Perrin was tying on her apron. “Where are they?” I asked.
“Who?”
“The Goose Ladies. Why aren’t they here?”
“Oh, they’re watching movies, practicing yoga, reading, doing whatever they like. Aunt Doris is probably out for a drive.”
Rain and l sent each other wide-eyed looks.
“But isn’t this their job?” I exclaimed.
“I thought that they would help us,” Rain added, more politely.
Perrin put an arm around each of us. “Oh, girls, we’ve all been so busy, I guess no one remembered to explain. During most of the year, the Aunts bake cakes that they sell to stores. They’re called Every Day’s Your Birthday cakes. Though they don’t grant wishes, people love them. That’s how the Goose Ladies earn the money they use to run this farm and how they can afford to bake wishing cakes, which, as you know, they give away.”
“They are awfully old to be doing all that work,” said Rain.
“You’re right about that,” Winnie agreed. “That’s why it’s so important for the apprentices to come here each summer. In order to keep our heritage alive, we descendants of Mother Goose must learn the Goose Ladies’ secrets. And while you’re here, the Aunts get a much-deserved break. Think of it this way:
“To accomplish your best
It’s important to rest
For working when weary
Can make your cake dreary.”
“Shouldn’t it be the other way around, though?” I asked. “Shouldn’t the Aunts be the ones making magical cakes, while we make the everyday ones?”
Perrin smiled. “I asked that exact same thing when I first arrived here. But since a Goose Girl’s power is strongest in her youth, your magic is more powerful than theirs. That’s one reason why the apprentices bake the wishing cakes. But there’s something even more important. The Aunts are worried that their real purpose, keeping hope in the world, is dying out. They’re counting on some of us to return to Chuckling Goose Farm when we’ve finished with school.”
“Do you mean to become Aunts?” I asked. I was trying to imagine myself in a billowy black skirt and a cone hat.
“Yes,” replied Perrin. “What could be more important than keeping hope alive in the world?”
“Will you be coming back here, Perrin?” asked Rain.
Perrin’s eyes grew moist. “I’ve been coming here for five years and I’m still not sure. I love Chuckling Goose! But I’ve always wanted to be a kindergarten teacher.”
“What about you, Winnie?” I asked. “Do you think you’ll be a Goose Lady?”
“Not exactly,” said Winnie, without having to think about it. “My mother is a doctor in town. She comes here to treat the Aunts, whenever they need her. I’d like to do that, too. That way I can keep an eye on them and help out in the kitchen occasionally.” She came around behind Rain and then me to tie our apron strings.
“That sounds like a good plan,” I said. But inside I felt a little worried. What if none of the apprentices decided to stay? Would it be the end of the Goose Ladies?
“Okay,” said Perrin when she’d finished my bow. “We’d better get started.”
“I don’t think I remember all the baking rules,” I admitted.
“Don’t worry. Just watch us,” said Perrin. She tapped her spoon against the counter. “One, two, three!
“Mix and chatter, mix and chatter
That’s the way to coax a batter
If a pleasing rhyme you say
Your request it will obey.”
The goose girls repeated the rhyme three times, so by the third, Rain and I could say it, too. Then Perrin pulled a stack of index cards from her apron pocket and handed one to each of us. Mine was a recipe for angel food cake, written out in neat block letters.
“Just take it one step at a time,” said Perrin before getting to work on her own cake.
Remembering Aunt Fancy’s advice, I read my card through twice before I began cracking eggs. Thanks to Aunt Cone Hat, I could do it with my eyes closed.
Soon the kitchen was noisy with whisking, beating, scraping, and the rumbling and sighing of our big oven. It wasn’t long before I’d measured all the ingredients into my bowl. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Perrin remove the mixing spoon from her neck and open her rhyming notebook. One by one the others did the same.
“Rain, watch this!” I whispered, nodding toward Perrin.
Rain raised her head just in time to catch Perrin placing one hand over her heart. Then she dipped her mixing spoon into the bowl.
While she stirred, Perrin glanced at her notebook and recited her wishing rhyme. Her voice was the kind you’d use to coax a reluctant five-year-old to obey.
“Happy Birthday, whoever you are
You needn’t bother to wish on a star . . .”
I’d already heard the poem on rhyming day. But now I thought Winnie had been right. It was a little boring. The truth was, so far baking day was pretty much like baking with my mom. Nice, but no big whoop. I couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed.
“I hope I don’t drop my notebook into the bowl,” Rain joked.
“Me, either!” I took a deep breath and removed my spoon from around my neck. Copying Perrin, I pressed my hand over my heart. “Come on, Stumpy, let’s mix up this batter,” I muttered, plopping the homely old spoon into my bowl. I glanced at the wishing rhyme I’d scribbled into my notebook and began reciting:
“You cannot drink an ocean
You can’t build a mountain from sand
But any type of wish you make
Will fit inside your hand—”
“Baw-wing!”
Had I just heard someone say boring? I looked around. The rest of the girls were busy talking to their bowls.
“Twy again!” the voice demanded. It was squeaky and bubbly, the way a goldfish might sound if a goldfish could talk. It seemed to be coming from the bowl.
“You cannot drink an ocean—” I began.
“No! No! I don’ wike dat one!” The batter rippled around the edges.
My heart began to thump. I glared into the bowl and caught a glimpse of a face. It had eyes like two straight lines, circles for cheeks, and a pouty mouth.
“Y-you can talk?” I stammered.
“Bedda den you can wite.”
“How would you know?” I grumbled. “You’re a bowl of batter, not a writing teacher.”
The batter stuck out its tongue, which looked like a lump. It made me so mad, I began mixing faster.
The face began to fade.
“Wait! Who are you?” I yelped.
But there was no reply. Desperately, I began turning the pages of my notebook until I found a rhyme that might work. I recited it to the bowl in a perky, totally embarrassing voice:
“A swimming pig or a flying snake
No matter how weird
A wish you make
It might come true on your birthday cake
Just hope your wish isn’t a mistake!”
“Flying snake, ha-ha. Make it maw funny!” I heard as the face reappeared.
“O-o-okay . . . hold on a sec.” I wracked my brains, trying to figure out what a cake batter would think was funny. I decided to go with the kind of rhyme my little brother would like.
“Tickle tickle with my spoon
Jump up over Mr. Moon
I hope you’ll take my wish with you
And ask Sir Moon to make it true.”
While I said the rhyme, I stirred the batter lightly. I hoped it would feel like a tickle.
“Hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo!” The batter popped a bubble and the face disappeared.
“Wait! What about my wish?” I stirred the batter, trying to make the face return. Instead, I saw crinkly eyes . . . a bumpy nose . . . a smile like half an orange . . . and a pointy hat with a round brim. I knew who that face belonged to.
“Cheers for the girl with the cinnamon curl
Who protects wishes with a will so strong
For the spoon she wields will banish wrong.”
“Mother Goose? Is that you?” I squeaked as if I’d suddenly become a mouse.
“Of course! I’m so glad Esperanza has given my spoon to you. How do you like it, dear?”
Holy goose! I had her spoon!
“It smells super good, like cinnamon,” I said.
“That’s because I got it from a peddler who’d traveled through India, where cinnamon trees grow.”
“W-was your rhyme about me?” I stammered.
“Didn’t you like it?”
“Yes, but I don’t really deserve it.”
“But you will someday.”
“I hope so,” I murmured. “I—I don’t think the batter likes me or my rhymes very much. I’m afraid I’m going to fail wishing cakes.”
Mother Goose chuckled and the batter rippled. “Oh, not at all! The batter imps like to tease. But they will always honor your wishes, for I have instructed them to do so.”
“But why?”
“Because you have my spoon. And because your heart is braver than brave and truer than true. Just like your great-great-great-grandmother. You two must take good care of each other.” Suddenly the batter became a whirlpool like the kind that makes ships disappear in the ocean and Mother Goose’s voice grew very faint. “Hurry and get this cake in the oven!” she called. There was a sharp, sucking sound and a POP! Mother Goose disappeared.
My heart was beating so fast, I had trouble filling the baking pans without spilling the batter. Finally, I joined the end of the line of girls waiting for the oven. Perrin stood at the oven door, wearing thick red mitts to protect her hands while she slid our pans carefully onto the racks. She’d just wedged my cake in with the others when Aunt Bernie and Aunt Fancy entered the kitchen.
“Noon—time for lunch, girls,” announced Bernie. “We’ll babysit your cakes, so they won’t burn.”
“There are sandwiches and cookies on the dining room table,” Fancy told us. “Be back at two for frosting.”
Before I left, I gave Stumpy a careful cleaning with a soft, damp towel. It no longer looked ugly to me. Instead, it reminded me of my dad’s hands, which were weathered and scarred by hard work. I hung it on a hook with the rest of the spoons. Even among all that silver, it looked noble.
“See you later, Sir Stumpy,” I promised.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Ye Olde Quality Control
On my way out the kitchen door, I bumped into Aunt Doris. “Sorry!” I exclaimed.
“Hey kiddo, I’ve been waiting for you,” she said, leading me to a bench in the empty hall. “How was baking?”
We sat down and looked at each other. I had the feeling she wanted to know who or what I’d seen in my batter and I was dying to tell her. But we both knew that information was supposed to be private. Didn’t being truer than true also mean sticking to the Goose Ladies’ rules?
“It was interesting,” I said.
“Okay.” Aunt Doris smiled. “I want to talk to you about quality control.”
“Did I do something wrong?”
“No, kiddo,” she said, waving a hand to chase away the thought. “It’s just that when you make a product, whether it’s toothpaste or mosquito repellant, you have to know if it’s doing its job. The same is true for wishing cakes. The thing is, you can tell if your toothpaste is working by looking at your smile in the mirror. And you can tell if your mosquito repellent is working if you don’t get bitten. But since we never know who gets a wishing cake, we can’t check our work.”
I thought for a moment. “So how do you know?”
Aunt Doris lowered her head so we were nose to nose. “We test it.”
“You mean you and the other Aunts make wishes?”
“No, kiddo, the new goose girls do. We let you try one out on your birthday.”
For a moment I couldn’t speak. “My birthday is in two weeks and a day—July twenty-second,” I said.
Aunt Doris cracked her gum. “I know! That’s why I’m telling you now. You need time to decide what you’re going to wish.”
I hesitated for a moment before I asked, “Does everyone wish for world peace? Or an end to hunger?”
“Oh, kiddo, no wish is strong enough to do that. Great problems can only be solved by small steps. Like donating to a food pantry is a step toward solving hunger. And building an inclusive playground is a step toward bringing a community together.” She took my hand and gave it a squeeze. “But it’s okay to wish for personal things, too.”
“Did you get to wish on a cake when you were an apprentice?” I asked.
“Yup.”
“What did you wish for?”
Aunt Doris blushed. I’d never seen her do that before. “A year’s supply of bubble gum,” she admitted.
“And what did you get?”
“Cavities! Lots of them.”
We both burst out laughing.
“I’m starving, how about you?” Aunt Doris asked after she’d caught her breath.
“Yup,” I said.
“Okay, race you to the dining room!” Before I was on my feet, she was off and running.
It wasn’t fair, but it was fun.
On my way to meet Gray in the meadow, I thought about things to wish for. My two top choices used to be a baby brother and a golden retriever puppy, but now I had Sammy. And although Destiny was a goose, I couldn’t imagine having another pet I loved as much.
I’d also longed for a modern bathroom with a fancy shower instead of the claw-foot tub we had at home. But now that I was at Chuckling Goose Farm, I kind of missed the old bathtub. Lately the only thing I’d wished for was straight, silky hair like Perrin’s. My hair made me look like a guinea pig was sitting on my head. (Really! There’s a kind of guinea pig called a Texel that has crazy, curly cinnamon hair.)
I knew what my friends at home would wish for—Alexa Pinkston would want to paint her room because every room in her house was pink and she was longing for a different color. My friend Lucy Chang could have used something to cuddle. Since she gave away the History Village Dolls she loved, either a kitten or a little sister would be perfect for her.
I thought maybe Gray would wish for a tool bench like my dad’s. More than anything, he loved to help fix things around the estate we lived on.
As for my dad, well, I knew he could use a week off. Being the caretaker at a big estate meant our family never got to go on vacation. I thought Mom would like that, too, though she might wish for a new sewing machine to help make the costumes she loved. Her old one was cranky and sometimes it took days before Dad could get around to fixing it.
When you could have almost anything you wanted, it made wishing for something really hard.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Ye Olde Disappointment
After I left Aunt Doris, I met Gray for a picnic in the back meadow. He’d brought both Destiny and La Blanca with him. The two geese had quickly become inseparable, which was probably why Des didn’t run away to find me anymore. But he’d also brought Dewey! The little gosling was walking better, though he didn’t wander far from Gray.
“Dewey looks as if he’s improved a lot,” I said.
“A bit. He still needs more time in the little barn.” Gray scooted closer. “I’ve been introducing him to our ganders, Commander and Alexander, in short spurts. “I always feed them something tasty to make them think happy thoughts about being with him.”
“It’s great that you’re helping him,” I said.
“I wish I could do more,” Gray said. “It’s hard, ’cause we’re busy all the time. This morning we milked Fern and Ivy. Then we raked out their stalls and replaced the old hay with clean stuff. Next we did the same thing for Thomas. The hay bales are stored up in the loft and we had to get a few of them down. But look!” He pulled his right sleeve up above his bicep. “Muscles!”
“Where?” I asked, curling my fingers like binoculars to exami
ne his arm. “You mean those freckles?”
“Ha-ha! Very funny.” He took a giant bite out of his sandwich.
I waited until we finished eating before revealing my secret. I knew he would go a little crazy and I didn’t want him to choke to death. When I finally did tell him, he scooped up Dewey and did a happy dance.
“You’re getting a wishing cake? That’s fantastically, amazingly, awesomely, astonishingly, incredibly, outstandingly, extraordinarily, monumentally c-r-a-z-y! We’ve got to start planning what you’ll wish for, like a hoverboard or a bearded dragon, or—” Gray stopped jumping for a moment. “Or did you already decide?”
“I think so,” I said, though I suddenly realized how boring my wish would sound to him. “I thought I’d wish for a family beach vacation. Mom and Dad both work so hard they could use one. I know Mom would love to collect shells for craft projects. Dad could stretch out in the sun and sing along to those corny eighties songs he listens to. You know how Sammy loves to dig holes. And I’ll ask for you to come with us.”
“But Pix—you could go see grizzlies in Alaska or take a kayak down the Colorado rapids!”
“That’s what you’d want.” I sighed. “You know, deciding isn’t easy. I’ve been thinking about so many things, my brain hurts.”
“Then maybe you should give your wish to someone else.” Gray grinned at me.
It was my turn to laugh. But suddenly I was worried. “Aren’t you having fun here?”
He nudged me with his bony shoulder. “Come on, I was just kidding. This place is great. It’s fun, even when we’re working. And tomorrow, we’re going to sneak around delivering wishing cakes. I can’t wait!”
“Me, either,” I agreed, jumping up. “But I’d better get back to the kitchen now. We’re learning about frosting this afternoon. I don’t want to give Aunt Cone Hat a reason to ground me.
“Bye, Dessie.” I leaned over and kissed her soft little head. Then I realized La Blanca was staring at me. “Um, bye, Blankie,” I said.
She took a step closer to me.
Pixie Piper and the Matter of the Batter Page 7
