Get Well Soon, Mallory! Page 8

  Wednesday had been a half day at school and everyone was spending the afternoon preparing for Thanksgiving dinner.

  Where was I? Flat on my back on the couch, of course. But I was dressed and I’d even put on the earrings Jessi had given me when we first got our ears pierced. I was doing everything I could to try to feel part of the festivities.

  “Mom, can I fold napkins or something?” I called as my mother scurried through the living room. She was carrying the white linen tablecloth that had belonged to her mother and her mother’s mother before that.

  “Sorry, Mal, but Margo and Nicky have that covered.”

  “What about ironing the tablecloth?”

  “That’s my job,” she said. “Your job is to relax on the couch.”

  “I hate lying on the couch,” I complained. “I feel like a slug.”

  Mom smiled sympathetically. “Maybe we can find a job for you. One that isn’t too tiring.”

  “Thanks.” I tried to sound grateful but I didn’t feel quite that way. I had hoped that this holiday would be fun. And it was. For everyone but me. I was just an observer. I wanted to participate.

  I watched Margo parade through the living room with the ceramic turkey centerpiece that we used year after year. Claire followed behind with a box of little plaster Indians and Pilgrims in her arms.

  Last Thanksgiving we’d spent hours setting up a colonial village in the center of the dining room table. Byron and Jordan had broken off sprigs of evergreen to make trees, and Nicky and Adam had collected pebbles for the village walls. I remembered that they’d found a huge round rock that we placed outside the village. Using orange and black watercolors, I’d painted the words Plymouth Rock on it. Now that rock was part of the permanent collection.

  I listened numbly as my brothers and sisters argued over the placement of each rock and twig, and what food the Pilgrims would eat. Nobody cared whether I helped with the village. No one even asked for my opinion. It was as if I were invisible.

  Before I could get completely depressed, Mom reappeared. She was carrying scissors, some stiff paper, and a package of Magic Markers. “I’ve found just the job for you,” she said cheerily. “Place cards.”

  “Place cards?” I repeated, sitting up. “Do you just want me to write our names on them?”

  Mom moved a tray table next to the couch.

  “You can decorate them any way you want. Use your imagination and have fun.”

  This did sound like fun. And I was glad to think about something other than myself. I set to work cutting out the little cards and decorating them. I thought about each member of my family and tried to make the place card reflect his or her personality. Since Vanessa likes poetry, I made hers flowery. I drew teddy bears and dolls on Claire’s. I tried to draw Frodo, our hamster, on Nicky’s, but it ended up looking like a bear, too. So I added a few frogs and snakes. For the triplets, I drew the Three Musketeers’ hats with a different-colored plume in each hat. While I was mulling over what to draw on the rest of the cards, the doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get that!” shrieked Margo. She bolted out of her chair and raced to the front door so fast that I got the funny feeling she’d been expecting the bell to ring.

  The next thing I knew, I heard shuffling feet and lots of whispering and giggling in the hallway. Then Kristy appeared in the living room, surrounded by the rest of the BSC members and about ten kids.

  “Surprise!” they cried.

  I nearly knocked over my tray table from the shock. “What’s going on?” I asked.

  Claire, who had disappeared when the doorbell rang, squeezed through the group. She placed a basket next to the couch. It was filled with fruits and chocolates, books, and a photograph.

  “This basket was made for you by all of us. It is a small —” Claire paused and looked at the ceiling, trying to remember her speech. She moved her lips silently, re-reciting what she had just said and then she continued, “It is a small token of our steam.”

  Vanessa whispered in her ear and Claire blushed. “Oops, I meant, our es-teem.”

  “Thanks!” I exclaimed.

  “Wait!” Buddy Barrett called. “There’s more.”

  The kids parted and in marched Stacey, carrying a cardboard turkey. She was followed by Becca, Karen, and David Michael, who held a screen painted to look like an ocean and a fishing pole.

  Stacey handed me the pole. “Since you couldn’t make it to the party, we thought we’d bring the party to you. So Go Fish.”

  “What?” I giggled.

  Nicky stepped forward to advise me. “Throw your string over the screen and Bill Korman will tie a present to it.”

  Claire whispered, “It’s probably going to be a cookie.”

  I did as I was told and cast my fishing line over the screen. Claudia hurriedly joined Bill and after a great deal of whispering and tugging on the string, Bill shouted, “Pull ’er up. I think you landed a big one!”

  I did get a Kooky Cookie, but a surprise was attached to it.

  “Look,” Becca Ramsey cried. “Mal’s gingerbread lady is wearing earrings. Real ones.”

  Claudia peeked over the screen. “These are very special, magical earrings. The person who puts them on will be instantly cured.”

  “I wish,” I murmured, as I examined her creations. They were little wooden bottles with hand-painted labels that read, Miracul Cure. (I knew then Claud really had made them herself. But that made them even more special.)

  I removed my earrings and put on Claud’s. “I feel better already!” I exclaimed. “It is a miracle.”

  The Bean Bag Toss was next. Buddy and Karen held the turkey while I threw the bean bag. The first bean bag hit the turkey in the eye, the second in the chest. Finally I got one in his mouth.

  Mary Anne gave me my prize. “One bean bag gets a bag of jelly beans,” she said, handing me a large bag of gourmet jelly beans. I passed the bag around the room and even sampled a few myself. Tangerine, coconut, and double chocolate. “Heaven!” I declared.

  While the rest of us devoured the jelly beans, Kristy was busily placing numbers made of construction paper on our living room floor. She made a crazy course from the doorway to the armchair, around a table, and back to the door. “The Cakewalk is tricky. It’s usually played by people who can walk —”

  “Or roll,” Margo cut in. “Like Mr. Hamilton in his wheelchair.”

  “That’s right, Margo.” Kristy laughed. “In your case, Mal, we decided that you could pick a stand-in.”

  “Like in baseball?” Buddy asked.

  “Exactly. But instead of a pinch hitter or runner, Mal is going to pick a pinch walker. Okay, Mal, who’s it going to be?”

  “I think I’ll pick Jessi,” I said, “since she’s my best friend and has stood by me through sick and thin.”

  Jessi groaned at my joke but lined up with the kids, who each stood on a number. Then Kristy pushed the button on the tape recorder she’d brought and we listened to Raffi sing “Walk Around the Block” as the kids danced from number to number.

  When Kristy pressed stop, Claudia, who was holding a special cake in the shape of a turkey, checked the bottom of the cake for the number Mary Anne had taped there earlier.

  “And the winner of the Pike Cakewalk,” Claudia announced, “is Number 14. Number 14.”

  Everyone lifted first one foot and then the other to check what number they were standing on. Then Vanessa yelled, “I won. I won! I’ve never won anything.”

  Claudia handed her the cake and then Vanessa turned right around and handed it to me. “Happy Thanksgiving, sis.”

  I was so touched that I couldn’t speak. But before the tears could blur my eyes, Jessi said, “As our final presentation we’d like to sing the song we sang at Stoneybrook Manor. I think it has an extra special meaning now that we’re singing it to you, Mallory.”

  Marilyn and Carolyn Arnold quickly arranged the kids in three groups. “Ready, everybody?” Carolyn asked. The kids nodded and the round began.<
br />
  “Make new friends

  but keep the old;

  One is silver

  And the other’s gold.”

  I hadn’t had a chance to cry after the Cakewalk, but now I cried. Big, happy tears.

  Thanksgiving Day. At last! I awoke to the most wonderful aroma on earth — baking bread. The smell was so delicious that I hopped out of bed, slipped into my robe and scurried down the stairs.

  Mom was in the kitchen filling a big pot with water. We were going to have mashed potatoes. Mmmm! I like to eat mashed potatoes any time of the year, but for some reason they always taste extra good on Thanksgiving. It probably has a lot to do with the turkey and gravy that’s served with them.

  Two pumpkin pies stood cooling on a rack by the window. The crystal water glasses were lined up on the counter, and Mom’s best china plates were stacked neatly on the sideboard.

  “Everything looks and smells terrific,” I murmured.

  “Mallory! You’re up,” Mom said as she set the pot on the stove and dropped the peeled potatoes into the water. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

  I shuffled across the kitchen floor and gave her a hug. “Happy Thanksgiving to you! You look really pretty.”

  Mom smiled. Then she self-consciously patted the back of her hair. Mom had gone to the beauty shop (something she does only for special occasions) and her hair did look nice. Also, she was wearing her red knit dress. She’d tied her best red and green plaid taffeta apron over it. The apron had ruffles all around it and was so fancy, it was hard to imagine it functioning as a real apron with mashed potato glops and gravy smears on it.

  “Mallory, come look,” Vanessa called to me from the living room. She was kneeling by the coffee table with a large piece of poster board. “I’ve drawn up our official Thanksgiving menu.”

  Vanessa had been practicing her calligraphy, so the menu looked very fancy. And Mom had helped her with the spelling. It was perfect. Here’s what she’d written:

  Just reading it made me ravenously hungry. Which was a good sign. For the last couple of weeks I’d hardly had any appetite.

  “Vanessa, that looks like a menu from a fancy restaurant,” I said.

  “Do you really think so?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Music suddenly filled the house. Dad entered the living room, waving one finger like a conductor. “Ah, Pachelbel’s Canon,” he said, and sighed. “Just beautiful.”

  It’s a tradition at our house to listen only to classical music on Thanksgiving. And no television is allowed except for one program — the Macy’s parade. (However, my brothers have started to fudge on the rule and watch football.)

  Ring!

  “Let me get it!” Claire bounced through the living room in her best dress, which was green velveteen with a white collar and cuffs.

  “Happy Turkey Day,” Claire called into the phone in the hallway. For the next three minutes she held the receiver to her ear and either said, “Uh-huh,” or just nodded.

  “Claire,” Dad whispered. “Who is it?”

  She held out the receiver to Dad. “I’m not sure.”

  “Happy Thanksgiving,” Dad said into the phone. Then, “Phil? Good to hear from you. Hold on.” He covered the receiver with his hand and called to Mom in the kitchen. “Hey, it’s the Strausses. They’re calling from a pay phone. The parade’s about to start and they wanted to let us know they’re thinking of us.”

  Mom hurried into the hall. “Isn’t that sweet!”

  “Who’s on the phone?” Byron asked from the top of the stairs. He was dressed in maroon corduroy slacks, a yellow shirt, and a blue-and-yellow sweater that he’d gotten for Christmas the year before. “Is it Grandma?”

  “No,” Mom answered. “We’re calling her after dinner this afternoon. It’s Phil and Marie in New York City.”

  “Tell them we’re going to watch for them on TV,” Adam said, joining Byron at the top of the stairs. He, too, was wearing his best holiday clothes.

  I stared down at my pajamas and made a beeline for the stairs. I wasn’t about to spend Thanksgiving Day in my robe. I had a new outfit for special occasions, such as a party or a dance. It’s a blue velvet skirt with a matching bolero jacket and a white silk blouse. I was a little afraid to wear it when I’d be eating, but I decided not to worry about it, and to take a chance.

  I pulled my hair into a pony tail and tied a white satin ribbon around it. When I looked in the mirror, I decided that I looked pretty good, considering the circumstances.

  “The parade starts in five minutes,” Nicky announced, marching up and down the hall past the bedrooms. “Five minutes till the parade.”

  We assembled in the family room and watched the Macy’s parade from start to finish, munching on hors d’oeuvres of crackers and cheese, stuffed mushrooms, and vegetables dipped in ranch dressing.

  Dad made a game of voting for our favorite float, favorite giant balloon, and favorite celebrity. Everyone voted for a dinosaur float that actually walked. I have no idea how they made it do that!

  Nicky has always loved the Popeye balloon, but everyone voted differently for that category. My personal favorite was Clifford the Big Red Dog.

  Santa Claus was the clear winner in the celebrity category.

  We had a lot of fun and it was almost as nice as being at the parade in person. Almost. The one consolation was pointed out by Jordan later that afternoon.

  “Hey, I just remembered. The cameras didn’t show the Strausses or any of the people sitting in the bleachers by Macy’s. If we’d gone to New York we wouldn’t have been on television.”

  “That’s right,” Nicky said. “Now I don’t feel so bad.”

  When the parade was over it was time to set the table. I wanted to help but my parents wouldn’t let me. They thought I’d already had too much activity just walking around the house. I lay on the couch while my brothers and sisters circled the table, setting the dinner and salad plates in front of the place cards. I closed my eyes and listened to the clink of silverware and the sound of plates sliding onto our linen tablecloth. It was a nice comforting sound.

  At two o’clock, Mom rang a crystal bell. That was the signal for us to take our seats. There was one uncomfortable moment when Mom and Dad seriously considered making me eat on the couch in the living room.

  “You have to let me sit at the table,” I pleaded. “I feel bad enough that we missed our trip to New York. Please don’t make me miss the meal, too.”

  After a hurried discussion, they finally decided that I could sit at the dining room table, but only if I reclined on a lawn chair.

  “I know it seems silly,” Mom told me, “but the excitement of this day could really tire you out. It usually exhausts me and I’m not even sick.”

  Once we were in our places, Margo insisted we sing a song she learned about Thanksgiving called, “Come, Ye Thankful People, Come.” Dad reminded us that that song had been around for hundreds of years and could have been sung by the Pilgrims themselves. It gave me goose bumps to think that, even before we were the United States of America, people just like us would gather around a table and celebrate the harvest by sharing food with their family.

  This Thanksgiving my parents had bought several bottles of sparkling cider (which looks just like champagne and has bubbles that tickle your nose) and Mom carefully filled the crystal goblets by each of our plates. Then Dad stood up and said, “I’d like to propose a toast.” He cleared his throat and said, “May the roof above us never fall in, and may all of us below never fall out.”

  Then we clinked glasses, which could be pretty dangerous in our rowdy family, but nothing broke. In fact, my brothers and sisters and I felt really grown-up.

  After the toast, Dad carved the turkey and we each put in our requests.

  “I’d like white meat, please,” I said.

  “I want half-dark and half-white,” Nicky said. “And a drumstick.”

  Dad chuckled. “Why don’t you start with the drumstick, and then we’l
l see about seconds.”

  Mom removed the lids from the bowls holding the potatoes and peas and onions, and steam filled the air. After a flurry of plate passing, and of requesting butter and the gravy boat, and more bread, the room suddenly fell almost silent. The only sound was the munching of ten very contented people.

  I finished my plate and even had seconds of (surprise) mashed potatoes and gravy. Nicky actually finished his drumstick and managed to eat a small helping of dark meat. We made it through the meal without one person breaking a glass, or spilling milk, or even dropping a fork. It was amazing!

  “Who’s ready for pumpkin pie?” Mom said, after she checked her watch. “It looks like it’s just about time.”

  I was surprised to hear that we were on a schedule until I heard the doorbell ringing. Dad looked at Mom and grinned mischievously. “Now I wonder who that might be?”

  From the tone in his voice I could tell that Dad knew full well who it was, but Mom played along with him.

  “Gee, I don’t know who would come visit at this hour,” she replied. “Nicky, why don’t you let our visitors in while Vanessa and I dish out the pie.”

  “Visitors?” I repeated. “Now?”

  Claudia was the first to enter the dining room. “We heard you guys had some extra pumpkin pie at your house.”

  “Do you mind if we join you?” asked Mary Anne, who was behind Claud.

  “Yeah.” Kristy stuck her head in the doorway. “I’m starved.”

  Jessi’s face appeared over Kristy’s shoulder. “Me, too.”

  Stacey waved from the back. “No pie for me, thanks. But I did hear you had some outstanding stuffed mushrooms.”

  “You guys!” I shook my head in amazement. “I can’t believe you left your families to be with me.”

  Kristy shrugged. “The fact of the matter is, we’re expecting a phone call and we want to be sure not to miss it.”

  She pointed to our phone and, I’m not kidding, it rang. It was like magic. Even Kristy looked surprised, but she didn’t miss a beat. She just said, “There she is now.”