The Penderwicks on Gardam Street Read Free

orange cat. He usually sits in the window, and Hound loves him already.”
    Though Hound thumped his tail in agreement, Rosalind had her doubts that love was what he had in mind. She’d never seen him with a cat, but she knew how he felt about squirrels, as did all the squirrels that tried to make their home on Gardam Street. There was, however, no point in arguing with Batty about Hound’s innermost feelings, so she changed the subject.
    “How about your afternoon snack?”
    Batty was never one to turn down a snack, especially when it was cheese, pretzel sticks, and grape juice, and when, like today, Rosalind let her eat it under the kitchen table, which happened to make an excellent hideout for secret agents.
    With Batty settled, Rosalind went back to her cooking. “Sift a cup of flour—” But once more she was interrupted, this time by her other two sisters arriving home from school and storming the kitchen.
    “Something smells good.” This was Skye, her blond hair crammed messily into a camouflage hat. She stuck her finger into the skillet and scooped out a blob of the sugar mixture.
    Rosalind tried to wave her off, but Skye dodged around, laughing and licking her finger.
    “Call Daddy,” said Rosalind. “You’re the last one in.”
    That was the rule after school. While Rosalind was picking up Batty at Goldie’s, Skye and Jane were walking home together from Wildwood Elementary School, where they were in sixth and fifth grades, respectively. Whoever was the last to arrive at the house called Mr. Penderwick at the university to let him know all was well.
    “Jane, call Daddy,” said Skye.
    “I’m too distraught about English class,” said Jane.
    This was unlike Jane, who loved English class more than anything, even soccer, which she adored. Rosalind turned away from the cookbook and looked hard at the third Penderwick sister. She did look upset. There were even traces of tears.
    “What happened?” asked Rosalind.
    “Miss Bunda gave her a
C
on her essay,” answered Skye, reaching under the table and swiping some of Batty’s cheese.
    “My humiliation is complete,” said Jane. “I’ll never be a real writer.”
    “I told you Miss Bunda wouldn’t like it.”
    “Let me see the essay,” said Rosalind.
    Jane pulled several crumpled balls of paper out of her pocket and tossed them onto the kitchen table. “I have no profession now. I’ll have to be a vagrant.”
    Rosalind smoothed out the pieces of paper, found page one, and read, “
Famous Women in Massachusetts History, by Jane Letitia Penderwick. Of all the women that come to mind when you think of Massachusetts, one stands out: Sabrina Starr.
” She stopped reading. “You put Sabrina Starr in your essay?”
    “Yes, I did,” said Jane.
    Sabrina Starr was the heroine of five books, all of them written by Jane. Each was about an amazing rescue. So far, Sabrina had saved a cricket, a baby sparrow, a turtle, a groundhog, and a boy. This last,
Sabrina Starr Rescues a Boy,
had been written during the summer vacation at Arundel. Jane considered it her best.
    “But your assignment was to write about a Massachusetts woman who was actually once alive.”
    “Just what I told her. Ouch!” Skye jumped away from the table, for Batty had just pinched her ankle as revenge for the stolen cheese.
    “I explained all that,” said Jane. “Look at the last page.”
    Rosalind found the last page.
“Of course, Sabrina Starr is not a real Massachusetts woman, but I wrote about her because she’s more fascinating than old Susan B. Anthony and Clara Barton,”
she read. “Oh, Jane, no wonder Miss Bunda gave you a
C.
”
    “I got a
C
because she has no imagination. Who cares about writing essays, anyway, when you can write stories?”
    The phone rang and Skye raced for it. “Hi, Daddy, yes, we’re all here and we were just about to call you…. We’re fine, except Jane’s upset because she got a
C
on her essay…. Really?” Skye turned to Jane. “Daddy