Читать книгу Read All About It - Valerie Tripp - Страница 6

it’s real name was Margaret Mildred Kittredge. She was named after her mother and an aunt of her dad’s. But when she was very little, her dad used to sing her a song that went like this:

Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag and smile, boys, smile…

It was a song he’d learned when he was a soldier fighting in the Great War. Kit loved it. She’d beg Dad, “Sing my song! Sing the kit song!” Pretty soon everyone began to call her Kit, which was also short for Kittredge, and the name stuck. Kit didn’t like the name Margaret Mildred anyway. It didn’t fit her. It was too flouncy. Kit was not a flouncy girl.

Right now she was feeling especially exasperated with flounces, because the stool she was sitting on was covered with them. Ruthie and the garden club ladies had left, and Kit was finishing her newspaper for Dad. She had to sit with one leg bent under her to reach the typewriter because the new flouncy stool was as soft as a marshmallow and too low.

Kit rolled her newspaper out of the typewriter and read it. She was very pleased with her headline, “The Howards Are Coming!”

That ought to get Dad’s attention! Under the headline, Kit had written:

Kit was struggling with her drawing of two Mrs. Willmores when she heard the car horn’s cheery honk-honk that signaled her favorite moment of the day. Dad was home from work! Kit snatched up her newspaper, flew downstairs, and burst out the door.

“Extra! Extra! Read all about it!” she shouted, waving her newspaper as Dad climbed out of his car.

Dad caught Kit up in his arms. “How’s my girl?” he asked.

“Great!” said Kit when her feet were back on the ground. “Look! I’ve got a newspaper for you today!”

“Oh ho,” said Dad. His blue eyes were twinkly. He smiled a broad smile as he took Kit’s newspaper and handed her the real one. He read Kit’s headline in a booming voice. “‘The Howards Are Coming!’” Then he glanced at Kit and spoke in his normal voice. “Are they coming for dinner?”

“Nope!” said Kit. “It’s better than that! Read the whole story!”

Kit watched as Dad’s eyes scanned the story. She noticed, much to her surprise, that his smile faded as he read.

When Dad spoke his voice sounded funny, as if he was trying too hard to be hearty. “Well,” he said. “This is big news!” He gave Kit’s hair a gentle tug. “I’m a lucky guy to have my own personal reporter to keep me on top of all the late-breaking stories,” he said. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go get the details from your mother.”

Grownups are funny, Kit thought as she walked along next to Dad. They don’t react the way you expect them to. Anyone would think that Dad was not pleased to have the Howards coming to stay. But why on earth wouldn’t he be?

Two days later, Kit and Ruthie were sitting on the front steps waiting for Stirling and Mrs. Howard to arrive. The girls were reading while they waited. At least, Ruthie was reading. Kit was too distracted. She was really just looking at the pictures in her book.

Kit’s copy of Robin Hood and His Adventures had belonged to Charlie when he was her age. It had wonderful illustrations, which Kit loved to study. She especially loved reading about the tree houses that Robin and his men lived in. The houses were connected by swinging bridges and catwalks made out of vines. Kit longed to sleep in a tree house high up near the sky, surrounded by leaves. She imagined that at night, stars peeked through the leaves and the wind made the branches sway.

Kit had spent many hours drawing plans for a tree house that she and Ruthie could build. Kit was not very good at sketching. Her drawings always looked like doghouses stuck up in trees. They didn’t look anything like the tree houses in Sherwood Forest.

“I bet,” said Kit, “that Stirling can help us build a tree house.”

“Mmm,” said Ruthie, with the tiniest hint of irritation at being interrupted when she was deep into the story of Beauty and the Beast.

It was hot, and the girls were licking chunks of ice that had been chipped off the big block of ice in the icebox. Kit had her catcher’s mitt next to her, too. She wanted Stirling to see right away that she was interested in books and baseball and was not the type of girl who only cared about things like dusting and baking and dresses.

Kit’s ice chunk had melted to a sliver when, at last, a cab pulled up to the end of the driveway. Kit and Ruthie stood up and waited politely on the front steps. The cab door opened, and Mrs. Howard and a boy got out. When she saw Stirling, Kit felt as if someone had dropped her ice chip down her back, she was so surprised.

Ruthie whistled softly. “I thought your mother said that Stirling was about our age,” she whispered. “He looks like he’s in kindergarten!”

Stirling stood next to the cab on two of the skinniest legs Kit had ever seen. He was short and pale and skinny all over. His head looked too big for his scrawny neck.

The screen door opened, and Mother came out of the house. She stood between Kit and Ruthie and put her hands on their shoulders.

“Mother!” whispered Kit indignantly. “Stirling’s a shrimp!”

“Now, Kit,” said Mother. “Stirling is small for his age because his health is delicate. But I’m sure he’s a very pleasant fellow.” Gently, she pushed the girls forward. “Come along, ladies,” she said. “Let’s go greet our guests and make them feel welcome.”

Kit and Ruthie and Mother walked down the steps and toward the driveway. Mrs. Howard and the cab driver were unloading boxes and suitcases from the cab. Stirling just stood there.

“Oh!” said Mrs. Howard, all aflutter. “Margaret! You are such a dear to have us!” She turned to Stirling. “Shake hands with Mrs. Kittredge, lamby,” she said. “And say hello to Kit and Ruthie.”

Stirling shook Mother’s hand and nodded at the girls. He looked even worse close-up. He had colorless hair, colorless eyes, and a red, runny nose. Kit towered over him, and Ruthie could have made two of him, he was so puny.

“Oh, dear!” fussed Mrs. Howard. “All this excitement is not good for Stirling, the poor lamb! He’ll have to lie down right away and rest.”

“Of course,” said Mother. “Come with me and we’ll get him settled.”

Kit and Ruthie stood on the driveway and watched as Mrs. Howard and Mother propelled Stirling into the house. The cab driver followed them, carrying an armload of suitcases and boxes.

As soon as they were gone, Kit turned to Ruthie and imitated Stirling. She snuffled her nose and made her eyes wide and unblinking.

Ruthie giggled, and then she said, “Of course in fairy tales you always learn not to judge by appearances. Lots of times perfectly nice people are under a spell. Think of Beauty and the Beast.”

But over the next few days, it was clear to Kit that Ruthie’s Beauty and the Beast theory didn’t work in real life, at least not in Stirling’s case. He never said a word. But then, he didn’t have to. His mother did all the talking, and most of her sentences began with the words “Stirling can’t.”

When Kit and Ruthie invited Stirling to run through the sprinkler with them, Mrs. Howard said, “Stirling can’t be in the sun because his skin is so fair. And Stirling can’t run because he has weak lungs. Stirling can’t get wet because he might catch a chill. And Stirling can’t play in the yard because he’s allergic to bee stings.” Kit abandoned any idea of Stirling helping with a tree house or playing catch. Pretty soon, Kit and Ruthie gave up on inviting Stirling to do anything, because the answer was always “Stirling can’t.”

At first, Kit thought Mrs. Howard was making the whole thing up about how fragile Stirling was. It wasn’t as if he had a sickness like rickets or scurvy or any of the really interesting diseases Kit knew about from reading pirate stories. Stirling didn’t even have any spots or rashes. However, after he’d been there a week, Stirling got truly sick. Though it was only a cold, he did have a fever and a terrible cough. Mrs. Howard said that he had to stay in bed and have all his meals brought to him on a tray.

Kit could hear Stirling coughing and sniffling and blowing his nose all day long. Everyone had to tiptoe past the door to his room so they wouldn’t disturb Stirling in case he was napping. Kit held her nose when she passed by, because the hall outside his room smelled strongly of Vicks VapoRub even though the door was always shut.

But one afternoon, Kit noticed that the door to the guest room was open. She sneaked a peek inside. Stirling was propped up on the pillows, and Mrs. Howard was nowhere to be seen. Of course, it was hard to see anything in the room. It was dark because the shades were pulled down.

Kit stood in the doorway and looked at Stirling’s moon-white face on the pillow. “Gosh, it sure is stuffy in here,” Kit said to Stirling. “Don’t you want me to open the window or something?”

Stirling nodded.

Kit opened the window a crack so that a breath of air and a thin line of sunlight came through. “That’s better!” she said. Kit turned to go. She was halfway to the door when she saw a photograph next to Stirling’s bed that stopped her in her tracks. “Hey!” she said. “Is that Ernie Lombardi, the catcher for the Reds?”

Stirling’s round eyes were as unblinking as an owl’s as he looked at Kit. His nose was stuffed up, so his voice sounded weirdly low and husky. “Schnozz,” he croaked.

For a second, Kit didn’t understand. Then she laughed and nodded. “Schnozz!” she said. “That’s Ernie Lombardi’s nickname because he has such a big nose.”

In answer, Stirling blew his nose, which made a nice honking sound.

Kit laughed again. “Ernie Lombardi is my favorite player on the Cincinnati Reds,” she said. “He’s the reason I’m a catcher. Well, and because my dad was a star catcher on his college team. Did you know that Ernie’s the biggest guy on the Reds?”

“Six foot three,” whispered Stirling hoarsely. “Two hundred and thirty pounds.”

“Right!” said Kit, delighted. She rattled on. “It’s funny that you like him,” she said, “because he’s so big and you’re so little.”

“That’s why,” said Stirling simply. He didn’t sound the least bit offended, even though right after she spoke, Kit realized that she’d said something she shouldn’t have.

“You know what?” said Kit, suddenly inspired. “I have a newspaper article about Ernie Lombardi. It has a photograph of him holding seven baseballs in one hand at the same time. It used to be tacked up on my wall. My mother wouldn’t let me put it back up after my room was painted pink, but I bet I can find it. Want to see it?”

Stirling nodded vigorously, and Kit noticed that his eyes weren’t colorless at all. They were gray.

“Okay!” she said. “I’ll get the article and you can read all about it!” Kit tore back to her room and rummaged through the drawers of her desk. Where was that newspaper article with the photo of Schnozz? She hoped Mother hadn’t thrown it away! Scrambling wildly through the bottom drawer, Kit found the scrap of newspaper at last. She raced back to Stirling’s room shouting, “I found it!”

Kit flung open the door and BAM! The door hit Mrs. Howard, who was standing right inside with a silver tray in her hands.

“MY LAND!” shrieked Mrs. Howard. She lurched forward and the tray, which had one of Mother’s best china teacups and saucers on it, went flying. The hot tea sloshed out all over the rug. The cup hit the floor and shattered, and the tray clanged to the ground with a noise like cymbals.

“Oh dear, oh dear!” fussed Mrs. Howard. At the same time, Stirling started to cough loudly. Kit tried to apologize in a voice louder than his coughs, and Charlie appeared and added to the commotion by asking, “What happened? What’s all the noise?”

They were all talking at once when Mother came in. “Good gracious!” she said above all the racket. “Now what?”

Everyone stopped talking, even Mrs. Howard.

“Will someone please tell me what is going on?” asked Mother, not sounding at all like her usual serene self.

Everyone looked at Kit.

Kit knew that Mother disliked messes, so she tried to explain how this one was just an accident. “I was coming in here to show Stirling my picture of Ernie Lombardi,” she said, “and I didn’t know that Mrs. Howard was right behind the door. I was in a hurry and I—”

Mother held up her hand to stop Kit. “Don’t tell me,” she said. “I can imagine the rest.” She shook her head. “How many times have I told you to slow down and watch where you’re going, Kit?”

“I’m sorry,” said Kit.

Mother stooped down to pick up the broken cup. “Just look at what you’ve done,” she said.

Kit was shocked. It wasn’t like Mother to scold her like this. “But it wasn’t my fault,” she protested. “It was an accident. It was nobody’s fault.”

“Nobody’s fault,” repeated Mother. “And yet look at the mess we are in.” She looked up at Kit. “Please go now,” she said. “I’ll help Mrs. Howard clean up. And Kit, dear, please don’t barge in here bothering Stirling and making messes anymore.”

“But I didn’t—” Kit began.

“That’s enough, Kit,” said Mother. “Go now.”

Kit gave up. She turned on her heel and stormed back to her room. Mother seemed to think that the mess was all her fault, but it wasn’t! She didn’t mean to knock into Mrs. Howard. Stupid old Stirling was more to blame for the mess than Kit was. If he weren’t sick, his mother wouldn’t have been bringing him hot tea in the middle of the afternoon in the first place!

Kit flung herself down at the desk and looked at the wrinkled newspaper article in her hand. What did it matter that her photo of Ernie Lombardi holding seven baseballs was all crumpled up? She couldn’t put it up on her new pink walls, and she sure wasn’t going to show it to Stirling. She wasn’t going to try to be nice to old sniffle-nose Stirling ever again. Look at the trouble it caused her.

Nothing made Kit more angry than being unjustly accused. She didn’t mind a good fair fight. But to be blamed for something that was not her fault? That she could not stand. In books when people were accused of crimes they didn’t commit, someone like Nancy Drew or Dick Tracy always came around and proved that they were innocent. Kit could see that in her case, she was going to have to speak for herself. She knew just how to do it, too. She’d write a special newspaper for Dad. Then at least one person would know her side of the story.

Kit rolled a piece of paper into the typewriter. In capital letters, she typed her headline:

IT’S NOT FAIR!