The Penderwicks at Last

  Because motorcycles are too loud for daybreak, the first part of Wesley’s journey was made pushing his bike from the cottage to the entrance of Arundel. The girls helped by shoving the sidecar, and wished Hitch didn’t look so pleased to be leaving. When they reached the pillars, there was a solemn ceremony of putting on Hitch’s helmet and settling him into the sidecar.

  “I don’t want to say good-bye.” Lydia’s sob escaped now. “I wish you hadn’t come here, and then I wouldn’t have to.”

  “Don’t say that, Lydia.” Alice climbed onto the sidecar to hug Hitch.

  Wesley pulled two crumpled balls of newspaper from his pocket, and handed one to each girl. “Sorry about the wrapping job.”

  Alice delved into hers first and found a small wooden Hitch. He was wearing his helmet and looked every inch a Canis regalis. Alice clasped it to her heart, and Lydia hoped very much that hers was just the same. Until she opened it. Wesley had carved a Hitch for her, too, but this Hitch had Hatshepsut sitting on his head. Again, Hitch looked like a king, but Wesley had carved Hatshepsut to look just as regal, and Lydia had to stop crying to laugh at these two beasts, finally at peace with each other.

  Then the girls hugged Wesley—it was Lydia’s first time ever—until he gently pulled away and put on his helmet. Lydia started to cry again, and Alice draped herself across the sidecar, burying her face in Hitch’s neck.

  But there turned out to be one more person coming to see Wesley and Hitch off, someone who had changed her mind about telling them good-bye. Lydia sensed her coming—it was their sisterly bond—and turned to watch her racing down the lane, so swift she was almost flying, her feet bare, her hair streaming out behind her. She was coming to tell Wesley she still loved him, to beg him to stay, to say she would go west with him—Lydia thought these things, and knew none of them was true.

  “Look,” she said, and now Wesley, Hitch, and Alice watched with her until the late arrival was there, bent over, her hands on her knees, catching her breath.

  “Hey, Batty,” said Wesley.

  She held up her hand—she couldn’t talk yet—and they waited respectfully, all except for Hitch, who tried to climb over Alice to get out of his sidecar to Batty. Wesley rescued Alice from trampling-by-dog, then talked quietly to Hitch until he calmed down, and until Batty could tell them why she’d come.

  “I won’t hug you, Wesley, or Hitch, either. But—” Batty flew to Hitch and hugged him fiercely. “All right, I couldn’t help that. Darling, darling Hitch! But mostly I came to say thank you.”

  “What for?” asked Wesley.

  “I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t thank you.” She smiled, and he smiled back—a real smile, not just a crinkling of the eyes. “No, I mean, thank you for giving me the Hitch mobile—I’ll treasure it—and for making wedding gifts for Rosalind and Skye. And—oh, thank you for being you. That’s all, I’m done. Good-bye—take good care of Hitch for us, and have a safe trip.”

  “Wait, Bats, wait. I want to tell you—” Wesley paused. “You’re going to be happy.”

  “I’m already happy.”

  “I know.” He mounted his motorcycle.

  “Then what did you mean? When did you mean?”

  Wesley shook his head and started the engine, drowning out any further questions. But he was still smiling, and willing to give a wave—though more like a salute—before roaring off, taking himself and Hitch onto the open road, heading into their great adventure.

  Batty stomped her foot. “He drives me so crazy!”

  Lydia wanted to say that Wesley driving Batty crazy was another reason he couldn’t be her destiny, but she was too busy crying. Neither Wesley nor Hitch had looked back as they zoomed away, not even once, and that was possibly the saddest part.

  Alice was also crying. “Life is horrible.”

  “No, no, no.” Batty gathered them both into a hug. “Life isn’t horrible, but I understand why you’re sad, and I apologize for bringing Hitch into your lives only to have him leave again.”

  “And Wesley, too,” said Alice. “He’s a great artist.”

  Then they showed Batty their wooden Hitches—she looked at them for a long time, turning them over, taking in every detail.

  “And, anyway,” said Lydia. “You’re crying, too, Batty.”

  “Just a tiny bit. I’ll feel better when I get more sleep. Let’s all go back to bed—later, we can start the day over again.”

  * * *

  —

  The next time Lydia woke up, it was because Natalie had come into the room to feel their foreheads and make sure they were still alive.

  “Good morning,” whispered Lydia when it was her turn.

  “You’ve both slept so long, you missed breakfast. You’re not getting sick, are you?”

  “No. We were up early to say good-bye to Wesley and Hitch.”

  “Ah.” She stroked Lydia’s forehead again, this time for comfort.

  “Life is horrible,” said Alice from her bunk.

  “Sometimes it is.” Natalie now stroked Alice’s forehead. “I know you’ve been waiting for a message from Jack—and I’ve got one for you. Maybe that will cheer you up.”

  “It won’t.”

  “I’ll read it to you anyway. ‘Marcel and I are going to impress you so much you’ll never try to best me ever again.’ Actually, now that I think of it, that probably won’t cheer you up. What’s he talking about, Alice?”

  “I don’t know. He’s the least of my problems today. May I have the phone?” Alice took the phone and started typing. “ ‘You’re the least of my problems.’ Do you want to add anything, Lydia?”

  “Just say hi.”

  Alice kept typing. “ ‘And Lyds says hi. Love, Alice.’ ”

  “Now, Alice,” said Natalie, “we need to figure out what you’re going to wear to the wedding.”

  “I don’t care. Whoa—wait, Mom!” Alice dove off the top bunk and attempted to block the closet door. “Don’t look too hard at the wall in there, please.”

  Natalie reached around her to open the closet door and look inside. “As if I could miss that.”

  “I’ll fix it before Jack comes home.”

  “Good.” Natalie disappeared deep into the closet, somehow getting past the unwanted Alice books, movies, and games.

  “She’s looking for dresses back there,” said Alice, and climbed back onto her bunk for protection. “This could be a problem.”

  Natalie had reappeared, carrying two dresses. One was yellow, with a grass stain on the back, and the other blue, with a gaping tear near the hem.

  “How did you manage to rip this?” she asked.

  “When our class went on that field trip to Tanglewood, I may have tried to do some tae kwon do on the bus.”

  “And the grass stain on the yellow one?”

  “It was Jack’s fault for daring me to—umm. It’s too small for me now, anyway.”

  Natalie groaned. “I guess we have to take a shopping trip.”

  “Shopping! I hate shopping!”

  “Alice, the wedding is tomorrow, and you need a dress. You cannot go in shorts and a T-shirt.”

  “I could wear the ballet skirt Jeffrey gave me.”

  Both girls’ skirts were dangling off the dresser, sprinkled with oats from the last time they’d fed Blossom.

  “No,” said Natalie.

  “But, Mom, I just lost Hitch, and it’s almost my last day with Lydia, and her cousins and parents are coming and I want to meet them. No, no, please, no. Life is already horrible!”

  “So are those dresses,” said her mother. “And the sooner we go shopping, the sooner you’ll get back.”

  * * *

  —

  This was Lydia’s second trip of the morning to the pillars. This time she was riding in Natalie’s car, st
icking by Alice until her actual departure. She couldn’t tell which of the two Pelletiers dreaded it the most, especially as the shopping list had expanded to include new shoes for Alice—she’d outgrown the only pair of non-sneakers she owned.

  “I could go with you,” she told Alice, though she herself was no fan of shopping.

  “That’s nice of you, Lydia,” said Natalie, “but you should be here to greet your cousins.”

  “Don’t rub it in, Mom. Her cousins are very interesting, and I won’t be here!”

  “They’ll be here when you get back,” said Natalie.

  “Just please remember everything that happens, Lyds, so you can tell me what I missed,” said Alice.

  Lydia got out of the car and waved good-bye. It was early in the day for the number of good-byes she’d already suffered through, but then Alice would be returning today, unlike Hitch. She started back up the lane with a dance of farewell for him—taking long steps, hovering, tentative, wrapping her arms around herself, and letting her head droop. She did much of this with her eyes closed—sadness did that to her—so was caught by surprise when she saw a woman up ahead of her, standing by the side of the lane. She hadn’t been there minutes ago, when Lydia passed by in Natalie’s car—had she fallen out of the sky? Despite knowing this to be impossible, she couldn’t help glancing up, on the lookout for a passing glider or hot-air balloon. That would be a great story to tell Alice.

  “Hello, Lydia,” said the woman.

  “Mrs. Tifton?” Lydia went closer to make sure. Yes, it was Mrs. Tifton, wearing a sort of disguise—a wide-brimmed hat and large sunglasses. “You weren’t here a few minutes ago.”

  “I may have happened to be behind a tree.” She adjusted her hat. “I heard a car and didn’t know who you were until you were gone.”

  So Mrs. Tifton’s first reappearance at Arundel after six days—six peaceful, pickle-free days—involved wearing a disguise and hiding behind a tree. Lydia didn’t want to deal with this on the same morning she’d said good-bye to Hitch and Wesley, and would do her best to get it over with quickly.

  “Well, Mrs. Tifton, this is probably the last time we’ll see each—”

  “I thought it might be my ex-husband.”

  Lydia needed a moment to interpret Mrs. Tifton’s interruption—to work out what the “it” was that might have been an ex-husband. Probably Alec, since surely she wouldn’t be adding another ex-husband to the discussion after all this time. And wouldn’t it be easier for her to avoid Alec simply by staying away, rather than hiding behind trees and hiding her car—where was her car?

  “I don’t see your car. How did you get here?” she asked.

  “I came in Mrs. Robinette’s car. I’m waiting for her to come back from dropping Jeffrey off at the mansion. We took him out for coffee to warn him that Marlene is in a serious relationship and hopes to be engaged soon.”

  Mrs. Tifton paused, apparently expecting a comment from Lydia.

  “That’s nice for Marlene, I guess.”

  Pickles ensued. That wasn’t the right response. “Not if she’s going to marry Jeffrey, it isn’t nice.”

  Lydia refused to fill another pause, sure she’d get it wrong again. And she herself didn’t particularly care who Jeffrey ended up marrying, as long as he was happy with her. And as long as she liked music and got along with Penderwicks. And Pelletiers. And dogs.

  Mrs. Tifton gave up on Lydia and continued on her own. “We didn’t make much headway with him, so Mimi’s giving it one last try now. She thought he might be more receptive without me there. Sons and mothers, you know.”

  Lydia had a sudden vision of her own mother sneaking around in disguise, and sending her friend to pressure Ben into doing something he’d sworn never to do. No. It was impossible, even more so than the hot-air-balloon theory.

  “If you’re feeling sorry for me, don’t,” said Mrs. Tifton sharply. “By Sunday, you’ll all be gone and I’ll have Arundel to myself.”

  Lydia didn’t need to be reminded of that, and didn’t appreciate Mrs. Tifton doing so. Still, determined to stay polite to the end, she held out her hand for a friendly handshake.

  “Good-bye, Mrs. Tifton,” she said. “I guess I won’t be seeing—”

  “Here comes Mimi! Thank goodness.”

  A sleek car pulled up beside them, driven by a woman whose hair was a familiar shade—the exact red that Lydia saw when she looked either in the mirror or at Ben. The woman leaned out the car window and said, “Brenda, you can take off the hat and glasses. The coast is clear.”

  “You didn’t see Alec?”

  “Nowhere in sight. According to Jeffrey, he’s busy setting up sound equipment for the band. Did you know they’re putting together an actual band for the wedding, Brenda? Drummer, double bass—”

  “I don’t care.” Mrs. Tifton took off her hat and used it as a fan. “Mimi, this is Lydia, the one whose hair you copied.”

  “Yes, of course. I recognize her hair from the photo. Come closer, Lydia, let’s see how my stylist did.”

  Aha! This was why Mrs. Tifton had taken a picture of her hair. Lydia had heard about imitation being a form of flattery, but it seemed more bizarre than flattering to see her hair on a stranger. She inched toward the car, not wanting to get too involved in this comparison—Mrs. Robinette looked excited enough to demand a lock or two of hair.

  “What do you think, Brenda?” asked Mrs. Robinette.

  “Not bad. He missed the walnut streaks, I think. Give me your phone—I’ll take another shot of Lydia’s. Any luck with Jeffrey?”

  “None. He continues to swear he’ll never marry Marlene.”

  Lydia turned to let Mrs. Tifton photograph the back of her head, and concentrated on listening and remembering the conversation for Alice.

  “Marlene should have come with us,” said Mrs. Tifton, taking the picture. “She would have been able to sway him.”

  “Yes, well—” Mrs. Robinette paused, then rushed on. “Brenda, we may want to give up on this. Marlene seems to like this new man very much.”

  “Give up! You’d let her lose Jeffrey for some stranger named Gus?”

  “Gary.”

  “Whatever. Let’s get out of here.”

  Lydia was very much in favor of their leaving—she wasn’t interested in Marlene, Gus, or Gary—and was beginning to edge away when an amplified voice came floating down from the mansion.

  “Testing, one, two…is this thing on? Jeffrey?”

  It was Batty. They’d gotten the sound system up. Other voices—male—could be heard, but just barely.

  Batty answered the faint voices. “Any requests? Yes, good one, Jeffrey. Let’s start off with some classic Roy Orbison.”

  And she started to sing, just Batty, without accompaniment. Jeffrey had asked for “Running Scared,” a song about love and loss, but with a triumphant ending. Since it was one of Batty’s favorites, Lydia had heard it dozens of times. Even the presence of Mrs. Tifton and Mrs. Robinette couldn’t stop her from humming and swaying.

  “Who’s that singing?” asked Mrs. Robinette. “Is that the sister who’s after Jeffrey? Jane, right?”

  “No!” Lydia startled Mrs. Robinette, who hadn’t expected such a loud “no” to come out of someone who hadn’t yet said anything. “Jane doesn’t want to marry Jeffrey! And she sings flat.”

  “Sorry, I’m confused. Brenda, is it Skye who’s after him?”

  “No, it’s Lydia who’s confused. Jane is after him.” Mrs. Tifton flashed a pickle and a half at Lydia, daring her to protest. “Apparently, Skye’s now getting married, too. I suppose she’s not wearing a veil, either.”

  “The brides aren’t wearing veils?”

  “And the wedding feast is a kind of family potluck.”

  “That could be nice, I guess.” Mrs. Robinette’s face said different.
“It’s too bad about the veils, though. I’m sure Marlene will wear one.”

  Mrs. Tifton got into the car and slammed the door. “I’m ready to leave now.”

  But Mrs. Robinette was again listening to Batty.

  “Then who is singing?” asked Mrs. Robinette.

  “My sister Batty,” said Lydia.

  “The teenager,” said Mrs. Tifton. “The one with the thing for spiders.”

  “She’s quite talented, isn’t she?” said Mrs. Robinette.

  If Mrs. Tifton hadn’t already slammed her door shut, she would certainly have done it then.

  “Let’s go, Mimi!”

  Lydia waved good-bye for as long as she could see the car, determined to be stoically polite until the very end.

  AS MRS. ROBINETTE’S CAR disappeared into the world beyond the pillars, a bobolink poured forth a song of gratitude.

  “Yes, I know I should feel happy and grateful,” said Lydia in reply. “That was the last time I’ll have to see Mrs. Tifton and her pickle faces.”

  But she didn’t feel happy. It wasn’t just missing Hitch, although that was bad enough. It was also—and here it was again, the crushing wave of grief and yearning she’d felt the night before. Overwhelmed, Lydia let herself tip over into Bobolink Meadow One, facedown and in the dirt. She was leaving Arundel soon. Each new good-bye brought that departure closer, as did each new person to arrive. Once Lydia’s entire family was here, there would be little time left—only the rest of today, then tomorrow—and then on Sunday, she’d have to go home. No more bobolinks, frogs, chickens, or sheep. No more fresh raspberries or climbing on roofs and sending pictures to Jack. No more Natalie and Cagney. No more Alice!