LITMIR.BIZ

      Two days later, Kit and Ruthie were sitting on the front steps waiting for Stirling and Mrs. Howard to arrive. The girls were reading while they waited. At least, Ruthie was reading. Kit was too distracted. She was really just looking at the pictures in her book.

      Kit’s copy of Robin Hood and His Adventures had belonged to Charlie when he was her age. It had wonderful illustrations, which Kit loved to study. She especially loved reading about the tree houses that Robin and his men lived in. The houses were connected by swinging bridges and catwalks made out of vines. Kit longed to sleep in a tree house high up near the sky, surrounded by leaves. She imagined that at night, stars peeked through the leaves and the wind made the branches sway.

      Kit had spent many hours drawing plans for a tree house that she and Ruthie could build. Kit was not very good at sketching. Her drawings always looked like doghouses stuck up in trees. They didn’t look anything like the tree houses in Sherwood Forest.

      “I bet,” said Kit, “that Stirling can help us build a tree house.”

      “Mmm,” said Ruthie, with the tiniest hint of irritation at being interrupted when she was deep into the story of Beauty and the Beast.

      It was hot, and the girls were licking chunks of ice that had been chipped off the big block of ice in the icebox. Kit had her catcher’s mitt next to her, too. She wanted Stirling to see right away that she was interested in books and baseball and was not the type of girl who only cared about things like dusting and baking and dresses.

      Kit’s ice chunk had melted to a sliver when, at last, a cab pulled up to the end of the driveway. Kit and Ruthie stood up and waited politely on the front steps. The cab door opened, and Mrs. Howard and a boy got out. When she saw Stirling, Kit felt as if someone had dropped her ice chip down her back, she was so surprised.

      Ruthie whistled softly. “I thought your mother said that Stirling was about our age,” she whispered. “He looks like he’s in kindergarten!”

      Stirling stood next to the cab on two of the skinniest legs Kit had ever seen. He was short and pale and skinny all over. His head looked too big for his scrawny neck.

      The screen door opened, and Mother came out of the house. She stood between Kit and Ruthie and put her hands on their shoulders.

      “Mother!” whispered Kit indignantly. “Stirling’s a shrimp!”

      “Now, Kit,” said Mother. “Stirling is small for his age because his health is delicate. But I’m sure he’s a very pleasant fellow.” Gently, she pushed the girls forward. “Come along, ladies,” she said. “Let’s go greet our guests and make them feel welcome.”

      Kit and Ruthie and Mother walked down the steps and toward the driveway. Mrs. Howard and the cab driver were unloading boxes and suitcases from the cab. Stirling just stood there.

      “Oh!” said Mrs. Howard, all aflutter. “Margaret! You are such a dear to have us!” She turned to Stirling. “Shake hands with Mrs. Kittredge, lamby,” she said. “And say hello to Kit and Ruthie.”

      Stirling shook Mother’s hand and nodded at the girls. He looked even worse close-up. He had colorless hair, colorless eyes, and a red, runny nose. Kit towered over him, and Ruthie could have made two of him, he was so puny.

      “Oh, dear!” fussed Mrs. Howard. “All this excitement is not good for Stirling, the poor lamb! He’ll have to lie down right away and rest.”

      “Of course,” said Mother. “Come with me and we’ll get him settled.”

      Kit and Ruthie stood on the driveway and watched as Mrs. Howard and Mother propelled Stirling into the house. The cab driver followed them, carrying an armload of suitcases and boxes.

      As soon as they were gone, Kit turned to Ruthie and imitated Stirling. She snuffled her nose and made her eyes wide and unblinking.

      Ruthie giggled, and then she said, “Of course in fairy tales you always learn not to judge by appearances. Lots of times perfectly nice people are under a spell. Think of Beauty and the Beast.”

      But over the next few days, it was clear to Kit that Ruthie’s Beauty and the Beast theory didn’t work in real life, at least not in Stirling’s case. He never said a word. But then, he didn’t have to. His mother did all the talking, and most of her sentences began with the words “Stirling can’t.”

      When Kit and Ruthie invited Stirling to run through the sprinkler with them, Mrs. Howard said, “Stirling can’t be in the sun because his skin is so fair. And Stirling can’t run because he has weak lungs. Stirling can’t get wet because he might catch a chill. And Stirling can’t play in the yard because he’s allergic to bee stings.” Kit abandoned any idea of Stirling helping with a tree house or playing catch. Pretty soon, Kit and Ruthie gave up on inviting Stirling to do anything, because the answer was always “Stirling can’t.”

      At first, Kit thought Mrs. Howard was making the whole thing up about how fragile Stirling was. It wasn’t as if he had a sickness like rickets or scurvy or any of the really interesting diseases Kit knew about from reading pirate stories. Stirling didn’t even have any spots or rashes. However, after he’d been there a week, Stirling got truly sick. Though it was only a cold, he did have a fever and a terrible cough. Mrs. Howard said that he had to stay in bed and have all his meals brought to him on a tray.

      Kit could hear Stirling coughing and sniffling and blowing his nose all day long. Everyone had to tiptoe past the door to his room so they wouldn’t disturb Stirling in case he was napping. Kit held her nose when she passed by, because the hall outside his room smelled strongly of Vicks VapoRub even though the door was always shut.

      But one afternoon, Kit noticed that the door to the guest room was open. She sneaked a peek inside. Stirling was propped up on the pillows, and Mrs. Howard was nowhere to be seen. Of course, it was hard to see anything in the room. It was dark because the shades were pulled down.

      Kit stood in the doorway and looked at Stirling’s moon-white face on the pillow. “Gosh, it sure is stuffy in here,” Kit said to Stirling. “Don’t you want me to open the window or something?”

      Stirling nodded.

      Kit opened the window a crack so that a breath of air and a thin line of sunlight came through. “That’s better!” she said. Kit turned to go. She was halfway to the door when she saw a photograph next to Stirling’s bed that stopped her in her tracks. “Hey!” she said. “Is that Ernie Lombardi, the catcher for the Reds?”

      Stirling’s round eyes were as unblinking as an owl’s as he looked at Kit. His nose was stuffed up, so his voice sounded weirdly low and husky. “Schnozz,” he croaked.

      For a second, Kit didn’t understand. Then she laughed and nodded. “Schnozz!” she said. “That’s Ernie Lombardi’s nickname because he has such a big nose.”

      In answer, Stirling blew his nose, which made a nice honking sound.

      Kit laughed again. “Ernie Lombardi is my favorite player on the Cincinnati Reds,” she said. “He’s the reason I’m a catcher. Well, and because my dad was a star catcher on his college team. Did you know that Ernie’s the biggest guy on the Reds?”

      “Six foot three,” whispered Stirling hoarsely. “Two hundred and thirty pounds.”

      “Right!” said Kit, delighted. She rattled on. “It’s funny that you like him,” she

Скачать книгу