The Penderwicks at Point Mouette (24 page)

The situation was becoming desperate. Jane needed to keep Mercedes quiet, and she had to keep an increasingly annoyed Dexter from going after
Jeffrey on his own. Dominic was no help. Batty was no help. Should she sing, or try a tap dance? No, she’d go back to where she always felt most comfortable—with Sabrina Starr.

“So, the Sabrina Starr book that came after
Sisters and Sacrifice
had her rescuing—”

Dexter stood up, his face red, his frustration frighteningly apparent. In Jane’s frenzied state, he looked much bigger than he was, and more than a match for a dog, a not-very-bright boy, and three girls, two of them quite small.

“I don’t have all day,” he boomed. “If you won’t wake up Jeffrey for me, get your father. Or at least your older sister, Rosalind, isn’t it?”

Still Jane managed to stand her ground. “Daddy’s in England, and Rosalind’s in New Jersey.”

“Who
can
you get? Is anyone in charge here?”

At last, and just in time, the proper reinforcement arrived. The screen door opened, and out stepped Skye—still rumpled from bed, her hair going in all directions.

“She’s in charge,” said Jane, sagging with relief.

The balance of power shifted immediately. Skye was not at all pleased to see the interloper from Arundel, and a displeased Skye could be a mighty force, especially when she hadn’t had any breakfast. Dexter sat back down in his chair, and for a moment Jane almost felt sorry for him. She wouldn’t want to be the
one to return to a weeping and hysterical Mrs. T-D without Jeffrey. And by heavens, he would be returning without Jeffrey. Jane was sure of it, now that Skye was here. Jane pulled her aside and quietly explained everything, or at least the parts she understood, which meant not much about Dominic. And Skye, as the true OAP, quickly grasped the essential points and set up defensive maneuvers. She sent Batty inside to wake up Aunt Claire. She sent Dominic and Mercedes back to their grandmother to get coffee for Dexter—since that seemed to be so important to him. Last, she told Jane to go next door and get Alec. And bring him back as fast as you can, she said.

Jane hadn’t seen Alec since before the golf-ball sale, so not since he’d had his revelation about Jeffrey and his life had turned into a tornado. She’d thought about him a lot, and of the things she wanted to say to him, about hope, the twisted ravages of fate, and how he’d make almost as good a dad as her own. But when Jane reached his house and found Alec sitting on the piano bench, facing the wrong way and staring unhappily at nothing, she simply hugged him and said what was necessary.

“Dexter’s come to take Jeffrey back to Arundel. Hurry.”

Alec knew how to hurry—here was another thing in his favor—and without even bothering with shoes, he took Jane’s hand, and together they tore back to Birches, arriving just as Aunt Claire came out of the
house and onto the deck, looking as dignified as is possible when your bathrobe keeps getting caught on your crutches. Skye stood on her right and Batty on her left, and Alec and Jane took up their position across from them.

Dexter was in the middle. There was no longer any balance of power. It was just sulky him versus all of Jeffrey’s most fervent friends, and he hadn’t a prayer. But he wasn’t giving up—not yet. Warily he said hello to Aunt Claire, then tried to give Alec an intimidating sneer but managed only to look like a scared bully. Alec smiled calmly back, and Jane kept hold of his hand—he was her choice for a port in this storm.

“Where were we?” asked Skye, maintaining a remarkable serenity. “Oh, I know. Mr. Dupree was demanding to see Jeffrey so that he could take him away.”

“ ‘Demanding’ could be too strong a word,” said Dexter, losing even more ground. “It’s just that the boy’s mother misses him so.”

“She does? Is that why you’re here, Dexter?” Now this was Jeffrey, stepping out of the house and onto the deck. Jane thought he had never looked so brave and noble and, at the same time, exactly like his father. She smiled up at Alec, who had eyes only for Jeffrey, though Jeffrey carefully kept himself from looking back.

“He wants to take you away,” said Skye.

“That’s right.” Dexter nodded at Skye, as though she’d said something quite wonderful. “So go get your golf clubs, Jeffrey. We’re going back to Arundel.”

Jane held her breath and leaned against Alec, who was holding his breath, too.

“No,” said Jeffrey. “I’m not leaving.”

Everyone breathed again except for Dexter—gasping would be a better description of what he was doing.

“You have to.” Gasping or foaming. Jane was almost certain that Dexter was close to foaming. “Your mother’s worried about you.”

“Tell her I’m fine.”

“This isn’t a choice. We’ve already told your driver not to come back for you on Saturday. It’s go with me today, or—” Dexter stopped, not certain of the threat he’d gotten himself into.

“We’ll drive Jeffrey to Arundel,” said Skye.

“Of course we will,” agreed Aunt Claire.

“Or Alec will,” said Jane. “Right, Alec?”

“Yes,” answered Alec, and gratefully squeezed her hand.

Jeffrey flushed, still ignoring Alec, but stood firm. “You see, Dexter? I’m not your responsibility. And, by the way, I don’t have the golf clubs anymore. I gave them to Batty.”

This was the biggest blow so far. “You gave them to
Batty
?”

“And I sold them because I need a piano,” said Batty. “Don’t be mad at Jeffrey. He was being generous.”

“Generous,” choked out Dexter, his face as red as Alec’s house.

“He’s teaching me to play the piano,” said Batty, growing ever bolder, “and also the harmonica.”

Batty pulled out her harmonica and was playing “Taps” before Skye could dive over and take it from her.

“Sorry,” said Skye, tossing the harmonica to Alec, who caught it and held it out of Batty’s reach. “She’s become a music lover.”

But “Taps” had done Dexter in. Whatever fight he’d had was gone. Even the arrival of Mercedes with a half-spilled and lukewarm cup of coffee couldn’t help.

“You refuse to come back with me today,” he said to Jeffrey. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, sir, that’s about it.”

“It’s on you, then, kid. Before I go, though, I have a message from your mother.” Dexter looked around, as if he expected the others to go away. They didn’t. “She apologizes and says that she did the best she could.”

“Thank you. And you can tell her—” Jeffrey stopped, not knowing how to finish the sentence.

To Jane’s delight, it was Alec who came to his rescue. “Tell Brenda that Jeffrey’s doing the best he can, too.”

With that, the battle was won. There was field cleanup to do—washing away of the gore and working out the details—but that was for the grown-ups to handle. Jeffrey melted back into the house and the four girls followed him, and when he sat on the couch, they sat there with him, two on each side, squashing him in so tightly no one could have pulled him out, if indeed they’d dare approach his ferocious Amazonian bodyguard to try it.

“Dexter was a little upset about the golf clubs,” Jane said after a while.

“He was apoplectic,” said Skye. “I loved it.”

This got a ghost of a smile from Jeffrey, but it didn’t last. “I’m wrecking this vacation for everyone. Maybe I should go with him.”

“No!” cried Batty and Mercedes, and Jane and Skye squashed him in even tighter just in case he was foolish enough to try to leave. They all sat quietly that way until Aunt Claire came back inside and sat in the chair across from them.

“Dexter is gone and he won’t be back,” she gently told Jeffrey. “I promised him that you’ll be delivered back to Arundel on time, and he accepted that.”

“I won’t fit in your car,” he said, “and I don’t want to ride with Alec.”

“Alec and I have already worked that out. He’ll take some of our luggage in his car, and Hound, and maybe one of the girls. You’ll ride with me. All right?”

Jeffrey nodded, miserable.

Aunt Claire went on. “And Alec has decided to move out of his house until we need him for transportation. He thinks you’ll be more comfortable here for your last few days without bumping into him, and this way you can use the piano whenever you want. He said you’re probably missing the piano.”

“I don’t want to be any trouble.”

Aunt Claire stood up from her chair and shoved her way onto the couch, then put her arm around him and held him close. “You’re not any trouble, Jeffrey. Not to Alec, not to me, not to any of us. You must believe me.”

“I’m trouble for Dexter.”

Skye snorted. “It’s a badge of honor to be trouble for Dexter.”

“Alec won’t be far away,” said Aunt Claire, “just up the coast with his friend, the one who owns that boat, the
Bernadette
. If you decide you’d like to see Alec or just talk to him, or if we need anything at all, we can call him and he’ll be here in a half hour. But, Jeffrey, he told me specifically to tell you this—you have all the time in the world. He will never give up on you or stop loving you, no matter how long you take to figure out what you want. Do you understand?”

Jeffrey stared straight ahead, not answering, looking so sad, so frightened and lonely, that Jane started crying and Skye would have, too, if she hadn’t
pinched her arm so hard she left behind a black-and-blue mark.

“No, I don’t understand,” he said at last.

“Well, then, it’s our job to show you how worthy you are of being waited for,” said Aunt Claire. “Someday you’ll understand. I promise.”

An hour later, Alec was gone, too. Jeffrey had silently watched from the window as the car pulled away, then just as silently gathered up Batty and Hound and headed next door for the solace of music. Others scattered, worn out by the drama. Jane went back to the deck and Sabrina Starr. Mercedes wandered down to the beach to search for tiny snails. Aunt Claire, all out of jigsaw puzzles, started the Paris one all over again.

But Skye wasn’t ready to calmly recuperate. Seeing Dexter, talking to him, being
polite
to him, had sullied her soul, and she had only one solution—she would clean Birches from top to bottom. Aunt Claire protested that Dexter hadn’t even gone inside, but Skye didn’t care. He’d been on the deck, he’d breathed the air—if she could have, she would have cleaned all of Point Mouette.

She began outside, scrubbing the chair he’d sat on, then ritually rinsing it with bucket after bucket of water. Next, naturally, she had to rinse the entire deck—Dexter had walked on it—which drove a protesting Jane inside. Where Skye soon followed, attacking the
kitchen, surface by surface, just managing to keep herself from sweeping the ceiling. The living room came next, and after she’d asked Jane and Aunt Claire to lift their feet for the broom a half dozen times, Aunt Claire decided that it was an excellent time to practice driving the car with her sprained ankle. Glad for an excuse to escape Skye’s cleaning frenzy, Jane offered to go along, then fetched Mercedes from the beach so that she could go, too. Just in case Skye finished with Birches and attempted to scrub the beach.

Being left alone in Birches was an invitation for Skye to go completely mad. With broom and bucket, sponge and scrub brush, she whirled around, straightening and scouring until the living room should have cried for mercy. Its windows hadn’t been so clear in years, nor had the rugs been laid out on the seawall and beaten, or the couch turned upside down and its cushions aired on the deck. Skye even polished the baseboards and this time let herself have a go at the ceiling.

A lesser mortal, or a less tormented one, would have stopped there, but Skye was moving too quickly to stop. She wouldn’t invade Aunt Claire’s privacy, but she had no such compunction about small sisters. A Hannibal of housecleaning, she marched into Batty’s room, which didn’t look too awful on the surface. But underneath the bed was a revelation.

There, crumpled into a ball, was Batty’s favorite
T-shirt with the horse on the front, the one that had been handed down through all four sisters. Batty had sworn she’d left it on the beach at low tide and hadn’t remembered until it was swept away by high tide. And here was a stash of golf balls that Batty had kept out of the sale, a pile of beach rocks, and an even bigger pile of shells spilling their sand onto everything. Behind the shells were Hound’s treasures: a hard-boiled egg from two days earlier and an empty box of Cheerios. Then way in the back behind a damp towel and yet another pile of beach rocks, Skye discovered a big inflatable plastic duck, forlorn and forgotten. She remembered that Rosalind had packed it into Batty’s stuffed-animal box—but how it had ended up under the bed was a mystery, until Skye found some signs of chewing along the edge. Hound, of course. But because he’d managed to avoid actual puncture wounds, she decided to take a break from cleaning and inflate the duck. Because she was also remembering that Rosalind had specifically told her to blow it up when they reached Maine. Skye had even written it down on her list.
Blow up—

And suddenly she was whooping and laughing and bonking herself on the head like the fool she was. She snatched up the duck and rushed out into the living room, dying to tell everyone that she’d been wrong and they’d been right. Not now, not ever, was Batty going to explode in any possible situation.

“It was just the duck,” she cried, but since she’d driven them all away, there was no one to hear her. She ran outside, looking for anyone—anyone at all—and found Dominic Orne sitting on the edge of the deck.

“Look at this duck!” she yelped at him. “I have to blow it up!”

“All right,” he answered.

“You don’t understand how exciting—” But Skye stopped herself. Dominic didn’t have the imagination to grasp the significance of this most glorious duck. “Why are you here again?”

“Jane said a lot of stuff earlier about empty shells and stealing.”

“Did she call you an empty shell of a boy who cares only for his skateboard and stealing kisses?”

“That sounds right. I was hoping she could explain what she meant in, you know, normal language.”

It wasn’t an unreasonable request. Skye threw the duck at him. “Blow this up and I’ll tell you. Here’s why. Because you lured Jane into falling in love with you—”