Summer of the Gypsy Moths

by Sara Pennypacker

  “Do you know what it takes to turn over four cottages in five hours?” I asked. “To make them all clean and welcoming, down to fresh flowers, which I think makes people feel special on their vacation?”

  “No, I don’t,” said Officer Massey. He had his pencil ready to go. “Why don’t you tell us.”

  So I did. And when I was through, I told about the other thing.

  “You got to know her? After she was…deceased?”

  “We did. We found out a lot about her. She was a real Yankee, but she was nice underneath. Angel and I were lucky.”

  It took a long time. The officers asked a hundred questions I didn’t think had anything to do with anything, and then a few that did.

  “What made you so certain she was dead?” Officer Meg asked.

  I considered that for a long time. First, of course, there had been the sight of her. When I described it, Officer Massey looked at me in sympathy, as if he’d seen that before and he knew how awful it must have been. “She was cold, too, and stiff,” I added. “And she hadn’t gotten to her second cup of coffee, which I’d never seen before. But that wasn’t it.”

  “What was it then, Stella?” he asked kindly. “What made you so sure?”

  “It was just that…” I hesitated, and then I said it. “I always know when someone’s left me. And when I saw her, I knew she’d gone away.”

  He asked me the hardest question next. “Why didn’t you call us when you found her?”

  I paused to sort through all the reasons. None of them seemed right anymore. “Do you know that the world spins at a thousand miles an hour?” I asked him finally. “I guess I just needed to fall down and clutch hold for a while.”

  Finally, after about another hundred questions, the officer with the shaved head stuck his head in and motioned for Officer Meg. When she came back, she said, “Well, I think that wraps it up here.”

  I followed her into a bigger meeting room, which I have to say wasn’t any neater, and sat down at a big table. Angel was already there, and George, and Mrs. Marino.

  Officer Massey joined us in a few minutes. “All right,” he said, laying a stack of papers on the table. “It’s pretty clear there wasn’t a crime committed here. We’re all agreed on that.” He stopped to give Angel and me stern looks. “Not that you acted well. You should have called right away. You both made a lot of bad judgments.”

  Angel and I nodded. He didn’t have to tell us that.

  “The situation as I understand it is just an improper burial,” he said to Mrs. Marino. “But until the autopsy confirms their story of the death, the girls are going to need to have temporary secure custody. Can you give me that?”

  “Of course,” said Mrs. Marino.

  Officer Massey left to start the paperwork, and I asked what that meant. “Secure custody? Are we going to jail?”

  “Not at all,” she answered. “It just means that whoever takes care of you will have to promise to keep you from running.”

  Just then, the door swung open and a short, red-faced woman burst into the room. A long black braid, streaked with silver, whipped around behind her.

  “Angelina Maria!” she cried, spying Angel. “Ô Jesus querido!”

  Angel jumped up and knocked over her chair. “Tia Maria-Jose?”

  Angel’s aunt crossed the room and swept Angel into a tight hug. They spoke together in Portuguese for a minute; then Angel looked up at Mrs. Marino. “She wants to take me now. Can I go?”

  Mrs. Marino stood up. “I’m glad you could get here, Ms. Tomé. Angel could use some family support right now. But as I explained on the phone—”

  Angel’s aunt responded with a string of Portuguese. I couldn’t understand a word, but I wouldn’t have wanted to be Mrs. Marino just then.

  “Tia Maria-Jose, no, no, no,” Angel tried to calm her aunt down. “Louise was alive when they sent me there!”

  Angel’s aunt brushed the words away. She stood behind Angel, one arm crossed over Angel’s chest like armor, and faced Mrs. Marino.

  Mrs. Marino walked over to her. “Ms. Tomé, we understand your position. Unfortunately, the situation hasn’t changed. You’ll still need proof of employment and habitation we verify as suitable before we can turn Angel over to you.”

  I remembered what Angel had said about how much her aunt had gone through to get here. Whatever it took, she did it, because taking care of Angel was her destiny. And it came to me. No matter how I looked at it, it was the answer. I went over to George and whispered in his ear.

  He looked at me hopefully, as if he really wanted to believe the solution was that simple.

  “Really,” I said. “I taught her everything.”

  George shot me a private thumbs-up and walked over to the arguing women. “Are you saying this woman just needs a job?” he interrupted. “She needs a job and a decent home, and then you’re saying this girl can live with her aunt?”

  “Our policies are in the best interests of the children,” Mrs. Marino said. She was looking kind of frazzled. She turned back to Angel’s aunt. “I’m sure you can understand—”

  “Well, I could use someone.”

  At first, they didn’t pay George any attention, because Angel’s aunt was still busy letting Mrs. Marino have it.

  George put his hand on Angel’s shoulder. “I could use someone,” he repeated. “I’ve got a cottage colony to run, and it’s the middle of the season and I’m still shorthanded on the boat. Stella says you know how to do everything, and you could show your aunt…. Could you ask her?”

  Angel looked over at me, surprised. I nodded yes.

  And then Mrs. Marino got the picture. “Are you offering Ms. Tomé a job?”

  “I am. With a place to live.”

  “Is this a full-time position?”

  “Let’s call it a trial period for now, but if it works out, yes. She gets a place to live in exchange for managing the cottages. Louise had disability to supplement. This woman will have to pick up some extra work, but yep, if it works out, the position is full-time. And it starts today. So you let this girl go home with her aunt now.”

  “Well, if you’ll offer that job formally, and document the terms of occupancy, I think the state would be very happy with that resolution. We’ve already cleared Ms. Tomé, and we’ve obviously approved the home, so if she’ll just guarantee her niece’s whereabouts…Very happy indeed.”

  It took a few minutes, but Angel was able to explain it to her aunt, and from the way that woman hugged George, I could see that she was pretty happy with the resolution, too. “Obrigada, thank you, obrigada!” she cried over and over again.

  The dispatcher led Angel and her aunt over to a desk and handed out some papers. Angel turned back to me and raised her hand.

  I gave her a wave back, but it stung. My jealous heart was cramping up. Angel was going home. To the place I really wanted to be mine. To the place that felt like mine already.

  Suddenly George was back. He crouched down next to me.

  “Is everything okay at the cottages?” I asked.

  “Everything’s fine. Under control.”

  I thought about the scene in the house when we’d left, then tried to imagine what might be going on in the garden. “I guess we ruined the renters’ vacations,” I whispered.

  “Naw,” George said. “You just gave ’em something to talk about when they get home.”

  “I’m so sorry. We should have told you. I know Louise was your friend.”

  He gave me a quick smile, but then his eyes filled with tears. I looked down at my lap, because I hated seeing how much misery I’d brought him. But he put his hand on my chin and turned my face to his. “I know you’re going to be with your mother soon, and I know you’re excited about that. I’m happy for you. I just want to tell you that I’m going to miss you.”

  I nodded and looked away again, ashamed of how much lying I’d done. When he left, I couldn’t watch.

  Mrs. Marino touched my elbow. “We can leave,
too, Stella.”

  “Where? My mother…?”

  “We located her. You’ll see her soon. But you know there are still the court’s requirements. It will still be a while before we can get the two of you back together.”

  Mrs. Marino saw me remembering who’d made the call that had put up all these roadblocks. “You did the right thing, Stella. There’s no question.”

  “Who does that to her own mother?” I whispered. The first time I’d said that sentence out loud.

  “Someone who knows what’s right. A child who knew she shouldn’t have been left alone.” Mrs. Marino sounded sure of herself. “For now, you’ll go back to the Juvenile Diversion Center. Where you were before you came to Louise’s.”

  I guess I didn’t hide my feelings very well.

  Mrs. Marino squeezed my shoulder. “It was only a short wait last time, remember?”

  Except that last time I had a relative who wanted to take me in. And last time I didn’t have a history of burying the people who gave me a home. I was going to be at the Juvenile Diversion Center until my mother got it together. And that might be a long, long time.

  I saw Angel one more time that day, when I went back to Louise’s to pack my stuff. As we pulled into the driveway, I turned my head away from the cottages. And I didn’t even look in the direction of the backyard. I couldn’t have borne seeing the torn-up earth, or the bushes I knew were going to die now.

  I went straight to my room and bent down to give the little iron dog a final pat. “Stay,” I told him. “You stay.” And then I packed my suitcase.

  After I finished, I went to Angel’s room. “Here,” I said. “This is for you. There are a lot of tips in it that will help you run things here.” I handed her my file of Hints from Heloise clippings.

  “But…?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t need it anymore. Besides,” I admitted, “I’ve memorized them all anyway.”

  “Hold on,” Angel said. She rooted around in her backpack and pulled out a CD. “I was wrong. You can understand it. And anyway, I’ve memorized it, too.”

  “Thank you.” I slipped Legends of Fado into my backpack.

  CHAPTER 30

  I almost didn’t recognize George. He wore a suit and tie, and his hair was newly cut—you could practically still see the scissors tracks. His face glowed as if he’d just had a shave. He looked about three inches taller, too, standing next to Angel’s aunt. He put his hand on her shoulder, because even though she was the only person here who had never met Louise, she was crying. I guess Angel must have told her some nice things about my great-aunt.

  Angel had changed, too, in the three weeks since I’d seen her. She looked older, in a black dress, and even though she wasn’t smiling, I thought she looked happy. Like she had a secret. George gave me a hug. “How have you been, Stella by Starlight? We’ve missed you at Linger Longer.”

  A stone of jealousy suddenly grew in my throat, making it impossible to answer. I looked away.

  Besides Angel and her aunt, there were only maybe a dozen people around the grave. I recognized the lady who ran the diner, and the postman. The rest were older women I’d never seen before—probably Louise’s bingo friends. I wondered which one was Anita.

  Louise had actually been buried here a couple of weeks ago. I thought it probably suited her to be here. She would like how neat the grass looked, as if it had just been vacuumed, and she’d approve of the trees and shrubs and pots of flowers all around.

  The minister called us to gather at the grave. He said a prayer, and then he talked about life being a gift that isn’t supposed to last forever. “That’s what makes it so precious,” he said. The pastor had said that at my grandmother’s service, too—as if that would be a comfort to anyone. Then he asked for people to share a thought about the deceased.

  George stepped forward. He looked around at all of us and smiled. “When Louise got the news about her heart last year, she asked me not to tell anyone. Said there wasn’t anything to be done about it, so what’s the point in having people feel sorry for her? I suggested she might want to quit doing the cottages, take it easy. She said no, that it brought her pleasure to take care of them, like her gardening. A while later, she told me she was going to take in her great-niece, and then another girl. I thought maybe she was a little crazy—all that extra work and worry at her age. But she said if she only had a few years left, she didn’t want to spend them alone. And she might as well do something good, make a difference in the world.” George looked over at Angel and me. “I think anyone who knows these two young ladies here would agree that she did exactly that.” Then he gestured for Angel to come up beside him.

  Angel stepped forward. She looked down at the ground and settled a piece of black lace over her shoulders. She stood there for a while, her head hanging low. I began to be worried for her—of all people, Angel being shy about speaking. The people around the grave site looked around at the trees and cleared their throats.

  And then Angel took in a deep breath of air, so deep I could see her shoulders rise. She lifted her head and opened her mouth. And she sang.

  The notes poured out like violin music: sad and aching and sweet at the same time. I recognized the voice—it was the one I had heard floating out of her room at Louise’s that one afternoon. And now, even though I still couldn’t understand the words, I knew what they meant. Angel’s song was about all the things I had lost in my life and all the things I would never have; about the things we had all lost and would never have. And while it was mournful, it was joyful, too, because she sang that we would all have so much more. Her song was about the things that connected us all.

  My heart swelled with the notes, and it rose in my chest. The music flooded through my cramped-up heart and burst out in tears, hot and wet on my cheeks.

  Two years was a long time to hold back tears. I cried through Angel’s song, and when she was finished, I raised my thumbs to let her know her fado performance had been a success.

  Then it was my turn. George took my elbow and guided me forward.

  The tears were still coming, but I didn’t care. “Louise prepared for things,” I said. I took an extra breath and steadied my voice. “Louise prepared for things. She thought ahead about what people would need, and she made sure she was ready. And not just people, actually. She planted peas and beans, and she had trellises ready for them to climb. She saved coffee grounds for her blueberry bushes, because they love acid. That says a lot about someone.

  “But the best preparation she did was for Angel and me. Somehow, she figured out ahead of time what we would need. She took us in and she said, These girls will need what’s here: my home, the cottages, George. And each other. Louise knew that Angel and I needed each other.

  “I wish I could thank her for that.”

  Everyone gathered back at the house. It made me happy to see that nothing had changed. The kitchen was clean and shiny, the way Louise used to keep it. Platters of pastries sat on the kitchen table, and more were cooling on the stove.

  “Malasadas—they’re like doughnuts,” Angel said, pointing out the different kinds. “This is sweet bread and these are pastéis de nata—egg custard tarts. My aunt loves Cape Cod. She says it reminds her of the Azores. She bakes all the time. She sells to the diner, and people are going crazy for them. Oh, and guess what else she does?”

  Angel opened the freezer and pointed to a tinfoil package nestled next to Louise’s coffee cake. “I’m not kidding…. In case someone stops by unexpectedly.”

  I laughed at that and gave Angel’s aunt a wave across the room.

  Then Angel pulled out our Earl Grey tin. “We had three hundred twenty-four dollars at the end,” she said.

  “I forgot,” I said. “That’s a lot of money.”

  “Half of that is yours. Do you want it?”

  “What about your mother’s guitar?”

  Angel shook her head. “I’m going to leave it the way it is. It tells a story this way.”

/>   I felt a sudden happiness fill me, warm and heavy, knowing that George had been talking to Angel.

  “I was thinking that we earned it together,” Angel said. “So maybe we should spend it together, too.”

  “That sounds good. Do you have any ideas?”

  “I want to buy George an extra survival suit. I’ve been putting the cleaning tips in these past three weeks, and also my babysitting money. There’s over five hundred dollars now. But if you have a different idea…”

  “That’s what I want to do with it,” I said. “That’s it exactly.”

  Then Angel asked me how things were for me. “Are you in a new place?”

  I shook my head. “I go home with Mrs. Marino on weekends, though.”

  “What about your mother?” Angel asked.

  “She came back,” I said. “I saw her. She started taking landscaping design classes at the community college. But…she’s in Florida now, I think.”

  Lately, I’d been thinking a lot about the Christmas ornament my grandmother had compared her to. About how hard it would be if you couldn’t bounce when life dropped you. “She’s trying,” I said.

  I left Angel there then and went out the kitchen door. I’d been dreading seeing Louise’s garden, afraid of the wild tangle of weeds it might have become, with the vegetables shriveling up and dying. But it looked wonderful. Where we’d buried her—where they’d dug her up, too—was now planted with chrysanthemums, the kind you see in pots in the grocery store at the end of summer, deep red and gold. The rest of the garden was as neat as Louise would have kept it, and filled with ripe tomatoes and eggplants and peppers, so I guessed Angel’s aunt was a gardener. I kept my gaze away from the cottages as I stepped over the fencing and into the back area.

  I gasped. Every blueberry bush was covered with brown webs, as if all the branches were wearing mittens. At first I figured they were nests of eggs—that the gypsy moths were using my bushes as their nursery. I ran over to the nearest bush to tear them off. But then I saw: They weren’t webs. All the branches had been netted in onion bags. Inside each bag, the stems were loaded with ripe blueberries.