The Penderwicks at Last

by Jeanne Birdsall

  While Lydia had gotten past her shock, she still thought this a nearly impossible task and preferred to refuse it and go back to Alice and Hitch with no responsibility weighing on her. And yet, she couldn’t help envisioning a sprightly dance across the lawn, the light dresses with their different-colored sashes swishing and swaying to the music.

  “I’ll do it,” she said. “But everyone will have to listen to me.”

  “We’ll listen,” said Rosalind. “I promise.”

  LYDIA AND ALICE STOOD on the top step of the Greek pavilion, looking out over the stage for the wedding procession. The benches weren’t in place yet, but Cagney had marked where they’d go with strips of tape. These were to have been a help with the rehearsal that was supposed to be taking place right now, but all the tape had been trodden on, torn, and displaced, because none of Lydia’s sisters was listening to her, or looking at her, or doing anything they were supposed to do.

  “Maybe we should put Blossom into the procession,” said Alice. “She pays more attention than your sisters do.”

  “You might be right,” said Lydia. “And Blossom can’t play soccer, which would be another advantage.”

  She’d thought this morning’s two-on-one slaughter would be enough soccer for the day. But while she was hiding out with Alice and Hitch, designing the procession, people had started pouring into Arundel. A bunch of Geigers had arrived—the groom himself, plus his older brother Nick, Nick’s wife Laura, and their two small children. Then came Dušek, with his family—his parents, two brothers, his brothers’ wives, and four young children who belonged, in some combination, to the brothers. And since the Czechs were avid soccer players, an after-dinner scrimmage had sprung up. Here, where the rehearsal was supposed to be taking place. Jane, Skye, Ben, and Dušek, plus Laura Geiger, were representing the USA, the others the Czech Republic, and there was much shouting and laughter and scores being argued over in English and Czech.

  Jeffrey’s dad, Alec, had arrived today, too, bringing his saxophone and his small black-and-white dog, Dyson. Dyson had started the evening by calmly resting in Alec’s saxophone case, but the soccer playing had become too much for him, and now he was frantically trying to keep up with Feldspar, impossible for a dog with such short legs. Feldspar himself was determined to be part of the game, trying to kick the ball with his red shoe. Sonata was following Dyson, making sure he didn’t get stepped on and, in the process, bumping into the players, and sometimes tripping them.

  Then there were the children. The young Czechs had joined with the young Geigers to form a roving piratical band, with Nick theoretically in charge. Just now, he was leading them in a wild race around the pavilion—his youngest, two-year-old Georgia, riding on his shoulders—and encouraging them all to yell whatever they felt like yelling. Georgia could come up only with “Cookie, cookie,” which was very cute, but Lydia did not appreciate the additional noise.

  “Even Hatshepsut would pay more attention,” said Alice. “We could put her and Blossom both into the procession.”

  “Let’s use all the chickens,” said Lydia recklessly. “Why not? Anything would be better than this.”

  Batty, at least, wasn’t playing soccer, but neither was she thinking about wedding processions. She was off to one side with Alec and Jeffrey, singing along while they played an infectious old swing song, “In the Mood,” but wait—Jeffrey had put down his clarinet and was now dancing with Batty. Lydia had rarely seen Batty dance with such joyous abandon, which didn’t seem fair, since Lydia couldn’t dance right now, not while she was still figuring out how to control this chaos.

  And Rosalind? The eldest Penderwick, the most responsible, the kindest and most thoughtful? The one who’d promised that everyone would listen to Lydia? She’d sneaked off with Tommy to hide behind the pavilion, where they thought they couldn’t be seen.

  “They’re kissing again,” said Alice.

  “They’ve been kissing since they were twelve. You’d think they could take a break.” Lydia knew she sounded bitter, but that’s how she felt right now. She’d worked hard, her choreography would make for a beautiful wedding procession, and her sisters were acting like unruly children.

  “Do you want me to try to get everyone’s attention?”

  “Do you think you can?” Because calling for attention and looking stern had no impact whatsoever—Lydia had been trying that for ten minutes now.

  “Dad says it’s only for emergencies.”

  “This is an emergency.”

  Alice took a deep breath, then let out a series of shrill battle cries, each a combination of whistle and scream, far more alarming than any sound black-capped chickadees or eastern towhees had ever produced. On the first call, dozens of terrified bobolinks rose out of Bobolink Meadow Two and fled Arundel. On the second, five small children fell to the ground, and Georgia started to wail, clinging in terror to her father’s head. On the third, Alec’s saxophone stopped mid-phrase, Batty and Jeffrey stopped dancing, the soccer ball stopped moving, Rosalind and Tommy stopped kissing, and everyone stared up into the sky, expecting to see—what? Skye later said she’d expected a spaceship crashing to Earth. Ben had hoped for a Nazgûl escaped from Middle-earth.

  “Modified bald eagle,” said Alice. “Works every time.”

  Except for Georgia’s sobs and the soothing voices of the parents racing toward stricken children, Lydia’s audience was now silent. She clapped her hands to get everyone to look at her instead of the sky.

  “Thank you for your attention, everyone. That was Alice, being a bald eagle. She can do many birds.”

  Alice obligingly did a bobolink for them. Several people looked relieved and clapped. Jeffrey, however, was trying hard not to laugh. When Lydia glared at him, he turned his back to her so that she couldn’t see him laugh.

  Lydia went on. “I apologize for interrupting, but my sisters have an important rehearsal, and we’re already late getting started. Rosalind, Skye, Jane, and Batty, please move forward for procession practice. Jeffrey and Alec, I’d like you to stay, but to play procession music only, please. The rest of you may watch if you’d like, but quietly, please.”

  “Impressive,” said Alice.

  Impressive or impolite? Lydia wasn’t sure, but at least everyone was sorting themselves out. The children were borne away to bed, Jeffrey and Alec looked over the sheet music for the wedding song, “Dance Me to the End of Love,” Tommy and Dušek loped off together, and Ben set up his camera—he wanted to practice shooting before the real event.

  And finally, Lydia’s four older sisters gathered in a clump, ready to work.

  “Sorry, Lyds,” said Rosalind. “Now we’re listening.”

  “Well, try to keep listening,” Lydia said.

  “Or else,” added Alice, who thought she wasn’t being stern enough.

  “No laughing, Jeffrey,” said Lydia, who knew he was about to.

  “Never,” he said, laughing.

  She attempted an expression of wounded dignity but didn’t dare wait to see if it worked.

  “Rosy, you asked for a dance down the aisle. But the song is long and beautiful, and the aisle is short—Cagney marked it with tape, which you’ve wrecked by playing soccer on it.”

  “Here’s some,” said Jane. “A little piece of it, anyway.”

  “You’ll have to make do with that,” said Alice.

  Lydia went on. “Therefore, I’ve expanded the procession route. Before the music begins, the five of us sisters will file out of the carriage house in a straight line. When we reach the rose arbor, we’ll get into formation, with me in front, alone, and two pairs behind me, Batty and Jane, then Skye and Rosalind. When we’re ready, I’ll give the signal to Jeffrey and Alec, they’ll start to play, and we will dance—in formation—from there to the end of the aisle, where Dad will join us and escort Rosalind and Skye.”

  �
��It sounds wonderful so far,” said Rosalind.

  “Hear, hear,” said Batty.

  “The dance itself is quite simple, a pattern of steps that repeats every four measures. The only part that might confuse anyone—”

  “Me,” said Skye.

  “Shh,” said Jane.

  “—will be the spin. It’s not a spin on one foot. Skye—no!”

  Rosalind caught Skye before she fell over in the middle of an attempted spin, and this time it was Batty trying to frown at Jeffrey, who had stopped even pretending not to laugh, and at Alec, too, who was joining in, but Batty was too happy to pull off a real frown and therefore had no effect on Jeffrey. Because Alec was an actual adult, he managed to stop laughing, but Lydia was almost certain she saw him hiding a smile behind his saxophone.

  “Sorry,” said Skye.

  “Not a spin on one foot,” Lydia repeated. “It’s really using four tiny steps to make a tight circle. I’ll show you in a minute, and when you get comfortable with that, I’ll show you the other steps, and we’ll put it all together. First, Alice, the bouquets, please.”

  Alice gathered up the bunches of wildflowers they’d put together and handed one to each sister.

  “These are just for practice,” she said. “You can drop them and it doesn’t matter.”

  “I didn’t realize we’d be carrying bouquets,” said Skye. “Was I supposed to order one for myself?”

  “It’s taken care of,” said Jane. “The Pelletiers are letting us raid their gardens tomorrow morning—we’ll each make our own.”

  “Getting married is a lot of work.”

  “Not that you did much of it,” said Jane. “Ahem.”

  “I know, Jane. I’m sorry,” said Skye. “I’ll pay you back somehow—maybe I’ll make your wedding dress.”

  “That would be a real treat, Jane, a dress made by Skye,” said Batty. “Remember when she tore her dress for Nick’s wedding, then tried to glue it back together?”

  “Didn’t happen,” said Skye.

  “Did,” said Rosalind and Jane.

  “Attention!” Lydia clapped her hands again. “Watch carefully. This is how you turn.”

  * * *

  —

  They practiced until dark—the lightning bugs were blinking love messages, the bobolinks had warily returned to their meadow, and the owls were swooping across the sky. There had been significant progress. The sisters were keeping time with the music, no one had bumped into anyone else for fifteen minutes, Skye was remembering to lead with her left foot going into turns, and, most important, they seemed to be enjoying themselves. After Lydia announced that there would be another rehearsal the following night, on the very eve of the wedding, the crowd dispersed.

  Because Alice had left a while ago—Lydia couldn’t blame her for wanting to get back to Wesley and Hitch—Lydia trudged to the cottage alone and worn out, wondering why anyone would willingly choose to be in charge of people. And yet, as tired as she was, she knew that if everything went well on Saturday, the procession would be lovely, and she would be proud.

  Before she could actually see Alice, she could hear her describing the highlights of the rehearsal, to Hitch, probably. But it turned out that Wesley was there, too—the three of them sitting in a row on the porch.

  “I was telling them about my eagle cry,” said Alice when she spotted Lydia. “They heard it over here.”

  “I’m sure people heard it in lots of places,” Lydia answered. “I wonder what Blossom thought.”

  “Hitch thought I was a dragon, didn’t you, boy?”

  Hitch looked up at the sky and said, “Woof.”

  “Hitch understood me!” crowed Alice. “He’s looking for more dragons.”

  But Lydia had heard a faint hoot before the woof.

  “He was woofing at an owl,” she said, and sat down next to Alice.

  “I say a dragon.”

  The girls looked to Wesley to say who was right, but he only shrugged.

  “He’s a dog,” he said. “Alice, go back to describing the rehearsal.”

  “I did my eagle cry—”

  Wesley interrupted. “You were telling me why you did it.”

  “I already mentioned the soccer, kissing, and cute little Georgia.”

  “And Batty’s dancing with Jeffrey,” said Lydia. “She was just as disruptive as my other sisters.”

  “Right, I forgot that part. Alec was playing his sax, and Jeffrey kept twirling Batty around.”

  “And you left out the dogs, Alice. They were a big part of the chaos.”

  “I’ve never seen Batty dance,” said Wesley.

  “How could I forget the dogs! Hitch, we’ve got another dog over there named Dyson,” said Alice. “Maybe Wesley can build a platform for you to wear on your back for Dyson to ride on. Or we could borrow Georgia. She’d be small enough to ride on Hitch, don’t you think?”

  “Except when she sings,” said Wesley. “She dances a little when she sings, but not full out like you’re describing.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Alice. “We haven’t seen Georgia sing or dance.”

  “I meant Batty.”

  “You’re right, Wesley,” said Lydia. “Batty definitely wasn’t dancing the way she does when she sings. Alice, let’s show him.”

  It took them a while to straighten out who would be Jeffrey and who Batty, but Lydia took on Jeffrey once she realized that Alice wouldn’t be able to lead her the way Jeffrey had led Batty, especially for the twirling—Alice kept letting go of her and yelling “SPIN!” which isn’t how it works.

  “Like that,” said Alice when they finished and sat down again.

  “Sort of. They probably looked better together than we did,” said Lydia.

  “That’s because they’ve known each other longer,” said Alice. “Did you know that when Batty was here the first time, she kept talking about marrying Jeffrey? Dad told me.”

  “She was only four.” Lydia yawned. “Skye says that when Ben was four, he wanted to marry her.”

  “When I was four,” said Alice, “I wanted to be a dinosaur and stomp on Jack. What about you, Wesley?”

  “I wanted a dog.” He put his arm around Hitch.

  “Have you heard from Jack yet?” Lydia asked Alice.

  “Nothing. He’s still trying to get up the nerve to surrender,” she answered. “Mom said that it might be nice for both Batty and Jeffrey. Getting married, I mean, not surrendering.”

  Lydia thought that this was ridiculous. “She’s only nineteen.”

  “Not now, when she’s older,” said Alice. “They could turn Arundel Hall into a music school. Jeffrey talked about that once, and I said I thought it was a good idea. By then, I’d be old enough to be a role model for the children. I could teach them tae kwon do and about life.”

  Lydia tried to picture Jeffrey and Batty running a music school that included Alice as a tae kwon do instructor, but she was too worn out for such flights of fancy.

  “Lydia, you could teach dance,” added Alice. “Dad could teach birdcalls, Mom, weaving, and Jack—I don’t know what Jack could do. Ice hockey on the pond in winter, I guess. Wesley, you could teach art, and Hitch could be the school mascot. Hitch, would that be fun?”

  Apparently, Hitch didn’t think it would be fun. He turned his back on Alice and blew woefully into Wesley’s ear.

  “It’s okay, Hitch,” said Lydia. “None of this is going to happen, and you’ll be out west by then, anyway.”

  “But not yet, not yet!” said Alice. “Wesley, why leave tomorrow morning? Why not stay all day again? Please, please, please?”

  Wesley didn’t seem to hear her. He was staring at his lost horizons again.

  “Wesley?” Alice nudged him.

  “Hmm?”

  “What were you thinkin
g?” asked Lydia.

  “Just figuring something out.”

  “What?” asked Alice.

  He not only crinkled his eyes, but actually almost smiled, too. “None of your business. You two want to take Hitch for a walk? I have a call to make.”

  “Yes, please,” said Lydia. “If Hitch agrees.”

  “He will.” Wesley snapped his fingers, and Hitch stood, ready for a walk.

  As the girls and the dog ran across grass and dodged trees, their shadows playing tag, Lydia’s weariness melted away. The moon was sailing close to Arundel, with no rain clouds to block its dazzle tonight. It seemed a magic moon, larger and brighter than the moon that lived over Lydia’s home. No, that was silly—she did a silly dance, quick steps and wiggling arms—of course Cameron had the same moon as Arundel. Still, it would be fun to compare moons when she went back there. She’d pay close attention to the one here at Arundel for the rest of her stay. That would give her tonight’s moon, then tomorrow’s, then the moon on the night of the wedding—

  Three moons. That was all she had left.

  Lydia stopped dancing—struck, paralyzed, by a sensation of no longer being here, this night, now. A feeling that she was instead living inside a memory, of a precious place and time, one lost and greatly mourned. As strange as this was, Lydia knew what was happening to her. It could be nothing else: Already she was homesick for Arundel, and could hardly bear it.

  WESLEY HAD TOLD LYDIA and Alice he’d be leaving at sunrise. Alice set her alarm to make sure they’d be awake in time for good-byes, but they didn’t need it. They were pulled out of sleep by Hitch and Wesley having one of their rare disagreements. Hitch was chomping at the hole in Jack’s closet, making it even larger, Wesley was telling him to stop, and Hitch kept on doing it anyway, until he could stick his entire head and his one front paw into Alice’s closet.

  This was an entertaining substitute for an alarm, and both girls giggled sleepily until they were awake enough to remember that Hitch was leaving forever, that this was their last chance ever to talk to him in the closet. They tumbled out of bed, crowded into the closet, and kissed him and rubbed his ears and chin until Wesley coaxed Hitch out and told the girls it was time to go. Hurriedly, they put on shoes, then followed Wesley and Hitch downstairs into the kitchen, where Wesley left a thank-you note for the hospitality and Hitch looked out the back door at the chicken pen. All but one of the chickens were tucked away, dreaming in their house, but there was Hitch’s favorite, perched on her roof, glaring at him. He blinked at her, and Lydia gulped back a sob—Hatshepsut would miss Hitch, too.