Mary Anne and the Great Romance

  It didn’t matter. It was almost six o’clock anyway.

  As you can imagine, the rest of the “meeting” was just giggling and talking. Kristy didn’t even seem to mind — much.

  Why was Karen in a rotten mood? According to Kristy, it was because Emily had had the audacity that morning to tug at Kristy’s arm, hand her Andrew’s battered copy of The Teddy Bears’ Picnic, and say, “Read?”

  And then Kristy had had the audacity to reply, “Sure, Emily,” and lead her into the den, sit down, pull her onto her lap, and read the story to her.

  That was all it took. Apparently, Karen was already in a bad mood, but reading together is a special activity for Karen and Kristy, so on that particular day, Karen wasn’t thrilled to see Emily and her big sister sharing a teddy-bear moment.

  Kristy’s mom noticed and offered to read The Witch Next Door to Karen, which is her favorite book, but Karen would have none of it.

  “No, thank you,” she said haughtily. Then she stalked up to her room.

  By the afternoon, Karen was in an even worse mood. She had spent the morning muttering about what pains and brats little sisters are.

  “They are always in your way,” she’d said as she tried to pass Emily on the stairs. Emily was climbing them one slow step at a time, holding onto the banister with one hand, and trailing her blanket behind her with the other.

  “They get all the attention,” she said at lunchtime as Watson cut Emily’s sandwich into quarters for her, and Nannie settled Emily in her high chair.

  By the time Watson and Kristy’s mom and everyone else were taking off, leaving Kristy in charge, Karen had marched up to her room, marched back down again holding her T-shirt that reads, “I’m the middle sister … and proud of it,” and said, “See this? I don’t want it anymore. You can put it in Shannon’s dog-bed.” Then she had dropped the shirt on the floor and huffed off to the den to be alone for awhile.

  “I’m sorry to leave you with this mess,” Watson apologized as he and Mrs. Brewer headed for his car.

  “That’s okay. I can handle it,” Kristy assured him. She turned around and walked back into the house. She passed Andrew and David Michael, who were in the living room with the curtains closed, playing a game in the dark called The Wandering Frog People. The Pike boys made the game up.

  Kristy was watching them and smiling when she heard an odd noise from the direction of the kitchen — several small thumps, like something being dropped. Then she heard Karen say, “Bad girl, Emily. Bad girl!”

  Kristy raced to the kitchen. There was Karen, shaking her finger at Emily, who was standing by a chair. On the table was a package of cookies, and on the floor were several broken ones.

  “Just look what Emily did,” said Karen in a disgusted voice. “She made a huge mess. Daddy hates cookie crumbs on the floor. Plus, Emily tried to climb up to the table for the cookies when she knows she’s not supposed to stand on chairs.”

  Kristy looked firmly at Emily. Watson, Kristy’s mother, and Nannie had all said that it was important not to spoil Emily, even though she had gotten off to a bad start in life. And yet — Kristy didn’t know what to think. Emily couldn’t talk well enough to defend herself.

  “Did you try to get the cookies?” Kristy asked Emily.

  Emily just stood there and cried.

  “Did you break the cookies?” This time Kristy pointed to the mess on the floor.

  More tears from Emily, while Karen watched, hands on hips.

  “If I did something bad, Kristy,” said Karen, “Daddy or Elizabeth would send me to my room. They always do.”

  That was true. But Kristy still didn’t know for sure what had happened. Finally she just said, “Emily, did you do something naughty?”

  Emily’s crying grew louder, so Kristy decided that meant she was guilty. “Okay,” Kristy continued. “Up to your room.”

  She marched Emily to her room, took off her shoes, and put her in her crib. “Time-out for ten minutes,” she told her. Then, feeling horrible as Emily stood in her crib, crying hopelessly, Kristy turned and walked away. By the time she’d returned to the kitchen, Karen had cleaned up the mess, but now she was crying.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Kristy, thoroughly perplexed. “You can’t possibly be upset that I punished Emily.”

  “Yes I am,” wailed Karen.

  Kristy sat down. “Why?” she demanded. Nothing made sense.

  “Because you should be punishing me. I made the mess. Then I blamed it on Emily. I just wanted to see if you’d really punish her. I know what I did was wrong. Emily looked so sad and — and confused. She even looked a little mad. Do you think she understood what I did to her?”

  “She might have,” Kristy replied. “Emily’s not stupid. She just doesn’t talk much yet. And furthermore, Karen Brewer,” (Kristy had stopped herself just in time from saying “young lady,” a phrase her mother uses that she hates), “furthermore, you will now have ten minutes of time-out in your room while I try to explain things to Emily. Then I want you to apologize to her.”

  Karen nodded. She knew she deserved everything that was happening. So now Kristy walked Karen up the stairs. On their way, David Michael called out, “Kristy, I’m going over to Linny’s house!”

  “Okay,” Kristy replied. She noted that the living room curtains had been pulled back and that Andrew was on the floor, playing with Shannon. The Wandering Frog People must have come to an end.

  Kristy deposited Karen in her room, then rescued Emily from her crib, saying, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She held Emily in the rocking chair for awhile and tried to explain what had happened. By the time Karen’s punishment was over, Emily was smiling again, so Kristy took her into Karen’s room.

  “Time’s up,” she informed Karen.

  Karen nodded.

  “Now don’t you have something to say to your sister?”

  “Yes,” replied Karen. “I want to say — Hey, get out of my toy box, Emily!”

  “Karen,” said Kristy warningly.

  “Well, she’s always getting into my stuff. And she’s doing it right now.”

  “She just wants to see what’s in the box. She isn’t going to hurt anything.”

  “How do you know?”

  Kristy didn’t know. But luckily for everybody, just at that moment, Emily emerged from the box with an old stacking toy of Karen’s.

  “Where’d that come from?” asked Karen. “That’s a baby toy. I didn’t even know it was in there.”

  Emily sat on the floor and happily placed the colored rings on the pole. Karen got up and dug through her toy box. At the bottom she found a pull-toy, some plastic pop-apart beads, and a cloth book about a little girl who takes a bath.

  Karen set them in front of Emily. “Here,” she said. “You can have these. I don’t need them anymore.” Then she added, “I’m sorry I yelled at you, Emily.”

  Well, the grin that lit up Emily’s face could have melted the heart of Ebenezer Scrooge (before he came to his senses, that is).

  Kristy sighed, glad the crisis was over and that she could relax and enjoy baby-sitting.

  That’s what she thought. Little did she know that another crisis was about to arise. It all began when, sometime later, she, Andrew, Emily, and Karen heard, Honk, honk!

  “I bet that’s Charlie!” cried Andrew. “I bet he’s got his new car.”

  “His old car,” Karen corrected him.

  “His new old car,” said Kristy.

  Kristy and the kids rushed out the front door. In the driveway before them was a clinker of a car. In fact, it looked a lot like Nannie’s Pink Clinker, except that it wasn’t pink. It was sort of gray. And Kristy could see a scratch and two dents just on the passenger’s side of the car. Plus, the fenders were rusting.

  But Charlie was obviously very proud of his car. He and Sam climbed out of it just as Patrick, Charlie’s friend, pulled up in Mrs. Brewer’s station wagon.

  Charlie grinned and waved to the crowd on the po
rch. “Well, here it is,” he said. “One gorgeous piece of metal.”

  One gorgeous piece of junk, thought Kristy, imagining what her mother and Watson would say when they laid eyes on it.

  “It may not actually be gorgeous,” Charlie went on, “but it runs like a dream, and with a little paint and some wax I can really fix it up. You guys can help me.”

  “Oh, thank you so much,” said Kristy sarcastically.

  Charlie was too excited to notice. “Come on, everyone. We’re going for a ride,” he announced. “We have to drive Patrick home.” And with that he took Emily’s car seat out of the station wagon, attached it to the backseat of his car, and loaded Emily, Andrew, and Karen inside. Then Sam and Patrick piled in. “You coming, Kristy?” asked Charlie.

  “I can’t,” she replied. “David Michael’s over at Linny’s. I’ll have to wait for him here.”

  “Okay,” Charlie said, and drove off.

  Five minutes later, David Michael returned. When he found out where everyone was, he pitched a fit right in the front yard.

  “You mean my own brother got a new car and he took everyone for a ride but me? His own brother?”

  “David Michael —” Kristy began. She was going to explain that Patrick had needed a ride home, and everyone else had been standing right there by the car. But David Michael had already banged into the house. When he came out a few moments later, he was carrying a big piece of paper and a fat black Magic Marker. In huge letters he wrote on the paper:

  He posted the sign on a tree in front of the house where Charlie couldn’t miss it.

  Charlie didn’t miss it. He took the hint, too. He let the other kids out of his car and then took David Michael on a special ride of his own.

  Kristy hoped the sibling rivalry problems were over for awhile.

  One Saturday evening, Dad invited Dawn and her mom over for dinner. That wasn’t unusual, except that this time he said, “We ought to discuss the wedding. We should set a date, if nothing else, and we want the two of you involved in everything.”

  Oh, goody! I thought. Immediately I wondered how long it would take Dawn and me to agree on matching bridesmaids’ dresses. I knew I would probably want something fancier than Dawn would want. I pictured myself in a long pale pink dress with a lace collar. Maybe a straw hat would look nice, too. I’d seen a picture of a bridesmaid in an outfit just like that. A pink ribbon had been tied around the hat and it hung down the girl’s back. Would Dawn go for something like that? Probably not. On the other hand, she had bought that Laura Ashley dress, so there was hope.

  “Mary Anne?” Dad was saying.

  “What? I mean, yes?” I wondered how many times he’d called my name.

  “What about dinner? We don’t need to do anything fancy. I think our choices tonight are fish or the rest of that vegetable casserole.”

  I made a face. “Could we order in Chinese food? The Schafers can always find vegetarian things on the menu.”

  “Well … all right,” replied my father.

  “Oh, great! Thank you!” I kissed Dad.

  “Do you want to call Dawn and just check to make sure Chinese food is all right with her and her mother?”

  “Okay,” I answered. So I did and it was.

  * * *

  The Schafers came over around six-thirty. We were all hungry, so Dad found the menu right away, but then we couldn’t decide what to order. We tossed around suggestion after suggestion. At last we decided on cold sesame noodles (yum), eggplant in garlic sauce (yuck — let the Schafers eat that), sweet and sour pork (that was for Dad and me), and something called Imperial Vegetables Oriental that even I said I’d eat.

  While we waited for the food to arrive, Dad and Mrs. Schafer sat on the couch in the living room and talked. I noticed that these days, even when Dawn and I were around, they sat much closer together than they used to. Dawn and I sat on the floor and talked, too. I told her about my idea for the bridesmaids’ dresses. I even showed her the picture, which I found tucked away in one of my desk drawers.

  Dawn looked thoughtful. Then she smiled. I thought she was going to laugh at the dresses.

  “I do not find them that funny,” I said testily.

  But Dawn said, “It isn’t that. They’re not funny. It’s just that we haven’t been asked to be bridesmaids yet.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I replied. Then we both started laughing.

  At that point, the food arrived.

  “Thank heavens,” said Mrs. Schafer. “I’m starving.”

  My dad and Dawn’s mom each paid the delivery guy for half of our order. Then we took the bags into the kitchen, opened the cartons of food, filled our plates, sat down at the table, and began eating. When we were slightly less hungry Dad said, “Okay. About the wedding.”

  “Which church is it going to be in?” asked Dawn immediately.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I know we don’t go to church very often, Dad, but ours is so pretty. And it’s got the longest aisle of any church in Stoneybrook.”

  “That’s important,” said Dawn, “because, Mom, your train will look gorgeous going up and down a long aisle.”

  “And we can have flowers by the altar,” I added.

  “White orchids,” said Dawn.

  “Pink azalea branches — to go with our bridesmaids’ dresses,” I said pointedly.

  My father and Mrs. Schafer had stopped eating and were just staring at each other. They didn’t say a word.

  “And, Dad,” I went on, “the ushers should wear gray striped bowties. I saw that in a movie once and they looked so handsome.”

  “And, Mom,” said Dawn, “you and Mary Anne and I should go to Rita’s Bridal Shoppe out at Washington Mall. They make wedding gowns and bridesmaids’ dresses to order. I know that for a fact. Oh, and get a beaded veil.”

  “And, Dad, could you please rent a tux?” I asked him. “Don’t wear your old one. The pants are too short. And don’t refer to it as a monkey suit in front of any of my friends, okay?”

  “Gosh, Jeff will need a tux, too,” said Dawn. “Maybe his should match the ushers’. Or do the ushers just wear suits? And what will Jeff be in the wedding? The ring bearer?”

  My father and Dawn’s mother were still neither eating nor talking. Before one of them could answer Dawn, I exclaimed, “Oh, please, can we have a little bride and groom on top of the wedding cake? Tasteful ones, I mean.”

  “And we better have a four-tier cake,” added Dawn. “That way, you can save the top tier for yourselves, like they do in books, and there’ll still be enough cake for all the guests. By the way, where are we going to hold the reception?”

  “Could we have it in that big room at Chez Maurice?” I asked. “That would be so meaningful. I wonder how many people can fit in there. Fifty? A hundred?”

  “Depends if we’re going to have a sit-down dinner or just a big party,” Dawn answered.

  “Oh, hey! I mean, oh,” I said. “I just thought of something else. Who’ll be the flower girl? We don’t have any little sisters or girl cousins.”

  “Myriah Perkins?” suggested Dawn. “Or Gabbie? Or Claire or Margo Pike?”

  “Whoever it is,” I said, “her dress should be similar to ours, like Karen’s was similar to Kristy’s when Kristy’s mom and Watson got married.”

  Our parents finally found their voices. “Now wait a —” Dad began, just as Mrs. Schafer said, “Girls —”

  They glanced at each other, holding a quick conversation with their eyes. At last Dawn’s mom said, “Girls, we aren’t going to have a wedding or a reception.”

  “What?” I cried.

  “You aren’t?” exclaimed Dawn. “Why not?”

  “We just don’t want one,” said Dad. “We’ve each had one before, and this time around we don’t think it’s necessary.”

  “But Kristy’s mother —” I started to say.

  “Kristy’s mother and Watson Brewer are different people,” replied my father. “Besides, not even they had a wedding like the one
you’re talking about. Do you know how expensive a big wedding and reception would be these days?”

  “Girls, we’ve talked this over,” said Mrs. Schafer, “and we’ve decided we’d rather save the money for your college educations.”

  “Darn,” said Dawn sulkily. “I was hoping to get to ride through Stoneybrook in a limo.”

  Everyone stopped talking for a moment. We’d stopped eating, too. After awhile, I said plaintively, “No wedding at all?”

  “Not exactly no wedding,” Dad told me. “We want to be married by the justice of the peace in a civil service in the courthouse. We want you girls and Jeff there, of course, and then we thought the five of us could go out for a quiet dinner.”

  “How about a compromise?” suggested Dawn pleadingly. “Couldn’t you have a teeny wedding in the chapel of a church?”

  “Then we could invite just a few people,” I said. “Our friends will want to come. And Mrs. Schafer, don’t you think that at least your parents would want to be there?”

  “You wouldn’t have to wear a wedding gown,” Dawn told her mother.

  “And you could just wear a nice suit,” I said to Dad.

  “And Mary Anne and I wouldn’t even need to get new dresses,” added Dawn.

  (I elbowed her. I was always looking for an excuse to get a new dress.)

  “Well,” said Mrs. Schafer thoughtfully, “I suppose a small wedding — very small,” she emphasized, “might be okay.” She raised her eyebrows at Dad.

  “I suppose,” he said.

  “We’d keep the guest list really small,” I promised. “Just our closest friends — that’s Kristy, Claud, Stacey, Jessi, Mal, and Logan.”

  “And then,” said Dawn, “there would be Jeff, our grandparents, and maybe each of you would want to ask a couple of people from work. All together, including the four of us, that would probably be less than twenty people.”

  “If it’s that small,” said Dad, “maybe we could all go out to dinner afterwards. But no cake and no wedding gifts. Nothing but a dinner.”

  “That’s do-able,” said Dawn, and we all laughed.