know, they’re always flitting around — flit, flit — but they’ll be back.”

  I was amazed at how casual she seemed. Deep inside, she must have been missing them. I sure was missing Dad.

  “Oh, I almost forgot!” I exclaimed. “How would you like to join us for Thanksgiving dinner?”

  Victoria said nothing. Miss Rutherford wiped her lips with a handkerchief and replied, “I believe Sir Charles and Lady Kent will be away that week as well.”

  “That’s even more reason for you to come over,” I said. “Both of you. So you won’t feel lonely.”

  Miss Rutherford gave me a hint of a smile. “When we return to the house, I shall check the schedule.”

  * * *

  Well, the schedule (or SHED-yool, as Miss Rutherford pronounced it) turned out to be clear. I found that out two days later, on my next visit to the Kents’. Miss Rutherford accepted my invitation, on the condition that Victoria did her homework before I left.

  We went right to work. Victoria had to answer questions about the book Stone Fox, by John Reynolds Gardiner, which her class had been reading. (Stone Fox was one of my favorites as a child; I cry just thinking about it.)

  I figured Victoria would hate the book. It takes place in a rural American town, and it’s about a boy who enters a dogsled race to win money that will prevent the bank from taking over the farm where he lives with his dying grandfather.

  Not exactly a regal kind of story.

  But I learned something about Victoria. She identified with the boy completely. She was so smart and sensitive. I could even see the trace of moisture in her eyes as she talked about the ending of the book.

  I felt I was finally breaking through. And that gave me hope.

  Victoria came along on the drive home, but she insisted we stop at Pizza Express for a quick slice. (I didn’t mind at all, because Sharon had promised steamed kale with onions and garlic for dinner.)

  My third visit with Victoria was after the football game that Saturday. (SMS had won, by the way, which meant the team was going to be in the championships the next week.) When Miss Rutherford led me into the nursery, Victoria was waiting with a tape recorder and mic.

  “This is Mary Anne, saying, ‘pair of ears,’ ” she said, thrusting a microphone toward me.

  “What — why —” I stammered.

  “Go on!” Victoria urged me.

  “Pair of ears,” I said softly.

  Victoria turned off the machine. “Pairrrrr of earrrrs. Hmmm. Now say the word, ‘schedule.’ ”

  “Victoria, why are you doing this?”

  “To study. I adore the way you speak, Mary Anne. You know, it reeeeeally isn’t harrrrd to sound like an Amurrrican.”

  I couldn’t help laughing. “You want to sound like an American? But your accent is so beautiful.”

  “Hardly. All the children at school seem to find it silly. They giggle so, every time I speak.”

  My heart went out to her. No child likes to feel picked on, not even royalty. “That’s just because they don’t know you well,” I said. “Maybe we can invite some of them over.”

  Victoria shrugged. “Perhaps. I haven’t really made friends with any of them yet. They don’t talk much to me. And I’m not fond of them, either. They’re not at all like my friends in London, Jezra and Annabelle and Christina. I have spoken to Druscilla, though, in the corridors. She’s awfully mature, for a second-grader.” She cocked her head. “You don’t say ma-TOOR, do you? I heard someone say ma-CHUR, which sounds a bit like a sneeze —”

  “I have an idea,” I said. “Next week is the big football game for Stoneybrook Middle School —”

  “I play football in my school in England!” Victoria exclaimed.

  “Great, then you’ll know more about the game than I do. Anyway, my boyfriend is on the team, and I was planning to go with a bunch of my friends. We can invite Druscilla and Karen and some other kids your age.”

  All the excitement in her eyes faded. She shrugged and looked away. “I suppose. You’ll have to check with Miss Rutherford, of course. And if I do go, I may bring along my cassette recorder.”

  “Sure, Victoria, whatever you like.”

  “You know, Mary Anne, you really are a splendid companion,” Victoria said with a tiny smile. “Now. Read aloud from Stone Fox into the microphone, but be sure to speak slowly …”

  I did as she asked (or commanded). But while I read, my mind was spinning.

  A splendid companion. Had Princess Victoria actually called me that? I could hardly believe it. What did I do to change her mind?

  Maybe nothing. Maybe this was the way she acted with all the people she liked.

  Or maybe she was just loosening up. Finally saying what was on her mind.

  Just what was on Victoria’s mind? It was so hard to tell. Did she hate Americans or admire them? Was she really cold-hearted about her parents, or was she trying to cover up a hurt deep inside? Was she too shy for friendships, or too snobby?

  The football game was a good idea, I knew it. But it was only a start.

  I had to bring Victoria out. It was my job to make her happy.

  Well, not just a job. I wanted to help her.

  I was actually beginning to like the little princess.

  “Hi, sweetheart!”

  Two words were enough. I could recognize from the tone of my dad’s voice over the phone that he did not have good news.

  “Hi,” I replied. “Are you coming home tomorrow?”

  Dad took a deep breath. “Well, I’m afraid that’s what I was calling about. It seems the plaintiff blah blah deposition rutabaga litigator peas and carrots change of venue …”

  No, that wasn’t exactly what he said. The precise words didn’t matter much to me. But their meaning did: Dad was going to be delayed.

  This was the third time. He’d called six days earlier to say he’d be spending the weekend away. Then he’d called Monday to say he needed until Thursday.

  Now Thursday was here, a week before Thanksgiving, and Dad was still in Milwaukee.

  “Anyway, I do have good news,” Dad continued. “The judge put his foot down today and said he refuses to let the case go beyond next Wednesday, so that we can all go home to our families and have something for which to be thankful.”

  “So you’ll be gone until Thanksgiving Day?” I asked.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  I guess that was good news. I suppose the case could have dragged on until Christmas.

  I tried to sound upbeat. We talked awhile longer, then I gave the receiver to Sharon. She didn’t seem any happier about the news than I was.

  As Sharon hung up, she heaved a big sigh. “Well, we can either sit here and moan over your father, or cheer ourselves up.”

  I smiled. “I vote for the second.”

  “Good. Let’s go shopping at the mall. I need to buy some Thanksgiving trimmings and order a turkey and all that —”

  “A turkey?” I asked. I was expecting some disgusting vegetarian substitute.

  Sharon shrugged. “Sure. You and your dad will eat it. And we need to teach your princess and her governess about American traditions, don’t
we? Besides, I’m going to cook up some yams and a rice dish you won’t believe, all of which will make me happy. Now … after we order the bird and do all that boring stuff, maybe we can pick a nice, new winter sweater for you?”

  “Seriously?”

  Sharon grabbed her car keys off the kitchen table. “Let’s go.”

  I was so excited. I really did need a new sweater. As we ran outside, I scolded myself for all the negative thoughts I’d ever had about Sharon.

  It felt kind of nice to drive to Washington Mall in a normal car, although I did miss the glamour a bit. (I missed the smoothness, too. Sharon is not exactly easy on the brakes.)

  At the mall, our first stop was a gourmet shop. “May I help you?” a smiling clerk asked.

  “I’d like to reserve a turkey,” Sharon told him.

  “Smoked, glazed, or Native American traditional seasoning?”

  “Just regular,” Sharon replied. “You know, raw.”

  The guy looked as if Sharon had just ordered fried walrus. “Uh, this is a gourmet shop? We specialize in prepared foods?”

  “Oh.” Sharon looked embarrassed. “Of course.”

  Prepared. That was a key word. It meant no cooking for Sharon. As positive as I was trying to be, I couldn’t shake a mental image of Miss Rutherford discovering a bracelet in her stuffing.

  “You mean, all we’d have to do is heat it up?” I asked.

  The clerk nodded. “I’ve got quite a few smoked birds, frozen and ready to go. I recommend them. We’ve had tons of happy customers.”

  We agreed we’d pick one up on the way out.

  Whew.

  Next stop, Macy’s, where we bought beautiful cloth napkins and candles. On our way out, we passed the most gorgeous display in the designer clothing section.

  In the center of it was a cotton sweater, thickly woven and bursting with fall colors. It reminded me of a sweater Dawn had bought during her first experience with New England cold weather.

  “This is nice,” Sharon said, fingering the material. “It really says you.”

  If my dad had been there, I knew just what he’d do. He’d nod solemnly, look at the price, then mutter about finding a cheaper “department-store knockoff.”

  “Well, I’m sure there’s a cheaper one like it —” I began.

  Sharon burst out laughing. “You sound like your father. Look, he’s there and we’re here. If he can buy bratwurst, I can buy this for you.”

  I didn’t quite follow the logic, but I didn’t pursue it. Before I could close my gaping jaw, Sharon had found a sales clerk and plunked down her credit card.

  My feet were barely touching the ground as we left the store. I must have thanked Sharon a hundred times.

  After about her ninety-seventh “You’re welcome,” Sharon stopped in front of a store called About Face. “Oh, isn’t this stuff cute?”

  The window was crammed full of crazy accessories — barrettes, headbands, hats, and buttons. Now, I happen to love About Face. Awhile ago, I received a terrific free makeover there. But I wasn’t wild about most of the stuff on display. And my stomach was growling with hunger.

  “That headband on the left would look nice, wouldn’t it?” Sharon said.

  I looked where she was pointing. It was a broad band with a light-blue, psychedelic summery pattern. It was beautiful, but frankly, I’m not really a headband kind of person.

  “You mean, for you or for me?” I asked.

  But Sharon was already inside, flagging down a saleswoman. I waited near the door, admiring my sweater.

  A moment later, the saleswoman was handing me the headband, so I put it on.

  The woman looked at me skeptically. “To be honest, I see this on someone with longer hair and lighter coloring.”

  “Oh, well,” Sharon said. “Never mind.”

  Good. Lunchtime.

  As we headed toward the escalator, a woman ran up to us. “Sharon!”

  Sharon smiled broadly. “Hi, Regina! Mary Anne, Regina is someone I volunteer with at Meals on Wheels. She lives in Mercer. Regina, this is my daughter, Mary Anne.”

  Stepdaughter. The word almost flew out of my mouth. I had to fight back the urge. How could I even feel such ingratitude, after what Sharon had done for me?

  “Hi,” I said.

  Regina left us at the next floor, and Sharon and I went on to the food court.

  At the sight of the Friendly’s sign, my stomach felt like a dog with a wagging tail. “Mmm,” I said, “I could go for a nice, juicy —”

  “Cracked-wheat-and-cabbage crock pot!” Sharon said.

  At first I thought she was joking. Then I saw that she was reading from the blackboard menu in front of the Bountiful Wellness Macrobiotic Restaurant. “Perfect!” she went on. “We loved that last time we were here, remember?”

  The truth? I had never set foot in that restaurant in my life. And I doubt I ever would have loved anything with cracked wheat and cabbage in it.

  The day’s events suddenly became clearer to me. The Dawn-like sweater … the Dawn-like headband … the Dawn-like meal …

  Okay, Sharon had been generous and warm to me that day. I was grateful for that. But I had to wonder. Exactly which daughter was she seeing while she did all these nice things? Was it really me? Me, Mary Anne Spier?

  Or was I a stand-in for Dawn?

  As we walked into the restaurant I had a sinking feeling. Like an actor who’s suddenly found herself onstage in the wrong play.

  “Oy heahboy declay-or that ye Froiday meeting of thou Baby-sittuhs Club shall come to or-dah!” said Kristy.

  Claudia’s room fell silent.

  “Were you just at the dentist, Kristy?” Jessi asked. “You sound like you have a mouth full of Novocain.”

  “Ha-ha,” retorted Kristy. “That was my royal British accent, if you please.”

  “Ugh, Shakespeare is rolling in his grave,” Claudia said with a groan. “He is dead, right?”

  “I think you mean English accent,” I said to Kristy.

  “What’s the difference?” Kristy asked.

  I was ready with that answer. Victoria had informed me. “Well, English means from England. British could mean anywhere in Great Britain. For example, something relating to Wales would be considered British.”

  “Like blubber?” Claudia asked.

  Now it was Mallory’s turn to groan. “Wales, not whales.”

  “Ahem,” said Kristy. “Any new business?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I want to bring up Victoria. I’ve met with her four times now, and —”

  “You’re ready to jump out a window,” Abby continued.

  “No, I wasn’t going to say that,” I said.

  “You’re too polite,” Kristy remarked.

  “I like her,” I insisted.

  “Every time you talk about her,” Stacey said, “you’re always saying how closed-off she is.”

  “That’s true,” I agreed, “but it’s not her fault. The poor girl is only eight, and she’s in a new country, a new house, a new school — and her parents aren’t even around to help her adjust. Imagine how you’d feel.”

  Abby rubbed her chin, as if in deep thought. “With a limo and a credit card at my disposal, and a house the size of an airplane hangar? Hmm, give me a minute to think about this.”

  “All I’m trying to say,” I went on, “is that deep inside, Victoria is just a little girl who’s having trouble fitting into a new environment.”

  “Not enough red carpets here in Stoneybrook, huh?” Stacey asked.

  “Look, I know what you’re thinking. She’s snobby. She expects people to obey her every command. She doesn’t seem to care what people think of her. But you have to understand, she grew up in a different world than we did. With different rules. In England, she’s in the so-called ruling class. People are expected to act a certain way. Here in the U.S., where everyone’s lumped together, she doesn’t know how to act. So what do the kids in her school do? They ignore her. Maybe they’re afraid o
f her. And at home, she’s kept practically under lock and key by her nanny. She has no real friends.”

  “Shannon told me that her sister, Maria, asked Victoria to come over to her house,” Kristy reported. “Victoria refused.”

  “Maybe she felt shy,” I said. “Look, our phone number was probably one of the first numbers the Kents called when they moved here. When I accepted the job, I did it on behalf of the BSC. So as I see it, we’re in this together. We should all seriously try to help Victoria out. Make her feel welcome.”

  Claudia nodded. “Any suggestions?”

  “Well, I’ve already invited her to the football game tomorrow,” I began.

  “Easy enough,” Abby said. “I’ll come along. I may need a ride, though — I mean, if there’s enough room in the limo …”

  “You’ll have to squeeze in with me and Karen,” Kristy said.

  Jessi laughed. “Wait until I tell Becca. She’s dying to meet Victoria. All week long she’s been talking in this princess voice she made up. It’s very cute.”

  “I can ask Charlotte Johanssen to come with me,” Stacey suggested. “She’s the same age as Victoria.”

  “This is great!” I said. (Neither Charlotte nor Becca had met Victoria, because they go to Stoneybrook Elementary School, not Stoneybrook Day.) “Victoria’s already excited about going. She told me she plays football in England —”

  “A princess playing football?” Mallory said.

  “Pahdon me, would you pleeease pahss the pigskin?” said Kristy in a terrible accent, as if she were asking someone to pass the tea.

  “Kristy, don’t be offensive,” Stacey said.

  “That’s like asking a bird not to fly,” Claudia muttered.

  “I heard that!” Kristy sprang out of her chair and began whapping Claudia with her visor.

  Rrrrrringg!

  A phone call brought the meeting back to order again.

  I grabbed the receiver. “Hello, Baby-sitters Club, Mary Anne speaking.”

  “Hey, Mary Anne, this is George, the driver. Miss Rutherford told me I’d find you here.”

  “Hi, George!”

  “I’m calling to say I talked to the Kents, and they said it was okay for me to come to your party with Miss Rutherford. So I accept!”