More All-of-a-Kind Family Read online

  OTHER YEARLING BOOKS YOU WILL ENJOY:

  All-Of-A-Kind Family, SYDNEY TAYLOR

  All-Of-A-Kind Family Uptown, SYDNEY TAYLOR

  All-Of-A-Kind Family Downtown, SYDNEY TAYLOR

  Blue Ridge Billy, LOIS LENSKI

  Strawberry Girl, LOIS LENSKI

  Cotton in My Sack, LOIS LENSKI

  Prairie School, LOIS LENSKI

  Dreams of Victory, ELLEN CONFORD

  The House of Wings, BETSY BYARS

  Queenie Peavy, ROBERT BURCH

  YEARLING BOOKS are designed especially to entertain and enlighten young people. The finest available books for children have been selected under the direction of Charles F. Reasoner, Professor of Elementary Education, New York University.

  For a complete listing of all Yearling titles,

  write to Education Sales Department, Dell Publishing Co., Inc.,

  1 Dag Hammarskjold Plaza, New York, N.Y. 10017

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 1954 by Sydney Taylor; copyright renewed 1982 by Ralph Taylor

  Illustrations copyright © 1954 by Mary Stevens

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York. Previously published in paperback in the United States in 1989 by Yearling, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York. Originally published in hardcover by Follett Publishing Company, Chicago, in 1954.

  Delacorte Press is a registered trademark and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

  Visit us on the Web! randomhouse.com/kids

  Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at RHTeachersLibrarians.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request

  eISBN: 978-0-307-82931-3

  First Delacorte Press eBook Edition 2013

  Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.

  v3.1

  To my other mother and father,

  Fanny and Simon Taylor

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Yearling Books You Will Enjoy

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Lena the Greena

  Secret in the Bookstack

  Yom Kippur, Day of Atonement

  A Friend in Need

  A Timely Errand

  Festival of Lights

  Mad and Glad

  Ups and Downs

  Queen of the May

  Eight at One Blow

  Epidemic in the City

  At Rockaway Beach

  The Wedding Day

  The End and the Beginning

  “WOW!” GERTIE EXCLAIMED, “look at the long line of horses and carriages!”

  “You have to have a lot of carriages for a wedding,” said middle sister Sarah.

  “But so many! They must be awful rich!”

  “Nah! Everyone spends a lot of money on a wedding,” observed Henny.

  “C’mon! We don’t want to miss the bride!” Charlotte yelled, catching hold of Gertie’s arm.

  Sarah skipped along at their heels, her loop-tied pigtails bobbing up and down excitedly.

  Charlie lay sprawled on the sidewalk, playing with the small wagon Papa had made for him. He had turned it upside down, and his chubby little hands kept spinning the wheels round and round. Suddenly Henny bent down and scooped him up. “Charlie’s going to see the lovely bride,” she told him.

  Charlie let out a vigorous howl. He beat at Henny’s chest and struggled to slide out of her arms. “Wanna go down! Down! Want my wagon!”

  “We can’t take the wagon in all that mob. Leave it here. You’ll play with it when we get back.” And Henny carried her squirming little brother across the street.

  A sizable crowd was gathered around the entrance to the hall. From everywhere children came running, eager to see and admire. The ushers braced themselves and held out their arms to form an open lane for the wedding guests. “Stand back!” they shouted. But the youngsters edged closer and closer, and the lane kept growing narrower.

  Already the carriages were discharging the guests. Slowly they paraded up the aisles, up the stairs, to disappear somewhere inside the magic hall. No one bothered much to notice the men, elegant though they were in their full dress. But the ladies! How beautiful they looked in their filmy, floating gowns! The bridesmaids were all dressed alike in pink tulle, with twinkly sequined bodices. Large picture hats framed their smiling faces, and each one carried a small bouquet of matching roses.

  “When I get married, I’m going to have a whole bunch of bridesmaids,” Charlotte declared.

  “Such dresses!” Sarah sighed. “Aren’t they lucky?”

  Gertie turned to Charlotte. “Aren’t you glad it’s summer time? If it was winter, we couldn’t see their dresses. I’m never going to be married in the winter,” she added.

  “Me neither,” agreed Charlotte. “I’m going to be a June bride.”

  “I wish we had a wedding to go to,” Sarah said wistfully. “In a big hall like this, with lots of people and music and dancing and everything.”

  “The bride!” “The bride’s coming!” The crowd surged forward expectantly. The smaller children jumped up and down and craned their necks for a better view.

  Charlie was growing too heavy for Henny. She set him down. But Charlie didn’t like it down there. He could hardly breathe. And there was so much noise that it hurt his ears. He wasn’t going to stay there any more. He scrambled his way through the sea of legs till at last he stood free at the edge of the curb.

  Across the street, he could see his little wagon. It was lonely; it was waiting for Charlie to come back and play with it. He stepped into the gutter.

  Down the street a horse and wagon clattered into sight. Charlie neither saw nor heard. His little legs kept toddling steadily onward.

  A sudden piercing shriek tore the air! Heads turned in swift alarm. “What’s the matter?” “What happened?”

  The voice screamed again. “The baby! The baby!”

  Henny was filled with a sense of dread. Where was Charlie? Just a moment before, he had been hanging onto her dress.

  There he was! Alone—in the middle of the street! Henny’s breath came in fearful gasps. “Charlie! Come back! Come back, Charlie!” she moaned. She had to get to him. She had to. “Let me through!” she pleaded, sobbingly. “Oh, please, please! It’s my brother! I got to get my baby brother!”

  But no one seemed to hear. “Charlie!” she screamed. “Go back! Back! Charlie!”

  Charlie heard his name being called. He stopped, bewildered. He looked up. Bearing down upon him was a monstrous horse, blowing and puffing and wild-eyed. Its legs were churning up and down in a terrifying blur. The little boy was too frightened even to move.

  “Whoa! Whoa!” the driver roared frantically, pulling on the reins with all his might. The wagon teetered crazily. The wheels skidded, sending off sparks as they ground into the cobblestones.

  At that instant, a woman dashed into the street. Her arms reached out, clutching at the boy. Together they rolled over and over in a whirl of dust. For a moment, no one could see clearly what was happening.

  Then the woman sat up, breathing hard. Charlie, now crying loudly, was clasped protectingly in her arms. People rushed forward.

  Murmurs of wonder at her daring beat down around her. �
�A miracle!” “You’re a brave woman!” “So quick you were!” Hands reached down to take the child from her. A man helped her to her feet. It was the driver. He was deathly pale, but the sweat was pouring from his face. He kept muttering, “Thank God! Thank God!”

  Someone asked, “Are you hurt, lady?”

  “No. I’m all right,” she replied. She slapped at the dust on her skirt and tried to rearrange her disheveled hair. “How’s the little boy?” she asked.

  “He’s fine, “Henny cried out. “You saved him. You’re just the bravest person in the whole world!” She began to sob bitterly. “It’s all my fault—I didn’t watch him. If it hadn’t been for you—Charlie might have been killed!”

  Scared and shaken as they were, Gertie and Charlotte nevertheless tried to comfort their older sister. “Don’t cry, Henny. Charlie’s safe.”

  “See, Henny! I’ve got him!” Sarah shouted, holding up Charlie, still sobbing. “See! He’s fine!”

  In a fresh burst of tears, Henny was about to put her arm around Charlie’s rescuer, when she noticed a long scratch on the woman’s arm. “Oh, look, you’re bleeding!” she exclaimed. “You must come upstairs and let us take care of it. And Mama can fix this big rip in your blouse too. Anyway, she’ll want to meet you and thank you for what you did.”

  The woman hesitated. “It’s nice you’re asking me.”

  “Please!” Gertie added her plea. “We like it when there’s company in our house.”

  The woman smiled, and the corners of her full mouth turned up charmingly, her cheeks rounding out like two rosy apples. “All right, I come,” she said. She pulled the torn and soiled blouse down over her full bosom and tucked it more firmly into the belt of her broadcloth skirt.

  “She’s fat,” Gertie whispered, as they followed behind.

  “Sh-sh-h!” admonished Charlotte. “She’s not fat! She’s just sort of roly-poly. And anyway, she’s a wonderful lady!”

  Mama shook her head despairingly over her younger brother. “Hyman,” she said reprovingly, “you come to pay us a visit and see how you look! No shave. Your suit looks like you slept in it—a button hanging by a thread. At least you could put on a clean shirt! And your shoes, when did they last see a shine? Schlumper (untidy one)!”

  Uncle Hyman grinned uncomfortably. “Here,” he said, handing Mama a paper bag. “A whole dozen eggs. Fresh from the country.” He walked over to his favorite spot in front of the kitchen stove. Hands clasped behind his back, toes turned out, he swayed his short chunky body from side to side, his small blue eyes twinkling good-naturedly.

  Such a good soul, thought Ella. He never comes empty-handed.

  Mama set a platter of fat slices of salty herring on the big round kitchen table. Uncle Hyman sniffed appreciatively. “Mmm! What could be better than a tasty piece of schmaltz herring? Just to smell it gives one an appetite. There’s maybe a boiled potato to go with it?”

  Mama smiled. “Yes. Boiled potatoes and sour cream.”

  “Good, good!” Uncle Hyman rubbed his hands together. His ruddy face glowed.

  Ella laughed. “Oh, Uncle Hyman! Here, give me your coat, and I’ll sew on the button.”

  “See what a good niece I have!” Uncle Hyman addressed himself to the stove.

  “It would be better if you had a good wife to sew your buttons on,” Mama remarked dryly. “Old bachelor! What are you waiting for?”

  “For such a girl that she hasn’t been born yet,” Uncle Hyman guffawed, still addressing the stove.

  Annoyed as she was, Mama couldn’t help laughing. “Oh, go and wash up,” she ordered, handing him a towel.

  Uncle Hyman went over to the sink unwillingly, like a small boy. Slowly he rolled up his shirt sleeves. Soon he was sending streams of water and suds splashing over his head and face, grunting and spluttering loudly all the while.

  The children ran up the stairs with a clatter and banging that sent Mama flying to the kitchen door. “Goodness!” she scolded. “You’d think an army was coming!” She stopped, her eyebrows raised inquiringly, as she caught sight of the stranger.

  There was a babble of agitated talk. It was hard for Mama to understand what they were trying to tell her—something about Charlie. But gradually the story became clear. Mama’s face grew white. She caught little Charlie in her arms and held him tight. Over the top of his curly blond head, her eyes sought the woman’s. “How can I ever thank you?” she said.

  “There’s nothing to thank.” The woman smiled at Mama.

  Charlie slid out of Mama’s arms and caught up his stick horse from the corner. “Giddyap!” he shouted, and rode off.

  Henny spoke up. “Mama, the lady’s got a big scratch on her arm. And her blouse is all torn, too. She didn’t want to come, but we made her. We said you’d fix it up.”

  “Oh, I’m so happy you came,” Mama said warmly. “We’d better wash your arm right away. And we’ll put some peroxide on it. Hyman, get away from the sink already!”

  “You shouldn’t bother,” the woman protested. “It’s really nothing. Just to wash myself—that’s all I would like.”

  Uncle Hyman took a peek at the woman out of the corner of his eye. Then quickly he pulled the towel over his head and yielded his place at the sink.

  “It’s supper time,” Mama went on. “I know you must be hungry. You’re coming home from work, aren’t you? At least let me show my appreciation. Please stay and have supper with us. Unless, of course, you’re expected somewhere.”

  “No,” the woman replied, “no one expects me.”

  “Then it’s settled. You’ll eat with us. Look, I don’t even know your name.”

  “It’s Lena—Lena Cohen.”

  Mama made the introductions all around.

  By the time Papa came home, Lena looked quite presentable, with her blouse neatly mended and her wavy brown hair combed. Of course the story was retold in great detail, and Papa heaped praises on her head.

  Supper was very cozy, with friendly conversation shared by everyone. Everyone, that is, excepting Uncle Hyman. Throughout the meal he sat in bashful silence.

  “How long are you in America?” Papa inquired of Lena.

  “Well, now it’s August, 1915. So I’m here already almost two years. But still a greenhorn!”

  “Lena the Greena!” Henny sang out.

  Mama was aghast, but Lena only laughed. “That’s right. Lena the Greena. That’s what the girls in the factory call me.” Her face sobered. “But I’m lucky. I left before the war started. Who knows what’s happening with my people over there. It takes a long time for a letter to come.”

  “The war is a terrible thing. Please God, we should only be able to keep out of it,” Mama said fervently.

  “Such a nice, big family,” Lena commented. “I see you have only one son.”

  Papa grinned. “That’s right. Five daughters to marry off!”

  “Well, you certainly don’t have to worry,” Lena assured him. “Such good-looking American girls. They’ll be grabbed up like hot rolls from a bakery.”

  After supper, everyone went into the front room. Lena admired the red and green carpet, the lace curtains, the piano polished to a high satiny finish. She remarked, “A room is like a human being. You gotta fix it up it should look nice.”

  Mama whispered into Uncle Hyman’s ear. “You hear, schlumper? A nice impression you must be making!”

  The evening passed pleasantly. Ella sang. Then Henny, Sarah, and Charlotte took turns entertaining with a little piano piece. Lena applauded each performer heartily. When it was time for her to leave, she kept saying over and over again what a good time she had had.

  “In that case,” Mama told her, “you must come again. You live far from here?”

  “No. I board with an old couple on Pitt Street.”

  “Well, anyway, it’s late. Hyman, you better take Lena home,” she directed.

  “Who—me?” Uncle Hyman jumped up, startled.

  “Oh, that’s all right,” Lena interrup
ted quickly. “I can go by myself.”

  “Oh, no, no! I wouldn’t think of it,” Uncle Hyman declared loudly.

  Everyone stared at him in astonishment. It was the first whole sentence he had uttered all evening.

  “OH, STOP FUSSING, Ella,” cried Henny impatiently. “We’re only going to the library.”

  Ella adjusted her tam to an even more rakish angle on her shiny black hair and studied herself in the mirror.

  “Say, isn’t that my tam?” Henny was indignant. “Why aren’t you wearing your own?”

  “Because yours matches my new skirt. Please let me wear it, Henny.”

  “Oh, all right. But you might have asked me first. And hurry up!”

  Ella flashed her a grateful look. “Thanks. You can wear my black velvet one whenever you want to.” She turned back to the mirror for a final glance. “All right. I’m ready.”

  “It’s about time!” Henny grumbled.

  Sarah hugged her library book. “Don’t you just love Friday afternoons?”

  “Uh huh,” agreed Gertie.

  “Especially all of us going together,” added Charlotte.

  Lately, however, of all the sisters, no one awaited Friday afternoons more eagerly than Ella. Besides the precious books, the library now held an added interest. She wondered, would he be there today, sitting in his usual place? Chestnut brown hair, waving back from his forehead, the largest, bluest eyes she had ever seen, fringed by long, dark lashes. Wasted on a boy, she decided, but still awfully attractive. He always pretended to be interested in some book, but she knew all the time he was really watching her. For weeks, now, it had been going on.

  Inside the library, the girls separated. Ella remained downstairs where the grown-up books were while her sisters raced upstairs to the children’s room.

  Ella slid her books along the “in desk.” Casually she looked about the spacious room. He was there! He knew she had come in, too. She could tell by the way he carefully shifted in his seat. Her black eyes began to dance. Quickly she turned her head away.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Martin,” she greeted the librarian.