“How are the kids doing?” asked Amy.
“They’re great,” replied Claudia. “We brought all five of them together and they’re having a fine time.” She wondered why Amy didn’t seem more interested in her nieces and nephew. “You should come hang out with them.”
“Not today,” said Amy. “But I was planning to spend some time in the attic one day soon, looking at some old toys and things. Do you think they’d like to join me?”
“I know they would,” said Claudia.
Just then, John returned with the paper. Amy clammed up again as he handed it to Claudia. “Thanks!” said Claud. “Well, I guess I’ll be going. See you!” She ran back down the mazelike halls until she found us in the playroom. Soon after that, Mrs. Keats and Mrs. Cornell returned. The moment their mothers entered the room, the kids separated. It was almost as if they didn’t want their mothers to see them together. I hoped their mothers realized how unnatural it was for cousins to act that way.
“Hallie, Jeremy, Eliza, come along,” said Mrs. Keats. “We’re going out for dinner.” Her kids jumped up.
“I guess that means we’re not going,” said Katharine, sounding disappointed.
Her mother just nodded.
After we’d been paid, John appeared out of nowhere to escort us to the front door. “Keep up the good work,” he said as he showed us out. “You two are master tour guides!”
We thanked him, but once we were outside we just looked at each other. How did he know we’d been playing tour guide? We hadn’t seen him during our “tour,” but he’d obviously been keeping tabs on us.
Claudia and I shuddered a little as we walked out the front door that day. Something wasn’t quite right at Livingston House.
It was pouring when I woke up on Friday morning, and I mean pouring. The rain was coming down in sheets, and rivers of water were running down the street outside. But I, Dawn Schafer, intrepid baby-sitter, had a job at Livingston House. And baby-sitters are like mail carriers; they do the job no matter what the weather is like. How does that saying go? “Neither rain, nor hail, nor sleet, nor snow …” Something like that. In any case, no matter how much I would have liked to have rolled over, pulled the covers over my head, and snuggled down for another few hours of snooze time, I didn’t. Instead I rolled out of bed and pulled some clothes over my head. Then I stumbled downstairs, still groggy, to find myself some breakfast. Mary Anne wasn’t up yet. That lucky duck had no job that morning and she was sleeping in. Richard and Mom had already left for work.
By the time I finished a mug of ginseng tea and a bowl of Healthios, I was feeling a little more awake. Just as I was cleaning up my dishes, the phone rang. It was Mallory.
“Ready to go?” she asked. “My mom said she’ll drive us.”
“Excellent,” I said. “It would have been a very wet bike ride.”
Mal and I were both working at Livingston House that day, sitting for all the kids together. Apparently Mrs. Cornell and Mrs. Keats had decided that since their children hadn’t slaughtered one another during their first afternoon together, it was safe to try it again.
It was still pouring when we arrived at Livingston House. The short dash from the car to the porch left us soaked. I banged the lion’s head door knocker, glanced over at Mallory, and had to crack up. She looked like a wet poodle, with her hair in dripping ringlets. Her glasses were covered with raindrops, and there was a huge drop of rain on the end of her nose. She giggled, too. “You look pretty funny yourself,” she said. I could just imagine.
We stopped laughing when John opened the door. “Well, hello,” he said. “Looks like you two could use some towels.” He ushered us in and told us to wait in the hall while he went to find some. When he came back — with an armload of the thickest, softest, fluffiest white towels I’ve ever seen — he told us that the kids were all upstairs in the Cornells’ playroom. Mrs. Keats and Mrs. Cornell had just left.
Mal and I dried off and headed upstairs. As we passed the library door, Amy stuck her head out. “Good morning,” she said.
“Hi,” I answered. I introduced her to Mallory, and told her we would be watching the kids for the morning.
“All together again?” she asked, looking surprised.
I nodded, smiling. “It seems to be working out,” I said.
“Sounds like fun,” she said wistfully. “It’s such a boring, rainy day.”
I remembered that Claudia had told me it seemed as if Amy might be interested in spending more time with her nieces and nephew. “Why don’t you join us?” I offered. Then I remembered something else. “I heard you wanted to spend some time in the attic. I’m sure the kids would love to do that. And it’s a perfect rainy day activity.”
Amy was looking excited. “It is, isn’t it?” she agreed. “Let’s go for it. I’ll just change into some older clothes. It’s dusty up there, since nobody’s been in the attic for ages.”
She looked so eager to be with the kids, I wondered why she hadn’t taken the initiative to do it before. “Great,” I said. “We’ll be in the Cornells’ playroom.”
When Mal and I arrived in the playroom, we found the kids hanging out peacefully. Katharine and Eliza were off in a corner teaching each other new ways to braid friendship bracelets, while Tilly, Hallie, and Jeremy played a fast-paced, noisy game of Chutes and Ladders. It hadn’t taken them long to start behaving like the cousins they were. It was obvious, to me at least, that the story of the fight had been cooked up by their mothers, who for some reason hadn’t wanted their kids to be friends.
I introduced the kids to Mal, and told them we were going to check out the attic. They loved the idea, and as soon as Amy showed up we trooped to the end of the hall where the attic stairs were. I opened the door, switched on the lights, and led everyone up the stairs.
Some people might be afraid to go into an attic they’d never seen before. Not me. I love old musty places. They seem so full of promise. You might find anything in an attic: antiques, old letters, or even a ghost, like the one who hangs out in the secret passage at my house.
When I arrived at the top of the stairs, I took a deep breath (aah, that smell!) and looked around. It was all I could do to keep from yelling out “Yippee!” This was an attic to end all attics, an attic supreme. It was large and cavernous and dusty, but pretty well lit by three hanging lightbulbs. There were lots of windows, too, which would let in light on sunny days. And, best of all, the place was chock-full of stuff. There were cardboard cartons and big leather trunks and old bureaus; huge wooden wardrobes and round hatboxes; dressmakers’ dummies and golf clubs and rolled-up rugs; tennis rackets and old board games and shelves and shelves full of dusty books.
“Whoa,” said Katharine, who had been behind me on the stairs.
“Awesome,” said Eliza, who had come up next.
Soon everyone was clustered at the top of the stairs, looking around. “Who does all this stuff belong to?” asked Hallie. She sounded a bit overwhelmed.
“Well, us, I guess,” answered Amy. “The Livingston family. No other family has ever lived in this house.” She sounded overwhelmed, too.
“Can we look around?” asked Hallie.
“Sure!” said Amy. “Let’s check out everything. That’s what we’re here for, right?”
“Yay!” yelled the kids, and suddenly everyone’s uncertainty was gone. They spread out all over the attic, poking into boxes, opening drawers, peeking into hatboxes. And sneezing. We were all sneezing, since the place was pretty dusty. I noticed something strange, though: in a few places the dust had been cleared away. On top of one of the bureaus, for example. And there was a mostly dust-free path to one of the wardrobes. I followed it and opened one of the doors — a little gingerly, since I didn’t know what I’d find. Inside were men’s clothes: suits, shirts, pants, and shoes. They didn’t look old and musty at all. In fact, they looked clean and pressed.
“Amy!” I called. “Check this out.”
She left the trunk she was
going through and joined me by the wardrobe.
“Look at these clothes,” I said. “It looks as if they’ve been used recently, doesn’t it?”
“But — but nobody’s been up here for months,” said Amy. She looked uncomfortable, and suddenly I guessed why. The clothes must have belonged to old Mr. Livingston, and they’d been put away recently, after he died. So I just shrugged and said “Oh, well,” and closed the doors carefully. Amy returned to her trunk, and I checked out some books that Katharine had found.
I knew, and Mal knew, that Amy was busy looking for the “first” thing that is “always the most important.” Of course, both of us were also looking for the answer to Amy’s clue, or for “treasure,” or for any kind of clue that might be helpful. And, of course, we were also keeping an eye on the kids.
And an ear out for strange sounds. I always listen for odd sounds when I’m in an attic or similar space, since I happen to love ghosts and ghost stories. And this attic didn’t disappoint me. Oh, I didn’t see a ghost. But I sure did hear some ghostly sounds. Creaking footsteps, shifting floorboards, that kind of thing. Mal heard them, too, when I whispered to her to listen for them. Amy and the kids didn’t, because they were too busy squealing over their finds.
Of course I tried to figure out where the sounds were coming from and what could be making them, but I never did. John was the only other person in the house, and at one point when I looked out a rain-streaked window I saw him outside, dressed in a raincoat and wrestling with a gutter that had fallen down. I decided to chalk the sounds up to the house settling, although in the back of my mind I was still sort of hoping there might be a ghost.
By the time Mrs. Keats and Mrs. Cornell came home (I heard their car arrive and herded everyone downstairs), no treasure had turned up. I was pretty sure Amy hadn’t found the answer to her clue, and I knew Mal and I hadn’t come near to figuring out any more about the mystery at Livingston House. But the kids were thrilled with what they’d found. They’d dug up all sorts of old toys and games that must have belonged to their mothers: ancient teddy bears, dolls with long hair, board games that looked as if they’d been played a million times. They couldn’t wait to show the stuff to their moms, and when they did, the effect was interesting.
“Oh, look, it’s Pudgy!” cried Mrs. Cornell, reaching for a bear.
“Mirabelle!” said Mrs. Keats, hugging a doll dressed in a pink nightie. “Oh, look, Sally, it’s Mirabelle.”
“Remember when I tried to flush Pudgy down the toilet?” asked Mrs. Cornell.
“You were always up to mischief,” said Mrs. Keats, grinning. “Daddy called you his little hellion.”
They were acting so sentimental, I couldn’t believe it. But Mrs. Keats’s comment broke the spell. Suddenly they each took a step back and that old suspicious, hard look came over their faces. What a shame, I thought.
Soon after, when Mal and I were leaving, Mrs. Keats walked us to the door. “You know,” she began hesitantly, “I’ve been thinking you girls deserve a bit of an explanation about what’s going on around here.”
I tried to look neutral. “Um, sure,” I said. “That would be nice.”
She sighed. “It’s complicated. It’s a family thing.”
“Oh, those can be hard,” Mallory said sympathically.
Mrs. Keats nodded. “The thing is, my father was a difficult man. We all loved him very much, and more than anything we wanted him to love us back. But he couldn’t seem to give love that easily. He had to make everything into a contest: Which of us loved him the most? Which of us was the smartest? Which of us most deserved his attention? I don’t know why he acted that way, but it affected us all deeply — especially Sally and me. Amy? Well, she’s a different story. She’s the youngest, much younger than the rest of us and I think maybe she was his favorite. At times I’ve hated her for that, but that’s so unfair. It’s not her fault. I even kept her away from my children, but now I see that was a mistake.” She heaved a big sigh. “Anyway, as I said, it’s complicated. But those are the basic facts. Sally and I will probably never stop feeling as if we have to compete with each other.” She looked sad, and I felt sad for her.
“Things can change,” I offered. “Look at how well the kids have been getting along.”
“You know, that’s true,” she said slowly. And as we left that day, I had the feeling that Mrs. Keats looked a little happier. Maybe there was hope for the feuding Livingston sisters after all.
I woke up way earlier than I wanted to the next morning. Why? Because somebody was downstairs ringing the doorbell and knocking on the door — and calling my name!
I rubbed my eyes and glanced at the clock on my nightstand. Nine-thirty on a Saturday morning. Richard and Mom would have already left for the farmer’s market, and Mary Anne would still be sleeping. She can sleep through anything. I thought about putting the pillow over my head and going back to sleep myself.
More ringing, more banging, more calling.
“Okay, okay, I’m coming,” I shouted. I pulled on a T-shirt and shorts and stumbled down the stairs. Who could possibly be at the door at that hour?
It was Haley. Haley Braddock, and her brother Matt. Haley’s nine, and Matt is seven. Matt is deaf, and communicates mostly with American Sign Language. The Braddocks are regular BSC clients, and the kids are great. “Hi!” said Haley. Matt smiled up at me and waved.
“Hi,” I replied, smiling back at them and waving to Matt. I still didn’t have the slightest idea why they were on my doorstep first thing on Saturday morning.
“Ready to go?” asked Haley.
“Go?” Then, suddenly, as if a lightbulb had gone on over my head, I remembered. “Oh, to the pool!” I said. Now it all came back to me. I had promised to take Matt and Haley to the Stoneybrook pool, one final trip before I returned to California. Had I really said I’d do it first thing Saturday? That I couldn’t remember. But as long as they were there, I had to follow through on my promise.
“It’s a beautiful day,” Haley told me.
Matt made a sign, and Haley interpreted. “He says it’s already hot out.”
“He’s right,” I said, glancing up at the bright blue sky. It was hard to believe it had been pouring only yesterday. “It’ll be a great morning for swimming. I’m not quite ready yet, though. Why don’t you come in and have a bite to eat with me?”
They followed me into the kitchen, and I poured us all bowls of cereal. Just as we started to eat, Mary Anne entered the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. “Good morning,” she said sleepily.
“Hi, Mary Anne,” said Haley. “Guess what? Dawn’s taking us to the pool!”
“Is that right?” said Mary Anne with a strange tone in her voice. She brushed by me to open the refrigerator.
“Yup!” said Haley. “I think she forgot she was supposed to, but we’re still going.” She gave me a mischievous look, as if to let me know she forgave me.
“Dawn forgets a lot of things these days,” Mary Anne remarked, sitting down to a bowl of cereal. She sounded calm, but I know Mary Anne, and I know when she’s mad. I just couldn’t figure out what was ticking her off.
Then another lightbulb went on over my head. I put my hand over my mouth. “Ooops!” I cried. “I said I’d go to the pool with you this morning, didn’t I?” No wonder she was mad. That was the second time I’d forgotten a plan I’d made with Mary Anne.
She nodded. “You did.”
What a mess. I couldn’t disappoint Matt and Haley — they’re just little kids — but I didn’t want Mary Anne to feel hurt, either. “I know,” I said brightly. “How about if we all go together? It’ll be fun.”
And that’s what we ended up doing. Mary Anne joined us, but I could tell she wasn’t totally happy about it. We’d been looking forward to spending some time together, so I couldn’t blame her for being upset. But what could I do?
To get to the Stoneybrook pool, you go through this little building where there are changing rooms, showers and bathrooms, and
a Ping-Pong table. We walked up to the girl at the desk and showed her our season passes; both my family and the Braddocks have them. She smiled and waved us in, and we walked on through to the pool. It wasn’t crowded yet, since we were pretty early, so we were able to find a good spot to put down our towels. We’d all worn our suits under our clothes, so we stripped right down. Haley and Matt couldn’t wait to run into the water. “Can we go in?” Haley asked me.
“Sure,” I said. Both of them are excellent swimmers. There were plenty of lifeguards watching the pool, too. I knew it was safe to let them swim on their own. “We’ll be in soon. Right, Mary Anne?” I turned to smile at her.
She didn’t smile back. “Sure, probably,” she said.
“I like to feel really hot before I jump in,” I continued. “I just want to sit in the sun for a bit.” I was also hoping that Mary Anne and I could have some time to ourselves while the kids were swimming.
“Okay, see you!” called Haley. She grabbed Matt’s hand, and they ran to the water together. They squealed and laughed when they jumped in, but soon they were diving and swimming like a pair of little dolphins.
“Aren’t they cute?” I asked Mary Anne.
She nodded, but she didn’t smile and she didn’t say anything.
“Mary Anne?” I said. “Please don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad,” she said. “I’m hurt. That’s different.”
That was the most she’d said to me all morning, and I felt a little encouraged. I decided to keep trying. “I’m really sorry,” I went on. “I just overbooked, that’s all. It’s not that you’re not important to me. I hate the thought that we’ll be apart soon.”
“You do?” she asked. “I thought you couldn’t wait to go back.” She looked at me, and I saw that her eyes were glistening a little, as if she were holding back tears.
“No way,” I said. “I mean, I know that living there is the right thing for me, but I miss you all the time when I’m away.”
Dawn Schafer, Undercover Baby-Sitter Page 4
