"She made good cocoa."
"If you stop for cocoa at every house we're never going to find him."
"Never?"
"Never!"
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Fudge started crying.
"That's not going to help." I dragged him along the rocky beach, hoping we'd hear Uncle Feather calling to us. But there was no sound except the waves breaking against the rocks.
We went to three more houses along the water and Fudge made it clear that his myna bird was missing. But no one had seen Uncle Feather, although they all promised to keep a lookout for him. So we trudged back to our house.
Sheila was watching for us at the living room window. She opened the door. "Did you find him?" she asked.
"No," I said.
Fudge sniffled. Then he covered his face with his hands and lay down on the floor, still wearing his yellow slicker and rain hat.
We were quiet for a while. I guess all three of us were thinking about Uncle Feather-- alone, lost and frightened.
Suddenly, we heard a piercing scream. Fudge jumped up and grabbed Sheila. I dashed to the hall closet, looking for something to use as a weapon, just in case. But before I could even grab an umbrella we heard another scream. This time Sheila and Fudge crawled under the table. Then Libby tore through the house, yelling, "Heeelp... there's a bat after me!" She raced around the living room.
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There was more noise and confusion as Libby bumped into furniture and knocked over a lamp. Not that she stopped for a minute! She kept screeching and running in circles. I heard the sound of flapping wings. When I looked up I saw something black flying after Libby. That's when I realized Libby wasn't the only one screeching. "Stop!" I shouted. But Libby didn't listen. "That's no bat," I yelled as I started running after her. "That's Uncle Feather!"
"My bird?" Fudge called, from under the table.
"Yes, Turkey Brain... your bird!"
Fudge and Sheila came out of hiding and joined the chase.
It didn't take long before everyone else in the house came to see what was happening.
Tootsie, who's a good screecher herself, joined right in. "Eeee... eeeee... eeeeeee!" She screeched as loud as she could, which got Uncle Feather going again.
"You four are going to have to play more quietly," Mrs. Tubman said.
"We're not playing!" Libby screamed.
"Eeee... eeeee... eeeeeee..." Tootsie kept it up.
"Everybody
freeze!"
Dad shouted. "Just freeze right where you are."
Libby froze. I crashed into her, Fudge crashed into me, Sheila crashed into Fudge.
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Uncle Feather flew across the room. He perched on top of his cage and looked over at us. "Stupid... stupid... stupid..." he called. Then he hopped into his cage and Buzzy Senior closed the door.
We untangled ourselves. Sheila looked at me. "All's well that ends well... right, Peter?"
"Yeah, Pete..." Fudge said. "All's well that ends well." Then he turned two somersaults and landed in my lap.
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"Look at it this way, Mrs. Hatcher," Sheila said, making her case. "You're always worrying about him, right? You never know what he might do. And this is supposed to be your vacation. Wouldn't it be nice if you could relax."
"Remember the last time Sheila baby-sat Fudge?" I told Mom. "Remember how he lost his
42
two front teeth trying to fly off the monkey bars?"
"That was years ago, Mrs. Hatcher," Sheila said. "Fudge wasn't even three. And I took a baby-sitting course this year. I guarantee satisfaction."
"No baby-sitting course could prepare you for Fudge!" I argued.
But Mom wasn't listening to me. She said, "I think you have a good point, Sheila. I
would
be more relaxed with someone looking after Fudge."
"Who ever heard of a wife baby-sitting her husband?" I asked.
"Everyone knows this marriage thing is a joke," Sheila said. "Everyone except you, Peter!"
"Yeah... what about the groom? He thinks it's for real."
"Seven dollars a day," Mom said to Sheila. "Two hours in the morning and four in the afternoon. If we need you after supper, we'll pay extra."
"It's a deal," Sheila said, shaking Mom's hand. Then she skipped off singing, "Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it's off to work we go..."
"What about me?" I asked Mom. "What am I supposed to do while she's baby-sitting Fudge?"
"Why, Peter..." Mom said. "I thought you'd welcome the chance to have some time to yourself."
"Yeah... once Jimmy Fargo gets here."
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"Well... maybe you and Sheila can watch Fudge together until Jimmy comes."
"Together?"
"Yes, together."
"And you'll pay me, too?"
"I'm paying seven dollars a day," Mom said. "I don't care how you split it."
But Sheila wasn't interested in sharing her salary with me. "It was
my
idea," she said. "Why should I give up half my money?" "Because he's too much for one person to handle." "I can handle anything, Peter. I'm a very responsible person." She turned away from me and called, "Fudgie... where are you?" "Up here, honey..." Fudge called back, in his best husband voice. He was sitting on a branch in the swing tree. "What are you doing up there?" Sheila asked, standing under him. "Resting," Fudge said. "A bird always rests after breakfast." "I've got news for you," I told him. "You're not a bird." "I'm practicing for when I grow up," he said. "You're not going to be a bird when you grow up," I reminded him. "I
know
I'm not going to be a bird," he said,
44
swinging his feet. "I'm going to be a bird breather."
"What's a bird breather?" Sheila asked.
"Somebody who breathes for birds."
"I never heard of that," Sheila said. "People don't breathe for birds."
"That's how much you know!"
Sheila looked at me.
"He means a bird
breeder,"
I said.
Without me around she'll never understand him.
"Oh... a bird breeder," Sheila said. "That makes more sense."
"What makes more sense?" Fudge asked.
"Being a bird breeder," Sheila said.
"What's a
breeder?"
Fudge asked.
"Someone who breeds birds and animals,"
"What's
breeds?"
Sheila looked at me again.
"It's someone who raises animals," Sheila explained. "Like a dog breeder raises dogs and a cat breeder raises cats and a bird breeder raises birds."
"And a baby breeder raises babies?" Fudge asked.
"Not exactly," Sheila told him. "Parents raise babies."
45
"How come baby breeders don't raise babies?"
"I don't know!" Sheila said. "It just doesn't work that way."
I started to laugh.
Just wait till she finds out how many questions he asks a day!
"Now come down from that tree!" Sheila told Fudge.
"No!"
"Very well," she said, sounding exactly like our fifth-grade teacher. She marched off toward the garage and came back with a ten-foot ladder. Just as she got it to the tree, Fudge scrambled down, fast as a squirrel. "Ha ha..." he sang. "Fooled you, didn't I?"
Sheila put her hands on his shoulders and her face right up close to his. "Now listen to me, Fudge Hatcher... I made a deal with your mother. I'm going to be your baby-sitter and you're..."
He didn't wait for her to finish. "I thought you're going to be my wife."
"First, I'm going to be your baby-sitter," she said. "And if that works out we'll talk about the wedding!"
After lunch everyone went off to their afternoon activities, just like at summer camp. Libby went to work at Ickle's Ice Cream Parlor. Grandma and Buzzy Senior went for a hike
46
in Acadia National Park. Mom and Dad took Tootsie to the pond to see the ducks. The Tubmans went to visit friends. And Sheila took Fudge down to the beach.
So for once there was no one around to bother me... no one to ask stupid questions.
This is the life
, I thought, as I stretched out in the hammock in the backyard.
I can do anything I feel like doing now. I can finish my Gary Paulsen book... or ride my bicycle out to the lighthouse...
I looked over at Turtle, who was sleeping in the sun. I could tell he was having a dream by the way his legs and tail twitched. I thought about taking him for a walk. He could use the exercise. Since we got here he's been sleeping a lot. A walk to the beach would do him good. I jumped up and called, "Come on, boy... let's go have some fun!"
Turtle opened his eyes and looked at me. He yawned. "Don't you want to go to the beach?" I asked, tugging at his collar. But he still wouldn't budge.
"Okay... fine," I told him. "Just sit there!"
I walked away, sure he would follow me. But when I turned back to check he was asleep again.
Who cares?
I thought.
I don't need him. I don't need anyone. I can have plenty of fun on my
own.
I walked through the woods to the beach.
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Sheila and Fudge were out in front of Mrs. A's house, rock hunting. What a joke! The whole beach is made of pink rocks. When the tide is out you can walk on rocks for miles.
I headed in their direction. At first they didn't notice me. They were too busy choosing rocks to dump in their bucket. So I snuck up right behind Sheila and made a loud barking sound.
Rrruuufff!
Sheila jumped about three feet. She was really mad when she saw it was me. "Who invited you?" she shouted.
"It's a public beach," I told her. "I don't need an invitation."
"I want you to know, Peter Hatcher, that even if you spend all day, every day with us, you're still not getting a penny of my baby-sitting money!"
"I don't want your money!"
"Then what are you doing here?" she asked.
"Anyone who feels like being here can be here," I told her.
"So how come you didn't feel like being here before? How come you suddenly feel like it now?"
I spread my arms wide and sang as loud as I could.
"Who can explain it, who can tell you why?"
Fudge started laughing.
"Don't encourage him!" Sheila said.
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I kept on singing.
"Fools give you reasons, wise men never trrrrrryyyyyy
..." I learned that song last night, from Buzzy Senior and Grandma. It's called "Some Enchanted Evening."
"This is too embarrassing for words!" Sheila said.
I would have kept on singing, but Mrs. A called from her porch. "Yoo hoo... yoo hoo, boys..." She waved to us. "Did you find your uncle?"
"He was at home," Fudge called back. "He was hiding."
"That's a relief. I was worried."
"What uncle?" Sheila asked.
"Uncle Feather," Fudge said. "She thinks he's my
real
uncle."
"Why would she think that?" Sheila said. "She just does," Fudge said. "Right, Pete?"
"Yeah... right," I told him.
"But that doesn't make any sense," Sheila said.
"A lot of things don't make any sense," Fudge said.
Like a bird breather,
I thought.
"Yoo hoo..." Mrs. A called again. "Come up and have a snack. Mitzi's here."
Fudge took off and Sheila panicked. "Wait for me, Fudgie..." she called. She tried to lift the bucket. But the Perfect Baby-Sitter hadn't stopped to think about how much rocks weigh.
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"Want some help?" I asked.
"I don't need your help!" She dumped all the rocks out of the bucket, then turned it upside down over them.
"Worried someone's going to steal your rocks?" I said. "These rocks are special."
"Oh... I guess I didn't notice since there's about two zillion more exactly like them."
"You're hopeless, Peter... really hopeless!"
"That's better than what you are!" I called. But I don't think she heard me. She was already running up the beach after Fudge.
I followed. Not that I wasn't perfectly happy on my own. But why miss out on one of Mrs. A's snacks?
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