The Penderwicks on Gardam Street by Jeanne Birdsall Page A

drills were finally over.
    “I have to go,” said Skye.
    “Yes, of course you do. Thanks again for bringing Asimov home.”
    Skye started to leave, then impulsively turned back, for she’d seen a look—of what, loneliness? She wished Jane were there to help—flit across Iantha’s face.
    “Would you like to come home with me?” she asked. “We’re having pizza. Ben can come, too, if babies can eat pizza.”
    “Ben loves pizza. I mean, if your—” Iantha suddenly looked as shy as she had the first time Skye met her. “Well, your father might mind.”
    “He’s not there. And he wouldn’t mind, anyway.” Skye wasn’t sure how she knew this, but she did. “Please come.”
             
    It wasn’t the best time to introduce new neighbors to the Penderwick home. The kitchen floor was wet, for Hound had knocked over his water bowl during a game of Chase the Tennis Ball. Jane was loudly describing the big fight in the last soccer game to Tommy at the same time that Rosalind was scolding him for starting on the pizza before the table was even set. And Nick was on his hands and knees, with Batty being a broncobuster on his back and Hound trying to knock them over. Still, Iantha didn’t seem to mind the chaos, not even when Hound jumped up and licked her face—she said she loved dogs—and Ben clearly adored it, especially when Tommy got down on the floor and let him be a broncobuster, too. By the time the floor was mopped, the table set, and the pizza served—and instantly devoured—the kitchen was so full of happy noise that no one heard Mr. Penderwick’s car pulling into the driveway. Which was why it was a shock to hear the front door slam, followed by an impassioned burst of Latin.
    “
Nam multum loquaces
—how does it go? Blast the woman! She sucked my brain dry.
Merito
something. Oh, yes—
merito omnes habemur, nec mutam profecto repertam ullam esse aut hodie dicunt mulierem aut ullo in saeclo.
And I mean it! Except for my Elizabeth, who never talked over an orchestra. Never!”
    Mr. Penderwick reached the kitchen and went silent at the same instant. His hair was sticking straight up, his tie was stuffed into his pocket, and he was gaping at Iantha.
    “I do apologize,” he said after a moment. “I didn’t realize we had company.”
    “Sure you did, Mr. Pen,” said Tommy. “Remember you asked Nick to babysit and you said I could come along?”
    “He doesn’t mean you and Nick,” said Jane.
    Blushing, Tommy shoved a stray bit of pizza crust into his mouth.
    “Daddy, I invited Iantha and Ben over for supper,” said Skye into the silence.
    Mr. Penderwick ran his hand through his hair, apparently trying to flatten it but only making it stick up more. “You’re always welcome, Iantha, though pizza…”
    But Iantha was also talking. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come without your—but Skye was so friendly…”
    They both trailed off at the same time, and once more silence filled the room.
    “How was your date, Mr. Pen?” asked Nick finally.
    “Ghastly.” He surveyed the kitchen, checking even under the table, where Hound was gnawing on a pizza box. “Anna’s not here, is she?”
    “No, Daddy,” said Rosalind.
    “Well, tell her that Lara the Skating Coach talked through Bach’s first five concertos.” He turned back to Iantha. “The Brandenburgs.”
    She nodded. “How about the sixth?”
    “We left before the sixth,” he answered grimly.
    Ben, impelled by no one knew what sympathetic urge—though they were all certain he knew nothing of Bach—staggered over to Mr. Penderwick and tugged on his pants. Mr. Penderwick crouched down until they were eye to eye.
    “Duck?” asked Ben.
    “Indeed, one should always duck out of misbegotten dates,” said Mr. Penderwick. “I might add, Ben, that the state of datelessness is not to be lightly discarded.”
    “Amen,” said Nick, who didn’t believe in romance during football season.
    Rosalind, who thought she’d scream if