Rosalind slid past them, not knowing whether she was more upset by Mrs. Tifton's nasty comments or about Batty being at the carriage house. Had Batty really decided to go see the rabbits all by herself? She knew she wasn't allowed to wander around alone like that. Rosalind dashed toward Cagney's apartment, the lily dropping unheeded from her hair. When she arrived, there was no sign of Batty. But had she been there earlier? Rosalind peered through the screen door. What she saw did not calm her. There were two fat carrots on the rug right inside the door. That wasn't right. Yaz never let carrots lie around uneaten.
“Rabbits,” called Rosalind. Nothing. She called again, and this time one nose came poking out from under the couch. It was Carla. She gave Rosalind a long, sad gaze, then pulled back and disappeared.
What had Batty done?
At about the same time that Rosalind was picking the lily, Jane was aiming an arrow at the cardboard target of Dexter's face, now nailed to a tree. She let the arrow fly.
“That's the third time you've missed the whole target. Are you blind?” said Skye.
“Take off your hat, Jane,” said Jeffrey.
Jane was wearing a yellow rain hat, because Skye and Jeffrey were wearing their camouflage hats, and she didn't want to be the only one without a hat. But it wasn't the hat that made her miss the target—she could see perfectly. It was lack of concentration. She was too busy trying to figure out how to get bows and arrows into her Sabrina Starr book.
She strung a fourth arrow. Maybe she could use them in the hot air balloon scene. Sabrina could shoot an arrow at Arthur's window with a message tied to it. No, she had already used carrier pigeons to take messages back and forth. Wait—here was an idea! Sabrina could tie one end of a rope to an arrow and the other end to the balloon basket, then shoot the arrow through Arthur's window. Arthur could then use the rope to haul the balloon close enough that he could climb out the window, onto the tree branch, and into the balloon basket. Oh, that was perfect!
She pulled the string of the bow again and shot the arrow. Thwonk!
“Bull's-eye!” shouted Jane.
“First strike for Jane,” said Jeffrey.
“That wasn't a bull's-eye,” said Skye. “You won't disable Dexter with a glancing blow to the cheekbone.” She walked over to the target and pointed to a little dent in the cardboard, which was all there was to show for any hit. With their rubber tips, the arrows just bounced off the target and fell harmlessly to the ground.
“That's not mine. My dent should be on the nose,” said Jane.
“Not even close,” said Skye.
“We need something to put on the arrows so they'll leave a better mark where they hit,” said Jeffrey.
“Blood,” said Skye.
“Ketchup,” said Jeffrey.
“I'll get some ketchup while you take your turns,” said Jane, and ran off.
Long before Jane reached the cottage, she heard Hound barking. This wasn't odd in itself—Hound was always barking. But this was his something-is-not-right-in-my-world bark. Although Jane knew that it could mean anything from a leaf had fallen in his water bowl to an elephant had walked into the yard, she hurried to his pen.
Hound bounded over to her, barking even more furiously. Jane could see nothing wrong, however. His water and food bowl were full, he didn't look like he'd been hurt, and his pen looked the same as usual—lots and lots of holes along the fence dug by Hound and filled in by Mr. Penderwick.
“What's wrong, screwy dog?” she said.
“Wow woof woof wow,” said Hound, crazily pawing at the gate.
“Lonely, huh? Poor Hound. But you've got to stay here. You wouldn't be good with arrows.”
“Woof.” Hound disagreed, but it wasn't arrows he was interested in. It was escape. He needed absolutely, positively that very minute to get out of the pen and go help someone.
If Batty had been there, she would have understood. But Batty wasn't, which was part of Hound's distress. And Jane wasn't as proficient as her little sister at dog language. “Sorry, buddy,” she said. She hadn't gone half a dozen steps when she heard a big thump and a jubilant bark. She whipped around just in time to see Hound land on the wrong side of the fence and dash away. Hound was on the loose!
It had long ago been proved that Hound could not be caught by one Penderwick sister alone. It took at least two, and three was better, especially if one of them was Batty. Jane needed help. She sprinted back to Jeffrey and Skye, arriving just as Jeffrey was about to shoot another arrow at Dexter. “It's Hound,” panted Jane. “He jumped over his fence and ran away.”
Jeffrey threw his bow and arrow to the ground. “Mother's been in and out of the gardens all day, fussing about her Garden Club competition. If she sees Hound, she'll go nuts. She still doesn't even know he's living here.”
The three took off for the tunnel at top speed, burst through the hedge, and ran smack into Rosalind.
“Yaz is missing. I think Batty let him escape,” said Rosalind wildly. “We have to find him before Cagney comes back.”
“And Hound's escaped from his pen,” said Skye.
There was dead silence as the full horror of the situation struck everyone. Then the three sisters started talking all at once.
“Quiet!” Jeffrey shouted, waving his arms in the air. “Hound could be here any second. Skye, you guard the tunnel and keep him from coming through.”
“Right.” She slipped back through the tunnel.
“The rest of us will look for Yaz. I'll take from here to the pond,” said Jeffrey.
“I'll look in the flower beds along the hedge,” said Jane.
“And I'll look between here and the carriage house, in case he's sticking close to home,” said Rosalind, desperately hoping that's what a rabbit would do.
Jeffrey and Jane flew off. Rosalind turned and walked slowly back toward the carriage house, stooping to peer under every flower and leaf, around every urn and statue. The sun and shadows played tricks with her eyes—over and again, dashes of white that she hoped were part of Yaz turned out to be flowers or stones. When at last she reached the final flower bed before the driveway, she was so discouraged she almost ignored one last white splatter. But when the splatter twitched in a most un-flower-like way, Rosalind shaded her eyes from the sun, squinted, and breathed a tremendous sigh of relief. For there was Yaz, crouched calmly in a bed of nasturtiums, chomping on a leaf.
“Oh, Yaz, thank goodness you're safe,” Rosalind said. “Remember me and all those carrots my little sister and I gave you?”
Yaz stopped chewing and tipped his head to one side. He seemed to be pondering the carrot memory and approving it. Rosalind almost believed he nodded before biting into another leaf. She dropped to her hands and knees and inched her way toward the renegade. Silently and smoothly she went forward, while Yaz cheerfully nibbled away, though always with one bright eye fixed on Rosalind.
Rosalind felt that everything was now all right in the world. She was going to catch Yaz. She was very close now A tiny bit more, he was just barely out of reach, and then—
A frenzied mixture of barking and shouting broke out behind Rosalind.
“No!” she cried as Yaz stamped out one frenzied thump of DANGER and took off like a shot. Rosalind whipped around to see him zigzagging madly toward the lily pond. She knew only one creature fast enough to overtake the rabbit now, and unfortunately that creature was about to do just that. Hound had obviously gotten past Skye and through the tunnel, for there he was, bolting through the gardens toward Yaz. Skye was tearing along behind him, and Jane and Jeffrey were racing from their different positions, trying to reach Hound before he caught Yaz.
As if all that weren't awful enough, Rosalind heard yet another shout coming from a different direction, accompanied by the sound of high heels stomping on the asphalt driveway.
“WHAT'S THAT DOG DOING IN MY GARDENS?”
Marching toward Rosalind was a very angry Mrs. Tifton. As Rosalind watched, Mrs. Tifton tried to break into a tro
t, only to stumble, for one of her shoes had just lost a heel. This did not improve her temper.
“Rosalind!” she screeched.
With no time to be polite, Rosalind turned her back on Mrs. Tifton. She knew she was too far away to help Yaz. She could only stand and helplessly watch the wild chase toward the pond. Skye and Jane were far behind now, but Jeffrey was still in the game, running toward Hound in a last heroic attempt to cut him off. He made one magnificent dive in Hound's path, which Hound neatly sidestepped. One, two horrible moments of silence, then Jane's howl of anguish rang out across the gardens. There was only one thing that howl could mean. Rosalind started to cry. She hated to cry, but more, she hated pain and suffering and death, and she hated herself because she was going to have to tell Cagney that Hound had killed Yaz.
Now here came poor, stupid, murderer Hound, galloping toward her with something brown and white in his mouth. Following him in a ragged line were Jeffrey, Skye, and Jane. And Mrs. Tifton was still approaching from the other direction, limping now, and muttering not very polite words. Rosalind wiped the tears from her eyes. She was the OAP. She could handle this. She stood firm and waited.
Hound reached Rosalind with a happy bound and dropped Yaz at her feet. He barked. Aren't I great? Aren't I wonderful? Rosalind looked at him sternly but hadn't the heart to scold. Seconds later, Jeffrey, Skye, and Jane arrived. Jane was sobbing. Skye grabbed hold of Hound's collar and held on like she'd never let go again. Jeffrey, pale but alert, stepped in front of the little furry body on the ground, screening it from sight just as Mrs. Tifton hobbled up to them.
“Whose dog is this? Is this your dog?” Mrs. Tifton looked accusingly at Rosalind.
“Yes, ma'am,” said Rosalind.
“I tell you to stay out of my gardens, and instead you bring your huge, disgusting dog over here to tear through my delphiniums? Three days before the Garden Club competition? How dare you! No one even told me you had a dog!”
“I'm sorry. It won't happen again.”
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, that's all you say. But you're right, it won't happen again. I'll be talking to your father about this. And about how all of you girls continually make free with my property.” She turned to Jane. “What are you crying about, Skye?”
“Nothing,” said Jane, tears streaming down her face.
“Humph,” said Mrs. Tifton. “Come along back to the house, Jeffrey.”
“In a minute.”
“Now. Dexter wants to give you some tips on your golf swing.”
“I'd like to help get Hound back to the cottage, Mother. It's important. I'll be home as soon as I do that.”
His mother stared witheringly at Jeffrey, but he had quite a stare of his own to give back. The Penderwicks didn't know which way it would go, but in the end, it was Mrs. Tifton who dropped her eyes and tromped unevenly away, giving off almost visible fumes of rage.
“We don't want you getting into trouble,” said Rosalind to Jeffrey. “You didn't need to disobey.”
“Yes, I did. This is important.” Jeffrey crouched down and gently stroked Yaz. There was no blood, thank heavens.
“Should we bury him?” said Skye.
“We have to wait for Cagney,” said Rosalind.
“Cagney!” said Jane, and cried harder.
“We could at least put him in a box or something,” said Skye.
Jeffrey picked up the small body and cradled it to his chest. Rosalind, fighting back her tears, touched the darling bunny one last time. He was still warm. If she didn't know better, she'd think he wasn't dead. She could almost feel him breathing.
“OH!” shrieked Rosalind. “LOOK!”
Everyone looked and shrieked, too, for Yaz had opened his eyes. He looked as surprised as they were.
“Is he alive?” cried Jane.
“Is he okay?” cried Skye.
Rosalind and Jeffrey felt Yaz all over and could find nothing wrong.
“Why, Hound didn't kill Yaz,” said Jeffrey. “He caught him for us.”
Hound barked proudly. Aren't I wonderful? Aren't I great? And everyone who wasn't holding Yaz fell on Hound with cries of praise and delight.
“Jeffrey, take Yaz back to Cagney's apartment,” said Rosalind. “Right now before anything else happens. We'll get Hound home and lock him up in the cottage.”
But Hound didn't like that idea. When Skye tugged on his collar to get him moving, he tugged in the other direction and started his something-is-not-right barking all over again.
“What's wrong with him now?” said Jane. “He already got to rescue Yaz.”
Hound's barking got worse. WOWWOWWOW-WOW.
“What's he upset about?” said Jeffrey. “Can you understand him?”
“Only Batty really—” Rosalind stopped and looked frantically around her. “Batty! Where's Batty?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Another Rescue
AS SOON AS BATTY HAD DECIDED she must find Yaz, she tried to do just that. She looked all over the Arundel gardens for him, calling his name, begging him to show himself. Three times she went around all the statues, urns, fountains, and beds full of flowers, but nowhere could she find a rabbit. Despairing, she was sure Yaz was gone for good. Now there was only one thing left for her to do, if only she could be brave enough.
She was brave enough, she told herself sternly. And so, at about the same time that Rosalind left the cottage with brownies for Cagney, Batty climbed over the low stone wall that marked the back edge of the Arundel gardens. She was going home. Not to the cottage. To her real home, in Cameron, where there was no Mrs. Tifton, no lost Yaz, and no Cagney and Carla, whose hearts Batty had broken. She would get there by nightfall and sleep in her own bed, and maybe, just maybe, by the time her sisters and father came home, too, they wouldn't be so very angry at her.
She knew the way. Arundel was in the mountains, and Cameron wasn't, so she must keep going downhill. And wherever the land was flat, she must head toward the sun, for Skye had once said that Cameron was east of Arundel and that east—whatever that was—had something to do with the sun. Unfortunately, soon the sun was overhead and gave no clues whatsoever, but still Batty plodded on.
If she hadn't been so unhappy, the first part of her journey would have been pleasant. It was mostly through fields, and there were bright, waving wild-flowers, big bugs that hopped as high as her nose, and even some butterflies that followed Batty from one field to the next, apparently thinking her a giant Queen of the Butterflies. And just when she was so hot she thought she'd die, she came to a shallow, trickling stream, and she waded right in and sat down in the water and thought how nice it was without an OAP to tell her no.
But best of all was what she found in the field next to the stream—two horses standing behind a fence, just waiting for Batty to come along and pick handfuls of clover to hold up high enough so that they could snuffle at it with their velvety black lips. That is, the horses were the best of all until Batty noticed that one was brown with spots like Yaz and the other one was white like Carla and that they nuzzled each other with great affection, and she thought about how sad they would be if one of them ran away and left the other alone forever.
Batty said good-bye to the horses and trudged off.
“She's not here in the gardens,” said Rosalind. She, Jeffrey, Skye, and Jane had just met back at the marble thunderbolt man for a status report.
“I checked all around the carriage house and my house and with Churchie. She hasn't seen Batty all day. And Cagney's still not back,” said Jeffrey.
“She's not in the cottage. After Skye and I took Hound back, I looked in every room, under the beds, in her secret passage closet, everywhere,” said Jane.
“And I searched all over the cottage grounds,” said Skye.
Rosalind shaded her eyes from the sun and stared into the distance, first in one direction and then another, hoping desperately for a glimpse of a little girl in wings. But there was nothing except gardens and, farther away, trees and then moun
tains.
“It's time to tell Daddy.” She was very pale.
“He's not back from town yet,” said Jane.
“Then what should we do? What can we do? Oh, this is all my fault! And I promised—I promised Mommy I would take care of her.” Rosalind's legs collapsed and she sank to the grass, sobbing. Jane clumsily patted her, but this only seemed to make her cry harder.
“We've got to find Batty,” said Skye to Jeffrey and Jane.
“What about Hound?” said Jeffrey.
“What about him?”
“Can he track people?”
The three Penderwicks stared at Jeffrey. Why hadn't they thought of that? A little color came back into Rosalind's face and she leapt to her feet.
“Come on!” she cried, and took off for the cottage with the others tearing after her.
Hound was in the cottage barking like an insane creature. As soon as Rosalind opened the front door, he made a determined dash for freedom, almost knocking down Jane, but Jeffrey tackled him and held on until they could explain to him what had to be done.
“Jane, go get something of Batty's,” said Rosalind.
It took only a minute for Jane to fetch Funty from Batty's bedroom. Rosalind stuck the blue elephant under Hound's nose. “Find Batty,” she said.
Hound gave her a look of great disdain. He knew his job better than they did.
“I think he understands,” said Jeffrey.
“I hope so,” said Rosalind. “Let him go. We'll follow him.”
In a flash, Hound was out the door and speeding toward the hedge tunnel.
Batty had been walking in the hot sun for over two hours, though she herself didn't know how long it had been—she had no watch and couldn't tell time, anyway. She only knew that she was hungry and thirsty and tired. And now she had come to a road. As roads go, it wasn't a busy one—she had been standing there for a few minutes already, and not one car had gone by—but a road was a road, and her father had forbidden her to ever, ever cross one by herself.
Her spirits were flagging. Cameron now seemed too far away to reach before night came, and she wished all of a sudden that she could turn around and go back to the cottage. But she couldn't go back. She had to go forward, which meant that she had to cross this road. Batty looked left, then right, then left again. There were still no cars. She closed her eyes for courage, put one hesitant foot onto the asphalt, then paused. She had heard something. Could it be? Yes, there it was again. A bark! Batty whirled around and saw the most wonderful dog in the world, flying straight to her.
A Summer Tale of Four Sisters, Two Rabbits, and a Very Interesting Boy Page 10
