Fern felt as if she’d been sucker punched. That name. Haryle. It was the name from Phoebe Merriam’s letter. Hair-uh-Lee.
Fern knew at once.
“He’s my father.” Fern stated it as a fact, not a question.
Sam’s and Lindsey’s jaws dropped open.
Mrs. Lin sighed slightly and closed her eyes for a few moments. She could hear her own heart beating. The discussion she was about to have with Fern was going to be difficult and would provoke more questions than it would answer—she knew that much. She also knew that, at some point, this discussion was inevitable. Still, as Mrs. Lin sat looking into the frightened eyes of Phoebe Merriam’s only daughter, she would’ve given everything to have been able to postpone this moment until the girl was older. It would be hard for anyone to hear, yet alone a girl who was barely on the cusp of her teenage years.
“Yes, Fern,” Mrs. Lin said gravely, “I believe he is.”
Chapter 16
Learning to Play
Shocking didn’t begin to describe it. It was the blockbuster revelation of a lifetime. Silver Tooth was Fern’s father. Fern had only found out about her real birth mother a few months before, and since then, she’d constantly wondered about her father. Specifically, she’d speculated about what kind of influence he had on Phoebe. She’d heard that Phoebe changed near the end of her life, and Fern often questioned whether or not this was her mysterious father’s doing. No one ever spoke of him. Not once. Now, though, he had a name. Haryle Laffar. The Lins knew this man.
Fern was confused. Her first instinct was to mentally skim through Phoebe’s letters in her head and search for clues she’d missed when she’d read them so many times before that might help explain things. What about Haryle had made Phoebe abandon her friends and family? Surely, Fern thought, there had to be something worthwhile about him.
But the cold, hard facts were hard to ignore. This man had caused her mother to abandon her family. He was also the one keeping Miles Zapo in a cage. Those facts were hard to rationalize, and as she thought of them, her blood began to boil. Most kids had a chance to know their fathers at least a little before beginning to resent them. Fern’s progression of feelings, like everything else in her life, seemed compressed and out of order. She’d only known about this man for less than a minute, and she’d been unable to stop herself from hating him.
Fern was also angry at the Commander. How many times had Fern asked her mother if she knew anything about her father? The Commander always said she had no idea who he was, but Fern suspected that wasn’t true.
As soon as Mrs. Lin confirmed Fern’s guess that Silver Tooth was her father, with the words “I believe he is,” dozens of questions flooded Fern’s mind. She no longer cared that they were late for the scheduled gathering in the lobby. She wanted to stay on the third level of the gift shop until she got some answers.
“Here you are!” Candace Tutter exclaimed as she approached the group. The first thing Candace noticed was Lindsey Lin’s tear-streaked face. Candace had never before exchanged a word with the popular eighth grader. The two were, in Candace’s own words, in “different social strata.” However, standing there witnessing Lindsey Lin’s obvious distress made her feel incredibly awkward. Lindsey had backed up Candace when she needed it most after the food fight. Was that a signal that they were friends now? If so, did that mean Candace should say something encouraging? Not knowing what else to do, Candace selfconsciously looked down at the zigzag-patterned carpet.
“Hello,” Mrs. Lin said. “I was doing one last sweep in order to corral any stragglers still in the gift shop. We should all head downstairs.”
Mrs. Lin put her arm on Fern’s back, guiding her toward the staircase that led down to the first floor.
“Fern,” Mrs. Lin said as Candace, Sam, and Lindsey looked on, “we’ll discuss your interest in an independent trip to the Portrait Gallery later, perhaps at dinner.”
“Okay,” Fern said.
Candace thought Fern seemed to be in a trance. She couldn’t wait to get alone with her friend and find out what was the matter. And why Lindsey Lin was crying.
As they were racing down the stairs, with Mrs. Lin close behind, Sam tapped his sister on the shoulder.
“We’ll figure everything out. Don’t worry . . . okay?” He whispered it, but Candace was a well-practiced eavesdropper and heard every word. Candace was sure something important had just happened, but she hadn’t a clue what it was. The next entry in her journal must await additional information.
When they reached the lobby of the Air and Space Museum, Headmaster Mooney tapped his watch with his index finger at Mrs. Lin and the group. They were the last to arrive. The Commander raised her eyebrows curiously when she saw Mrs. Lin, Sam, Lindsey, and Candace all together. She shot Fern a puzzled glance, but Fern pretended not to see it.
“Sorry, Ralph. We had a little accident, but everything’s under control,” Mrs. Lin explained. Candace was puzzled. Accident? She had discovered the four of them talking calmly. The Commander tried to inch closer to Fern to see if she could overhear anything.
“I understand, May. I hope you realize, though, that when a group’s chaperone is not here at the appointed time, I have more than a dozen kids milling around with no supervision. It’s very hard to stay organized under those conditions.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Lin responded. She restrained herself from lashing out at Ralph Mooney. The events of the day had left her nerves frazzled. She and Mike had been through trying times in their years together, but she’d never been forced to rely on a mere child for help—even if that child was as extraordinary as Fern McAllister. Mrs. Lin realized it was the only way, but she felt a tremendous sense of responsibility and doubt. If anything should happen to the girl . . . she would never be able to forgive herself. Ultimately, Ralph Mooney wasn’t worth wasting her energy. Especially when there were so many real problems to confront.
“My apologies,” Mrs. Lin added, feigning politeness. “It won’t happen again.”
Headmaster Mooney smiled. He silently wished that every parent chaperone was as cooperative as May Lin. Mary Lou McAllister, for instance, was often disrespectful, and nothing but a problem. But what did he expect from someone who had produced the second most troublesome student in St. Gregory’s history, Fern McAllister? Although he had to admit that day by day, Fern was gaining on Tucker Snude for the number one spot.
Candace and Fern didn’t have to look far for their group when they reached the lobby. Headmaster Mooney was still their replacement chaperone, taking the place of Mrs. Phillips, who had been left behind to deal with her misbehaving daughter. They got in line behind him with the rest of the Lincoln students.
“What was that about, Fern?” Candace asked.
“What?” Fern said.
“Why were you talking with Mrs. Lin? Had Lindsey been crying?”
“Hold on a sec. . . .”
Fern, taking advantage of the fact that Headmaster Mooney’s back was turned, darted over to the Washington group. Preston Buss was near the back, showing Taylor something on his cell phone.
“Hey,” Fern said. Normally, especially in light of their last interaction, Fern would have been nervous talking to Preston. She didn’t have time to be nervous, though. “Will you save a seat for me?”
“Um, sure,” Preston Buss said, confused. Fern began to run back toward her group. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Taylor elbow Preston playfully with raised eyebrows. Preston smiled sheepishly.
Candace scrutinized Fern the whole time and when Fern rejoined her, she waited a moment, considering what question to pose first. She decided the more general the better.
“Why are you acting so strangely?” Candace asked. If Fern hadn’t been too preoccupied to notice the vulnerability Candace wore on her face, she might have hesitated before answering.
“I’m going to sit with Preston on the way back to the hotel,” Fern said quickly.
Candace looked at Fern, shocke
d. She thought that their bond had been permanent. Clearly, she’d been a fool.
“Oh. Okay.” Candace replied meekly. She tried to keep from showing her disappointment. She was silent as she and Fern waited in line to board the bus. Maybe, Candace thought, she’d misread the classic signs of friendship. Had she become biased by her own desires? If so, it was certainly an amateur mistake.
As she watched Fern bob and weave, making her way to the back of the bus where Preston was sitting, Candace thought about how quickly she and Fern had become friends. Now the friendship seemed to be slipping away just as quickly.
Candace scooted into her customary seat directly behind the last row of chaperones, reminding herself that she’d made it this far in school without a real friend. The logical part of her told her she’d be fine if Fern McAllister never returned to sit next to her again. But the rest of her—the emotional part that she had less control over—told her she wouldn’t.
In Candace’s mind, there was only one solution. She had to find out what Fern was hiding. The sooner the better.
“Do you still have your harmonica with you?” Fern felt like she was shouting at a concert. Headmaster Mooney normally made sure the decibels inside the bus didn’t rise above a reasonable level, but the day was winding down, and all that was left for Headmaster Mooney was to make sure the sixty-four St. Gregory’s students got fed before he could retreat to his Marriott suite, so he instructed the bus driver to turn up the music and closed his eyes.
Preston reached into his Burton jacket. He waved the harmonica in Fern’s face.
“Can you teach me to play it?”
This wasn’t how Preston had imagined things going between himself and Fern McAllister. Though he’d been secretly excited by the fact that Fern had asked to sit next to him, she was confusing him with her businesslike demeanor.
Fern, on the other hand, wasn’t confused at all. In fact, as time passed, she’d become increasingly single-minded. It was how she was learning to deal with the constant dramatic turns in her life. If she blocked everything else out except the task at hand, it was less overwhelming.
And right now, her task was to get her hands on a musical instrument and learn how to play it.
“Now?” Preston said, looking around nervously at the other students on the bus. No one was paying attention to them, but with all the noise around him, he could hardly hear himself think.
“Why not?” Fern said, smiling at Preston. He smiled back.
“Well, it’s not rocket science or anything. But people do say that the harmonica is the easiest musical instrument to learn and the hardest to get really good at.”
“Then we’d better start with something easy,” Fern said.
Preston put the harmonica to his lips and played a chord. He then held the side with the ten holes in it up for Fern to see.
“The easiest thing to do is play a chord,” Preston said. “If you hold your thumb over a few of the holes, and then blow, you get a certain sound.”
Preston showed Fern how a chord was played. The harmonica, which had seemed so loud as Preston and Fern sat on the bench in front of the Washington Monument, was muted here among the boisterous students and pumped-up music on the bus speakers. The first time he handed it to Fern, she was tempted to wipe it off before lifting it to her own mouth but decided that Preston might take it the wrong way and be terribly insulted.
Fern hadn’t realized that blowing and sucking on the harmonica produced different sounds—or that sucking in was allowed at all. Preston patiently taught her a few chords and notes, and Fern practiced them. It was harder than it looked. Finally she felt like she got the hang of the few notes that Preston had taught her—carefully remembering which holes to blow into and when to suck in air.
Satisfied, Preston grabbed the instrument back. “Now you put it all together.” Preston put the harmonica to his lips and closed his eyes. The song started slowly, but Fern recognized the tune immediately, watching Preston’s mouth move up and down the instrument as his hand fluttered on the other side.
When Preston started over, Fern began to sing along. “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me.”
Preston stopped playing. “Your voice isn’t half bad.”
“It isn’t half good, either.” Fern grinned and Preston laughed.
“We could go on tour,” he said. “And be mediocre together.”
“Can I borrow your harmonica for the night?” Fern asked.
Preston paused. “Well, I mean . . . I don’t see why not.”
“I want to practice,” Fern explained. She grew nervous at the thought of Preston getting suspicious. “I’ll give it back tomorrow.”
Preston considered the proposition—it would mean that Fern would have a reason to come see him the next day, in order to return it.
“Patience isn’t a strength of yours, is it?” Preston said. His tone was playful, and Fern instantly relaxed.
“My mom says that I was born without any.”
“Patience is way overrated anyway,” Preston said. He stuck his hand out in front of him and opened it. Fern grabbed the harmonica and carefully put it in the pocket of her coat.
“I expect you to have 'Amazing Grace’ down pat by tomorrow.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” Fern said, thinking that she had to know only a few bars.
“Same goes for you. It’s very hard to play the harmonica that way.”
Mrs. Lin had used the bus ride back to the Marriott to figure out how she could talk to Fern out of earshot of the rest of the group. She decided that she’d have to come up with a cover story for Headmaster Mooney and anyone else who asked. Lying had never really been her strong suit, though, so she devised a different plan. As the platters of beef, chicken, and vegetarian tacos were being set up in one of the Marriott’s banquet rooms, the St. Gregory’s students jockeyed for the best table position. Lindsey wound up sitting with her three roommates, and Sam sat with his. The round tables comfortably seated six, but there were more than enough tables, so most had only four students. A much more formal technology conference had taken place in the same room, before the St. Gregory’s dinner, and floor-length black tablecloths remained from that event.
Fern and Candace occupied the only table where there were just two students. Candace was happy to have Fern back at her side again and thrilled that Blythe and Lee were still nowhere to be found, but she still couldn’t dispel the notion that it was only temporary. Fern had seemed utterly distracted as they got their food, hovering around the salsa and guacamole station, eyeing the chaperone table. Candace couldn’t figure exactly what Fern was staring at.
“Fern, I’ve designated you to help me clean up after everyone heads upstairs to their rooms for the night.” Mrs. Lin was right behind Candace. Candace turned around in her chair.
“Okay,” Fern said, barely able to contain her excitement.
“I’ll stay too, Mrs. Lin,” Candace added.
“That’s very nice of you to offer, Candace, but it won’t be necessary. Sam and Lindsey have already been assigned to help as well. You can go on up to your room when you’re done.”
Fern chomped on her taco. There was no mistaking the bland Washington, DC, variety of Mexican food for the kind she got at home in San Juan Capistrano.
“So what did you talk to Preston Buss about on the way home?” Candace said. The forty-five-minute trip in the rush hour traffic had been a lonely ride for her.
“I asked him if I could borrow his harmonica,” Fern said. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the shiny silver instrument. Candace picked it up and held it close to her face to examine it.
“What are you going to do with it?”
“Oh, I don’t know . . . practice a little. I figure if Blythe and Lee haven’t been sent home, we can drive them crazy with it all night.”
Candace smiled brightly. Fern had used the word “we.” Fern McAllister and she were a we again. This fact didn’t diminish h
er resolve to execute the plan she’d just concocted.
“Did you know that music authorities say that though the harmonica is the easiest musical instrument to learn, it’s the hardest musical instrument to master?”
“Preston told me that on the bus.”
“Do you like him?”
“Who?”
“Preston.”
“Sure, he’s nice,” Fern replied.
“But do you like like him?”
Fern thought about it. She definitely got nervous around him. Still, she didn’t really have time to like like him. She didn’t have time to like like anyone.
“I don’t think so.”
Candace and Fern continued to make small talk until most of the room had emptied as students finished their meals and returned to their rooms. With the early six thirty a.m. roll call each day, most of the seventh and eighth graders couldn’t wait for their heads to hit the pillows.
But Fern felt like her day was just beginning.
“So I’ll see you upstairs?” Fern said, trying to nudge Candace out of the way so she could get to the part of the evening she’d been anticipating.
“Yeah, okay,” Candace said, getting up from the table. “Don’t forget the harmonica.” Candace pointed down at the musical instrument.
“Thanks.”
Candace walked toward the lobby in the direction of the elevator bank. She didn’t look back once, in case Fern was watching her leave. But when she got to the doorway, she slid past it and pressed herself up against the wall of the hallway outside the banquet room. Slowly she bent her neck around so she could barely scan the room. Fern had gotten up and was taking her paper plate to the trash can at the opposite end of the large banquet room. Candace quickly decided on the best table location, made a mad dash toward her chosen spot, and slipped under the long tablecloth.
It was dark. But the black tablecloth insured that no one would see her and she’d be able to hear everything. All she had to do now was wait.
Chapter 17
The Siren's Cry Page 15
