Dawn's Family Feud

by Ann M. Martin

  “A boat!” he cried. “That’s even better. We’ll put her on one of those big sailing ships in Boston Harbor. It’d be years before we ever saw her again.”

  Knock, knock.

  “It’s her,” Jeff whispered.

  “She’s probably going to tell us that the adults are boring and she wants to come back to our room.”

  “But we won’t let her,” Jeff said with a sly smile.

  “Right.” I agreed with Jeff. Mary Anne was the one who had walked out on us. “She’ll just have to suffer.”

  I glared at the door and called, “Come in.”

  To my surprise, it wasn’t Mary Anne, but her dad who stuck his head through the door.

  “Ready to be tourists?” Richard asked.

  Jeff flopped on the bed, looking extra-bored. “I guess. If we have to.”

  “Good.” Richard ignored Jeff’s behavior. “Then we’ll begin at the Freedom Trail.”

  Jeff sat up. “I thought we were going to see Boston, not some trail through the woods.”

  Richard chuckled and shoved his glasses up on his nose with one finger. “The Freedom Trail is a walking tour of Boston’s historical sights.”

  “You mean like museums?” Jeff had seen enough of those in Stoneybrook.

  “Yes, there are museums,” Richard said, “but the Freedom Trail is more than that. It’s like traveling back through time. Back to the moment when our forefathers first broke away from England and formed a new country. We’ll visit the Old South Meeting House where the colonists met to plan the rebellion called the Boston Tea Party. We’ll visit Faneuil Hall, and discover why it’s called the Cradle of Liberty. We’ll tour Paul Revere’s house. That’s where he was living when he took the midnight ride crying, ‘The British are coming! The British are coming!’ ”

  “Richard, you sound so excited,” I said, chuckling. “They should hire you to make a TV commercial for Boston.”

  “I can’t help it,” Richard said. “Boston’s one of my favorite cities.”

  “Why is it called the Freedom Trail? Is it made of dirt?” Jeff asked.

  Richard smiled mysteriously. “Let’s go see.”

  Mary Anne and Mom had changed into their walking shoes and were waiting for us in the hall. Mom said hello, but Mary Anne was silent. We took the elevator down to the lobby and then hurried out onto the street.

  Richard gestured grandly for us to stand still. Then he said, “The first stop on our tour is the Parker House Hotel.”

  “Our hotel?” I asked.

  “That’s right. Turn around and take a look at the nation’s oldest hotel in continuous operation. Among some of its most noteworthy guests were Charles Dickens and John Wilkes Booth.”

  “The guy who assassinated Lincoln?” Jeff asked. He stood looking up at the building for several seconds and then said, “I wonder if he stayed in our room.”

  “I hope not,” I said with a shudder. “I’d much prefer Charles Dickens.”

  Mom led us across the street to our next stop on the Freedom Trail. It was a marble building with six pillars across the front and a square tower on top. “This is King’s Chapel,” Mom announced. “The first Unitarian church in America.”

  Richard, who was studying one of the numerous books that he had crammed into his pocket, said, “It is also the first church designed by mail order plans. Oh! And look at this.” Richard stepped up to one of the pillars and knocked on it. “This pillar is made out of wood and painted to look like marble.”

  That impressed all of us. We each took turns saying, “Knock on wood!” and rapping our knuckles against the pillars.

  The burial ground next to King’s Chapel was surrounded by a low black iron fence. “Dawn, this should interest you.” Richard read from his guide book. “This burying ground is the oldest in the city.”

  “Look at that weird gravestone,” Jeff said, pointing at something between two of the marble tombstones.

  Mary Anne rolled her eyes at Jeff. “That’s not a gravestone, silly. That’s a ventilator shaft for the ‘T’ — Boston’s subway.”

  “Oh.” Jeff stared at the ground, embarrassed. Mary Anne didn’t have to act like Ms. Know-it-All and make Jeff feel dumb. That must have hurt his feelings.

  “What’s next, Mom?” I asked, linking my arm through my mother’s and Jeff’s. “We’re ready to leave.”

  “Just follow the red brick road,” Mom said. Mom pointed to the red stripe on the sidewalk. “That’s the trail.”

  Jeff and I ducked our heads down and followed the stripe to the next stop. “Here’s a statue of Ben Franklin,” I said pointing to a huge bronze statue in front of Old City Hall. “And some other guy.”

  “That other guy,” Richard said as he followed us with his nose still in the guidebook, “is Josiah Quincy.”

  “Never heard of him,” Jeff said.

  “He was the second mayor of the city. They named Quincy Market after him,” Richard explained.

  Mary Anne, who had her own guidebook (like father, like daughter), said, “Ben Franklin’s statue is standing where Boston’s very first school used to be.” She spun around to look behind her. “The building was later moved across the street. But it says in this book that people like John Hancock actually studied here. Wow.”

  Jeff shook his head. “I didn’t know those guys even went to school.”

  Mom laughed and ruffled his hair. “Schools have been around since the beginning of time.”

  “Too bad,” Jeff cracked.

  “Look, Dad,” Mary Anne pointed to the red brick cottage with the bay windows that sat on the corner of School and Washington streets. “There’s The Old Corner Bookstore. Every author who was anybody used to hang out there.”

  Mom nodded. “Longfellow, Emerson, Hawthorne, Holmes —”

  “Sherlock Holmes was here?” Jeff asked.

  “No, silly,” Mary Anne said, rolling her eyes again. “Oliver Wendell Holmes. Sherlock Holmes is a made-up character.”

  I was tired of Mary Anne’s attitude. “The only thing that makes you smart is that guidebook,” I hissed at Mary Anne. “So quit acting like a know-it-all and quit picking on my brother.”

  Mary Anne’s lower lip quivered. For a moment I thought she might cry.

  Richard stepped between us. “Girls. There’s no need to fight. We’re all just a little tired. What we need is a nice refreshing glass of lemonade.”

  The cool drink did help. Richard bought them from a street vendor with a red wagon under a striped green umbrella. We were in a small park area directly in front of the Old South Meeting House. We sat on wooden benches and sipped our lemonade while Richard continued his history lesson.

  “This is the place,” Richard said, gesturing at the red brick church with the white steeple, “where the townspeople met and planned the famous, or I guess I should say, infamous, Boston Tea Party.”

  Now here’s what floored me. For the first time, Mary Anne admitted that she didn’t know what something was. “Was it an actual party?” she asked.

  “No.” Richard laughed. “It was more of a raid. The people were so upset about the new British tax on tea that they held a meeting to discuss the problem. Afterward, a lot of them dressed up like Indians and boarded the three big ships sitting in the harbor. The ships held huge cargo loads of tea which the Bostonians dumped in the harbor.”

  “Boy, I bet that made the British mad,” I said.

  Mom nodded. “They were so mad that they closed the port. Nothing could come in or go out.”

  By this time we’d finished our drinks and were ready to move on. Mary Anne and I hadn’t even looked at each other since our argument by the bookstore. We certainly weren’t talking to each other. We just talked to our parents.

  “Mom,” I said, standing up and stretching, “where to next?”

  Richard, who was examining his map for the millionth time, said, “It looks like our next stop is the Old State House where Bostonians first heard the Declaration of Independ
ence.”

  We passed the Old State House, pausing to look at the circle of cobblestones which mark the site where the Boston Massacre happened in 1770. Then we moved on to Faneuil Hall. Now you’d never know how to pronounce Faneuil just by looking at it on paper. We spotted a tour guide leading a group from a blue trolley car across the bricks to the Marketplace. Mom asked him how to pronounce the name. Are you ready? Fan-yoo-ell.

  Anyway, Fan-yoo-ell Hall Marketplace is amazing. It’s this huge marketplace packed with people and street performers and flower vendors. We saw three guys juggling flaming batons and a couple of mimes pretending to be wind-up toys. There was even a guy playing the bagpipes dressed in a kilt. Across from Faneuil Hall is Quincy Market which has every kind of food stall you can imagine.

  The first floor of Faneuil Hall has always been a market with all sorts of shops. The top half of it is used to be a meeting hall where orators and statesmen would meet.

  “It’s called the Cradle of Liberty,” Richard explained to us as we shuffled through the crowded square toward the entrance, “because this is where the first protests against the British were voiced.”

  Richard wanted to talk more about the history, but I couldn’t wait to go shopping. (I brought along every penny I’d saved from baby-sitting.)

  Mary Anne said she wanted to tour the upstairs part of Faneuil Hall with Richard. Mom said she’d take Jeff and me through the Marketplace. So we agreed to pick up food at Quincy Market (there are more than thirty-nine food stalls selling everything from exotic teas and cheese to baked beans) and then have a picnic dinner across the street in Waterfront Park.

  When Richard and Mary Anne had left, Jeff turned to me with a big grin on his face and whispered, “Yay, it’s just the Schafers. Alone at last.”

  “Jeff!” Mom called from her bedroom. “Make sure we have extra film for the camera. This is going to be the photo opportunity of a lifetime.”

  “I’ve got three rolls,” Jeff said, patting the nylon pack he wore around his waist.

  “Be sure and bring a jacket,” I said to Mom. “They say it can get pretty cold out there in the harbor.”

  “I’ve got my jacket and rubber-soled shoes,” Mom replied.

  Mary Anne had been sitting on one of the beds in the other room watching us run back and forth preparing for the day’s outing. “What if you don’t see any whales?” she asked. “Won’t that be a huge waste of time?”

  “We’ll see whales,” I shot back. “It says in all of the brochures that you see them ninety-eight percent of the time.”

  Mary Anne persisted. “But what if you don’t see them?”

  Mom stepped between us and draped her arm across my shoulder. “Then we’ll have had a very pleasant cruise together. Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

  Mary Anne folded her arms across her chest. “Positive. Dad and I are going to the Museum of Fine Arts this morning. Then we’re going to have lunch at the Bostonian Hotel and visit the Boston Tea Party Museum.”

  “That sounds lovely,” Mom said as Richard came into the room. She smiled and added, “I wish I could join you.”

  Jeff slipped his windbreaker on and said, “That’s okay, Mom. Museums are for wimps.”

  Mom shot Jeff a stern look. “That’s not true, Jeff, and you know it.”

  Jeff looked hurt. I could tell he expected Mom to take his side. But she wouldn’t side with anyone. Neither would Richard.

  “We landlubbers will meet you in the lobby after you get back,” Richard said. “Let’s synchronize our watches. Then you can tell us about your whale adventure and we’ll tell you about the museums.”

  “I can’t wait,” Jeff muttered under his breath.

  I jabbed him in the ribs. Richard was just trying to be nice and make Mom happy. Jeff didn’t have to be so surly all the time.

  We rode the elevator to the lobby together, but only Mom and Richard spoke to each other. Then we split up outside the hotel. Mom, Jeff, and I headed for Central Wharf.

  A crowd of people were waiting at the pier when we arrived. A lot of them were clutching cups of hot coffee and holding coats and blankets in their arms. It gets cold out on the ocean!

  The Queen of Nantucket looks like a big ferryboat. It has an upper and a lower deck. The lower deck is only six feet above the water line. You can almost put your hand in the water. When it was time to board, Jeff raced up the gangplank and grabbed a bench for us on the upper deck.

  “We’ll be heading west by northwest to the whales’ feeding grounds,” our guide’s voice said over the intercom. “It’s called Jeffrey’s Ledge.”

  “Dawn!” Jeff exclaimed. “Did you hear that? The whales are having breakfast at my ledge.”

  “They also gather on Stellwagen Bank,” the guide continued. “The bank is shallow — approximately one hundred fifty feet deep. Sediment from Massachusetts enriches the ocean floor and makes it an excellent breeding ground for plankton and plant life. This is a perfect time to be whale-watching, folks. I feel confident that we’ll see quite a few of our ocean friends today.”

  It took about an hour and a half to reach Jeffrey’s Ledge. In that time, Jeff and I explored every inch of the ship. We visited the captain’s cabin, the cafeteria and snack bar, and browsed through the gift shop, which had a distinct whale theme. I saw rubber whales for the bathtub, whale T-shirts, whale hats, whale posters, and whale books. We decided to wait to buy anything until we’d actually seen a whale.

  We didn’t have long to wait.

  “I see one!” was the cry that came from above. Suddenly everyone was shouting at once. “There are two. No, three!”

  Jeff and I ran to the lower deck. We wanted to be close to the whales. Suddenly, one of them leapt out of the water. It was a humpback whale about fifty feet long. Can you imagine? That’s as big as a school bus. It was gray and black with little white spots on its body and grooves that extended from the tip of its long snout down the center of its stomach. Water shot high in the air as it dove into the ocean.

  “Look over there!” Jeff cried. “It’s just a tail. He looks like he’s dancing.”

  Jeff was right. The humpback must have been standing on his head as he slapped the water from side to side with what is called his fluke.

  By this time Mom had joined us on the lower deck. “Isn’t this thrilling?” she cried, as another whale leapt in the air. “They play almost like dolphins.”

  It was true. For such huge mammals, they seemed awfully active. We were enjoying watching them play until the one who had been standing on his head suddenly made a beeline for our boat. He looked like a giant torpedo cruising through the water.

  “Mom, he’s going to hit us!” I cried. “What’ll we do?”

  Mom clutched our arms and pulled us toward the wall of the ship. “Brace yourselves!”

  At the last minute, the whale turned and nudged the side of the boat with a soft thud. You’ll never guess what happened next. The whale rolled onto its side and began scratching his back against the hull of the boat. Isn’t that fantastic?

  After we’d bought souvenirs and postcards from the boat’s gift shop, we rode the ferry back to Boston. What a great morning!

  On our way home from the wharf, we found a cute little vegetarian restaurant called Say Cheese! and ate lunch. Then we hurried to meet Mary Anne and Richard. They were in the lobby waiting for us.

  “Well,” Richard said with a big smile, “did you see a whale?”

  “We saw a whole pod of whales,” Jeff answered. “It was fantastic!”

  “Oh, Richard,” Mom said, “they were magnificent. I wish you could have seen them.”

  “I do, too.” I could tell by the look on Richard’s face that he really was disappointed that he had missed the whale-watching trip. “But we had a good time,” he said, smiling at Mary Anne. “Didn’t we, honey?”

  “We could have spent all day at the Museum of Fine Arts’ Egyptian collection,” Mary Anne said. “But I loved seeing the Impressioni
st paintings. They have forty-three Monets.”

  “It sounds heavenly.” Mom sighed. I realized that she wished she’d had a chance to go to the Museum of Fine Arts.

  Mom and Richard exchanged sad looks. “Oh, well. Next time,” Mom murmured.

  “Now on to the rest of the day.” Richard clapped his hands together. “What do you say we go to the New England Aquarium?”

  “Yes!” all of us but Jeff cried.

  “I don’t want to go there,” he said.

  “Why not?” Mom asked. “It’s the number-one attraction in the city. A must see.”

  “Listen to this, Jeff.” Richard pulled a brochure out of his pocket and read, “ ‘The New England Aquarium has the largest cylindrical saltwater tank in the world. It is four stories high.’ ”

  “Wow,” I gasped, looking at Jeff. He didn’t seem impressed.

  Richard continued reading, “ ‘There are over seven thousand specimens and five times a day, divers go into the tank for feedings.’ ”

  “There are also dolphin and sea lion shows,” I added, remembering that Jeff usually likes that sort of thing.

  Jeff shrugged. “We saw seals playing outside the aquarium when we left Central Wharf. I don’t need to see them again.”

  “Oh, come on, Jeff,” Mom pleaded. “The aquarium is supposed to be spectacular. I know you’ll love it.”

  “Mom,” Jeff whined. “We just spent five hours on the ocean. I don’t feel like looking at any more fish or water.”

  Mom and I really wanted to go to the aquarium, but we couldn’t leave Jeff. And I didn’t feel comfortable going with Richard and Mary Anne. So Jeff, Mom, and I wound up at the Museum of Science.

  Back at the hotel that night, we met for dinner but couldn’t agree on anything.

  “Should we try some Middle Eastern food?” Mom asked as we changed our clothes.

  “That sounds good,” I said.

  “I feel like Chinese food,” Mary Anne said.

  Richard’s face brightened. “I could go for Chinese. Chow mein, egg rolls, and that other stuff, moo goo something.”