Read Online Summer of the Gypsy Moths by Sara Pennypacker - Free Book Online Page B

cloves and adding them to the pan. “It can take over. Rubbing your fingers on stainless steel will get the garlic smell out—weird, I know, but it works. I read it in…never mind. Brown the hamburger after that.” Then I stirred in the tomatoes and beans. “Two big cans each,” I said, in case Angel didn’t see it. “That’s it.”
    Angel slid off the counter and took two spoons from the silverware drawer.
    â€œNo, it has to cook now,” I explained. “For a couple of hours.”
    Angel looked as if she was trying to figure out if I was kidding. Before I could explain the importance of simmering, there was a knock at the screen door. We jumped.
    George again. We hadn’t noticed the mower kick off. He was holding a shovel. “You’re all set,” he said, setting it by the steps. “You two helped me out so much yesterday, I figured the least I could do was come back and dig those holes for you.”
    Treb trotted up the steps then. He began to whine and nose the door. George shook his finger at him. “You’re not going in, boy. That’s the price you pay for rolling in seaweed. By the way, I piled it beside those holes for you girls.Just fork it over the mounds when you’re done working in your fertilizer.”
    Treb scratched harder at the door. I shot a quick glance down the hall and shuddered. George ordered him down, and Treb obeyed, but you could tell it nearly killed him. He stared through the screen with his head cocked as if he couldn’t believe what he was smelling. Now and then he broke his gaze to look up at George as if to say, Don’t you want to roll in that? He gave a final scrabble at the door and then lay down with his head on his paws and looked up at us, whimpering at the injustice.
    Angel came up behind me. “Well, thanks, George,” she said brightly. “Good-bye!”
    But George didn’t take the hint. He brushed the grass clippings off his pants and then opened the screen door with a “Stay!” warning to Treb and stepped inside. He lowered his head and pointed a finger at me. “You,” he said.
    â€œMe?”
    â€œEight mousetraps, all sprung. Not a mouse in a one of ’em. You know anything about that?”
    I raised my hands in surrender, relieved. Angel stared between George and me.
    â€œI figured,” George said with a smile. “Soft heart for the underdog, runs in the family. Okay, I give up—your underdogs can have the cottages this year.” He sniffed.“Smells good.” He crossed to the stove and nodded over the bubbling pot. “Louise makes some fine chili. She must be feeling better if she got up and cooked.”
    Angel and I stared at each other.
    â€œGotta be tough on crutches. Guess it wiped her out. Must be why I couldn’t raise her.”
    Now we stared at George.
    â€œI saw her through the window as I was coming in. I waved, but then I could see she was conked out. Dead to the world.”
    Angel found her voice first. It was shaky, though. “She is. Dead to the world. Exactly. So…” She gave a meaningful look at the door.
    â€œI brought my screwdriver,” George said, completely ignoring Angel’s meaningful look. “I’ve been promising to fix that towel rack in the bathroom for weeks. Once the boat goes back in tomorrow, I won’t have the time, so I’ll just do it while I’m here. I’ll be quiet—”
    My voice came back then. Loud. “No!”
    It was George’s turn to stare.
    â€œStella is just remembering the big school project we have to do,” Angel said. “It’s due tomorrow. Stella can’t work if there’s someone in the house.” If lying were a sport, this girl would have a neckful of gold medals. Angel grabbed the door again and swept her hand as if Georgewere already walking through. “So, bye, thanks.”
    George finally gave up.