The Penderwicks at Point Mouette (15 page)

“So you’re all right?”

“Fine.” Skye wandered over to the refrigerator and bent down to look at the postcards of England and New Jersey. She bet no one in either of those places had ever dreamed of dancing with Popsicle sticks.

“I did know a girl in middle school who made hand puppets from her boyfriends’ socks,” said Aunt Claire. “I don’t know if she talked to the puppets, but she did make the puppets talk to her. Does that help?”

“A little bit.” And it did, because that poor girl had been much worse even than Jane. “If I ever do anything that idiotic, lock me up. Promise?”

“I promise. Penderwick Family Honor.”

Making hand puppets from boys’ socks! Horrified, Skye went outside and glared at the ocean. She was starting middle school that September. If she discovered that kind of nonsense going on, she would drop out and go live on a mountaintop all by herself.

There was a great deal of raucous noise coming from the beach—what sounded like a circus. That wasn’t what was supposed to be happening. What was supposed to be happening was soccer drills. Jane had announced them, Jeffrey had agreed to take some time away from the piano to join her, and since Jeffrey was going, so was Batty, and wherever Batty went these days, there went Mercedes.

Normally Skye would run down and throw herself into the fray, but only if there was actual soccer going on. She dropped down and slithered across the lawn until she could peek over and see what was happening without being seen. Yup, a circus. Jane, Batty, and Mercedes were leaping, spinning, shouting, and kicking the ball only when it occurred to them. Adding to the mayhem were Hound and Hoover, their leashes tied together, which turned them into a kind of manic ball-hungry Cerberus. Only Jeffrey was attempting to maintain some order, but Skye could tell that his endless patience was being tried. Skye knew she should go down to the beach to liberate him, but hardening her heart, she instead crawled back to the house, grabbed
Death by Black Hole
, and found a shady spot in the grass where she could stretch out and read.

She’d reached the section called “When the Universe Goes Bad” and was finding it most soothing. Killer asteroids, a frozen Earth, the end to humanity—all this was much easier to handle than a besotted sister.
Down she dove into exploding stars and stray comets, and there she stayed, happily reading on and on until she was distracted by one of the last things she wanted right then, a bag full of golf balls floating above her.

“For Batty’s collection,” said Turron, the person at the other end of the bag.

“More golf balls!” said Skye, pushing them aside and sitting up. Lately everyone except Aunt Claire and Skye herself had been hunting golf balls for Batty. “What is she doing with them all?”

“No one knows,” said Alec, who was there, too.

“We just find them for her. We are her humble servants.” Turron winked at Skye.

She couldn’t help winking back—Turron had that effect on people.

“The golf balls aren’t why we’re here, Skye,” said Alec. “My friend is letting me borrow his boat today. Are you ready for that boat ride now?”

Skye knew all about this boat—how fast it was, and how it had plenty of room for passengers. When Alec had mentioned the possibility of a ride a few days ago, she hadn’t been sure they should go. She’d managed to keep Batty from drowning so far. Why risk taking her out onto the ocean in a small boat? But now perhaps the risk would be worth it, just to put as much distance as possible between Jane and Dominic. Even he couldn’t ride a skateboard on water.

Alec went on. “Mercedes’s grandmother has said that Mercedes can go, and Turron is kindly going to keep Claire company at Birches.”

“Because I’m terrified of boats,” added Turron.

“You weren’t supposed to say that, moron,” protested Alec. “Skye is very safety-conscious.”

“Right,” said Turron, grinning. “I’m staying with Claire because I’m leaving Maine tomorrow and would rather spend my last day with her than with any of you.”

“I promise the boat won’t blow up, Skye,” said Alec. “Batty will be safe.”

And Jane would be safe, too, with all that open water between her and Dominic. “Okay,” she said. “A boat ride would be great.”

“Good. Meet me at the dock in a half hour. Make sure Jeffrey remembers his clarinet, and don’t ask me why. It’s a surprise.”

Thirty minutes later, four Penderwicks (including Hound), one Tifton, and one Orne ran down Ocean Boulevard to the dock across from Mouette Inn. It was a long dock, stretching out into the ocean, with fat seagulls perched along the railings like an honor guard. Skye led the way onto it, and with the creak of the dock’s wooden planks under her feet, the seagulls comically flapping away two at a time, and the vast blue sea ahead, her burden of responsibility started to
lift. By the time they’d reached the end of the dock and run down a ramp to where boats could tie up, Skye was almost as carefree as the others. And when Alec and Hoover arrived in the speedboat, she was the first to jump on board.

The boat was called the
Bernadette
, and it was silver, with green racing stripes, an impressive set of controls and dials, and a Maine state flag fluttering on a pole. There were also enough orange life jackets for everyone, which Alec insisted they wear, thrilling Batty—at last she wasn’t the only person dressed like a pumpkin. Jeffrey stowed his clarinet case, then sat up front beside Alec; the four girls settled along the wide bench at the back; and the dogs claimed the space in between, with Hound exploring a million unfamiliar smells and Hoover licking the face of anyone who couldn’t avoid him.

Alec started the engine and Jeffrey pushed off. The
Bernadette
moved out slowly, picking up speed after they cleared the dock, and then more speed and more, and soon they were flying across the ocean, everyone’s nose pointing into the wind, the thrum of the engine beneath them, the salty spray flaring out behind them. It was glorious, and when Jane shouted nonsense about trimming mainsails and hauling jibs, the others shouted along with her, even Alec, even Skye.

They were heading northeast, which took them past Gandy Island. Alec slowed down to show them
the island’s one little house, lonely on its patch of green lawn. No one cared much except for Jane, who stood up to stare at it and kept staring until they were long past and the house and then the island were just specks in the distance. And still Jane hadn’t had enough—she muttered something about Dominic and a hammock and tried to climb onto the bench to stare some more, but Skye yanked her down and kept a good hold on her. By now, they were in open water, and the
Bernadette
raced on and on for a wonderfully long time, until another island came into view. Larger than Gandy Island, it was all gray rocks and pines, with no small houses or any other signs of people.

Alec cut the boat’s engine. “Everyone keep your eyes open.”

“For what?” Skye asked.

“Just look,” he said.

Jeffrey already knew what they should be keeping their eyes open for, but the girls had a wide range of places to look, scanning the island and the horizon, gazing deep into the sea, squinting up into the sky, all the while throwing out a clamor of questions and comments. It was Batty who finally noticed that some of the smaller gray rocks on the island were oddly shaped—like gigantic sausages that narrowed and came to a point at one end. Then Batty shrieked, Hound and Hoover barked, and one of the giant sausages was shaking its pointy end and sliding off the rocks and into the water.

“Seals!” shouted Mercedes. “They’re seals, Batty!”

Seals they were indeed, a few dozen big fat ones, calmly sunning themselves on rocks just as gray and fat as they were.

“We won’t go in any closer, out of respect,” said Alec. “But Jeffrey and I do have something special planned just for them. This is one of my family’s traditions—a McGrath tradition—that my brothers and I started back when we were teenagers, anytime we could get hold of a boat.”

While Alec talked, Jeffrey had been removing his clarinet from its case and putting it together. Now Alec reached down and pulled out a larger case that no one had noticed before and took out his saxophone.

“Ladies and dogs,” said Jeffrey, “we are about to perform ‘Fanfare for the Uncommon Seal.’ ”

“With apologies to Aaron Copland,” added Alec, locking eyes with Jeffrey, who put his clarinet to his lips. Together they nodded out the count—one, two, three, four …

From Jeffrey’s clarinet poured a haunting, stirring melody, a soaring string of notes that floated out over the ocean. All alone Jeffrey played, his eyes closed in concentration, until it seemed that the song was ending. But then Alec’s saxophone joined the clarinet, and together the man and the boy again played the heart-stopping tune, note for note. The girls clung to
each other, each one feeling as though she’d never really heard music before, and although the splendor of the music was almost too much, the players began yet once more, this time in rich harmony, finally ending with a flourish so thrilling that when the music stopped, it seemed for a moment as though the world had to stop along with it. No one knew what to say. Skye helplessly turned to Jane, but Jane shook her head, for once without words.

Mercedes broke the spell. “I wish I could play an instrument,” she said with great despair.

This made everyone laugh, but kindly, because who wouldn’t feel the same way? Jane gave Mercedes a sympathetic hug, and Batty handed over the harmonica so that she could at least try to play. Mercedes dedicated her few notes to the seals, but they paid no more attention to the squawking harmonica than they had to the sweet-toned clarinet and saxophone.

Then Alec announced that it was time for lunch and produced a big cooler that turned out to be full of cheese-and-tomato sandwiches, fresh strawberries, and gallons of lemonade, the perfect lunch to eat in the middle of the ocean. It didn’t take long for seagulls to find them—seagulls never can resist free snacks—and Skye and Jeffrey had a contest to see who could throw scraps of sandwich the highest, but the birds were better at swooping low to catch food—even with a frenzied Hoover leaping at them—than
Skye and Jeffrey were at throwing it high, so neither could claim victory.

Too soon it was time to leave. The boat needed to be restored to its owner, and Mercedes to her grandmother. Everyone waved good-bye to the seals, who continued to stoically ignore them, and Alec turned the boat and headed back to shore.

“Deliriously and deliciously delightful,” murmured Jane, leaning into the wind, her hair streaming out behind her. “Magnificently wonderful, and fabulously and wonderfully magnificent.”

Skye started to protest, but didn’t. Certainly there had been delight on Jeffrey’s face while he and Alec were playing, a look that had been mirrored back to him from Alec. And now, Skye noticed, Batty was cheerfully humming the “Fanfare” melody while Mercedes snuggled peacefully against Jane. The two dogs, exhausted by the thrill of their shared adventure, slept side by side. All was well on the
Bernadette
.

“I’m happy, too,” Skye told Jane.

Skye was indeed happy. And so relaxed that when they reached the dock and Batty begged to stay on board while Alec returned the boat, Skye agreed and didn’t even insist that Batty put on an extra life jacket or two. Since Jeffrey was staying on board, and Hoover and Hound, too, naturally, only Skye, Jane, and Mercedes needed to disembark. They climbed up onto the dock after thanking Alec over and over, then
watched the boat pull away, Batty boldly alone on the back bench, waving and waving. Only then did Skye turn toward land, and she saw that the seagulls were again lined up along the dock’s railings, pretending they’d been waiting all along, and taking no responsibility for the scavenger seagulls that had been so greedy out at sea.

There was someone else who seemed to be waiting, too, at the far end of the dock.

And all of Skye’s responsibilities and worries came back, like a bowling ball dropping on her head.

“Your brother’s here, Mercedes. He must be looking for you,” she said, willing it to be true.

“Maybe.” Mercedes sounded doubtful. “He hardly ever does look for me.”

“It’s possible,” said Jane, already moving away, “that Dominic is looking for me.”

“Jane, don’t go,” said Skye.

But she was already gone, gliding—Skye didn’t know how—like a movie princess in a long ball gown. All the way down the dock Jane glided until she reached Dominic. She stopped, they talked briefly, and then off they went together, away from Birches, toward French Park.

“I don’t understand,” said Skye helplessly. “Why is she doing that?”

“Lots of girls act that way around my brother,” said Mercedes simply. “At home they stand in front of the
house crying if he won’t talk to them, and I can’t play outside because they ask me questions about him.”

“I’d certainly never cry over Dominic.”

“Really?” Mercedes was so impressed with this show of independence that she slipped her hand into Skye’s.

“Really,” said Skye, and didn’t let go, at least not for a while.

Jane knew she was gliding, graceful and proud, like a maiden on her way to meet Peter Pevensie, High King of Narnia. And since that was how she looked, she was also thinking maidenly thoughts. About how much she loved this boy, Dominic, and how this would be their first real time together since the love for him had captured her, enveloped her, devoured her. And how she hadn’t been able to write a word since she’d fallen—no, that wasn’t a maidenly thought. What was art when compared to love, anyway? And who could write when every waking minute was taken up with wondering where Dominic was, what he was doing, what he was thinking, if he’d fallen off his skateboard, and if so, what Jane could say to comfort him while she held his bloodied head in her lap. Now
those
were maidenly thoughts.

And now she’d reached the end of the dock and she was with him, her beloved, and they headed to French Park, where she knew they would sit and share their love, and she would tell him so many things, like
about seeing Gandy Island from the
Bernadette
, and how she’d been thinking of him all the time, and how he had to promise that if he fell off his skateboard, to do it when she was around so that she could hold his bloodied head. In fact, Jane had so much to tell Dominic that she didn’t want to wait for French Park. She wanted to begin immediately while they walked together. Except that they weren’t walking together, because Dominic wasn’t walking at all, really—he was on his skateboard, either ahead of her or behind, or making large circles around her. She didn’t care, not really, trying to thrust away the suspicion that Peter Pevensie would never make circles around a maiden. You’re being disloyal, she scolded herself, and anyway, there weren’t any skateboards in Narnia. Besides, soon they reached French Park, and Jane was able to sit down on the bench, and although Dominic continued to ride in circles for a while, she could now close her eyes to better picture him as a noble presence worthy of her love, and by the time he sat down beside her, she was feeling steadier.