“I can’t take your money, Pip.”
“Sure you can. You could use it to buy food for the animals,” Pip said, placing it in Rain’s lap. “Anyway, it’s not much. I spent a lot of it on candy at Garrie’s Grocery.”
“I have some money, too,” I suddenly remembered. I took the book I’d brought from home—Ella Enchanted—from my nightstand and flipped to the back, where I’d tucked the ten-dollar bill I’d gotten from my mom. “Add this to the jar,” I said.
“Thanks, both of you.” Rain untied the two red and white woven bracelets she always wore and gave each of us one. “Here, I want you to have these, so you don’t forget me.”
“We’ll wear them until you return,” I told her, tying mine on tightly.
“Rain,” River was calling from downstairs, “Aunt Doris says we’re leaving in five minutes!”
The three of us stuffed pajamas, T’s, shorts, and underwear into Rain’s duffel bag. When it was full, Pip offered to take it downstairs to River.
“Tell him I’ll be down in a sec. I just have to pack my toiletries and find my flip-flops,” said Rain.
When Pip was gone, I unwound the soft gray thread I’d been wearing around my pinky since I’d arrived.
“For good luck,” I said, twisting it on Rain’s pinky.
“Pixie! I can’t take this,” she protested.
“You have to! You can give it back when you return,” I said.
We collected her hairbrush, her toothbrush, her shampoo and conditioner. She found her flip-flops under the bed.
Pip came back just in time for a last good-bye. We gave each other one more hug and Rain ran down the stairs.
“Tell us as soon as you find the cats!” Pip called after her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Ye Olde Story of Pip
After Rain left, Pip punched the mattress. “I hate it when anyone leaves!” she exclaimed.
“Does it happen often?”
“Every August when everyone goes home except Wyatt and me.” Pip turned Rain’s bracelet around and around on her wrist. That’s when I noticed the bruises on the inside of her arm. They were black-and-blue marks about the size of a nickel.
I touched one with a fingertip. “How’d you get these?”
She pulled her arm away. “Just some friends fooling around.”
That didn’t seem very friendly to me. But I’d been hit in the face with a softball by someone I thought was a friend. Sometimes things were more complicated than they sounded.
“Do you know Wyatt and I have been living here most of our lives?” Pip asked. “Our mother died when I was three days old and our father had to go back to the navy. He knew that he was somehow related to the Goose Ladies—he remembered meeting Aunt Doris once when he was a kid. So when she showed up and said they would take care of us while he was away, our dad was relieved. Then his ship was lost at sea.”
My stomach dipped the way it did when my mother talked about losing her parents. “I’m sorry, Pip,” I whispered.
She shrugged. “It’s okay. When we were little, we were happy enough. But now it’s lonely being the only kids around here for most of the year.”
I nodded. All I could see out the window were fields and trees. They were beautiful, but there wasn’t another house around for miles—which meant there were no neighbors. “Didn’t you go to school, though?” I asked.
“At first the aunts tried to homeschool us. But they were really busy baking everyday cakes and wishing cakes. Wyatt got ornery and I cried a lot. They figured out that we needed friends. So they decided to send us to Buttercrunch Elementary and Middle School. When school got out, we used to stay in town until Aunt Doris could pick us up.”
I nodded. “At Garrie’s Grocery.”
Pip’s eyebrows rose up. “You know Garrie?”
“She was here last week when everyone was out delivering cakes. Aunt Esperanza didn’t seem too happy to see her.”
“Well that’s no surprise,” said Pip, shaking her head. “The Aunts have always been really careful about not being seen in public or letting anyone near Chuckling Goose. That’s why they’ve got those signs on the road that say ‘PRIVATE PROPERTY’ and ‘NO TRESPASSING’! They never even let a school bus come here.”
“Taking a school bus is overrated,” I said. “Some days it’s like riding with a tankful of sharks.”
Pip smiled. “When we were little, Aunt Doris would drop us at Garrie’s Grocery. It’s not far from school, and Doris delivered cakes there anyway. She arranged to give Garrie five extra cakes a week in return for her taking us the rest of the way to school and picking us up. We stayed at the store until Aunt Doris took us home. I didn’t mind. I liked helping Garrie dust the cans and restock the shelves.”
I wondered if Pip knew the story of how Aunt Esperanza had frozen Raveneece because she’d threatened to harm her and Wyatt. I didn’t ask, though. It wasn’t mine to tell.
“Now Wyatt and I walk to school on our own,” Pip said. “But sometimes he stays late for extra classes or sports, so I still go to Garrie’s to wait until he or Aunt Doris can meet me. And every Friday, Garrie actually pays me to help out.”
“That’s cool,” I said.
“Yeah. In the fall, I won’t need anyone to come for me. I can get home alone. Wyatt and I figured out a shortcut through the woods. I don’t even have to take the road.” Suddenly she grabbed my arm. “You can’t tell anyone about that—not even Rain.”
“Don’t worry, I can keep a secret,” I assured her. The truth was, I was surprised she’d confided in me. I hadn’t always been sure we were friends.
“Hey, can I wear one of your T-shirts tomorrow?” she asked. “I’m almost out of laundry again.”
“Sure, you can borrow anything you want,” I said. “Anytime.”
During the next week, helping with breakfast, writing new wishing rhymes, baking cakes, taking care of Destiny, and helping Aunt Esperanza with the garden kept me really busy. But at night I thought about Rain and River a lot. I’d written e-mails to Rain, but so far there’d been no answer. I told myself to be patient, which was something I’d never been very good at.
I tried to imagine what the twins were doing. I was lucky. I didn’t know how things worked when you lost everything like that. But lately I’d started worrying about it. Where would the Aunts go if Chuckling Goose Farm was destroyed in a fire? And what about Pip and Wyatt, who lived here, too? What would happen to the geese, and Thomas, and the cows? Some nights those thoughts kept me awake past midnight—and the only thing to do was go to the computer. More and more, writing to my friends became like keeping a diary.
To: Rain and River
Subject: My Life in Nines
My lunch was peanut butter
Nine times in a row
To tie Aunt Cone Hat’s record
I’ve forty-eight to go
I’ve loaned my roommate Pippi
T-shirt number nine
But each one comes back dirty
And smelling like a swine.
It’s been nine days since you left us
Though it feels more like a year
I wonder if you found your cats
And if you’ll return here.
Miss you 9x9x9x9x9x9x9!!! (4,782,969)
Pixie
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Ye Olde Mother Goose Rhyme
I was totally surprised at breakfast on Monday when Perrin said, “Today you’ll be baking your own wishing cake, Pixie. Aren’t you excited?”
I dropped my fork, splattering drops of syrup on my shirt.
“Don’t tell me you forgot your birthday’s tomorrow,” said Gray.
“I didn’t forget it; I misplaced it,” I replied, dabbing at the mess with my napkin. “I lost track of the days.”
“If I was getting a wishing cake, which I’m not,” said Gray, looking around the table at everyone, “I’d know when my birthday was to the exact second.” He stuffed a muffin in his mouth
and kept on talking. “And by the way, isn’t it unfair that Wyatt and I don’t get them?”
Pip smirked. “Trying out a wishing cake is part of our work, Gray. Anyway, you might get a wishing cake someday. You have as much of a chance as any other random person.”
Gray just sighed and shook his head.
I looked at my lap, so he wouldn’t see me smiling. I’d been deciding between two wishes—going on a cake delivery or taking a vacation in Hawaii. If I did choose Hawaii, I was planning to include Gray in my wish so he could come along with my family and me. I might do it just to hear him whoop.
After breakfast, I made a quick trip to the barn to see Destiny. Then I rushed back to the kitchen, tied on my apron, and slung Stumpy around my neck. By the time the rest of the apprentices were ready, my patience was gone. I couldn’t help hopping from foot to foot while Perrin led the rhyme that began all of our baking sessions:
“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.”
Since the birthday cake I’d be making was my own, I got to choose the kind I wanted, and I wanted one with cinnamon. Lots of it! When I told that to Perrin, she snapped her fingers.
“I know just the one—the snickerdoodle! It’s a cinnamon and vanilla butter cake with brown sugar and cinnamon buttercream icing.”
Yum!
I gathered the ingredients and added them to my bowl one at a time. Then I put Stumpy to work mixing the batter while I placed my hand over my chest. The rhyme I recited seemed to pop right out of my heart:
“Cinnamon is the scent of home
One sniff and I am there
My mom in a costume, my dad in his jeans
And Sammy with food in his hair
“If only every family
Could gather round a cake
Hope would spread across the world
With every wish they make.”
I was stirring in slow, wide circles when I saw an ocean in the batter. I was riding on a surfboard with Destiny, surrounded by friendly dolphins. Gray was waving to them from a palm tree he’d climbed to pick coconuts. Sammy was sitting on the beach, making sand cakes with his pail and “feeding” them to Mom and Dad.
I felt like diving right into the bowl!
But in another moment, the scene disappeared and a bubble rose in the center of the batter. When it popped, a face appeared. Straight lines for eyes, small, pouty lips, and swirly cheeks.
“Baw-wing.”
“My family is not boring,” I snapped.
“Maybee. But yaw poem is.”
I tried not to smile. “Gee, thanks,” I said.
“Twy again!”
“Don’t you ever like a rhyme the first time?” I grumbled, though I was beginning to like this batter imp. It was sounding more and more like Sammy.
“Come on aweady!”
“Hold your horses!” I snapped.
“You mean gooses.”
“Geese, not gooses,” I said, “and be quiet so I can concentrate.” I squeezed my eyes shut until I came up with another rhyme:
“Pineapple-coconut-upside-down cake
That’s what the aunts in Hawaii make
Mix in hope to make it sweet
Wish . . . blow . . . and then you eat!”
“Okay, bedda.” There was a pop, and then the face was gone.
I hadn’t expected the imp to give in so fast. It hadn’t even asked for a tickle. I stirred it gently, hoping to coax it back. Instead, waves of batter splashed against the side of the bowl and sprayed my face. I grabbed a towel to wipe my eyes. When I looked back again, I saw her.
“Mother Goose! I—I wasn’t expecting you,” I whispered.
“I’ve composed a birthday rhyme for you, Cinnamon Girl,” she replied. In her singsong voice she began to chant:
“Watch out for things that glitter
Not everyone is fair
Trouble comes along in threes
Make sure that you take care!”
“Er, thank you,” I said, although her gift sounded more like a birthday warning. “But I don’t get it. What does it mean?”
The eyes in the bowl looked annoyed, as if Mother Goose was getting tired of my questions:
“Diamond, emerald, ruby, beware
Of the sparkly sisters you’ll meet at the fair.”
“The fair? I—I don’t think I’ll be going,” I stammered. “The Aunts never let me go anywhere.”
Suddenly the batter was just batter again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Ye Olde Surprise Journey
I had trouble falling asleep that night. Of course, I was always excited on the eve of my birthday, but the idea of having a wishing cake of my own was making me as greedy as old King Midas. Although I’d gone to bed with the idea of wishing for permission to go on a cake delivery or taking a trip to Hawaii, my mind couldn’t quit thinking of new possibilities—a castle for my family instead of our cramped little cottage; enough money to have a pizza party for my friends every week; or maybe my own book of rhymes in every library, just like Mother Goose.
When I finally fell asleep, it wasn’t for very long. Suddenly there were hands pulling me out of bed. I clung to the mattress as if it were a life raft, but they held my feet, lifted me under the armpits, and tied a scarf over my eyes. I was twisting and squirming like a fish on a line, until a voice whispered in my ear. “Stop struggling, Pixie; this is going to be fun.” It was Winnie.
So I allowed myself to be carried, limp as a load of laundry. They set me down in the kitchen and removed the blindfold.
I stared into my cousins’ merry faces. “What’s going on?” I asked. I was breathing hard, but I couldn’t really be mad at them.
“It’s your birthday—time to start celebrating!” Perrin pointed at the grandfather clock in the corner. It was 12:01.
I rubbed my eyes and yawned. “At home we start birthdays at breakfast.”
“Well, you can’t start at breakfast, if you want to take a moonlight flight,” said Perrin.
I looked out the kitchen window. A big crescent moon hung like a golden swing in the dark sky. “But how?” I asked.
“Ask Nell. It was her idea.”
Nell’s cheeks flushed. “Well, it begins with baking the naughty biscuits I accidentally invented,” she explained, sounding both excited and shy. “We’ll need a lot of them, so we’ve got to hurry.”
“I’m going flying with biscuits?”
“Yep,” replied Perrin. She clapped her hands. “Everyone get your spoons and bowls ready.”
The usual baking ingredients—flour, sugar, salt, and baking powder—were already out on the counter. But there was also frozen butter, buttermilk, and baking soda, which was another kind of rising powder.
Nell gave the instructions. “You have to work really quickly, so the butter doesn’t melt before we get them in the oven,” she explained. “And when it’s time to knead the dough, you have to do it exactly eight times.”
“How long do they bake?” I asked.
Nell put a finger to the dimple in her cheek. “About fifteen minutes, I think. But we have to watch them carefully. The moment they begin lifting off the baking pans, we have to remove them. That’s the tricky part. We’re going to catch them up in this.” She patted a crisp, white bedsheet.
There was so much excitement in the kitchen, I felt as if we all might lift off the floor even without flying biscuits. Still, we took the baking very seriously. Although I was super curious about how the moonlight flight would work, I made myself concentrate on getting the recipe just right.
After kneading the dough exactly eight times, I rolled it out and used a cookie cutter to make circles. We all brought our baking pans to the oven at the same time. We were like synchronized swimmers! We could have been in a baking Olympics!
For fifteen minutes Nell and Pip kept an eye on the window in the oven do
or, while Winnie, Perrin, and I each held a corner of the bedsheet.
“Look—they’re beginning to fly!” exclaimed Pip just as the timer bell went off. “Get ready to catch them!” She pulled down the door and the biscuits flitted out of the oven, bobbing and dipping like a flock of sparrows. Quickly we captured them in the sheet and folded it into a lumpy bundle.
Wyatt, River, and Gray were waiting for us in the meadow. Wyatt tied a thick rope to the end of the biscuit bundle, so it looked like a robber’s getaway sack. He tied the other end snugly around my waist. Then he tied a second rope around the bundle and handed it to me.
“Hang onto this. It will make your flight more secure,” he said.
My Goose cousins all kept a firm hold on the bundle until I was ready.
“It’s a perfect night for a biscuit flight,” whispered Nell, gazing up at the sky. “There’s even a little breeze to move you along.”
“Did you do this on your birthday, too?” I asked her.
“Oh no, I’m not brave like you,” said Nell in a quivery voice. “You’re our first pilot.”
“Um thanks, I think,” I said, trying to make a joke of it. “But how do I get down? I mean, the moon is pretty far away.”
“It’s a flight in the moonlight, not to the moon, silly,” said Perrin.
“The biscuits never fly for very long, anyway,” Nell added. “After a bit they drift down on their own.”
“Now, don’t let yourself go higher than you can jump comfortably,” advised Winnie. “And if you need our help, call right away.”
“You’d better let her go already before the rising powder stops working,” said Gray. He gave me a big cheesy grin. “I’ll do it if you don’t want to.”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” I told him. I took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m ready.””
“Hold on tight,” Wyatt warned.
I nodded, too nervous to speak.
Everyone was quiet as Nell stepped forward. She gazed in my eyes and began to recite:
Pixie Piper and the Matter of the Batter Page 10
