Much Ado About Anne

by Heather Vogel Frederick

  “That eager to get started, are you?” says Mrs. Hawthorne, and she and the other moms all smile.

  Mrs. Delaney’s smile looks a little strained, but maybe it’s just my imagination. Or maybe she’s just tired. My mother says Mrs. Delaney deserves some kind of medal for raising twin boys.

  “My goodness, Cassidy,” says Mrs. Wong, whose T-shirt has a big picture of planet Earth on it with LOVE YOUR MOTHER printed underneath. “I swear you’ve grown another inch or two since I saw you last week!”

  “A chip off the old block, eh, Clementine?” adds Mrs. Hawthorne. “Cassidy will be sashaying down the catwalk one of these days in your footsteps if she keeps this up.”

  My mother reaches out to give me an affectionate pat. I twist away and slump into a white armchair. I don’t care if I get to be seven feet tall, no way am I ever going to be a model.

  “So how’s school?” asks Mrs. Delaney.

  I grunt in reply. My mother gives me her Queen Clementine look, the one that says she means business and I’d better shape up. I think of Stanley Kinkaid and start to scowl at her, then I think about the brownies she saved for us for tonight, and I sigh and sit up a little straighter. “Oh, you know, school is—school,” I reply politely.

  Mrs. Delaney laughs. “Things haven’t changed much, I guess. I always felt the same way come September.”

  It’s really nice to have Jess’s mom here at book club with us. Last year she was away working in New York as an actress. She sent letters and presents and stuff sometimes, but it wasn’t the same as her being here in person. I can tell Jess is glad too. She’s snuggled up next to her on the sofa, which is white just like my chair. Everything in the Wongs’ living room is white, or chrome, or glass. I call it the “winter room.”

  Emma settles onto the floor below me—which is covered with a white rug, of course—and Megan perches on the arm of her mother’s chair. Mrs. Wong gestures at the coffee table. On it are a vegetable tray—carrot sticks, red pepper strips, celery, that kind of stuff—along with a bowl of gross-looking greenish dip, my mother’s brownies, and a platter with a round, lumpy thing on it.

  “Help yourselves, everyone,” she says. “This is organic spinach dip, and that”—she points to the platter—“is a new recipe I’ve been wanting to try. I have to confess that you’re my guinea pigs tonight. I thought it might work for your show, Clementine. It’s a vegan cheesecake.”

  I glance over at Megan. It can’t be easy, having a health nut like Mrs. Wong for your mother.

  We all stare at the round, lumpy thing.

  “Why, Lily, how interesting,” says my mother finally. “What did you substitute for cream cheese?” Like her brownies, my mother’s cheesecake is amazing. My mouth starts watering just thinking about it.

  “Whipped tofu,” Mrs. Wong replies. “You’ll never notice the difference.”

  There’s a brief silence as we eye her creation. Somehow I’m pretty sure we’ll notice the difference. My mom takes a notebook out of her purse and jots something down. “I’ll talk to Fred,” she tells Mrs. Wong brightly. Fred is Fred Goldberg, the producer of Cooking with Clementine. “Maybe we can squeeze in a vegan episode.”

  Mrs. Wong smiles happily.

  Mrs. Hawthorne clears her throat. “So, tonight is our official kick-off meeting for the Mother-Daughter Book Club, year two,” she announces. “And girls, we have a surprise for you. We got to talking after yoga class the other day—”

  Emma groans—she says something bad always comes from yoga class, which must be true because it was right after yoga class that my mother met Stanley Kinkaid—but her mother ignores her and continues. “And although we realize we probably should have discussed this with you all first, we thought it might be a good idea to broaden the scope of our group, as it were. Build a few bridges.”

  I poke Emma with my toe. She shrugs. Neither of us has a clue what her mother is talking about. By the looks on their faces, Megan and Jess don’t either.

  There’s a knock at the front door.

  “Ah,” says Mrs. Hawthorne. “Right on time.”

  “Girls, we’re expecting you to be gracious,” warns my mother.

  Mrs. Wong nods in agreement as she gets up to answer the door. There’s a brief murmur of voices in the front hall, and then Mrs. Chadwick and Becca walk in.

  The room goes dead quiet. Emma looks stunned. I shoot my mother a desperate glance, and she gives me the Queen Clementine don’t you dare narrowed eyes in response. Megan has a funny look on her face, and I can’t tell if she’s sad or glad to see Becca. Becca, on the other hand, looks as unhappy to see us as the rest of us are to see her. Mrs. Chadwick looks like she just single-handedly won the Stanley Cup.

  “Girls, please extend a warm welcome to the newest members of our book club,” says Mrs. Hawthorne in her best official librarian voice. “Calliope recently started taking yoga, and after class one day—”

  Emma groans softly under her breath again and her mother raises an eyebrow in warning, then continues, “—she asked if she and Becca might join us this year. Now that you girls are all in seventh grade, we know you’ll want to expand your circle of friendship.”

  Expand our circle of friendship? Is Mrs. Hawthorne completely nuts? I glare at my mother. I can’t believe she and the other mothers would do something like this behind our backs! Don’t they know how we feel about the Fab Three? And especially about Becca Chadwick?

  Mrs. Wong pats the far end of the sofa. “Calliope, why don’t you sit here. And Becca, you can have that armchair beside her.”

  The Chadwicks sit down and we all stare stiffly at one another for a moment.

  “I made vegan cheesecake,” Mrs. Wong announces, like that’s going to break the ice. She cuts a piece and puts it on a plate and hands it to Mrs. Chadwick.

  Mrs. Chadwick looks like she’s just been given a plate of dead possum. Her lips purse tightly, but she manages to squeeze out a thank-you. Apparently she’s on her best behavior tonight too. Megan’s dad calls Mrs. Chadwick “the snapping turtle,” and Mr. Delaney calls her “the old battleax.” She’s famous around Concord for her sharp temper and critical eye. I watch her closely, trying not to smile. No way is Mrs. Chadwick going to be able to hold her tongue once she takes a bite of Mrs. Wong’s cheesecake.

  She forks up a little nibble and wedges it in her mouth. “Yum,” she croaks.

  Mrs. Wong looks pleased. “It’s made with tofu.”

  I can’t resist. “Free-range tofu?”

  My mother looks over at me sharply.

  Mrs. Wong takes the bait. “Now, Cassidy, tofu isn’t an animal,” she chides. “It’s soy bean curd. Soy bean curd doesn’t need to roam free.”

  On the floor below me, Emma lets out a little snort. I nudge her again with my foot. We’re both grinning at the thought of a corral somewhere with little cubes of tofu wandering around. “Home, home on the range,” I sing to her under my breath. “Where the deer and the tofu roam free . . .”

  Mrs. Wong doesn’t hear me, fortunately. She’s too busy explaining the recipe to Mrs. Chadwick. “And all the other ingredients are organic, of course.”

  “Of course,” echoes Mrs. Chadwick politely.

  “Tonight is our first official meeting of the year,” says Mrs. Hawthorne, steering the conversation away from Mrs. Wong’s pet subject. “We should start by deciding which book we want to read first.”

  “How about The Diary of Anne Frank?” says Emma.

  Her mother shakes her head. “You’ll be reading that in English class this year.”

  “To Kill a Mockingbird?” suggests my mother.

  “Eighth-grade reading list,” says Mrs. Hawthorne. “I checked with the school librarian.”

  “I know—Gone with the Wind,” says Mrs. Delaney. “That would be a fun one to read together.”

  Mrs. Chadwick’s mouth goes all pruney again. “Inappropriate material for my Becca.”

  Her Becca squirms at this.

  Mrs. Wong
holds up a couple of books. “These are two of my all-time favorites,” she says. I squint at the titles: A Little Princess and The Secret Garden.

  “Oh, mine too!” says my mother. “I loved those books when I was a girl.”

  “My daughter is far too advanced for Frances Hodgson Burnett,” Mrs. Chadwick decrees. “I was under the impression that your club’s selections would be challenging the girls.”

  There’s an uncomfortable pause, then Emma says, “Actually, I agree with Mrs. Chadwick. I love those books, but I read them back in fifth grade. We’re seventh graders. Can’t we read something more grown-up?”

  Jess and Megan both nod.

  “But not too grown-up,” warns Mrs. Chadwick, and Becca squirms again.

  “That’s kind of a tall order,” says Mrs. Hawthorne, chewing her lip. She looks around the room at us. “Hmm. Perhaps it’s time for Jane Austen.” Mrs. Hawthorne is a huge Jane Austen fan. Emma and her brother Darcy are even named after characters in Jane Austen books. “Shall we try and tackle Pride and Prejudice?”

  My mother shakes her head. “Probably still a bit beyond Cassidy, I’m afraid. Maybe another year.”

  Now it’s my turn to squirm. Sometimes my mother still treats me like a baby. “How do you know it’s beyond me?” I grumble.

  My mother pats my knee. “Trust me, sweetheart, I know.”

  I yank my leg away.

  “How about a different Jane, then,” suggests Mrs. Delaney. “How about Jane Eyre?”

  “Shannon, really! That’s much too advanced thematically for these girls!” huffs Mrs. Chadwick.

  “I’ve already read it,” says Emma smugly.

  Mrs. Chadwick turns to Mrs. Hawthorne. “Phoebe, when we discussed this you promised me you’d be making appropriate choices for the girls.”

  Emma’s mother looks like she swallowed a tack. I think Mrs. Chadwick is starting to get on her nerves.

  “Perhaps we should save the Janes for another year,” says my mother. “I have an idea that might meet with everyone’s approval. How about Anne of Green Gables?”

  All our mothers sigh happily. Even Mrs. Chadwick’s lips unpurse a little.

  “Perfect!” says Mrs. Wong.

  “Absolutely,” agrees Mrs. Delaney.

  “Now that’s a splendid idea,” says Mrs. Hawthorne.

  “But I’ve already read it!” Emma protests.

  “You’ve already read everything,” Jess tells her.

  “Not everyone in our group has read as widely as you have, sweetie,” Mrs. Hawthorne says to Emma. “Maybe you can give the others a chance to catch up. And somehow I don’t think you’d mind spending a little more time with Anne Shirley.”

  “I guess not,” Emma concedes.

  Mrs. Wong has a dreamy expression on her face. “Anne of Green Gables was another of my favorite books when I was growing up,” she says. “I used to call Jerry ‘Gilbert’ when we were first dating.”

  The mothers all laugh.

  “Who’s Gilbert?” I ask.

  “You’ll find out,” says my mother, as Mrs. Wong disappears down the hall to the library—this house even has its own library, believe it or not—to dig up her old copy of the book.

  “It’s settled, then,” says Mrs. Hawthorne. “Anne of Green Gables it is. And if we decide we like Lucy Maud Montgomery, we can read more in the series. Anne of Avonlea comes next and then Anne of the Island—I can’t remember all the other titles, but I think there are a total of eight.”

  Mrs. Wong returns and passes her well-worn copy of the book around our circle. When it gets to me, I inspect it, wrinkling my nose. It must be at least a hundred years old. The cover is practically falling off, and the pages are all dog-eared and faded.

  “Another musty, dusty old book,” I mutter to Emma.

  “Another well-loved book,” corrects my mother.

  Mrs. Hawthorne looks over at me and smiles. “I seem to recall that you liked the last ‘musty, dusty old book’ we read, Cassidy.”

  I shrug. She’s right, though. I never thought I’d like Little Women, but it turned out to be an awesome story. Maybe Anne of Green Gables won’t be so bad. “I guess,” I admit grudgingly. “But couldn’t we read some sports biographies one of these days?”

  “I’ll make a note of it,” says Mrs. Hawthorne, grabbing her pen. “Even if we don’t end up reading one of them for book club, I’ll scout around the shelves at the library and see what we have that might interest you, okay?”

  I really like Emma’s mother.

  Mrs. Wong offers to go to the bookstore and round up copies of Anne of Green Gables for all of us. Then she points to the snacks. “Dig in!”

  “Before we all enjoy these wonderful, uh, healthy treats, perhaps you’d like to watch this,” says my mother, pulling a DVD out of her purse.

  “Is it the Anne of Green Gables movie?” Emma asks, bouncing up and down with excitement. “I love that movie!”

  Becca rolls her eyes.

  “No, honey, it’s not Anne of Green Gables,” my mother tells Emma. “Nothing that thrilling. It’s just the first episode of my new TV show.”

  Everybody squeals—everyone except Becca, of course. And me. I’ve seen it already. It’s okay, but now I’m really wishing I never agreed to be in it. I look like a dork. Especially since I let my mother and Courtney talk me into wearing a dress.

  My mother hands the DVD to Megan, who picks up the remote from the coffee table and pushes a button. A huge oil painting—of white flowers, naturally—over the fireplace suddenly slides into the wall, revealing a widescreen TV. Mrs. Chadwick’s mouth drops open, which makes her look like a tuna, or maybe an orca whale. Mrs. Chadwick is pretty hefty. She’d make a good linebacker.

  I’m guessing Mrs. Chadwick hasn’t seen the Wongs’ entertainment setup before. It’s impressive, there’s no doubt about it. She watches, fascinated, as Megan pops in the DVD and pushes another button. The theme music to my mother’s show swells, filling the room. Mr. Wong installed state-of-the-art speakers, of course, and even I have to admit the tune is pretty catchy in surround sound.

  The title sequence appears, and the camera zooms in on my mother, who’s standing at the front door of our house waving to the viewers. Emma and Jess wave back, giggling. Becca pulls out her cell phone and starts texting like mad. Probably reporting in to Ashley and Jen, her two wanna-bees. I feel like reaching over and snatching the stupid thing away from her, but my mother gives me another of her Queen Clementine looks, so I just make a face at Becca instead.

  After the Cooking with Clementine logo fades, the camera swoops up and pans Concord from the air. The moms all ooh and aah, and even I have to admit our town looks good, what with all the white steeples and cool old houses and trees and rivers and ponds. Then the actual episode starts and suddenly we’re at Half Moon Farm, where Mom is picking fall raspberries and talking with Mr. and Mrs. Delaney.

  “Oh, look, there are the twins!” cries Mrs. Wong. “Don’t they look adorable!”

  Adorable is not exactly the word I’d use to describe Dylan and Ryan. Seek and Destroy is more like it. The boys make faces at the camera, then run off through the berry patch laughing like maniacs while their parents and my mother continue to pick berries.

  After their baskets are full, my mother looks at the camera and says, “Let’s go back to my house and make raspberry jam!”

  Becca throws me a pitying look. I glare back—sure it’s corny, but who is she to criticize? She makes a big show of taking her phone out of her purse and texting again. I grab a carrot stick and lob it at her. It lands in her lap and she looks up, startled. I stare innocently at the TV.

  My mother looks really pretty on-screen. Watching her, I can’t help but think about Stanley Kinkaid. I can understand why he’d want my mother for his girlfriend. What I can’t understand is why she’d be interested in him.

  The camera follows the Delaneys’ truck past some of Concord’s famous sites. The producers faked a route from Half M
oon Farm to our house for this episode to show off more of the town. Emma squeals again when the truck passes her house.

  Becca sends another text message.

  The camera continues on its crazy path, past the Old North Bridge, through Monument Square, then on to Orchard House where the Alcott family lived and finally to Walden Pond. Eventually it winds up on the doorstep of our old Victorian on Hubbard Street. Inside, my mother leads the way to the kitchen, where she walks viewers through the jam-making process. Looking like a slightly shorter version of my mother, Courtney appears at this point to assist her, and when they’re finished I show up to help test the finished product.

  “Woo-hoo!” calls Megan, and I wad up my napkin and throw it at her. Onscreen, I’m wearing this ridiculous sundress my mother bought me, and the stylists from the Cooking Channel poufed up my hair and even put makeup on me.

  “Cassidy, you look beautiful!” says Mrs. Delaney.

  I cringe. “I look like an idiot.”

  “Big time,” whispers Becca.

  “Shut up,” I whisper back.

  “That was absolutely delightful, Clementine,” says Mrs. Hawthorne, as the credits roll. “I predict it will be a big hit.”

  “Hmmph,” says Mrs. Chadwick sourly. “It’s all well and good, I’m sure, but it’ll only bring a lot more tourists to Concord. As if it wasn’t crowded enough here already. You can hardly find a parking spot downtown anymore.”

  “Now, Calliope, we have a beautiful, historic town,” says Mrs. Wong. “Naturally people are going to want to visit.”

  “I have some more news,” says my mother. “I’ve been going over the line-up of potential episodes with Fred Goldberg, and he and the other producers are very eager to schedule that mother-daughter tea we talked about earlier this summer.”

  “Do we get to be in it?” asks Becca, shoving her cell phone back in her pocket and sitting up straight. It’s the first time she’s showed any interest all evening.

  “You bet,” says my mother cheerfully.

  My mother is such a traitor.

  “I’ll get more details to you all soon,” she continues, “but it looks like we’ll be filming in a few weeks.”