Dawn and the Impossible Three (4 page)

“She's our favorite,” Suzi chimed in.

“I hope you'll come back,” said Mrs. Barrett as she paid me.

“Anytime,” I told her cheerfully.

If I had only known then how often “anytime” was going to be, I might not have spoken so quickly.

Kristy is so lucky. I wish Andrew and Karen were going to be
my
little stepsister and stepbrother. I baby-sat for them once and they were lots of fun and really cute, even if Andrew is kind of shy and Karen talks too much.

I asked Kristy lots of questions about her afternoon there because I was trying extra hard to be friendly to her. Kristy always opens up where Andrew and Karen are concerned. This is what she told me.

As soon as Mr. Brewer left, Karen pulled Kristy into the living room and said, “Let's play ‘Let's All Come In.'
Please
.”

“Okay,” said Kristy, “but I don't think we really have enough people. Wouldn't the game be better with four?”

“Let's All Come In” is a game Karen invented herself. Karen just turned six and she's very smart. She started out in kindergarten last fall and was skipped into first grade after Christmas. She didn't have a bit of trouble, and now she
reads like crazy and can add and subtract almost as fast as I can.

Her game is about the guests who come to a big, fancy, old-fashioned hotel. Karen always makes Kristy (or the oldest person) the bell captain. Then she and Andrew and her friends take turns entering the lobby as hotel workers or exotic guests — wealthy old women in furs, sea captains, famous people. Karen and Andrew have an amazing collection of “dress-up” clothes, so they can put on a good costume for just about every character. And Mr. Brewer's living room is perfect for a lobby.

As I've mentioned, Mr. Brewer is rich and his house is a mansion. It's full of expensive things, but he hasn't turned it into a museum. What I mean is that Karen and Andrew are allowed in the living room, the dining room, the study, etc., even though there are antiques and breakables everywhere. As far as I know, they're always careful. Maybe it's because they know their father trusts them.

Anyway, Mr. Brewer's living room is gigantic — big enough for a grand piano, and even a little tree, which stands in a brass tub near the fireplace. There are three couches, five armchairs, a long glass coffee table, several end tables, and a crystal chandelier. Instead of carpeting, Mr.
Brewer has put small Oriental rugs down and keeps the wooden floor polished. The room does look a little like a hotel lobby, if you squint your eyes and use your imagination, which Kristy and Karen and even Andrew (although he's not quite four) can do just fine.

“I know who the fourth person for our game could be,” Karen told Kristy that Saturday afternoon.

“Who?”

“Hannie Papadakis.”

Hannie is one of Karen's new first-grade friends. She lives across the street and two mansions down from the Brewers. Kristy had met Hannie a couple of times and liked her.

“Okay,” said Kristy. “Let's call her. You invite her over, but I'll have to talk to her mother or father.”

(A good baby-sitter always includes parents in plans for younger children. Kristy knew that Mr. and Mrs. Papadakis might not want Hannie going to a house with a baby-sitter in charge instead of a parent.)

But Mr. Papadakis said it was fine for Hannie to come over, and a few minutes later, Hannie was ringing the Brewers' front bell.

Karen and Andrew ran to answer it.

“See who's there before you open the door,” Kristy cautioned them. (You can't be too careful.)

Karen peered out the left window, Andrew peered out the right. “It's Hannie!” they called at the same time.

“Okay, let her in.”

Karen hauled open the door and led Hannie into the living room. “Are you ready for ‘Let's All Come In'?” Karen asked her excitedly. “That's what we're playing today.” Sometimes Karen can be bossy. I'm surprised she and Kristy get along so well.

“I'm all ready,” replied Hannie, who has played often. “First I'm going to be Mrs. Noswimple.”

“Okay,” said Karen. “Kristy, you go behind the desk. Andrew, you be the bellhop.”

As the youngest, Andrew often gets stuck with parts like elevator operator or bellhop, or less important characters such as somebody's little boy. Once, Karen made him play a pet cocker spaniel.

Kristy sat on the floor behind the coffee table. Karen had placed a pencil, a composition book, and a bell in front of her.

“Hannie, come put on your Mrs. Noswimple outfit. Andrew, get your cap and jacket.”

The kids ran up the stairs to the playroom
on the second floor. A few minutes later, they ran back down. Andrew was wearing a red cap and a blue jacket decorated with gold braid. Hannie was wearing a skirt that reached to the floor; large, sparkly high heels with no toes; a fur stole; and a hat with a veil. In one hand, she carried a pair of spectacles attached to a diamond-studded stick. Behind her, Karen was dressed as Mrs. Mysterious, all in black, including a black eye patch and a black fright wig.

“Places, you guys!” Karen directed.

Andrew ran to stand next to Kristy's “desk,” Karen waited in the foyer since guests only come into the hotel one at a time, and Hannie made her entrance.

She walked into the hotel lobby as grandly as was possible, considering she was clumping around in shoes that were six sizes too big for her. “Hell
oo
,” she called in a high, thin voice.

“Good day,” replied Kristy. “Won't you come in, Mrs. Noswimple. How nice to see you.”

“Why, thank you,” replied Hannie. “I'm just staying for one night this time, Mr. Bill Capstan.” (Hannie has never once pronounced “bell captain” properly.) “I'm meeting my husband in Canada tomorrow. We're going to go to a party with the queen. And the emperor.”

“How lovely,” said Kristy. “Does the emperor have new clothes?”

“Oh, yes. He has a new suit of silver,” replied Hannie, not getting the joke.

“Oh,” said Kristy. “Well, why don't you sign the registration book and then the bellhop here will help you to your room.”

“Okay.” Hannie bent over the composition book, pencil poised. “Kristy,” she whispered, “how do you spell ‘Noswimple'?”

Kristy spelled it out and Hannie printed the name painstakingly. She straightened up. “Ready, bellhop? I have two trunks and a hatbox, so I need lots of help.”

“Ready, Mrs. Noswimple,” said Andrew.

Andrew and Hannie left the living room and Karen entered.

“I don't believe it!” cried Kristy. “Mrs. Mysterious! What a surprise! How nice to see you. You haven't stopped by in ages.”

“Heh, heh,” cackled Karen. “I've been at a Mysterious Meeting in Transylvania. All the witches and warlocks and ghosts and spooks and mysterious people got together.”

“Well, you're looking especially mysterious today,” said Kristy.

“Thank you,” Karen answered politely. “I do
look mysterious, don't I.” It was a statement, not a question. Karen stepped over to one of the floor-to-ceiling windows that look out on the Brewers' front lawn. “This is a mirror,” she told Kristy. “I'll just —”

Karen stopped midsentence. She shrieked.

So did Kristy.

Andrew and Hannie ran into the living room to see what was happening. Andrew gasped and hid behind an armchair. Hannie opened her eyes and mouth wide, but couldn't make a sound.

Kristy told me later that she was so surprised she thought she was going to faint.

What everyone had seen when Karen stepped in front of her “mirror” was another scary, black-clad figure. Only it wasn't Karen's reflection. It was someone outside the window — Mrs. Porter from next door.

The thing about Mrs. Porter is that Karen is convinced she's a witch whose real name is Morbidda Destiny. Karen's got everyone — Andrew, Hannie, Kristy, and all us baby-sitters (especially Mary Anne) thinking she's a witch, too. So it was no wonder everyone panicked.

Mrs. Porter gestured toward the front door with a wave of her cape. “Yipes,” said Kristy, heart pounding. “I wonder what she wants.”

“Probably frogs' noses or the hair from a mole or something. I bet she's cooking,” Karen offered.

“Don't be silly,” said Kristy.

With legs that felt as heavy as lead, Kristy opened the front door — just a crack.

Mrs. Porter was standing on the front steps. She was leaning over so that her nose poked into Kristy's face.

Kristy jumped back.

“I rang your bell,” Mrs. Porter said in a croaky voice, “but you didn't answer.”

“Sometimes it doesn't work,” Karen spoke up timidly from where she was hiding behind Kristy.

“Can — can I help you?” Kristy asked. The last time Mrs. Porter had come to the door, it was to dump poor fat old Boo-Boo, the Brewers' cat, inside after he had left the remains of a mouse on Mrs. Porter's front porch.

“I'm cooking. I need to borrow something.”

Kristy noticed that Mrs. Porter had a little scar near the corner of her mouth that jumped around when she spoke.

Karen nudged Kristy's back. “I told you so,” she whispered. “Morbidda Destiny is
cooking
.”

Kristy nudged Karen back. “What do you need, Mrs. Porter?”

“Fennel and coriander.”

“Aughh!” screamed Karen.

“Aughh!” screamed Andrew and Hannie, who were watching from the safety of the living room.

“Shh,” said Kristy. “They're just herbs, you guys.” She turned back to Mrs. Porter. “I'm really sorry, but I'm sure Mr. Brewer doesn't have those things. He's not much of a cook.”

“Well, it never hurts to ask.” Mrs. Porter turned abruptly and dashed down the front steps and across the lawn toward her house. Her black cape and dress flapped in the breeze.

Karen, Andrew, and Hannie found the courage to run to the front door and watch her leave. Kristy watched with them. They saw her pause at her herb garden and examine the new green shoots. They saw her flap up the steps to her own front porch. And they all saw her take up a broom and carry it into the house, talking to it.

Kristy closed the door before the kids could panic again. As she did so, something occurred to her. “Karen,” she said, “where's Boo-Boo?”

“Well,” replied Karen, “I'm not sure. But he's probably upstairs. I'll show you where.” Karen ran upstairs, the others at her heels.

She ran down the long hallway past the playroom, past her room, past Andrew's room, and past two guest rooms to a room at the end of the hall.

Kristy looked inside. Curled up at the foot of the bed was Boo-Boo, the world's fattest cat.

“Oh, good,” said Kristy with a sigh. “I was afraid he might be out in Mrs. Porter's garden again.”

“Nope,” said Karen. “He's scared of her now. He stays inside all day. Mostly he stays right here. And he never goes up to the third floor anymore. You know why?”

“Why? I'm afraid to ask.”

“Because the attic is haunted.”

“Karen …” Kristy warned.

“It is?” said Hannie in amazement.

Karen nodded solemnly. “Animals know those things. Our attic is haunted. It's haunted by the ghost of old Ben Brewer, Daddy's great-grandfather, who —”

Kristy cut Karen off. Karen's imagination frequently ran away, and when it did, it took Andrew and Hannie along with it. “Come on, you guys. Let's go back to ‘Let's All Come In.' “

So the kids returned to the living room and took up the game again. They were still playing when Mr. Brewer came home.

Kristy sighed as she left. She'd had fun. But she was pretty sure she hadn't heard the last about old Ben Brewer.

I had to do something about Kristy. I was trying my hardest to be nice to her, but things were no better between us. So one day at school, out of the clear blue, I said to her, “Want to come over to my house this afternoon?” I didn't even know I was going to say it. It just slipped out. I was as surprised as Kristy was.

And we were both pretty surprised when she replied, “Okay. Sure.”

What had I gotten myself into? What would Kristy and I do? Every time we talked, it turned into an argument. Well, I thought, we could always watch a movie. I hadn't seen
The Sound of Music
in a while.

After school that day, I met Kristy and we walked to my house together. Mary Anne didn't walk with us. She was baby-sitting for Charlotte Johanssen, and the Johanssens live in the opposite direction from me. That was just as well, since
Mary Anne is sort of the cause of our problems. Kristy and I needed some time alone together.

At first we walked along in silence. Kristy stared at the ground. She didn't look mad, but I felt uncomfortable being silent with her.

“We live in an old farmhouse,” I told her, just to make conversation. “It was built in seventeen ninety-five.”

“Oh, yeah?” said Kristy.

Was she interested, or did she think I was bragging?

“Yeah,” I replied uncertainly.

“Do you like it?”

“Mostly. It's neat living in a place that old. But the rooms are kind of small and the doorways are low. The first time Mary Anne came over, she said the colonists must have been midgets.”

Kristy burst out laughing. Then she caught herself and scowled. She pressed her lips into two straight lines. Thin lips are never a good sign.

I cringed. How could I have mentioned Mary Anne? I really hadn't meant to.

I went on about the house some more. “When the house was first built,” I said, “there was nothing but farmland for miles around it. But Stoneybrook kept growing, and the people who owned the house kept selling off land until
finally there were just one and a half acres left, with the house, an outhouse, a barn, and an old smokehouse. It sort of got run-down. By the time my mom bought the place, nobody had lived on the property for two years. We got it cheap.”

“You have a barn on your property?” Kristy asked with interest.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Do you play in it?”

“Well,” I said, “we're not supposed to go in it too much, but sometimes my brother and I play there.”

“Why aren't you supposed to go in it?”

“Because it's so old. Mom's afraid the roof will come crashing down sometime. She may be right.”

“You don't have any animals, do you?” asked Kristy.

“You mean in the barn?” I shook my head. “But the people who lived there before us must have. There are still bales of hay sitting around, and there's tons of hay in the hayloft. Sometimes Jeff — that's my brother — and I go up in the loft. There are great places to hide, and we rigged up a rope so that we can swing down from this beam way high up under the roof, and land in the hay.”

“Really?”
said Kristy.

“Yup.”

She paused. Then she said, “I guess you and Mary Anne play in the barn all the time.”

“Mary Anne?” I exclaimed. “Not a chance. She won't jump off the beam into the hayloft. She won't even go inside because of what Mom said about the roof. She may have changed this spring, but not that much.”

Kristy looked at me and grinned.

When we got home, the front door was locked, so I let myself in with the key. Back in California, I never needed a key. Mom was always home. Now I'm in danger of becoming a latchkey kid.

I almost said so, but luckily remembered just in time that Kristy has been a latchkey kid for years. Instead I said, “I wonder where my mom went.”

We found out as soon as we walked into the kitchen. Stuck to the refrigerator with a magnet shaped like a pair of lips was a note that said:

Hi, kids! I've gone on two job interviews. Back at five. Love, Mom. P.S. Do not, under any circumstances, touch the tofu-ginger salad in the refrigerator.

Kristy looked at me, wide-eyed. “You mean there's a chance someone would?”

I tried to glare at her, but it turned into a smile. “Yes,” I replied. “We all happen to love tofu-ginger salad. It's good….
Really
,” I added, as Kristy made gagging noises.

I looked helplessly around the kitchen. “You're probably hungry, aren't you?”

“Starved,” Kristy said, “But—but not so starved I'd eat tofu or sunflower seeds or something. I don't suppose you have any peanut butter.”

“Sugar-free and unsalted, made from organically grown peanuts.”

“That'll do. Any jam or honey?”

“Raw honey. We've already scooped the comb out.”

“Wonder Bread?”

“High-fiber wheat-and-bran.”

Kristy made do with the peanut butter, honey, and bread. I ate some yogurt with wheat germ in it.

Jeff came home, ate a banana, and went over to the Pikes' to play with the triplets.

When he was gone, I looked at Kristy. “Well,” I said, “what do you want to do? We could watch a movie. Or I could show you my room. Or we could search the house for a secret passageway.”

“Could we go in the barn?” asked Kristy.

“Sure,” I said. “As long as we're careful.”

We ran out the back door and across the yard to the barn. We didn't even need our jackets since the hayloft gets pretty warm on a sunny day.

The main entrance to the barn (which, I should say, is not a very big barn) is a pair of sliding doors on one end. We leave one of the doors partway open all the time. We've stored some stuff in one of the horse stalls, but nothing that's worth stealing.

Kristy and I stepped through the opening. “Ooh,” said Kristy. “It smells … like a barn. I mean, even without the animals.”

“I know,” I said. “Isn't it great? You could almost imagine you were on a big old farm out in the middle of nowhere.”

(I think the barn smell comes mostly from the hay.)

We walked down the aisle between two rows of stalls. The stalls had long ago been cleaned out, and the harnesses and tools that had once hung on the walls had been removed, but here and there a nameplate remained.

Kristy read a few of them aloud. “Dobbs, Grey Boy, Cornflower.”

Aside from the stalls and some old feeding troughs, there wasn't much to see.

“How do you get to the hayloft?” asked Kristy.

“This way,” I said. I led her to the end of the barn. A ladder was leaning against the loft, which was just a couple of feet above my head.

We climbed up and Kristy walked around in the hay. “Mmm,” she said. “It's soft — sort of. And it smells good.” She looked up. The roof was high above us. The sun shone through the cracks and caught the dust motes in its light.

“Neat,” said Kristy. “It's so
quiet
in here.”

“You want to swing from the rope?” I asked.

“Sure. I mean, I think so. How high up is it?”

“I'll show you.” A series of wooden blocks were built into the wall above the loft. They went up and up and up. I climbed them until I reached a beam that was twelve feet above the hayloft. (Jeff and I measured once.)

“Swing that rope up to me,” I called to Kristy.

Kristy looked doubtfully at the rope, then at me. “All the way up there?” she said.

“Sure, it's easy. Just try it.”

Kristy took hold of the end of the rope and swung it over and up.

I missed it by inches.

We tried again and I caught it. “Watch this!” I yelled. Holding on to the knot that Jeff had tied near the bottom of the rope, I pushed away from the wall and sailed out and down. When I had
almost reached the other wall of the barn I let go and landed with a thump in the hay. “
Oof
. Oh, that was great! Do you want to try?” I stood up, brushing the hay off my jeans.

“I guess so.” Kristy began her ascent. She was climbing the wall awfully slowly.

“You don't have to go all the way to the beam, if you don't want,” I told her.

“No — I can do it.”

Kristy sat shakily on the beam. I tossed the rope to her. The expression on her face as she flew through the air changed from sheer horror (“Let go! Let go!” I screeched as she approached the opposite wall) to amazement to joy (when she landed).

She sat in the hay for a moment, then leaped up and exclaimed, “Oh, wow! That was terrific!”

We each took five more turns, Kristy looking cockier every time. Then we lay on our backs in the loft, gazing at the roof and watching the sunlight grow dimmer.

We began to talk. We talked about divorces. (“They should be against the law,” said Kristy. I agreed.) We talked about moving. (“Across town is nothing compared to across country,” I pointed out. Kristy agreed.) We talked about the Baby-sitters Club. (“It's more important to me
than school,” I said. Kristy understood.)

Then we talked about Mary Anne. After saying some boring things like how good she looked in her new clothes, Kristy said, “I'm glad she made a new friend.” “Really?” I asked. “Yes. She needs new friends.” “Well, I'm glad she still has her old friends.” “You know, I've been thinking,” said Kristy. “We should have an alternate officer for our club. Somebody who could take over any job if one of us can't be at a meeting. Someone who understands each office. Would you like to be Official Alternate Officer?”

“Definitely!” I replied. And that was how, all in one day, I patched up my problems with Kristy and became Official Alternate Officer of the Baby-sitters Club.