The Penderwicks at Last

by Jeanne Birdsall

  She started to cry. I’m watering the meadow with my tears, she thought, leaving a trace of myself behind. A few more tears, and she was also watering a beetle, frightened by the unexpected deluge.

  “Sorry, beetle,” said Lydia. “I’m spreading around my bad day, aren’t I? That’s not fair.”

  The beetle disappeared without accepting her apology, and Lydia rolled over and sat up. Somewhere out on the lane, Donny Hathaway was singing “A Song for You.” Lydia knew only one person likely to blast this out of his radio—Uncle Turron, who’d declared it one of the best songs ever recorded. Lydia never knew if he really meant this, or if he just enjoyed infuriating Enam and Marty, who believed that “What’s Going On” was far superior to “A Song for You.” Lydia herself thought the two songs equally wonderful, especially when Batty sang them.

  She jumped to her feet and followed the Asaberes up the lane, and toward the mansion. There would be plenty of time later to mourn Arundel.

  * * *

  —

  “Uncle Turron, Uncle Turron!” Lydia leapt at him and was lifted into the air, giggling and managing an arabesque while she was up there.

  “Oof,” he said, pretending to stagger, bumping into the Asabere van. “You’re getting too big for this.”

  “You say that every time, Uncle Turron.”

  “Keep her up there,” said Ben, who’d come out of nowhere with his camera. “Marty, you go in close, and I’ll get the wide shot.”

  And now there was Marty, too, hovering around his father’s feet with a second camera.

  “Hurry up, guys,” said Uncle Turron. “I can’t do this forever. And—down.”

  “Hey, Lyds,” said Marty. “Ben said I can help with the wedding video. He’s going to teach me about shooting a documentary.”

  “Don’t let him boss you around, Marty,” she said.

  “I’m his assistant. If he doesn’t boss me, I won’t know what to do.”

  Ben put his arm around Marty. “And that, little sister, is how I should be treated. Now, let’s redo the shot. Lydia, run a little slower this time, before Uncle Turron lifts you up.”

  “Tell them no reshooting, Lyds,” said Uncle Turron. “Since we gave Marty that camera for his birthday, I have to do everything three times. Like brushing my teeth.”

  “That was a great scene, though, Dad,” said Marty, “when the electric toothbrush went crazy and got toothpaste in your eyebrows.”

  Lydia and Uncle Turron did end up redoing the scene, but only once, because after that, the dogs arrived and distracted the filmmakers. Blakey Asabere, the smallest of the pack, was in the lead. Dyson came next, then Sonata, and finally Feldspar, being the rear guard with his red shoe. Ben told Marty they were now shooting the stampede, and off they both went, after the dogs.

  Now Enam showed up, carrying not a camera, but instead a black T-shirt. This he held at arm’s length, as if it were about to bite him.

  “Dad, whose idea was this?” He held up the T-shirt so that Lydia could see the back, where ENAM AND THE E-SHARP BAND was printed in large white letters.

  “Naming the band after you was Alec’s idea, and the rest was a team effort,” said Uncle Turron.

  “What team? No one asked me.”

  “We wanted it to be a surprise. Your mother suggested Enam and the Adorables and Enam and the Post-Teenagers. I wanted Enam and the Eligibles. The E-Sharp Band was Jeffrey’s idea—he said it would be the least embarrassing. What do you think? Nice, right?”

  Enam didn’t think it was nice. “Lyds, would you like to have my shirt that I will never wear?”

  Lydia wanted the shirt very much. Her mother sometimes wore an old, faded Bonnie Raitt T-shirt she’d gotten as a teenager, and this was almost as cool as that.

  “Yes, but are you sure you don’t want it? I think it’s great, Enam.”

  “You have always been far too upbeat and positive.”

  She didn’t think he was being fair to criticize her positivity, since it was precisely that characteristic that had gotten her over his desertion. But she took the shirt and pulled it on, covering what she was already wearing, a boring blue shirt without a band name.

  Uncle Turron said, “Maybe we should have gone with Enam and the Hard-to-Pleases.”

  “You’re hilarious.” Enam slid his double bass out of the van. “Lydia, if I run away after the wedding, may I come live at your house?”

  “Sure. We have lots of room.”

  He stalked off, lugging his huge double bass.

  “It’s his first public gig, and he’s nervous,” said Uncle Turron.

  “Do you think he’ll want his shirt back when the rest of the band put theirs on?”

  “Keep it—we’ve got plenty of them.” He pulled a set of bongos out of the van and handed them to Lydia. “Now go say hello to Claire. She’s somewhere in that mansion with your sisters.”

  Lydia danced the bongos into the mansion and to the music room, where Jeffrey and Alec were pounding out Bruce Springsteen songs. She put the bongos down but couldn’t leave or stop dancing, because now they’d begun “Thunder Road,” and she couldn’t help dancing to that—no one can—until the end of the saxophone solo, when she managed to pull herself away and go in search of her sisters and Aunt Claire. She found Batty first, standing on a counter in the kitchen, trying to coax a spider into a small container.

  “Nice shirt,” said Batty. “Is that our band name?”

  “Yes. Batty, why are you hunting spiders again?”

  “It’s just this one, I promise. I saw her up here, realized I’d stolen away her friends, and decided to put her outside, too, give her a chance to find them. Here she comes, right into my box. Thank you, Ms. Arachnid, I hope you won’t regret it.” She put on the lid and climbed down. “Are you feeling better, Lyds? About Wesley and Hitch, I mean.”

  “A little.” Without planning it, or even thinking at all, Lydia crinkled up the corners of her eyes at Batty. Huh. It felt good—no wonder Wesley did it—and it also expressed just how she felt, that she was feeling a little better, and thank you for asking, but a full smile would be too much for the circumstances.

  “Oh no, you don’t, Lydia Penderwick. You are not going to torture me with ex-boyfriend imitations.” But Batty was laughing. “How did you do that—look just like him?”

  “I’m not sure. Wait.” It took Lydia a few tries to get it back, and by then, Batty was doing it, too.

  “Wesley’s legacy,” Batty said. “Come, let’s take this poor spider outside. That’s where everyone is, with Aunt Claire.”

  Rosalind, Skye, and Jane were lounging on the terrace steps, looking like goddesses to Lydia. She rarely thought of them this way. Last night at the rehearsal, for example, they’d been the opposite of celestial. But today they were serene and cheerful, and the sun was so bright on them, and Rosalind had tucked a nasturtium blossom into her hair. Aunt Claire was on the steps with them, also looking to Lydia like a goddess, if goddesses could be comfortable and favorite aunts. Or maybe it was just that Aunt Claire was so much better than Mrs. Tifton and Mrs. Robinette were at being a grown-up woman.

  “Come over here,” she called to Lydia. “They tell me you’ve been the rock of Arundel.”

  Lydia squeezed in between her aunt and Jane. “That’s an exaggeration.”

  “What’s Batty doing, Lyds?” asked Rosalind.

  Batty was crouched on the grass, singing “Born Free” again.

  “Rescuing a spider. She’s been doing a lot of that.”

  Skye called to her. “Batty, hurry up. Aunt Claire has photos to show us.”

  “One minute!” She finished the song and joined them. “This spider was particularly grateful.”

  “How could you tell?” asked Skye.

  “She could tell because Batty is simpatico with all living
creatures,” said Rosalind.

  “Even older sisters.” Batty kissed Skye on the cheek.

  Batty looked as goddess-like as the others. Lydia closed her eyes, imagining Zeus being so drawn to her sisters that he left his pedestal to stride—heavily—across the gardens in search of them. But then maybe those weird people on the ceiling of the dining room would come, too, and that would be unpleasant.

  She opened her eyes again. Aunt Claire was handing out photos to her sisters.

  “Hi, Mom,” Rosalind said softly to hers. “We miss you.”

  “Dad looks terrified in mine,” said Batty. “Was he?”

  “Terribly,” said Aunt Claire.

  “Mom doesn’t look scared,” said Jane. “She looks deliriously happy.”

  “And she isn’t wearing a veil,” said Skye. “Nuts to you, Mrs. T.”

  Lydia leaned over to look at Jane’s—it showed their father at his first wedding, to Elizabeth, mother to the older Penderwicks. Lydia had seen photographs of Elizabeth before, but only with her small daughters. None had shown her quite this young, or on her wedding day. And looking so much like Skye. Lydia had always known how much Skye looked like her mother—everyone knew that—but the resemblance today went much farther. It was the radiance, the joy, they shared.

  “If she were here,” said Aunt Claire, “she’d be so proud of all of you.”

  “Don’t cry, Aunt Claire,” said Jane. “If you do, I will, too.”

  “And I,” said Rosalind.

  “If your mother were here, she couldn’t be proud of me, though.” Lydia knew this was obvious, but still thought it should be said. “Since I wouldn’t be here.”

  “Maybe in a parallel universe, you would,” said Skye. “Stephen Hawking—”

  “Not today, Skye,” said Rosalind in such an older-sister tone of voice that the others laughed at her, forgot about crying, and then they all went back to the photos, wondering how their mother had put up with the fashions of the times.

  Lydia briefly considered the parallel universes—maybe she’d ask Skye another time—but for now she was content to snuggle against Aunt Claire. She could hear the music from the band, not just Alec and Jeffrey, but Uncle Turron and Enam, too. They were playing “What’s Going On.” Hoping this would balance out Enam’s dismay over the Enam and the E-Sharp Band shirts, Lydia hummed along, and let her feet dance out the rhythm.

  Looking over the gardens, she saw the dogs, beyond the lily pond and heading toward Bobolink Meadow Two. Marty was still chasing them, with the gang of small Czech and American children trying to keep up, their mothers close behind, prepared to rescue those who couldn’t. But where was Ben? There he was, having abandoned Marty to laze in the shade with Tommy and Dušek. (Lydia needed to have a serious talk with Marty about not getting exploited.) Over at the Greek pavilion, Dušek’s brothers and Nick were helping Cagney set up benches, and in a different spot, the various parents of the grooms were deciding where Cagney’s finished tables should go. And that accounted for everyone—Natalie and Alice were still out shopping, and Lydia’s own parents hadn’t yet arrived, although they were expected at any minute.

  But I hope not too soon, thought Lydia. Her parents represented home, and home represented leaving Arundel. If only Jane and Skye (and Stephen Hawking) had worked out time travel, she’d stop the clocks from moving forward—now, this second!—and everything could stay exactly as it was, and she could be here for as long as she wanted. Except that she’d want Alice and Natalie to come back from shopping. And Jane would get itchy about the book she was writing. Ben wouldn’t get to finish editing the alien movie. Batty would yearn for the music room, and Jeffrey and Alec. Rosalind and Skye would start wondering when they could ever get married. And it did seem unfair to leave her parents out of this family gathering, and Lydia did like them very much, and would probably miss them eventually. She sighed, then heard her mother’s laugh.

  They were here! They were here! Lydia leapt up to greet her parents.

  * * *

  —

  It had been explained several times to Mr. Penderwick that there would be a thorough rehearsal that evening for the wedding ceremony. Lydia had also reassured him that he would not be doing any dance steps, that she’d worked it out so that he could simply walk down the aisle, left-right, left-right. Nevertheless, he asked her to give him a private pre-rehearsal rehearsal, to give him more confidence going into the real rehearsal.

  She took him to the Greek pavilion—where the benches were now in place—and explained what would happen.

  “I’ll be first in the formation, doing this little dance as we cross the garden.” She demonstrated the steps. “Jane and Batty will be behind me, and Skye and Rosalind behind them. You’re standing here behind the last bench, waiting for Skye and Rosy. When we reach the last bench in the row, we stop dancing and begin to walk, first me, then— What, Daddy?”

  “I can’t picture it.”

  “Here is the last bench in the row. Stand behind it.” She touched it, to make sure he knew what she meant, then backed up several yards. “And here I come, being me.”

  She danced to the bench, then switched to walking.

  “Now I’ll be Batty and Jane. You’ll just have to pretend there are two of me.” She went back and did the same again. “And now I’ll be Rosy. Skye will be to my right. When we reach you, step in between us and walk us down the aisle. You ready?”

  “Videbimus,” he said. “We’ll see.”

  This time Lydia started even farther back, to give her father more time to prepare, hummed the music—“Dance me to the end of love, dum de-dum dum dum”—and made encouraging faces to him as she approached.

  “You’re Rosy?” he called out.

  “Yes, and Skye is to my right. Get ready, get ready—here we come!”

  Smoothly, he stepped behind Lydia, gave her his arm, and together they walked down the aisle, Lydia proud, her father prouder.

  “I didn’t think I had it in me.” He whirled her around. “Good job, my Lydia, my dancing elf. And I hope I don’t have to walk you down the aisle again for another few decades.”

  Lydia took his arm again. She liked the way that felt, walking beside him. “Daddy, I’m still mulling over my motto.”

  “You’ve decided not to use Minima optimus est?”

  “Oh, that one. I wasn’t really serious.” Earlier this summer, she’d asked her father to translate “The youngest is the best,” a tool to have at the ready for whenever Ben was too pushy. “I want something more—I don’t know…”

  “Dignified?”

  “I suppose so.” She smiled up at him. “Lydia is dignified.”

  “Lydia dignitatem habet.”

  She let go of his arm and danced as though she were dignified—shoulders back, chin held high but not too high—

  Ly-di-AH-AH-AH-AH. Ly-di-AH-AH-AH-AH. An eastern towhee was calling.

  “Dad, that’s Alice, finally back from shopping! Can you be a black-capped chickadee?”

  Birdcalls came more naturally to him than dancing, and a piercingly sweet Aaa-lice, Aaa-lice had the desired result: Alice, rushing toward Lydia, full of news she tried to tell all at once. About the two dresses her mother had made her pick out—but they both had pockets, a small victory—that Jack still hadn’t sent any answer to the dying-alien scene, and that she’d met Enam and he’d given her a band shirt.

  “I’m already wearing it, just like you, Lyds,” she added unnecessarily. “And Marty shot me doing tae kwon do, and I met your mom, and she’s nice and said I can call her Iantha. Is that your dad?”

  “Yes,” said Lydia. “He’s nice, too.”

  “Glad to meet you, Alice,” said Mr. Penderwick. “You may call me Martin, if you like.”

  “Martin,” tried Alice. “Martin, Martin. Maybe.”

  Lydia’
s mother had been following Alice at a more leisurely pace, and now caught up.

  “Martin, I’ve figured out why Lydia hasn’t been homesick,” she said.

  “Why?” asked Alice.

  “Because of you,” said Mr. Penderwick.

  Alice was stricken with solemnity. “Thank you, and Lydia is a good influence on me.”

  “We agreed that I’m not!” cried Lydia.

  “Lydia’s a good influence on me, too, Alice,” said Mr. Penderwick.

  “Mom, please, help.”

  “It’s all right, honey. You’re not a good influence on me,” she said. “Now, let me see this procession of yours.”

  They ended up doing the procession several more times in various combinations. First Lydia and Alice were Rosalind and Skye, then they were Jane and Batty, both times with Iantha as Lydia, and then Lydia was Lydia, while Alice and Iantha were Rosalind and Skye. This went on until Alice as Skye added tae kwon do to the choreography, somehow managing to make herself look just like Skye, if Skye had happened to know tae kwon do. And then Lydia just had to show off her newfound skill at imitating Wesley. By that time, her dad was laughing so hard, he started messing up the procession, and it was decided to stop practicing before he forgot his part altogether.

  “GOOD MORNING, ZEUS.” LYDIA placed a handful of raspberries at his feet. “This won’t be the last time I see you, but it might be the last time we chat. My sisters are getting married today, and tomorrow I have to go home.”

  Zeus looked as confused as always—no, wait, maybe there was a bit of regret in his face, enough to encourage Lydia to continue.

  “I’ll miss you, you know. There’s almost nothing about Arundel I won’t miss, but I’m trying hard not to be sad. Would you like me to dance for you?”

  He didn’t have a choice and knew it, but watched without complaint as Lydia did a farewell dance just for him, different from the one she’d done for Hitch—in part because she didn’t adore Zeus like she did Hitch. Realizing that, she tried to inject more sorrow into the dance, not wanting to hurt Zeus’s feelings.