Wish You Were Eyre

  “Omigosh, is that baby Chloe?”

  “Not so much of a baby anymore, is she?” my mother replies proudly.

  Winky squats down on the sidewalk in front of my little sister. “Hey, Chloe,” she says softly, “remember me?”

  Chloe sticks her thumb in her mouth and ducks bashfully behind my mother’s leg.

  “I guess not,” says Winky, standing up again.

  “Don’t worry; the shyness is only temporary,” my mother tells her. “You won’t be able to pry her away once she’s used to you. Now get inside before you freeze to death!”

  Winky laughs. “This is practically summer, ma’am. It was five below when we left Laramie yesterday.”

  As we go inside, my mother grabs my hand and holds it up in the air like a trophy. “Guess who’s going to Nationals?”

  The room erupts in cheers, and everyone crowds around to congratulate me.

  Chloe starts to cry, overwhelmed by all the loud strangers.

  “Hey, sweet pea, these are our friends,” I tell her, leaning down to pick her up. “You remember Summer and Bailey and Madison and Zoe, don’t you? And Winky and all her horsies?” Chloe lifts her head off my shoulder and looks around hopefully, as if maybe a horse is suddenly going to appear in the tea shop. “That’s right,” I tell her. “We stayed at Winky’s dude ranch when you were a baby.”

  Looking around the room, it seems weird to see all the familiar, and yet not familiar, faces. Everybody looks the same, and at the same time they’re different—more grown-up. Summer and Madison especially. Madison’s face isn’t as round as it was last time I saw her—what did she tell us her father used to call it? The Daniels’ moon face? Her cheekbones have emerged and she looks a lot more like her mother now. Well, except for the mane of corkscrew curls.

  “Cool hair,” I tell her. “Just right for a rocker chick.”

  She grins. “Thanks.”

  “Speaking of chicks, wait until yours hear the news about Nationals!” Emma says, swooping in to give me a hug. “They already worship you—now they’ll think you’re a goddess.”

  “Doesn’t everyone?” I reply with a grin, and she smacks me on the shoulder.

  We mill around for a while, talking, as we wait for Jess and her mom and Savannah to arrive. They’re still not back from New York yet. Savannah is an honorary book club member this week, since she stayed at Gopher Creek Guest Ranch in Wyoming when we were there and got to know our pen pals, too. She and Jess even got permission from Colonial Academy to sleep at Half Moon Farm all week, so they can spend more time with Madison and her mother. Our Wyoming friends are going to be staying with their respective pen pals, which means Winky and her mother are staying with us.

  “Has anybody heard how the MadriGals did?” I ask Emma.

  Emma shakes her head. “Jess texted a while ago, and said she’d tell us when they get here. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

  “Did you ask your brother? She probably told him.”

  Emma’s forehead puckers, and I suddenly wonder if I’ve said something wrong. Would Emma be hurt if Jess confided in Darcy and not in her? That’s another way romance complicates your life—you suddenly have to worry about juggling everybody’s feelings.

  A few minutes later the bell over the door jangles and Jess and Savannah walk in. They’re both holding up two fingers, and I glance over at Sophie because at first I think they’re giving us the “V for Velcro” sign. Then I spot Mrs. Delaney right behind them, holding up a silver trophy.

  “We took second place!” Jess cries, and the tea shop erupts in another round of cheers.

  “Woohoo!” I shout. “Way to go, MadriGals!”

  “You should have heard them,” Mrs. Delaney boasts. “They were fabulous.”

  “And Jess knocked her solo out of the park,” adds Savannah, which is nice of her, since I know she was disappointed not to get picked for one. Savannah’s come a long way since the days when we used to call her Julia Pendleton, after the snotty queen bee in Daddy-Long-Legs.

  “Did anyone record the performance?” asks Madison’s mother. “I’d love to hear it.”

  Mrs. Delaney nods. “They’ll be releasing a CD of all the songs in a few weeks. I’ll make sure you get one.”

  The other mothers all instantly raise their hands, and Mrs. Delaney laughs. “Okay, okay, you’ll all get one, I promise.”

  “Everyone find a seat,” says Gigi. “We have so much to celebrate!”

  A bunch of tables have been pushed together to make one long one, and all along its length there are bouquets of flowers and tiered plates piled high with sandwiches and goodies. I plop Chloe in her high chair, then circle the table with everyone else, looking for my place card.

  “What, no uniform?” I ask Becca as I squeeze past her.

  She grins. “Sorry to disappoint you. I’m off the hook today. Just another customer, for once.”

  I find my spot and slide in between Winky and Jess.

  “Have you come up with any ideas?” Jess whispers. “Helping Emma, I mean.”

  I glance down the table to where Sophie is sitting between Gigi and Zoe Winchester. “Yep,” I reply. “I’m all over it.”

  Not that I have a plan, but one will bubble up. It always does.

  Across from us, Mrs. Hawthorne checks her watch. “We need to keep an eye on the clock here, ladies. It’s almost time to call the Berkeleys.”

  My stomach gives a little lurch at this. In all the excitement, I’d almost forgotten about our video conference. Simon and Tristan have been in Yorkshire all week on their spring break, and Simon’s been working on a movie about the Brontës for us. Since our Wyoming friends are in town, we wanted them to see it, and this afternoon is the only time the Berkeleys are available. They’re heading back to school this week, which seems lame. Everybody’s school vacations really should coordinate.

  “Do we have time to eat first?” asks Gigi, emerging from the kitchen with a teapot in each hand. She looks a little worried. “The tea is hot.”

  “There’s always time for tea,” says Mrs. Hawthorne.

  After our teacups are all filled, Mrs. Wong rises to her feet. “I’d like to propose a toast,” she says. “To good books and good friends!”

  “To good books and good friends!” we all echo, raising our teacups in the air.

  I reach for a sandwich. “I’m starving. Let’s eat.”

  “Cassidy! Where are your manners!” My mother heaves a sigh. “Some things never change, do they?”

  “Be glad of it,” Winky’s mother tells her. “So many other things do. They’re growing up so quickly!”

  Uh-oh, I think, bracing myself for the misty-eyes-and-proud-motherly-glances routine. Winky catches my eye and makes a face, and I nearly spew tea all over the table trying not to laugh. She’s familiar with it too, apparently.

  “So what have you all done since you arrived last night?” Mrs. Delaney asks our Wyoming friends.

  Everybody starts talking at once.

  “I don’t know about anybody else, but all I did was sleep,” Madison replies.

  “Our flight was delayed leaving Laramie—” her mother begins.

  “Thanks to the stupid weather—” Winky continues.

  “—and we missed our connection in Chicago,” Bailey finishes.

  “We almost had to spend the night in the airport, but at the last minute we were able to catch a red-eye to Boston,” Mrs. Winchester explains.

  “Jerry Wong picked us all up this morning,” Mrs. Jacobs adds. “He rented a bus.”

  “Mrs. Hawthorne made breakfast for everybody—” Summer chimes in.

  “—actually that was Nick,” says Mrs. Hawthorne, who is a great librarian but hopeless in the kitchen. I’m a better cook than she is, which isn’t saying much.

  “—and it was fabulous, and then we went for a walk,” adds Winky.

  “Except for some of us, who took naps instead,” says Madison, yawning.

 
Mrs. Delaney laughs. “Got it. I think.”

  “We’ll make sure you get well rested tonight,” Mrs. Hawthorne says. “We’ve got a busy week planned for you all.”

  My cell phone vibrates in the pocket of my jeans, and I fish it out. It’s a text from Zach.

  GREAT GAME TODAY! SORRY I DIDN’T GET TO SAY GOOD-BYE. CALL ME LATER?

  THANKS, I text back. U BET.

  Emma’s mother checks her watch again, and my stomach goes into its little tap dance routine. Only a few more minutes until I see Tristan! Quick as a slap shot, this thought is followed by a stab of guilt. Technically, I already have a boyfriend, and his name isn’t Tristan, it’s Zach Norton. So why am I feeling so excited right now?

  Mrs. Wong and Mrs. Chadwick stand up. “Lily and I have a couple of announcements before we call the Berkeleys,” Mrs. Chadwick says as Mrs. Wong starts distributing manila envelopes to our Wyoming friends. “We’ve worked up an itinerary for the week. You’ll find everything inside your packet.”

  I flick a scone crumb at Megan, who looks over and smiles sheepishly. We like to tease her about her mother’s love affair with packets.

  “You’ll also find maps, brochures for all of Concord’s attractions, a list of important phone numbers and addresses, and some coupons for local businesses,” Mrs. Wong continues. “Calliope and I have worked hard to balance educational activities with—”

  “Shopping!” says Megan in a stage whisper.

  “—yes, among other things,” concludes her mother, looking a little annoyed.

  “You’ll also find a daily schedule,” adds Mrs. Chadwick, consulting her clipboard. I crane my neck to peer over Winky’s shoulder as she rummages through her folder and pulls out a piece of paper. I’m curious to see what’s planned. In a way, I’m not that sorry that we have school every day except Friday this week—Friday is one of those teacher in service days—because I have no interest in visiting every historical monument on the Eastern Seaboard. Which is pretty much what Mrs. Wong and Mrs. Chadwick have planned, from the looks of it.

  “Monday and Tuesday you’ll be here in Concord,” says Mrs. Chadwick, “visiting Walden Pond and the Old North Bridge and all the famous homes including—”

  “Orchard House!” squeals Bailey, spotting it on the page.

  Mrs. Chadwick nods. “You’re going there tomorrow morning, because we figured you’d want to see it first thing.”

  “You figured right,” says Bailey’s mother. She owns a bookstore and is Mrs. Hawthorne’s best friend.

  Orchard House is one of our town’s most famous tourist attractions. It’s where Louisa May Alcott lived when she wrote Little Women, and I’ve been there twice already, once with the book club and once on a school field trip, which is more than enough to last me a lifetime. It’s interesting and everything, but it would be more interesting if Louisa had played pro hockey instead of just being a writer. Too bad Cammi Granato didn’t grow up in Concord. I’d pay good money to go see her house.

  “Tomorrow night we’ll have dinner at the Wongs’, followed by our official joint book club meeting—”

  “Isn’t that what we’re doing right now?” asks Savannah, looking confused.

  Mrs. Hawthorne shakes her head. “This is just a little appetizer to whet your appetite. It’s the only time the Berkeleys had available.”

  “What’s this mystery event on Tuesday night, after dinner at Half Moon Farm?” asks Summer, pointing to her schedule.

  Mrs. Wong flashes me a glance, then smiles slyly. “You’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?”

  Emma kicks me under the table. When I first heard that our pen pals were coming, I immediately thought of something I wanted to do with them. They were such good hosts when we visited them in Wyoming, I thought it would be fun to plan something extra special and unique. I ran it by Mrs. Wong and Mrs. Chadwick, who thought it was a great idea. Emma’s the only other person who’s in on the plan. I haven’t even told my mother.

  “Wednesday you’ll head into Boston and explore the Freedom Trail,” continues Mrs. Chadwick, “and that night we’ll relax with a movie and games afterward at the Hawthornes. We figured you’d need a break by then, since you’ll be pretty pooped from all that walking.”

  And they’ll be pooped from what I have planned for them the night before, I think to myself.

  “Thursday is free choice,” says Mrs. Wong. “I plan to lead a group back to Boston to tour more historical sites, while others may be interested in staying here in Concord, or in—”

  “Shopping!” whispers Megan again.

  “Megan Rose!” says her mother, exasperated.

  “As you all know,” Mrs. Chadwick continues smoothly, “since there’s no school for the Concord girls on Friday, that’s the day we’ve chosen to film our Cooking with Clementine episode.”

  Mrs. Parker turns to my mother. “It was so nice of you to arrange that, Clementine! I can’t tell you how excited the girls are—heck, how excited we all are. We’re really looking forward to seeing what goes on behind the scenes on a TV show.”

  “You’d be surprised,” my mother replies drily.

  No kidding, I think. I’m always amazed at the end result. On-screen, my mother looks totally calm and collected, and the kitchen and the food and the house and the garden always look perfect. On filming days, though, it’s complete chaos. Furniture is moved and rearranged depending on the theme of the episode, decorations are put up and taken down, and the kitchen looks like a hurricane hit it. There are production assistants and cameramen running around and lots of yelling and occasionally even some cussing, especially when Murphy, our dog, gets loose. He about goes hysterical on filming days, trying to patrol and protect everything, so we have to banish him to the garage. He’s an escape artist, though.

  “Friday night is the debate, of course,” Mrs. Chadwick says, and I can’t resist, I have to shout “Handcuffs Wong for Mayor!” Everybody laughs except Megan, who gives me a withering look. Apparently, she’s still not totally on board with that slogan.

  “Which reminds me, Lily, I’d like to schedule a strategy meeting with you and your campaign staff,” says Zoe’s mother, who used to be mayor of Gopher Hole. “I’ve got some ideas I’d like to share.”

  “And then Saturday’s our last day together,” says Summer mournfully. “This week is going to fly by way too fast.”

  “But we’ll enjoy every minute while you’re here,” says Gigi, reaching over and giving her a squeeze.

  Mrs. Hawthorne glances at her watch again. “Time to call England,” she says, and under the table my knee starts bouncing up and down like a jackhammer.

  Chill, Sloane, I tell myself sternly. It’s no big deal.

  Mr. Wong set up a laptop and a large flat-screen monitor for us earlier, and Megan goes over and turns it on. Thirty seconds later the Berkeley family is on-screen.

  “Hello, Concord!” says Simon.

  “Hello, England!” we chorus back.

  He and his brother and their parents all wave to us, and we wave back. I think maybe Tristan’s waving at me but I can’t be sure. I brush at my face, hoping I’m not covered in cookie crumbs or cupcake frosting or something.

  “You look fine,” whispers Jess.

  “Shut up!” I reply, but I’m smiling.

  “Hey, Sophie,” says Tristan. “Bonsoir!”

  Sophie, who’s been really quiet so far this afternoon, suddenly perks up. “Bonsoir!” she replies, looking thrilled to be singled out. I go over their connection in my mind again while they’re chatting. What was it Tristan told me? Second cousins? His mom and her father are related somehow, I’m pretty sure. I watch them surreptitiously, trying to gauge just how cousinly their greeting is.

  “How did your game go, Cassidy?” Tristan asks.

  I’m so busy thinking about his family tree that his question catches me off guard, and my mother answers before I have a chance to. “They won, which means she’s going to Nationals,” she tells him.
br />   He gives me a big thumbs up. “Brilliant!”

  “Thanks,” I reply, feeling suddenly like everybody’s staring at me. They’re not, but my face goes red anyway. I can’t seem to take my eyes off Tristan. With his dark hair and deep blue eyes, he’s still the best-looking guy I’ve ever seen. Not that I’d ever tell him that.

  Mrs. Berkeley points at the window behind her. “It’s lashing rain outside tonight in true Yorkshire style, as you can see. It’s like being inside our own private Brontë novel. We’re tucked up snug in Philip’s digs here at the university, though, eager to share our latest discoveries with you.”

  “Digs?” I whisper across the table to Emma.

  “Rooms,” she whispers back. “Mr. Berkeley’s apartment in York.”

  “We’re ready whenever you are,” says Mrs. Hawthorne.

  “Give me a second here,” says Simon, springing up and crossing the room to fiddle with something on the table in front of him. His laptop, probably. Sure enough, a moment later the screen goes dark and the words A DAY IN BRONTË COUNTRY fade in, followed by a shot—obviously taken out the window of a car—of a sign that says HAWORTH, 10 KM AHEAD.

  “Oh wow,” says Winky, as the camera pans across a stone wall bordering the road to a stunning vista beyond. Sheep and cattle graze in emerald fields, and in the distance the land dips down into a valley, then slopes up again toward an outcropping of gray stone houses clinging to the side of a hill. Overhead, the sky is a patchwork of bright blue amidst dark, ominous clouds. The light is phenomenal.

  Dad would love this. The thought pops unexpectedly into my head, and my eyes immediately fill with tears. I look down at my lap for a moment to hide them. My father is the one who gave me my camera and taught me to shoot with it.

  “Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore,” breathes Summer.

  “Nope,” I agree.

  “We’re here today in West Yorkshire, heading to the small town of Haworth,” Simon’s voice tells us, and blinking back the tears, I look up again as the narration begins. “Nestled between the lush dales and stark moors for which this part of England is famous, Haworth is today as it was then: a rural village set deep in the heart of a wool-producing region. It is also now a tourist destination, thanks to its famous former residents: the Brontë family.”