The Penderwicks at Last

Lydia believed in dancing wherever she could--on sidewalks, in supermarket aisles, libraries, swimming pools, parking lots. Today her stage was a bench at the bus stop. It was a challenge dancing on something so narrow, but Lydia took measures to keep from falling--small steps, no leaps, and heavy reliance on upper-body motion.
 
Music, Maestro! she said. What tempo, Miss Penderwick? I believe I m in the mood for something snappy, Maestro. Snappy it is, then.
 
Lydia s singing wasn t up to her dancing, and her inner maestro s humming was rarely on key, but the rhythm! Lydia and rhythm were as one while she bopped back and forth, being what her father called the Embodiment of Music. He d come up with that when Lydia was too young to know what embodiment meant. She was now in fifth grade, though, and knew just about any words her father could come up with, as long as they were in English. (Sometimes he spoke in Latin.) Being the embodiment meant that she brought the spirit of music to life in her dancing.
 
One last spin, and Lydia bowed, waiting for applause that wouldn t come. There were no other people at the bus stop, and the Penderwick dogs weren t paying attention. The older of the two, Sonata, was asleep under the bench. Sonata was often asleep--Lydia s mother called her Zen Dog. The other dog, Feldspar, was Sonata s son, with the same goofy bug eyes, but he was no Zen Dog. He considered life an opportunity for excitement, especially these two parts of life: Lydia s older sister Batty and whatever he d most recently found to carry around. Today it was a plastic clothes hanger.
 
Remember not to chew it up and swallow the pieces, Lydia told him.
 
Feldspar eyed her with disdain. He knew better than to do such a silly thing. Somewhere deep in his mixed-breed DNA was a bit of retriever, and retrievers never ate the spoils of the hunt, especially when the spoils were plastic and didn t taste good. Just because he d

Jeanne Birdsall is the National Book Award winning author of the children's book The Penderwicks and its sequel, The Penderwicks on Gardam Street, both of which were also New York Times bestsellers. She grew up in the suburbs west of Philadelphia, where she attended wonderful public schools. Although Birdsall first decided to become a writer when she was 10 years old, it took her until she was 41 to get started. In the years in between, Birdsall had many strange jobs to support herself while working hard as a photographer. Birdsall's photographs are included in the permanent collections of museums, including the Smithsonian and the Philadelphia Art Museum. She lives with her husband in Northampton, Massachusetts. Their house is old and comfortable, full of unruly animals, and surrounded by gardens.

"Beautifully crafted, both in descriptions and characterizations, this makes for a fitting end to a much-praised series." Booklist, starred review

"Please don't go, Penderwicks; it's too soon to say goodbye." Kirkus Reviews