Chapter Six
I decided to let the Penderwicks have at least one chapter of peace before things come crashing down again when I toss them into our climax. So this one is fluff, and I apologize for lack of substance, but throwing them from one crisis to another just felt wrong. And before I forget, has anyone here seen Frozen and thought they wrote it with our Penderwicks in mind? Because when I took my littlest sis to go see it, I saw Anna and thought Jane and saw Elsa and thought Skye (kinda). I threw a quote in from Frozen because I couldn't help myself, but I don't own Frozen) Ok anyway here you go. I was finally inspired by a snowstorm we got here.
And to Pseudonymperson: "Didn't their mother die from cancer, not giving birth to Batty?" I was waiting for this one. You are absolutely right and I was absolutely wrong. She died of cancer very near to the time when she gave birth to Batty. I think that when I read it the first time, I took it as the birth of a child while fighting cancer at the same time lead to the death of Elizabeth, while in reality it was probably only a result of the cancer itself. My apologies. I realized this before I published the last chapter, but it worked nicely with what I had, adding to the drama and all… I suppose for the sake of the story we can say that Skye knew that their mother didn't die because of Batty, but in her brief temper tantrum she twisted the facts to pin unfair blame on Batty. I hope this helps… I really am sorry about that.
I don't own the Penderwicks.
The morning light was bright off the snow that had yet to melt. The four sisters were huddled together in Rosalind's bed, blessedly warm in the shivering house. Batty was the first awake. She seemed to always be the first awake now that she was living with a bunch of teenagers.
She rolled over to face Rosalind and poked her once. Twice. "Rosy?" she whispered.
Rosalind grunted in a rather ungraceful manner and opened one eye to look at Batty. Batty's eyes were impossibly wide, full of the wonder and delight that, at this hour of the morning, only sparkles in the eyes of nine year olds. "Rosalind," Batty said, scolding. "Wake up."
"It's early Batty, go back to sleep."
"I can't," Batty sighed heavily and dramatically, sounding scarily like Jane. She flopped across Rosalind. "The sky's awake, so I'm awake," she moaned.
Rosalind giggled despite herself. "Skye is most certainly, not awake," she said, looking at the eldest of her younger sisters. Skye was snoring slightly, her hair sticking out in all directions. Rosalind closed her eyes again against the bright morning and savored the smell of the fresh sheets and the warmth of Skye's side pressed against hers. The moment was short lived however, because the weight of Batty's big eyes was too pressing. Rosalind snuck a peek at her youngest sister who, sure enough, was still looking at her wide eyed and hopeful.
"Fine," Rosalind sighed, detangling her legs from the sheets and carefully climbing out of the bed that was all too small for four sisters. Batty leapt to her feet on the bed, making it sag beneath her. Rosalind marveled over how her other sisters could sleep through such a ruckus. Then again, Jane and Skye could sleep through a hurricane. Then Batty leapt from the bed to Rosalind's back, squealing, full of an unprecedented zeal to face the day.
Rosalind wavered a little under Batty's weight (though even at nine, Batty's didn't weigh much) attempting to regain her balance lost in her littlest sister's attack. "You are getting to old for this," she mumbled. But despite her grumblings, Rosalind carried Batty downstairs. Batty was getting too old for such things, but Rosalind simply didn't want it to be true.
Batty scrambled down from her back when they got to the kitchen that was lit with the soft grey-blue glow of an early morning. She dashed to the windows to stare out at the soft, downy cover of snow, the way she did every morning while Rosalind watched fondly on. The ground had been covered in the same coat of white since they had gotten here, but Batty look out at it every day like the world was dressed in a brand new dusting of snow. Rosalind supposed she could learn a thing or two from her sister when it came to appreciating the small wonders of the world.
Rosalind got a pan with butter heating over the old stove, and she got the coffee maker brewing dark, strong coffee in hopes of using the smell to wake Daddy and Skye (who both had a particular fondness for the stuff that Rosalind never quite understood). Then the kitchen was quiet except for the sound of butter sizzling and browning on the stove and coffee percolating in the machine. Rosalind leaned back against the heavy wooden kitchen table and closed her eyes in the lazy, blue morning.
"Rosy?" Batty asked suddenly, her voice sounding very loud in the otherwise silent house. "How do you know when you are in love?" Batty's face was still pressed to the window pane and her breath made a small cloud on the glass.
Rosalind's dark eyes flew open and she regarded her littlest sister carefully, wondering how such a big question could come from such a tiny girl. Batty turned around looking at her expectantly with wide eyes the color of coffee.
Rosalind decided she was going to need caffeine if they were going to have this conversation at this young an hour. She poured herself a cup of coffee, black, and took a tentative sip. She winced at the taste and then cleared her throat before addressing the tiny girl in front of her. "When the time comes, you just know," she said gently. "When you are with the person you love, everything is brighter."
Batty turned this answer over in her mind. Suddenly the look of confusion cleared on her face and the little wrinkle that had formed between her eyes brows smoothed. "Is it louder?" she asked in a confidential whisper, like she had just caught onto to some great secret.
"Hmm?"
"Being with the person you love. Is it louder?"
"I suppose so," Rosalind said. She took another sip of the coffee and winced again. "Your heartbeats sure seem to get louder. Or maybe even your footsteps get louder, if you are anything like Tommy, who used to get so nervous around me that he would start falling all over himself…"
"No. I mean like, a crescendo." Batty said, a bit impatiently.
Rosalind blinked.
Seeing her look of confusion, Batty hurried to explain. "It's a music term. Crescendo; a gradual increase in loudness in a piece of music, a progressive increase in force or intensity. In music, it is like the entire piece is moving forward and building into something amazing. And everything becomes a rush of notes and melodies and you get caught up in the music…" She faded away, looking to Rosalind for an answer.
Rosalind gaped at Batty. Another sip of coffee. "You have been studying those music terms Jeffrey gave you, haven't you?" Rosalind said finally.
Batty nodded but was still looking expectant, waiting for a response. "Yes Batty," Rosalind said, shaking her head slightly as she wondered over her sister. "Love is like a crescendo."
Batty nodded, looking content finally with Rosalind's answer. She turned away again and pressed her nose to the glass. Rosalind turned away too, to mix up a batch of pancake batter. There was an odd tightness in her chest. Her littlest sister wasn't quite so little anymore.
She felt, rather than saw, Batty scamper up beside her. Batty stood on tiptoes to try and see into the pan. "Here," Rosalind said, laughing at the little pair of eyes peeking. She reached down, scooped up Batty, and set her on the edge of the counter beside the stove top so she could watch. Rosalind showed her how to pour the perfect sized pancake.
"I think that Jeffrey and Skye are in love," Batty said, her brow wrinkling again in thought.
Rosalind almost dropped the batter bowl. "You… how…"
Rosalind was frazzled but, nine year olds have a way of saying what they mean and not feeling embarrassed by it. Batty looked at her evenly and then pointed at the pan.
"Bubbles," she said. Rosalind flipped the pancake.
"What makes you say that?" Rosalind asked.
Batty sighed, sounding almost exasperated, and gave Rosalind a look that said I thought we went over this. But seeing Rosalind still looked confused, Batty clarified. "He looks at her like she is a crescendoing piece of music." Batty paused, swinging her feet as she thought.
"And Skye lets him look at her like that."
It was the most honest way that Skye and Jeffrey could ever be summed up. Jeffrey adored her in every way. He looks at her like she is his whole world. And Skye is terrible at showing her own emotions, but she lets him be there for her. She lets him look at her like she is his sun and she doesn't turn away. And with most this wouldn't seem like much, but with Skye it seems like it might just be love for the green-eyed boy.
Rosalind regarded Batty for a long moment. "When did you get so smart?" she asked finally. And as Batty giggled, Rosalind playfully swiped a bit of batter across her nose.
The knock at the door made them both jump. Batty rushed to answer it, licking batter from her fingers as she went.
"Jeffrey!"
Batty was swept up into his arms faster than she could understand what was happening. He pressed her dark, wild curls into his chest, his own unruly hair brushing her ear. "Are you ok?" he whispered.
Ah. Now Batty understood then reason for her suffocation. Someone (probably Cagney) must have told him about the pond fiasco.
"Fine," she said pulling away just slightly for a breath. The air around him smelled of cinnamon and wood and something soft and musty that Batty could never seem place with a tangible object but was redolent of music. His eyes that were usually crisp and light like celery looked like a forest floor, darkened with worry. "I was just a bit cold and wet is all," Batty assured him.
Jeffrey fondly and gently tugged her curls. "You gave me a scare. No more trekking across thin ice, ok? I have something for you."
Only then did Batty realize that Jeffrey was holding something under the arm that was not still wrapped tightly around her. A boot. Her boot. Or Daddy's to be exact. Batty threw her arms around Jeffrey's neck again and gingerly took the soggy yellow boot. She had been feeling truly awful about losing it, as it was never hers to lose in the first place.
"How did you get it?" Batty asked, fully pulling away from him now to look up at him questioningly. Jeffrey, grinning widely, made a motion like he was fishing, and reeling in a big catch. Batty's eyes lit up at the thought of such a heroic deed from her favorite boy, and Jeffrey winked.
Batty took his hand and dragged Jeffrey into the kitchen where Rosalind was waiting with a stack of pancakes.
"Rosy!" Batty squealed and held up her boot.
"Did Jeffrey rescue that for you?"
"Mmm hmm," Batty said through a mouthful of pancakes. She was looking at Jeffrey like he was superman.
Rosalind smiled at Jeffrey over Batty's head. "You've got us Penderwicks wrapped around your finger."
Jeffrey seated himself at the table and looked up at Rosalind slowly. His yes met hers and rested there for a moment, as he tried to decide whether or not she meant that a bit more than just literally. She did.
"Not all of you," he said. He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. There was sadness there in the green. Rosalind slid a plate of pancake toward him before addressing him seriously.
"I wouldn't be so sure about that."
Skye woke up to the smell of coffee. She blinked in the pale morning light and looked up at her sister sitting propped against the pillows next to her. Jane had her writing notebook spread across her lap and her tongue was stuck out of the side of her mouth and she wrote. She said it helped her concentrate. Something about "tasting the creative thoughts in the air." Skye thought it was a load of mumbo-jumbo and just made Jane look crazy.
"Good, you are awake. I need you to listen to this piece I am writing for a poetry slam at this coffee shop in town," Jane said, looking down at her.
Skye pulled the blankets back over her head. "I'm still sleeping."
"Skye," Jane groaned. She ripped the blankets off her sister and shoved a newspaper article under her nose. The headline declared a "BATTLE OF WORDS" at place called The Dailey Brew. The winner of the slam apparently got the winning poem published in the local newspaper as well as control over the creative writing column for a year.
"Now listen," Jane started, taking a deep breath as she prepared to launch into her poem.
Skye wracked her brain desperately for a subject change. "Where is Rosalind and Batty?" she asked quickly.
Jane let out the breath and looked at Skye with a sour look on her face. "Downstairs with your… what shall we call Jeffrey? Your star-crossed lover?"
Jane now wore a playful grin. Skye was going to wish she hadn't tried to avoid the poetry.
"My star-crossed…"
Jane got a pillow to the face.
"Skye!" Jane said, laughing as she closed her notebook and lunged for a pillow of her own. "Oh come on, you two have been dancing around the inevitable for years now…"
Skye sputtered and then promptly pushed Jane off the bed. She snuck a peek over the mattress to look at Jane, who was sprawled dramatically on the rug. "I don't dance, remember? And I most certainly do not do things as dumb as falling in love." Then she jumped off the bed and at her sister, pillow in hand.
Jane ran. The two tore through the house, down the stairs, and startled the three in the kitchen. Skye raced after Jane, sliding around the kitchen table in her socks. Jane shrieked and laughed as Skye's attempt to land another blow with her pillow fell short and instead flipped Hound's food bowl over. Hound started barking. And just like that, all hopes for a peaceful morning were shattered.
It didn't take long for Batty and Jeffrey to get caught up in the excitement of things and, snatching pillows off the couch, they joined the pillow fight. Rosalind first attempted to regain peace in the kitchen, calling unsuccessfully for order. However, she gave this up all together when Jane hit her from behind with a pillow that broke at the seams and erupted into a shower of soft feathers. With soft down clinging to her hair, Rosalind grabbed a pillow for herself.
What ensued was an all-out war.
Pillows were collected from all the beds in the cottage and forts were constructed from blankets draped over the backs of chairs and other furniture. The scene was a blur of feathers and bodies silhouetted by the soft, hazy glow of the morning coming though the full length windows behind them. They were a bunch of kids in a pillow fight, feeling more like kids than they had for the large part of a long while.
It was a collection of small moments.
Batty laughing as she jumped from the arm of the couch into a pile of pillows on the floor.
Rosalind scooping her up, her eyes glassy with "happy tears" and nostalgia.
Skye giggling (imagine that!) as her pillow burst into a flurry over Jeffrey's head.
Jeffrey's eyes shining as he dove away behind the couch for safety.
Jane, creeping up behind an unsuspecting Skye, ready for what was sure to be the fatal blow.
This particular moment was interrupted though, when Jeffrey intervened heroically. He lunged from his hiding place and grabbed Skye around the waist, pulling her behind the couch into one of the forts, this one made from a dark green blanket stretched from the back of the couch to two kitchen chairs. They crashed down onto the pillows that cushioned the fort's floor and let the blanket serving as the door fall back into place and cover the mouth of the fort.
Skye squirmed away from Jeffrey and snatched up a pillow. She was poised for a well-aimed hit to his head, when Jeffrey caught her wrist, stopping her attack. "I just saved you from the horrors of battle, Skye Penderwick," he said, a goofy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "The least you could do is thank me." Skye scowled at him, but dropped the pillow.
"I don't need saving."
Jeffrey had never heard a truer statement. Skye was not a damsel in distress. Skye was the heroine in shining armor. Well, pajama pants.
"I know Skye. But everybody needs someone in their corner," he said, suddenly serious and his voice soft. They the both became quite aware of the fact that they were very close in the small space. Skye could smell his toothpaste and feel his breath on her face. There was a moment when they both held their breaths, and time stopped, and the moment seemed to hang on the edge of something either disastrous or spectacular or both.
And then Skye pulled from his grip on her wrist and she collapsed backwards so that her back was against the couch.
A small grin formed on her lips. "You can be in my corner. You can massage my shoulders between rounds and wrap my knuckles and hold my spit bucket. But you may want to leave the real fighting to me."
Just then Jane came bursting through the makeshift door to the fort, a pillow held over her head, ready for attack. Skye leapt up, her own pillow in hand and with it, she caught Jane in the stomach. Jane made a sound like "oof" and went reeling backwards out of the fort into a heap of blankets that cover the floor of the living room.
Skye grinned and looked down a slightly bewildered Jeffrey. "If anything, you are the one that needs saving," she said into his ear, and then she rushed back into the fray.
Jeffrey decided that Skye Penderwick would be the death of him. She would be the death of him with her sarcastic quips, and that wicked grin, and the small moments where she let him see what really went on in that mind of hers. Yes, she was going to kill him, but he was going to go down in a blaze of light and fury. Like a comet in the sky. In her sky. And it was going to be spectacular.