Swift pauses for a moment on the top step. “Yes, I guess you’re right,” she says slowly, thinking things through. “Just make sure he does his business out of doors.”
Peabody is humphing. I am humphing. Of course he does his business outdoors.
Mrs. Swift turns left and walks to a room where the last bit of sun is shining in, and already Peabody is wagging his stumpy tail like it is Christmas.
A big bed sits at one end of the room with four high posts and a canopy. The quilt is fresh as new cream and there are four fat pillows wrapped in lace.
“Oh golly,” I say out loud, untying and kicking off my work boots, jumping onto the bed, and bouncing around, feeling like things are starting to finally go a little right in my life. “For sweet Pete’s sake, Peabody, get up here.”
Mrs. Potter has to lift Peabody up and put him next to me, because the bed is so high, and Mrs. Swift is tsk-tsking in the corner. I myself am jumping. The bed creaks loudly with each bounce, bounce, bounce. It is very old. Peabody flops over each time I leap, so I make myself stop even though I could jump like this forever.
“This is a different time,” Mrs. Potter is telling Mrs. Swift. “Dogs sleep on beds nowadays.” She scratches Peabody behind the ears. He thumps his stumpy tail against the bed now that I am not jumping.
If I had a stumpy tail, I would wag it, too. I breathe in the wonder all around me: the little red berries and tiny sprigs of ivy skipping up the walls, the lace billowing from the four tall windows that are so big they begin at the ceiling and end at the floor, the tall dresser with no mirror on top (thank goodness), a table with a little pitcher and bowl for washing up, even towels to mop my face. The last of the sun jumps into the room and rushes all over the wood floor, which is polished. Everything smells like lemon wax.
Mrs. Swift looks at everything. “I did well, didn’t I?”
“And just who was it who carried all those buckets ofhot water? And who rubbed all that lemon oil?” Mrs. Potter is grinning.
“Now, you get in your bedgown, dear.” Mrs. Potter tells Mrs. Swift they should leave the room so I can get undressed.
When they close the door, I look at Peabody. I do not have a bedgown. I don’t know what a bedgown looks like, since Pauline and I slept in our shirts, although I can imagine.
I pull off my overalls and take Pauline’s little notebook out of my top pocket. I stuff it at the bottom of the top drawer of the dresser, under some clothes so lacy I would look like a cupcake if I wore them. Then I jump up onto the bed and climb under the sheets. They smell like new soap and rose water and are very crisp and tucked in so tight I cannot even wiggle and I would not want to move, even if I could. That is what it feels like to sleep in a real bed; you want to stay put for a while.
The peepers chirp, Peabody snores, and I am drifting off when Mrs. Swift and Mrs. Potter come back in. They stand near the bed and watch me and I pretend I am sleeping, which isn’t hard because I am so tired, and then Mrs. Potter is saying, “I told you she was the one,” and then I smile and say to myself, yes I am, good golly, yes I am, and then I must be sleeping, because the ladies are disappearing right before my eyes.
49
“All healthy children need a sunbath,” Mrs. Swift tells me the next morning while Mrs. Potter tries to get the stove to work so we can all have tea and maybe something to eat besides stale tea biscuits.
She shoos me out to the porch.
“What exactly is a sunbath?” I ask Peabody. Already the sun is climbing and the morning is one of the most beautiful I have seen. The smell of roses is everywhere. I lean back in the swing. Peabody jumps up onto my lap, and I push off. Back and forth, back and forth. I am feeling very lazy. Ellis is water under the bridge to me now. Peabody is watching a couple of honeybees around the potted geraniums. He is feeling lazy, too.
“Young
Peabody is humphing. I am humphing. Of course he does his business outdoors.
Mrs. Swift turns left and walks to a room where the last bit of sun is shining in, and already Peabody is wagging his stumpy tail like it is Christmas.
A big bed sits at one end of the room with four high posts and a canopy. The quilt is fresh as new cream and there are four fat pillows wrapped in lace.
“Oh golly,” I say out loud, untying and kicking off my work boots, jumping onto the bed, and bouncing around, feeling like things are starting to finally go a little right in my life. “For sweet Pete’s sake, Peabody, get up here.”
Mrs. Potter has to lift Peabody up and put him next to me, because the bed is so high, and Mrs. Swift is tsk-tsking in the corner. I myself am jumping. The bed creaks loudly with each bounce, bounce, bounce. It is very old. Peabody flops over each time I leap, so I make myself stop even though I could jump like this forever.
“This is a different time,” Mrs. Potter is telling Mrs. Swift. “Dogs sleep on beds nowadays.” She scratches Peabody behind the ears. He thumps his stumpy tail against the bed now that I am not jumping.
If I had a stumpy tail, I would wag it, too. I breathe in the wonder all around me: the little red berries and tiny sprigs of ivy skipping up the walls, the lace billowing from the four tall windows that are so big they begin at the ceiling and end at the floor, the tall dresser with no mirror on top (thank goodness), a table with a little pitcher and bowl for washing up, even towels to mop my face. The last of the sun jumps into the room and rushes all over the wood floor, which is polished. Everything smells like lemon wax.
Mrs. Swift looks at everything. “I did well, didn’t I?”
“And just who was it who carried all those buckets ofhot water? And who rubbed all that lemon oil?” Mrs. Potter is grinning.
“Now, you get in your bedgown, dear.” Mrs. Potter tells Mrs. Swift they should leave the room so I can get undressed.
When they close the door, I look at Peabody. I do not have a bedgown. I don’t know what a bedgown looks like, since Pauline and I slept in our shirts, although I can imagine.
I pull off my overalls and take Pauline’s little notebook out of my top pocket. I stuff it at the bottom of the top drawer of the dresser, under some clothes so lacy I would look like a cupcake if I wore them. Then I jump up onto the bed and climb under the sheets. They smell like new soap and rose water and are very crisp and tucked in so tight I cannot even wiggle and I would not want to move, even if I could. That is what it feels like to sleep in a real bed; you want to stay put for a while.
The peepers chirp, Peabody snores, and I am drifting off when Mrs. Swift and Mrs. Potter come back in. They stand near the bed and watch me and I pretend I am sleeping, which isn’t hard because I am so tired, and then Mrs. Potter is saying, “I told you she was the one,” and then I smile and say to myself, yes I am, good golly, yes I am, and then I must be sleeping, because the ladies are disappearing right before my eyes.
49
“All healthy children need a sunbath,” Mrs. Swift tells me the next morning while Mrs. Potter tries to get the stove to work so we can all have tea and maybe something to eat besides stale tea biscuits.
She shoos me out to the porch.
“What exactly is a sunbath?” I ask Peabody. Already the sun is climbing and the morning is one of the most beautiful I have seen. The smell of roses is everywhere. I lean back in the swing. Peabody jumps up onto my lap, and I push off. Back and forth, back and forth. I am feeling very lazy. Ellis is water under the bridge to me now. Peabody is watching a couple of honeybees around the potted geraniums. He is feeling lazy, too.
“Young
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