Penny Dreadful, page 7
“Special care?” asked Delia in a wobbly voice.
“Yes indeed.” Tolly nodded. “Sick llamas need a lot of love, and medicine, and that debt still needs to be paid.” She tapped the pile of papers. “You need to fill these out so we can get you set up for monthly payments. That is, unless you’ve hit the jackpot recently, or something like that.”
Delia shook her head wordlessly.
Tolly laughed gaily. “I didn’t think so. Though one never knows. Folks do win the lottery now and again, strike gold!”
Hearing this, Delia turned to Penny and said quickly, “Penny, dear, why don’t you go out and enjoy the sunshine.”
Penny stood. She wanted to refuse, wanted to say that she’d rather help. But she didn’t want to make things any harder for her mother, so she headed meekly outside to sit in a patch of thistles that had sprouted in the cracked sidewalk. When at last the office door opened, Delia marched past Penny without saying a word.
All the way home Penny tried to watch her mother without being too obvious about it. Delia’s lips were narrow. Her brow was creased as though she was thinking very hard. In the office she had looked scared. Now she looked angry.
Penny asked quietly, “Mother, will it be okay?”
Delia didn’t answer.
When they got home, Dirk was sitting in the living room eating a pear. “How’d it go?” he called out cheerfully.
“Not quite as smoothly as expected,” called Delia in a firm voice. She didn’t even bother to set down her purse, just motioned for Dirk to follow her into their bedroom.
As they walked from the room, Dirk asked through a mouthful of pear, “What’s up? Is it about the tenants?”
“The tenants are the least of our worries,” Delia replied. Then she closed the door behind her.
Penny flinched at the sound it made shutting.
FINDING A FRIEND
Penny sighed and headed for the kitchen, where she made herself some lunch (cheese and crackers and carrot sticks). Then she spent an hour at the front window of their second-floor apartment listening to the squirrels scampering overhead, watching the willows wave in the breeze, and trying not to worry. Since there was no alternative that she could see, she waited patiently for her parents to emerge and explain.
After a bit Penny began to notice things happening out in the yard. She saw a window in one of the cottages (the white one at the end) open. She watched an extremely old man holding something that looked like a violin case teeter to a rusted car that looked as if it wouldn’t go, but then it did. And then, then she saw a girl about her own age step from the bright orange cottage just below her window. Penny stood up and stuck her head through the window, trying to get a better look at the girl below her. It wasn’t Luella. Who was it?
Whoever she was, she was the prettiest person Penny had ever seen. She had long, shining, straight blond hair pushed neatly back in a lavender headband exactly like the one Penny was now wearing. Penny touched her own headband and wondered if maybe it was a sign. The girl was carrying an armload of what looked like library books. Books! Maybe she was the friend of Penny’s dreams: a Betsy to her Tacy.
The girl smiled at nothing in particular, and as she bent to pick a few flowers from her little garden, Penny felt a wonderful nervousness well up inside of her. This girl looked like a kindred spirit. Penny could just imagine the fun they’d have swapping books, doing their homework together, and everything, everything else. Maybe there would be secret sharing and midnight feasting. Penny was happy to have Luella downstairs, but this girl looked perfect.
The girl began to walk slowly away, along the drive and through the willows. Penny stood up. This was her chance! She took a deep breath and hurried to the door, ready to make a friend. She pattered down the stairs that ran along the side of the house down to the porch, and practiced her hello. She knew just how she’d do it. She’d call out, easily and warmly, “Hey there! Want to play?” as though it were no big deal, as though it were just something she said to kids all the time. Not something she had to think about at all.
By the time she stepped down onto the planked porch floor, the girl was on the far side of the gravel drive, heading for the road. Penny mouthed too gently, too nervously, “Hey. Hey there!” It was almost a whisper.
Of course nobody could have heard a timid whisper at that distance, and the girl didn’t even turn around. Penny watched her shining blond head bobbing away. Why wouldn’t her voice work? Why was this so hard? Clearly she needed practice.
Penny walked down a few steps, took a deep breath, and tried again, louder this time. “Hey there!” she called out.
This time the girl stopped in her tracks and glanced around her feet as though looking for something. Almost as though she had heard Penny and was thinking about answering.
Seeing this, Penny felt a little less invisible. She felt a strange rush inside her. It was as though she couldn’t control herself. Her legs and throat took over, and she ran to the bottom of the steps and fairly hollered, “HEY THERE! YOU! WHAT’S YOUR NAME?”
This time the girl turned around, and her eyes met Penny’s. But instead of answering Penny’s call, the girl just knelt to pick up the daisy she’d dropped from her bouquet, then looked up again at Penny motionless on the porch. The girl blinked, as though waiting for something.
Penny waited too. It was the other girl’s turn to say something.
The silence went on too long. Penny stared, until finally the girl gave a slight shrug and turned back around, continuing on her way. Penny couldn’t believe what had just happened. She knew she didn’t have much experience with making friends, but she hadn’t done anything wrong, had she? What else could she do?
Penny tried one last time. In a sudden burst, she dashed headlong down the steps and yelled at the top of her lungs, from the bottom of her heart, “PLEASE COME AND PLAY WITH ME! PLEASE? PLEASE BE MY FRIEND?”
Then she clapped her hand to her mouth, mortified.
This time the girl didn’t even turn around. She ignored Penny completely, stepped off the drive, and disappeared around the bend of the windy road.
Penny stood alone at the bottom of the splintery stairs feeling ridiculous. She resolved that she would never, ever do anything like that again.
A door slammed behind her. She turned to face the stairs and found the tangle-haired Luella at the very top of them. Luella was holding open a screen door and wearing the same dirty shorts she’d been wearing the day before. She pointed a finger at Penny and squinted down the stairs. “What’s all the commotion? Who’re you talking to? Who do you want to be friends with?” asked Luella accusingly.
“Oh, um, nobody,” answered Penny as she felt the flush drain from her face. She walked back up onto the porch, trying not to look directly at Luella as she passed her. “I was just remembering something from a movie I saw one time. I was just saying some lines from that movie. Rehearsing them. I’m—uh—going to be an actress when I grow up.” She blushed as she spoke the lie.
“Really?” said Luella. “Really?”
Penny nodded and headed for the steps to the second-floor apartment.
“Really?” Luella turned to follow Penny with her eyes.
Penny nodded again, gulping. She could feel Luella’s eyes on her back, just like people always seemed to do in mystery novels. Standing on the third step to the upstairs apartment, she turned and met Luella’s gaze. “Don’t you ever do that?”
“No,” said Luella, staring back. Then she smiled. “I don’t, but then, I’m going to be an archaeologist. Either that or an airplane pilot. I haven’t decided.”
Penny didn’t know how to respond to that, but Luella seemed like she meant to be nice. Her smile was friendly. So Penny smiled back down onto the porch.
“Where were you all day yesterday?” asked Luella. “I figured I’d see you around, but you’ve been hiding out.”
Penny only shrugged. It seemed dumb to say she’d been hanging out with her parents organizing the spices.
“Don’t have much to say, do you, Penelope?” asked Luella.
Penny shook her head. “I guess not,” she said. Then she thought of something. “But—oh! Guess what! I’m not Penelope anymore. I changed my name.”
“You did?” asked Luella. “That was quick! What’d you change it to?”
“Penny?” said Penny.
“Pennnnnny,” said Luella slowly. “Huh. Yeah, that’s a good name, all right. Really good.”
Penny beamed.
“You know, Penny,” said Luella, “if you’re lonely, and if you want to, you can come watch my worm battle.” She said this as though she were bestowing a great gift.
“I’m not lonely,” said Penny, tensing up. “I’m fine. I told you—”
“Okay then,” said Luella with a shrug. “Suit yourself.” She turned to open her front door and prepared to head back inside.
Penny watched the screen door swing open. “Watch your what?” she asked.
“Worm battle,” said Luella, pausing before stepping inside. “Just a little worm battle. It’s pretty fun.”
Penny, who had never heard of such a thing in her life, not even in a book, walked back down the three steps to the creaky porch. Considering the unfriendly shiny-haired girls and the worried parents Penny was dealing with today, pretty fun sounded pretty good.
She followed Luella through the door and into an empty white room. There she stood looking around, while her new friend disappeared down a hallway and returned carrying a large terrarium, which she set on the floor. Then Luella rang a little bell, leaned into the terrarium, and yelled at two very sluggish earthworms, “Are you ready to RUUUUUMBLE?”
Penny sat on the floor beside Luella, and they waited for something to happen. After about four minutes, when neither worm had so much as rolled over, Penny tapped Luella on the knee cautiously. In a whisper she asked, “Hey, Luella? What’s supposed to happen?”
“Shhh!” said Luella accusingly. “I think they were about to do something. Now you scared them.”
Penny almost laughed at this suggestion. These worms did not look like they were capable of being scared. They looked dead.
As though she might be thinking the very same thing, Luella rapped gently at the glass. “Get up and fight, Billy the Bruiser! Wake up and show him who’s boss, Chainsaw Charley!”
Neither worm looked like it had any interest in complying with Luella’s wishes.
Luella pouted and sat back on her heels. She turned to Penny and said, “Cross my heart and hope to die, last time it was a bloody mess. They were on fire. They ripped each other to shreds.…”
Penny stared at Luella. This was clearly an exaggeration and probably a complete lie. I know she doesn’t want to be an actress, Penny thought, but watching Luella is kind of like watching a movie or a play.
Luella kept talking. “They were in pieces, and you know what happens when worms get cut in half!” Luella grinned and rubbed her hands together wickedly.
Penny did not know, but before she could say a word, one of the worms flipped over onto its back with a halfhearted squirm.
“Ooh! See!” said Luella, pointing. “Now they’re getting crazy!”
This was the most absurd thing Penny had ever heard. She tried to keep a straight face, but the worms were so sad and limp, and Luella’s claim so ridiculous, that Penny burst out laughing instead. Once she began to laugh, she found she couldn’t stop. She just pointed at the pathetic worm and said, “Yeah, c-c-c-crazy! That’s just w-w-w-what they are!”
Luella looked like she was going to argue, but then she started laughing too, and once they were both going, neither could stop. The two girls held their sides and laughed and giggled and pointed at the worms through the glass for a good three minutes. They fell over, they laughed so hard.
Finally Penny calmed down. Wiping away a tear, she propped herself on one elbow and asked, “Hey, what does happen when worms get cut in half?”
Luella rolled over and looked at Penny, mystified. “Are you telling me you’ve never cut a worm in half?”
“Why would I want to do that?” asked Penny. She sat up.
“I don’t know,” said Luella with a shrug. “Kids just do. Same reason you’d burn a leaf with a magnifying glass or do a puppet show or build a fort or hunt for treasure or dress up your dog.”
“Oh, I’ve done a puppet show!” said Penny with a nod.
Luella stared at her. “You mean you’ve never built a fort?” she asked. “Not ever? Not even a small one?”
Penny shrugged. She was only now becoming aware of all the things she’d never done. This wasn’t the wispy, floaty, vague sense of absence she’d always had, but a concrete picture of forts and worms and—well, everything. Penny didn’t know what to do, so she just looked at Luella and shrugged.
Luella understood. She jumped up and called out happily, “Then why are we wasting time with worms? Let’s get these guys back to the garden. You have some serious catching up to do!” She grabbed the worms in one hand and Penny with the other and ran quickly back out onto the porch, down the steps, past the row of cottages, and around back to a very large garden.
Penny, dragging along behind Luella, was so excited to build a fort with Luella that she almost ran into her father, who was wearing a pink straw hat with a wide brim, weeding lettuce beside a very old lady in a pair of overalls. She stopped just before she barreled into him.
“Hi, Daddy,” she said, shielding her eyes from the glaring sun. “I’m playing with Luella. And worms.”
“What a coincidence! I’m playing with worms too!” Dirk held up a giant nightcrawler. “Also I’m talking to Down-Betty here. She has some great stories. Makes me rethink the direction of my novel. I might shift gears, work on something more pastoral, more American gothic. What do you think?”
Penny didn’t have any opinion on the matter (and she was beginning to seriously doubt that her father would ever finish his book), but it didn’t matter because just then the old lady interrupted Dirk and changed the subject. She winked at Penny and said, “Hello, dear! I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of an introduction—”
“Oh!” said Dirk. “I’m sorry! Betty, this is my daughter, Penny.” He smiled at Penny, and she smiled back. “Penny, this is Down-Betty. Betty Jones. Your great-aunt Betty’s friend. She lives in the purple house. You remember, Kay mentioned her?”
Penny waved, and the old lady smiled and waved back.
Luella sprinkled the worms out into the bed of lettuce. She turned to leave and motioned for Penny to follow.
“Sorry to run,” Luella said to Down-Betty, “but we’ve got important stuff to do.”
“Sure, girls!” said Down-Betty. “Thanks for the worms.” She shook a handful of something green at them cheerily and flung dirt everywhere. “Now that we’re all friends, why don’t you both come by my place later for dandelion salad!”
“Thanks but no thanks,” replied Luella. “We don’t eat weeds. Do we, Penny?”
As she followed her friend away from the garden, Penny couldn’t help thinking that her father’s presence in the garden must mean that he and her mother had finished with their private conversation. She wondered what had come of the closed-door meeting. She wondered, but not enough to miss out on fort building.
Penny trailed off after Luella to collect sticks and vines in the thick wooded jungle of overgrowth behind the house, which began where the garden ended. Then she spent several very satisfactory hours doing just as her new tangle-haired friend instructed her to do, chattering and laughing and listening and asking questions, and getting very dirty in the process. At the end of the day the two girls sat in a very fine fort under a willow tree. They contentedly ate an entire jar of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies Luella snuck from her kitchen.
As Penny reached absentmindedly for the last cookie, Luella grabbed it away and gave her a gentle push. “Hey! You have to share the last cookie if nobody calls dibs. It’s a rule!”
Penny was taken aback. She didn’t know about dibs, though she was almost sure she’d read about it in a book. Maybe it had been a Ramona book? She handed over the cookie and said softly, “Here. You can have it. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
Luella looked skeptical. “Why?” She examined the cookie closely, and then glanced back at Penny. “Did you spit on it or something?”
“No,” replied Penny. “Just—you can have it. I don’t want to fight.”
“Wow,” said Luella, biting into the cookie without another thought. “You’re kind of a doormat.”
Penny didn’t know what to say to that at all. She didn’t like to be called a doormat, and she hadn’t enjoyed giving up a perfectly good cookie that should, by rights, have been at least half hers. Luella had eaten more than her fair share already. She watched Luella munch the cookie and felt quietly angry, or sad, or something.
Luella noticed. She pushed Penny gently again, handing over the last bite but saying, “You know, Penny, that’s not playing fair, getting all mopey like that. You should just say what you want, or call me a name or something.”
Penny considered this advice. “Why?” she asked. “What good will that do?”
“Well, it’ll make you feel better. Probably.”
Penny thought this over. It made sense. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll try. Here goes.”
Luella nodded at Penny in an encouraging way. “Good luck,” she said.
Penny screwed up her face, and when she opened her eyes, she yelled, “You’re a—a—a meanie!” She smiled hopefully. “How was that?”
Luella nodded slowly. “That’s pretty good, but only babies use words like meanie. Honestly, I might have laughed at you if you’d said that in a real fight. Try again.”
Penny thought for a second before she called out stiffly, but more loudly this time, “You’re ostentatious and didactic!”
“Wow, yeah. That’s better,” said Luella appreciatively. “Certainly not babyish, but what do those words mean?”
