She rinsed the cake plate. “My cakes paid off the mortgage on this house—paid for my truck, too. I don’t deliver anymore, but my loyal customers still order from me and come to pick the cakes up.” She leaned toward me and whispered, “I’ll tell you my secret: sour cream.”
I blinked at her.
“In the cakes,” she explained. “My secret ingredient that makes them so moist and tasty is sour cream.”
When we finished cleaning the kitchen, Aunt Ethel showed me around the house. The tour of the downstairs wasn’t necessary because I had already run through every room, looking for doors to open. My bedroom was upstairs, next to Aunt Ethel’s.
After I put my things in my room, it took me thirty seconds to unpack. I’d brought jeans, shorts, T-shirts, socks, underwear, pajamas, an extra pair of shoes, and two sweatshirts in case it got cool. I left my books in the box.
“Are you hungry?” Aunt Ethel asked from the doorway. “Do you want a snack before you go to bed?”
The bat episode had taken away my appetite. “No, thanks,” I said. “I’m fine.”
“Good night, then. Help yourself if you get hungry in the night. I’ll leave a night-light burning in the bathroom.”
After I got in bed, I tried to read for a while, but my brain couldn’t concentrate. I turned off the light and lay there listening to the silence.
How am I going to survive this? I wondered. How can I spend the next eight weeks in the middle of nowhere with a crazy woman who drives down the middle of the road and shoots her gun in the kitchen?
CHAPTER TWO
As I stared into the dark, my thoughts drifted back three weeks to the day I found out I’d been selected for the summer baseball team. When I saw my name on the team list, I ran all the way home, eager to share my excitement. Mom might even quit fretting about being unemployed long enough to congratulate me.
I hadn’t told Mom and Steven I was trying out because I didn’t want to disappoint them if I didn’t make it. I knew they were concerned because I had not yet made friends after two months in my new school. Well, they could quit worrying. All my buddies back in Vermont were guys I’d met playing on baseball or basketball teams, and I knew that would happen in Minneapolis, too.
I bounded up the front steps, tossed my backpack on the hall table, and called, “I’m home!” To my surprise, both Mom and Steven answered. Why was Steven home so early? He never showed up until six-thirty or seven.
They sat at the kitchen table with maps and papers spread out in front of them. Steven, who works as an engineer for a road-building company, often travels for his job; I assumed the maps meant another business trip soon.
“Guess what!” I said. “I tried out for summer baseball, and I made the team!”
Mom looked stunned. “There’s a school baseball team during summer vacation?” she asked.
I stood in my batting stance, with an imaginary bat on my shoulder, then swung at the imaginary ball. “It’s only for kids going into seventh or eighth grade. Games start the first week of vacation, and we play three times a week through August.”
I expected applause. Instead, Mom looked at Steven, the hesitating kind of look that adults give each other when they know something that the kids don’t know and are deciding how to tell it.
I was too psyched to wonder what the look meant or to quit talking. “My first practice is tomorrow,” I said. “I’ll probably play right field.”
“Congratulations on making the team,” Steven said, “but . . .” He looked at Mom, as if hoping she would finish the sentence.
“But what?” I sensed something was terribly wrong, though I couldn’t imagine what.
“I’m sorry, Josh,” Mom said. “You can’t be on the team.”
“Why not?”
“Steven’s being sent to India for two months,” Mom said. “You won’t be here this summer.”
“India!”
I felt as if a vacuum had been switched on somewhere deep inside me, sucking all the happiness out. I slumped onto a chair.
“Making this team is the best thing that’s happened to me since I left Vermont,” I said. “You want me to participate in school activities; you want me to make friends here. Well, the summer baseball team is my chance to do that.”
“I didn’t ask for this assignment,” Steven said, “and I wish it had come at a different time, but I have to take it. I’m the only engineer in my company who’s qualified for this job.”
I looked at Mom. “Why do we have to go with him?” I asked. “Why can’t we stay here?”
“Steven’s boss has hired me as Steven’s assistant for the summer,” Mom said. “I’ll type up all the reports, handle e-mail, and take care of the daily arrangements. It’s a temporary job, but it will get my foot in the door and give me a local reference.”
“What about me?” I asked. “What am I supposed to do all day while the two of you build roads and type reports?”
“You’re going to have a wonderful summer,” Mom said.
“In a hotel room in India? Don’t count on it.”
“You aren’t going to India with us,” Steven said. “You’ll spend the summer in Washington State with my Aunt Ethel.”
“Your aunt!” I leaned toward Steven. “I don’t even know her.”
“You’ll like her. She has a big house out in the country—fifty acres, I think. There’s a tree house in the woods and wild blackberries to pick. I used to visit her and Aunt Florence every summer when I was a kid.”
“I know you’re disappointed about the baseball team,” Mom said, “and I’m sorry you can’t be on it, but you’ll have other years to play baseball. This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance for Steven and me.”
I looked at the pile of maps, lists, and books about India. “How long have you known about this?” I asked.
“Steven learned about the India assignment last week,” Mom said.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“We wanted to wait until we knew if I’d be going, too. We found out today that I got the assistant job. If I hadn’t been hired, I would have stayed home this summer and continued to look for work here.”
“Maybe Steven’s aunt has other plans for the summer. Maybe she’s going on a trip herself.”
“Aunt Ethel doesn’t travel anymore,” Steven said.
I envisioned a frail old woman in a rocking chair.
I left the house, got my bike out of the garage, and rode off, pedaling as hard as I could. Anger formed a hard knot in my chest. Why should I get shipped off to spend the summer with an elderly woman I’d never met?
I didn’t blame Steven; I blamed Mom. Steven had to go where his company sent him, but Mom had a choice. She could stay home this summer if she wanted to. She could look for a job here and let me play summer baseball.
I rode until my legs ached and ribbons of sweat rolled down my face. When I returned home, I went straight upstairs, got in the shower, and let the water pour over my head, wishing it could wash away my problems. I was sorry I’d made the team. If I had been cut, I would’ve been glad to leave town for the summer.
I dressed and sat on my bed, still fuming. There was a knock on the bedroom door.
“May I come in?” Mom asked.
I sighed.
“Josh, we need to talk.”
“Okay, okay. Come in.”
Mom sat beside me. “I’ve tried hard to find a job here,” she said. “I’m registered with several employment agencies, I read the Help Wanted ads every day, and I’ve sent out dozens of applications and résumés. I wish I had found work but I haven’t, and we need the money. This is my chance to contribute to our income, and it might lead to a permanent job. Please try to understand.”
I stared at my shoes. I understood why Mom wanted to go, but that didn’t help me any.
“Why do I have to go live with a stranger?” I said. “If I can’t stay here, why can’t I go back to Vermont where my friends are and spend the summer with Gramma?”
/>
“Gramma’s having hip surgery the first of June,” Mom said. “She’ll be laid up much of the summer.”
“I could take care of her.”
“She’ll need help bathing and dressing for a while. Aunt Marian is going to stay with her.”
There was no sense arguing. With Mom’s sister in Gramma’s spare bedroom, there wasn’t any place for me. I knew I couldn’t stay with my dad, either. He’s in the Army, so my visits with him are restricted to when he’s on leave. My summer in Washington was a done deal, and I could do nothing to change it.
I wondered what Steven’s aunt was like. What if Aunt Ethel was an old fuddy-duddy who expected me to have perfect manners and listen to opera and wear a necktie? She didn’t travel, which meant she wasn’t adventuresome. I figured I’d be bored out of my mind.
Now, lying in bed on my first night in Aunt Ethel’s house, I knew I’d been wrong about that. Aunt Ethel was definitely not boring.
Mom had packed paper and pens, as well as envelopes, already stamped and addressed. The last thing she had said to me was “Be sure to write!”
I had not expected to write often because I didn’t think there would be anything interesting to report. Now I clicked the light on, found my notebook and pen, and wrote a letter.
June 15
Dear Mom and Steven,
Did you know that a bullet makes a whizzing sound as it flies past your head? I found that out in person, and I hope I never hear the sound again.
When Aunt Ethel and I got home tonight, we saw a bat flying around in the house. Aunt Ethel does not like bats, so she got out a shotgun and chased after it. I told her not to kill it, but she pulled the trigger anyway. I’m glad I wasn’t standing any closer. My ears rang for an hour.
She hit the bat, and it fell down behind a cupboard. We couldn’t get it out, so now it’s rotting back there.
Aunt Ethel baked a cake for me, but we had to throw it out because it had bat blood all over it.
Your nervous son,
Josh
P.S. I can’t wear a seat belt because Aunt Ethel’s truck doesn’t have them. It doesn’t matter; the way Aunt Ethel drives, even a seat belt won’t save me.
I knew that bat blood, bullets, and no seat belts would give Mom fits, but I didn’t care. She’s the one who had made me come here.
I fell asleep hoping the hotel in India was full of spiders.
CHAPTER THREE
I awoke to a horrible scream. Heart pounding, I jumped out of bed and rushed to the window, certain I would see either Aunt Ethel’s murderer making his getaway or a scene fit for National Geographic, where a cougar catches an antelope and dismembers it.
Early sunlight filtered through the forest; the trees stretched calmly into the distance. I saw no murderer. No cougar. Except for a few birds fluttering between the trees, there was no movement of any kind.
The scream sounded again. It pierced the morning air, even more shrill than when Aunt Ethel first saw the bat. This time I realized it came from the front side of the house, outside the living room.
I pulled on shorts and a sweatshirt, then ran downstairs. Aunt Ethel stood in the kitchen, calmly stirring something in a big pot on the stove. It smelled like spaghetti sauce.
“What’s happening?” I asked. “Who’s screaming?”
“Oh, that’s Florence. I should have warned you. I’m so used to her, I never gave it a thought.”
Speechless, I looked at my hostess, who wore the same pink dress she’d had on the night before. I decided I was right about it being her nightgown.
I went to the living room and cautiously peeked out a window.
A large peacock perched on the front-porch rail, its turquoise feathers shimmering in the sunlight. Gray glops the size of silver dollars dotted the porch floor beneath the rail. Yuck. Seeing them made me uneasy. Compared to this peacock mess, bat droppings were practically invisible. I hoped Aunt Ethel didn’t get out her gun.
As I watched the peacock, it called out again.
I had never before heard a peacock cry. How could something so beautiful make such a shrill, ugly noise? It sounded as if it were being tortured, but there it sat, calm as you please, on the porch rail.
Aunt Ethel strode toward the door, motioning for me to follow her. She stepped out to the porch, set a pan of cracked corn on the porch floor, and said, “Good morning, Florence.” The peacock hopped down and began to eat.
I edged out the door to watch, being careful where I put my bare feet.
“This is our great-nephew, Josh McDowell,” Aunt Ethel told the bird. “His stepdad is Will’s boy, Steven. Josh will be staying with us for the summer, the way Steven used to.”
The crown of feathers on the bird’s head bobbed up and down as he pecked at the corn.
Aunt Ethel smiled at me. “This is your Aunt Florence,” she said. “My sister.”
The peacock continued its breakfast.
“Your—sister?” I waited for Aunt Ethel to explain.
“Florence was three years older than I,” Aunt Ethel said. “We were the youngest and the only girls in a family of six children, so we were always close. Since neither of us married, we lived together here in the family home after our parents were gone. My brothers are gone now, too. Florence loved birds, and she told me many times that after she died, she planned to come back as a peacock, the most beautiful bird of all.”
A chill shivered up the back of my neck. I vaguely remembered Steven mentioning that there used to be an Aunt Florence on his long-ago summer visits.
“Florence passed away last January,” Aunt Ethel said. “In March, I woke one morning to find a peacock on my porch, and Florence has been here ever since.”
“Isn’t this a male bird?” I asked. “I thought only the males had those bright tail feathers.”
“You’re right,” Aunt Ethel said. “Only the males are peacocks; the females are peahens. The males have the long, beautiful feathers, called trains. Some of Florence’s train feathers are nearly six feet long!”
“They’re beautiful,” I said. “The spots on them look like eyes.”
As if he knew we were admiring him, the peacock spread his train into a huge fan and strutted around the porch.
“If I were going to return as a peafowl, I’d be a male,” Aunt Ethel said. “Wouldn’t you?”
“I guess so.”
“All right, then,” Aunt Ethel said, as if that ended the matter.
I wondered whether Aunt Ethel had ever advertised that she’d found a peacock. This bird seemed tame; it must be a lost pet. Someone had probably been looking for their peacock for the last three months.
I didn’t ask because I knew Aunt Ethel wanted to believe the peacock was her sister. I wondered if Mom and Steven knew about the peacock. I was pretty sure they didn’t, and I could hardly wait to tell them.
I began planning a second letter. I’d say I wasn’t sure if Aunt Ethel belonged to some odd religious cult or if she was plain losing her marbles.
“Are you ready for breakfast?”
“Sure.” I was always ready for breakfast.
“We have a special treat today from my friend’s garden: young peas, still in the pod. Florence and I used to stand in the garden and eat peas as soon as we picked them. That’s how they’re best, uncooked. I can’t keep up a garden anymore, but my friend, Muriel, knows how I love fresh peas so she brought these yesterday.”
Raw peas? For breakfast? Oh, great, I thought. She’s a health food nut. I’ll eat nothing but Brussels sprouts and cauliflower all summer and go home so malnourished I’ll never be able to lift a baseball bat again.
I followed Aunt Ethel to the kitchen.
“I hope you like spaghetti,” she said. “It’s too much trouble to make only for myself.”
“I love spaghetti, but I’ve never had it for breakfast.”
“One of the good things about living alone,” Aunt Ethel said, “is that I can eat whatever I want, anytime I want it. Spaghett
i is one of my favorite breakfasts.”
She handed me a plate. A pile of raw peas, still in the pods, rose beside the spaghetti and meat sauce. “I eat fresh fruit or veggies with every meal,” Aunt Ethel said. “That’s the secret of my long life. Raw vegetables and fruits are packed with nutrients.”
I knew she was probably right, but if I could eat anything I wanted at any time, I wouldn’t choose raw peas for breakfast.
Aunt Ethel picked up a pea pod, held it lengthwise between her thumb and forefinger, and pressed until the pod made a snap sound. It split open, revealing a row of green peas. Using her thumb, Aunt Ethel pushed the peas into her palm, then popped them in her mouth.
I picked up a pea pod and snapped it open. I put one of the peas in my mouth. I’d never eaten a raw pea before; it was crunchy and sweet.
“It’s good,” I said. I emptied the pod and ate the peas.
Aunt Ethel beamed. “Do you want Parmesan on your spaghetti?”
Nodding, I reached for a shaker of Parmesan cheese.
Aunt Ethel split another pea pod, expertly sliding the peas into her palm. “What are your plans for the day?”
I knew what I wished I could do that day: go to baseball practice, hang out with some of the guys afterward, maybe rent a movie. Longing for home brought a lump to my throat.
I looked down at my plate. “I don’t know. What did you do in the summertime when you were my age?” I asked.
“Florence and I weeded the garden and helped with the canning. If we had any free time, we played in our tree house.”
“Steven mentioned the tree house. Is it still there?”
“As far as I know, it is. I haven’t walked in the woods for years, but if it stood up to all of us children, plus those in the second generation, it’s probably still standing. Florence and I called it our deer-watching station. We made a pact not to talk while we were there until after we’d seen at least one deer. We used to take picnic lunches until Florence decided the tree house was haunted. Then she refused to go there anymore, and it wasn’t fun to look for deer alone, so I quit going, too.”