Ten Kids, No Pets Page 2

  “Uh-oh,” said Mr. Rosso, just as he was about to enter the heavy traffic feeding into the tunnel.

  Eleven heads snapped to attention. The Rossos knew the sound of that “uh-oh.”

  Mr. Rosso was frantically patting his pockets and trying to feel inside a jacket lying on the floor of the van. “I can’t find my wallet,” he said grimly.

  “Oh, Ted,” Mrs. Rosso exclaimed.

  “Well, we’ll have to turn around,” he said. “It’s probably back at the house. Everything’s in it — credit cards, cash. I must have left it inside when I took Jan to the bathroom.”

  In the front seat Hannah leaned over Ira and poked Jan. “It’s all your fault,” she said.

  Jan leaned over Ira and poked Hannah back. “It is not!”

  “Is too!”

  “Is not!”

  Nobody bothered to stop the argument, and it continued as Mr. Rosso turned around and headed back to Thirty-first Street. He pulled up in front of their apartment building, and everyone except Abbie (who was too embarrassed) and Hannah and Jan (who were too cross) piled out of the van, called hello to the neighbors, and poured inside their old building to search for the wallet.

  When Abbie couldn’t stand the sound of her sisters’ squabbling, she finally crawled up to the front seat and separated them. Jan sat down huffily on the floor next to the driver’s seat. “Abbie, you are not the boss of — Hey!” she cried.

  “What?” asked Hannah and Abbie.

  “I found it! I found Daddy’s wallet. It’s right here under the seat!”

  A half hour later the Rossos were back in the van, stuck in a traffic jam outside the Lincoln Tunnel. Abbie nudged Bainbridge. “I never thought I’d say this, but I can’t wait to get out of New York,” she told him.

  “I know what you mean,” he replied with a grin.

  “Mommy, this is boring,” said Ira from the front seat. “And the van is getting dirty. Can we close the windows?”

  “Not until we’re out of this traffic and we can put the air conditioning on again.”

  “It’s hot today,” complained Woody.

  “Too hot,” said Faustine. “Look at all those dogs sticking their noses out of the car windows. It’s too hot for them, all right. They’re panting. They’re not happy.”

  “Poor things,” said Dinnie.

  All of the Rosso kids loved animals, but Faustine and Dinnie loved them the most. And they cared about all animals — grasshoppers and bees and spiders and turtles and cats and dogs and jungle animals and desert animals and sea animals.

  “Mom, can we get a pet when we get to New Jersey?” asked Dinnie.

  “Absolutely not,” replied Mrs. Rosso.

  “Why not?” asked every single Rosso kid, even though they knew what the answer would be.

  “Because ten kids is enough.”

  That was not a fair reason, Abbie thought.

  “Mom,” said Hardy, “we couldn’t have a pet in New York because there wasn’t enough room, but now we’re going to live on a farm.”

  “Yeah,” agreed the others.

  “But we’re not going to be farmers.”

  “Think of all the strays we could help out,” said Faustine.

  “No,” said Mrs. Rosso. “And that is my final word on the subject.”

  “Mo-om!” pleaded Dinnie.

  “Dinnie, I just said no.”

  “Daddy, I want a pet!” said Ira.

  “I have to go to the bathroom!” cried Jan.

  “I’m getting carsick,” moaned Hannah.

  “Children, your father can’t —”

  Screeeech.

  Mr. Rosso jerked on the brakes just in time to avoid hitting the car in front of them.

  “Everybody be quiet!” roared Mr. Rosso.

  “Hey! Hey! Way to go! Drive much?” called several voices to Abbie’s left. She glanced out the window. A convertible full of the cutest guys in the history of the universe was next to her. The boys were pointing at the van and laughing.

  Abbie slumped so far down in her seat that she was almost sitting on her neck. She wanted to die. She just wanted to die. Pet or no pet, New Jersey couldn’t come fast enough.

  The Rossos had been living in their new house for almost two weeks. Candy thought it was just like a house in a fairy tale, but not everyone agreed with her. Mr. Rosso said it was unkempt. The stone steps leading to the back door were cracked, and moss was growing on them in spongy patches. Columbine trailed lazily up and down one side of the house. Now, in August, it looked dusty, and the leaves were a dull, faded green. By late spring, though, they would be shiny and bright again, and Candy knew from the books she read that big, colorful blooms would open. Another side of the house was overrun with Virginia creeper. Mr. Rosso said the Virginia creeper would have to go. It was destructive and choked out other plants. But Candy still thought the farmhouse was wonderful.

  One hot morning in the middle of August, Candy awoke early. For a moment she lay in bed listening to the birds calling to each other. In New York she sometimes heard pigeons and sparrows. Here in the country she heard many different birds, but she couldn’t identify them. She would have to ask Faustine and Dinnie about them. They knew everything about wildlife.

  Candy reached over and turned on the radio as quietly as she could. She didn’t want to wake Abbie, who was asleep in the other bed. (Although not much could wake Abbie. In New York she had slept through every single nighttime car crash that Bainbridge had kept track of.)

  “Today’s weather,” said the radio announcer in a tinny voice, “is going to be another killer. The heat wave continues. The high is expected to reach ninety-eight. With ninety percent humidity, it’s not going to be real pleasant around here, folks.” But it’ll be better than New York, thought Candy, even without air conditioning.

  Candy switched the radio off. She pushed her sheet back and silently swung her feet to the floor. Then she tiptoed into the bathroom, where she had put her shorts and shirt and sneakers the night before. It was an old habit. In the bathroom she could dress in peace, and she didn’t have to worry about waking anybody. With nine brothers and sisters you had to think of those things.

  Candy crept downstairs to the kitchen, where she found her mother sitting at the table, reading the paper and sipping coffee.

  “Hi, Mom,” she said.

  “Morning, my early bird.”

  Candy smiled. She liked her mother’s nickname for her. And she liked being an early bird. The silent moments of the morning were her favorite part of the day.

  “Is Dad gone already?” Candy asked as she poured herself a glass of orange juice.

  Mrs. Rosso nodded. “He just left. He has an early meeting today.”

  In New York, Mr. Rosso had been able to get from the front door of the Rossos’ apartment to the door of his office in twenty minutes flat. In New Jersey he left the house, was picked up by a car pool at the end of the driveway, and was driven to the train station. When he reached New York, he took a subway to his office. He arrived there two hours after he’d left the farm. It was a big adjustment for him.

  Candy sat opposite her mother and opened The Secret Garden, which she had brought downstairs with her.

  “Goodness, honey, you’re almost finished with that,” said Mrs. Rosso, looking at the place Candy had opened the book to. “Didn’t you just start it?”

  “Mmm,” replied Candy, already half-lost in the story. “Next I’m going to read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. And then maybe I’ll reread The Yearling.” Candy suddenly had an idea. She looked up from the story. “Mom,” she said, “if we got a pet we could name it Flag, like the deer in The Yearling.”

  “Sorry, honey. No pets. Ten —”

  “I know. Ten kids is enough.”

  “Right.”

  “Today,” said Candy, trying to ignore the sting of disappointment she felt, “I’m going to look for a secret garden.” Candy had spent part of every day searching for a secret place. She needed one. All of
her life she’d dreamed of a place where she could go and be just Candy, alone.

  She wanted a spot where she could read her books and not be disturbed, where she could daydream and not be teased about it. She had never had such a place. In New York the Rosso apartment had been overrun with her brothers and sisters. Going outside was no better. As soon as she opened the door, she ran into neighbors — the Smarts or the Bermans or Shirley Rosenstock or somebody. And Mr. Fineman was always spying from his window.

  Candy had dreamed that she’d have a room of her own in the new house, but that hadn’t worked out. The farmhouse was bigger, but it wasn’t a mansion. It had five bedrooms instead of four. One was for her parents, of course. The others had been divided up among the ten children according to some system of Mrs. Rosso’s that Candy hadn’t quite followed. All Candy knew was that while she had more room, she didn’t have her own room. She shared with Abbie. The twins had another room, and, just as in New York, the older boys — Bainbridge, Woody, and Hardy — shared the third room, and the youngest children — Hannah, Ira, and Jan — shared the fourth. The arrangement was fine, but Candy still wanted someplace private and preferably secret.

  Mrs. Rosso smiled. “A secret garden? You’d probably have better luck looking for a secret place in the house.”

  “Really?” said Candy. “Why?”

  “Just a thought. This house is over a hundred years old. And the real estate agent said something about it having once been part of the Underground Railroad.”

  “You mean the people who lived here hid slaves and helped them escape to Canada?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Still,” said Candy, “it doesn’t mean there was a secret passage or something. The slaves might have been hidden in a root cellar. Or maybe in the barn or even a chicken coop.”

  “True. It was just a thought.”

  Candy was more intrigued than she sounded. She decided to talk to Hardy that day. Hardy was an amateur detective. At least, he thought he was. He had shortened his name, Eberhard, to Hardy partly because his favorite detectives in the world were the Hardy Boys. Hardy wished he could be their brother, even though Woody had pointed out that then his name would be Hardy Hardy. And he had added, “Har-har. Get it? Hardy, hardy har-har?” But Hardy didn’t care. Neither did Candy. So what if Hardy hadn’t solved any actual cases, hadn’t captured a jewel thief or tracked down a kidnapper. He was good at figuring things out and finding lost items. Maybe he could help her find a stop on the Underground Railroad.

  “Leave me alone!”

  “No, leave me alone! Don’t touch me!”

  Jan and Hannah came crashing into the kitchen. Why did they always have to be the next ones up? Candy wondered. Why couldn’t Ira or the twins get up next? They were much quieter.

  While her sisters messily poured out Grape Nuts, Candy ate a piece of toast and made her getaway. With her book tucked under her arm she ran down the cracked stone steps, rounded a corner of the house, and passed the tree with the twisted wisteria vine twining around its trunk. She headed off in a different direction than usual. The Rossos’ house sat on fifteen acres of land, so there were plenty of places for Candy to explore.

  One morning she had found the crumbling foundation of what her father thought might once have been an ice house. It had been a good spot to read — for a while. Then Woody and Hardy had found her. Another time Candy had found a tiny brook. In her excitement she had made the mistake of telling her brothers and sisters about it. Within minutes they’d all been there, shouting and wading and trying to catch minnows with their hands.

  Candy walked for a long time. She walked until she wasn’t sure she was on the Rossos’ property anymore, but she didn’t find a place that was secret or private or hidden. She leaned against an old ash tree, read until she finished The Secret Garden, and then decided to find Hardy. It was time to ask him for help.

  Candy walked back to the house. Once, along the way, she thought she was lost, which was exciting, but soon she caught sight of the stone foundation she’d discovered several days earlier.

  The house was quiet. Candy found her mother folding clothes in the laundry room. Jan was helping her. This was the clothes-folding system: Sort clothes according to owner. Separate kinds of clothes into piles — a sock pile, a T-shirt pile, and so forth. Fold each pile before going on to the next. Clothes folding that way went much faster for twelve people than you’d imagine.

  “Mom, where’s Hardy?” asked Candy.

  “He and Woody and Ira went to the brook.”

  “Thanks! Bye!”

  “I want you four back by one o’clock for lunch. If you see the others, tell them, too, please.”

  Candy was already out the door. “Okay!” she called over her shoulder.

  The sight of Ira playing in the brook was pretty interesting. Woody and Hardy were barefoot, wet, and muddy. Ira was wearing rain boots to keep his feet clean and dry. The rest of him was spotless, not a speck of mud anywhere.

  “How can he catch minnows like that?” Candy whispered to Hardy after she’d been watching the boys for several moments. “How can he stay so clean?”

  “I don’t know,” replied Hardy, “but he’s caught more than me and Woody together.”

  “Woody and I,” Candy corrected him. “Listen, Hardy.” She dropped her voice. “Would you help me with something today?”

  “What is it?” asked Hardy suspiciously.

  Candy explained about the Underground Railroad and what the real estate agent had said.

  When she was finished, Hardy let out a low whistle. “Boy, we better get right to work. Just let me change into my detective clothes.”

  A grin spread across Candy’s face. “Great!” she exclaimed. She turned to Woody. “Hardy and I have to do something,” she said. “Watch Ira, okay? And Mom says to be home by one o’clock for lunch.”

  “Okay,” replied Woody. He and Ira were bent over a flat rock examining a large beetle. Ira examined with his eyes only; Woody poked and prodded.

  When Hardy emerged from his room sometime later, he was wearing a plaid hat and carrying a magnifying glass. Candy thought he looked more like Sherlock Holmes than Frank or Joe Hardy, but she didn’t tell him so. And she let him give the orders.

  “Get two flashlights,” he told her. “We’ll start in the barn.”

  The barn was just one of several teetery buildings on the Rossos’ property. There were also a chicken coop, a stone storage shed, and a stable. Of course, they were mostly empty, except for a lot of hay, and unused because the Rossos didn’t plan to do any farming, although Mr. Rosso had stashed a few things in the storage shed.

  Candy followed Hardy to the barn. “Why are we starting here?” she asked.

  “It looks like the oldest building. Also, once I saw a movie where this Northern guy hid slaves in a hole he dug under his barn. He fixed it up, and the slaves could spend two or three nights in it if they needed to. Here, give me one of the flashlights and let’s start looking.”

  “What am I looking for?”

  “A secret opening or something.”

  Candy didn’t think that was much to go on, but she began looking anyway. She and Hardy walked slowly through the barn, shining their flashlights everywhere.

  “How come we’re only looking on the floor?” she asked. “Maybe there was a secret place up in the loft.”

  “No, there wasn’t,” Hardy said disgustedly. “Up above? No way. Why do you think it was called the Underground Railroad?”

  “Oh,” said Candy. Maybe Hardy was a better detective than she gave him credit for.

  A half hour later Candy and Hardy had found some old tools and a boot. But the floor of the barn seemed solid.

  “Stable next,” announced Hardy.

  The stable was more interesting than the barn. Some ancient harnesses had been left behind. They hung, forgotten, in the tack room. Candy found a horseshoe in one of the stalls. She decided to hang it over her bed for good luck.
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  “Hey!” exclaimed Candy after she and Hardy had given the stable a thorough but disappointing once-over. “It’s almost one o’clock. Lunchtime.”

  By the time lunch was over, Hardy the detective had lost all interest in detecting. Woody wanted him to play skydivers in the barn loft, and that sounded much more appealing to him.

  “Skydivers?” Mrs. Rosso repeated.

  “It’s safe, Mom. Honest.”

  Bainbridge snorted. “Look who’s talking. The king of the emergency room.”

  Woody bristled immediately. “I am not the king of the emergency room.”

  “Oh, sure,” said Hannah. “Broken wrist, broken thumb, three broken toes, concussion, stitches in your forehead —”

  “All right, all right, all right. But Mom,” Woody went on, “this game is safe. All we do is jump into the hay in the loft.”

  “Jump from where, Mr. Daredevil? Bainbridge, Abbie, go with them and use your heads about things. But not literally, okay?”

  “Sure,” they replied, grinning.

  Candy watched her detective run out the back door with Woody, Bainbridge, and Abbie, followed by Ira and Jan. She sighed loudly.

  “Honey, would you put the folded clothes away, please?” asked Mrs. Rosso. “They’re stacked in the laundry room.”

  Candy went straight to the laundry room. She wouldn’t have disobeyed her mother, but it wasn’t as if she had anything better to do.

  She had to make four trips before she’d lugged all of the clean laundry upstairs. According to Mrs. Rosso’s clothes distribution system, Candy placed everything on her mother and father’s big bed and grouped the piles by bedroom. Then she carried the boys’ clothes to their room, the little kids’ clothes to their room, and so forth. The sheets and towels were last. Candy opened the big cedar linen closet. Shelves ran up and down both sides. She stacked the flat sheets, the fitted sheets, the pillow cases, and the towels neatly on the shelves.

  When she was finished, she stepped as far into the closet as she could and leaned against the back wall, inhaling deeply. Cedar was one of her favorite smells in —

  Thud! Candy suddenly stumbled backward.