The Penderwicks at Point Mouette (2 page)

“Where’s Batty?” asked Rosalind sharply.

“Right here.” Jane looked behind her, but the hall was empty of five-year-olds. “Oh, now I remember.
She said she needed to go to her room first. Rosalind, do you think Iantha would mind if I borrowed some of her books to take to Point Mouette?”

Rosalind looked through the books. They were barely suitable for her, let alone for Jane, who was only eleven.

“You’re not old enough for any of these. Besides, why would you even want to read”—Rosalind picked a particularly odd title—“
Bilgewater
?”

“It’s about love. They all are,” answered Jane, as though that explained it perfectly.

“She’s doing research for a new Sabrina Starr book,” said Skye, her hand over her heart like a fainting heroine in an old-time movie. “She thinks it’s time for Sabrina to fall in love.”

Sabrina Starr was the heroine of many books Jane had written. Rosalind had never thought of her as the falling-in-love type. She’d always been too busy rescuing anyone who needed it, from a groundhog to an archaeologist. And Rosalind thought that Sabrina should continue the rescuing for a while longer. She didn’t want Jane doing research on love while in Maine. She wanted her being a good backup OAP.

“Yes, I think Iantha would mind you borrowing these books. Wouldn’t Sabrina be better off rescuing a moose or something?” She took the books from Jane and put them on her desk. It was time—past time—for the MOPS, and the littlest sister was still missing.

“I’ll get Batty,” Rosalind said. “Nobody wander off.”

She went down the hall to Batty’s room, hoping to see Batty there, neatly pajamaed and ready for a MOPS. Here is what she saw instead: an open suitcase on the floor, empty except for Asimov—the Penderwicks’ orange cat—who had curled up inside and fallen asleep. The clothes that just hours ago had been folded into the suitcase were now in untidy heaps on the bed. Also on the bed was a still-wet Hound, happily chewing on the new hairbrush that Iantha had bought specially for Batty to take to Maine.

And Rosalind saw one more thing—the door to the closet seemed to be trying to shut itself.

“I know you’re in there, Batty,” she said.

There was a long silence, then: “
How
do you know?”

“I just do. Batty, it’s time for the MOPS. Skye and Jane are waiting for us.”

“I don’t need to go to the MOPS, because I’m not going to Maine.”

Rosalind picked up a red-striped bathing suit from the floor, refolded it, and put it back into the suitcase next to Asimov. “Is it because of the bath Skye and Jane just gave you?”

“No, that was fun. Hound jumped into the tub.”

“I heard.” Next into the suitcase went a half dozen
shirts. “And you’re not upset about Asimov again, are you? Because we’ve gone over that. He has to stay home, and Tommy’s going to take very good care of him. You trust Tommy, right?”

Tommy Geiger was Rosalind’s boyfriend, who lived across the street, and though sometimes he could drive her crazy, he was quite good with Asimov.

“Yes.”

“And I know you’re disappointed about Jeffrey not going to Maine.” That blow had fallen hard on Batty, already devastated at being separated from Ben. She’d been the youngest in the family for so long—even Hound was a year older than she was—that the addition of a little brother had come as a delightful relief. “And I could understand you wanting to stay home if Ben were here—”

“And Daddy and Iantha.”

“—but they’re in England and won’t be back until you’re home again from Maine.”

Rosalind took hold of the hairbrush Hound was chewing and tugged until he let go. The damage was minimal, so she wiped it down and put it into the suitcase, too. This woke up Asimov, who leaped gracefully out and onto the bed—steering clear of the wet dog—where he immediately fell asleep again. The space he’d left behind was just the right size for a pile of shorts, two sweatshirts, and another bathing suit.

“Rosalind, are you still there?”

“I’m still here.” Socks, underwear, an extra pair of pajamas, more T-shirts, and the suitcase was once again full. “Why don’t you come see me?”

The closet door opened itself back up, and out crept Batty, well scrubbed and pajamaed, yes, though Rosalind noticed with a pang that the shirt was inside out.

“You’re packing my stuff again,” said Batty, her forehead scrunched with concern.

“Listen to me.” Rosalind knelt beside her on the floor. “I’m so sorry that I’m not going to Maine with you. I promised Anna to go to New Jersey with her, and then it was too late to change the plans. You know all that, right? I know this is the longest you and I will have ever been apart, and I’ve told you over and over how much I’ll miss you, so you must know that. Tell me you know how much I’ll miss you.”

“I do know.”

“Here, let me fix your pajamas.” With a minimum of wriggling, the shirt was turned right side out so that the dolphin showed. “Now you look better. Do you think you’re ready for the MOPS now? Good girl. Go tell Skye and Jane I’ll be there in a minute.”

Batty left, with Hound trailing along after her. Asimov stayed behind, waking up in time to see Rosalind tuck a yellow sunhat in with the rest of Batty’s clothes, then pull down the lid of the suitcase and shut it tight.

“Meow,” he said.

“I am not crying,” she answered. “Come on, let’s go to the MOPS.”

Back in her room, Rosalind found the others seated in a circle on the floor. She sat down with them, pulled Batty onto her lap, and waited politely while Asimov gave Hound a friendly swat on the nose, then stretched out beside him.

“MOPS come to order,” she said.

Skye seconded the motion, Jane and Batty thirded and fourthed it, and Rosalind went on. “All swear to keep secret what is said here.… Actually, we can skip the bit about secrets. This isn’t that kind of a MOPS.”

“So we don’t need to swear?” asked Batty, who liked that part.

“No swearing.” Rosalind now took a moment to gather herself. She’d been thinking about this MOPS for days and wanted it to go just right. She had a list of rules to go through, and some cheering thoughts, and she’d end with a brief statement about how much she trusted Skye. “As you all know, early tomorrow morning I’ll be handing over my OAP responsibilities to Skye. Before that happens, I want to give you some rules to follow in Maine. Rule One is …”

She stopped, and it seemed to the others as though she’d gone a little green.

“What is it?” asked Skye.

“I’ve warned you about the rocks, right? How
Maine has huge rocks along the coast, and in some places people have built seawalls to keep the ocean away from the land, and if anyone falls off a seawall, they would smash onto the rocks.”

“You have indeed warned us about the rocks,” said Skye.

“And the seawalls,” added Jane. “By the way, you’re squashing Batty.”

“Sorry.” Rosalind relaxed her grip on Batty, who started breathing again. “I’ve mentioned drowning, of course. Maybe I should start with the next-to-last rule.”

“How many rules are there?” asked Skye.

“Six.” Rosalind reached under her bed and pulled out a bright orange life preserver. “Rule Five: Batty wears this whenever she’s near the ocean.”

“We’re staying on the coast. Batty is always going to be near the ocean.”

“Then she will always wear it.”

“Even when I sleep?” asked Batty.

“Of course not, honey.” Rosalind buckled the preserver onto Batty and felt safer just seeing it there. Many dangers might lurk for Batty in Maine, but drowning wouldn’t be one of them. “All right, I’ll start over. Rule One: Help Aunt Claire with meals and cleaning up. Rule Two: No squabbling with each other. Three—What, Skye?”

“We’ve already worked this stuff out.”

“We made pacts about no fighting,” added Jane.
“And we’ve divided up the meal chores. I’ll help with cooking. I know I’m not much good at it, but Skye is worse. Sorry, Skye.”

“It’s true, though, so I’ll do the cleaning up.”

“And I’m going to set the table,” said Batty. “Skye said I could.”

“Oh, well, good.” Rosalind took another moment to gather herself all over again. “Rule Three: Don’t let Hound eat things he shouldn’t, but of course you already know that. What about Rule Four? Be polite to strangers, because you’re representing the Penderwicks in Maine, which is an entirely new state for us.”

“We hadn’t thought about meeting strangers,” said Jane. “That’s a nice idea, Rosy.”

“We’ve done Rule Five. Rule Six—”

She was interrupted by a clunking sound, which turned out to be Asimov diving into Rosalind’s wastebasket in search of who knew what. Feeling left out, Hound tried to go in after him, but only his nose fit, which was quite enough to annoy Asimov, and soon the floor was littered with old tissues and such, and Asimov had been banished to the hallway and Hound told to stay still or else.

“It’s because they’ll miss each other,” said Batty.

Rosalind tossed the last tissue back into the wastebasket. “Now, where was I?”

Her answer was the sound of the doorbell, announcing a visitor at the front door. Rosalind knew
exactly who’d arrived, because she’d asked him to come to say good-bye. She had a list of rules for him, too, though she knew better than to give them to him.

“Tommy?” asked Jane.

“He’s a little early.” Rosalind started talking more quickly. “Rule Six: No revenge on Mrs. T-D or Dexter, either the magical or actual kind.”

The doorbell chimed again.

“Go see Tommy,” said Skye.

“For your romantic farewells,” added Jane.

Rosalind was determined to keep control over her own MOPS, but even Batty seemed to be against her, yawning suddenly.

“I’ll put her to bed,” said Skye. “You can say good night to her after Tommy goes.”

“You’ll tell her a story?” asked Rosalind piteously.

“Jane will, won’t you, Jane?”

Jane nodded, and Skye declared the MOPS officially closed. Defeated, but happy to be on her way to Tommy, Rosalind left the room. Listening to her clatter down the steps, the others sat quietly, missing her already. Only Hound went on as if nothing important had happened, sneakily shoving his nose back into the wastebasket.

“No revenge,” said Jane after a while. “Didn’t she like the curse I wrote for Dexter and Mrs. T-D?”

“The part about entrails upset her.” Skye stood up. “Let’s get Batty to bed.”

“Nrgwug,” said Batty in a strangled sort of voice.

She’d tried to get out of the life preserver without unbuckling it and was now hopelessly entangled, her face hidden and her arms sticking out of all the wrong places. Freeing her took a while, what with her hair catching on one buckle and Hound tugging unhelpfully on another, and by the end all three sisters were grumpy. Skye was the worst.

“This is going to be a very long two weeks,” she said, and no one contradicted her.

I
N THE MORNING
Rosalind departed for New Jersey, leaving her younger sisters waving their good-byes from the front yard. Hound was also there, trotting anxiously from one sister to another, determined to prevent any more Penderwicks from straying.

“Now I really am the OAP,” said Skye faintly.

She hadn’t wanted to be. Taking care of anyone, especially Batty, had never been a skill of hers—why would that change now? She’d told her father and Iantha so when the plan for separate vacations had first come up, and when they’d insisted that she had their absolute trust, Skye called Aunt Claire and explained it all over again. Surely, she’d thought, Aunt Claire would take measures to stop this calamity.
After all, if Skye made a mess of everything in Maine, Aunt Claire would be the one cleaning up.

Aunt Claire, too, had let Skye down. “You’ll do fine as the OAP,” she said. “You’ll find it in you,” she added, and Skye went off to research multiple personalities, hoping she could find a new person inside who would be good at caring for Batty. When she discovered that extra personalities couldn’t be ordered up on demand, she considered locking herself in the basement—or maybe faking a coma—until everyone had gone away to New Jersey, England, and Maine without her.

It was while she was working on slowing her heart rate for the pretend coma that her father came to her and asked her to please buck up and gracefully accept OAP-dom. He explained that the separation would be good for Rosalind, that she’d been in charge of her sisters for too long and badly needed a vacation. He also hinted that if Skye—and Jane and Batty, too—could convince Rosalind they’d be fine on their own, it would be easier for her to have a good time in New Jersey. How could Skye say no to that? Rosalind had indeed been in charge for a long time—more than five years, ever since the girls’ mother had died of cancer—and she’d done it well and without complaints. So Skye canceled her coma, presented a carefree exterior to Rosalind, and told Jane to do the same.

However, agreeing to be the OAP wasn’t the same
as having the knowledge to do so. If she’d been paying attention over the years, there would have been nothing to learn. But Skye hadn’t paid attention, and though she was trying hard to do so now, none of it seemed to stick. Geometry theorems, or the names and positions of constellations—these she could memorize effortlessly. But how to care for Batty? Impossible. So secretly she began to make a list. Everything her father did or mentioned, or Rosalind, or Iantha, went onto it. By the end, the list was six closely written pages, and Skye kept it with her at all times.