Special Delivery (5 page)

Ruby wasted no time returning Dr. Malone's and Robby's calls. When she had hung up, she plunked herself at the kitchen table with Flora and reported, “Dr. Malone wants me to clean out part of his basement, like he said, and also I'm supposed to alphabetize Margaret's CD's.” She paused thoughtfully. “Huh. I don't think I'd want my CD's in alphabetical order. I kind of like them messy. But Margaret isn't a messy sort of person.”

“No, she isn't,” Flora agreed.

“Then I talked to Robby's mother,” Ruby went on, “and she said they have this huge pile of old clothes they want to donate to the clothing bank, but they're all in a heap, and they need to be sorted by season and then folded neatly and put into bags. She said they've been putting this off for years. Years — can you imagine?” Ruby bit into a chocolate chip cookie. “I bet I can do it in one hour. Tops.”

“But don't rush your work,” said Flora maddeningly. “You have to do a good job.”

“I know, I know.”

“Or people won't call you back with
more
jobs.”

“I
know
.”

“Okay.”

Ruby thought that if she ran directly to the Edwardses' after school the next day, took care of the clothes, and then hurried to the Malones' (arriving just as Margaret returned from high school), she could handle both jobs in one afternoon. She also thought that she should have a uniform, so that night she found an old white T-shirt and, with a fat black permanent marker, wrote
DOER OF UNPLEASANT JOBS
across the back and, in smaller letters on the front,
RUBY
.

She wore the T-shirt under her sweater at school the next day, so that when she arrived at Robby's house, all she had to do was remove her sweater and she was ready to work.

“The clothes are in here,” said Mrs. Edwards, guiding Ruby upstairs to a spare room. “We certainly are happy to let you take care of this for us.”

Ruby stopped at the threshold of the room and stared. She thought that, outside of a department store, she had never seen so many clothes all in one place.

Mrs. Edwards looked apologetic. “As I said, we've been putting this chore off for a while.”

Ruby held up a small striped shirt. “Whose is this?” she asked.

“Well, it
was
Robby's. When he was in first grade. That's about how long the clothes have been piling up.”

Ruby swallowed hard but didn't say anything.

“So what you need to do,” said Mrs. Edwards, “is decide whether the clothes are for summer or winter, fold them, and pack them into bags.” She indicated a stack of paper grocery bags by the door. “Leave the summer clothes up here, and I'll help you carry the bags of winter clothes downstairs. I'm going to drive them to the clothing bank tomorrow. The director said they're only interested in the cold-weather clothes at the moment.”

“Okay,” replied Ruby, who was already wondering whether she would be able to arrive at the Malones' on time.

Mrs. Edwards left and Ruby dove into the job. She sorted first, making decisions fast. When she had two piles (enormous, teetering piles) of clothes — one for summer and one for winter — she began to fold them. Folding was not one of Ruby's strong points (as she had once heard Min mention to Flora), but she concentrated and did her best. It occurred to her that she
could
simply stuff most of the clothes into the bags and fold only the ones on the top — that would make the job go much more quickly — but Flora's words about being called back for future jobs rang in her ears, so she worked doggedly, folding each article carefully. And when she had finished, she was surprised to look at her watch and see that in fact just over an hour had passed. Not bad at all. She would arrive at Margaret's only fifteen minutes late.

“Ruby,” said Mrs. Edwards as they lugged the last bag of winter clothes to the front door, “I will certainly call you in the future. You did a great job. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this.” And she pressed several bills into Ruby's hand.

Ruby, glowing, sprinted to the Malones' house. “What do you want me to do first?” she asked, the moment Margaret opened the door.

“Hi, Ruby,” said Margaret. “Nice to see you. Thank you for coming.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry to be in a rush, but I'm trying to stay on schedule,” Ruby replied, shedding her coat and sweater.

Margaret smiled at the sight of Ruby's shirt. “Very nice lettering,” she said.

“Thanks. It's my uniform.” Ruby clapped her hands together smartly. “Okay. Basement or CD's?” she asked.

“Up to you. Why don't I take you down to the basement and show you the stuff Dad wants cleaned up. Then you can decide where to begin.”

Ruby followed Margaret into the Malones' kitchen, and Margaret opened the door to the basement. Ruby's nose was greeted with the familiar basementy smell that all the cellars in the Row Houses seemed to share. A smell of dampness and cement and something that Min described as “fustiness.” Ruby wasn't sure what “fustiness” meant, but it sounded like a good description of a basement smell.

Margaret switched on the light, and she and Ruby made their way down the worn wooden steps.

“It's over here,” said Margaret, indicating an area of the basement beyond the Malones' washer and dryer.

Ruby stopped and stared.
“That?”
she cried.

Margaret cleared her throat. “I know it's a lot. I mean, it looks like a lot. But it isn't, really, and all you need to do is toss out the stuff that's completely useless and organize the rest of it.”

“But,” said Ruby, gawking at what appeared to be a miniature mountain of junk, “how do I know what's useless to
you
?” She remembered that her mother used to say: “One man's trash is another man's treasure.”

“Oh, you'll know,” said Margaret. She grabbed at something, and Ruby now saw that the mountain was actually overflowing storage shelves. “This, for example,” Margaret continued, pulling a scarred pole from the top of the heap on a middle shelf.

“What is it?” asked Ruby.

Margaret shrugged. “Exactly. A mop without the mop part? A broom without the broom part? I don't know. And if you don't know, either, then there isn't any point in keeping it.”

Ruby nodded. “I understand.”

“So do you want to start here or in my room?”

“I might as well start here,” replied Ruby weakly, the dark recesses of the cellar already reminding her of the many reasons she avoided descending into Min's basement.

“Okay. Just leave the stuff to be thrown out over there by the washer and then tidy up the shelves. If you have any questions, call me. I'll be right upstairs in the kitchen.”

Margaret climbed the steps, and Ruby stood before the shelves. Tentatively, she reached for a lumpy item. Her fingers had barely closed over it when she heard a noise from a distant corner, a sort of scratchy, slithery noise. Please don't be a ghost, she thought fervently. Or a snake. She reminded herself that ghosts weren't real (probably) and that snakes weren't around in late November (probably), and hefted the item, which turned out to be a boot. She set it aside. If she found its mate, she would return the pair to the shelves. If she didn't, the lone boot would be destined for the dump.

Ruby worked steadily, ignoring creepy basement sounds, and found that the job went fairly quickly. “Margaret!” she called forty-five minutes later. “I think I'm done.” She surveyed her work with satisfaction. The shelves, emptied of nearly half their contents, now neatly held the remaining tools, baskets, outdoor clothing, and other articles Ruby had deemed worth keeping. And in a pile by the washing machine were heaped a bucket with a hole in its side, two cans of dried-up paint, the single boot, the broom handle, and many broken items, some of which Ruby couldn't identify.

“Wow!” exclaimed Margaret, before she was even halfway down the stairs. “Ruby, this is fantastic. Dad's going to be thrilled. I've never seen the basement look so good.”

“Thank you,” said Ruby modestly.

“Do you still have time for my CD's?”

Ruby looked at her watch. It was closer to dinner than she had thought it would be, her jobs so far having gone fairly quickly but still having been bigger than Ruby had imagined, and she didn't want to upset Min. She also didn't want to turn down perfectly good work, so she phoned Flora and told her she'd be home in an hour (she hoped).

And then she climbed up the stairs to Margaret's room.

She saw a mound of CD's on the bed. A mound, not a mountain. Not nearly as many CD's as Ruby had feared she might find.

She let out her breath. “Okay,” she said. “How should I alphabetize them? By title?”

Margaret, who was standing in the doorway, shook her head. “By the artist's name.”

“Artist …” repeated Ruby.

“The performer,” Margaret explained.

Ruby set to work.

An hour later, she opened the door to her house. She was as tired as she had ever been, but her pocket was stuffed with bills and she was quite pleased with her first day as the Doer of Unpleasant Jobs.

“Ruby!” Min called from the kitchen. “You have just enough time to eat a quick dinner before your rehearsal.”

Rehearsal. Ruby had completely forgotten that she had a chorus rehearsal that evening — the final rehearsal before the Thanksgiving concert.

“Um,” said Ruby as she entered the kitchen. “Um, I don't really need to go to the rehearsal.”

“Don't need to go? What about your solos?” asked Min.

Ruby blew hair from her face. She was grimy. She was starving. And all she wanted to do was fall into her bed.

“I know my solos,” said Ruby. She opened the refrigerator. “Only one is really important anyway, and I know it like the back of my hand.” She peered around the door of the fridge and met Min's eyes.

“Are you certain?” asked Min.

Before Ruby could answer, the phone rang and Min lunged for it. “That's Allie, I think,” she said.

Ruby knew that the subject of rehearsal was over. She told herself she could practice her solos by herself anytime she felt like it. She had an entire day and a half before the concert.

“Nikki?” said Mae Sherman. “On the first Thanksgiving, didn't the Pilgrims freeze?”

“What?” replied Nikki. She took her sister's hand and together they walked along the lane to their house. It was one-thirty on the day before Thanksgiving. School had let out early, and Nikki had been given only minimal homework. The holiday weekend stretched ahead of her deliciously.

“Didn't the Pilgrims freeze on the first Thanksgiving?” Mae repeated.

“I don't understand,” said Nikki. “What do you mean?”

“Well, all the pictures show them having Thanksgiving dinner at a big picnic table outside, in the woods or someplace. But Miss Drew said the Pilgrims lived here in New England, like we do. And it's freezing here by Thanksgiving time.” Mae held out her mittened hands to indicate just how cold it was.

“Maybe —” Nikki started to say.

“
And
,” Mae barged on, “in the pictures, the Pilgrims are always just wearing their regular Pilgrim clothes. They aren't wearing coats or mittens, and anyway, how could they cut their turkey if they were wearing mittens? So what I'm asking is, weren't they freezing?”

Nikki considered Mae's questions as they approached their house. She wished mightily that Mae had gone to her after-school program as usual, but there was no program on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, so Nikki was stuck with the Pilgrim problem. “I think,” she said, “that the first Thanksgiving was celebrated earlier in the fall, when it was warmer. But maybe you should ask Miss Drew about that on Monday,” she added delicately.

“That means you don't really know the answer!” Mae sounded gleeful.

“True. I don't know the answer. I don't know lots of answers. Do you know all the answers?”

“No, but I'm only seven,” replied Mae. “You're twelve.”

“Well, I guess that just goes to show that twelve-year-olds don't know all the answers, either.”

“Maybe eighteen-year-olds do,” said Mae. “I'll ask Tobias when he gets home.”

“Oh, don't bother him with that. Let him relax a —”

“
Bother
him!” cried Mae indignantly. “That is not a bothery question. It's a perfectly good one.”

Nikki sensed tears and hastily changed the subject. “Remember what we're going to do this afternoon,” she said. “First thing. Well, first thing after we let Paw-Paw out.”

Mae brightened. “The baskets! We get to fill the baskets! But shouldn't we wait for Tobias? Won't he want to help us?”

“Do you want to wait for him? He might not be home for another hour.”

“I want to wait,” said Mae firmly. “He shouldn't miss out on the fun.”