"Were you really so worried when I was going to be born, Mommy?" asked four-year-old Emmy from Jeffrey's lap. Rosalind's three-year-old daughter, Beth, sat on the floor with Skye's daughter of the same age, Aurelia, who was Skye in miniature. Rosalind's one-year-old twins, Claire and Anna, were with them, and Skye's only son, two-month-old Martin, sat in Skye's lap.
"Yes. You see, Emmy, I knew nothing of babies."
Jane's children, three and two, shouted for joy at who knew what. Jane had named them after characters or authors she loved; one was named Arthur, and one Susan.
Jane hushed them, and Rosalind came in then to put the children to bed. All the children were staying at Arundel, where Skye and Jeffrey now lived with their three children.
When all the children were settled in the various rooms, Skye went upstairs to say goodnight to Emmy and Aurelia in their room. Martin was fast asleep on Jeffrey's shoulder, and Skye opened the door of their room and went in
She was attacked on each side at once. "Tell another story, Mommy! Please!"
"You know I'm no good at that," said Skye, tucking both of her daughters back into bed at once. "Get Aunt Jane to tell you, how about that?"
"No, we'll go to bed." The two adults tiptoed out of the room with Martin, and then when he had been put to bed, Jeffrey sighed and then grinned.
"When we met, if you'd have known that sixteen years down the line you'd be telling all kinds of life-stories to our children, what would you have done?"
"Probably go insane," said Skye, sighing.
"So did I. By the way, Skye, when is Ben coming with your father and Iantha?"
"In four days. Jane's leaving the day before—she has that television conference to go to. Tommy and Rosie are leaving three days after Daddy comes—Tommy's going on a business trip and Rosie and the girls are going with him."
Rosalind came into Martin's nursery, carrying two-year-old Susan. Jane was behind her, with Claire and Anna in her arms. All four babies were put to bed, and then the three sisters left, leaving Jeffrey to sing Susan a lullaby.
"Looks like we've all settled down properly to being mothers and working and wives, haven't we?" said Rosalind. "I was really worried about whether Skye would be able to manage when Emmy was born."
"So was I," said Skye. "Thanks so much for staying with me for a month then. I wouldn't have been able to manage without you."
Batty came upstairs to meet them. She was a slender, graceful woman of twenty now, and was studying at Jeffrey's old music conservatory.
"I'm calling a MOPS," said Batty.
"An emergency MOPS?" asked Rosalind. Occasionally, when the sisters were alone, one or the other of them did call a MOPS sometimes, occasionally just for old time's sake, or sometimes for more serious things.
The MOPSes were generally emergency ones these days, as they no longer had MOPS for fun, and now the S in MOPS stood for siblings not sisters, because of Ben, who was just entering college.
"Yes, an emergency MOPS," said Batty. She raced downstairs again.
Skye and Jane ran after Batty, leaving Rosalind to stare after them and remember their childhood on Gardam Street. Of course, that wasn't far from her house now; but Skye's living in Arundel was probably the biggest change that had come with time.
Mrs. T-D had moved away with Dexter to a country in Europe the minute they heard that Emmy was to be born; Jeffrey and Skye had lived in an apartment until then. She remembered how once, the sisters had been forbidden to enter the gardens; now their children romped there as if there was nowhere else to play, which there wasn't. And Batty.
Oh, how proud Rosalind was of Batty, who had never known their mother, yet had done so much in life already. They had attended countless concerts, crowded to the wings, and there Batty had been, dressed like Jane had dressed her for her first ever concert, fifteen years ago in Point Mouette. Only this time, it was not Skye's old shirt Batty wore; it was a real black concert gown, glittering with black sequins. Rosalind had remembered Batty's first word—Dada—and how Batty had been just as good as her own daughter ever since Rosalind was eight years old. Batty had sat, solemn and beautiful and wonderfully gifted, playing a tune which she and Jeffrey had made up; and then the two had played a duet, but Jeffrey had been on the clarinet.
Elizabeth Penderwick's solo, the announcer had said. Rosalind had been crying for pride from start to finish, and after the concert Batty had leaped off the stage, black gown and all, and come running to Rosalind like she had when Batty was a little girl, crying, "Oh, Rosalind! Did you like it! Did you like it, Jeffrey?" Everyone had laughed to see the childlike joy of the seventeen-year-old girl with long brown hair, beautiful brown eyes, and a touch on a piano that brought forth the most beautiful tunes that Rosalind had ever heard in her life—more lovely than anything Jeffrey could ever have played, Rosalind thought—but perhaps that was just bias. She knew Skye would probably not think so, but then that was bias too. Skye wouldn't say anything else, and Skye did not like music. Rosalind had asked her once how she and Jeffrey balanced astrophysics and music, and she had said that Jeffrey's music was not nearly so irritating as it had been when they were children, whatever Rosalind might be thinking. So Rosalind had decided that the distance between the study where Skye worked and the music room probably was the reason for this very un-predictable peace, but it actually wasn't.
To Skye's dismay, however, both Emmy and Aurelia, despite their resemblance to her, were very like Jeffrey and adored playing music with him in the evenings. Skye hoped, as the only one who looked like Jeffrey, her son Martin would be a little more like her.
Then there was Jane. Jane had earned a great deal more fame and renown than any of the others had, even Batty. She had been on countless television conferences, all having to do with her Sabrina Starr series, which she had expanded to include twelve novels, all improved from what she had done as a girl. From what Rosalind could judge, Jane's son Arthur (named after Arthur in Sabrina Starr Rescues a Boy) was very like her father; he adored flowers, and already her father was teaching little Arthur the Latin names of plants. Little Susan was like Jane, and loved books, especially her mother's series.
Then there were her own children—oh, Beth was so much like her mother, and looked like her too. Rosalind thought that Beth must look just like her mother had as a little girl. The small twins, Claire and Anna, were named after Aunt Claire and Rosalind's friend Anna. They both had her brown hair, but Tommy's build and temperament. But they did love baking even at one; so that was good. From the moment Beth was born, Rosalind had feared that some of her daughters would end up playing football, but so far these fears were allayed. She knew her father was immensely proud of her and of her sisters, and their children. Then Rosalind remembered Ben. Dear, rosy, chuckling baby Ben; three-year-old Ben at Daddy and Iantha's wedding; four-year-old Ben running wildly in circles playing Astronauts with Batty, with a younger Hound prancing between them. Six-year-old Ben, starting first grade, and the very little Ben, who had helped in his own infant way to give Rosalind the idea of the plan that brought Iantha and Daddy together.
"You're a wise little boy, aren't you, precious?" Rosalind would say to him before tucking him and Batty into bed in their room. Now Ben was going to study botany, just like their father, and it looked like someday Ben would be teaching Arthur about plants.
"Rosie?"
"What?" Rosalind asked, looking around for the speaker. It was Skye, who had apparently come up by the kitchen stairs. She carried a tray of little tarts.
"Strawberry tartlets," said Skye. "Churchie made them. She said that the best way to get me learning how to make tarts is for me to watch her make them, but because all the children are here I didn't have any time to make them or to watch her. She gave them to me for the MOPS and said that she knows how much we four love pretending to be little girls again."
"Oh," said Rosalind. "I'll help her with the cooking tomorrow. I've been shamefully neglectful of cooking while we're here. It's odd, but Arundel always seems to have that effect on me, even the very first time we came here."
"I never imagined the first time Cagney hid me in that urn that time I banged into Jeffrey that I'd be living there in twelve years," said Skye.
"I never imagined during that whole thing with Daddy and Aunt Claire and dating and Tommy and Trilby that I'd end up marrying Tommy." Rosalind laughed. "Of course Jane always knew what she was going to be and so did Batty. You and I have come out with the most major surprises after growing up, I think."
Skye put the tray of tarts down on an ornate French console and proceeded to eat one.
"Are there any more?" asked Rosalind. "If not, we'll only take one each and then save the rest for the children."
"Rosie, there are two more trays of them, and there are eight here. Come on, Rosalind. What were you thinking about when you were staring over the banisters like that?"
"Well, I was thinking about how glad I am that everything turned out absolutely wonderful…and I was thinking about Batty, and how very proud I am of Batty, and how I am of Jane, and of you of course, and the children. And Ben, too. Isn't it odd that it was you who went into astrophysics like Iantha, while it's Ben who's in botany like Daddy?"
"Yes, a little," said Skye. "Although I liked astrophysics even before Iantha and Ben moved into Gardam Street. But the biggest surprise was you becoming a doctor, Rosie. I really mean it."
"Thankfully I was able to become a doctor by twenty-seven," said Rosalind. "And somehow I was able to manage children and life."
"That's because you were able to take four years of college in two," said Skye. "That's why you didn't have to wait so long."
"Yes." Rosalind smiled. "So many mothers want 'Dr. Rosalind Penderwick' for their children, but I go home at one and can only see about twelve patients a day. The children stay home with Tommy, because Tommy works internationally, so he has to work from five to eleven in the night, and then he sleeps till eight and the children wake then, so everything works out."
"Good," said Skye. She swallowed a mouthful of tart and then picked up the tray again. "Come on, Rosalind. You're not twenty-eight, and I'm not twenty-seven. You're twelve and I'm eleven, and Jane is ten and Batty is only four (although that last is a bit hard to imagine) and we're going to have an Emergency MOPS about Daddy and dating."
"Ugh," shuddered Rosalind. "Those months were a trial, Skye. Why did you have to bring them up?"
"Fine then, the MOPS before we went to Point Mouette the first time. Batty did call an emergency MOPS, didn't she?"
"Yes, I think she did. Most of the MOPS we call nowadays are Emergency."
"And because I live pretty far from you all our last six MOPSes have been over the phone," said Skye almost wistfully. "I'm glad that this one is going to be in person. Aren't you, Rosalind?"
"Of course," said Rosalind with a smile. "It's been ten years since we had a MOOPS. Skye, when was the last MOOPS?"
"Well, they got less and less as Batty got older," said Skye, trying to remember. "Wait, let me think…the last MOOPS was when you were getting ready to go to college, and you were telling me and Jane how to manage things and to be careful to talk to Batty if she came home looking upset because the schoolchildren used to tease Batty about her music."
"That was the last one. Well, we don't need any more MOOPS now, anyway. Batty is grown up."
"Why are we standing here?" asked Skye, who had put the tray down again. She picked it up now and held it. "Come on, Rosie. If we don't hurry up Batty and Jane will open the MOPS before us."
Rosalind knew that it was extremely unlikely that Batty would open a MOPS without her present, as Rosalind and only Rosalind had the authority to swear the four sisters to secrecy, which was why they had not had a single MOPS while Rosalind was at college, only a few about problems at home, conducted over the phone or over the computer.
Only if there was no means of contacting her and a MOPS simply had to be conducted was Skye allowed to open the MOPS.
But she remained lost in thought leaning over the banisters, seeing the shadows of four young girls, remembering how they had once come through this hallway on the way to Jeffrey's eleventh birthday party, how they had all worn Jeffrey's mother's old dresses, how Skye's shoes had squished…
Skye put her head back into the hall. "Rosie, Batty isn't here yet, but she says she'll be along in a minute."
A familiar feeling of concern that Rosalind just could not forget when Batty was around washed over her. "Why, is she all right? Is she feeling ill? I just know it was going without a coat at that last concert—"
"Good grief, no," said Skye, who was now without the tray of tarts. "Batty's fine. She's in the music room, playing a tune she wants to show to Emmy and Aurelia tomorrow morning. You still treat Batty like she was little, Rosalind."
"I know. But Mommy said to take care of her…I can't get out of it."
"For goodness's sake, Rosalind, come on. Don't just stand here and dream!"
"All right, all right," said Rosalind, turning away from the stairs at last. "What's your rush, Skye? I thought you said that Batty was in the music room rehearsing something to play to the girls tomorrow."
"She is, but she wanted us to be there first."
So Rosalind followed her younger sister down the hallway to a room halfway down, which was where Batty was sleeping.
Jane held out her hand when they started to ask her if she knew what Batty was calling a MOPS for.
"Is Batty on the piano?"
Though Rosalind and Skye knew that she was indeed on the piano, and probably Jeffrey was there too, they quieted and listened and heard the faint strains of a lilting melody being played downstairs.
"Evidently," said Skye, who had patiently borne Rosalind's long-winded reminiscing, and was now beginning to get a little irritated. "Don't worry, she'll be along in a minute. We can play twenty-questions or something like that until she comes.
Just then a diversion appeared in the shape of Emmy, who was rubbing her eyes and crying.
"What is it, sweetheart?" asked Skye, folding Emmy into her arms.
"I had a nightmare," sobbed Emmy.
"Well, sleep on this bed here," said Skye, patting Emmy's head. "Go on, Emmy." Emmy climbed into Batty's bed and was instantly asleep, a peaceful expression on her face so like her father's, now that she knew that her mother and her aunts were nearby and no bad dream would dare to hurt her. Jane had told Emmy that bad dreams were like bugs; blow on them, and they'd go away. Emmy was confident that if she fell into another nightmare, Skye, Jane, or Rosalind would see it before it got too bad and blow on it, right away.
"When is Batty going to come?" asked Skye impatiently. "She called this meeting for nine and it's now nine-ten!"
"Be patient, Skye," entreated Rosalind. "You know she can't be disturbed when she's doing her music, can't you?"
"Disturb schmisturb," said Skye crossly. "I'll wait another two minutes and if she isn't here by then I am going to go and get her."
So they waited for two minutes, Rosalind and Jane playing twenty questions and Skye keeping a severe eye on her watch. Then she got up, went out of Batty's room, down the hall, and to the banisters where Rosalind had been standing for a quarter of an hour, reflecting on who knew what. She took a deep breath.
"Batty!" she shouted. "Time for the MOPS!"