Free The Penderwicks at Point Mouette by Jeanne Birdsall

jumped up apologetically, and they left, escaping just as Hoover woke up and lunged at Skye, determined to kiss her once again. Now that Skye had Jeffrey safely in tow, it occurred to her that leaving Jane and Batty alone with knives and a stove might not have been the best idea. So the trip back was even faster than the trip over had been. When they arrived, the kitchen was a disaster—flour, eggshells, and melted butter everywhere—and Hound had that all-too-familiar air of having eaten too much food not suited for him. But no one had been slashed, burned, or suffocated, and since Jane and Batty were just sitting down to the table with a huge stack of pancakes, Skye and Jeffrey sat down, too, and the eating began.
    “Delicious,” said Skye after her first pancake.
    “Fantastic,” said Jeffrey after his second. “Good job, Jane.”
    “Thank you.” Jane was quite proud of herself. “And Batty helped a lot.”
    “I cracked the eggs,” said Batty, except that no one could understand her because her mouth was full.
    Skye knew it was her job to reprimand Batty about table manners, but since her own mouth was full atthat moment, she didn’t bother. Instead, she took several more pancakes from the stack and slathered them with butter and syrup. That was when the phone rang. Swallowing hastily, Skye grabbed the phone—it would be Aunt Claire!—but when she checked the display, another name was there.
    “It’s Rosalind,” she hissed to the others. “I don’t want to talk to her right now.”
    “I will, I will,” crowed Batty.
    “You can’t say anything about Aunt Claire’s ankle. Not until we know more.”
    “I won’t.” Batty frantically reached for the still-ringing phone.
    “Swear! Rosy might think we should go home for Aunt Claire’s sake!”
    “I swear, I do, Skye. I do swear, I promise!”
    Skye needn’t have worried. Once Batty got hold of the phone, a great flow of words came, but not one about Aunt Claire’s accident. Batty went on and on about Jeffrey and Hoover, and a letter in the ocean—what the heck was that about?—and the harmonica and the steps to the beach, and then for a while she was just nodding her head and saying uh-huh, and after that she hung up the phone.
    “Why did you hang up?” asked Jane, who would have liked to tell Rosalind about the sleeping porch and about how inspirational it would be if only she could start writing again.
    “Rosalind said the signal was bad and we might be disconnected, and then we were, so I hung up.”
    “What else did she say?” asked Skye, to whom the bad signal was good news.
    “She said she misses me.”
    Through all this, Jeffrey had continued to eat, but now he laid down his fork. “Skye, do
you
think we should leave Maine for Aunt Claire’s sake? There would be people to take care of her in Cameron.”
    “I don’t know.” Skye wondered, once again, how her father could have been so foolish as to let her be the OAP for two whole weeks.
    “I don’t want to leave.” This was, surprisingly, Batty.
    “Neither do I,” said Jane. “Not at all, not even a little bit.”
    Jeffrey didn’t say anything, but no one needed him to. Leaving Maine for him meant going back to Arundel, Dexter, and loneliness. Thinking about this helped Skye in her struggle to decide. She couldn’t have been ungenerous to Aunt Claire for her own sake, but she could for Jeffrey’s.
    “If Aunt Claire’s ankle is really bad and she needs special doctors, we’ll have to go home,” she said.
    “You’re right,” said Jeffrey bravely.
    “And if we stay, you know we’re going to have to take care of Aunt Claire for at least a few days, and probably longer.”
    “That won’t be hard. Not like dressing a wound.” Though Jane thought that dressing a wound could be rather exciting. “Just giving her aspirin and ice packs.”
    “And doing all the cooking and cleaning and shopping,” Skye said sternly, making certain the others realized what they were