Penny Dreadful, page 5
They deserted their booth, still giggling and snorting and laughing. Grinning at each other, they fled the diner and walked speedily away from Momma’s Happy Land.
Happy.
“That was fun,” Dirk whispered to Penelope as the door swung shut behind them with a sigh.
Penelope had to agree.
Back in the car, filled with a terrible breakfast but a deep appreciation for her parents, Penelope drifted off to sleep, lulled by the hum of the road and the green forever of the trees and the tranquil hills outside her window. Worn out from all the excitement and the travel, she slept a long time.
The next thing she knew, she was being roused by her mother’s voice calling out brightly, “This is it! Main Street, USA. Rise and shine, darling!”
WELCOME TO THRUSH JUNCTION
Penelope stared out the window. This was Thrush Junction, her new home, the answer to her prayers? This was hardly even a town. Whatever she’d imagined, she hadn’t imagined this. She remembered what her father had said about things being boring. Where was everyone?
In the late-afternoon sun the van moved slowly past a line of little shops that sat on a small hill—old-looking shops, just a few blocks of them, with wooden storefronts covered in peeling paint and saddled with sagging porches. The scrabbly yards were overgrown, and the sidewalks were cracked. On a few of the porches people sat, waving slowly as the Greys drove past.
LIVE BAIT AND TAXES, read the sign on one store.
A restaurant proudly proclaimed SOUP!!! WE GOT IT! With three exclamation points, Penelope thought, it must be extremely good soup.
They passed a storefront that said JACQUELINE SANCHEZ, MD: SPECIALIZING IN FINE WHINES SINCE 1984.
Dirk chuckled. “Well, they’ve got a sense of humor here, anyway.”
At the very top of the hill was a very old, very fancy, very official-looking building with a spire on top and a big bell. The entire structure was covered in some kind of bright green vine.
“What’s that place?” asked Penelope, peering up at the overgrown building.
“The sign says that’s the town hall. Also the mayor’s house, the police station, the firehouse, and the courthouse.” Delia squinted, reading the small print. “In a really small town, I guess everything is multipurpose. To make room for everything, and everyone.”
“And what’s that?” Penelope pointed to another building, a square, sort of ugly industrial building made of yellow brick. Painted on the side of the building were enormous red and purple letters that said WAKE UP, KIDS!
“A suggestion?” suggested Delia.
Penelope turned around to stare behind her at the funny square building. When she did, she noticed another, smaller sign that read THRUSH JUNCTION ELEMENTARY/MIDDLE. Penelope started to feel a little worried. It didn’t look like the kind of small-town schoolhouse she’d read about in books. It barely had any windows!
Delia began to slow down as they passed a few houses, and then turned onto the narrowest, windiest dirt road Penelope had ever seen. There was no sidewalk, just green everywhere. The road was flanked by trees whose branches touched in the middle of the road, forming a verdant archway overhead covered in small white blossoms.
Penelope took little note of the lovely trees because she was distracted by a girl walking up the road toward them. The girl looked about Penelope’s age. She wore a faded blue dress and a pair of bright red high-top tennis shoes. She was also carrying what appeared to be a dead possum. The girl was swinging the possum by its tail as though it were no big deal at all. As the Greys passed her in their car, the girl smiled and waved her free hand.
Penelope ducked down in her seat. Despite the girl’s friendly smile, she felt suddenly numb. What had she wished upon herself? Did she even have any idea what living in the country would be like? Did she really want to live here? Could she make a place for herself among the peeling paint and dead possums? She wanted a change, she did, and yet—
Penelope wondered if maybe her old life hadn’t really been so bad. Even if she’d been bored, at least she’d had her beautiful house, and if Jane and Olivia hadn’t been especially exciting, at least they hadn’t played with dead things.
Penelope gave a shiver that was partly about the possum and partly about the sudden realization that she’d have to make friends before she could have friends. She’d have to get to know a pack of strangers who all knew each other, who’d grown up together and were very different from Penelope. Maybe her clothes were all wrong. Maybe everyone played with dead animals. When the Penderwicks had gone to the country, they’d had each other, but Penelope was all alone. Making friends wasn’t something she knew very much about, except what she’d learned from books. Maybe it would be awful here, where everything was so new and strange. For the first time in Penelope’s life, she felt like she might need a sister, or even a brother. Too bad. Not much she could do about that.
Turning around to peer through Dijon’s back window at the girl they’d just passed, Penelope gulped. The girl was off in the distance, but Penelope could still make out the possum swinging beside the girl’s long braid of reddish hair.
Penelope was so preoccupied with staring behind her that she barely noticed when Dijon pulled off onto a little gravel drive and ground to a halt in front of a very strange house. Quickly, she flipped back around in her seat to look out her own window.
“Here we are,” said Delia, turning off the car.
They all stared.
“Is this ours?” Penelope asked. “The whole thing? All of them?”
Dirk looked perplexed. “It’s a very numerous kind of a house,” he said.
What they were all staring at was the fact that the Whippoorwillows—if that was what they were looking at—didn’t really look like a house. It looked like much more than that.
The main structure was a stately brick house that had seen better days, a tall red rectangle with peeling white trim, a grand old porch that wrapped around the building, and a set of stairs that ran up the right side of the house to the second floor. The house sat in a pleasantly sunny spot at the end of the tree-canopied gravel drive, surrounded by a clump of weeping willow trees. But that was just the beginning, because on either side of the main house were several other houses, tacked on to each other. Cottages, thought Penelope.
There were two of these connected cottages on the left side of the main house—one white and one purple. There were three on the right—in hues of orange, pink, and red. The only thing all the cottages had in common was that they looked homemade, lopsided, different. They were slightly different sizes and shapes. Some were covered in wooden clapboard, and others in shingles. The red house on the far right end actually appeared to have been made out of old doors. Running between the little front yards of the houses were tiny picket fences. In the yard of the white house, a hand-painted wooden sign read GOOD FENCES MAKE GOOD NEIGHBORS. The overall effect was that of a mother hen, flanked by her chicks, waiting to cross the road.
Penelope scrambled out of the van and stared. Six houses! She wondered if she could have a whole cottage to herself for a playhouse. She liked the purple one best of all.
Penelope felt the gravel crunching beneath the rubber soles of her shoes. It was a new feeling, unfamiliar but pleasant. She looked at the cracked porch steps and the peeling paint of the main house, and for some reason, she thought again of the girl with the possum. When she did, she felt a twinge of alarm.
But staring up into the green of the willows and down the winding dirt road, Penelope also felt a thrill. Gazing at the mountains beyond the house, she wanted to ramble, to do—in a hungry, wandering, real way. Looking at all the tiny cottages, Penelope wanted to explore. She had never felt so excited, or so nervous. Penelope had never felt so much.
“Wow,” Dirk said to Delia, opening his door and stepping out of the van beside Penelope. “Our new family estate is … um … interesting. If a little dilapidated.”
Delia climbed out too and walked around Dijon to join the others. “Yes, it’s different,” she said, breathing deeply and listening to the birds in the trees above her. “But it’s ours, and we can afford to keep it. Why, once we find someone to rent out the house in The City, we’ll have more than enough to pay for our groceries and keep the lights on while you write your book! Maybe we can even rent out these extra little houses as a bed-and-breakfast. That would be fun! Besides, my grandfather said that it was the most special place in the world when he was a boy.”
“That might have been the last time they replaced the roof on this place,” laughed Dirk. “But sure, why not? I’m game for adventure.”
He popped open the trunk and reached in for his messy box of papers and a few shoulder bags. “No reason to sit and stare. Might as well open up the house. I wonder how long it’s been since your aunt died.” He walked across the gravel drive and stomped up the rickety steps as though testing them.
Penelope and her mother followed more carefully behind him, and they were all facing the front door of the big brick house when it suddenly flew open.
The Greys jumped!
But there was nothing to be scared of. The person standing before them was only a girl, a girl about Penelope’s age. She had a tangled mess of jet-black hair, enormous brown eyes, skin the color of wet sand, cutoff jeans, and filthy feet that Penelope couldn’t help noticing. She had to wonder where those feet had been.
“Hullo!” the girl said. “What took you so long?”
The Greys stared at the girl in shock.
The girl looked patiently amused.
Penelope waited for one of her parents to say something. Neither spoke.
At last the girl laughed and shook out her curls. “Take a picture. It’ll last longer!”
This woke Dirk from his momentary trance. “Hey!” he said. “That’s not very polite.”
“Neither is staring,” said the girl with a shrug.
Penelope was impressed. This girl was like the house itself, a little wild and a little scruffy and a little scary and a little wonderful.
“Hi,” Penelope said softly. She held out a hand awkwardly. “Hi. I’m Penelope. What’s your name?”
“Luella!” said Luella, staring at Penelope’s hand, which dangled in midair, unsure of itself. After a moment Luella wrinkled her nose and added, “Your name is Penelope? Really? Penelope? You don’t look like a Penelope at all! You look like a Kate. Or maybe an Annie. If I were you, I’d change it.”
Penelope didn’t know what to say to that. She withdrew her hand quickly and put it in her pocket. She felt her mother’s arm come around her protectively.
“That’s very rude, Luella,” said Delia, shocked. “Penelope Grey is a wonderful name. It’s perfect, and I don’t know why you’d want to hurt my daughter’s feelings.”
Perfect? thought Penelope. Maybe it was a nice name, or a pretty name even, but Luella wasn’t wrong—Penelope had never felt like a perfect fit. Of course, she couldn’t say that to her mother.
“I didn’t mean any harm,” explained Luella. “It’s a fine name for someone. It just isn’t right for a kid like her.” She jerked a thumb at Penelope. “But that’s just my opinion. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone’s feelings. Really.” She stared at Penelope, eyes wide open, as though she was waiting for something. For all her bluntness, it seemed as if she really was sorry.
“It’s—okay,” said Penelope cautiously, staring back at Luella, and then, looking up at her mom, she attempted a smile. “Really, Mother. I’m fine.” And she was.
Luella rewarded her with a wide grin. “Oh, good! I’d hate to upset you on your first day. I do that sometimes, upset people. Without meaning to.”
“I suppose …,” Delia said carefully. “I suppose we’ll let it pass. It’s—um—nice to meet you, Luella. But, if you don’t mind my asking, what are you doing here?”
“Well,” said Luella, “right this minute I’m talking to you.”
Penelope stifled a giggle.
Delia found Luella’s answer less clever. “Hmmm. It would seem you are. Does your mother know where you are?” She reached out to push an unruly curl from in front of Luella’s eyes.
Luella laughed as the curl sprang right back. “That never works! And yeah, of course she does! Mom’ll be home later if you want to talk to her.”
Now Delia looked completely puzzled. “What do you mean by home? Isn’t this the Whippoorwillows?”
“Sure is,” said Luella. “And that’s home.”
“It is?” asked Delia.
“Well, they’d hardly let me live here by myself,” said Luella. “I’m only ten, after all.” She darted a look at Penelope, a look that asked, Is your mom nuts? Penelope smiled and shrugged ever so slightly, but inside she warmed.
Penelope wanted to tell the girl that she was about to be ten too, but for some reason she was having trouble opening her mouth. It appeared to be stuck.
“Hey!” said Dirk, heading for the front door of the house. “I have an idea. Perhaps we can take this rather confusing conversation inside. My arms are getting tired, and it’s hot. What do you all say? Come on!”
Dirk began to walk past Luella, but as he reached for the screen door at the front of the house, Luella said, “Oh, did you guys want to come over to our place? I thought you’d want to go to your own apartment first.” She pointed to the porch roof above their heads. “Mom said to give you the key.” With her other hand she pulled a single key from her pocket, a key on a length of twine.
“Apartment?” asked Dirk. He looked upward. “What apartment?”
Luella sighed in an exasperated, impatient way. “Are you or aren’t you moving into Up-Betty’s place?” she asked.
To Penelope the girl whispered, “She died in there, you know!”
“Up-Betty?” Delia looked bewildered. “Do you mean my great-great-aunt Betty? She lived in an apartment?”
Luella nodded.
Delia ran a hand through her hair and said, “But I thought I’d inherited the house. I’m very confused.”
“Look,” said Luella. “I’m just a kid. All I know is that Up-Betty died, and Mom said you were taking over her place and that I should give you this key when you got here.” She held up the key. “And I hope you plan to do that, because it’s spooky having a big empty apartment up there. There are creaks all night long. Someone needs to move in up there to scare off the ghosts.”
“Ghosts, huh?” said Dirk. “I wonder—is there an adult we could talk to, maybe?” He reached for the key.
“There’s Old Joe in the white house,” said Luella, waving vaguely toward the cottage at the end. “I guess he’s an adult. But he’s about a hundred and two, and kind of past being an adult. It is the middle of the day, you know. Most people are at work.”
“How about this,” Delia said, turning to Dirk. “Why don’t we just put our bags in the upstairs apartment for now, and then drive into town for an early dinner? While we’re there we can find Donsky and Donsky, Esquires. I’m sure they can explain all of this.”
“Sounds fine to me,” said Dirk. “I’m starving. Though I didn’t see much in the way of fine dining downtown.”
Luella, her eyes fixed firmly on Penelope, piped up. “You might like the fried chicken at the Junction Lunch.”
“Thanks,” said Penelope, whose mouth appeared to be working at last. “I love fried chicken. It’s my favorite.” (Which was true at that very minute, though it never had been before.)
Luella smiled brightly and added, “Hey! Mine too! I wonder what else we have in common.”
Penelope stared at her feet happily. All things considered, this was going well.
As they all trooped up the stairs to the second floor of the main house, Penelope whispered to Luella, “Don’t tell my mom, but I think you’re right about my name. Penelope Grey sounds like someone who wears a fox fur with a face.”
“Exactly!” said Luella loudly. Then she confided, “If you want to know the truth, I changed my name when I was five. There were already too many Emilys in my kindergarten class. Me, an Emily!” Then Luella turned and stomped down the stairs.
SETTLING AND UNSETTLING
The first thing Penelope noticed about the apartment, after setting down her little suitcase in the big open living room beyond the door, was that it felt like a tree house. High up and full of windows, it looked out onto a sea of green willow trees and out over the thick lush landscape and the mountains beyond. But this was no ordinary tree house! It was a tree house furnished with faded Persian carpets and Chinese screens, leather ottomans and dusty copper tables, Navaho beaded slippers hung on doorknobs, and huge Greek-looking statues serving as coatracks. And everywhere—covering every wall—were posters and pictures from places all over the world, in languages Penelope couldn’t even identify.
The Chinese screens were cracked and the carpets were threadbare, the leather was dried and the copper was tarnished, but none of that mattered in the least. It was the most interesting place Penelope had ever seen. She moved slowly around the big open living room, examining and touching each object. She was so absorbed that she barely registered her mother’s voice a few feet away, bemoaning each crack, each chip, the missing crystals in a chandelier. Penelope’s fingers grazed every surface, and she wondered how on earth all of these things had gotten here.
After a while Delia and Dirk moved on to another room, and Penelope found herself sitting on the floor beside a wooden crate. The side of the crate was stamped with the word PEACHES, but inside it were stacks of magazines and pamphlets so old that they crumbled at Penelope’s touch. Still, she couldn’t resist them. Gingerly she pulled a pile from the crate and laid them in her lap for a closer look. They weren’t just old, they were ancient! Black Bess, one was called. Varney the Vampire, read another. According to the dates on each magazine, they were more than a century old! This place was almost like a museum.
Penelope opened one up as gently as possible. When she did, she found that it was nearly unreadable, eaten by moths and mice and many years. That’s too bad, she thought, closing the magazine again to gaze at the picture on the front.
