Karen's Runaway Turkey

  The author gratefully acknowledges

  Diane Molleson

  for her help

  with this book.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  1 Karen’s Wish

  2 Two Kitchens

  3 Baked in a Pie

  4 A Contest

  5 In the Kitchen

  6 Grandparents, Uncles, and Aunts

  7 Gourds, Corn, and Squash

  8 And the Winner Is …

  9 The Grand Prize

  10 The Prize Arrives

  11 Archie Needs a Home

  12 Turkey in the Straw

  13 Smile for the Camera

  14 The Runaway

  15 Missing: One Live Turkey

  16 The Search Goes On

  17 Merry’s Surprise

  18 A Welcome Phone Call

  19 On Stage

  20 Pumpkin Pie

  About the Author

  Also Available

  Copyright

  Karen’s Wish

  “Andrew, pumpkins are orange, not green,” I told my little brother in my most grown-up voice.

  “I like green,” answered Andrew. He continued making a chain of paper pumpkins with green construction paper.

  I sighed. “Andrew, no one is going to know those are pumpkins.”

  “I will know,” said Andrew.

  Honestly, Andrew can be so stubborn sometimes. He is four going on five. I am seven. My name is Karen Brewer.

  Andrew and I were at the kitchen table making Thanksgiving decorations. Even though it was still early November, we were starting to get ready. We wanted to make enough decorations for all the windows in the little house. Maybe even the big house too. (I will explain why Andrew and I have two houses in a minute.) We had crayons, markers, construction paper, glue, tape, and scissors spread out in front of us. I was drawing a picture of a turkey to hang in the kitchen window. Our nanny, Merry Perkins, was stirring a big pot of chili on the stove. It smelled wonderful.

  I was having fun, but something was on my mind. I decided to speak up about it. (I am very good at speaking up.)

  “You know what, Merry?” I said as I colored in my turkey’s feathers.

  “What?” answered Merry, turning away from the stove.

  “Thanksgiving is unfair to kids,” I announced, waving my crayon in the air.

  Merry raised her eyebrows. “How is it unfair?”

  “Kids are not allowed to do anything important for Thanksgiving.” Andrew held up his green pumpkin chain, but I ignored it. “We make decorations and set the table. But we do not do any cooking. I wish I could cook something for Thanksgiving.”

  “You eat,” Andrew reminded me.

  “I know I eat,” I said. “But that is not the same as cooking.”

  “Well, you know you are not allowed to use the stove,” Merry reminded me. I nodded. “But not all cooking involves the stove,” Merry continued.

  “Most Thanksgiving cooking does,” I said, thinking of turkey and stuffing, sweet potatoes, creamed onions, carrots, beets, pies, and homemade biscuits. In fact, I could not think of any part of our Thanksgiving dinner that was not cooked.

  “What would you like to make for your Thanksgiving dinner?” Merry asked me.

  “A pumpkin pie,” I answered right away. Dessert is my favorite part of most meals.

  “Well, maybe this year you can make one,” said Merry, smiling.

  I looked at Merry with wide eyes. “Really?”

  “I could teach you how,” Merry continued. “You can learn to make the filling and crust. Then all a grown-up has to do is put the pie in the oven for you.”

  That sounded fine to me. More than fine. And besides, I knew Merry would be a wonderful teacher. She has already taught me lots of things, like how to make a pencil holder out of clay. (Merry teaches a pottery class at the craft center where Mommy works.)

  “Can you teach me too?” Andrew asked.

  “Sure,” said Merry.

  “Can we start right away?” I was already putting my crayons back in their box.

  “Well, not right now,” answered Merry. “I will need to buy the ingredients first. But we can begin tomorrow, when you come home from school.”

  I could not wait.

  Two Kitchens

  I tried to concentrate on drawing my turkey. But I could not. I kept thinking about pumpkin pie and how much fun it would be to make one.

  The kitchen in my little house is cozy. It has blue-and-white checked curtains, a white stove with a red teakettle on it, a small white refrigerator, a big windowsill filled with Mommy’s plants, and a round wooden table where we often eat. It is a good kitchen to cook in because everything is close together. Not like in the big house.

  Remember my two houses? Now I will tell you more about them.

  First of all, I did not always live in two houses. When I was very little, Andrew and I lived in our big house with Mommy and Daddy, here in Stoneybrook, Connecticut. Then Mommy and Daddy began fighting. At first a little, then a lot. Finally they got divorced. (That means they are not married to each other anymore.) Mommy, Andrew, and I moved out of the big house and into the little house. Daddy stayed in the big house. After all, it is the house he grew up in.

  Then Mommy married Seth Engle. That made him my stepfather. I like Seth a lot. When he came to live with us at the little house, he brought his dog, Midgie, and his cat, Rocky.

  Daddy married again too. He married Elizabeth Thomas, and she became my stepmother. Elizabeth and her four children came to live with Daddy in the big house. Her children are Sam and Charlie, who go to high school; Kristy, who is thirteen (Kristy and I are special friends); and David Michael, who is seven like me. They are my stepbrothers and stepsister.

  Then Daddy and Elizabeth adopted Emily Michelle from a faraway country called Vietnam. Emily is two and a half and very cute. I named my pet rat after her.

  There were so many people at the big house that Nannie, Elizabeth’s mother, came to help take care of everyone. Nannie has a candy-making business. She lets me help her make candy. Nannie also helps out with all the pets. There is a puppy named Shannon, a kitten named Pumpkin, and two goldfish. Plus Andrew’s pet hermit crab, Bob, and my rat, Emily Junior, are there whenever Andrew and I are.

  Andrew and I spend every other month with Mommy in the little house. The rest of the time we live with Daddy.

  I made up special names for my brother and me. I call us Andrew Two-Two and Karen Two-Two. (I thought up those names after my teacher read a book to our class. It was called Jacob Two-Two Meets the Hooded Fang.) Andrew and I are two-twos because we have two of so many things. We have two houses and two families, two mommies, two daddies, two cats, and two dogs. Plus I have two bicycles, one at each house. And I have two stuffed cats who look exactly alike. Goosie lives at the little house. Moosie stays at the big house. I have two pairs of glasses too. The blue ones are for reading. The pink ones are for the rest of the time. Also, Andrew and I have two sets of clothes, books, and toys. This way, we do not need to pack much when we go back and forth between our houses.

  I even have a best friend near each house. Nancy Dawes lives next door to the little house. Hannie Papadakis lives across the street and one house down from the big house. Nancy, Hannie, and I call ourselves the Three Musketeers because we do everything together. We are in Ms. Colman’s second-grade class at Stoneybrook Academy.

  I could not wait to tell Nancy and Hannie my exciting news. I was sure that when they heard I would be making a pumpkin pie, they would want to cook one too. And you know what? When I learn, I can teach them.

  Baked in a Pie

  When I came home from school the next day, my little-house k
itchen looked different. On the counter were mixing bowls, measuring spoons, jars of spices, milk, sugar, eggs, and some cans with pictures of pumpkins on them.

  “I thought you needed a real pumpkin to make pumpkin pie,” I said.

  “You can use a real pumpkin. But it takes much longer,” Merry answered.

  “I guess it is easier to use canned pumpkin,” I said.

  “We were waiting for you before we started,” Andrew told me. (Andrew goes to preschool in the morning. He comes home earlier than I do.) “We got out all the things we needed.”

  “I see,” I said. “Thanks.” I know how hard it is for Andrew to wait when he is excited about something.

  “Do you want a snack before we start?” Merry asked me.

  “Uh, no,” I said when I saw Andrew’s face.

  Andrew hopped up and down.

  I shrugged off my backpack, hung up my jacket, and washed my hands at the kitchen sink. Finally, I was ready to begin too.

  “There are two parts to a pumpkin pie,” Merry explained. “The filling and the crust.”

  “The crust is hard to make, right?” I interrupted. (I have heard Mommy say how difficult it is to cook a really good crust.)

  Merry nodded. “Yes, the crust is hard. So today we will begin with the easier part, the filling.”

  I had no idea so many things went into the filling. I was beginning to think our dessert should be called a pumpkin-and-a-lot-of-spices pie. Andrew and I spent a long time measuring out sugar, salt, ginger, cinnamon, and cloves — with Merry’s help. Actually, I was pretty good at measuring things. But Andrew needed some help. He kept mixing up the teaspoon with the tablespoon. And he spilled a lot of sugar on the floor. Merry did not mind, though. We were having too much fun.

  Andrew mixed all the spices together with a big wooden spoon while I measured out the milk and poured it into the spices. Then we added two eggs and the pumpkin from the cans. Merry had to help us open the cans. But I broke the egg all by myself without getting any of the shell in the bowl.

  When our filling was ready, Merry poured it into a crust she had bought at the grocery store.

  “I hope this crust tastes as good as the homemade kind,” I said as Merry put the pie in the oven.

  “It should taste almost as good,” Merry said, her eyes twinkling. “Remember, this is your first pie.”

  “When will it be ready?” Andrew wanted to know.

  “In about fifty minutes,” answered Merry.

  “Fifty minutes. That is almost an hour.” It is hard for me to wait too. Almost as hard as it is for Andrew.

  “It will be ready by the time Seth and your mom come home,” Merry said.

  And guess what? She was right. Right about Mommy, anyway. Merry was pulling the pie out of the oven when Mommy walked into the house.

  “What smells so good?” Mommy wanted to know.

  “Our pie!” I cried. Andrew and I ran to Mommy to give her hugs.

  “We made a pumpkin pie,” Andrew announced.

  “Merry is teaching us how to bake,” I added.

  I had to admit, our pie did look good. The filling had set and turned a deep orange. And it smelled of cloves and cinnamon. I wanted to have a piece right away. But I knew Mommy and Merry would not let me. Mommy is always saying I should not ruin my appetite.

  “This year, Andrew and I are going to make the pie for our Thanksgiving dinner,” I informed Mommy. Andrew nodded. “And you know, the pie is one of the most important parts of the meal,” I added.

  Mommy and Merry laughed. But they agreed. After all, what would Thanksgiving be without pumpkin pie?

  A Contest

  “You made a whole pie yesterday?” Nancy sounded surprised.

  “Well, just the filling,” I admitted. “The crust was ready-made.”

  “Did you bring in a piece for us to taste?” asked Hannie.

  “We finished it for dessert last night,” I said.

  “A whole pie?” Hannie could not believe it.

  “Everyone had two pieces,” I explained. “Even Andrew. Besides, we gave some to Merry to take home.”

  “Next time, we want a piece of your pie,” said Nancy.

  “Even if it gets squished on the way to school?” I asked.

  Nancy and Hannie giggled. We were sitting in the back of our classroom waiting for Ms. Colman, our gigundoly wonderful teacher. I looked around the room. Ricky Torres, my pretend husband, and Natalie Springer were already sitting in the front row. During school, I sit in the front row too, because I wear glasses like they do. But before Ms. Colman arrives, I sit in the back with Hannie and Nancy so we can talk.

  Addie Sidney zoomed by in her wheelchair. She stopped outside Hootie’s cage to feed him. (Hootie is our class guinea pig.)

  Bobby Gianelli chased Hank Reubens and Omar Harris around the room. I rolled my eyes. “Bobby is going to get it when Ms. Colman comes in,” I said to Hannie and Nancy. I was eyeing the door to Mr. Berger’s room. Our classrooms are connected, and when Ms. Colman isn’t here, Mr. Berger keeps an eye on our class.

  “Omar and Hank are going to get in trouble too,” Nancy remarked as Hank knocked over a chair trying to get away from Bobby. (Bobby Gianelli used to be the class bully, but he is not so bad now. At least not most of the time.)

  I saw the twins, Tammy and Terri Barkan. Tammy stood near the front of the room talking to Sara Ford. Terri was at her desk playing ticktacktoe with Audrey Green. Pamela Harding sat with her friends Leslie Morris and Jannie Gilbert. The three of them were whispering. Pamela is my best enemy. All she ever does is sit with her friends and gossip. I did not see Ian Johnson. I guessed he must be absent.

  “Good morning, class,” said Ms. Colman when she arrived.

  “Good morning, Ms. Colman,” we said. We rushed to our seats.

  Ms. Colman asked Pamela to take attendance. Boo and bullfrogs. Taking attendance is one of my favorite jobs. And I already knew that everyone but Ian was here today. Oh, well.

  “I have an important announcement to make,” said Ms. Colman when Pamela was finished.

  I sat up a little straighter in my chair. I love Ms. Colman’s announcements. They are always interesting.

  “I just received a notice from the Stoneybrook Historical Society. They are sponsoring an essay contest for the first-, second-, and third-graders of Stoneybrook,” Ms. Colman began.

  Goody, I thought. I love to write.

  “Do we get a prize if we win?” Bobby Gianelli called out.

  “Yes, but please wait until I am finished making my announcement, Bobby. Then I will tell you about the prizes. And remember to raise your hand.”

  “Sorry,” said Bobby.

  “Students who enter the contest must write about a person they are thankful for, then explain how they will show their thanks to that person this Thanksgiving.”

  “I am thankful for my dog,” Ricky said.

  “The student with the best essay wins a grand prize,” Ms. Colman continued. “I do not know what the grand prize is, though.”

  Pamela raised her hand. “Are there any other prizes?” she asked when Ms. Colman called on her.

  “Yes. Twenty dollars for first prize, fifteen dollars for second prize, and ten dollars for third prize.”

  “Are we all going to enter this contest?” I asked.

  “Yes, I was hoping we would. I would like all of you to write two paragraphs by Friday answering both parts of the question.”

  Friday was two days away. That gave me plenty of time to write a brilliant essay.

  “You will each read your essay aloud to the class,” Ms. Colman continued. “Then I will collect all the essays and send them to the historical society.”

  “I wonder what the grand prize is,” Ricky whispered to me.

  I shrugged. I did not really care. It is always fun to win something.

  In the Kitchen

  I thought writing my essay would be easy. But it was not. For one thing, I could not decide who to write abo
ut. There are too many people I am thankful for: Mommy, Daddy, Kristy, Andrew, Seth, Elizabeth, Nannie, Hannie, Nancy. I could go on and on. I was sitting at my desk, but I was not writing. I was twirling my hair and chewing on my pencil. I knew Ricky was writing about his aunt Mabel, who gave him his dog. Hannie had said she would write about her mother. I sighed. I was sure most of the kids in my class would be writing about someone in their family. But most of them did not have two families.

  I was glad when Merry came upstairs to ask me if I wanted another pie-baking lesson.

  “Sure,” I answered. I was ready to stop thinking about my essay for awhile.

  “Today we are going to make a piecrust,” said Merry when we were all in the kitchen.

  I helped Merry get out the flour, salt, and butter. Then I helped Andrew find the other things we needed: a mixing bowl, measuring spoons, a fork, and a rolling pin. “Are you sure this is all we need?” Andrew asked Merry.

  Merry nodded. “You need patience to make a good crust. Not too much else.”

  Before we began, Merry told us not to handle the pastry dough any more than necessary, or it would be tough.

  Andrew and I measured out the flour and salt and mixed them together. Then we put in the butter and a little cold water. I mixed everything together with a fork. When I was done, the mixture looked like very tiny peas. Merry said it should look like that.

  We were about to roll out the dough when Merry looked at the clock. “Ooh,” she said, “it is later than I thought. We will not have time to finish today.”

  “You mean we cannot roll out the crust?” I said. I was very disappointed.

  “Not today,” Merry replied. “And tomorrow is my day off.” (The next day was Friday. Mommy was going to be at home.) “We will bake a whole pie on Monday.”

  “Can we use the crust we just made?” I asked.

  “Yes, we can,” said Merry.

  I was worried about the crust. Would it still be good on Monday? Luckily Merry knew what to do. She told us to shape the crust into a big ball. Then she wrapped it in aluminum foil and put it in the freezer.

  “The dough will keep that way,” Merry assured me. “We can use it on Monday to make the crust.”