“Well, now, who likes ham and cheese sandwiches?” Nan asked as she turned toward the house.
“Me!” cried Albert and Marie.
Ellie, her arms full of bags, whistled for Kiss, and followed the others through the front door.
From the outside, Nan and Poppy’s little house was plain—dusty white with black shutters; a small front stoop, concrete crumbling; ragged rhododendron bushes under the front windows. But there was nothing plain about the inside.
“Ooh,” said Marie as she glanced around. From where they stood, crowded into the entryway, they could see nearly the entire downstairs of the house—to their right, a living room (a sign over the fireplace read BLESS THIS MESS), to their left, a sort of den (a small embroidered pillow hanging from the doorknob read FATHER), and ahead of them the kitchen.
Ellie thought it was the most cluttered, most cheerful home she had ever seen. An upright piano was smothered by crocheted doilies, music books piled on and under the bench. The couch was stacked with pillows that Ellie thought Nan might have made herself. The walls were covered with pictures and photos. In the FATHER room was an old desk awash in papers, and a shelf with books and copies of National Geographic spilling off of it. In the kitchen was an enormous table, a bench on each side, and in the corner was a table with a sewing machine on it.
“Just put your things down anywhere,” said Poppy.
“And come on into the kitchen,” added Nan.
“I think I’ll head upstairs,” said Doris. “I have to decide what to wear tomorrow.”
“Suit yourself,” said Poppy.
Ellie set the bags on the floor by the front door. “Can I help you?” she asked Nan and Poppy as she followed them into the kitchen. “By the way, you can call me Ellie. And Kiss is a she. Is she allowed in the house?”
“Anyone’s allowed in this house,” replied Nan. “Never need to ask. Just go ahead and make yourselves at home. Father, why don’t you show Albert and Marie the photo albums? Ellie, you help me.”
Nan insisted on making two sandwiches per person, even though Ellie assured her that she and Marie would eat only one each, and that Doris wouldn’t have any at all.
“Well, it never hurts to have extras,” Nan replied. “Somebody might need a midnight snack. Now everybody come on in here and eat so’s I have time to make us a good dinner.”
Ellie wondered what they were going to do for the rest of the afternoon, how the hours would be spent, what everyone would talk about. With Doris holed up in her old room, the Dingman children faced their grandparents on their own. But there wasn’t a single awkward moment. There wasn’t even a moment of quiet.
Nan talked nonstop during lunch. As soon as the dishes had been cleared away, she said, “Now, do any of you know how to play the piano?”
“I can play ‘Chopsticks,’” Marie said, and jumped up to demonstrate.
“Isn’t that wonderful,” Poppy said when Marie had finished, and Nan clapped her hands.
“I can play it fast, too,” said Marie, encouraged, and played it both twice as fast and twice as loud.
“Bravo!” called Nan.
“Say, are you a fisherman?” asked Poppy, turning to Albert, who was sitting quietly at the table. Albert looked, Ellie thought, not exactly sullen, but as though he hadn’t yet made up his mind about Nan and Poppy.
“No. I’ve never been fishing.” Albert raised his eyes hopefully. “Are you a fisherman?”
“Well now, well now, I’ll say I am,” Poppy replied. “I go fly-fishing, mostly. If you come out in the backyard with me, I’ll show you how to cast a rod.”
“Father,” said Nan. “The store?”
“Oh. The store. Well, how about if Albert and I go to the store first, and when we come back I’ll show him how to cast a rod?”
“That’s fine,” said Nan. “Now, you girls, I guess you know how to make Barbie clothes, don’t you?”
Ellie and Marie looked at each other. “Not really,” said Ellie.
“We can’t sew,” added Marie.
“My land,” said Nan. “Go on over there to that pile of scraps by the sewing machine.” She paused. “You do have Barbie dolls, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes. Two each,” Marie assured her.
“Good. Pick out some scraps and we’ll get to work as soon as I do a few things to start our dinner.”
By the time dinner was ready that night, Ellie and Marie had sewn skirts for their Barbies and baked a cake with Nan. Albert had practiced casting a fishing rod and had tossed a baseball back and forth with Poppy, even though it had been nearly dark outside.
“Ellie,” Marie whispered as they climbed the stairs to the tiny spare room under the eaves, “this is the best vacation I’ve ever been on.”
“Me, too,” agreed Albert. “Poppy is going to take me fishing for real tomorrow.” He looked at the room they were standing in. “Is this the attic?” he asked.
“I guess,” said Ellie. “I mean, I guess it used to be. Doris’s room and Nan and Poppy’s are downstairs.”
“Did you get to see Doris’s room yet?” Albert set his grocery bag on a cot.
Ellie shook her head. “She’s been closed in there all afternoon. We’ll knock on her door when we go downstairs for dinner. Here, Marie, you and I will share the other bed.”
Marie stood on her tiptoes and peered out a small window, but darkness had fallen. She turned around again. “I like this room,” she announced. “I like the whole house. I like Nan and Poppy.”
Ellie smiled at her. “So do I. Come on, you guys. Nan said dinner was just about ready. Let’s go find Doris.”
They left their things on the beds and ran back down the stairs.
“Doris?” called Ellie.
There was no answer. But Albert said, “Hey, this must be her room. There’s the hair dryer.”
Ellie peeked inside. “Wow,” she said. “It still looks like a kid lives in it.”
“Look at all the trophies,” said Albert. “What are they for?”
“I want to see them up close,” said Marie. “Do you think we can go inside?”
“Sure,” replied Ellie. “She said she thought we’d like to see her room, remember?”
Marie tiptoed through the doorway and peered up at a shelf. “‘Miss Teen Sunshine, nineteen forty-eight,’” she read, pointing to the writing on a gold cup. “‘Miss Baton, nineteen forty-seven.’ Ellie! Albert! Doris won beauty pageants or something! She has a million trophies!”
“Huh,” said Ellie, who thought the room looked very much like Holly’s, except for the trophies. On the white-painted bed were Doris’s old dolls and stuffed animals, and on the shelves were china figurines and a set of Nancy Drew books and a pink jewelry box with a twirling ballerina inside. “Isn’t it weird to think Doris was named Darlene when she lived in this room?” she added.
“Nan and Poppy still call her Darlene,” noted Albert.
“Ellie! Albert! Marie!” Nan’s voice floated up from downstairs. “Dinner!”
“Coming!” Ellie cried, and hurried her brother and sister from the room.
Dinner was served in the kitchen. Ellie plopped down next to Poppy and looked at the table. It was crowded with dishes—a roast and potatoes and green beans and salad and black olives and a basket of bread and a plate with a stick of butter on it.
“This is like Thanksgiving!” exclaimed Marie.
And Albert said simply, “Wow,” as he surveyed the table.
Doris glanced up sharply, then turned on a smile. “For heaven’s sake, anyone would think you kids had never seen food before. What they mean,” she said to her parents, “is that it’s so nice of you to put on this spread for us.”
“Well, this is just such a wonderful surprise,” said Nan. “Our only daughter and our only grandchildren, right here—”
“Does Susie Clinton still work at Gino’s? I think I’ll go look her up tonight,” Doris said.
“You mean you’re not going to visit with us???
? replied Poppy.
“Nan is going to make fudge and popcorn,” spoke up Marie.
“Well, how often do I get back to Baton, after all?” said Doris. “I have to see my old friends. They’ll just kill me if they find out I was here and didn’t even say hi.”
“Well now, well now,” said Poppy. He cleared his throat, lowered his head, and got busy buttering a potato.
After a little silence, Ellie said, “I haven’t seen the photo albums yet, Poppy. Can we look at them after dinner?”
Poppy offered her a wavery smile.
That night, Ellie, Albert, and Marie fell asleep in the room under the eaves. It was nearly eleven o’clock when they said good night to Nan and Poppy and climbed the stairs. Doris had not returned.
“We’ll see her in the morning,” said Ellie.
“Whatever,” replied Albert.
The next morning Ellie was awakened by dim light struggling through the narrow window over Albert’s bed and by the smell of toast and bacon and eggs and coffee. She rolled over lazily and looked at Marie asleep on her side, her back pressed against Ellie. Once, when Ellie had spent the night at Holly’s, she had awoken in a panic, unable to figure out where she was. There was a wall to her left that didn’t belong there, and a floaty canopy over her head, and the window was in the wrong spot. But when Ellie awoke at Nan and Poppy’s she was certain of where she was, certain she belonged there.
She glanced across the room at Albert, one arm slung over Kiss, who was stretched out next to him, and stood up to see out the window, but couldn’t without disturbing her brother. So she pulled her jacket on over her nightgown and for a moment sat on the edge of her bed, breathing in the smells of breakfast. Then she tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen.
Nan was stirring something in a pot on the stove, and Poppy was setting the table.
“Well now, well now,” said Poppy, smiling at Ellie. And Nan wrapped her in a tight hug.
Moments later, Albert, Marie, and Kiss thundered down the stairs and into the kitchen. “Good morning!” cried Marie as she plopped onto one of the benches.
“Morning,” replied Nan cheerfully, planting a kiss on her head.
“Did Doris come home last night?” asked Albert. He stood in the doorway, looking defiant.
“Yes, she did,” said Poppy. “Now come have some breakfast.”
The Dingman children and Kiss ate breakfast with their grandparents. Outside, a chilly rain was falling. It dripped down the windows and rushed through the gutters. Fog rolled in, so thick that Ellie couldn’t even see the house next door.
“I guess this means we can’t go fishing,” said Albert glumly.
“Not while it’s raining this hard,” Poppy replied. “Wouldn’t be much fun sitting out in the boat in this weather. But don’t mean we can’t stay home and do something else just as much fun. What do you know about magic, Albert?”
“Magic?”
“Rodney the Great came to our school once,” said Marie. “He did all kinds of tricks. He poured milk in his hat and then turned the hat over and the milk was gone. And he pulled a bunch of flowers out of his sleeve, and he made an egg disappear under a handkerchief.”
“Would you like to learn how to do some magic tricks?” asked Poppy.
“You can do magic?” said Albert.
“Just a little,” Poppy said modestly.
“Oh, he’s got a whole big box full of tricks in the den,” said Nan. “It’ll take him hours to show them to you. He puts on magic shows all the time. Where was the last one, Father?”
“Over at the nursing home.”
“Can you show me how to do the tricks?” asked Albert.
“Can I learn magic, too?” asked Marie.
“Sure thing,” said Poppy.
“Or you can help me bake a pie,” said Nan.
Ellie sat in her chair, sipping orange juice and thinking about the day ahead. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been so excited about a rainy day. Magic tricks, pies, Barbie clothes, that row of Nancy Drew books in Doris’s room.
“Yoo-hoo! Yoo-hoo, everybody!”
Ellie, her mind wrapped around the events of the day, turned slowly to see Doris descend the stairs into the living room.
“How do I look?” she asked. “Do I look like a Circus Girl?”
“You look beautiful,” said Marie.
“What’s a Circus Girl supposed to look like?” asked Albert.
“I’m not sure,” replied Doris, who, Ellie thought, was dressed in a slightly tamer outfit than usual. For her audition, she had chosen a tight-fitting green and white dress and green pumps. Perched on her hair, which Doris had teased into a poof that cascaded down the back of her head like a waterfall, was a small green Jackie Kennedy pillbox hat. “I guess I should look like a spokeswoman. I figure I’ll be standing around pointing things out and explaining them.”
“You mean like Amana refrigerators?” asked Marie.
“Well, no,” said Doris. “Like Circus Burgers. Or those clowns by the front doors. Or maybe where all the Circuses are on a big map of New York.” Doris posed next to the oven, moving one hand across it as if she were pointing out cities and towns.
“And Eleanor,” Doris continued, “I want you to come with me today.”
“To Magnolia?” squeaked Ellie. “To the audition?”
Doris nodded.
“But we were going to bake a pie, and Poppy’s going to show us his magic tricks—”
“I need you for formal support,” interrupted Doris. “Really. I don’t think I can do this without you. You’re my good-luck charm.”
“Aren’t I a good-luck charm?” asked Marie, dropping her chin into her hand.
“Oh, sure you are, hon,” replied Doris. “Eleanor is just older, that’s all.”
Marie scowled and Ellie said, “Doris, you’ve been on dozens of auditions without me. What do you need me for?”
“This is an important one. This isn’t for the wicked fairy in some little play at the community theater.”
“Or for the Spam Spread Girl,” spoke up Albert.
Doris shot him a look, but said, “Eleanor, this is the big time. This is television. This could be my break. Don’t you understand? You want me to get this, don’t you? Just think what it could mean.”
“Why, it could mean The Ed Sullivan Show,” said Albert, smirking.
Doris put one hand on her hip. “Albert, go to your room.”
“My room is in Spectacle.”
“Albert.”
Albert jumped up from the bench, cracked his knee on the table, and stomped out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
“Darlene, honey—” Nan started to say.
“Mother, I think I know how to handle my own kids. Eleanor, please be ready by ten-thirty. I want to make sure we get to Magnolia early.”
“Okay, Eleanor, we’re looking for number fourteen now,” said Doris. She steered the Buick slowly along the main street of Magnolia, peering through the windshield as the wipers lashed back and forth. “It’ll be on your side of the street. It’s called the Town Theater, or something.”
Ellie wiped fog from her window and tried to read the numbers over doorways. Finally she said, “There it is, Doris. Right there. The Little Town Theater.”
“All right. Now if I can just find a parking space.”
Ellie closed her eyes while Doris wrestled the car into a teeny space halfway down the block from the theater.
“Ready, hon?” said Doris as she turned off the ignition. “Let’s make a run for it.” Doris tied a plastic rain bonnet on her head and reached for the enormous black umbrella Nan had handed her as they left the house.
“Ready,” replied Ellie, who was shivering in her jacket. She hadn’t thought to pack a raincoat the day before.
Ellie and Doris sloshed along the sidewalk to the theater and hurried inside.
“Are you here for the audition?” asked a man sitting behind a card table that had been set up just inside the
door. He was slouched in a plastic chair, toying with a pencil. He didn’t glance up from the clipboard he was holding.
“Oh!” said Doris. “Yes! I don’t usually look like this.” She untied the rain bonnet, collapsed the umbrella, and handed both to Ellie. Then she patted her hair, feeling for the hat. “My! That is some weather. What a day for the audition. Are there many peo—”
“Name,” said the man.
“Mine?” said Doris.
“Unless the little girl is auditioning.”
“Oh. Um, Doris Day Dingman.”
“Doris … Day …,” he repeated. “Can you spell Dingman for me?”
Doris spelled it.
The man jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Go inside. You’re number sixteen,” he said, handing Doris a card with a large 16 printed on it. “Next,” he added as the door behind Ellie opened and two more women stepped inside, shaking out their umbrellas.
It was after twelve-thirty when the auditions began. Forty-two young women were lined up on the stage in the theater, each holding her number card. Ellie had stayed with Doris until a man (“The producer,” Doris had whispered) called the women to attention.
“Okay, go sit in the theater, Eleanor. You can watch from there,” said Doris. “Wish me luck!”
“Good luck,” said Ellie. “I’ll keep my fingers crossed.”
And so Ellie, still clutching the umbrella and Doris’s rain bonnet, had moved to a row near the back of the theater, a row she had all to herself. Only a handful of people were sitting in the theater, all in the first few rows, holding papers and looking important.
“All right, ladies!” said the producer, standing up suddenly. “As you know, we need to find a Circus Girl. She will be the spokeswoman in our TV ads, she’ll pose for print ads, and she’ll do any other publicity that might arise. We need someone who is poised, gracious, and well spoken, someone who can represent Circus, someone who says Circus is a cheerful, fun, friendly, and delicious place.
“When I call your number, please walk across the stage from one side to the other, return to the center, face the audience, state your name, and then read what’s written on the cue card.”