“You write it now. I’ll ask Peaseblossom not to take off her coat. I’d like that letter to catch the six o’clock post.”
2
The Important Wednesday
Wednesday started like an ordinary day. Rachel, as usual, flew out of the house five minutes before she need have started because she was so fond of her dancing school that she could not bear to waste time eating breakfast when she could be on her way to it. Jane and Tim went to the same school and every day had the same sort of argument before they started. This Wednesday was no exception. Bee said, “Hurry up, darlings, and finish eating. You’ve only five minutes before you start.”
Jane immediately helped herself to another piece of bread and slowly spread jam on it. “Yes, hurry up, Tim. I always have to wait for you.”
Tim had been just about to finish his milk, but at that insult he put down his cup. “That’s the most monstrous lie. Yesterday Peaseblossom and Chewing-gum and I were standing at the gate waiting for you so long that we didn’t get to school until prayers were over. That’s why you and I got unpunctuality marks.”
Jane stuck her chin in the air. “That was just once, and only because Mom made me change my socks for so small a hole that nobody but Mom would have seen it; but almost every day I’m made late by you looking for your music and-“
Dad had seemed to be reading the paper. Now he looked up. His voice sounded as if it could very easily turn from a talking voice to an angry one.
“Shut up, kids. Scram.”
Peaseblossom took Jane and Tim to school. It was not far, and they could have gone alone; but it was a habit which had never been dropped and had the advantage of giving Chewing-gum an early-morning run. Jane ran on ahead with Chewing-gum. Tim walked beside Peaseblossom, carrying his case of music. Usually they met the same people: the postman finishing his round, the sanitation men, and so on. This Wednesday, as they turned the school comer, coming toward them was the school music master, Mr. Brown, and walking with him was another man. Tim liked Mr. Brown better than anybody else he knew. Usually he ran to meet him, but this time he did not like to as Mr. Brown was not alone, so he just looked pleased. Mr. Brown said something to his friend, and when they were within speaking distance of Tim, they stopped.
“How are you?” Mr. Brown greeted Tim. “This is Mr. Jeremy Caulder. If you weren’t a little ignoramus, you ‘d have heard of him.”
Mr. Caulder shook hands with Tim. “How do you do? I stayed with my godson here last night, and he told me about you. You are fond of music, I hear.”
Tim was surprised that somebody who was as old as Mr. Brown had a godfather. He had thought that stopped when you grew up, and Mr. Brown must have been grown-up for years because he had said he would be thirty next birthday. Tim was so amazed about this that he almost forgot to answer Mr. Caulder. At last he said, “Yes. Aren’t you?”
Mr. Brown laughed. “Jeremy Caulder is one of the best piano players we have. He says I may bring you over to play for him this morning.”
Tim looked hopefully at Mr. Caulder. “Could I come at eleven? We do French then, which I simply hate.”
Mr. Caulder seemed a nice, reasonable sort of man. He said at once that eleven would suit splendidly. He and Mr. Brown moved on. Tim wanted to move on too, but seeing Mr. Caulder seemed to have done something to Peaseblossom. She stared after him as if he were a blue elephant or something equally unusual. Jane came racing back with Chewing-gum.
“Come on, Tim, we’ll be awfully late. What’s up, Peaseblossom? That’s only Mr. Brown who teaches us piano and singing.”
Peaseblossom’s voice was hushed with awe. “That’s Jeremy Caulder. I’ve heard him at the Albert Hall and often on the air. Tim’s going to play for him at eleven.”
Jane was not impressed. “More fool Mr. Caulder. Do come on, Tim.”
Tim was not impressed either. “All right, I’m coming. It’s not my fault if Mr. Brown stops and speaks. It would be awfully rude to walk on.”
Peaseblossom laid a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “This is your chance to show what you’re made of. The family depends on you not to let down the side.”
Rachel had arrived at the Children’s Academy for Dancing and Stage Training as usual. She went down to the changing room, for she had an hour’s dancing class before she began lessons. The moment she opened the changing-room door she knew something tremendous was in the air. The other girls tried to tell her what it was, but because they all spoke at once, she could not get the news straight at first when she did, she understood the excitement. At twelve o’clock a theatrical manager was coming to the school, bringing the man who arranged the dancing for his shows. He wanted six children for a big musical production. The top classes were to dance for him.
Rachel changed into her practice things. Her heart was thumping so hard she thought she could hear it. She must get chosen; she must. Imagine coming home and being able to say to Dad and Mom, “I’ve got an engagement.” Mom wouldn’t say much, but of course, she’d feel less worried; who wouldn’t? Somebody earning money just now would make all the difference. Her best friend, Caroline, came over to her.
“I bet you get chosen. You and, of course, Miriam and Sylvia, Frances, Audrey, and Annette.”
The six were all small and considered exceptionally promising. Quite honestly that was the list Rachel would have picked; only she did not dare put herself so firmly on It as Caroline did, and there was always the chance that the manager or the man who arranged the dances would choose Caroline and that would take one of the rest of them out. Caroline was promising, all right, but nobody could call her pretty; in fact, she was plain. Rachel put an arm around her and said, “Counting you, with any luck we ought to be the ones he chooses: six of us to dance and one to understudy.” Inwardly she added, “Oh, don’t let me be the understudy, though that would be better than nothing.”
Tim brought his news home first. He had a letter about it for his father. Mr. Jeremy Caulder would give him piano lessons. Not regularly, because he was away a great deal playing at concerts, but whenever he was in London. Mr. Brown, who wrote the letter, said Mr. Caulder agreed with him that Tim was an unusually musical boy and ought to have a chance; and for the time being the lessons would be free.
Dad had been sitting looking terribly tired and interested in nothing when the letter came, but after he had read it, he was quite different. He said he had often heard Mr. Caulder play and if he thought Tim was worth teaching, there might be more in Tim’s strumming than met the ear. He was gay enough even to pretend to box with Tim, something he had not done for weeks.
On top of that excitement Rachel rushed in. She was in such a state she poured out her story so fast that her words tripped over each other.
“Mr. Glinken came to see us dance and brought the most marvelous man with him; he called him Benny. Benny showed us afterward some things we’d have to do. He’s-Mr. Glinken, I mean, not Benny-putting on a simply enormous musical play, and I’m one of the six children. Real dancing we’re doing. Madame Fidolia’s no end bucked. He chose-Mr. Glinken, I mean, not Benny-me, Miriam, Frances, Audrey, Annette, and Sylvia, and Caroline’s going to understudy. That’s the only awful part. They took simply ages choosing between Sylvia and Caroline, and when they chose Sylvia, Caroline cried. But I was the only one who saw.”
Though the drawing room was not very big and was full of furniture, Rachel felt that the family simply must have the thrill of seeing the sort of dances Benny was arranging. Without bothering to take off her coat and hat or change her shoes, she showed them Benny’s steps as well as she could.
Peaseblossom glowed. “Well, this is a day! Up the Winters! Tim to be trained by Mr. Caulder himself and Rachel a real professional dancer. Our side’s doing splendidly. I think this deserves a special tea. I’ll see what I can find. “
Peaseblossom did not get as far as the kitchen. A few moments after she had left the room she was back. She was holding two letters, a dull-looking long typewritten envelop
e for herself and a letter with American stamps marked “Airmail” for John.
The children knew that John had written to Aunt Cora and that Peaseblossom had posted the letter. They did not know Bee had put on enough stamps to send it by air. They had not expected Aunt Cora would answer for weeks. Because nothing more had been said about it, John’s going to California had gone to the back of their minds. It was not a certain thing like Christmas or a birthday or the beginning of term; it was just a “perhaps.” Now, looking at Dad’s fingers opening the thin airmail envelope with Aunt Cora’s name and address on the flap, they felt cold inside. Could Dad be going away? Going all the way to Aunt Cora?
John straightened the letter. Bee leaned on his shoulder and read it, too. All down one page, all over the next, all down the next sheet, and half down the back page, and while they read, the children’s eyes were fixed on them. At the end John gave a half laugh, half snort and pushed the letter back into its envelope.
“Silly fool of a woman! What does she think I’m going to do for money?”
Bee said quickly, “That’s not fair. You told her that it was what the doctor ordered and that it wasn’t likely you’d really do it because of leaving me and the children, and she answers by not only asking the whole lot of us but Peaseblossom as well. I call it marvelous of her.”
John looked at the children. “How would you like to go to California for the winter?” The children looked startled. “All right, don’t worry, there isn’t a chance of it. The fares would cost about a thousand pounds, and your father would be hard put to it just now to find a thousand pence. As for a grand piano for Tim and-“
Peaseblossom made a choking sound. They turned to look at her. Her face, which was always rather red, was the color of an overripe purple plum. She was holding out a crisp sheet of note paper as if, by looking at the back of the letter, they could read what it said. Bee ran to her.
“What is it, dear? Bad news?”
Peaseblossom struggled to get her breath, just as if she were getting it back after tea had gone down the wrong way. “We can go. All of us. An old aunt whom I never met has died and left me a thousand pounds.”
3
Will You? Won’t You?
Talk went on all the evening. First of all, there was a terrific argument with Peaseblossom about spending her legacy on the family’s fares to the United States. But it did not matter what John and Bee said; Peaseblossom had made up her mind. All her life she had wanted to travel. Up to that Wednesday in September it had been just dim wanting, but with the coming of the letter with the news of her legacy, she became like someone dying of thirst who sees water; nothing and nobody was going to stop her from having what she wanted. To every argument John and Bee put forward she had answers. Why should she save the money? What for? Why shouldn’t she spend it on the family? What fun would it be traveling alone? Besides, if she went anywhere alone, she would have to live in hotels, which would cost as much and more than all their fares put together, whereas staying with Aunt Cora, she would be living free. Yes, of course, she would be expected to work for her board and lodging, but who supposed she wanted to be idle a whole winter? Had anybody ever heard of her ever wanting to be idle? All right, if they must be so businesslike, the money spent on the family could be called a loan.
Rachel sat on a stool, hugging her knees and trying to look cheerful. It seemed to her that nobody was aware her career was at stake. Here she was, one of six picked to dance in a big London theater, and her fairly bursting with pride, was discussing whisking her off to the other end of the world. The firmer Peaseblossom’s arguments grew, the more miserable Rachel became and the more difficult she found it to look cheerful. Her lips kept dropping at the corners and had to be forced upward again. Toward the end of the argument, when it was clear Peaseblossom was winning, an enormous lump kept coming into her throat.
Just before suppertime Bee looked at John. She tried not to sound too pleased, eager and excited, but she did not succeed very well. She had not let John know how worried she had been since his accident, but she had been pretty desperate. Now it was as if a fairy had appeared and given her a wish and made it come true.
“Well, John, we seem to have produced every argument we can. If Peaseblossom really wants to spend her money like that, I think we ought to let her.”
John was beginning to get a little excited. Not gaily excited, as he used to be so easily before the accident, but more as if the fog of depression which covered him most days had been blown on by a wind and was less dense.
“Let’s accept for the moment that we’re using Peaseblossom’s money. What are we going to do about the children? There’s this offer of Jeremy Caulder’s; ought we to let Tim miss this chance?”
Rachel had to turn her head so that nobody should see her wipe her eyes. Tim indeed! The only thing that had happened to Tim was that somebody important had offered to give him lessons, while she had a professional engagement. Oh, it was too mean!
Tim had been playing an imaginary grand piano through most of the Peaseblossom argument. When the conversation turned to him, he took his hands off his imaginary keyboard and got up. He sat on the arm of John’s chair.
“That’ll be all right, Dad.”
John put an arm around him. “That’s what you say now, hut what are going to say to me in ten years’ time about the opportunity I’m letting you miss?”
Rachel had to turn her face away again and sweep some more tears out of her eyes. Opportunity Tim was missing! What about the opportunity she was missing?
Tim said, “I shan’t miss any opportunity. Mr. Brown told me he didn’t suppose Mr. Caulder would be in London much for a bit. Somebody in America can give me lessons while I’m there.”
John gave him a friendly shake. “Don’t you be smug, young man. Why should any American pianist want to be bothered with a little boy who’s going to be his pupil for only a few months?”
“And who would pay for the lessons even if we could find someone to teach you?” Bee broke in. “Peaseblossom’s money will mostly be used up, and we can’t expect Aunt Cora to do more than keep us.”
Tim refused to worry. “Mr. Brown won’t mind as long as I practice every day.”
Bee had suddenly seen Rachel’s face. “Oh, my goodness, she thought, “how mean of us all, forgetting Rachel’s great chance. But she mustn’t let her father see how disappointed she is, or he may refuse to go because of her.” She got up and went over to Rachel. She knelt by her and put her arms around her in such a way that Rachel’s face was against her shoulder and so hidden from everybody. Before she spoke, she whispered, “Be brave, darling. Don’t let Dad see how much you mind.” Out loud she said, “We’ve forgotten our ballerina. Will you mind not dancing in this show and missing your lessons for six months?”
Answering was the most difficult thing Rachel had ever done. Bee’s being so nice had broken her control, and she was really crying; but somehow she managed a fairly nonwobblish voice and said the only thing she could think of: “Foreign travel broadens the mind.”
Peaseblossom gave a quick look at what she could see of Rachel and broke in hurriedly. “Quite right, and a broadened mind helps all art. We’ll bring back better pupils for Madame Fidolia and Mr. Caulder. Now that everything’s settled, I’ll get supper. Jane, it’s your night to help.”
Jane had been sitting in a corner. She had Chewing-gum on the piece of sheet he had to sit on when his toilet was done. She had combed him and brushed him until he shone like silk; then she had lain down beside him and listened with half an ear to the arguments. When first Tim and then Rachel came into the discussion, she sat up. She hugged Chewing-gum against her. There they went as usual, talking, talking, talking about Rachel and Tim; nobody seemed to care what happened to her. Peaseblossom’s saying “everything’s settled” was the last straw. Jane’s voice was shrill with anger.
“I suppose it doesn’t interest anybody if Chewing-gum and I don’t want to go to America.”
br /> The three grown-ups laughed. Bee said, “I’m afraid not darling. It’ll be good for you.”’
Tim turned to his father. “Can Chewing-gum come? A boy at school’s poodle couldn’t go to Paris because he’d have been in quarantine when he came home.”
Bee caught her breath. Of course, Chewing-gum couldn’t go. She hadn’t thought of that. Oh, dear, surely Jane would not be difficult! She could not leave Rachel, who was crying quite badly, so she held out a hand to Jane.
“We ‘ll fix something very nice for Chewing-gum, but he can’t come because it’s the law that he must go into quarantine for six months when we get back, and he’d hate that, poor boy.”
Jane was appalled. No Chewing-gum! How could she go away and leave Chewing-gum? She got up and came into the middle of the room. She raged at them all.
“You can all go to America if you like, but I’m staying here. None of you seems to care what happens to Chewing-gum, but I do. Poor angel, you’d let him die in the snow and starve to death. All this talk about Rachel’s dancing and Tim’s piano, and nobody cares that they’re taking from me the only friend I ever had, the only person who really and truly loves me. Well, you can’t do it; I won’t go to America. I’ll chain myself and Chewing-gum to something so you can’t get us away. You’re beasts, all of you, to have thought of trying to do it. Beasts! Beasts! Beasts!”
Jane was wound up. She had lots more to say, but Peaseblossom felt they had heard more than enough. She went over to Jane and shook her. She raised her voice so it could be heard above Jane’s.
“That’s quite enough. California or no California, we mustn’t get slack or let discipline slip. It’s your night to help with supper.”
4
Preparations
Once it was certain they were going to California, the days seemed to rush by. From the Wednesday when it was decided they would go to the day they were to sail was really a fortnight, but to the children it did not feel a bit like fourteen days. To Bee and Peaseblossom, though, it was the busiest fortnight of their lives. Every day was a scramble to get into it everything that was planned.