Lucy the Good

by Marianne Musgrove

  Lucy looked at the sack lying on the floor. It was a very big sack.

  “Now,” said Tante Bep. “Let me get back to cleaning this house. I did not know a house could get so dusty.”

  She hung the sack over Lucy’s chair and left the room. Lucy stared at it. She was too young to go to Spain! She didn’t even speak Spanish! She wanted to get rid of it, but the thought of touching it made her shudder. In the end, she used Tante Bep’s hairbrush to lift it off the chair. Then she kicked it under the bed as far as it would go.

  Lucy didn’t sleep much that night. To take her mind off Black Piet, she made up a story in her head. It was about a clever young girl and a troll. The clever young girl was chained to the wall by her ankle with only a blow-up mattress to sleep on. The horrible old troll slept in what had once been the girl’s own bed. This troll was a terrible snorer, and her breath was so hot that mice came out from their hiding places to toast marshmallows over her mouth. One day, thought the clever young girl, one day I’ll escape, and then everyone will know how mean the troll really is and she will be banished for ever and ever.

  Unfortunately for Lucy, the van Loon family never ate in front of the TV. That meant Lucy had to endure every meal sitting opposite Tante Bep. Each time she looked up, Lucy saw not an old Dutch woman but a troll with hot breath and nails so sharp they could carve a roast turkey.

  Dinner on Sunday night was especially hard to tolerate because they were eating crusty bread, and Lucy hated crusts. Calvin was different. As long as his food was covered in tomato sauce, he would eat anything.

  “Lucy,” said her great-aunt, “pass me the cheese.”

  Please, thought Lucy. Pass me the cheese, please. She waited for Mum or Dad to correct Tante Bep. They said nothing.

  “Honey,” said Mum. “Tante Bep asked you for the cheese. Be a good girl and give it to her.”

  Lucy reached out and thrust it at her great-aunt. Dad cut everyone a slice of crusty bread. Yuk, thought Lucy.

  “This is Edam cheese, ja?” said Tante Bep. She dragged the slicer across it. A sliver of cheese came out through the slot like a sheet of paper.

  “You’re right, Tante Bep,” said Dad. “It’s Dutch Edam.” He smiled broadly, smoothing nonexistent hair over his bald spot. “It was shipped here all the way from Holland, just for you,” he added proudly.

  “I prefer Gouda,” said Tante Bep, laying the cheese on her bread. “But this will do, I suppose.”

  The smile on Dad’s face sagged a little, like elastic that had gone slack.

  Lucy ate some more of her bread. Now only the crusts were left. She slowly slipped them off the table and scrunched them up in her hand. Calvin saw her do this, and his eyes widened. She shook her head at him the tiniest little bit.

  “I think I will wash the windows after we eat,” said Tante Bep.

  “Why?” said Dad.

  “In Holland,” said Tante Bep, “Dutch women clean their windows every week. That way, they don’t get dirty.” She looked at the dining room window and frowned.

  Lucy felt underneath the tablecloth. She was looking for the little drawer under the tabletop. Where was it? Then she found it: a small knob, smooth, like a cold plum.

  “I’m in charge of keeping the house clean,” said Dad, “and the windows don’t look dirty to me.”

  “You’re in charge?” said Tante Bep, raising an eyebrow.

  Lucy pulled out the drawer. Quietly, she thought, quietly. Calvin watched her closely, all the while munching on his bread-and-sauce sandwich.

  “It’s not right that a man be in charge of the home,” said Tante Bep. “Hanneke, is this really true?”

  “It’s true,” said Mum. “Arjo’s the home manager.”

  Lucy slipped the crusts into the open drawer.

  “He looks after the kids and does all the housework, while I drive the City to Bay trolley,” added Mum.

  Tante Bep coughed on her cheese. “How strange,” she said, picking up her bowl of coffee. “Well, that explains why the windows are dirty.”

  Dad opened his mouth to speak, but Mum frowned at him. He stuffed an egg into his mouth and chewed vigorously.

  Lucy carefully shut the drawer, trying not to make any noise. If Tante Bep, or anyone else for that matter, found out what she was doing, she would be in big trouble.

  It was tiring being good for hours on end, and even more tiring worrying about Black Piet and that awful sack. Lucy had survived the weekend (sort of), but Tante Bep was staying five and a half more weeks! Lucy was almost glad to be back at school on Monday.

  When the students sat down, there were two empty boxes on Ms. Denny’s desk with a pile of papers between them. Only Lucy and Harriet had figured out the true meaning of these boxes.

  One was for good drawings and one was for bad drawings, though they never knew which was which till Ms. Denny had finished. Everyone else in the class just thought they were ordinary containers.

  Ms. Denny lifted a sheet of paper off the pile. She held it first over the blue box, then over the red. Her earrings swung back and forth like dollhouse chandeliers. She dropped the paper into the blue box and picked up the next piece.

  “Whose drawing do you think she’s looking at now?” asked Lucy.

  “If it’s Jacinta’s,” said Harriet, “it’ll go straight on the good pile.”

  “Mine won’t,” said Lucy. “It’ll go straight on the bad pile. As usual.”

  Ms. Denny sucked on her peppermint. Lucy sucked in her breath. Harriet sucked on her braid.

  When Ms. Denny had placed the last sheet of paper neatly in the blue box, she looked up. “I need two volunteers. Let’s see. . . .”

  Jacinta’s hand shot up.

  “Lucy and Harriet,” said Ms. Denny, “could you please come forward and help me put these up?”

  Jacinta scowled. “She only asked you because she feels sorry for you,” she whispered. “Poor old Lucy van Loony.”

  “It’s not van Loony,” hissed Lucy. “It’s van Loon, and you know it rhymes with bone, not moon.”

  “What’s that?” said Blake. “Lucy van Loony? Good one.”

  Paolo put his hand over his mouth to hide a laugh, but Lucy saw him. She stuck out her tongue at him.

  “That’s enough, Blake,” said Ms. Denny. “Lucy, are you coming?”

  Ms. Denny pushed the blue box toward them. “I’d like you girls to stick these up next to the blackboard, please.”

  “At the front,” muttered Harriet. “That means the blue ones are the good ones.”

  “I’ll take the red box to the back,” continued Ms. Denny.

  “The bad ones,” whispered Lucy.

  The class had been asked to draw a Christmas animal. As usual, Lucy had drawn her camel, Nathan. She reached into the box and tried to ignore Jacinta, who was mouthing “Lucy van Loony” while Ms. Denny was at the back of the classroom.

  The first picture she pulled out was a donkey. The second picture, an ox. The third one . . .

  “That’s mine!” said Harriet happily. It was a sheep.

  “Look at this one,” said Lucy, turning up her nose. “It’s a unicorn. Must be Jacinta’s.”

  Harriet leaned over her shoulder. “Typical,” she said. “And anyway, a unicorn’s not an official Christmas animal.”

  Lucy quickly checked through the last drawings. A few cows, two donkeys, but no camel.

  “Looks like mine’ll be in the back again so no one can see it,” said Lucy. “Well, I don’t care. Ms. Denny can go jump.”

  She quickly wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Come on, let’s put these up.”

  Harriet tore off great strips of sticky tape that shone like snail trails. Lucy preferred to use thumbtacks. She felt like pushing something sharp into the wall. When she picked up Jacinta’s unicorn picture, she drove the tack straight through its eye and then felt much better. “My camel’s much nicer than her unicorn,” she said. “I wish I were a camel. They’re really good spitters, so I could c
hoose anyone in this room and spit on them from here. Right in their eye.”

  “Spitting’s against the rules,” said Harriet.

  “Not if you’re a camel,” said Lucy.

  “Good point,” said Harriet. “So who would you pick?”

  “Jacinta,” said Lucy, “or Paolo, ’cause he wouldn’t play with me at recess. I dunno. Maybe I would spit on Ms. Denny.”

  “You’d spit on whom?” said a voice from behind. And without turning around, Lucy knew exactly who it was.

  Another turn in the Time Out chair was bad enough. Then it got worse: Ms. Denny asked Lucy about the letter.

  “Did you give it to your parents?” she said. Her earrings swung back and forth, back and forth. “I hope they call me sometime this week. It’s very important I talk to them.”

  When Lucy got home after school, she was on a mission. She ran into her bedroom and raced to her drawer. Making sure not to look at Black Piet’s sack (which Tante Bep had rescued from underneath the bed), she pulled out Ms. Denny’s letter and tucked it into her waistband. Then she ran out into the dining room. Dad was politely trying to wrestle a bottle of window cleaner out of Tante Bep’s hands. They were too busy to notice Lucy as she slipped outside.

  Her two favorite chickens, Apricot and Abigail, raced toward her, hoping for food. Lucy stepped over them and went into the chicken coop, where it was quiet and warm.

  Taking out the letter, she turned it over in her hands, then took a deep breath. She tore it up once. She tore it up twice. She tore it up till it was nothing more than confetti. Then she kicked some straw over the top of it.

  “There,” she said. “No more letter.”

  It was different from when she had ripped up the phone book. Instead of feeling calmer, she felt squirmy, as if she had eaten too much pizza. What if Black Piet finds out what I’ve done? she wondered. She pushed that cold, scary thought away and went back inside.

  Tante Bep was still in the dining room cleaning the windows. Dad had given up and was now in the laundry room, furiously mopping the floor. Lucy got as far as the door to the dining room when Tante Bep said, “Lucy, can we talk?”

  Lucy jumped. Did Tante Bep know about the letter?

  Tante Bep tucked her rag into the pocket of her apron. “Do you remember your promise to me to be a good girl?”

  Lucy remembered being told by Tante Bep to be a good girl. Technically, she did not remember any actual promising.

  “Honesty is very important,” said Tante Bep. “I would like to know my great-niece is an honest girl, ja? Is there something you would tell me?”

  What does she know? thought Lucy. She was scared, but she was angry too. Angry that Tante Bep kept interfering in her life. She was very close to having a good shriek.

  “Perhaps this will remind you,” said Tante Bep. She went over to the dining room table and flung back the tablecloth. There was the secret drawer, opened, and filled to the brim with crusts.

  Oh, thought Lucy. That.

  The last thing Lucy wanted to do was touch stale crusts. Tante Bep made her clean out every last one. Some of them were moldy. They looked and felt like furry caterpillars. Tante Bep held out an empty ice-cream container for her to throw them in.

  “You can feed them to the chickens,” said Dad, standing in the doorway. “They won’t mind a bit of mold.” He wandered back into the laundry.

  Why wasn’t Dad stopping this woman? Why was he taking Tante Bep’s side? Once again, Lucy felt like making a big noise. She felt like tipping all the chairs over and pulling the tablecloth off the table. She wanted to take that container and tip it over Tante Bep’s head. She took another crust out of the drawer. Tante Bep’s face was very close. Close enough to—

  “Don’t forget,” said Tante Bep, lowering her voice, “Sinterklaas and Black Piet are coming in exactly one week.”

  Lucy went cold.

  “You don’t want him to take you in the middle of the night,” whispered Tante Bep.

  Lucy dropped the crust into the container and went out to feed the chickens.

  When the chickens saw Lucy, they ran to her, jostling each other like feathery rugby players. Lucy scattered the crusts on the ground, then went into the chicken coop for a think.

  This Black Piet business was a real worry.

  Lucy knew she was a good girl. She was sure she was a good girl, even if she did get into trouble sometimes. Yes, it was everyone else who was wrong.

  But then a horrible thought dropped into her head like a huge stone thrown in a bucket. What if Lucy van Loon was really a bad person and she just didn’t know it? She pushed the thought away as hard as she could, but it kept coming back, harder and harder, louder and louder. Could she be a bad girl? Could she be Lucy the Bad?

  Lucy realized she would have to find out as soon as possible. Black Piet was coming in exactly one week’s time. If people thought she was bad, well, she would show them different. She could be good Lucy. She would be good Lucy. That’d show them. From now on, she would be a new person with a new name, and that name was Lucy the Good.

  Lucy spent the rest of the school week practicing being Lucy the Good. Sometimes, she forgot and did things like stick out her tongue at Jacinta. Then Black Piet would pop into her mind and she would quickly pretend she was just licking her lips. Another time, she was about to give Paolo a pinch on his leg for ignoring her, when she saw—or thought she saw—Black Piet hanging around by the monkey bars with a sack over his shoulder.

  Harriet told her she was just imagining things, but one lunch break, she was sure she saw Black Piet standing in the doorway of the girls’ bathroom.

  The next time she looked, she just saw shadows. With less than a week till Sinterklaas Day, Lucy had to figure out this good and bad business before it was too late.

  “You have to help me,” said Lucy.

  It was Friday lunchtime, and Lucy and Harriet were down by the library. Harriet was practicing handstands, and Lucy was drinking out of a plastic cereal bowl she had brought from home. This attracted the attention of some kids walking past.

  “It’s how they do it in Europe,” she called out.

  “What sort of help do you need?” asked Harriet, speaking in her upside-down voice.

  “I have to know if I’m bad or not. Otherwise, Black Piet will get me,” said Lucy. “My turn.”

  Lucy took a run-up and charged at the wall. She planted her hands on the ground and flung her legs up in the air. Slap slap. The backs of her heels struck the wall and her arms locked. A perfect handstand.

  “But I told you already,” said Harriet. “Black Piet isn’t real. That Bep lady just made him up to scare you. And anyway, you’re not bad.”

  “Tante Bep thinks I am, since I got mad at her. What if she’s right?”

  “She’s not,” said Harriet. “She just hates big noises.”

  Blood was pressing against the backs of Lucy’s eyes, making it hard to think. She kicked off the wall and stood up. “Let’s make a list of what makes some things good and some things bad.”

  The two girls sat cross-legged on the ground.

  “We should do it properly,” said Harriet. “You know. Officially.”

  She got out a sheet of paper and two colored pencils. She wrote GOOD on one side of the page in blue pencil and BAD on the other side in red. Lucy picked up her bowl and took another sip.

  “What about the good scissors?” said Lucy.

  In her house, only grown-ups were allowed to touch those.

  Harriet wrote good scissors carefully on the GOOD page.

  “What else?”

  Harriet put her braid in her mouth so she could think better.

  “I know,” said Lucy. “Write down good china, good teapot, and good pencils.”

  Then she remembered all those times she’d been in the garden after it had rained. When she came back inside, Dad always told her to take off her shoes to protect his good clean floor.

  Soon, their list was so long they needed
another sheet of paper. Some of the things on the blue page were:

  On the red page, they had:

  “Dirt,” said Harriet, polishing her left shoe with spit, “is also bad. That’s what Mum says, anyway.”

  Lucy looked down at her hands. They were covered with little specks of gravel from all the handstands she’d done. Her nails were black too. Dark little crescents that would take a fair bit of scrubbing to clean.

  “I don’t think these lists are really getting us anywhere,” said Harriet.

  Lucy looked down at the pages in her hands, willing them to give her an answer.

  “Wait a second,” she said. “You know what we’ve left off?”

  “What?”

  Lucy smiled slowly. “Eggs,” she replied. “Good eggs and bad eggs.”

  “What’s so special about eggs?” said Harriet.

  Lucy folded up the lists and put them in her pocket.

  “I have an idea,” she said. “But first, I need to find Paolo.”

  “Got it,” said Paolo, climbing through the gap in the fence between their two houses. He was carrying a garbage bag that he handed to Lucy. It was Saturday, the day after Lucy had had her Big Idea.

  “Great,” said Lucy, peering in the bag. “This is just what I need.”

  “What do you want it for anyway?” said Paolo.

  Lucy walked over to the cast-iron bathtub in the yard. It had legs shaped like lions’ feet. Lucy liked to think the tub had wandered into their backyard one day and decided to stay. Normally the bathtub was empty. Today Lucy had filled it up with water.

  “Dad showed me how good eggs sink and bad eggs float,” she said. “I think other things must too.”

  “Are you sure?” said Paolo. “It sounds stupid.”

  “Don’t stay, then,” said Lucy. “I’ll just tell everyone your sisters put makeup on you and tie up your hair in bows.”