For Susan
Chapter 1
“WHAT DO YOU THINK OF this idea?” Willa Dunlap asked her best friends as they climbed aboard the school bus. “A how-to speech—on how to give a how-to speech!”
Sarah Starling and Lena Wise smiled along with Willa as they scrambled for empty seats. They didn’t usually talk about homework on the ride home. But this assignment was unusual!
“Remember,” Sarah called across the aisle to Willa and Lena. “Ms. Denise said our how-to speeches should say something about ourselves.”
“Like what?” Lena asked.
Willa had a suggestion. “You love solving mysteries, Lena,” she said. “Maybe you can find something that went missing in the classroom.”
“First you’d have to make something disappear,” Sarah said. “What could it be?”
Lena rolled her eyes. “How about this homework?” she joked.
Willa giggled. Ms. Denise’s assignment couldn’t be that bad!
“We practically have two weeks to put our how-to speeches together,” Willa said as she pulled out her notebook. On the cover was a picture of a butterscotch-colored pony grazing in a green pasture. To Willa, the horse looked just like her own buckskin mare, Starbuck. If she couldn’t bring Starbuck to school, her notebook was the next best thing!
“First we have to pick a topic,” Willa stated as she looked over her notes. “Next we have to write an outline of important points.”
Willa smiled at that part. Ms. Denise had explained that an outline was like a list of ideas. And Willa loved making lists!
“Last but not least,” Willa went on, “we write our introduction and conclusion with a how-to speech in between.”
“Somebody save me a seat by the window!” someone called out. Willa looked up to see Olivia Bradley hurrying up the aisle of the bus. Olivia and her family had just moved to Chincoteague Island from New York. She sometimes had a way of walking that reminded Willa of a prancing pony.
After Olivia brushed by, Willa shut her notebook.
“The hardest part of this how-to demo,” Willa told Sarah and Lena, “is figuring out the how-to.”
Mr. Carmichael, the school bus operator, took a head count. When he was done, he shouted, “What are we waiting for? Let’s get this big yellow stagecoach on the trail!”
Riding the bus was fun with Mr. Carmichael at the wheel. Today he was a stagecoach driver, but just yesterday he was an astronaut manning a spaceship. How had Willa walked to school and back every day when she lived in Chicago?
The bus became noisy with chatter as it pulled away from the school. But Willa, Sarah, and Lena sat in silence thinking about their how-to speeches.
“Maybe I can do a how-to speech on how to clean the hamster cage,” Lena said.
“Then you’d have to clean the hamster cage,” Willa pointed out.
Lena wrinkled her nose. “Forget that idea.”
Willa gazed out the window. It was the middle of September. Most of the trees were still green with speckles of red and gold beginning to appear.
Just then Willa noticed they were passing Ms. Denise, who was riding her bike. The school year had just started, but so far Ms. Denise seemed to be a good teacher, with a cool sense of humor. She kept bobblehead dolls of Lincoln and Washington on her desk and wore the same color almost every day—bright pinkish red. Even her bike was that color!
Bike . . . hmm.
“Maybe,” Willa said, “I could do a demonstration on how to ride a bike.”
“This is Chincoteague Island, Willa,” Sarah said politely. “Practically all the kids here already know how to ride bikes.”
“Right.” Willa sighed. She sometimes had to remind herself she was no longer in Chicago. Not all kids rode bikes in the big city.
“Hey!” Sarah cried as a crunched-up ball of paper bounced off her head. Spinning around, Willa spotted the culprits: her little brother, Ben, and Sarah’s little brother, Chipper Starling, laughing it up a few seats back.
Sarah groaned as she slumped back in her seat. “I think I just came up with the best how-to topic ever,” she muttered.
“What?” Willa asked.
“How to get our pesty little brothers grounded for life!” Sarah declared.
By the time Willa stepped off the bus with Ben, she had forgotten all about the flying spitball. She was still busy thinking about Ms. Denise’s how-to speech. What would she talk about?
A how-to speech on folding sweaters in your drawer? Willa thought. The fastest way to clean your room? How to squeeze toothpaste out of the tube so you don’t waste a drop?
Ben had no trouble knowing what to talk about as they walked up the short hill from the road to their house. . . .
“Lawrence threw up during recess all over Shelby’s new sneakers,” Ben rambled. “We had a substitute teacher today with purple streaks in her hair and her name was Ms. Lavender. I’m not kidding, Willa. That was her real name!”
“Uh-huh,” Willa said, not really hearing.
She and Ben turned onto the path leading to the big Victorian house they called home. It was also called Misty Inn, ever since their parents turned it into a working bed-and-breakfast.
Willa’s dad had worked as a chef in Chicago. Now he was happy to cook for the inn’s restaurant, the Family Farm.
But for Willa, the best part about moving from Chicago to Chincoteague Island was the four-legged animal grazing in the pasture a few feet away. . . .
“Hi, Starbuck!” Willa called happily.
The butterscotch-colored mare lifted her head. Shaking her shaggy black mane, she nickered at the sight of Willa and Ben. But as Willa got a better look at Starbuck, she frowned.
“Somebody was rolling in the mud again.” Willa sighed. She placed her backpack on the ground to flick a flake of mud from Starbuck’s forehead. The mud had practically covered the pretty white star that inspired her name.
“I thought only dogs rolled in the mud,” Ben said.
“Sometimes horses roll to dry off their sweat,” Willa explained. “Also, mud and dirt make good insect repellents. Horses know that.”
“How do you know so much about ponies and mud?” Ben asked.
“Grandma Edna,” Willa said as she dusted off Starbuck’s mane with a gentle hand. “How else?”
Willa and Ben’s grandmother was a veterinarian on Chincoteague Island. Not only did she run an animal-care center on her own farm, she’d taught Willa everything she knew about caring for Starbuck.
“This is the third time this week Starbuck got so muddy,” Willa said. “I don’t get it.”
“I’m sure Starbuck doesn’t mind,” Ben said. “She’s a wild pony, remember?”
“How can I forget?” Willa smiled. She was the proud owner of an honest-to-goodness Chincoteague pony.
Every summer, in the last week of July, a herd of wild ponies would swim from nearby Assateague Island to Chincoteague. The ponies were skillfully led by “saltwater cowboys,” volunteer firemen who ran the famous event. Shortly after the pony swim, something just as exciting would come—the pony auction. That’s where people from all over the world would bid for their own Chincoteague pony.
Willa didn’t have to bid for Starbuck. After being cared for at Grandma Edna’s rescue center, the determined pony walked all the way from Miller Farm to her new home—Misty Inn!
“Can you take my backpack into the house, please?” Willa asked Ben. “I want to take Starbuck into the barn to groom her.”
“Before your after-school snack?” Ben asked. “Dad said he might try out a new chocolate chip cookie recipe today.”
Willa shook h
er head as she took hold of Starbuck’s halter. “A dirty pony right outside the inn can’t be good for business,” she said.
Willa was about to steer Starbuck toward the barn when the sweet smell of something yummy drifted through the air.
“Mmm,” Willa said taking a whiff. “Do you smell that?”
Ben grinned. “It doesn’t smell like chocolate chip cookies, and it sure doesn’t smell like a dirty pony.”
Willa turned her pony toward the barn. Whatever that aroma coming from the kitchen was—grooming Starbuck would have to wait!
Chapter 2
THE MYSTERY OF THE DELICIOUS smell was solved the moment Willa and Ben entered the kitchen.
“Zucchini bread!” Willa exclaimed.
“Is that what’s for dinner, Dad?” Ben asked.
“It’s for dessert,” Dad said as he covered the warm bread with a red-and-white-checkered tea towel. “I’ve got to find some way to get you guys to eat your veggies.”
The zucchini bread wasn’t alone on the big butcher-block table. There was also a huge bowl filled with colorful fruit salad, tomatoes stuffed with couscous and raisins, and what looked like a broccoli-and-cheddar quiche.
Willa gazed at the kitchen counter. On it were baskets filled with Granny Smith apples and purple plums, plus a brown paper bag dotted with red juice-like stains.
“I don’t get it, Dad,” Willa said. “The Family Farm is closed on Mondays after the summer, so why the cooking spree?”
“I’ve decided to team up with local Chincoteague farmers,” Dad explained, “and serve meals prepared with their produce.”
“And here’s some more, Eric!” someone boomed.
Willa turned to see a tall man with a grizzled beard walk through the kitchen door. He wore a tie-dyed T-shirt under overalls, and he was carrying a big basket of corn.
“Willa, Ben, meet Randy Beardan,” Dad said.
Beardan . . . beard? Willa thought that was funny.
“Are you a farmer?” Ben asked, nodding at the corn.
“You bet, Ben,” Randy replied. “I run the Germination and Meditation Farm, a few miles from here.”
“Germination . . . and Meditation?” Willa repeated.
“ ‘Germination’ is a farming term,” Randy explained as he placed the basket on the counter with a THUNK. “It’s when a seedling cracks through the casing and begins to sprout.”
Randy turned away from the counter and said, “The Meditation part is for my wife’s Farm and Flex yoga classes.”
Mom walked into the kitchen with a smile. “I’ve gone to Ellen’s yoga class, Randy,” she said, “and I never knew twisting like a pretzel could be so relaxing.”
Willa watched Mom place a few colorful squares of material on the kitchen counter. She was about to ask what they were when Ben pointed to the juice-stained bag.
“I think I know what’s inside,” Ben said. “Strawberries.”
“Excellent guess, Ben,” Randy said. “But strawberries aren’t in season, so I brought by a freshly grown batch of raspberries.”
Farmer Randy pulled a raspberry from the brown bag. Carefully grasping it between his thumb and index finger, he held it up to the window.
“Rubus idaeus,” Randy announced lovingly. “A hollow core surrounded by multiple fleshy drupelets. When Mother Nature made this beauty, she didn’t just grow a fruit—she created a masterpiece!”
Wow, Willa thought. I’ll bet Farmer Randy would give a great how-to speech for Ms. Denise.
“Okay!” Randy boomed, spinning around to face Willa and Ben. “Who wants to try one of these little gems? Ben? How about you?”
“Um . . . no, thanks.” Ben hesitated. “The last raspberry I ate was kind of sour.”
“Sour is for lemons, Ben,” Randy said gruffly, blinking his eyes. “I prefer the word ‘tart.’ But the raspberries from my latest crop are far from it.”
Willa didn’t want Farmer Randy’s feelings to be hurt, so she held out her hand and said, “I’ll try one, please.”
Farmer Randy dropped the raspberry into Willa’s palm. “Go for it, Willa,” he said. “The taste from this little winner was born to be wild.”
Willa popped the raspberry into her mouth. As it slowly dissolved on her tongue, a burst of sugary-sweet flavor exploded in her mouth!
“Oh my gosh, that’s awesome!” Willa said. She had finished the raspberry, but the sweet juices were still in her mouth. “This isn’t a raspberry—it’s a superberry!”
“Me too, please,” Ben said, jutting out his palm.
“Knock yourself out!” Farmer Randy said, handing over a raspberry.
Still a bit wary, Ben placed it on his tongue and closed his mouth. A few seconds later he was grinning too.
“Sweet!” Ben declared.
Mom and Dad tried some too, with the same reactions. Farmer Randy’s sweet red raspberries were a hit.
“I think I’ll bake a special torte just for these raspberries,” Dad announced. “And I have just the recipe.”
“I didn’t know you had a recipe for raspberry torte, Eric,” Mom said.
“I don’t yet,” Dad said. “But my friend Lance in Chicago has a fabulous one I’m sure he’ll e-mail me.” Dad tilted his head thoughtfully as he smiled at Randy. “Come to think of it . . . I’ll name the dessert after the farm the raspberries came from.”
“Germination and Meditation?” Willa blurted. She didn’t want to be rude, but she couldn’t think of a worse name for such a yummy dessert. “I don’t think so, Dad.”
Willa tapped her chin thoughtfully. She stopped after the fourth tap and smiled. “How about Randy’s Razzle-Dazzle Raspberry Torte!”
Randy stroked his beard. “I like it,” he said. “You’re great at coming up with ideas, Willa Dunlap.”
“Thanks,” Willa said, enjoying the compliment. “I just have one question. Can horses eat raspberries too?”
“They can, but in moderation,” Randy replied. “One or two will do.”
Dad and Randy stepped to the side to work out their next order. Willa could see Mom slipping the squares of material into a kitchen drawer.
“What are those, Mom?” Willa asked.
“They’re swatches for new dining-room curtains,” Mom replied. “Ever since your dad began cooking formal and high-endy meals for the restaurant, I thought I’d do some redecorating.”
Redecorating? Willa loved Misty Inn just the way it was, with its antique furniture, floral wallpaper, and comfy sofas and chairs.
“I’m not totally sure yet,” Mom went on, “but midcentury modern is trendy right now.”
“Misty Inn is midcentury, Mom,” Willa said. “Mid-eighteen hundreds, right?”
“Right,” Mom said as she shut the drawer. “Anyway, it’s just a little thought I had.”
Willa and Ben traded glances. Mom’s little thoughts often led to big thoughts, and bigger projects.
“Oh, and one more thing,” Mom said as the inn’s resident feline, New Cat, circled her legs. “Once we redecorate, New Cat and Amos will have to stay outside.”
“Aww, Mom!” Ben complained.
New Cat and Amos the dog were their pets—and important residents of Misty Inn. But Willa didn’t have time to worry about Mom’s latest project. She had her own project to worry about—Ms. Denise’s how-to speech!
Opening the double barn doors, Willa heard a snort of greeting from Starbuck’s stall. She was about to close both doors when Amos scampered inside.
“Mom says you might have to stay outside the house, Amos,” Willa informed the fluffy little dog. “But you like the barn better, don’t you, boy?”
Amos wagged his tail, then scampered back outside to chase a rabbit. Smiling, Willa walked over the hard-packed hay floor to Starbuck’s stall.
“I spy with my little eye a muddy pony,” Willa said.
Leaning over the door of the stall, she inspected Starbuck’s coat. The mud had started to dry, which was good news. Dry mud was way easier to cl
ean off than wet.
Willa usually gave Starbuck a treat after she finished grooming, but this time she couldn’t wait. . . .
“These berries are going to sweeten your life, Starbuck,” Willa said, pulling a small plastic snack bag from her pocket. She held out two almost-squished raspberries in her hand, her palm flat. Starbuck nibbled one, then gobbled the other.
“Dad is getting a recipe just for these raspberries,” Willa said. “I named it Randy’s Razzle-Dazzle Raspberry Torte.”
Starbuck nudged Willa’s fist for more. Willa opened her hand to show it was empty.
“Farmer Randy said I’m great at coming up with ideas,” Willa said as she collected an armful of grooming tools. “Now if I can just come up with an idea for Ms. Denise’s how-to speech!”
Chapter 3
“A IS FOR APRICOT,” WILLA sang as she jumped up and down. “B is for bird—”
Going through the alphabet helped her parents remember things—so maybe it would help Willa and her friends come up with an idea for their assignment.
“I know! I know!” Sarah shouted as she turned the jump rope. “A how-to speech on how to build a bird feeder.”
Lena shook her head as she turned the other side of the rope. “Ms. Denise will never let us use sharp tools in the classroom,” she called out.
Willa continued jumping. “C is for candy, D is for dinosaur . . .”
Sarah shouted again, “A how-to speech on different dinosaurs in prehistoric times. We can make them out of clay—”
“We did that in kindergarten,” Lena cut in.
Willa stopped jumping, and the other girls let the rope drop. It was Wednesday, and the three friends still had no topic for their how-to speeches.
On the bus that morning Willa, Sarah, and Lena had decided to team up for the how-to speech. Ms. Denise said they could as long as teams were no bigger than three kids. There was one problem: coming up with a team idea was just as hard as coming up with a solo idea!
“We have two days to tell Ms. Denise our ideas, today and tomorrow,” Willa reminded. “If birdhouses and dinosaurs aren’t good ones, what are?”
Teacher's Pet (Marguerite Henry's Misty Inn Book 7) Page 1
