The Penderwicks on Gardam Street Read Free Page A

says remember that Leo Tolstoy flunked out of college and went on to write
War and Peace.
”
    “Tell him I’ll never even get into college at this rate.”
    Skye spoke into the phone again. “She said she’ll never get into college…. What? Tell me again…. Okay, got it. Good-bye.”
    “What did he say?” said Jane.
    “That you don’t have to worry because you have
tantum amorem scribendi.
” Skye said the last three words slowly and carefully, for they were Latin.
    Jane looked hopefully at Rosalind. “Do you know
tantum am
—whatever it is?”
    “Sorry, our class hasn’t gotten much past
agricola, agricolae,
” answered Rosalind. She had just that year started studying Latin in a desperate attempt to understand her father, who was always tossing out phrases in that ancient language. “So far, I’ll only know if Daddy says something about being a farmer.”
    “Fat chance,” said Skye. “Since he’s a professor.”
    “How old do I have to be to read
War and Peace
?” asked Jane. “It would soothe my wounds to find a kindred spirit in Mr. Tolstoy.”
    “Older than ten, that’s for sure,” said Skye. Unwilling to be pinched in the ankle again, she headed back for the sugar mixture in the skillet, but this time Rosalind was ready with a body block.
    “No more,” she said. “I’m making a pineapple upside-down cake for Aunt Claire, and you’re ruining it.”
    “Aunt Claire is visiting!” Jane’s face lit up. “In my agony, I’d forgotten.
She
will soothe my wounds.”
    “And while I’m finishing the cake, you two can get the guest room ready for her.”
    “Homework…,” muttered Skye, drifting toward the door.
    “You never do homework on Fridays,” Rosalind said briskly. “Go.”
    Despite Skye’s attempt to avoid helping, she was an excellent worker, and the next hour at the Penderwick house went smoothly. The clean sheets and towels were taken care of, the living room was straightened up, and, as a special touch, Batty and Hound were both brushed. Just as Rosalind pulled the finished cake out of the oven, Jane’s joyful yell rang through the house.
    “Aunt Claire’s here!”

CHAPTER TWO
    The Blue Letter
    T HIS VISIT OF AUNT CLAIRE’S started out like her visits always did. There was the usual tussle to see who could hug her first, and she had dog biscuits in one pocket for Hound—just like she always did—and in the other pocket, chocolate caramels for everyone else. And when Mr. Penderwick came home she sat on the kitchen counter, just like always, while he made dinner—eggplant parmigiana—getting in his way and teasing him every time he mislaid a cooking spoon, or his glasses, or the salt, which was every two minutes. All through dinner she continued to be the same old Aunt Claire—telling funny stories about her job and peppering the girls with questions about school. It wasn’t until everyone had stuffed themselves with eggplant and the table had been cleared that the visit started to turn odd. Rosalind was just bringing out the pineapple upside-down cake when Aunt Claire abruptly pushed back her chair and stood up.
    “I think—” She sat down again. “Maybe not.”
    “Maybe not what?” asked Jane.
    Aunt Claire stood up again. “I mean, I guess this would be as good a time as any. Though, actually, later would be better.”
    She sat down yet again, and smiled at everyone. They would have smiled back if it hadn’t been obvious that her smile was a guilty one, though the idea of Aunt Claire being guilty of anything was beyond imagination.
    Mr. Penderwick frowned. “What’s wrong with you?”
    “I’m fine. Just ignore me,” she said gaily. “The cake looks delicious, Rosalind. Aren’t you going to cut it?”
    Rosalind picked up the cake knife, but before she could make a cut, Aunt Claire was back on her feet.
    “No, no, definitely best to get it over with. I’ll go get the presents from my car.” And she rushed out of the room.
    “What presents?”