The Fantastic Family Whipple (26 page)

Ruby didn’t answer, but Arthur could tell by her expression that she was less than convinced. He couldn’t really blame her. He was hardly convinced himself.

Suddenly flustered, he snapped, “Look, you wouldn’t understand, all right?”

“Clearly,” smirked the girl. Then, before Arthur could say anything more, she stopped abruptly and added, “Well, here we are.”

The boy looked about him and saw that they had indeed reached the gates to the knife-throwing arena. It was hard to believe that such a long walk had passed so quickly.

“I’d better go find my family—not that they’ll be looking
for
me
,” Ruby said cryptically as she and Arthur stepped through the gates. “Anyway, see you around.”

“Oh. Right,” said Arthur, caught off guard by the girl’s abrupt farewell. Apparently, she conducted her goodbyes in the same manner as her hellos.

“See ya,” he added with a half-wave.

Ruby smiled and waved back—then turned and dashed off into the stands.

As he watched the girl make her way through the crowd of eager spectators, Arthur couldn’t help but feel just a bit relieved. He had never met someone so contrary in all his life.

And yet, as Ruby disappeared from view, the boy found himself filled with a strange sense of sadness for which he could find no explanation.

Ghost or not, the girl clearly had supernatural powers.

H
aving located his family in the stands,
Arthur watched as his mother led his younger siblings onto the arena floor.

Upon reaching the white painted line at the center of the arena, Mrs. Whipple halted her advance and waved to the crowd, while the octuplets filed in against the wooden backboard ten feet behind her. There, they set about forming a human pyramid.

After George, the last octuplet, had climbed up to form the third level, Mrs. Whipple hoisted two-year-old Ivy into his arms. As George lifted his sister’s feet onto his shoulders, she straddled the top of his head to form the pyramid’s capstone.

With a nod, Arthur’s mother returned to the baseline
and faced the pyramid, her back to the hushed crowd.

Next, Uncle Mervyn—who was officiating the event—wheeled in a narrow, cloth-covered table and brought it to rest in front of Mrs. Whipple. There, he removed the cloth to reveal a long row of razor-edged knives—and began carefully inspecting each blade. When he was satisfied all were up to regulation standards, the record certifier nodded to the contender and left the field of play.

Taking a moment to gather her focus, the woman drew a deep breath—and reached for the table. It was then that Mrs. Whipple began throwing knives at her children.

There were those, of course, who might have argued this was rather irresponsible behavior for a mother to engage in, and indeed, they might have had a valid point—that is, had Mrs. Whipple not been such a skilled knife thrower.

One by one, the deadly blades dug into the backboard, each of them mere inches from a smiling Whipple child and various vital organs. Outlining the pyramid’s edges with surgical precision, Mrs. Whipple then proceeded to land knives in the spaces between each child. When every gap had been filled, she hurled her final blade at the pyramid’s tip—and skewered the bow on top of Ivy’s head.

The crowd roared.

After Uncle Mervyn had inspected the children to make sure there had been no rule infractions—such as pretending not to be stabbed by an errant blade (which, sadly, had become an all too common practice in mother/child knife throwing)—he gave a thumbs-up to the announcer booth.

A moment later, a voice filled the arena.

“At 17.682 seconds for thirty-two knives, Eliza Whipple and her children have just set a new world record!”

Still in pyramid formation, Ivy and the octuplets waved whatever free arms they had toward the screaming crowd.

Upon dispersing, the Whipple children promptly joined their mother for a victory bow. There were only three teams left to compete before they would be officially awarded the gold medal.

Despite a couple of superficial knife wounds and one fainting little boy, the next two mother/child teams made strong showings—but ultimately proved no contest for Mrs. Whipple’s knife-throwing abilities.

Soon it was time for the last set of contenders to perform.

As Rita Goldwin and nine of her children strode into the arena, the crowd cheered almost as loudly as they had for Arthur’s mother. Word had spread quickly, it seemed, of the Goldwins’ long-shot victories earlier that morning.

Arthur glanced at the seats beside him. While Simon, Cordelia, and Henry rolled their eyes and feigned respectful applause, their father’s face was still and serious, his hands folded tightly in his lap.

By this time, Rowena, Radley, Randolf, Rodney, Roxy, Rupert, Rosalind, and Roland had formed a single-file line perpendicular to the backboard in age order—with little Rowena at the front, carrying baby Rowan in a forward-facing harness. Noticeably absent from the lineup was Ruby.

Mrs. Goldwin nodded to the officials, signaling that her children were satisfactorily in position.

The crowd stirred.
This
was the Goldwins’ final setup? It was hardly an impressive formation—by any standard—and Arthur couldn’t help but feel a bit embarrassed for his family’s new competitors. They were obviously out of their depth.

Uncle Mervyn wheeled the knife table into position, inspecting the blades as usual—but as he turned to leave, Mrs. Goldwin stopped him and appeared to ask a question. After a brief exchange of words, during which there was much murmuring from the crowd, Uncle Mervyn took the cloth from the table, folded it in two and held it up to his eyes.

The crowd was now completely baffled. What purpose did the cloth have, other than keeping the knives clean and dry?

They would not have to wait long for an answer.

The next moment, Uncle Mervyn wrapped the cloth around Mrs. Goldwin’s head and tied it in the back, effectively covering her eyes and face. Rita Goldwin had requested a blindfold.

The crowd gasped. They had not witnessed a blindfolded round of mother/child knife throwing since Fannie “Infanticide” Jenkins had earned her nickname.

As Mrs. Goldwin plucked the first knife from the table, a hush fell over the crowd.

There was a flurry of flying steel, followed by several moments of dreadful silence.

The only movement came from Uncle Mervyn as he strode to the backboard. After a tense inspection of the area, the officiator gestured to Roland—the eldest Goldwin child—who promptly called out a drill command to his siblings. At this, the line broke into a staggered formation, each child stepping out to the left or to the right and raising one arm into the air—their final pose proving that no one had been pierced by their mother’s knives.

The crowd leapt to its feet.

“Unbelievable!”
shouted the announcer.
“At 17.639 seconds for thirty-two knives, the Goldwins have not only broken the record for Timed Mother/Child Knife Throwing, but the record for Timed Mother/Child Knife Throwing while Blindfolded, as well!”

Casting aside her blindfold, Rita Goldwin blew kisses to her impassioned admirers.

Four seats down from Arthur, Mr. Whipple simply stared.

Outside the mother/child knife-throwing arena, Arthur stood with his older siblings and their father as they waited for their recently defeated mother and younger siblings to emerge. Cordelia, Simon, and Henry busied themselves plotting sweet revenge on the Goldwins, but Mr. Whipple stood silently, his face devoid of emotion, his mind apparently in another place altogether.

Arthur, being unused to such behavior from his father,
was not sure how to act in his presence. And so, after a few awkward moments, he turned to the man and said, “Father, may I have some money for a candied jellyfish?”

Mr. Whipple gave no response.

“Father?” the boy asked again.

“What?” the man replied dazedly. “Oh. Right.”

He reached into his pocket and retrieved a handful of coins.

Usually, when Arthur asked to purchase a concessionary item, his father spent a fair amount of breath reminding him to see how many of the items he could eat in thirty seconds or how many he could juggle into his mouth—but this time, Mr. Whipple simply dropped the coins into Arthur’s hand without so much as a word.

Grateful to be out of his father’s strange company, Arthur hurried over to the candied jellyfish stand, which was several yards away. There, beneath a sign that read,
T
HE
S
IGNATURE
S
NACK OF
U
NSAFE
S
PORTS
!,
he made his purchase.

“Good luck, lad,” said the man behind the counter. “You never know—this just might be one with its stinging tentacles still attached. One out of twenty-five, guaranteed! Just had a boy—not unlike yourself—carted off by ambulance hardly five minutes ago!”

“Really?” Arthur said excitedly.

He studied the wrapper as he walked away, reading the slogans:
Free adrenaline rush included in every pouch!™
and
So good, you won’t mind risking severe pain and possible
hospitalization just to have one!™
Then he tore off the wrapper and nervously raised the sugar-coated confection to his mouth.

After the first adrenaline-charged bite, Arthur was mildly disappointed to find that it was of the standard stingerless variety, but this did not prevent him from enjoying it anyway. Though regular candied jellyfish was not nearly as exciting as its stinging counterpart, it was no less tasty.

Just then, Ruby emerged from a cluster of milling bystanders.

“There you are,” she smiled.

“Oh, hi,” replied Arthur in between bites of jellyfish. Her arrival had come as a bit of a surprise—but perhaps more surprising was that, for the first time, he almost felt glad to see her.

“I was afraid you were avoiding me,” said the girl. “You know, since my family beat yours. Sorry about that. The Goldwins are pretty good knife throwers.”

“That’s all right,” Arthur smiled. “I thought
my
family was good, but your family is
incredible
. You must be very proud. So—do you compete in any of their other group events?”

“Not really.”

“Oh,” said the boy. “Why not?”

“I don’t know,” Ruby shrugged. “Why don’t
you
compete in
your
family’s group events?”

Arthur sighed. “I’ve been barred from family competitions ever since I cost us the record for baby tossing when I
was four months old…. But
you
—you’re a world-record holder. Surely you’d be an asset to any team.”

“Look, Arthur, you’ve got to stop with this ‘world-record holder’ nonsense. You’ll find the Goldwins do just fine without me.”

Punctuating Ruby’s last sentence, there was an abrupt commotion near the arena’s outer gates. Looking over his shoulder, Arthur could see Mrs. Goldwin and her children emerging from the arena—to much applause and popping of flashbulbs.

“Let’s go see them!” he cried, suddenly caught up in the fervor.

The boy scurried back to the place where he had left his family, with Ruby trudging along behind him.

As the pair reached the small mob, Mrs. Goldwin was answering a question from an exceptionally eager reporter. “Well, we didn’t get this good overnight, I can tell you that,” she smiled. “No, it wasn’t until day
three
that we had it completely mastered! I’m sure the kids could show you some nasty nicks from that first day, though—couldn’t you, kids?”

The children all nodded enthusiastically.

“Mrs. Goldwin,” another reporter chimed in, “how do you feel about knocking the Whipples out of nearly every competition they’ve entered so far today?”

“The Whipples are fine competitors—legends really—and it is truly an honor to defeat them. What a remarkable legacy they’ve left behind. We’re immensely fortunate to
call them friends—and we wish them all the best during this difficult time…of being, you know, conquered by us. If there is ever anything they need, we want them to know our door is always open—and conveniently located just down the street from theirs.”