Are all mothers and daughters as opposite as Mom and Gigi are, and Mom and I am, or is it only my mixed-up family?
I’m still wondering about this when we pull into the Hawthorne’s driveway. Everybody else is here already except for the Chadwicks, and they arrive right on our heels.
“Spring has sprung!” yodels Mrs. Chadwick, bounding into the living room dragging Becca behind her. Becca looks mortified. It’s been a really tough year for her. Her mother was pretty toned down in Washington last week, and we all thought maybe she was finally over the “it’s a whole new me” thing, but unfortunately she flew to New York a couple of days ago, and every time she goes down there with Stewart for a photo shoot at Flashlite, Wolfgang gets ahold of her and refuels her enthusiasm. I overheard Mrs. Sloane-Kinkaid talking to my mother and Gigi last week, and she’s beginning to suspect that Wolfgang is making a game out of talking Mrs. Chadwick into wearing outrageous stuff. She said she was going to call and have a word with him.
Tonight, Mrs. Chadwick is camouflaged from head to toe in blossoms. The fabric of her belted jumpsuit isn’t that bad, just kind of loud, a jumble of red and yellow and orange flowers that would be fine by themselves, but the problem is, when you put them with orange shoes that have three-dimensional leather flowers stitched to the top of the toes, and add huge dangly daisy earrings and spring green glasses, the effect is definitely over-the-top.
“My eyes hurt,” Cassidy whispers to Jess and me, and the three of us have to stifle our giggles.
Nobody else quite knows what to say, but that’s okay because Mrs. Chadwick has plenty, and for the next five minutes she keeps up a steady stream of chatter about the latest gossip at Flash magazine. Emma disappears to the kitchen, returning with a pitcher of lemonade and a plate of Congo Bars.
“Those look great,” says Mrs. Sloane-Kinkaid, taking one.
“Here, have another,” says Mrs. Bergson. “One for you, one for the baby.”
Cassidy’s mother laughs. She’s getting really big. She has gorgeous maternity clothes, though, including the cute black-and-white polka-dot shirt she’s wearing tonight. It’s loose and flowy but it doesn’t look like a tent, and it’s perfect with her black leggings.
After everybody helps themselves to snacks, Mrs. Hawthorne steers our discussion toward Jean Webster and Dear Enemy.
“Are you finding it a satisfying sequel to Daddy-Long-Legs?” she asks.
Jess shakes her head. “It’s good so far, and I like the grown-up Sallie McBride a lot, but I really missed Judy. I wish we could read her letters too, and not just Sallie’s.”
“I miss her too,” I agree.
“She’s still a character,” Emma points out. “It’s just that she’s offstage.”
“Kind of like me, at Colonial Academy,” says Jess, a bit wistfully.
“Yeah, and we miss you, too,” I tell her. She smiles at that.
“I like the McGurk,” says Cassidy. “She’s awesome.”
“The doctor’s crotchety housekeeper?” her mother replies.
“You would,” says Becca, sounding kind of crotchety herself.
“Chadwickius frenemus,” I hear Jess whisper to Emma. Becca doesn’t know about their secret nickname for her, but I do and I have to say it’s pretty much right on target.
We talk a bit about orphan reform, and how Judy’s former roommate Sallie is rising to the challenge of transforming the John Grier Home from a grim institution into a true home for the children who are living there.
“Did you know that when Daddy-Long-Legs became a best seller and a smash hit on Broadway, it had a huge impact on how this nation perceived orphans and orphanages?” says Mrs. Hawthorne. “Adoption rates shot up, and orphan asylums began to be inspected and regulated—it was really quite remarkable.”
“The pen is always mightier than the sword,” says Mrs. Bergson, shooting a glance at Emma and helping herself to another Congo Bar.
“Indeed,” agrees Mrs. Hawthorne. “Jean’s publisher even made dolls to sell—boys and girls in blue gingham—and donated the proceeds toward helping place orphans in families. Her books really paved the way for some substantive social reform.”
Mrs. Bergson reaches into the bag that’s sitting by her chair. “When I heard what we’d be discussing tonight, I thought you girls might be interested in seeing this,” she says, pulling out a girl doll dressed in blue gingham.
“Don’t tell me you actually have a Daddy-Long-Legs doll!” cries Mrs. Delaney.
Mrs. Bergson nods.
“I told you she was a hundred,” Cassidy whispers to Jess and me.
“It was my mother’s,” emphasizes Mrs. Bergson, who’s got really good hearing. She smiles, though, as she passes the doll to Cassidy.
Cassidy gives her a sheepish grin in return. She looks the doll over and then passes it to my grandmother, who instantly lifts the hem of the dress to look at the needlework, which is exactly what I do when it’s my turn. The blue gingham is faded, and the doll is a bit worn, but it’s like holding a little piece of history. The feeling reminds me of seeing the First Ladies exhibit at the Smithsonian, and I set it carefully on the coffee table when I’m done.
“Girls,” says Emma’s mother, fishing in her bag and pulling out a folder, “before I pass our handouts around, I have to explain that I’ve relabeled them for this month.”
I look down at the sheet that she passes to me and notice that the word “fun” is missing.
“You’ll understand why once you read them,” she adds, looking kind of somber.
FACTS ABOUT JEAN
1) In addition to voting rights for women, Jean Webster was passionately interested in many other social reform movements of her era, including orphans and orphan asylum reform, and prison reform.
2) On September 7, 1915, at the height of the success of the Daddy-Long-Legs stage play and just as Dear Enemy was published, Jean married Glenn Ford McKinney, the son of the president of Standard Oil Company.
3) The newlyweds embarked on a happy life at Tymor Farm in Dutchess County, New York.
4) On June 10, 1916, at 10:30 p.m., Jean gave birth to a much-longed-for baby daughter, Jean Webster McKinney.
5) At 7:30 a.m. the following morning, on June 11, Jean Webster died of complications from childbirth. The next day’s edition of the New York Sun listed a daughter of Glenn Ford McKinney among the birth announcements, and his wife Jean among the obituaries.
We all gasp as we read the last fact.
“What?!” cries Emma. “That can’t be true!”
“Afraid so, honey,” her mother says sadly.
“But it’s so unfair!” wails Jess. “It’s so, so—tragic.”
Becca and I both nod, and Cassidy crumples her handout in her fist.
“We moms had a long discussion about this,” says Mrs. Delaney. “We could have left that last piece of information out, but we decided that you girls should know what happened to Jean.”
“You’ve spent a lot of time with her this year, and you deserve to know how her story ended, even if it wasn’t a happy ending,” agrees my mother.
Mrs. Hawthorne pulls one more sheet of paper out of her bag. It’s a photocopy of another picture, this one of a man in a garden with a little girl. “I thought you might like to see this,” she says softly, laying it on the coffee table. “This is Jean’s husband, Glenn, with their daughter. He adored her, and she lived a long and happy life.”
“And Jean’s books have never been forgotten,” says Mrs. Sloane-Kinkaid.
We sit there in glum silence until we’re interrupted by a knock at the door. I turn and look out the living room window. There’s a black limousine in the driveway, and Savannah Sinclair is standing on the Hawthorne’s front steps.
“Uh-oh,” I mutter to Becca, and poke Cassidy and Jess with my toe. “Julia alert!”
The doorbell rings and Emma gets up to answer it. Jess follows her out of the room. Cassidy and Becca and I are right on their heels. “Um, I need to t
alk to Jess,” says Savannah, when Emma opens the door. She’s holding something behind her back.
Emma frowns. “How’d you know she was here?”
“I, uh, called her house and her dad said she was here at your book club meeting. He gave Briggs the directions.”
I flick a glance at the limo. I still can’t believe Jess is rooming with someone who has a chauffeur.
We all stand there eyeing each other.
“It’s kind of an emergency,” Savannah says finally.
“So what’s the problem?” Jess crosses her arms on her chest. She doesn’t sound like her usual friendly self at all.
Savannah holds up the something she’s been hiding behind her back. It’s a sports bag. “Mrs. Crandall found out,” she tells us, flicking a glance at Emma. “She saw me sneaking up to the attic and followed me. She hit the roof when she discovered what was going on, and said we had to get rid of it, tonight, or she’d call my father.”
Jess cuts her eyes over to Emma. “Uh, Emma, could you give us a minute here?”
Emma turns to leave and walks straight into her mother. “Have to get rid of what, girls?” she asks.
“Nothing,” says Savannah, whipping the bag behind her back again.
Mrs. Hawthorne puts her hands on her hips. “It doesn’t look like nothing,” which is universal mom-code for You are so busted.
Jess sighs. “I guess we’d better tell her.”
By now, the entire Mother-Daughter Book Club is crowded into the Hawthorne’s front hall. Reluctantly, Savannah hands the bag to Jess. Emma’s eyes widen when she sees that it’s wiggling. Jess sets the bag carefully on the floor, then unzips it.
Pip explodes out of the bag and races down the hall, his little paws scrabbling on the hardwood floor. Emma’s mouth drops open as Cassidy and Becca scramble after him.
“What is that?” her mother exclaims.
“Uh, it’s a puppy?” says Jess, as if there could be any question.
“Whose?” Mrs. Hawthorne demands.
“Emma’s,” Jess replies meekly.
Emma lets out a squeal, and Jess and Cassidy and I all nod at her, grinning hugely. Savannah still looks kind of unsure of herself. Becca grabs her cell phone out of her pocket and runs toward the kitchen.
“His name is Pip,” Jess tells Emma, as Cassidy scoops him up and places him into her arms.
“Pip!” she repeats softly, burying her nose in his fur. Pip laps at her face and barks happily. “It’s perfect. He’s perfect.”
“What’s going on?” says Mr. Hawthorne, coming out of his office to see what all the commotion’s about.
“They gave me a puppy,” Emma tells him joyfully.
Her father’s eyebrows just about shoot off his forehead. “Who gave you a puppy? What are you talking about?”
“It was supposed to be a birthday present,” Cassidy explains.
“Only the cat got out of the bag a little early,” Jess finishes lamely. “Or the puppy, I guess.”
“It’s from all of us,” I add.
Emma looks around at us, her eyes welling up with tears. “This is the very best present I’ve ever had in my entire life!”
Her father and mother exchange a glance.
“I think we’d all better go in the living room and sit down,” says Mrs. Hawthorne. “You too, Savannah.”
Melville takes one look at Pip and scuttles under the coffee table. Emma sits down on the sofa and we all cluster around her. Everyone’s attention is focused on the puppy.
“From the beginning now,” orders Mrs. Hawthorne. “Slowly.”
“Well, Pip was at the animal shelter when Savannah and I went to volunteer last month,” Jess begins. She turns to her mother. “Remember, Mom? That weekend she came over? Anyway, he only had a few days left before they were going to, to . . .” Her voice trails off, and she reaches out and places her hand protectively on Pip’s head. “Don’t you see?” she continues, her voice quivering with passion. “We just had to rescue him! He was like an orphan at the John Grier Home, only worse!”
“Jessica Delaney, don’t you dare try to justify this,” says her mother sternly. “This is real life, not a book!”
“But we couldn’t just leave him there to die!” wails Jess.
“They’d have found a home for him,” says my mother. “They always do.”
“No, they don’t,” says Savannah in a low voice. “Not always.”
Mrs. Hawthorne sighs. “So then what happened? This was a month ago, you say?”
Jess nods. “We’ve been taking turns keeping him hidden.”
“All of you?” says Mrs. Sloane-Kinkaid, incredulous.
I look down at the carpet. So does everyone else except Becca, who’s still in the kitchen. We can hear her muffled voice, talking to someone excitedly.
“He sleeps in a crate,” Jess explains. “So he’s really easy to take care of. I kept him up in the barn in our hangout over the weekends, and then on Sunday afternoon, when I went back to school, I put him in the duffel bag and rode him back on my bike.”
“There’s a luggage room in the attic of Witherspoon where they store our suitcases,” Savannah adds. “We put him up there overnight.”
“On Mondays I kept him in the turret,” says Cassidy.
“And on Tuesdays I hid him down in Gigi’s room,” I confess.
My mother’s head whips around to where my grandmother is sitting. “You knew about this, Mother?”
Gigi gestures at Pip. “Look at the poor little thing, Lily. Someone had to help him.”
My mother closes her eyes and shakes her head wearily.
“Zach Norton took him on Wednesdays,” says Jess.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” says Mrs. Delaney. “You dragged Zach into this too? Jess! What were you thinking?”
“Thank heavens my daughter wasn’t involved,” says Mrs. Chadwick, looking smug.
Becca, who has just come back into the room, turns bright red.
“Oh, really?” says Mrs. Hawthorne, eyeing her. “So where was Pip on Thursdays?”
Mrs. Chadwick turns and stares at Becca. “Rebecca Chadwick, you didn’t!”
Becca bites her lip. “We kept him in Stewart’s room.”
“Shame on the both of you!” her mother scolds, the flower over her left ear quivering in outrage. “Shame on all of you, in fact!”
Emma’s father and all of our mothers stare at us unhappily.
“Girls, this is a huge, huge deception!” says Mrs. Hawthorne.
“Huge!” echoes my mother.
“What I want to know is how you got the puppy from one house to another without anyone knowing,” says Mr. Hawthorne. “It’s pretty hard to hide something like a puppy.”
“Uh,” Jess hesitates. She looks down at the floor again.
“That would be me,” says Darcy Hawthorne, stepping into the room from where he must have been listening in the hall. “I drove him.”
“Darcy!” Mrs. Hawthorne looks shocked. “I can’t believe that you didn’t have better sense than to get involved in this harebrained scheme!”
Emma’s brother spreads out his fingers. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.” He looks over to where Emma is cradling Pip close to her. “I mean, look at him, Mom! He’s adorable! And Emma’s always wanted a puppy.”
There’s another knock at the door. Mr. Hawthorne goes to answer it this time, and reappears a moment later with Stewart and Zach Norton.
“What did we miss?” asks Stewart, with a worried glance at Emma.
“What you missed is that all of you are going to march down to the animal shelter right this minute and take Pip back,” Mrs. Hawthorne announces, rising to her feet.
“No!” gasps Emma. “Please, Mom, I can’t give him back!”
“Oh, yes you can,” her mother replies.
“But—”
“But nothing.” Mrs. Hawthorne turns to Emma’s father. “Nick?”
“Your mother and I are in total agreement
on this, Emma,” he says firmly. “We’ve said no puppy and we mean no puppy. Melville would never forgive us.”
The Hawthornes’ cat is still cowering under the coffee table, his green eyes fixed on Pip and his back arched rigidly.
“Girls,” says Mrs. Delaney gently, “I know you meant well, but you can’t just give somebody a puppy. Especially not when their parents have said no.”
“Can’t we take him back to Half Moon Farm with us then?” Jess pleads. “Please, Mom? We have plenty of room there!”
For a brief second hope blooms on Emma’s face, but it wilts as Mrs. Delaney shakes her head. “We just added another kitten, remember, honey? There’s a limit to how many animals we can feed and look after.”
I turn to my mother. “How about us? Could we take him?”
“Good idea,” says Gigi. “Megan needs company. Especially since she’s an only child.”
My mother shakes her head. “Out of the question.”
“Don’t even think about it, Becca,” says Mrs. Chadwick, as Becca opens her mouth to speak. “Yo-Yo is quite enough dog for one family.”
“Please, Mom?” begs Emma, making one last plea.
“No, Emma,” says her mother. “And that’s final.”
My friends and I all stare at Pip, stricken. Even Savannah has tears in her eyes, just like a real person and not the plastic mannequin she usually resembles.
Unaware of his fate, Pip is still perched happily in Emma’s lap, wagging his little tail so hard his whole bottom is wiggling. I blink back tears. This has been the worst book club meeting ever. First we find out about what happened to Jean Webster, and now this!
Pip licks Emma’s hand. She starts to sob. Her heart must be breaking, because I know mine is. And then a gentle voice speaks up from the back of the room. It’s Eva Bergson.
“Perhaps I can help.”
Emma
“They felt the thrill of the untried future, with Romance waiting around the corner.”
—Just Patty
“It’s going to be you for sure,” says Megan.
I glance around the cafeteria, hoping no one can overhear our conversation. “You really think so?” I ask, feeling my face start to heat up.