Lucy the Good Page 2

  “Dad!” she cried, more loudly this time.

  Lucy tried to stand up, but she fell backward. She rolled onto her knees and crawled along the belt away from the hole.

  “Faster!” she said to herself. “Faster!”

  She continued to crawl, but now suitcases were coming toward her. Could she climb over them in time? What was she going to do?

  “Help!” she cried. “Somebody, help me!”

  Lucy was very close to being sucked into the black hole when two big hands grabbed her around the waist. The next moment, she was lifted off the baggage carousel and set down on the ground.

  “That was a very naughty thing you did, little girl,” said the woman who helped her off. She was wearing a big woolen cardigan even though it was warm, and she had a strong accent. “Where is your mother or father? They should be watching you.”

  Lucy wiped tears from her eyes. “Dad’s not here,” she said. “He’s—”

  “Lucy!” panted Dad, rushing to her side. “You poor thing!” He set down Calvin and hugged her close. “I’m so glad you’re all right. What a fright you must have had.”

  She certainly had had a fright! A few more tears leaked out of her eyes while Dad stroked her hair.

  “You could’ve died,” said Calvin in wonderment. “I always miss out on the good stuff.”

  “Are you okay?” said Dad.

  “Yes,” said Lucy. “No.” She burst into tears again.

  “It’s okay,” said Dad, holding her to him. “You’re safe now.”

  When her tears had died down to a few snuffles, Dad pulled back and held her by the shoulders.

  “Whatever possessed you to climb on the carousel?” he said. “Especially after I told you not to move. You could have been hurt!”

  Why is he mad at me? thought Lucy. She didn’t like the way grown-ups started out glad you were safe, then a few moments later, they got angry with you.

  “I didn’t mean it!” she said.

  “If it wasn’t for this lady,” said Dad, finally looking up at Lucy’s rescuer, “you could have been really hurt, love.”

  He stood up. “Thank you so much for helping my daughter. I’m very grateful to you. . . . Wait a minute—aren’t you Tante Bep?”

  “Arjo!” said Tante Bep. “I did not recognize you after all these years.”

  “Goodness,” said Dad. “Well, welcome to Adelaide. We, ah, we couldn’t find you.”

  “Instead,” said Tante Bep, “I find you.”

  “Yes,” laughed Dad. He leaned forward and kissed Tante Bep on both cheeks.

  “This banana-clad child is our youngest, Calvin, and, of course, you’ve already met Lucy.”

  Tante Bep reached out to kiss Calvin. Calvin wiped off the kisses from each cheek as soon as she wasn’t looking.

  “Lucy doesn’t normally ride baggage carousels,” said Dad. “They’re usually very well-behaved kids, as a rule.”

  “Really?” said Tante Bep. “I am thinking this is a naughty girl I have come all the way to Australia to visit.”

  Lucy thought this was most unfair. She had had a very hard day, what with Jacinta and the poem and Ms. Denny’s letter and Paolo and almost being killed on a baggage carousel. Surely she deserved a little sympathy.

  Dad put his arm around Lucy. “Yes, well, we all make mistakes.”

  “I hope I do not see more of this behavior,” said Tante Bep. “It makes me wonder what she is being taught at home.” She looked straight at Dad and frowned. “Perhaps there is not enough discipline.”

  Dad opened his mouth, paused, then said, “Yes, well, let’s just get your suitcase and go home. I think we could all do with a cool drink.”

  “Discipline,” said Tante Bep. “That is what every child needs, Arjo. Discipline, and much of it.”

  Lucy and Calvin looked at each other. Lucy decided she didn’t much like Tante Bep, even if she had saved her from certain death. How, she wondered, would they manage to share a bedroom for six weeks?

  “Lucy!” called Mum. “Time to get up.”

  Lucy squeezed her eyes shut and tried to make her dream come back.

  Mum called through the door again, “Lucy, love, could you please collect the eggs for breakfast?”

  Lucy opened one eye and noticed her great-aunt’s empty bed. She had been so looking forward to showing Tante Bep her room, but last night, Tante Bep had not been interested at all. She didn’t even say thank you when Lucy said she would sleep on the uncomfortable blow-up mattress and let Tante Bep have her bed. Lucy wondered where Tante Bep’s manners were.

  Not in the mood for a shower, Lucy pulled on some khaki shorts, then ferreted around in her drawer for a T-shirt. She had hidden the letter from Ms. Denny in that drawer. When her fingers accidentally touched it, she pulled her hand away. Just don’t think about it, she said to herself, and it will all go away.

  She walked out to the living room where Calvin was playing with his Legos. He had divided them up so that all the yellow bricks were in one neat pile and all the other colors were tossed together in a messy heap.

  “Come on, Calvin,” she said. “Let’s go visit the chickens.”

  There were five eggs in the chicken coop in their backyard. Four of them were as warm as scones. One of them—the one she found hidden under some straw right at the back—was cold. Lucy placed it in her basket with the others.

  Calvin leaned over the basket and gingerly touched one of the eggs. He shook his head. “Is touching the outside all right?” he asked, frowning.

  “I think you’re only allergic to the insides,” said Lucy. “But better not touch them, just in case.”

  Calvin nodded. “My head puffed up.”

  “Yeah,” said Lucy. “It was huge.”

  “Ginormous,” said Calvin.

  “Humungous!” said Lucy.

  “Humungonormous!” said Calvin.

  “Gigantosaurus!” said Lucy.

  They cracked up laughing, then went quiet.

  “It wasn’t funny when it happened, though, was it?” said Lucy.

  “I don’t like hospitals,” said Calvin.

  Lucy smiled at her brother. “I know,” she said. And then, brightening up, she added, “Let’s do an experiment. Let’s test the eggs to see if they’re rotten or not.”

  Calvin filled up a bucket, then Lucy gently put the eggs into the water.

  “See, Calvin,” said Lucy, “those ones have sunk, so that means they’re good eggs and we can eat them. Well, I can eat them. You can’t. But see this one? It’s floating. Remember what Dad told us? If it floats—”

  “It’s a bad egg,” finished Calvin.

  Lucy took out the floating egg and cracked it on the back step. A terrible smell filled their noses.

  “Um . . . maybe I shouldn’t have done that,” said Lucy, scraping the egg away with the side of her shoe. “Anyway, it’s definitely a bad egg.”

  The van Loon family always ate bread, cheese, sliced meats, and boiled eggs for breakfast, just like people in Holland did. Lucy had never been to Holland, but both her parents had been born there.

  “Pop the eggs in the egg cups, Lucy, love,” said Dad, “while I get everything else ready.”

  Dad rubbed his bald patch while he thought about what to do next. Lucy thought his head looked a bit like a forest with a clearing in the middle.

  Lucy went into the dining room with the egg basket. She put one egg in Mum’s egg cup, one in Dad’s, one in Tante Bep’s, and one in her own.

  Tante Bep and Calvin were already seated at the table. Lucy waited for Tante Bep to say what a helpful girl she was and how lucky her parents were to have her. Instead, Tante Bep picked up a cereal bowl and sipped straight from its rim. Lucy gasped.

  “You’re drinking from your bowl!”

  “Ja,” said Tante Bep. “Yes.”

  “Mum says we’re not allowed to do that. We have to use a spoon for our soup or it’s bad manners. That’s right, isn’t it, Calvin?”

  Ca
lvin nodded vigorously.

  “But this is coffee,” said Tante Bep. “In Europe, many people drink coffee from a bowl.” She took another sip. “Mm, lekker. Delicious.”

  “I’m telling Mum,” muttered Lucy. Even so, she secretly liked the idea of drinking from a bowl.

  “And what about your manners, Lucy? I see you have not offered your brother an egg. Instead, you take the last one for yourself.”

  “Calvin can’t have them,” said Lucy. “Can you, Calvin?”

  “We must not tell stories, Lucy,” said Tante Bep.

  “It’s not a story,” said Lucy. “Calvin can’t have them. They make him sick.”

  Tante Bep shook her head in a disappointed way. “It is not nice to be greedy, Lucy.”

  Lucy gripped the tablecloth. Who did this lady think she was, accusing her like that? She didn’t even know Lucy.

  “I’m not greedy!” she said.

  Calvin nodded. “She’s not greedy.”

  Tante Bep raised an eyebrow and stared at Lucy. Lucy stared right back. She’d never been in a staring competition with an old person before. She was not about to lose.

  “A good girl,” said Tante Bep, “would give her egg to her little brother. If she were brought up properly.”

  Calvin’s eyes switched from Lucy to Tante Bep and back again.

  “Calvin can’t eat eggs,” said Lucy. “If he does, his head blows up and he could even die!”

  Tante Bep laughed. It was an “I don’t believe you” kind of laugh.

  “I would too die,” said Calvin. He put his hands around his throat and made choking sounds. He quite enjoyed doing this and carried on until he fell off his chair, where he writhed around on the floor. Lucy felt this was not helping.

  “And now you encourage your brother to tell tales,” said Tante Bep.

  Lucy twisted the tablecloth so tightly that no ironing would ever get out the creases.

  “I—am—not—greedy!” she shouted. “You take it back! You take it back!”

  “Lucy!” said Dad, coming into the dining room. “What’s all this about? Stop this yelling at once!”

  “She said I was greedy and then she said the egg and then Calvin and then she didn’t believe me and then and then and then—”

  There were too many words in Lucy’s head. She couldn’t make them into proper sentences, and anyway, Tante Bep was staring and Dad was staring and Calvin was rolling around on the floor and it was all too much. Lucy kicked her heels against her chair legs, opened her mouth, and shrieked.

  Mum rushed into the room with her hair wrapped up in a towel. “Lucy!” she cried. “That’s enough!”

  Lucy took a deep breath, looked around at everyone’s faces, and shrieked some more.

  “Lucy, what’s got into you?” Dad had taken her into the kitchen for a talk. “You really embarrassed your mum and me with your carrying on.”

  “She started it,” replied Lucy, pointing at Tante Bep through the French doors. “She shouldn’t have called me names.”

  Dad sighed. “I know she can be a little . . . challenging, but you can’t go around yelling at people. If you think you’re going to lose your temper, you need to stop and think before it’s too late. Perhaps you could practice counting to ten?”

  “What for?” said Lucy. “I already know how to count.”

  “It would give you time to cool off before you say something you regret. It’s what I do.”

  Lucy crossed her arms.

  “Lucy,” said Dad.

  “I’ll think about it,” she replied.

  Dad made Lucy go back into the dining room and say sorry to Tante Bep. Lucy wanted to know why no one made Tante Bep say sorry back. After all, she was the one who started it all.

  “Apologize, Lucy,” said Mum. “Immediately.”

  Lucy didn’t want to get into any more trouble, so she made a decision. She would apologize out loud but take it back inside her head. She said, “I’m sorry, Tante Bep,” but thought, I’m not sorry at all.

  She said, “Please forgive me,” but thought, I will never forgive you. In fact, I unforgive you a million trillion times.

  “I accept your apology,” said Tante Bep.

  I unaccept your acceptance, thought Lucy.

  When the phone rang, Lucy was relieved. It was Paolo asking if he could play with her. That led to Mum and Dad having an argument. Mum thought Lucy should be sent to her room to Think About Her Behavior. Dad thought it would be better if Lucy was out of everyone’s hair. Mum said it would be rewarding Lucy for being naughty. Dad said at least they’d have a bit of peace and quiet.

  They sent Lucy out of the room while they debated it some more. She went and sat on the back doorstep, wishing Tante Bep would hurry up and go home. If it wasn’t for her, she’d be allowed to play with Paolo.

  Then Lucy spotted last year’s phone book in the recycling bin. The new one had arrived that week and Dad had thrown out the old one. She picked it up and tore off a page. The riiiiiiiiip sound was very satisfying. She tore off another page and another. Before she knew it, she had ripped out twenty pages. She bunched each one up into a ball and threw them back in the recycling bin. For some strange reason, it made her feel calmer.

  At last, Mum came outside. “Go on, then,” she said. “Off you go to Paolo’s. But please try to behave yourself.”

  Lucy suggested they play the dragon game.

  “But just so you know,” said Paolo, “I’m being a knight too.”

  “But, Paolo—”

  “Being rescued is boring,” said Paolo. “You just stand around waiting. Being a knight is heaps better. You get to fight dragons and have sword fights and stuff. And anyway, what if Blake and Girang found out you were the knight and I was—”

  “The princess?” said Lucy.

  “No, not the princess,” said Paolo. “We agreed, I was the prince.”

  Lucy pouted. “Someone has to be rescued.”

  “Either we’re both knights or I won’t play,” said Paolo.

  Lucy looked at him closely to see if he meant it. His arms were crossed, and he had a determined look on his face.

  “Well, all right, then,” she said. “Dogberry can be the princess.”

  Paolo looked horrified.

  “But he’s a boy dog!”

  “So?” said Lucy.

  “And a Rottweiler.”

  Lucy put her hands on her hips and gave him her fiercest look.

  “I’ll go get him,” sighed Paolo.

  When it was time to go home, Lucy said, “So do you promise to play with me at school on Monday?”

  Paolo put his arms around Dogberry’s neck and untied the princess cloak.

  “Paolo?” said Lucy. “You said you’d play with me at school, but last week you just went off with Blake and Girang.”

  Paolo patted Dogberry on the head, not looking at her.

  “Well?”

  Paolo sighed deeply. “I promise.”

  “Good,” said Lucy, and she climbed through the gap in their fence and into her own backyard.

  As soon as Lucy walked into her bedroom, she knew something was wrong. For starters, all of her horse ornaments were gone. So were her glitter pens, her plaster cast of a chicken’s footprint, and her special crystal echidna. Instead, there was a pile of Tante Bep’s lotions and potions sitting on the dressing table.

  Lucy looked around.

  “Where are my things?” she asked Tante Bep. “They’re normally right here.” She pointed at the dresser.

  “I put them in a box, out of the way,” said Tante Bep.

  Lucy saw the box beneath her dressing table. Nathan, her camel, was stuck inside it, stuffed cruelly upside down. Lucy would have to get him out later and give him some physical therapy. She folded her arms crossly. She felt like making a big noise.

  “Here, now,” said Tante Bep, “you’re not going to scream and shout again, are you? My old ears cannot take such loud sounds. Come, I want to show you something.”


  She guided Lucy over to the big suitcase that sat in the corner of the room. Tante Bep undid the latches and they snapped like brittle bones.

  “Christmas is soon here,” said Tante Bep, pulling an old sack out of the case. “But in only nine days—on the fifth of December—Sinterklaas will come to this house.”

  Another uninvited guest, thought Lucy.

  “Sinterklaas is the Dutch Santa Claus,” said Tante Bep. “And he always brings his friend, Zwarte Piet. Black Piet.”

  Well, he can sleep on the sofa, thought Lucy. My bedroom’s crowded enough already.

  “Black Piet is black because he gets covered in soot when he slides down the chimney,” said Tante Bep. “And all that dirt makes him in a very bad mood.”

  Tante Bep handed Lucy the sack. It was rough and smelled musty, like a locked-up room.

  “If you have been good,” she said, “Sinterklaas will give you a letter made of chocolate: L for Lucy, ja?”

  Chocolate? Lucy smiled—just a little.

  “But,” said Tante Bep, suddenly frowning, “if you have been bad, Black Piet will put you in that coal sack and take you to Spain.”

  “To Spain!” said Lucy, dropping the sack. “He can’t do that!”

  “But he can,” said Tante Bep. “Every year, he sends all the naughty children to Spain.”

  Lucy frowned. “Can I ever come back?”

  “No,” said Tante Bep. “You can never come back. This is why you must be clean and tidy and quiet while your tante is here.”

  Lucy narrowed her eyes. Now that she was in second grade, she didn’t believe every crazy story she heard.

  “You’re making it up,” she said, but her voice quavered.

  “Am I?” said Tante Bep.

  “And anyway,” said Lucy, “Mum and Dad won’t let him take me!”

  “They won’t know he’s here,” said Tante Bep. “They’ll be fast asleep when he comes. And he is very, very quiet. This is why you must be a good girl. Understand?”