Brave Warrior Page 4

  Aiofe pointed to the doorway, and everyone turned their gaze there.

  After what seemed like forever, a figure appeared.

  It took Maisie and Felix a moment to realize it was an actual person standing in front of them. Maybe the tiniest person they’d ever seen. It took another moment for them to realize that the person was a woman. A woman with probably the most wrinkly face in the whole world and a cap of oddly blue curls. She wore glasses that seemed to magnify her eyes a billion times, so that they appeared bright blue and enormous in her tiny face. She was like a bird in so many ways, that if she had actually taken flight, Maisie and Felix would not have been surprised.

  By now, Great-Uncle Thorne was on his feet, a look of delight written all over his face.

  The woman kept moving toward them, slower than the slowest living thing moved. Her tiny feet, encased in jeweled slippers, shuffled forward. She wore so many bracelets on her thin wrists that her bony arms seemed to be weighed down by them. She positively clanged as she made her way into the Dining Room. She wore a cardboard-brown wool suit, and the jacket had fat bands of black trim along the edges and in slashes across the front, with big gold buttons in the middle.

  After what felt like forever, the tiny woman was standing in front of Great-Uncle Thorne.

  She tilted her head coquettishly upward.

  “Thorne,” she said in a strange, girl-like voice.

  Great-Uncle Thorne’s mouth opened, but no words came out.

  “What I was trying to say,” Aiofe announced, “is that you have a visitor, Mr. Pickworth.”

  Aiofe curtsied slightly.

  “May I present Miss Penelope Merriweather?”

  CHAPTER 4

  March Madness

  Penelope Merriweather had been a silent movie star, a flapper, a survivor of the Titanic.

  “That was all so long ago,” she said in her funny, childlike voice.

  She did not seem sad that she was no longer beautiful. Or that she was—according to Penelope herself—one of the oldest living people in the United States.

  “Or is it the world?” Penelope wondered out loud.

  Maisie thought it was entirely possible that Penelope Merriweather was indeed the oldest living person in the entire world. Her face had so many crevices and lines that it looked like the topographical map hanging on the back wall of Mrs. Witherspoon’s classroom. When Aiofe poured Penelope a cup of coffee in one of the Pickworth china cups, it took her a full minute to get the cup to her lips, and most of the coffee had sloshed out of it by the time it finally reached her mouth.

  Penelope’s mouth. That was an entire curiosity unto itself. Her lips were so thin that they seemed to hardly be there at all, like the lines of latitude and longitude on the globe that sat in front of the topographical map in Mrs. Witherspoon’s classroom. But Penelope wore lipstick—a color that was neither pink nor orange—as if she had regular-size lips.

  But despite her decrepitude, her sagging flesh, her glacial movements, Penelope’s eyes shone bright and her mind seemed alert and quick.

  “Thorne,” Penelope said, “you look decades younger than I. What is your secret?”

  Maisie and Felix held their breath waiting for Great-Uncle Thorne’s answer.

  “Well,” he replied after a pause, “I send these two back in time, and although I can’t explain the physics of it, every time they time travel, I gain back some of my lost vitality.”

  Maisie and Felix exchanged a look of shock. Wasn’t The Treasure Chest a secret?

  Penelope Merriweather blinked several times.

  “I don’t actually get younger, mind you,” Great-Uncle Thorne explained. “I just get, well, healthier.”

  Penelope’s tiny mouth opened as wide as a baby bird’s when it’s about to be fed, and a girlish giggle let loose.

  “That’s a good one, Thorne,” she gasped.

  Great-Uncle Thorne smiled at her. “Isn’t it, though?” he said. “Why, before they moved into Elm Medona, I was in a London hospital, deteriorating at an alarming rate. I had no idea they’d been time traveling or I would have understood why I was suddenly healthier and more agile than I’d been in decades.”

  Maisie gaped at Great-Uncle Thorne. Was that true? she wondered. Had he been in a hospital, like Great-Aunt Maisie?

  “Good for you two then,” Penelope said good-naturedly. “He looks marvelous.”

  “You do, too, Penny,” Great-Uncle Thorne said in a tone of voice that Maisie and Felix had never heard come out of him before: tender and—could they even use the word?—loving.

  “That’s true,” Penelope said, “if you happen to like pachyderms.”

  “No, no,” Great-Uncle Thorne insisted. “When I look at you I see that beautiful girl I gave my heart to so long ago.”

  He reached over and took Penelope’s liver-spotted hand in his own large, strong one, and squeezed it.

  Penelope looked at Maisie and Felix, who by now could do nothing but sit and stare at her and the changes she’d brought on in Great-Uncle Thorne.

  “Could you two do some time traveling and work your magic on me?” she asked.

  “I regret to have to tell you, Penny, that only Pickworths reap the benefits,” Great-Uncle Thorne said. He hadn’t let go of her hand, and it rested tucked into his.

  “Sounds like Phinneas Pickworth, that scoundrel,” she said with a good-natured chuckle. “Of course he would arrange it thus.”

  “Tell me,” Great-Uncle Thorne said, “where do you live these days? I hope it’s not in the same dreadful facility where the mother of these two stuck poor Maisie.”

  Penelope looked surprised. “Why, I live at Château Glorieux,” she said.

  Maisie and Felix had passed Château Glorieux on Bellevue Avenue lots of times. It was just as its name suggested: an enormous stone château that looked as if it had been airlifted from somewhere in France and dropped on several hundred acres in Newport.

  “But how can you manage?” Great-Uncle Thorne asked.

  “Oh,” Penelope said with a dismissive wave of her hand, “the staff takes care of everything. I still tend to my roses, of course. I know the Pickworths are peony people, but the Merriweathers have always grown roses.”

  She turned to Maisie and Felix and added, “The Merriweather Rose is a lovely shade of lavender.”

  “Quite lovely,” Great-Uncle Thorne agreed.

  “And I swim in the pool every morning at six,” Penelope continued.

  Again she turned to Maisie and Felix. “The Merriweathers like saltwater in the pool. And we like it bracingly cold. That’s the secret to our longevity.”

  “Ah! Yes,” Great-Uncle Thorne said. “I remember too well the temperature of the pool at Château Glorieux. There was something about the tiles—”

  “Egyptian!” Penelope said. “From the tomb of King Petahu.”

  She once again faced Maisie and Felix and said, “They tell the story of his life, all along the sides and bottom of the pool. You should come to Château Glorieux for a swim and see for yourself.”

  “Maybe this summer—” Felix began, just to be polite. Although he loved to swim, he couldn’t imagine doing it in March.

  Penelope’s wrinkly face wrinkled even more in consternation.

  “But it’s indoors,” she said. Then she added, “Of course.”

  “How about this Saturday?” Great-Uncle Thorne suggested with far too much enthusiasm.

  “Saturday, Saturday,” Penelope said, thinking. “Yes, I believe Saturday will work.”

  Slowly, she began to rise from the enormous chair. Great-Uncle Thorne jumped to his feet and offered his arm to steady her.

  “Allow me to escort you,” he said.

  Maisie and Felix stared after them as they made their way out of the Dining Room.

  “She’s…she’s…ancient!” Maisie finally blurted.

  Felix could only agree.

  The sound of Great-Uncle Thorne whistling filled their ears as he returned to the Dini
ng Room. When he walked back inside the room, he stopped, his face positively glowing. He didn’t seem to notice Maisie and Felix at all. He just lifted an apple from the crystal bowl of fruit and tossed it into the air, catching it easily.

  “Oh, it don’t mean a thing if you ain’t got your swing,” he sang. “Doo-wop, doo-wop, doo…”

  As soon as Maisie heard her father’s voice on the telephone Saturday morning, she said, “I am more miserable than ever.”

  “Oh, sweetie, that can’t be,” he said. “Felix said you two are going swimming at some fancy mansion and there’s a big party tonight, right?”

  “Everyone,” Maisie announced dramatically, “is in love.”

  She expected her father to be alarmed, to question her. But instead, he laughed. “Well, it is spring,” he said. Foolishly, she decided.

  “Even Great-Uncle Thorne,” she added.

  Which made her father laugh again. “That’s a good one,” he said.

  “He’s in love with the oldest person alive,” she said.

  Ever since Penelope Merriweather had shuffled into the Dining Room, Great-Uncle Thorne had been acting as stupidly as their mother—looking all dreamy-eyed and saying ridiculous things and being actually nice.

  “I thought he was the oldest person alive,” her father said.

  Maisie paused. Her father sounded way too cheerful, she thought.

  “Next thing I know,” Maisie said, “you’re going to tell me you’re in love, too.”

  Her father’s voice caught the tiniest bit before he said, again, “It’s spring, Maisie.”

  Maisie felt her heart beating against her ribs. She thought she might throw up.

  “Maisie?” her father said.

  But she didn’t answer. She just held the phone too tight and tried to breathe.

  “Felix isn’t in love, is he?” her father asked.

  “He has Lily Goldberg,” Maisie managed to say. Inexplicably, hot tears were splashing down her cheeks. “And…and Mom has Bruce Fishbaum,” she said, expecting her father to be shocked or outraged, maybe enough to fly here from Qatar and win her mother back.

  But instead he said, “I know.”

  “You know?” Maisie said.

  “She told me,” he said without even a drop of shock or outrage. “Sweetie, we’re divorced. This is what happens when people get divorced.”

  That’s when she knew. Her father was in love, too. With another woman. Without even saying good-bye, Maisie hung up. She sat there staring at the phone as if it had betrayed her. Then she threw up.

  “You’d better not come to the party,” Felix said hopefully. “You don’t want to throw up there.”

  Felix had never summoned the courage to tell Maisie that she was not invited to Bitsy Beal’s March Madness party. And he had not summoned the courage to ask Bitsy Beal if Maisie could come.

  Maisie was on her bed with a cool towel on her forehead, her eyes closed and her face pale.

  “I’ll be okay,” she said softly.

  Felix said, “I wouldn’t risk it.”

  She opened her eyes and looked at him suspiciously.

  “Just saying,” he said, shrugging.

  Maisie closed her eyes again. “Did Dad mention to you that he has a girlfriend?”

  “No,” Felix said. “Did he tell you that?”

  “Not in so many words.”

  “Well? What did he say?” Felix asked impatiently. His sister always made him beg for information.

  “He said that it’s spring.”

  Exasperated, Felix said, “And from that comment you surmise he has a girlfriend?”

  “He knew about Bruce Fishbaum,” Maisie said. “And he didn’t even care.”

  “Maisie,” Felix said, “don’t go jumping to conclusions.”

  “He said that’s what happens when people get divorced.”

  Felix looked at his sister’s pale face. “Is that why you threw up?” he asked her kindly.

  She nodded. Tears slid out of the corners of her eyes.

  “You’ll get tears in your ears from crying on your back,” Felix said. That was what their father always used to say if he found one of them crying, and it made Maisie cry harder now.

  “We have the worst parents ever,” she said.

  She looked so pathetic lying there, crying in that ridiculous bed, that Felix knew he had no choice: Maisie was going to come to that party tonight. But, he decided, he didn’t have to like it. And she was not going to ruin everything for him.

  Great-Uncle Thorne called to Felix as he left Maisie’s room.

  “Can we have a word?” he asked him. “Man to man?”

  “Uh…sure,” Felix said.

  Great-Uncle Thorne grasped Felix by the shoulder. “About our invitation,” he began.

  “Swimming?”

  “Exactly. I’d prefer that you and your sister stay home.”

  “If you’re worried about Maisie throwing up again,” Felix explained, “it was just an emotional reaction. She’s not sick or anything.”

  “You see,” Great-Uncle Thorne said, as if Felix hadn’t spoken, “I would like to be alone with Penelope. You understand.”

  “Ah,” Felix said.

  Great-Uncle Thorne gave him a slap on the back and said, “I knew you’d understand. Now I’m off to find my bathing suit. Haven’t worn it since the thirties. Or was it the twenties?”

  With that, he was off down the hallway, singing, “Oh, it don’t mean a thing if you ain’t got your swing…”

  Before Felix could take another step, his mother was calling to him.

  “Wanted to say good-bye and happy swimming,” she said when she reached him.

  “Why are you dressed like that?” Felix asked her, pointing to her belt, which was navy blue and had green whales on it, and then to her brand-new boat shoes, which were a strange shade of red.

  “I’m going sailing,” she said brightly. “With Bruce.”

  His mother had on a baseball hat, and her hair, pulled back into a ponytail, popped out the back of it. She was not a person who wore baseball hats.

  “Where’s your sister?”

  “In her room. She threw up.”

  “Oh, dear. I’d better take her temperature.”

  Felix shook his head. “She thinks Dad has a girlfriend.”

  His mother averted her eyes. “Uh-huh.”

  “Wait. Does Dad have a girlfriend?” Felix asked.

  “He has a close female friend, I think, maybe, yes.”

  “Is that the same as a girlfriend?” Felix demanded.

  His mother finally looked up at him. “Yes,” she said. “But honey, that’s what happens when people get divorced.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Felix said, feeling weird. In his mind, even though his parents had been divorced for almost a whole year, he still pictured them together somehow. He knew that was dumb, but he couldn’t help it. They were his parents. They belonged together.

  “I guess she’s not going to go swimming, then?” his mother said.

  “Neither of us are,” Felix told her. “Great-Uncle Thorne uninvited us. He wants this to be a date or something.”

  “A date!”

  “Yeah,” Felix said, heading to his room to think. “Apparently everyone is in love around here.”

  “Well,” his mother said brightly, “it is spring, you know.”

  Bitsy Beal lived in a mansion almost as big as Elm Medona. It had been built in 1898 by Lorne Allan Adrain, a railroad tycoon, and his wife, Zuzu, who was herself extravagantly rich. Zuzu decorated the house with more gold leaf and marble than any other mansion in Newport. Then, bored with it, she had Lorne build her another mansion right next door, and decorated that one entirely in orange, her favorite color. Bitsy’s father, who was an oilman from Texas, bought the orange mansion for his first wife in the 1980s and the one next door for his second wife ten years later.

  When Maisie learned that, she’d said, “Isn’t it totally weird to live next door to yo
ur ex-wife?” But now that her own parents were dating other people, she wasn’t so sure it was weird after all. Maybe the kids from that first wife were just relieved to have their father nearby, even if it did mean having to live next door to a new wife and Bitsy.

  Maisie looked over at the orange mansion while she and Felix waited for someone to open the door to Bitsy’s. Inside that house were Bitsy’s stepsisters, who were in high school and had somehow survived their own parents getting divorced and dating and remarrying and even having another kid. She tried not to imagine having Bruce Fishbaum’s hockey-star kids as her stepsister and stepbrother, but the thought crept into her brain, anyway, and made her shudder.

  “No one is going to understand your costume,” Felix told her for the millionth time.

  He had on a bright yellow tuxedo jacket and blue bow tie and an oversize green top hat. Maisie was certain just about everybody was going to be the Mad Hatter. But she would be the only one clever enough to dress as one of the March sisters from Little Women. She smoothed her long dress, which was also green but a pleasant shade, like moss, and had dozens of tiny buttons down the front. Her shoes also had buttons. She’d found them in the trunk in her closet, too, along with a little hook to button all those buttons.

  “They will when I explain it to them,” Maisie said. “March Madness.”

  Felix shook his head, disgusted. He’d been mean to her all afternoon. If Maisie didn’t know better, she would have thought he didn’t even want her to come to the party.

  As soon as they walked inside, Felix slipped away from Maisie. He made his way through the crowd of kids in the room called the Gold Room because it had more gold leaf than any other room, so much that it absolutely glittered. When he found Lily Goldberg, who was dressed as a tulip, he joined her at the buffet table. It was filled with miniature food: tiny hot dogs in tiny buns, hamburger sliders, little egg rolls, and dumplings.

  “You make a very nice tulip,” Felix told Lily.

  “I know,” she said.

  He smiled and handed her a glass of lemonade.

  “Is that your sister over there?” Lily said, squinting.

  Felix followed her gaze across the room to Maisie, who was standing there looking around like she was lost.