When she finally woke back up that afternoon, Asimov was at the bottom of the bed, heavily asleep on her feet, and her father was in a chair beside her with an Agatha Christie mystery, the kind he read whenever he needed to relax.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
How did she feel? Something was strange. Oh! Her stomach didn’t hurt anymore.
“I feel good,” she said.
“Hungry?”
“Yes, hungry.”
“Excellent news. Stay right here.” Mr. Penderwick left, and shouted down the steps. “Iantha, she’s awake and wants food!”
Iantha soon arrived with a tray full of food: a cheese-and-tomato sandwich, an apple, a glass of lemonade, and a bowl of chocolate mint ice cream.
“I know it’s too much,” she said. “But I wasn’t sure what you’d want.”
“Thank you, it looks good.” Batty took a bite of the sandwich. “You’re not going to both stare at me while I eat, are you?”
“Maybe,” answered her dad.
“We’re just so glad to have you awake.”
“And not crying,” said Batty. “I’m sorry.”
“Shh, shh,” said her father. “You’ve done nothing wrong. It’s I who should be fired from parenthood. But eat up first, and then we’ll talk.”
“Can you stand a few more visitors?” asked Iantha. “Ben and Lydia have been waiting for you to wake up.”
When she brought in Ben and Lydia, they were holding hands and staring solemnly at their sister. Lydia had brought Baby Zingo along, whose striped ridiculousness suddenly made Batty very happy. After all, it was nice to be alive and in this particular family.
“I helped get rid of Oliver,” said Ben. “It was really cool.”
“I know,” answered Batty. “You did great.”
“Are you going to eat all that ice cream?”
Batty handed over her spoon and let him dig in.
“Lydia has some big news for you, Batty,” said Iantha. “Tell her, Lydia.”
“Goldie put Frank in a box.”
“Not that news. Tell Batty what you just told me about the big-girl bed.”
Lydia put on her I-don’t-care-about-that-right-now face. “I want ice cream.”
“Whoa!” said Batty. “She said—”
Her father interrupted. “Ego. We know. We’re trying not to make a fuss, afraid we’ll cause her to revert to the third person for the rest of her life.”
“But there’s more,” said Iantha. “A few minutes ago, she said ‘I want to sleep in the big-girl bed tonight.’ ”
“I want ice cream,” repeated Lydia, since they were missing the important points of the conversation.
“And you’ll sleep in your big-girl bed tonight?” asked Batty.
But Lydia and Baby Zingo were already heading out on the hunt for ice cream, so Iantha gave Batty a kiss and went after them. Ben lingered for one last question.
“You’re sure you don’t have sleeping sickness?” he whispered.
“Positive!” Batty grabbed back her spoon. “And go get your own ice cream.”
“Where did he get this idea about sleeping sickness?” Mr. Penderwick asked when Ben was gone.
“Rafael.”
“Ah, yes, Rafael. I should have known.”
When she’d eaten all she could, she set the tray aside.
“Good girl,” said her father. “Now I have a lot to explain, something I should have done a long time ago. Do you feel well enough to listen or do you want to rest more?”
“You don’t have to explain, Daddy.” She didn’t think she could stand hearing the details of how she’d killed her mother. Not just when she was starting to feel better. “I understand everything.”
“But you don’t understand,” he said. “And neither did Skye.”
“Skye?” She picked up both Funty and Gibson, settling them in with her for company.
“We’ve managed to put it together, you see, through hints you gave us while you were … upset, and some detective work. It seems that you overheard a conversation between Skye and Jeffrey on her birthday? Is that true?”
“I didn’t mean to.” She felt her eyes well up. “I know it was my fault for eavesdropping.”
“Maybe or maybe not. As a rule, I don’t recommend eavesdropping, but it turns out that good has come out of this.”
Batty shook her head no. Although she didn’t like disagreeing with her father, no good had come, only guilt and sorrow.
“In that conversation, Skye suggested that you’re alive because your mother sacrificed herself by not treating her cancer. That she died to save you. Is that what you heard and what you believe?”
“Yes, Daddy. I’m so sorry. I’m so—”
He put his finger on her lips to shush her. “No more apologizing. Now I just need you to listen for a little bit. Can you do that?”
“I think so.”
“Good. Your mother and I—” He took his glasses off, cleaned them, and put them back on. “It might be easier for me to tell this as a story. Okay?”
Batty nodded, and he began again.
“Once there was a man named—well, me—and a woman named Elizabeth, but mostly we called her Lizzy, and they fell deeply in love and got married. They both wanted children, and Lizzy wanted four of them. We also wanted the children to be close in age. I’m three years older than your aunt Claire, not all that far apart, but still we didn’t always get along when we were kids. Once I tried to give her away to the people who lived two doors down. Did I ever tell you that story? No? There’s way too much I haven’t told you.” He took Batty’s hand, kissed it, then kept hold of it. “Lizzy and I planned on having four children, one every two years, but when Skye showed up so soon after Rosalind, we decided we might as well just keep going, and then there was Jane. Three healthy, delightful babies, all in a row, and we were certain that the fourth would be along soon to join them. But when she didn’t come and didn’t come, we decided to be content with our three. And we were content, for more than five years, until—it seemed almost miraculous at the time—Lizzy discovered that she was pregnant again.”
“With me.” The hard part of the story was coming up.
“Yes, you. And we were very excited and happy.”
“But you didn’t know Mommy was sick yet, right?”
“No, but we found out soon—that is, her doctor discovered it during an exam.”
“And that’s when—”
“Shh. This is where you have to listen carefully, because this is where Skye was confused. She and I had a good, long talk—though I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself for letting her get confused in the first place and stay that way for so many years. I talked it through with Rosalind and Jane, too, and it turns out that somehow they understood—but Skye, well, children can get things wrong, can’t they? I should have been paying more attention.” He sat quietly, looking out the window, before going back to his tale. “After the cancer was discovered, we took Lizzy to many doctors and got many opinions, but the consensus—I should say, the hope—was that the pregnancy could outrace the cancer, maybe even slow it down. That the cancer could still be treatable after you were born.”
“Oh!”
“Yes. Are you starting to understand?”
“Then Mommy didn’t …”
“She didn’t decide to trade her life for yours, no. It wasn’t the way Skye saw it, poor kid—she was only seven at the time, remember. No, it wasn’t so black-and-white. We knew that waiting until you were born before treating the cancer would be a gamble, but it was a gamble Lizzy needed to take. She already loved you, you see.”
“But she lost.” Batty clung to her father’s hand, to his strength. “She lost the gamble and died. Skye was right. She did sacrifice herself.”
“You must believe me, Batty—if Lizzy had been given the chance to do it again, she’d have made the same decision, taken the same risk, over and over until the end of time. She told me so, the day you were
born.”
Batty had to turn away from her father now, unwilling to watch him as she asked what she most needed to know. “Didn’t you mind, though? Didn’t you resent me?”
“Resent you? I railed against fate, and cancer, and the universe.… Look at me, sweetheart. That’s better. No, I never once for an instant resented you. You were a gift, a part of your mother left behind. You must understand that there are never guarantees with a disease like cancer. Lizzy could have undergone every treatment available and still died. And then we wouldn’t have had you, either.”
Again Batty turned away from him, but this time it was to cry in her pillow for a while. They were not misery tears but ones of relief, and her father stayed with her, keeping hold of her hand until she was done.
“Thank you, Daddy,” she said, sniffing but smiling.
“You’re welcome, daughter of mine. Now, your birthday is tomorrow. I know you’ve been reluctant, shall we say, to discuss your party.”
“Reluctant?” She had to smile even more at that understatement.
“Yes, well, I think I understand now what was going on. What do you think about making it a joint party for Nick, because of his going away tomorrow night? Would you like that?”
“I would like that very much.”
“You’ve forgiven him for taking you off the bus?”
“Yes, Daddy. Maybe I’ve grown up a little since then.”
“Humph. We can hope.”
She stuck out her tongue at him.
“Despite that attractive face you’re making, I’m sure Jane and Rosalind want to see you, too, so I’ll send them in soon. Skye has gone over to Molly’s house for the rest of the day—she said she needed to get away to think, and it might take her a while to work this out for herself. By the way, she also knows that you were trying to get to Boston and Jeffrey when you boarded that bus.”
“Did Ben—”
“He didn’t give up your secret, though I have the feeling your sisters tried to force it out of him. No, I made an educated guess, and I’m embarrassed at how long it took me to get there.”
“Is Skye angry that I tried to get to Jeffrey?”
“I don’t think so. She needs to think about that, too—how banning him affects the rest of us. You know, Lizzy told me that Skye would have the most trouble coping with her death. Maybe because the two of them were so much alike, with their crazy, stubborn—” He broke off and smiled at Batty. “But you inherited your mother’s love of music. You know that, right? She always said that if she could be anything in the world, she would choose opera singer. Not that she had the voice—it was sweet but not strong, and not always quite on key, either—but she loved singing, anyway. She sang to you in the hospital, whenever she had the strength.”
“Maybe I remember,” said Batty, tucking away this nugget of information to marvel at later.
“Maybe you do.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Ready for some more company?”
When he’d gone for Rosalind and Jane, Batty got out of bed, eager to try something now, in these few moments when she was alone. Standing up straight, she took several deep breaths, and several more for luck—then tried to sing.
A croak. It was still an ugly croak.
“Can we come in?” called Rosalind from the hall.
Batty got back into bed and made sure she was smiling before saying yes.
BY MID-MORNING ON BATTY’S BIRTHDAY, her room was buzzing with activity. Jane had taken over the desk with her computer, typing as Batty arduously composed book reports out loud. Ben was standing guard by the door to keep parents from entering unannounced and discovering the book report scheme, though truly there was nothing dishonorable about it. Lydia was dancing to Camelot, which Batty had put on the record player just for her. And Keiko was there, too, in better shape than when she’d first arrived. Then, seeing Batty glowing and healthy had sent Keiko into tears of relief that bedewed the flaxseed pumpkin brownies she’d brought along. Ben ate them anyway, tears and too much flaxseed and all.
“Batty, anything else on this one?” asked Jane, who could type book reports more quickly than Batty could think about them. “Here’s your last sentence: ‘The Dragonfly Pool ends, like all of Eva Ibbotson’s books, with hope, and with one of the most comforting words in the English language: home.’ ”
“No, that’s the end, but didn’t I say ‘one of the nicest words in the universe’?” protested Batty. “Don’t edit, Jane. Ms. Rho will know I didn’t write it.”
“Sorry, bad habit. We’re on a roll—go find another book.” They’d finished six reports so far, and Jane was determined to get as close to ten as they could. “Though it could be fun to do a report on a made-up book. Let’s say … Ella and Her Uncle, which could be about a girl whose uncle is some kind of animal. A kangaroo, maybe? And she should have a younger sister. ‘Clara,’ that’s a good name. What do you think, Batty?”
“No, no, and no,” said Batty, inspecting her bookshelves.
In the midst of all this, Keiko was getting caught up on the recent romantic dramas. Jane had already told her about Jérôme—he and Lauren were now officially a couple—and had moved on to, as Jane dubbed it, the Ouster of Oliver the Oaf.
“So then Oliver said …,” prompted Keiko.
“Then Oliver said ‘You’d be a fool to cast me aside, Rosalind. I can take you away from your vulgar family, they who drive the vulgar Flashvan and know nothing of the art of film.’ ”
“You don’t know what he said, Jane,” protested Ben from his position by the door. “You weren’t there.”
“I’m sure it’s what he was thinking,” said Jane. “Lydia, stop bumping into me.”
“Tra-la, la-la, la-la-la-la-la-la,” sang Lydia along to Camelot. By now she’d bumped into everyone in the room, thinking it part of the joy of dancing.
Someone on the other side of the door was knocking out the secret code they’d established. Bang, bang, tap, tap, bang, bang, tap.
“Who’s there?” asked Ben.
“Me, Rosalind. Let me in, let me in.” She sounded terribly excited, and when Ben opened the door, she almost fell into the room.
“Guess who’s come home! Tommy!”
“To win you back, right?” cried Jane.
“I don’t know! Iantha’s gone across the street to see him.” Rosalind ran out again.
Ben tried to follow her because he was dying to see Tommy, and Keiko tried to follow him because this was an amazing opportunity for research, and Batty wanted to follow both of them, because it was exciting to see Rosalind so excited, but Lydia got in the way, and several people fell onto the floor. And, anyway, Jane had closed the door to keep them all where they were.
“Slow down, everybody,” said Jane. “Let’s wait to see what Iantha finds out. Batty, next book.”
“We can’t think about book reports with possible love reunions going on!” cried Keiko.
“Next book,” repeated Jane firmly, setting Lydia upright, then going back to the desk to type.
“Cosmic.” Batty decided to stay on the floor to avoid being knocked over again.
“Excellent choice. We love Frank Cottrell Boyce,” said Jane, typing. “I’m ready. Go.”
“Cosmic is a funny book—”
“Touching and uproariously funny,” said Jane.
“Stop it!” protested Batty. “Cosmic is a funny book about what happens when you get what you think you want, in this case, going into space. Um …”
Jane typed, then turned back to Keiko. “So Rosalind, naturally furious and offended, said to Oliver ‘How dare you criticize my family, you snotty snob who isn’t as smart as he thinks he is. Go from here and never again darken our door, for I have always loved but one man, and his name is Sir Thomas Geiger of Gardam Street.’ ”
“Jane, you should write this story down,” said Keiko.
“Maybe I will.”
Rosalind fell into the room again without even trying the secret knock. “He came home to
be with his parents! Mrs. Geiger’s really upset about Nick leaving, so Nick called Tommy and he said he’d drive home just to be with her and their dad. Isn’t that sensitive and wonderful of him? Isn’t that just what you’d think he’d do?”
“I guess so,” said Keiko. “Don’t you mind that he didn’t come for you?”
“How could I mind that he’s noble and cares about his family? It makes me lo—like him more.” She rushed out again but was back before anyone could try to follow her. “But how do I make sure I get to see him while he’s here?”
“Have Iantha invite him to Batty’s birthday dinner,” said Jane.
“Is that okay with you, Batty?” asked Rosalind.
“Yes! Yes, Rosy!”
“Thank you, I love you all, bye.” She almost left but then turned back. “I don’t think I should see him until I can be calmer, right?”
“That sounds like a good idea,” said Jane.
Rosalind left again.
“And just when Rosalind,” said Jane, “rid herself of the snooty knave Oliver, Sir Thomas—”
They were again interrupted by the secret knock.
“Who’s there?” Ben leaned hard on the door, determined to reassert his authority as gatekeeper.
But whoever was out there shoved it open anyway, and into the room rushed Duchess and Cilantro, with Skye at the other end of their leashes. This was the first time the dogs had ever been inside the Penderwicks’ house, let alone inside what they could sniff out as Batty’s den, and the thrill of it made them wild with excitement. Though they’d seen Batty the day before—when she’d resumed responsibility for their walks—they were still getting over the shock of her previous vanishing. Plus, apparently Jane had tried to teach them French, further scrambling Cilantro’s poor brain.
Duchess launched herself at the bed and amazed everyone by nearly scaling its heights, while Cilantro howled the room’s trash can into submission.
“Sit, you numbskulls,” said Skye. After knocking over a stack of books and also Lydia, the dogs did sit, pleased at having established domination over a bedroom. “Batty, I thought you might want to take a walk.”