Claudia and the Great Search

  I rang the doorbell boldly.

  A woman answered it. She was young and pretty. A little boy peered timidly around her.

  I pretended to look confused. “Mrs. Selsam?” I said.

  “No,” replied the woman, looking confused herself.

  “Oh,” I said. “I didn’t think so. I’m sorry to bother you. See, I used to live in Stoneybrook, but my family moved away. Now we’re back for a visit. I’m looking for my best friend from kindergarten. We haven’t been in touch. Her name is Daphne Selsam. I know she used to live in this house.”

  The woman smiled. “The Selsams were the previous owners,” she said. “They live in Lawrenceville now. That’s not too far away. Maybe someone could drive you over there. In fact, I think I’ve even got the Selsams’ phone number. Can you hold on a minute?”

  Of course I could!

  The woman left, returned with a slip of paper, and handed it to me.

  “Thanks!” I cried.

  I rode home and called the Selsams without a single butterfly. This time I gave the woman who answered my call the same story I’d given Mr. Ferguison — about a school paper.

  And I found out that there was indeed a Daphne Selsam who was thirteen.

  That left just one baby unaccounted for: the baby born to the Hos from Cuchara, Wyoming — if that was their real name, and if they really were from Wyoming.

  But how would I track them down? I was fresh out of ideas. My mind had been working overtime. Still, I planned to look for them. I thought I might wait awhile, though. The search was getting sort of intense.

  I was glad when Stacey called. “How’s it going?” she asked.

  “I’ve been playing detective all morning,” I told her. “Can I come over? I’ll fill you in.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Stacey replied. “But do you mind a lazy afternoon? I’m feeling kind of tired today. So Mom said I have to stay on bed.”

  “On bed?” I repeated.

  “Yeah. That means I’m allowed to be dressed, and I can get up when I really need to, but mostly I’m supposed to rest.”

  “Well, I’ll come entertain you,” I said. “I’ll tell you what happened, and I’ll bring over some art supplies. We can make jewelry. That won’t be too taxing.”

  “Great!”

  I rode over to Stacey’s and spent the afternoon with her. It was nice to take a break from my search.

  “Kristy, where’s Nannie taking Emily now?”

  That was the first thing David Michael asked Kristy when she began her sitting job with him. It was a Monday, several weeks after I’d started working with Emily Michelle, and Kristy was in charge of David Michael. Her mom and Watson were at work, of course, her older brothers had after-school activities, and Nannie had just driven off with Emily.

  “She’s taking Emily back to the preschool,” Kristy replied.

  “Why?” David Michael demanded. “And why’s she doing it now? School’s over. It’s after three-thirty.” (David Michael is very proud of the fact that not only can he tell time, but he has his own watch.)

  “Nannie’s taking her back to be reevaluated,” said Kristy.

  “Huh?”

  “The teachers agreed to test Emily again. Mom and Watson think she’s made a lot of progress since Claudia began tutoring her. If she has, the teachers might let her start going to school.”

  “Oh.” David Michael kicked at his book bag, which he’d dropped in the front hallway when he’d come home that day.

  Kristy noticed that, but all she said was, “Come on. We’ve got a Krushers’ practice today, and we’re going to have to walk to the ball field. Home, too. Charlie can’t drive us.”

  “Okay,” mumbled David Michael.

  Kristy and her brother changed into their Krushers T-shirts. Then Kristy got her equipment together, remembered to put on her collie baseball cap, and she and David Michael set off.

  The walk to the ball field is sort of a long one, and David Michael remained silent at least half the way there. When Kristy couldn’t stand it any longer, she said, “Okay, out with it.”

  “Out with what?” asked David Michael, his eyes to the ground.

  “Out with whatever’s bothering you. Come on. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  At first David Michael didn’t speak. Then he blurted out, “I hate Emily!”

  “You hate her?” Kristy repeated mildly.

  “Well, I guess I don’t hate her. But — but she gets so much attention!”

  “Hmm,” said Kristy. “You know, sometimes I feel jealous of Emily, too.” (That was a very smart thing for Kristy to say. She didn’t come out and accuse her brother of being jealous; she just appeared to assume he was jealous and that she took it for granted, and then she admitted to being jealous herself. She didn’t make David Michael feel defensive or guilty about anything.)

  “You do?” said David Michael, awed.

  “Sure,” said Kristy. “She takes up time with Claudia, who’s my friend, plus Mom and Watson talk about her nonstop.”

  “Yeah.” David Michael sounded angry.

  “So you know what I do?”

  “What?”

  “I tell myself two things. One — that Emily really is having problems and she does need help, and Mom and Watson would pay a lot of attention to me if I ever needed help. And two — that there are a lot of things I can do that Emily can’t. Just think,” Kristy went on. “If you were Emily, you couldn’t play softball. You couldn’t read. You couldn’t watch your favorite TV shows because you wouldn’t be able to understand them. You couldn’t go to birthday parties —”

  “I wouldn’t have friends,” David Michael continued, “and I couldn’t ride my bike or go skateboarding.”

  “That’s right. You know what? I love Emily. I really do. But I think you’re terrific, too. You’re nice to your friends. You’re funny. You like animals. And you’re a good big brother to Karen and Andrew and even Emily.”

  “Am I a good ballplayer?” asked David Michael.

  Kristy couldn’t lie. “You’re getting an awful lot better,” she replied, and that seemed to satisfy her brother.

  The thing about the Krushers is that they really are not very good ballplayers. That was why Kristy started the team in the first place. She knew there were a lot of kids in Stoneybrook — boys and girls — who were either too embarrassed to join Little League, or too young even for T-ball. So she started her team for those kids. And what she wound up with was a bunch of players who can barely play — but who have more enthusiasm for the game than you’ll find anywhere. They try hard, they’re very supportive of each other, and they hardly ever get discouraged. In fact, they’re so hardworking that they’ve come close to beating Bart’s Bashers a few times. The Bashers are another team that, like Kristy’s, aren’t in Little League. The difference between the Bashers and the Krushers, though, is that the Bashers are older than most of the Krushers — and they’re good. One interesting point — Kristy and Bart Taylor go out together sometimes, even though they coach opposing teams. They’re not boyfriend and girlfriend (yet), but I have high hopes for this.

  Anyway, by the time Kristy and her brother reached the ball field that day, David Michael was feeling pretty cocky from all the compliments Kristy had paid him. And it showed up later during the practice.

  “Okay, team!” Kristy shouted, clapping her hands together.

  The ragtag Krushers gathered around their coach. There were Myriah and Gabbie Perkins (Gabbie, you’ll remember, is only two and a half); Jamie Newton, who ducks every time a ball comes toward him; Max Delaney and Hannie and Linny Papadakis, who can barely hit the ball; Jackie Rodowsky (the walking disaster); Matt Braddock, who’s deaf; and a bunch of other little kids, including Timmy Hsu, who had just joined the team. Guess who else was there — the Krushers’ cheerleaders! They are Vanessa Pike, Charlotte Johanssen, and Haley Braddock.

  The practice began. Kristy separated the Krushers into two teams and assigned David Micha
el to pitch for his side. Then she gave the Krushers a pep talk: “Now get out there and play your hardest! We’ve got a big game against the Bashers coming up!”

  First up at bat was Hannie Papadakis. David Michael pitched unusually well that day. Hannie struck out.

  Myriah stepped up to the plate, swung at David Michael’s first pitch, connected with the ball, and made it to second base.

  Everybody cheered for her, even the kids on the other side. That’s just the way the Krushers are.

  Then it was Claire Pike’s turn to hit. Kristy exchanged a glance with the cheerleaders. Immediately they launched into, “Krush those Bashers! Krush those Bashers!” to encourage Claire.

  But Claire struck out. And as everyone had feared, she threw a tantrum. “Nofe-air! Nofe-air! Nofe-air!” she shrieked, growing red in the face.

  Vanessa is used to her sister’s tantrums. She took her aside, calmed her down, and returned her to the batting lineup. Claire didn’t have another chance to hit in that inning, though, because Jackie Rodowsky was up next and he struck out, too.

  “Okay, change sides!” yelled Kristy. (She thinks this is nicer than yelling, “Three strikes, you’re out!” Or, “Three outs!”)

  The batters took their places in the ball field, and Kristy lined up the other players in their batting order.

  The new pitcher was a boy named Jake Kuhn. David Michael was the first up at bat. He swung at Jake’s pitch, and … CRACK! He hit a home run!

  “Way to go, David Michael!” Kristy shouted.

  And the rest of the kids screamed and jumped up and down.

  When practice was over, David Michael’s side had won. His teammates (well, all the Krushers) gathered around him, slapping him five and telling him how well he’d played.

  “Maybe I’m ready for Little League now,” said Kristy’s brother.

  “Oh, no! You can’t leave us!” said Timmy Hsu.

  “Yeah, the Krushers need you,” added Max Delaney.

  David Michael couldn’t help grinning. “I’ll stay for another season,” he said as the kids started to leave for home.

  Kristy and her brother had just gotten ready to leave, too, when someone tapped Kristy on the shoulder.

  She turned around.

  She found herself facing Bart Taylor — and she nearly had a heart attack.

  “Bart!” she exclaimed, heart thumping.

  “I thought I’d find you here,” said Bart.

  “Are you spying on the Krushers?” teased Kristy.

  “Of course not. I just wanted to walk you home.” Bart slipped his arm through Kristy’s.

  David Michael looked on. Kristy could tell he felt left out again, so she linked her other arm through David Michael’s. “I’m pretty lucky,” she said. “I’ve got two handsome guys to walk me home.” (And she had two handsome guys to help her to carry the equipment.)

  David Michael beamed.

  When Kristy and her escorts reached the Brewer mansion, Kristy was all ready to invite Bart to visit for awhile — but just then Nannie’s car pulled into the driveway.

  “Bart,” said Kristy quickly, “I have to go. I’ll explain later. Thanks for coming to practice. I’m really glad you did.”

  Bart is pretty easygoing, so he left. No questions asked.

  Kristy made a beeline for Nannie. “What did the teachers say? What did the teachers say?” she asked as Nannie unbuckled Emily from her car seat.

  “Oh, honey,” said Nannie. “We won’t know for awhile. The teachers need several days to go over the test results.”

  “Oh.” Kristy was disappointed. But hopeful. She said to me later, “Claud, I’ve got faith in you. I’m sure you’ve helped Emily. You can do almost anything.”

  Boy, did I hope she was right.

  The day after Kristy’s Krushers’ practice, Charlie brought Emily over to my house for a tutoring session. Honestly, Charlie ought to go into the chauffering business. He could probably make a fortune.

  “Hiya, Miss Emily,” I said as I opened the door and Charlie set Emily on our front steps.

  “Hi, Ko-ee,” replied Emily. She smiled. Emily was beginning to greet people and to call them by name, and she pronounced the names as well as she could.

  “Thanks, Claud,” said Charlie. “I’ll be back for Emily in about an hour, okay?”

  “Perfect,” I replied. “See you.”

  “’Bye, Emily,” said Charlie as he started down the steps.

  “’Bye, Shar-ee.” Not a whimper from Emily. She’d been to my house plenty of times by then and knew that Charlie (or someone) would come back for her. Her fears were starting to disappear.

  “Okay, Emily,” I said, ushering her inside. “Let’s go to my room.”

  We always worked in my room. I had decided to follow a routine for Emily, just as if she were in school and always went to the same classroom.

  So we trudged up the stairs to the second floor. (Emily is not a very fast stair-climber.) We passed Janine’s room.

  “Hi, Nee-nee!” called Emily cheerfully.

  Who could resist that? Not even Janine.

  “Emily!” my sister exclaimed, and handed her a balloon, which she’d obviously been saving for Emily’s next visit.

  “What do you say?” I whispered to Emily.

  “Fank-oo,” she answered promptly.

  Then, never missing a teaching opportunity, I said, “Emily, what color is your balloon?”

  “Bwow up!” replied Emily.

  “Yes, but what color is it?”

  “Red. Bwow up!”

  Since she was right, I blew it up immediately. Then we continued down the hall and into my room, where I settled Emily on the floor. I put the balloon on my desk. “You can have it when Charlie comes back,” I told Emily. (If I let her play with it, she’d never be able to concentrate.)

  For the next hour, Emily worked hard. By now, she was an old pro at matching, could name quite a few colors, and could identify shapes. She couldn’t say the words for the shapes, though. Most of them were just too hard. Once, I asked her to say “triangle” and she looked at me as if I were crazy.

  Today’s lesson, I had decided, would be on counting. From watching Sesame Street, Emily already knew how to count to ten, but the words didn’t mean anything to her. She’d just haul off and say (very fast), “One-two-fee-foe-five-sick-seben-eight-nine-ten.” Now I needed to show her what those words meant.

  I placed three blue triangles on the floor in front of Emily.

  “Bwoo!” she said.

  “That’s great, Em,” I told her. “They are blue, and they are all the same — they’re triangles — but how many are there?”

  Before Emily had a chance to get frustrated, I took her finger and pointed to each one, saying clearly, “One … two … three!”

  “Foe-five-sick-seben-eight-nine-ten!” continued Emily triumphantly.

  “No, let’s start over.”

  So we did. I added another triangle and we counted to four. That afternoon we counted circles, squares, Emily’s fingers and toes, my shoes, some pencils, and finally — just as Charlie was arriving — we counted one piece of candy, which I gave Emily as a reward for her hard work. She was definitely not a counter yet, but she was on her way.

  When Emily had left, I quietly closed the door to my room. I could hear the clickety-clack of Janine’s computer and knew she was hard at work, and probably a million miles away (mentally), but I wasn’t taking any chances. I had decided to call Wyoming, and I didn’t want Janine to overhear.

  It had taken me a long, long time to work up the nerve to make the Wyoming call (or calls), and now I was ready. If I didn’t call, I’d never find out about Resa Ho, and that would drive me crazy someday. I was pretty sure of it.

  I got out the phone book. I looked up the area code for Wyoming, hoping desperately that there would be only one. There was. It was 307. I didn’t pause. I plunged ahead and dialed (307)555-1212.

  “What city, please?” asked the operator.


  “Cuchara,” I replied.

  “Okay, go ahead.”

  Go ahead? Oh. She meant what number did I want.

  “I need the phone number for the Hos.”

  “The Hos?”

  “Yes, Ho. H-O.”

  “There are three Hos in Cuchara, ma’am,” said the operator patiently. “Do you know the party’s address or first name?”

  The party?

  “Um, is there a George Ho?” I asked.

  “I’m sorry, I have no such listing.”

  “Oh. Well, could you give me the numbers for the three Hos that you do have?”

  The operator then gave me the numbers for a Mary Ho, for Sydney and Sheila Ho, and for Barry and Patty Ho.

  “Thank you,” I said, and hung up.

  I just kept forging ahead. I dialed Mary Ho first. The phone rang twelve times. No answer. She wasn’t home.

  Next I tried Sydney and Sheila Ho. A woman answered on the first ring! And then — I swear, I don’t know where this idea came from — I found myself saying, “Congratulations! Your daughter Resa has been chosen as the winner in the —”

  “Excuse me,” said the woman, “but I don’t have a daughter named Resa. My daughter is Pamela.”

  “Is she thirteen?” I asked briskly.

  “Yes.”

  “Hmm.” I pretended to be puzzled. “Do you know of a thirteen-year-old girl in Cuchara whose name is Resa?”

  “No.” The woman sounded irritated.

  “Too bad,” I said. “I mean, about your daughter. She would have been the winner of a twenty-one-inch color television and a VCR.”

  Then I hung up. I called Barry and Patty Ho and tried the same trick. But the boy who answered the phone said he was fourteen and had two younger brothers.

  I tried Mary Ho again. Still no answer.

  Then I dialed Stacey. “Guess what,” I said. “I’ve found my birth mother.”

  “You’re kidding!” Stacey sounded astonished.

  I explained what had happened when I’d called Wyoming. I said that by the process of elimination, Mary Ho must be my mother.