Eugenia Lincoln and the Unexpected Package

by Kate DiCamillo

  “Hello,” said Frank.

  “I have arrived to teach the lady, the taller one — the grim one — how to play the accordion.”

  “Really?” said Frank.

  “I beg your pardon,” said Eugenia. “That is patently untrue. No one is going to teach me anything.”

  “You will have a card, of course,” said Gaston. “You must.”

  “Thank you,” said Frank. He took a card. “Winged journeys with Gaston — an inquiry into the migration of the butterflies.” He looked up and smiled. “Wow,” he said. “I’ve always wanted to know more about butterfly migration.”

  “At your service,” said Gaston. He raised his velvet hat and lowered it. “But first, we must turn our attention to the accordion.”

  And then, somehow, the little man made his way through the door and into the Lincoln Sisters’ house.

  How, exactly, this was allowed to happen was a mystery to Eugenia.

  It was also extremely frustrating.

  They were in the kitchen.

  Gaston had the accordion strap around his neck. His velvet mushroom hat was on the table.

  “So you see,” said Gaston. “It is a simple affair. You put the accordion around your neck and then depress the keys and squeeze the box, and the music arrives — voilà!”

  Gaston closed his eyes. He squeezed the accordion. He depressed some keys. A small, sweet melody came into the world.

  “Oh, how wonderful,” said Baby. She clapped her hands.

  “Yes, yes,” said Gaston. “Everyone must clap. Everyone must clap along because we are all playing the music.”

  Frank clapped. Baby clapped.

  Eugenia did not clap.

  Gaston LaTreaux’s accordion playing got louder.

  General Washington looked up at Eugenia. “Moowwwwwllll?” he said. And then he left the room with his tail high in the air.

  “I am interested in selling this instrument!” shouted Eugenia. “Do you care to purchase it?”

  The back door opened. Mrs. Watson came into the kitchen, followed by Mr. Watson and the pig. “We heard the music and thought maybe you were having a party.”

  “We are not having a party,” said Eugenia.

  “Welcome, welcome,” said Gaston. He smiled with his too many teeth. Mr. Watson and Mrs. Watson smiled back. They started clapping along with Frank and Baby.

  The pig sat down in the middle of the kitchen floor. It grunted.

  Eugenia felt dizzy with frustration. She reached out and grabbed hold of the kitchen counter to steady herself. She waited. Surely, there would be an end to the song. It could not go on forever. Could it?

  When at last Gaston stopped playing, Eugenia spoke into the silence. She said, “I will ask you again. Do you wish to purchase this accordion?”

  “No, no,” said Gaston. “I am here only for your lessons, so you may learn to play the sweet songs and the sad songs and all the little songs in between.”

  “I refuse,” said Eugenia.

  “You refuse to learn to play the music that is waiting inside of your heart?”

  “There is no music waiting inside of my heart.”

  “Everyone’s heart has music,” said Gaston. He came toward her grinning his many-toothed grin. He took the accordion from around his neck and slipped the strap over Eugenia’s head.

  Suddenly, she was wearing an accordion.

  “Oh, Sister,” said Baby. “You look marvelous.”

  “Inspiring!” said Mr. Watson.

  “How darling!” said Mrs. Watson.

  The accordion was heavy. Also, Eugenia had no interest in looking marvelous, inspiring, or darling. Everything was wrong.

  Eugenia felt her face getting red.

  “Miss Lincoln?” said Frank.

  “I will show you,” said Gaston. “You will squeeze and depress the key.”

  “I will not squeeze or depress the key,” said Eugenia.

  “Ho, ho, ho,” laughed Gaston. “You will press the key and learn to play the music of your heart. That is all. That is everything.” He bent toward her. He put his hands over her hands.

  The man smelled like lilacs and musty curtains and butter.

  Eugenia felt another wave of dizziness roll over her.

  Gaston’s fingers pushed her fingers down upon the keys. A small, heartbroken sound came out of the accordion. Eugenia could feel it reverberating somewhere deep inside of her.

  Her heart quivered.

  “You see?” said Gaston.

  The kitchen became darker. Had a light gone out?

  Eugenia was trembling. “I do not see,” she said to Gaston.

  There was a rumble of thunder from somewhere far away.

  “I think it might storm,” said Mr. Watson.

  The kitchen became darker still.

  “Let us try again,” said Gaston. He wrapped his arms around Eugenia and pushed down on her fingers gently, and the song exited the accordion and entered the room.

  Eugenia felt as if someone had poked her with something hot and sharp, right in the heart.

  “This,” she said, “is nonsense.” She was alarmed to find that her voice was quavering. “I will not participate. I refuse to participate.”

  There was a crack of thunder, a flash of lightning. The kitchen lights flickered. Eugenia took the accordion from around her neck. She handed it to Gaston. She said, “I am going to my room now.”

  And that is where Eugenia Lincoln went.

  She closed the door very, very firmly.

  Eugenia got into bed and pulled the covers over her head. But even from underneath the covers, she could hear that the accordion music and the clapping had begun again.

  General Washington crept out from beneath the bed and got under the covers with Eugenia.

  “Moooowwwwwwwlllllll,” he said.

  Eugenia could still feel Gaston’s fingers on top of her fingers. She could still feel the note from the accordion reverberating in her body. It was a strange feeling.

  But was it necessarily a bad feeling?

  “Nonsense,” said Eugenia out loud into the darkness.

  And then Eugenia remembered what Frank had said: “Don’t you want to know who sent you the accordion? It’s very mysterious, isn’t it?”

  Eugenia hated to admit it, but it was mysterious.

  It was unsettling.

  Who, indeed?

  The world was confusing, unpredictable, chaotic. Eugenia disapproved of confusion and unpredictability and chaos. But despite her disapproval, there still existed mysterious accordions and pigs that sat on couches and little men who wore green velvet suits.

  Eugenia pulled the covers up even higher. The storm outside continued. She could hear the rain beating down. The raindrops were so loud, so ferocious, that they almost drowned out the sound of the accordion music.

  Almost, but not quite.

  Underneath the covers, Eugenia put her hand on her heart.

  Was there truly music in it?

  “Ridiculous,” said Eugenia out loud. “Geegaws, whoop-de-whoops. Frivolity.”

  From the kitchen, there came the sound of laughter.

  Eugenia Lincoln’s heart hurt just the tiniest bit.

  She wasn’t sure why.

  In the morning, Eugenia rose from her bed and went out to the kitchen and found that it was in severe disarray: chairs were overturned, crumbs were on the counter, unwashed plates were piled in the sink. There was an entire fruitcake in the center of the kitchen table. A fly was hovering over it, buzzing happily.

  “Baby!” shouted Eugenia. “I demand an explanation!”

  The only answer was the buzzing of the fly.

  Business cards littered the floor. The cards were covered in strange and alarming words: taxidermy, joyous, predictions, palpitations, truffles, fleas.

  “This is unacceptable,” said Eugenia.

  She walked into the living room and encountered Gaston LaTreaux asleep on the couch, still wearing his velvet suit. His velvet hat was
on his head. His hands were folded on his chest. There was a smile on his lips.

  The accordion, that instrument of torture and chaos, was on the chair beside the couch.

  “Tell me I am dreaming,” said Eugenia. “Surely this is a nightmare.”

  Gaston’s eyes fluttered. His smile deepened. He said, “Madam, I can show you. The music is within you.”

  Eugenia put her hand on Gaston’s shoulder and shook him as violently as she dared.

  His eyes remained closed. He smacked his lips and said, “Yes, the truffle, of course. The pig will be very useful in this regard.”

  “Wake up!” shouted Eugenia.

  Gaston snuggled more deeply into the couch.

  Eugenia turned her attention away from the little man.

  She looked at the accordion.

  Actually, she glared at it.

  And horror of horrors, she felt it glaring at her in return. “You are losing your mind, Eugenia Lincoln,” she said out loud. “It’s time to put an end to this nonsense.”

  All of it — the frivolity, the chaos, the whoop-de-whoops, the little men in green suits, the music in her heart, the talking aloud to herself — all of it had to stop.

  Eugenia picked up the accordion. It was very heavy, extremely heavy, entirely too heavy.

  Gaston made a snuffling noise. He smacked his lips.

  Eugenia looked over at him. She looked down at the accordion in her arms.

  And then she tiptoed across the living room and out the front door.

  General Washington followed her.

  Eugenia walked east, in the direction of the rising sun, the accordion in her arms and her cat at her heels.

  The light of the world was gray. A low mist clung to the ground. Eugenia had no plan.

  She only knew that the accordion must be disposed of somehow.

  She could put it in the trash. She could throw it in the river. She could bury it.

  It would have been helpful to sit down and make a list of all the options, but there was really no time for lists, was there? She had to keep moving. Soon, Gaston would wake up. And then the chaos and the clapping and the talk of hearts (and what they held) would begin all over again.

  The accordion was awkward to carry. Also, it felt like it was getting heavier. Eugenia stopped. General Washington stopped, too.

  “Mooowwwwwlllll?” said the cat.

  “Everything will be fine,” said Eugenia. “Order will soon be restored.” She put the accordion strap over her neck and the accordion immediately felt lighter, more manageable.

  Eugenia walked on. General Washington stayed at her heels. The sun came up slowly, burning away the mist. And then it appeared in its entirety — whole and shining and glorious.

  “Bah,” said Eugenia to the sun. She continued marching east. She shaded her eyes with her hand. The question remained: What should she do with the accordion?

  “Shall I burn it? Bury it? Throw it out to sea?” said Eugenia.

  “Mooowwwwwlll,” said General Washington in an approving kind of way.

  Eugenia, too, liked the way the words sounded. She said them louder. “Shall I burn it? Bury it? Throw it out to sea?”

  Truffles and butterflies and taxidermy and fleas, indeed.

  She would set the world to rights.

  “Burn it! Bury it! Throw it out to sea!” Eugenia shouted.

  “Where are you going, Eugenia Lincoln?” someone said.

  Eugenia stopped. She turned. She looked around her. The accordion let out a wheeze of surprise.

  Eugenia saw no one. Was she having auditory hallucinations now? Had it come to that?

  “Up here,” said the voice.

  Eugenia turned. The accordion squeaked.

  “I’m up in the tree,” said the voice.

  Eugenia looked up and saw Stella, Frank’s little sister, sitting in the branches of an elm tree.

  “Stella Endicott,” said Eugenia. “What are you doing up in that tree?”

  “Thinking,” said Stella. “Trees help me think. Do trees ever help you think? What are you going to do with that squeeze-box?”

  “It’s an accordion,” said Eugenia.

  “What are you going to do with that squeeze-box?” said Stella. “Are you going to burn it, bury it, throw it out to sea?”

  Eugenia felt her face getting warm. “You shouldn’t eavesdrop on people,” she said.

  “What does eavesdrop mean?”

  “It means to listen in on other people’s conversations,” said Eugenia. “It’s impolite. You shouldn’t do it.”

  “You were shouting,” said Stella. “I couldn’t not hear you.”

  “Nonetheless,” said Eugenia. “It’s rude.”

  Stella climbed down from the tree. She said, “Can I try the squeeze-box before you burn it, bury it, throw it out to sea?”

  “It’s an accordion,” said Eugenia.

  “Can I try it?”

  “I’m in a hurry,” said Eugenia.

  “I know,” said Stella. “You’re always in a hurry, Eugenia Lincoln. Can I play it?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” said Eugenia.

  “Please?” said Stella. She stood on one leg. Eugenia noticed that the child was barefoot.

  “Where are your shoes?” said Eugenia.

  “I’m not sure,” said Stella. She looked around in a vague manner. “I think I left them somewhere. But it’s fine. You don’t need shoes for climbing trees, or for thinking, or for playing a squeeze-box.”

  “It’s an accordion, and you shouldn’t be running around in your bare feet,” said Eugenia.

  “Why not?”

  “You’ll catch a disease.”

  “You sound like Frank,” said Stella. “He worries all the time, too.”

  “Sometimes, siblings know best,” said Eugenia.

  “I don’t know what a sibling is,” said Stella. “Can I play the squeeze-box?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” said Eugenia. “Fine. But only for a minute.”

  “Goody, goody, goody,” said Stella. She hopped up and down and held out her arms.

  Eugenia moved to lift the accordion from around her neck, and in doing so, brushed her fingers against the keys.

  A sound came forth. A sweet sound. An unexpected sound.

  Eugenia froze.

  “Pretty,” said Stella. “Play more.”

  And Eugenia did.

  Eugenia Lincoln closed her eyes. She squeezed the box and pushed the keys down and felt a song coming out of her. A song! How did her arms, her hands, her fingers, know what to do?

  Somehow they did.

  Eugenia played and Stella clapped and Eugenia’s heart lifted up inside of her.

  It was the most marvelous, unexpected thing that had ever happened to her. It was mysterious. It was joyous.

  The sun shone down. The sky was a bright and brilliant blue.

  Eugenia Lincoln played the accordion.

  And when she stopped, Stella said, “You can’t burn it, or bury it, or throw it out to sea, Eugenia Lincoln. You have to play and play it.” She hopped from one foot to the other. “But can I try it now? Can I? Huh, huh? Can I?”

  Eugenia and Stella walked back to the Lincoln Sisters’ house. General Washington followed. Eugenia Lincoln was stunned, amazed. She had never been so surprised in her life.

  She was a born accordion player.

  Who could have known? Who could have imagined?

  Baby Lincoln was in the kitchen. She was frying an egg for Gaston LaTreaux, who was sitting at the table, reading the newspaper and laughing, “Ho, ho, ho.”

  Coffee was percolating. The fruitcake was gone from the table. The cards had been picked up from the floor. The dishes were clean and the kitchen was filled with light.

  “Sister!” said Baby. “You have returned! And good morning to you, Stella.”

  “Good morning, Baby Lincoln,” said Stella.

  “I have discovered something,” said Eugenia.

  “Disc
overies are excellent things,” said Gaston. He put down the paper. “I always celebrate discoveries. I have with me a card about the making of discoveries. One moment, please, and I will give it to you.”

  “I do not need a card,” said Eugenia. “I have an announcement to make.”

  “I want a card,” said Stella.

  “Of course, of course, a card for you,” said Gaston. “Only a moment, please.” He stood and reached into his pocket and shuffled through his cards and handed one to Stella.

  Stella looked at the card. “It says that you can make a circus out of fleas. Is that true?”

  “Yes,” said Gaston. “It’s true.”

  “I’ve never seen a circus made out of fleas.”

  “Gaston LaTreaux, proprietor of many tiny circuses, at your service,” said Gaston. He lifted his mushroom hat from his head. He bowed to Stella.

  “I said I have an announcement to make,” said Eugenia. “Can no one hear me?”

  “I can hear you,” said Gaston.

  “I can hear you, Sister,” said Baby.

  “Say it, say it,” said Stella.

  Eugenia cleared her throat. “I have discovered —” she said.

  But just at that moment, Frank came in the back door and Stella said, “Guess what, Frank? Eugenia Lincoln can play a song on the squeeze-box.”

  “Really?” said Frank.

  “Oh, Sister,” said Baby. She put her hand over her heart.

  Gaston said, “But of course. We knew it all along. It was written in the stars. She was born to play the accordion.”

  Eugenia felt annoyed. Nothing was written in the stars. Nothing was known all along.

  “I will teach you what I know,” said Gaston. “I will teach you all the songs. And you will practice. And you will become great — a great and happy accordion player.”

  The back door opened again and Mrs. Watson entered, followed by the pig. “Good morning, good morning to all,” trilled Mrs. Watson.

  The pig oinked.

  Didn’t people knock anymore? Everyone just waltzed right in the door and made themselves at home. Eugenia’s happiness was evaporating. The world had not changed. Of course it had not changed. It was still the same chaotic, unpredictable, unorganized place.