Chapter Four

Not Our Mother

Guys my interest in the story is waning. I am going to need some drastic support to keep at this thing. Here is your next chapter though. It's not my best and it's pretty short. There are some good moments though. Tell me what you think. This is mostly dealing with some family issues because I always wished that the books would give us more conflict dealing with the sister's grief over their mother and more conflict between the girls and Iantha. Speaking of the books, can anyone give me some info about them!? I saw on her website the fourth comes out in 2015? Anyway thank you guys for the support!

Disclaimer: I don't own the Penderwicks. I also (almost unintentionally) stuck a Harry Potter quote in there. Oops. It's brief, not exactly word for word, but I though should mention it. I don't own that either :(

All of the Penderwicks siblings were cuddled around the little kitchen table now, making ornaments for the Christmas tree. Jeffrey was there too of course, tickling Jane in a playful attempt to break her focus on the ornament she was bent over. Tommy was there as well, sulking on the side of the table opposite of Rosalind. Rosalind was busy ignoring him, wedged in between Batty and Ben, attempting to help them both simultaneously with their crafts. Skye sat in the midst of all of it, dodging glitter and glue and making a lousy half-hearted attempt at her own ornament.

Daddy and Iantha hurried through the door then, followed by a blustering wind that they quickly slammed the door against. There was a great deal of talking all at once, and Batty leapt up to show Iantha all of her ornaments, much like she had when Jeffrey and Skye returned. Iantha swept her up in her arms, which were already quite full of poinsettias, laughing and showering Batty with kisses. Mr. Penderwick gently took some of the dark red flowers carefully from Iantha's arms, dropping a quick kiss on her forehead.

Skye was watching all of this, but her main focus was Rosalind's reaction to all of it. Rosalind always carried herself with grace; her anger with grace, her joy with grace, even her grief with grace. But there was something about the holidays that overwhelmed her.

Skye guessed it was the memories from before. The way Daddy used to kiss their mother like the way he just kissed Iantha, the way her mother used to swoon over poinsettias like Iantha was… it bothered Skye too, it did. But it really hurt Rosalind.

"Batty, do you want to make cookies?" Iantha asked. Batty squealed.

"What kind?"

"Peanut butter kisses," Batty cried, scrambling out of her arms to run to the kitchen and get started. Skye and Rosalind both tensed. Of all the cookies…

Ben and Jane both jumped up to help. Tommy followed, mostly to avoid Rosalind and Skye followed too, when Jeffrey dragged her out of her chair. She felt as though she was betraying Rosalind in a way, but Jeffrey was laughing in her ear and Iantha was calling her over, so she went smiling. Rosalind stayed rooted to the table.

The cookie making went as you might guess, happily, but not cleanly by any standard. Batty and Iantha were trying to teach Ben how to crack eggs, which he just couldn't seem to get a handle on. At cracking them, he was fabulous; he could smash those things like a pro. When it came to getting them into the bowl without the shells, however, he had a little more difficulty.

Jane was stirring, too quickly of course, and bits of batter were going everywhere. Tommy was scooping peanut butter into the bowl as Hound barked at him, hoping to convince Tommy to slide him a scoop. Hound loved peanut butter. Skye and Jeffrey were on flour duty. Jeffrey dumped their carefully measured flour into the bowl too quickly, and a little white cloud exploded out of the bowl, right into Skye's face. What ensued was a flour fight. Mr. Penderwick looked lovingly on.

Skye and Jeffrey were at the sink trying to clean off all of the flour, when Skye noticed a look on Rosalind's face that she actually could recognize well. It was fragile and sad; a look reserved for all of the quiet moments she spent thinking of their mother.

"Skye, wait you still have flour on your nose!" Jeffrey said, reaching to brush it off. She swatted him away gently, and made her way to the dining room table. She slid into a chair next to Rosalind, who looked up with glassy eyes.

"You know, I think I'll sit this one out too," Skye said. Rosy smiled.

Iantha though, bless her, was no good at reading these looks. How could she be? She wasn't there for the awful year their mom died.

She came over, all a tither, talking about what help the girls were and how much more fun it would be if they joined. Skye was about to open her mouth and decline the offer when Rosalind, who was much worse at saying "no" because she hated disappointing people, agreed.

Skye sighed and followed Iantha and Rosalind to the kitchen, sensing tension in Rosalind's demeanor. Skye stayed tight to Rosy's side as they baked, bent upon being her faithful defender.

When the cookies came out of the oven, Iantha gave Rosalind the bowl of chocolate kisses to place on top. Rosalind quickly waved them away.

"Come on Rosy, didn't you tell me once that this was your favorite part?" Iantha asked.

"Yes but…" Rosalind started.

"I know you would do a fabulous job. In all those old photographs, your cookies look so perfect!" Iantha said. She was referring to the ones of Rosalind and their mother baking peanut butter kisses.

"Yes. But they only came out perfect because of our mother."

"So let's keep the tradition alive!" Iantha said.

She meant well. She always did. Skye knew that. Skye also knew that she was hurting Rosalind. Rosalind's favorite holiday tradition was baking these cookies with their mother. All the little kids would help of course, but the part where you stick the little chocolates into the top, their mother always saved that part for just her and Rosalind. And none of the other kids minded because they knew that Rosalind loved that part and they knew that the cookies turned out perfectly that way, because Rosalind was the best putter-of-chocolate-in-cookies that there was. Rosalind eyes were watering and Skye, her faithful defender, came to her defense.

"You aren't our mother!"

Skye's outburst was met with several stares and the kitchen that was full of noise and life a few minutes seemed dead. Skye felt her heart in her throat. She should stop before she did any more damage. She was like a hurricane though. Once she got spinning there was no stopping her. "You can't replace her. You can't replace her because she was the greatest woman in the whole world. You can't even pretend to be her. You can't pretend that Daddy loves you as much as he loved her, you can't pretend that these traditions are your traditions, because they were hers, you can't pretend that you love us as much as she did, because you don't. She loved us so much she died for us. She died giving birth to Batty. She loved us." Skye was running out of steam and she felt hot tears threatening to spill from her eyes. "Rosy and Mom are supposed to do the chocolate kisses," she said finally.

There was silence in a kitchen that no one knew could ever be silent. It was the kind of silence that is drawn out in the worst ways possible and that is louder that any silence ever was (a paradox not lost on anyone, especially Jane). Then Rosalind began to cry, really cry, and she went running for the door.

Iantha looked shell shocked and with a quiet "excuse me" she left the kitchen. Now the silence in the kitchen was deafening and the tension was palpable. Mr. Penderwick laid a warm, steadying hand on Skye's shoulder.

"Why don't we all just calm down now, ok?" he said gently.

Skye shrugged him off. She looked wild. Skye pulled away and ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. When she slammed her bedroom door, the whole house shuddered. Jeffrey surged forward, after her, but Jane held him back with her hands firmly on his shoulders.

"But…" he started, staring after Skye. He wanted nothing more than to comfort her.

Jane voice was a firm as her grip. "Let's get you home." She shoved his coat in his hands, wrapping her own around her shoulders and dragged him outside.

Mr. Penderwick took Ben in his arms and followed Iantha into the office. Tommy slowly dissolved into the woodwork, never being one to handle drama very well. And Batty was left standing all alone in the little kitchen.

Rosalind ran outside into the snow, tears freezing on her eyelashes. She forgot a coat, and the cold stung her skin, but she didn't stop. She ran out of their little yard, under the garden hedge and through the gardens. She came upon the little pond, frozen over at this point in the year, and she ran smack into a boy in a baseball cap.

"Rosy, what's wrong!?" he asked. Rosalind didn't explain, just buried her head into his chest and wept. Cagney held her for a long time, as the shadows in the gardens grew long and the evening fell fast. When she had calmed down somewhat, he took off his coat and wrapped it around her shuddering shoulders.

"Please tell me Rosy. Is it that boy?" he asked.

"No, no," Rosalind said, feeling it was her duty to come to Tommy's aid here. Rosalind squared her shoulders, suddenly mortified to be seen in such a fragile and dismal state, and wiped away her tears. "I am fine," she said.

Cagney looked unconvinced. "Are you sure?" he asked.

Rosalind nodded. "I will be. I just need some time away from the cottage," she said, gulping down the cold evening air.

Cagney smiled and offered her his arm. "Perhaps a stroll through the gardens then," he said. Rosalind considered his arm for a moment, then looped it with hers. "Perhaps," she said. Cagney smiled.

They walked for a long while in the garden. Rosalind rested her head against his shoulder and tilted her head back so she could look up at the stars. Skye's name was fitting she decided. The sky was always changing. Sometimes it showed it silvery night side, with stars and a moon and rockets. Other times it put up a wall of blue. Sometimes it filled with angry clouds like a summer storm, striking out with lightning, thunder brewing inside clouds. Sometimes the sky became so confused it would swirl with all sorts of dark angry colors that it would resemble a bruised knee after a soccer match (the ones Skye always wore like a battle scar). Sometimes it was clear. Sometimes, it let you gaze upon it. Other times, the sun was shining so bright it hurt, burnt.

"Rosalind?" Cagney asked.

"Hmm?" she hummed. She felt content there in the garden with him.

"Why were you at the pond the summer night so many years ago?" he asked.

Rosalind flushed. She answered slowly. "I suppose I was looking for some fresh air, and I saw you, and I… well I was snooping I suppose. I had quite the crush on you," Rosalind admitted.

"You did?" he seemed surprised. Rosalind would have thought he could have guessed as much. She just nodded.

"I didn't know," he said, thoughtfully.

"Don't worry about it. It was a dumb first crush," she said, almost laughing at his sudden confusion.

"No it's just… I wish I knew. I could have been more careful about what I said. I didn't… I hope I didn't cause you any heartbreak," he said, carefully.

"No heartbreak," Rosalind assured him. "Just first crush."

"I am honored then," he said. Rosalind smiled.

They walked in an easy silence for a while until they came upon a gazebo, tucked away in the bushes and dripping in soft white Christmas lights.

"Dance with me Rosy," he said.

"Excuse me?"

He pulled her after him onto the creaky wood floor of the gazebo. "I think I owe you as much, don't you think?" he asked, holding out his hand. "Dance with me."

Skye ran her hands through her hair. It was long, too long, but she was trying to grow it out like her mother's. She hadn't meant to say those things to Iantha. She just meant to defend Rosalind, but she lost her dumb temper again.

She went to Rosalind's side table, but what she was looking for was not there. Skye hurried to Rosalind's suitcase and, not bothering to be careful about how she went about it, she began digging through it. She finally found what she was looking for when she was sitting amongst a pile of clothes that all smelled like her sister. A picture, in a heavy wooden frame, of her mother. Her beautiful mother, with blue eyes and blonde hair like herself, but that was more beautiful than she would ever be. More patient to.

Iantha was great, better than anyone could ever ask for when it came to step mothers. She didn't deserve what Skye said to her. She was just trying to bring back the memories of their mother. But how were they supposed to move on, if they kept trying to bring her back? Nothing could bring her mother back. No amount of peanut butter kisses could fix it.

Skye looked at the picture in her hands. It was fading on the edges, like her memories. Skye hated it. Sometimes she struggled to remember things about her, like exactly how many freckles she had on her nose or which side of her smile she had a dimple. Pictures helped. She had twelve on her nose and the dimple was on the right side. But there were other things. Like the way her laugh sounded. Or the way she smelled on summer nights. Or the way the corners of her eyes wrinkled when she smiled.

Skye began to cry.

Jane walked next to Jeffrey, and he wondered about how much she looked like Skye right now. She was so determined. She had one hand on his back and was propelling him toward Arundel at a brisk pace that he almost had to jog to keep up with.

"Maybe I should just talk to her," he offered for about the twelfth time.

"Skye will talk when she is ready," Jane said gently, just as she had every other time he offered it.

"Jane, I can't just stand by while she is hurting," he said.

"Jeffrey, I know you love her," Jeffrey sputtered but Jane pushed on. "But I loved her first. I think she needs to be alone." There was finality in her voice.

Jane looked sideways at Jeffrey, who was looking like someone had just dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. "I know," she said. "I see the way you look at her. You are my best friend. She is my sister. She loves you too I think," Jane said, very matter-of-factly, like she didn't just turn Jeffrey's world upside down.

"She loves me?" he croaked finally.

Jane nodded. "She always loved you. But now I think it might me more than a simply platonic love."

Jane wondered if she should stop. Jeffrey looked like he was choking. He was kind of turning blue. Maybe it was more of a purplish hue…

"And…?" Jeffrey exploded. He looked like he was going to pop.

"And that's about it. She loves you. Even if she doesn't know it yet. Or won't admit it," Jane said. "Now Jeffrey, I really must be getting home to my mess of a sister. Mess of a family really. I am pleased I could enlighten you on your relationship status though," she said.

Jeffrey realized only then that they were standing at the front steps of Arundel.

Batty felt very alone. Everyone in the whole house seemed to have disappeared very suddenly without her. Even Rosalind!

Batty was thinking about what Skye said in her tornado of words. About Mommy dying because of her. Was it her fault? Batty felt a tear slip down her cheek. That wouldn't do. She didn't want to cry if Rosalind wasn't there to comfort her.

Rosalind. Oh why did she go? Batty hurried to the coat rack by the door, pulling the coat on and shoving her feet into Daddy's boots, because Hound had chewed a hole in her others, and Rosalind had yet to drive her to the store and pick out new ones.

She had to find Rosalind. She had to make sure she was ok. She had to make sure that it wasn't her fault that Mommy died.