The Penderwicks at Point Mouette (7 page)

“Do you believe in love at first sight?” she asked out loud.

“Jane, what are you talking about?” It was Skye again, but this time she was only a few feet away. Jane had caught up without noticing.

“She wants to know if we believe in love at first sight,” said Jeffrey.

“More love,” said Skye, now hitting Jane with the paper towels. “As the OAP, I demand you don’t mention love for the whole rest of the day.”

Jane thought this hardly fair, but before she could launch an argument, everyone was distracted by the rattle and clatter of something rushing down the hill. They turned and saw a boy flying toward them on a skateboard, his arms outstretched. Almost immediately he was upon them and then passing by, at such a speed Jane felt her curls lift. She thought he would keep going, but no, he executed a sharp turn that should have ended in disaster, slid to a dramatic halt, and dismounted with careless grace.

My goodness, thought Jane, staring. He was magnificent, with sunglasses, lots of hair, and the self-confidence of a movie star, or even a prince. Jane cast about in her mind for possible European princes who
could be traveling incognito in Maine, but her knowledge of present-day royalty was limited to William and Harry of England, and this boy was certainly neither of them. She would have to hear him speak for a clue—a foreign language or at least an accent—and, look, he
was
about to say something. Jane held her breath.

He said, casually, “My sister might crash into you.”

The accent was disappointingly pure American. But what an interesting thing to say, thought Jane, full of possible hidden meanings. Like the opening of a spy conversation, in which one spy said
Looks like fog
and the other spy answered
Or mist
, and then they both knew that it was safe to discuss state secrets. What would be a good response to
My sister might crash into you
?

Jane never got to decide, because other, cooler heads—that is, Skye and Jeffrey—prevailed, pushing Jane out of the path of a bicycle that was wobbling dangerously down the hill. Riding it was a wispy, awkward-looking girl who could barely reach the pedals.

“I don’t know how to stop,” she called.

“Use the brakes!” shouted Skye and Jeffrey together.

But apparently the girl’s cycling lessons had not included brakes, because instead of using them, she decided to launch herself off the bike. She went one way—into the grass beside the road—and the bike
went the other, crashing and sliding with lots of wheel spinning. Jane and Skye dropped their groceries and rushed to the girl’s aid, but she easily scrambled to her feet, unhurt and not at all embarrassed by her clumsy entry. Meanwhile, Jeffrey picked up her bicycle and set it back upright—and she looked at him as though he were a god.

“I’m Mercedes Orne,” she said.

“Jeffrey Tifton.” He shook her hand, then straightened her helmet.

In all this activity, the one person who hadn’t budged was the boy in the sunglasses. Jane looked at him curiously. Did he care so little about his sister crashing her bicycle? Or maybe he was simply being generous about letting the others be heroes. Yes, it was probably generosity.

Skye, however, seemed to have come to a different conclusion. She was glaring at the boy and was clearly about to scold him. Jane jumped in.

“I’m Jane Penderwick, and this is my sister Skye,” she said brightly. “We’re staying in Birches, that tiny house at the end of Ocean Boulevard.”

“Dominic and I live at Mouette Inn during the summer,” said Mercedes. “Our grandparents own it.”

So his name was Dominic—Jane thought it a strong name—and he was staying right down the street from them. Maybe they would all get to know each other—that is, if Skye didn’t scare Dominic off.
At least she’d stopped glaring, but now she’d turned her back on him and was picking up her groceries, ready to go. Jane sighed. This was not a good beginning. If only Dominic would say something intelligent, maybe Skye could be brought around.

And then he spoke. “Which one of you is the oldest sister?”

“Why?” asked Skye in a tone that offered no hope of brought-aroundness.

He shrugged and did a little move with his skateboard.

“I’m seven, and Dominic’s twelve,” said Mercedes. “Are you twelve, too, Jeffrey?”

“I will be in August,” he said.

Dominic looked sideways at Jeffrey, then back down to his skateboard. “I’m twelve and a half, actually.”

“Well, we should go,” said Skye.

Which made it clear to Jane that Skye wasn’t going to claim being the oldest for Dominic. If Skye didn’t want to, could someone else? How exciting to be the oldest for once, and especially the once that included a boy with such flair and swagger. Jane thought quickly. She refused to lie—no boy could be worth that—but there was something she could say, if she was careful.

“Neither of us is the oldest sister, really. That’s Rosalind, who’s in New Jersey. But we have a little
sister, named Batty. You should meet her, Mercedes—she’s only five, but advanced for her age. Anyway, Dominic, when it’s just me and Batty, I’m the oldest.”

Jane didn’t dare look at Skye or Jeffrey. She kept her attention on Dominic, who seemed to be trying to work out what she’d just said. It took him a while, but at last he nodded, leaped onto his skateboard, and skated off with the maximum noise and spectacle.

Jane watched him go. “I wonder if he plays soccer.”

“No, but I do.” Mercedes was struggling to remount her bike, since her brother showed no sign of waiting for her. “That is, I’d like to.”

While Jane steadied the bike, Jeffrey helped Mercedes on, then gave her a push in the right direction. She turned to wave and almost crashed but managed to keep going without further injury. When Mercedes was safely out of sight, the threesome set off again, with Skye in the lead and moving quickly. Not so quickly that they might catch up with the Orne siblings—that was the last thing Skye wanted—but just enough to burn off her irritation with Dominic, whose conversational skills hadn’t impressed her at all. Why Jane had been so friendly to him was a mystery. Rosalind had wanted them to be polite to people in Maine, but being polite is one thing, and telling people where you live is quite another. Unless Jane hadn’t noticed that Dominic
was all hair and attitude. No, not even Jane could be that gullible, right? Skye glanced back at Jane but wasn’t reassured—Jane was again muttering to herself about love.

Skye groaned. Why, oh why, had she ever agreed to be the OAP?

Then she heard the barking, and Dominic flew out of her mind. It was Hound’s barking, the kind that said Trouble Trouble Trouble. Skye threw her share of the groceries at Jeffrey and Jane and took off toward Birches, running, running, and as she got closer, along with Hound’s deep barking she could now hear Hoover’s yapping. She ran faster. Whatever bad was happening involved Batty—Skye was sure of it. Batty had been blown up, drowned, smashed on the rocks, or some combination of the three. And it was all Skye’s fault. She would never get over the guilt, and her father and Rosalind would hate her forever.

Past Alec’s house now, and Skye could tell that the barking was coming from behind Birches. Around the house she flew, and suddenly Batty, without any visible wounds, was running toward her.

“You’re alive!” said Skye, so relieved her heart hurt.

Ignoring such an obvious statement, Batty grabbed Skye’s hand and urgently pulled her across the lawn. At first Skye could see only Alec, standing near the seawall, holding the two dogs, who had finally stopped
barking. Then Alec stepped aside, and there on the ground was Aunt Claire, clutching her ankle and trying to look brave.

Skye rushed over. “What happened? Are you all right?”

“I’m okay.” Aunt Claire smiled, then winced.

“She fell off the seawall,” said Batty.

“It was Hoover’s fault,” said Alec. “He startled your aunt, and she fell.”

Hoover again! Skye turned on Alec. “You can’t control him at all!”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Skye was trying hard to loathe the man and his dog, but Alec was making it difficult by being so sincerely remorseful. Meanwhile, Jane and Jeffrey had arrived. Explanations were made all over again, with Alec apologizing several more times while Skye knelt beside her aunt.

“How badly are you hurt?” she asked.

“I think it’s just a sprain,” said Aunt Claire. “Help me stand.”

But when Aunt Claire put weight on the bad ankle, she cried out in pain and had to be lowered onto the seawall.

“She needs to see a doctor,” said Jeffrey.

“I’ll drive her to the hospital,” said Alec. “There’s one only about a half hour away.”

“We’ll all go.” Skye was determined that there be
no more tearing apart of the family, especially in emergencies. “Aunt Claire needs people she knows around her for comfort.”

“Comfort is good,” Alec agreed, “but since your aunt will need to stretch out in the backseat, there won’t be room for all of you.”

“Even if we can’t all go with Aunt Claire, some of us can,” said Jeffrey. “I will, if that would make you feel better, Skye.”

“I’ll go, too,” added Batty.

Skye couldn’t help noticing Alec’s mouth twitching with amusement at the idea of this small girl in her orange life jacket being any kind of help or comfort. He did sort of look nice, she thought—not as respectable and dignified as her father, but who was? Some people might even think him handsome in a grown-up sort of way, with brown hair that didn’t seem to want to lie down properly and a splatter of freckles across his nose. It could be just the beard, she thought, that gave him a less-than-dependable look.

“All right, Jeffrey, you go with him,” she said.

“Good.” Jeffrey grinned at Alec. “And, Skye, I like him, even if he can’t control his dog.”

“I like him, too,” said Jane. “I even like his dog.”

“Oh, I don’t like his dog,” said Skye.

“Stop this right now!” Aunt Claire waved her arms frantically. “Listen to me. I don’t need comfort. I just need a ride, which means that Alec will drive me to
the hospital, just me, by myself. You four will stay here and have a good time and not worry. Agreed?”

“You can’t expect Skye not to worry,” said Jane. “She’s the OAP.”

“Fine. Skye, as long as you do everything else I say, you may worry all you want.”

Skye wasn’t going to give up altogether without one last gasp of authority. “You need ice for your ankle. Jane, go get the ice. Batty, your job is to keep Hound calm.”

“And I’ll take Hoover home,” said Jeffrey.

So while Jane went inside to fill a plastic bag with ice, and Batty whispered words of comfort into Hound’s ear, and Jeffrey set off for Alec’s house with the wayward Hoover, Skye and Alec managed to get Aunt Claire to the car without causing her too much more pain.

“Here’s the ice,” said Jane, running up.

“Thank you, girls. You are my angels,” said Aunt Claire. “Now, truly, there’s nothing to be concerned about. I’ll call you.”

Skye and Jane smiled and waved as the car pulled away.

“Nothing to be concerned about,” said Skye, her smile gone as soon as the car was out of sight.

Jane and Batty were staring at her like they expected her to know what to do. She’d seen them stare like that before, but always at Rosalind, never at her.
She turned her back on them for a bit of relief, and then, because a tree happened to be in front of her, she kicked it. Pleased with herself, she kicked another tree. Maybe she could escape to the pinewood at the end of the street, where there were hundreds of trees to kick.

She was the OAP, however, and having the OAP respond to a crisis by kicking too many trees would demoralize the troops. She had to think, and quickly. She was certain that neither her father nor Rosalind had given her guidance for what to do in the case of Aunt Claire damaging an ankle. Skye glanced over her shoulder at Jane and Batty huddled together, looking scared. Think! If only she weren’t so hungry—the gingerbread was a distant memory—maybe her brain would be working properly. No leader, not Caesar or Napoleon, not Washington himself, could have developed strategy on a stomach this empty. And then Skye realized that there was her answer. In any emergency, food is always an excellent idea.

She turned away from the trees, courageously faced her sisters, and said, “Let’s have breakfast.”

J
UST AS HUNGRY AS
S
KYE
, Jane rashly volunteered to make pancakes for everyone. She’d watched her father make pancakes from a mix a hundred times and was sure she could do it herself. After all, the directions would be right there on the box. Unfortunately, those directions turned out to be not as clear as she would have liked, starting with the first step.
Heat skillet on medium to low
, it said. But the knob on the stove had numbers, with no indication which number meant medium or low, let alone medium to low. If only Jane had paid attention to the setting her father had used at home—but who cared enough about stoves to notice things like that? She was going to have to experiment, and since experimentation can
get messy, Jane didn’t want Skye around watching the process. Too stressful. So she wondered loudly why Jeffrey wasn’t yet back from taking Hoover home. This worked perfectly—Skye rushed off, certain that Hoover had broken Jeffrey’s leg or arm or killed him altogether.