I shrugged. Somehow I just wasn’t that worried about him anymore. “They’ll catch him soon, I’m sure,” I said. I sat down with my bowl of cereal and picked up the second section of the paper so I could check on my horoscope (and Robert’s) while I ate.
After breakfast, I realized that I’d better hurry if I wanted to finish my chores at the Johanssens’ and still make it to school on time. I ran to the closet and grabbed my new coat. Then I couldn’t resist modeling it for my mom. (She’d seen it before — in fact, we bought it at Bellair’s with her employee discount.) “First day for the new coat!” I said.
“It really is a lovely one,” said my mom, reaching out to touch the furry trim. “You look gorgeous in it, too.”
“Thanks,” I said. I grabbed my shoulder bag. “See you tonight!”
I ran out the door and started to jog toward the Johanssens’, but after about half a block I was already way overheated. That coat was warm! I slowed down to a fast walk, and arrived a few minutes later.
The Johanssens’ newspaper was sitting on their front doormat. “We could stop delivery,” Dr. Johanssen had said, “but we’d rather not broadcast it around that we’re going to be away for so long.” That had made sense to me, and I’d promised to bring it inside first thing every morning.
I stood on the front porch, rummaging through my pockets again for that key. I expected to hear Carrot start barking any minute, the way he had the day before, but there was no noise from inside.
Suddenly, I felt a little nervous.
Maybe I’d relaxed too soon about that escaped prisoner. What if — what if he had ended up at the Johanssens’ the night before, and discovered that their empty house made a perfect hiding place? What if he was in there right now, waiting for me to walk in? What if he had done something horrible to Carrot?
Finally, I found the key. My hand shook as I put it into the keyhole and turned it. Then I pushed open the door. “Carrot?” I called. My voice came out all quavery.
There was no response.
“Carrot?” I called again, a little more loudly. I stepped to the left and peeked into the living room. No Carrot. I walked to my right and checked the dining room. Carrot was nowhere in sight.
I felt a shiver go down my spine, and pulled my coat closer around me.
“Carrot?” I called one more time. This time I was practically yelling.
From upstairs, I heard the sound of floorboards creaking. My heart started to pound, but before I became really frightened, I looked up the stairs and saw Carrot poking his nose around the bannister. He looked very sleepy.
In fact, he looked so much like a person who had just woken up that I had to giggle. “Sorry, Carrot,” I said. “Didn’t mean to wake you.” I’d totally forgotten what Dr. Johanssen had told me about Carrot always sleeping later than everybody else in the family.
Carrot came down the stairs a little stiffly. “Boy, am I glad to see you,” I told him, as he yawned and stretched. He sniffed my hand and wagged his tail.
“Looks like you were a good boy,” I said. “Were you good?” I walked with him through the downstairs, checking each room. There were no signs of misbehavior. No signs, that is, until I went into the kitchen for his leash and found a chewed-up piece of paper littering one corner of the floor. Carrot must have pulled an old envelope or something out of the wastebasket and had a little fun with it.
“Oh, Carrot,” I said in a scolding voice. I pointed to the paper. “Did you do that?”
Carrot put his head down and looked so ashamed that I felt sorry for him.
I picked up the paper and threw it away. Then I turned to Carrot. “It’s no big deal,” I said, patting him. “It’s okay.”
As soon as Carrot heard the word “okay,” he licked my hand and started to look happier. Then, when I picked up his leash, he looked really happy. In fact, he danced around so much I had trouble clipping the leash onto his collar.
Since I had to move fast if I wanted to be on time for homeroom, I took Carrot for a quick walk, fed him, gave him one last pat as he gobbled down his food, and left. I figured I’d spend some time playing with him that afternoon, when I returned after school.
* * *
As it turned out, Carrot had other ideas.
When I let myself back into the Johanssens’ house later that day, I discovered that Carrot had decided not to wait for me to play. It was obvious right away, the second I stepped inside, that Carrot had played by himself all day long. And from the looks of things, he’d had a pretty good time.
“Oh, Carrot,” I said, dismayed. The house was a mess. Bits and scraps of paper lay all over the floor. A small running shoe that must have been Charlotte’s sat in a soggy, chewed-up lump near the bottom of the stairs. And when I looked into the dining room, I saw chew marks all down one of the legs of the beautiful big table that takes up most of the room.
I heard doggy footsteps on the second floor, and looked up the stairs to see Carrot standing on the landing, giving me this pleading, guilty look and wagging his tail ever so slightly. “Bad dog, Carrot,” I said firmly. Carrot slunk away from the landing. I walked up the steps and found him under Mr. Johanssen’s desk, which sits at the top of the stairs. Carrot has a bed under that desk, because, as Dr. Johanssen told me, “he likes little cave-like spaces.”
I bent to look under the desk and saw that Carrot had brought even more chewed-up stuff onto his bed. It looked as if he’d torn into a whole box of tissues. “Carrot!” I said. He gave me that pleading look again.
“Oh, all right,” I said, crouching to pick up some of the scraps of tissue. “I know it’s only because you’re upset about them leaving. It’s okay.” It wasn’t exactly okay — I mean, it made me kind of nervous that he was carrying on that way — but I knew I had to reassure Carrot or he’d probably only do it again.
Once again, as soon as he heard the word “okay,” Carrot perked right up. He crawled out from under the desk and gave me a big, sloppy kiss. His mustache tickled so much I had to giggle.
“Okay, okay,” I said, sitting back on the floor with a thump as Carrot nuzzled me. Every time I said “okay,” he kissed me again. Soon I was laughing so hard I forgot to be mad, which was probably Carrot’s goal. Finally, I caught my breath and stood up. “Ready to go out?” I asked him.
Believe me, I have never had so many conversations with somebody who couldn’t talk back! But I was getting used to talking to Carrot, and he did always respond, in his own doggy way.
I spent a couple of hours at the Johanssens’ that afternoon, playing with Carrot and cleaning up the mess he’d made. And when it was time to go, I had a long talk with him about how he’d better be good or else he wouldn’t be getting any Milk-Bones. From the way he looked at me, I was pretty sure we had an understanding.
* * *
“… plus one of Charlotte’s shoes, and a whole box of tissues!” It was late that afternoon, and I was in Claud’s room for our Wednesday BSC meeting. I was telling my friends about Carrot’s escapades that day, and I had them all laughing. Like me, they’d been a little nervous about the escaped prisoner, so it felt good to laugh. By that time, of course, the whole thing did seem pretty funny.
Kristy had a few pointers for me on how to deal with a misbehaving dog (she’s used to this chewing thing, since she lives with a puppy), and Jessi suggested that I bring Carrot some special treats, “so he knows somebody still loves him.” I thanked them both, but I was pretty sure that Carrot wasn’t going to be that bad again. As I said, we had an understanding.
A little later on in the meeting, Kristy came up with yet another of her fabulous ideas. It was right after we’d arranged a whole series of jobs with some of our favorite clients. We had started to talk about how it would be nice to do something special for the kids around the holidays.
“But Hanukkah is already over — it was so early this year — and Christmas is only a few weeks away,” said Jessi. “How can we plan something with so little time?”
>
“I’ve got it!” said Kristy. “The sleigh ride! I mean, the hay ride! Oh, whatever. I mean, why don’t we take the kids on that ride? They’d love it!”
“Great idea,” said Mary Anne, right away. “And maybe afterward we could have a little party for them, in the barn at my house. You know, with refreshments and games and things.”
“I love it!” said Claudia. “Let’s make it a definite plan.”
That was it! The whole thing was decided in about ten seconds. I knew the kids would love the idea, including Charlotte; the date we picked meant she would be back in time to attend. Our party would be the perfect holiday treat for all our favorite kids.
Kristy was really disgusted with herself. If there’s one thing she hates, it’s breaking a promise she’s made to a kid. And thanks to her big mouth, she was facing the possibility of breaking a promise to a whole bunch of kids!
Here’s how it happened:
Kristy had a Thursday afternoon sitting job with the Arnold twins, Carolyn and Marilyn, who’re eight. They’re identical: both of them have brown hair and sparkling brown eyes. They used to dress alike, but lately they’ve developed separate styles which reflect their individuality. It used to be nearly impossible to tell them apart — unless you spotted the tiny mole under Marilyn’s right eye — but now it’s no problem at all.
Marilyn, who is a serious piano student, still has the “bowl” haircut that both twins used to have, only now it’s grown out a few inches. She wears simple, comfortable clothes most of the time.
Carolyn, on the other hand, is more like a junior version of Claud and me. She has a very stylish haircut (short in front, with longer curls down the back), and she loves trendy clothes and accessories. But she’s no airhead: she also loves science and is always involved in some project or other.
That afternoon, when she arrived at the Arnolds’ door, Kristy had a feeling there were lots of projects going on in that house, but that they weren’t exactly scientific ones.
Her first clue was the wreath on the door. Obviously handmade with loving care, it was a thing of beauty. Someone had used five different kinds of greens, interwoven them with red berries and gold pine cones, and topped the wreath off with a red velvet ribbon. As soon as Kristy saw it, she remembered what Christmas is like in the Arnold household.
Mrs. Arnold is one of those people who throws herself into the holiday season, and Marilyn and Carolyn love it, too. Their house is always fully decorated with lights (Mr. Arnold’s contribution), starting on the day after Thanksgiving. Then, during the time leading up to Christmas, the family continues to decorate the house to within an inch of its life.
There are snowflake stencils on the windows, and red and green candles on the mantelpiece, and always a gorgeous tree (dripping with handmade and store-bought ornaments) in the family room. Every side table in the house is covered with Christmas crafts, such as a nativity scene made from spools and fabric remnants, or a Frosty the Snowman made out of Styrofoam balls.
The house always smells like Christmas, too, since Mrs. Arnold makes it a point to turn out at least two batches of cookies a day. She gives them away to friends and to the mailman and the girl who delivers the paper.
In fact, when she greeted Kristy at the door that day, she was holding a large, round tin box decorated with a winter skating scene. “I wanted to be sure to give you these now,” she said, handing the box to Kristy, “so I don’t forget. They’re for you and your friends — just as a thank you for all the wonderful sitting you do.”
“Wow!” said Kristy, taking the tin and opening it up to look inside. “Thanks! There must be ten different kinds of cookies in here.”
“Well, I always like to try some new recipes,” said Mrs. Arnold. “But I love to make the traditional ones, too.”
“Like chocolate chip!” said Marilyn, appearing behind her mother.
“And don’t forget peanut butter,” added Carolyn. “Santa’s favorite.”
Marilyn grinned up at Kristy. “We know Santa’s just for little kids,” she said. “But we still like to leave cookies and milk out for him and the reindeer — just in case.”
“And the cookies always get eaten,” Carolyn added.
“Hmmm,” said Kristy, raising an eyebrow. “Very mysterious!”
Both girls giggled, and Mrs. Arnold smiled. “Well, I’m off,” she said, putting on her coat. “Why don’t you girls show Kristy our tree?”
The twins were so enthusiastic about the idea that they barely said good-bye to their mom. They each grabbed one of Kristy’s hands and dragged her down the hall.
“Close your eyes!” demanded Marilyn.
“We’ll tell you when to open them,” said Carolyn.
Kristy stood with her eyes shut tight and listened to a whispered conference as the twins decided which of them should plug in the lights and which of them should lead Kristy into the room. After a few seconds, Kristy felt someone tugging on her sleeve and pulling her into the family room.
“Okay!” cried both twins at once.
“Open your eyes,” added Carolyn.
Kristy opened her eyes. “Wow!” she said. She had been prepared to gush over the tree, since she knew how important it was to the girls, but as soon as she saw it she realized she wouldn’t have to pretend to be enthusiastic. The tree looked spectacular, like something out of a story book. It was tall and full, with long, bluish-green needles. And it was covered with hundreds of tiny, sparkling white lights, ropes of cranberries and popcorn, and beautiful ornaments — some that the family had made and some they’d collected over the years.
“It’s the best tree we’ve ever had,” said Carolyn.
“The biggest and the best,” echoed Marilyn.
“It’s really beautiful,” said Kristy. “You guys did a great job.”
“Mom and Dad did a lot of it, but we helped to string the popcorn and cranberries,” said Marilyn.
“Plus, we made some of the ornaments,” Marilyn added. “See this one?” She pointed to a satiny red ball with a motif of dancing musical notes running around the middle. “I made that in art class.”
“And I made this one,” said Carolyn, pointing to a neon-colored ornament that looked like something a rock star would wear as an earring.
“I love them both,” said Kristy. “You guys sure do like the holidays, don’t you?”
“Definitely,” said Marilyn.
“They’re the best,” said Carolyn.
“Then maybe you’d like to hear about the special holiday party my friends and I are planning for you and the other kids we sit for,” Kristy said teasingly. As soon as she said it, she told me later, she realized maybe she shouldn’t have. After all, plans for the party weren’t exactly finalized yet. But once the words were out of her mouth, it was too late to take them back.
“Party?” asked Carolyn, her eyes lighting up. “When?”
“What kind of party?” asked Marilyn eagerly.
“Well, it’ll be sometime in the next couple of weeks. Part of it will be outdoors,” said Kristy, “and part of it will be in Mary Anne’s barn. We’ll have food and games and things in the barn.”
“What about the outdoor part?” asked Carolyn.
“Well,” said Kristy, “that’s sort of a surprise.” She was hoping the girls might let the subject drop.
“Oh, please tell us,” said Marilyn. “Please.”
Kristy tried to keep from spilling the beans, but the twins were incredibly persistent. Finally, she broke down and told them about the sleigh ride. “Or it might be a hay ride,” Kristy added, “depending on the weather.”
But the twins didn’t seem to hear that part. As soon as they heard the words “sleigh ride,” they went nuts. “I always wanted to do that,” said Carolyn. “Just think, we’ll be riding along, skimming over the snow.”
“The bells on the horses will be jingling,” said Marilyn dreamily, “and we’ll be all wrapped up in cozy blankets, just like in a Laura Ingalls Wilder
book.”
“Well, we might not —” Kristy began, but the girls ignored her. They were too busy talking about how wonderful the sleigh ride would be. Kristy shook her head in dismay. The twins hadn’t paid attention to the fact that there would only be a sleigh ride if it snowed in time. And you can never be sure if there will be a white Christmas in Stoneybrook.
Kristy shrugged. She could already see there was no way to clue the twins in to the reality of the situation; they were too far gone with their Winter Wonderland fantasies. “Hey, how about some hot chocolate?” she asked, hoping to distract them.
“Great!” said Marilyn.
“With marshmallows?” asked Carolyn.
“Sure,” said Kristy. She headed for the kitchen to whip up the cocoa, leaving the twins in the family room discussing the sleigh ride. Kristy knew she should have kept her mouth shut about the party, but as she stirred up the hot chocolate she convinced herself that it wasn’t as if she’d told everybody. It was only the twins who knew, and only the twins who would end up disappointed if there were no snow.
“Here we go!” she said cheerfully, as she came back into the family room with two steaming mugs.
“Yum!” said Carolyn, taking one of the mugs.
“Where’s Marilyn?” asked Kristy.
“She went to find the Kuhns’ number,” said Carolyn. “They’re the only ones we haven’t called yet. We’ve told everybody else.”
“What?” asked Kristy. She had a sinking feeling in her stomach. (“Just like when you’re in an elevator and it zooms up about ten floors,” she told me later.)
Marilyn came back into the room waving a piece of paper. “Here it is!” she said. “Oh, thanks for the cocoa,” she added, picking up her cup.
“Um,” Kristy began. “When you said you told everyone, what exactly did you mean?”
“We told them about the sleigh ride!” Marilyn said. She was dialing the phone as she spoke.
“Told who?” asked Kristy. The sinking sensation hadn’t stopped. It was as if the elevator were on the hundredth floor and still climbing.