“Now Jock,” said Edie.
“You better put it in his cage,” said Hubert.
“Oh, why?” said Edie. “The poor thing. Anyway the saucepan’s too big.” She opened Jock’s cage and coaxed him to come to the door. He looked at her and at the saucepan, bewildered. Then he tried to lift it up, but it was too heavy for him.
“He wants something smaller,” said Hubert. “Try this measuring cup.”
Jocko politely and carefully drank out of the measuring cup, and when he was through, handed it back to Edie.
“Good little monk,” said Edie.
As she put out her hand to take the cup, Jock pulled her fingers as he often did with his cool dry hand and Edie let him have them. But this time he pulled harder than usual, and then he pulled her arm with all four paws as he ran up it to her shoulder, jumped off to the ice-cream freezer, to the top of Laza’s cage, to the ground, and was across the side lawn in a twinkling and halfway up one of Aunt Louise’s giant pines before they had time to start after him. They could not see him, but they could hear him chattering with pleasure.
“Bright girl,” said Hubert. “I suppose you know just exactly what to do now, especially,” he added, “as I see his royal highness approaching down the drive.”
Edie looked. He was right. Down the shell road was chugging Mount Harbor’s old only cab and Jane was looking out its window. Inside were certainly Theodore and that Miss Black they had been sent to meet.
“I couldn’t help it,” said Edie.
This, however, was not Theodore’s point of view at all. As soon as he was told, it was quite clear, he said, that they had made a stupendous mess of things. “And I don’t mean what’s on the steps,” he said. Jane had to pay the cab and get out the bags and stand beside the square light-haired woman who was Miss Black while he told them this and they told him they would be highly pleased if he would just shut up.
“Have you tried the door?” Theodore asked in the end.
Hubert and Edie agreed later that it was something they would probably never get over till the end of their lives that Aunt Louise’s front door was not locked and Ted got in as easy as silk. They could have taken all the animals in and made them comfortable and never have lost Jocko at all. It made them blush to think of it.
In the hall Jane tried to introduce Miss Black, but by then no one could pay attention. They were ordered at once to take part in Jocko’s capture.
“We can only get him from the roof,” said Theodore. “And we’ll have to let out that bird and use his cage. It’s a lot bigger than Jock’s traveler. We can catch the bird later. Bring the eggs,” he said to Hubert. “We’ll try him with those.”
“I’ve got an apple left from lunch,” said Edie.
“Bring that,” said Theodore.
For some reason “unknown to man” as Hubert said afterwards, Laza was brought upstairs and let out in the room that Father and Madam usually had when they were at Aunt Louise’s, and Theodore—carrying eggs, apple and cage—went up the stairs and through the trap door to the roof, where one of the pines rested a branch on the top of the piazza. Everyone else stood and looked at each other and waited. They couldn’t go with Theodore for fear of scaring Jocko, and they didn’t want to go away for fear of missing some excitement. They were not thinking of Miss Black when she came up and joined them.
“Oh, I forgot,” said Jane. “This is Miss Black. Edie— Hubert.”
“Jeananne,” said Miss Black. “We are going to be great friends, Edie and I.” She put her arm around Edie’s shoulders. “And Hubert too, I am sure.” They had to try to smile at her while they were listening hard for Ted. “And now wouldn’t it be nice and also polite if you were to bring up the bags, Hubert. Your sister and I are all smuts from the train.”
“Just a sec,” said Hubert, cocking his head for Ted’s dulcet tones with Jocko.
“And Edith too,” she went on, “had better get ready for her father and mother.”
“My stepmother,” said Edie. “And I am ready. Would you mind not talking for half a minute? We want to hear—”
“Oh no, dear,” said Miss Black, “we must change, you know, when we’re untidy. Let’s give your parents a surprise.”
Edie had managed to wriggle out from under the arm and Hubert had gone to the cupola stairs to hear better when Ted at last came neatly down with Jocko in Laza’s cage. Jocko was sucking an egg. There was a good deal of egg everywhere, they noticed. But Ted was pleased. “Got him,” he said. “The eggs did it. I had to use about six, though. Jane you go get his traveler. We’ll put him in it for now and you kids help me clean this out so we can get that bird back.”
Miss Black was left standing in the hall while Hubert and Edie trailed after Theodore to the basement and the laundry tubs. It was she who had to welcome the Packard when it came and she who, unfortunately, did not know where Laza had been allowed his freedom, so that when Father brought up the first bags and opened the door, they met face to face, and Laza was so furious he bit him on the nose.
After that, as Theodore remarked, “How could pandemonium go further?”
Madam, as usual, straightened things out and got everybody and everything into their proper places and Father’s nose repaired. Luckily it was not a deep peck and only bled like a shaving wound, persistently, but not badly. Besides, she claimed that Laza was her bird and so it was all her fault.
She shooed Cook into the kitchen to put on the kettle and Gander upstairs to change so that she could get tea right away. She showed them both that their supplies were on the kitchen steps in market baskets. She handed the children over to Miss Black and showed her what rooms to use, and then she threw her veil way back, took off her hat, and went in and caught Laza barehanded.
“What a woman!” said Theodore, as they were taking the other animals up to the old barn where Jocko was to have the pigeon loft and Billy Whiskers, the goat, a box stall.
“Just my sentiments,” said Hubert. “But it’s a pity she can’t lay eggs.”
“He’s trying to be funny again,” said Theodore to Jane.
“I was never more serious in my life,” said Hubert. “We may get dinner, if Cook feels up to it, but I looked in the egg box after you and Jocko got through, and I should say that for breakfast there’s about half an egg apiece.”
CHAPTER TWO
Terrible, Horrible Edie
In the summer, at the beach, there were the three best smells in the world, Edie thought, and she was smelling them—hot piazza boards, honeysuckle, and wild roses. She sniffed at her brown arms. Even she herself smelled pretty good. She loved this place, she loved it so much that she hardly minded having to stay on the balcony of Aunt Louise’s boat-house because she was in exile. She simply enjoyed snuffing it in. As for those older kids and people, if they wanted to be unfair, let them. Never in her ten years long of life had she ever known Theodore or Jane or Hubert to do a kind act, and now that they considered themselves as old as Methuselah, what could she do against them? Naturally they sided with “G-nan” Black who was as ancient as they were. She might have known that as soon as Father and Madam went away, leaving a policewoman to rule over her, they would all want to shut her up. As for Susan Stoningham, who, after Widgy, used to be her best friend, Edie did not even want to think about her any more. She had turned out to be a traitor, a real traitor, who not only was willing to go back on a friend, but also on her country, the United States of America.
“Widgy,” said Edie, “come here, good dog.”
Widgy swiggled over on his baking stomach and put his chin on the back of her knee.
It was because of this traitorousness that Edie had got into trouble. She had had to fight Susan on the Main Street of Mount Harbor, Massachusetts, just as people were going for their morning mail. Susan had been reading The Little Colonel. In fact, she had gotten up early in order to get it first and had hidden it in the bookcase so that she could sneak off with it after breakfast. (G-nan, the policewoman, had
complimented her on tidiness, ha, ha!) But after all, that wasn’t so bad, Edie acknowledged; she might have done that herself. What Susan did do was say out loud on the Main Street without any excuse except that her grandfather lived in Cambridge, Maryland, that she was for the South.
“Do you want slaves?” Edie had asked, shocked.
“I wouldn’t mind a slave or two,” said Susan carelessly.
“Well, the South got beaten, so you can’t have them,” said Edie, turning to walk backwards so she could see how Susan liked that.
“The Southerners were a lot better-looking anyway,” said Susan, pushing her hair back.
“Not than Abraham Lincoln,” said Edie quickly.
“That ol’ Abe Lincoln,” Susan had said, putting her hand over her mouth as if she would explode and talking as much like Cambridge, Maryland, as she could. “He looked just like a—”
Edie had given her a push. She staggered—she was fatter than Edie—but she did not fall down, and she kept right on talking like a traitor. She was glad “ol’ Abe Lincoln the Ape” was dead. “The South, the South, the South,” Susan kept saying louder and louder. She got her balance back and pushed Edie hard. Edie sat down, but only for a second, and she did her best to pull Susan’s dress off.
“The North,” she said breathlessly, “the North, the North.” It was just when they had begun moving round each other to see who could get a punch in first that Mr. Archie Streeter interfered. He walked them back to Aunt Louise’s with a hand on each of their shoulders. He was going their way, he said. And he did not have the tact to let them go at the beginning of the shell drive but kept them under his bony fingers all the way to the mulberry tree until he saw every single person they knew in this part of the country coming along—G-nan, all the rest of the family, even The Fair Christine and Lou. They had just thought of going for the mail themselves probably.
“Here come the Devil’s Disciples,” Theodore had said the minute he saw them.
Susan had thought it was funny, but Edie thought it was insulting. It was meant to be insulting, she was sure of that. Anyway it was just the kind of remark to start another fight, and Edie was just ready for it. She could not beat Theodore, but since she had grown her nails on purpose, she could nick a bit out of him here and there. Of course the policewoman thought she must protect him. She had taken Edie by the back of the pinafore and before them all made her walk to the boathouse. The pinafore had been like a strait jacket, and Edie had not been able to turn or even swing her arms. She tried to fall down, but that was impossible too. She tried to stop, but that awful great hand propelled her on.
“Take your hand off me and I will go myself,” she said from the bottom of her throat.
“No,” said the gorilla.
“I will promise you to go myself.”
“No.”
This was unheard of. Even Father took your promises. The gorilla was pushing her almost faster than she could walk so that she was up on her toes like a clown. She knew what they were doing and thinking behind her to see such a spectacle, but she hoped they realized she would never, never, never get over their letting her be hauled off like this when all she had done was try to stand up for her country.
At the boathouse the gorilla opened the door, pushed her in as if she were a wheel chair, slammed the door again, and locked it.
“Until you cool off,” she had called as if she were God and owned the world.
There was no way to get out of the top of Aunt Louise’s boathouse, everybody knew that, so Edie had gone to the balcony and lain down. She had spent a long time hating and despising G-nan. And lots of other people too. Susan, naturally, she said to herself sarcastically, being a guest, had gone off with them all to the village and was probably having an ice cream this minute. Seeing them all on the Mount Harbor Main Street where she and Susan had had the fight made her hurriedly feel in her pinafore pocket. Thank heavens, the fifty cents was still there. What a miracle after all that jouncing! She and Susan had been on the way to buy gear for the dory. There was a race this afternoon—not dories—but twenty-one footers and Theodore was taking out Cousin Blade’s boat. They had meant to go and watch, and the dory needed some things; a rudder rope for one, a couple of reef ties, and some chocks because the mast was a little loose. Edie lifted her head and peeked through the balcony railing to the harbor. Three people were getting their boats ready, but there were more than that bobbing unused. It was too early. There was nothing that looked so unused as a boat when it wasn’t doing anything. It was pathetic. She rolled over on her back and Widgy accommodatingly settled his head on her ankle, but the tip of his tongue touched her skin.
“Get off, I’m hot, you tickle,” said Edie, twitching her leg so that Widgy flung himself panting in what shade there was.
She seemed to have been there now an awfully long time. She was suddenly too hot, too uncomfortable, and too alone. She wished she were in the house. If you couldn’t always get piazza boards, honeysuckle, and roses to smell, Aunt Louise’s house was almost as good. On good days all the big open high-ceilinged rooms were filled with a kind of sunny air that smelled of tea and pine needles, and on bad days, when everything was shut up, you were shut in with fog and the smell of a ship. It was delicious. How did Aunt Louise ever leave such a place? Her broad staircase went up by several landings to the second and third floors. Wind flapped the curtains in the mornings and blew them straight out in the afternoons. Doors slammed. As you lay in bed, you could hear boats chunking on the harbor water and see shadows flickering on the ceiling. Aunt Louise’s chintz sitting-room had a great window seat flung out so far you felt you were on the lawn, and the room opposite across the hall, with wicker chairs, had red cushions. All of the piled cushions in both rooms smelt of mold. The big dining-room was hung with Cousin Blade’s racing flags, and its view over the bayberry bushes was of the harbor—end to end. But what made Aunt Louise’s especially good was that there was room for everybody. The Red House was a wonderful house, but it was getting crowded now that Madam was having more and more children. The Fair Christine and Lou were all right, of course, but they could sometimes make an awful mess. Here in Aunt Louise’s they could do this on the top floor where nobody had to look at it, until, after several hundreds of years, as Theodore said, it got picked up. Edie had not liked Madam’s children at first. Nobody had. They had only begun to when Chris was two years old and learned to stand on her head. Now that she was five, when you asked her to do a thing, she would do it. You hardly had to teach her. She could throw a ball or carry a glass, or put her food in her mouth without spilling it. And she looked quite respectable, Theodore and Hubert thought, like a picture of a girl in Edie’s “First Reader.” Lou was only three. Nobody ever tried asking her to do anything. Theodore considered her very good-looking and bright, but all she could do was give you a kiss whether you wanted it or not. She talked, but not straight. She called Edie, Mith-thes. It came from Mrs. Edith Cares, and she came out of a magazine Madam had been looking at. Nobody knew Mrs. Edith Cares and nobody wanted to, only Lou had to call Edie Mith-thes. “If you call that bright,” Hubert had said shrugging his shoulders.
“Watch her,” said Theodore, “she’ll go far.”
Edie was not cooling off, she was getting hotter and hotter, and she would probably starve to death anyway pretty soon, she was almost sure. G-nan would not mind that. Before Father and Madam had gone away, they had taken pains to get “a suitable person” to look after “the younger children.” Aunt Charlotte had found Miss Jeananne Black and thought her terribly suitable to look after Chris and Lou. She said she was strong as a horse.
“Edith will also benefit,” she had added.
Until this morning Edith had managed to stay away from being benefited. She had just minded her own business and let Miss Black mind hers with Chris and Lou. They didn’t seem to mind her being superenormous.
“She is a horse and you never know when you might get stepped on,” she had said to Hubert
when they were scraping the skiff bottom.
“Maybe it wouldn’t hurt you for once,” Hubert had said callously.
The thing was that she didn’t see how he could say a thing like that. The thing was that they had forgotten her and pretty soon it would be time for the boat race and she would not be ready. There must be some way to get out of this old place. She had just been waiting until she was told by her inside self to move. But in spite of wandering around, she had not found a way by the time there was a noise and she saw Susan, who must have climbed up the trellis by the front door, standing across the boathouse ridge pole looking down at her. She had a basket in her hand and she looked a good deal like old Mr. Benjamin Bunny when he was looking for his son, but Edie was not feeling like laughing. She threw herself down again and closed her eyes.
“Are you going to be good now?” Susan asked, grinning.
“Is she going to starve me to death?” asked Edie tightly.
“I’ve got your lunch with me. Do you want it now?”
“Yes,” said Edie, “but not unless you’ll take back about Abraham Lincoln.”
“All right,” said Susan, “if you’ll admit General Lee was handsome.”
“He might be handsome,” said Edie, “but—”
“Ah, come on,” said Susan, “don’t start all over again.” She sat down and pulled a piece of string out of her pocket.
“I only got to bring you this,” she said, still being quite southern, “by thinking of everything. G-nan is afraid you’ll escape.”
“Aren’t they going to let me out of here?” asked Edie.
“Nope,” said Susan, lowering the basket.
“Not for the race?”
“Nope.”
“You mean—” said Edie, screwing up her face as if she were looking into the sun. But what was the use of asking. All of a sudden Edie’s hand scrabbled in the basket of lunch and began taking things out. She threw them with a jerk over the balcony railings; the hard-boiled eggs splotched against a tree, the orange rolled down the beach into the eelgrass, the bottle of milk broke on a rock.
Terrible, Horrible Edie Page 4
