“Take a walk, clear your head,” said Jane. It was one of their father’s favorite sayings, and one of the few he always said in English.
“Yes, the walk was Dad’s idea.” Skye righted Lydia, who tried to get Cilantro to dance with her. “The dogs were mine.”
“If you want to go, Batty, we can do more of these reports later,” said Jane. “And I’ve still got lots to tell Keiko.”
Keiko was delighted—any excuse to spend time with Jane and hear more stories of love. So Batty shyly agreed to go with Skye, grateful to her for thinking of the dogs. This would be the sisters’ first time alone since Batty had been feeling better, and the dogs would help them through the silences.
“But before we go,” said Skye, “I’ve brought news. Tommy told Iantha he’d come to the party tonight, and Rosalind has gone out ‘shopping,’ to make sure he doesn’t think she’s waiting around for him. She also asked that the rest of us stay away from Tommy, too—apparently she doesn’t trust us not to blow it. Jane, especially you.”
“Well, excusez-moi,” said Jane. “But she’s probably right.”
“Except for you, Ben,” said Skye. “You can go see Tommy if you want.”
That was the end of Ben as gatekeeper—he was out of the room and down the steps in a flash. The sound of the front door slamming behind him echoed through the house.
“Why Ben?” asked Keiko.
“He earned it, I think,” said Batty. By now Ben had told her about teaching Nick’s getting-rid-of-unwanted-suitors speech to Rosalind. Batty had been impressed that the same declaration had worked on both collegian Oliver and the kindergartner twins—more proof of Nick’s broad-based world knowledge. She’d even memorized it in case she herself ever needed it, but mostly for Keiko. “I’ll explain later.”
“So, Bats, you ready to go?” asked Skye.
During Batty’s darkness, she’d forgotten spring and its joyous advance. Suddenly cherry trees were dripping cotton-candy flowers, and the lilacs were coming into bloom, perfuming Gardam Street with May magic. In Quigley Woods, where Skye and Batty headed with the dogs, the trees were in full leaf, their greens deepening every day, and the wild crab apples had thrown out white flowers, declaring that even in the forest one could flaunt fleeting beauty. Instead of a shy violet here and there, great clumps of them now dotted the paths. And here was Batty’s old friend the red cardinal come back, but only to scold the dogs and race away again.
On and on the sisters went with neither saying a word, until Batty couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Stop a minute,” she said to Skye, and pulled on Cilantro’s leash to make him stop, too.
“I’m no good at this, Batty.”
“Actually, you’re terrible at it,” Batty surprised herself by saying. She’d never before spoken that way to Skye.
“I know. And I’m still confused about everything.”
Cilantro tugged, but Batty wasn’t yet ready to move on. She had a particular confession to make, and she wanted to get it over with. “Skye, I apologize for listening to your conversation with Jeffrey. I didn’t plan to. I was in Lydia’s room and I heard you by mistake, and then it was too late.”
She trailed off, embarrassed at the enormity of her rudeness and the trouble it had caused, and steeled herself for her sister’s justifiable annoyance.
“It was a dumb place for a private conversation.” Skye gave Batty a sideways glance. “What? You thought I’d be furious, right? But I should have known better. Back when that was your room—when you were still little—Jane and I would sit at the top of the steps listening while Rosalind told you stories. I was always glad when you asked for stories about Mom.”
Batty stared, dumbfounded. “I didn’t know.”
“How could you?” answered Skye. “Let’s keep walking. I have someplace I want to show you.”
Duchess and Cilantro tried to follow the usual paths, but Skye took them a different way, leading to the bridge over the creek, the one Batty should have used the day she got lost and hurt her ankle. It took a while to get across the bridge, for midway the dogs spotted a beaver dam in the water—a great piling up of branches and sticks—and even one brave brown beaver who stared defiantly at the barking invaders until Skye and Batty were able to drag them away.
Now Skye was taking them to a part of the woods Batty had never seen, not even in her trips across the creek with Rosalind. As they headed gradually uphill, they came across a double row of hugely overgrown lilac bushes, white, pink, and a dozen shades of purple. Even the dogs slowed down to enjoy this mysterious bit of civilization in the midst of wildness—this tunnel of intoxication that had to have been deliberately planted long ago. A little further on still, they abruptly came to a clearing with the bare remains of an ancient stone foundation. This had once been a house—there was the fireplace, and there, a gap where the door had been.
“This is my favorite place,” said Skye.
Batty knew the privilege that was being bestowed. Skye had long kept her favorite place in Quigley Woods a secret, even from Jane, maybe even from Jeffrey.
“It’s a really good one,” she said.
“Cecilia Lee and I used to play Star Wars here. I was always Han Solo and she was Luke, and when she had to bring her little sister along, we made her be C-3PO,” she said. “You don’t remember Cecilia. She moved away in the middle of fourth grade.”
“So you were crossing the creek by yourself when you were nine?”
“I started at seven, actually, but back then I’d bring Hound, too, when I could drag him away from you, so I wasn’t exactly by myself.” Skye sat down while Duchess sniffed among the stones. “But I freely admit that it was dangerous to come over here when I was that young, and I probably shouldn’t have told you. Promise you won’t tell Ben or Lydia. Swear.”
“I swear. Penderwick Family Honor. But, Skye …”
“Hmm?”
“Didn’t Rosalind know that you were coming over here?”
“She was busy helping Dad with you by then. Nick caught me once, though.”
“Nick!” So it was a habit of his, catching Penderwicks.
“He told me that I should never come back because there was quicksand, but I researched how to survive quicksand. You’re supposed to do this”—Skye spread her arms wide—“and shout for help. It sounded so interesting, I was always a bit disappointed not to fall into any.”
“Nick told me that he made up the quicksand.”
“He did? Good old Nick.” Skye reeled in Duchess, who thought she’d smelled a fox and was itching to go say hello. “So, Batty, I’ve got some apologies, too.”
“You don’t have to.” Batty curled up a little inside.
“Yes, I do. Like about making Jeffrey go away. Dad told me about you trying to get to Boston.”
“Yes.”
“That was pretty brave.”
“And stupid.”
“And stupid,” agreed Skye. “Batty, I know that’s hard on you, not seeing him—it must be, or you wouldn’t have tried so hard. Why did you—I mean, what do you talk about when you’re with him, anyway? Just music?”
Batty tried to think. She could talk to Jeffrey about everything and anything, but their conversations always came back to music. “Mostly.”
“When he talks about music to me, my brain turns to mush.” Skye leaned down to scratch Duchess’s ears. “Too bad you’re not my age. He could have his dopey crush on you and leave me alone.”
“Well, I’m not your age.” Batty wasn’t ready for any dopey crushes.
“That’s true. Here’s the other apology.” Skye took a deep breath. “I’m also sorry I’ve never been a very good sister to you. Or even nice to you, I guess.”
“Don’t apologize about that! Please.”
“Why not? Good grief, don’t cry.”
“You weren’t nice to me because you didn’t like me. You were honest.”
“Honest. Yes, I’m always that, even when I shouldn’t be.”
Skye went back to Duchess’s ears. “I’ve been trying to remember how it felt, you know, losing Mom. I think—I thought—I was her favorite. I thought that I was more hers than Rosy and Jane were because I looked so much like her, I guess, and they looked like Dad. And then you were born, and Mom died.… I don’t know, maybe if you’d had blond hair and blue eyes, I would have felt closer to you. But Rosalind fell so in love with you, and Jane always had her crazy imagination to keep her company, and even Hound started spending every minute with you. You know, I used to think I was his favorite, too, before you came along. Sounds like I was a conceited child, doesn’t it, seeing myself as everybody’s favorite. Compared to me, Lydia’s humble, right?”
Batty was too lost in her thoughts to answer. That photo in her father’s box of pictures—the one in which a blissfully happy Skye was holding the puppy who became Hound—no wonder Batty hadn’t wanted it upstairs with the other Hound photos. Because it had made her jealous of Skye. Skye, who had known Hound from the beginning of his life, and who had been Hound’s favorite until she could no longer drag him away from her new baby sister.
“I took Hound from you, too,” she said to Skye. “I can’t believe you don’t hate me.”
“You didn’t take Hound from me, Batty. You were a tiny baby.”
“I took Mom from you, and then I took Hound from you, and then I couldn’t even take care of him.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about—you know, you know. I didn’t take good enough care of Hound and he died!”
“Wow.” Skye stood up, walked Duchess around in a circle, then came back to Batty. “Here’s what I know. Not even I, Skye Magee Penderwick, can come up with one reason to blame you for Hound’s death. And if I can’t, no one can.”
“But I should have—”
“You should have what? Slept next to him every night on the floor when he got too weak to climb onto your bed? Coaxed him to eat by letting him lick food off your fingers, a tiny bit at a time? Held him, talked to him for hours? You did all that. The rest of us helped, but you did most of it. Don’t you remember? Holy bananas, use some logic. And close your mouth. You look goofy.”
Batty closed her mouth, which had fallen open in shock.
“That’s better,” said Skye. “Now let’s go back. Rosalind said I could make your cake as part of my expiation of guilt.”
Skye loathed baking and was terrible at it, but Batty’s world had been turned upside down too many times—she no longer knew what to believe. “Really?”
“No, not really, you nutburger. I’m not going to wreck your cake for you.”
The cake was delicious. All the food was delicious. Batty’s birthday presents were lovely. Tommy did come—and everyone liked watching how he and Rosalind kept careful track of each other while pretending not to. But it was impossible that the party could be anything other than sad, because Nick was packed and ready to leave as soon as it was over. Batty tried to be cheerful. Everyone did. Mr. Geiger and Jane made the best job of it, throwing dumb jokes back and forth. Tommy helped by laughing at the dumb jokes and putting his arm around his mother each time she started to cry. Only Ben couldn’t manage any cheer at all, weeping openly off and on during dinner and birthday cake.
Toward the end of the party, when Lydia was toppling over with sleepiness, Batty watched as Nick slowly made his way from one Penderwick to the next, getting and giving hugs and letting those who needed to cry do so on his shoulder. He stayed for a long time with Ben, crouched next to him, talking softly. Jane would be next, Batty knew, and then Batty herself, except that she didn’t want to say good-bye to him. Maybe she would just sneak away into the evening shadows. Nick wouldn’t notice. There were, after all, so many Penderwicks.
She should have known better.
“Running away again?” he asked, finding her around the side of the house.
“No,” she answered. “Yes.”
“I’ll be back before you know it, annoying you all over again.”
“Yes,” she said. “I mean, no, you don’t annoy me, Nick.”
“Sure I do. Now listen up. I have some orders for you before I go.”
“Choose a sport.”
“Yes, that.” He nodded his approval. “But also, I want there to be a dog in this house before I come home next time. Long before.”
She looked at him with dismay. “I’m not ready—you know that.”
“But you’re getting closer.”
Batty thought about that, and about what Skye had told her that afternoon in Quigley Woods.
“Nick, Skye said it wasn’t my fault that Hound died.”
“Of course it wasn’t your fault. Who ever said it was?” He shook his head in disbelief. “Okay, so you’re getting closer to being ready for a new dog, Ben’s been ready for a while, and Lydia could use the competition. Battikins, you don’t have to love a new dog as much as you loved Hound. You don’t have to love it at all. Just let it live here.”
“I don’t know.”
“Think about it. Promise me you’ll think about it.”
“I promise.”
“And no more running away. Promise that, too.”
Batty was crying too hard now to say anything, but Nick seemed satisfied. As he kissed her cheek, Batty squeezed her eyes shut, not able to watch him leave.
A few minutes later, Rosalind found Batty, sat down beside her, and waited patiently until she’d stopped crying.
“Did Nick say good-bye to you, Batty?” she asked then.
“He told me to stop running away.”
“That was good advice. Will you listen?”
“Yes.” Noticing that there were words written on Rosalind’s arm—words that hadn’t been there before—Batty pushed up her sister’s sleeve to get a better look. “ ‘Choose wisely.’ Did Nick write that?”
“He said it was either that or ‘Dear Tommy, I adore you and want you back.’ ”
“You do want Tommy back, don’t you?”
“Yes. Yes, I do, but since I don’t know what he wants, I decided not to have my adoration brazenly advertised.”
“Um, Rosy—” Batty tried making “be quiet” faces at Rosalind, but they must not have been good ones, because Rosalind didn’t get even a little quieter.
“On the one hand, I don’t want to make assumptions or put pressure on him, and on the other”—Rosalind held up her left hand and stared at it, still missing Batty’s attempts to silence her—“I don’t want to discourage him by being too cool and distant.”
Giving up on subtlety, Batty waved at the person walking toward them. “Hi, Tommy.”
Never in Batty’s life had she seen Rosalind blush so quickly and thoroughly. Nor had she ever seen that particular expression on her oldest sister’s face—combined pride, embarrassment, and out-and-out love.
“Hey, Batty,” answered Tommy, and he, too, had a new expression on his face—equal parts hope and caution. “Rosy, I need to go home to see Nick off and be with my parents for a while, but maybe later you and I could talk?”
“Maybe,” said Rosalind, desperately trying to control her blush.
“She doesn’t mean maybe,” cried Batty as Tommy’s expression turned into disappointment.
“What does she mean, then?” he asked.
“Choose wisely,” Batty whispered to Rosalind.
“I mean, Tommy,” said Rosalind slowly, “that I would like to talk with you later.”
His irresistible Geiger grin broke out. “I’ll come back over when I’m sure my mom’s okay. And no changing your mind, Rosalind Penderwick, or I’ll hunt you down and talk to you anyway.”
“Tough guy.” Rosalind’s face now mirrored his, and glowed with happiness. “Leave us.”
As Tommy sauntered away, Rosalind watched him, enrapt, and Batty watched them both, wondering at these strange rites of teenage-dom. Keiko might understand them better, and she would certainly be fascinated, but this was one romantic sc
ene Batty would keep to herself. It was too private to share, even with Keiko.
“Do you think I was cool and distant with him?” Rosalind asked Batty when he was out of sight.
Hardly, thought Batty. “Nope. You were just right.”
“Thank goodness.” Rosalind dug into her pocket and brought out a little box that she handed to Batty. “Here’s something for you.”
“Another present?” Rosalind had already given her one gift, a pretty top to go with a skirt Jane had made for her.
“This is special. Open it.”
It was a necklace, a thin chain with a tiny squiggle of gold hanging from it.
“A note on a chain!” said Batty.
“A note of music,” agreed Rosalind. “Just right, don’t you think?”
Batty dove into her oldest sister’s arms.
A FEW HOURS LATER, Batty was back in her room, lying on the floor with Funty and Gibson—she was weary of being in bed after all those days spent there—and thinking. She had some decisions to make. Not yet, though, not yet. She needed to try just one more time.
“Stand up, Batty,” she said, doing so, “and open yourself to the music.”
Two deep breaths, and then just like every other time she’d tried in the last few days, all she got was that gruesome croak.
“Okay, I get it.” She went back to lying on the floor.
Her voice, her orchid in a daisy field, was gone and seemed to have no intention of coming back. Batty had briefly considered the notion that it had been her imagination—part of the strange dreams she’d suffered through—and even asked Keiko if she’d gone cuckoo and made up Mrs. Grunfeld and her enthusiasm over Batty’s voice. Keiko had told her not to be a dope. So that was a relief.
But still, she couldn’t sing. She would have to get used to that, somehow.
It helped that she’d kept her voice secret from her family. They need never know what she’d been given for a brief time, what she’d lost. And Jeffrey! Thank goodness Nick had stopped her from going to Boston. Her voice had already been missing then, but because the missing hadn’t yet seemed final the way it did now, she might have gone on and on about Mrs. Grunfeld and singing and touring Europe with Jeffrey and his father. And now she’d be stuck telling Jeffrey that it was over, and he’d be disappointed for her. Batty thought she could learn to bear her own disappointment but not anyone else’s.