Maid Mary Anne Read online

  No Mrs. Towne.

  Now what should I do? Had Mrs. Towne forgotten? I couldn’t believe that she had. She had even reminded me of the lesson as I had left with the Pikes on Thursday afternoon. Besides, her car was still parked in the driveway.

  I rang the bell once more, keeping my finger on it for a long time.

  No one answered.

  Now I was beginning to worry. Could something be wrong? Hesitantly, I tried the screen door. The knob turned easily. I pushed the door slowly open and stuck my head inside. “Hello, Mrs. Towne?” I called. “It’s me, Mrs. Towne! Mary Anne Spier!”

  I waited. I was just about to call again when I heard it. A thin sound, like a voice calling weakly.

  “Hello?” I said again. “Mrs. Towne?”

  “Help! Help me!”

  Was I hearing right? With my heart pounding, I stepped through the door and walked down the silent, shadowy hall. “Hello?” I called again, and listened to the echo of my voice.

  But it wasn’t an echo that answered, faintly. “Here. In here …”

  I began to run. A moment later, I skidded to a stop in the doorway of Mrs. Towne’s big, old-fashioned kitchen. Around the corner of the kitchen table, I could see a pair of blue-jeaned legs. One of the feet was turned at a funny angle.

  “Mrs. Towne? Mrs. Towne!” I gasped. I ran over and knelt down beside her.

  “Mrs. Towne, it’s me, Mary Anne Spier,” I told her, trying to sound calm.

  Mrs. Towne moved slightly, her eyelids fluttering, and murmured something.

  “Don’t move,” I said. “I’ll get help.”

  Quickly, with shaking hands, I went to the phone on the kitchen wall and dialed 911. “Someone has had an accident,” I told the man who answered. I told them about Mrs. Towne and I gave him the address.

  “Don’t move her,” he told me. “Cover her with a blanket. The paramedics will be there in a few minutes.”

  Mrs. Towne shifted slightly. A blanket, I thought.

  “I’ll be right back, Mrs. Towne,” I said. I raced to the guest bedroom and pulled the Log Cabin quilt off the bed and took it back to spread over Mrs. Towne.

  She didn’t move. I watched her for a moment, then got up again, ran to the phone, and called my house. My father answered. Even though my hands were shaking, I was surprised to hear how calm I sounded. “Mrs. Towne has fallen, Dad. I’m with her at her house. We’re waiting for the paramedics.”

  “I’m on my way,” my father said.

  As I hung up, Mrs. Towne moaned softly. “Don’t move,” I told her, kneeling down. “It’s me. It’s Mary Anne. I’m here. And the paramedics are on their way.”

  I smoothed the quilt over Mrs. Towne, then took her hand and settled down to wait.

  I know it wasn’t very long, but it seemed like forever before I heard the screen door bang open and footsteps in the hall. “Mary Anne?” my father’s voice called.

  I was so glad to hear it. “In here,” I said. A moment later he stepped into the kitchen followed by the paramedics.

  I gave Mrs. Towne’s hand a reassuring pat, put it under the quilt, stood up, and stepped back.

  One of the paramedics knelt by Mrs. Towne and took her pulse. “Has she been moved?” the paramedic asked me.

  I shook my head. “I found her like this about ten minutes ago. I called nine-one-one and then put the blanket over her.”

  The paramedic nodded. “Good,” she told me and, pulling the blanket back, began to check Mrs. Towne.

  My father put his hand on my shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

  “It looks like a broken ankle,” the first paramedic said, standing up. “I don’t see anything else, but of course we won’t know until we get her to the hospital.”

  “We’ll follow you there,” my father said as the paramedics lifted the stretcher with Mrs. Towne on it. I spread the quilt carefully back over the bed. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I had to clutch them in my lap all the way to the hospital.

  “You did a good job, Mary Anne,” my father kept saying. But I couldn’t believe it, at least not until I knew Mrs. Towne was going to be all right.

  We waited a long time. At last a nurse led us down the hall of the emergency room.

  Mrs. Towne was sitting in a wheelchair with her ankle propped up and a big cast around it.

  “Mrs. Towne? Are you okay?”

  She smiled ruefully. “Fine, except for this darned old ankle. Mary Anne, I’m so glad you came over today. Thank you for everything.”

  I felt myself blushing. “You’re welcome, Mrs. Towne. I’m glad I could help. But what happened?”

  “I don’t know. One minute I was walking across the kitchen floor and the next minute I was lying on it. I must have slipped and then passed out from the pain. They tell me my ankle is badly broken. But I’m lucky, I suppose, that it is nothing worse.”

  “Does it hurt now?”

  Mrs. Towne nodded. “Yes, but not as badly as it did. I’ll be in the hospital for a few days, then I’ll be sort of immobile for awhile.” She made a face and I could see the thought of being immobile bothered her almost as much as having a broken ankle.

  “Is there anything I can do? Do you want someone to get in touch with your son?”

  Mrs. Towne thought for a moment, then shook her head. “I’ll call him later, but there’s no sense in worrying him. He can’t do anything for me long distance. I’ll ask Mrs. Stone to keep an eye on my garden and my mail while I’m away. She has a spare key to my house that I gave her a long time ago in case of emergencies. She can bring me anything I need, too.”

  A nurse bustled over to us and smiled at us. “How are we feeling?” he asked.

  “I’m feeling fine,” said Mrs. Towne. “I can’t answer for Mary Anne, of course.”

  I hid a smile. Mrs. Towne might have a broken ankle, but she wasn’t about to let a nurse treat her like an invalid!

  The nurse looked taken aback, then he smiled, too. “Good,” he said. “Your room is ready for you. Are you ready to go?”

  “I suppose so,” said Mrs. Towne.

  “I’ll come visit soon,” I promised.

  “Thank you, Mary Anne,” said Mrs. Towne. She leaned her head back against the wheelchair and closed her eyes. “I am feeling a little tired,” she admitted.

  The nurse nodded and said to me, “Room two-eleven. It’s a semi-private room on the second floor. Visiting hours are from three to four-thirty in the afternoon and from seven until eight-thirty at night.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Good-bye, Mrs. Towne.”

  “Good-bye, Mary Anne,” she said, her eyes still closed.

  She suddenly did sound tired. Poor Mrs. Towne. Her son was far away and she was all alone. I thought of the times I’d felt sorry for myself and gave myself a mental shake. You see, I scolded myself. You have it easy, Mary Anne Spier.

  As Mrs. Towne’s wheelchair disappeared down the hall, I resolved to be as unselfish and helpful as I could for her. And I was going to start by visiting her the very next day. I’d bring her the Log Cabin quilt for her bed. Maybe that would help to cheer her up.

  On Wednesday, Dawn and I decided to ride our bicycles to Claudia’s house for the BSC meeting. I’m not much of an athlete the way Kristy is, but I do like riding my bike. So Dawn and I raced up and down the hills to Claudia’s house.

  We burst in the door, shrieking and laughing like crazy (the Kishis always leave the door open on meeting afternoons) and ran right into Claudia’s sister, Janine the genius.

  She raised her eyebrows at us. Janine can be pretty cool sometimes, but she can also be an older-sister-type pain and make you wonder if she and Claudia are actually related. Today she was clearly in her older-sister mode.

  “Janine, hey. What’s happening!” said Dawn, still gasping for breath.

  “You lost,” I declared.

  “Huh!” said Dawn.

  “I suppose you are vying for victory in some sort of contest,” said Janine.

>   “Yeah, we had a bicycle race,” replied Dawn, correctly interpreting what Janine had just said. “Mary Anne cheated.”

  Janine looked shocked, which made me laugh harder.

  “Only by California rules, Dawn,” I said. “In Stoneybrook, it is perfectly legal to say, ‘Your rear tire is flat.’ ”

  “Was it?” asked Janine.

  I looked innocent. “Maybe.”

  Dawn elbowed me. “Yeah, right. And by the time I stopped to look, you’d gone ahead!”

  “Safety first,” I said loftily, running up the stairs.

  “A BSC motto, no doubt,” said Janine dryly.

  Dawn laughed, and so did I, and Janine permitted herself a small smile.

  We were right on time. As we walked in, Claudia made an overhand pass with the bag of Gummi Worms she was holding, and Dawn caught it in one hand and passed it off to me.

  Kristy said, “This meeting of the …” and the phone rang.

  “Baby-sitters Club,” filled in Stacey, picking up the phone. I pulled out the record book and flipped it open as Stacey repeated the information and said she’d call back.

  “Mrs. Papadakis,” she announced. “Friday afternoon from two until six.”

  I studied the record book and then said, “It’s pretty open — Kristy, Claudia, or Jessi.”

  Jessi said, “Count me out. Mal and I are vidding out on Friday.”

  “Vidding out?” asked Stacey. “As in, videos?”

  “Yup.” Mal grinned. “Horse-o-rama.”

  “National Velvet again?” groaned Claudia.

  “And The Black Stallion,” said Jessi, unperturbed.

  In case you can’t tell, Jessi and Mal are fond of horses, to put it mildly.

  “You take it, Kristy,” said Claudia. “You’re right across the street from the Papadakises, so it’s more convenient.”

  “Okay,” said Kristy, and I wrote her in.

  As soon as Stacey had hung up the phone after calling Mrs. Papadakis back, it rang again. And then again. It was shaping up to be a pretty busy meeting for a summer afternoon. Soon every one of us had lined up at least one job for the next week — except me.

  “The twins,” said Kristy, looking at me. “Tomorrow afternoon? They’re near you, Mary Anne.”

  I looked in the book and almost agreed. But then I remembered. “I can’t,” I said. “Mrs. Towne may be getting out of the hospital tomorrow. I want to be free to visit her. But Dawn and Mallory have openings.”

  “You do it, Mal,” said Dawn. “It’ll help pay for your vidding.”

  We all laughed and I wrote Mal in.

  “How is Mrs. Towne, anyway?” Stacey asked me.

  “Well, her ankle is healing fine, but it might be a while before she’s walking around again. Sometimes when you’re older, it takes longer for things to heal.”

  “She’s been in the hospital a long time,” said Jessi. “Is that why?”

  I shook my head. “Not exactly. She probably could have gone home sooner, but since she lives alone, she decided to stay a couple of extra days. She says in the hospital she doesn’t have to cook or clean or go up and down the stairs.”

  “Wow, that’s right,” said Claudia. “What’s she going to do when she gets home?”

  “A visiting nurse is going to come to her house once a day to help with medication and check on her ankle for awhile,” I said. “And Mrs. Stone has moved things from Mrs. Towne’s bedroom upstairs to the guest bedroom downstairs so she doesn’t have to go up and down any steps. Plus, I’m going to go over or call as much as I can, and try to help out.”

  “Decent,” said Stacey.

  “Yeah,” said Kristy. “But what about your sewing lessons?”

  “She still wants to give them to me, so we’re going to start this Saturday instead. Meanwhile, I had a good — no, a great — idea. I think.”

  Kristy immediately looked enthusiastic. She loves ideas, even when they aren’t her own. “What?”

  “I’ve been thinking about this ever since I visited Mrs. Towne’s with your brothers and sisters last Wednesday, Mal.”

  “They liked that a lot,” said Mal. “A farm, a goat, and Mrs. Towne’s house all in one day. Vanessa and Nicky are still talking about those quilts.”

  “That’s it,” I said. “That’s the idea. I was wondering if some of the kids we sit for would like sewing lessons, too. Nothing fancy, like Mrs. Towne is going to teach me, but you know, fun stuff. Like designing a simple quilt or something like that. I’ve been looking through a few quilting books and it wouldn’t be hard.”

  “Definitely decent,” said Stacey.

  “And that’s definitely a great idea,” Kristy agreed. “Let’s make a few phone calls and see.”

  I knew I could count on my friends. With Kristy making the calls, we’d “enrolled” six kids in my sewing class by the time the meeting was over. Vanessa and Nicky Pike, Becca Ramsey, Charlotte Johanssen, Buddy Barrett, and Haley Braddock.

  It happened so fast, it almost took my breath away. If you ever want something to happen, Kristy is the one to help you out.

  I looked up and caught Dawn’s eye and smiled. She gave me a thumbs-up sign.

  “Now if we were in California,” she said, “Jeff would probably like to take your class, too.”

  “And make a surfboard cover,” teased Stacey.

  We all laughed, including Dawn.

  “Hey, Dawn,” said Kristy, looking out the window and reaching up for her visor. “This is perfect weather, right here in Stoneybrook. You can’t possibly miss California on a day like today.”

  Dawn didn’t make a quick comeback, like I’d expected. Instead, she said, “Not California, so much. But I do miss Jeff and Dad.”

  We were all quiet for a moment and then I said cheerfully, “But you’ll get to see them soon, probably.”

  “Right,” said Kristy. “Visit them in the winter when we’re all freezing. You’ll like that … Okay. This meeting of the BSC is officially adjourned.”

  We trooped out and Dawn and I pedaled home more slowly than we’d ridden over. On the way, I told her a little about the research I’d been doing on patchwork quilts. “Take the abstract designs used by the Amish. The names tell you where those designs come from in their everyday life, like ‘Sunshine and Shadow’ or ‘Streak of Lightning.’ ”

  “Hmm,” said Dawn, lifting her face to the sun. “ ‘Sunshine and Shadow.’ That sounds like a nice one.”

  “It is. You should see it! And listen to this …”

  I was awfully excited about the sewing class. And I could hardly wait for my next sewing lesson. Also, I was glad to be doing something unselfish, glad to be able to help Mrs. Towne out.

  Dawn didn’t say much after that. I guess I didn’t let her. Looking back, I think maybe I didn’t want her to say anything too positive about California. Dawn belonged here, in Stoneybrook. I was afraid if she kept talking about California, she’d become really, truly homesick and want to go back.

  It didn’t occur to me until much, much later that the tone of voice I’d been using with Dawn whenever she talked about California and being homesick was a lot like the tone of voice the nurse had used with Mrs. Towne.

  My first sewing class was scheduled for Thursday afternoon. With six kids, I figured I’d need help, so I asked for volunteers. Claudia decided it might be worth checking out, especially when she heard about the idea of designing quilts.

  We met at my house. It was another perfect day in Stoneybrook, so I took an old bedspread outside and spread it under a tree in the yard for us. I’d suggested the kids each find a shoebox to make a sewing kit, and bring it along with a pair of blunt scissors, a box of pins, a package of needles, a spool of white thread, a thimble, and a few scraps of material for practicing on.

  Meanwhile, I’d gathered my own boxful of materials (a box snow boots had come in, which was a little bigger). In it I’d put scraps of fabric and trimming, bits of lace, beads, and a couple of my sewing books plus t
he quilting books I’d checked out of the library. I’d also brought my own sewing box, of course, a real one designed for holding sewing things. I felt that I was prepared for anything.

  As soon as everyone had arrived, we sat down on the bedspread. I’d decided we needed to run a basic skills check before we did anything else. I told each of them — Vanessa and Nicky, Becca, Charlotte, Buddy, and Haley — to take out a needle and some thread.

  “What size needle?” asked Charlotte. She held up not one but two packets of needles. One held sewing needles. The other held larger embroidery needles.

  “One of those,” I said, pointing to the regular ones. “We’re going to start with how to thread needles.”

  “Ah, I know how to do that,” said Nicky.

  I smiled. “Good. Then you can help me show anybody who doesn’t.”

  “Okay,” he agreed.

  Nicky, Vanessa, Charlotte, and Buddy knew how to thread needles and knot one end of the thread. Becca and Haley caught on right away. We progressed quickly from that to sewing a basic running stitch on the scraps of material.

  “It’s like that riddle,” said Vanessa suddenly.

  “Which riddle?” asked Charlotte. Her tongue was between her teeth and she was frowning at the material she was holding.

  Vanessa dropped her sewing, clasped her hands together, and recited dramatically, “Old Mother Twitchett / has but one eye /and a long tail / which she can let fly / And every time she goes over a gap / she leaves a bit of her tail in a trap.”

  “I don’t get it,” said Charlotte.

  “It’s a riddle,” said Vanessa. “With clues in the middle. You’re supposed to guess. I cannot confess.”

  “Oh,” said Charlotte.

  No one said anything.

  “Well,” said Vanessa. “Tell. What is it? I’m caught in the middle. What’s the answer to the riddle?”

  “A snake?” said Haley. “A big, mean, one-eyed snake with one of those lizard tails like we studied in school? If you catch one of those lizards by the tail, it’ll break off and the lizard will grow a new one.”