The Atomic Weight of Secrets or The Arrival of the Mysterious Men in Black

by Eden Unger Bowditch

  Clinging to one another, hunger falling unnoticed behind fear and confusion, Jasper and Lucy were shuffled into the waiting carriage, where silence prevailed. Within an hour, the family was on a train to Dover and, by that evening, on a ship headed for America. Still no words had passed between parents and children. No explanation. No comforting assurance that all would be fine.

  Lucy had that charm bracelet in her mouth throughout their days at sea. Jasper was sure that, had the bracelet and charms not been made of something seemingly indestructible, Lucy’s nervous nibbles would have mangled it beyond recognition. She sometimes seemed to be getting awfully close to her wrist. This horrified Jasper, bringing to mind a story about his grandfather, who had once found, in a bear trap, the leg of a raccoon. The creature had found it preferable to chew off its own leg than be taken prisoner into some terrifying unknown.

  With a simple, soft touch, Jasper had taken to gently urging Lucy’s wrist from her mouth. This worked, but only temporarily, so he began holding her braceleted hand in his as they walked. Their matching bracelets always seemed to interact oddly with each other, making an interesting tinkling noise as they jangled against one another, sometimes becoming entwined. The two siblings had tried at times to fit the odd-shaped charms together. Jasper, who loved puzzles, was convinced that whoever had made the bracelets had done a rather poor job. The charms never really fit.

  After a week at sea, the family arrived in New York City, where they were met by another big black carriage with shaded windows and gold trim around all four doors. It had an oversized top, which made the inside seem huge and cavernous. It was driven by a big coachman dressed in a black suit with gold trim, who wore an oversized coachman’s cap and dark oval glasses. The coachman, in fact, looked very much like the carriage he was driving.

  The carriage driver took them to a train station in the middle of Manhattan. New York City was enormous—almost as big as London—and at least as crowded, but Jasper and Lucy didn’t get to see much of it before they were hurried into the station and onto a waiting locomotive by a man in a long black dressing robe with a big black babushka on his head.

  As on the ship, Lucy and Jasper had their own compartment. Their parents’ compartment was the next room over, connected by an adjoining door. The children’s room had bunk beds, a washbasin, and a table. Both children had been on trains in London, but neither had ever been on a sleeping train.

  Together, Jasper and Lucy climbed to the top bunk and watched out the window as the train began to move from the station. If it had not been for the fear of what lay ahead, the ride would have been wonderful. But worry hung like thunder over them, rumbling with promise of something unwanted.

  Lucy took the bracelet and wrist out of her mouth and clung to Jasper with both hands. They felt the rocking of the train get stronger as it sped into the night. In the moonlight, Jasper could see fear in his sister’s eyes.

  “What’s going to happen?” she asked.

  Jasper didn’t have a clue, but he couldn’t tell her that.

  “Well, different things, surely,” came Jasper’s weak offering, “but everything will be all right.”

  “Will it really be all right?” she pleaded. Lucy’s wide eyes showed utter trust in her brother. Jasper didn’t want to let her down, and knew he had to tell the truth. She remembered absolutely everything and she’d never forgive him if he lied.

  Not that he ever would. Not to Lucy.

  “I certainly hope so, Luce,” he said. “If not, we’ll make it right.” Just how he planned to do that was beyond his ken at that moment.

  That night, they made a rather big puddle on the floor of their cabin. The puddle was water that splashed from the wash basin. First, Jasper spilled as he poured the nearly cold water into the basin. Pouring water on a train is not a simple task. Next, Lucy splashed her face and most of the cabin in her attempts to wash up. Needless to say, after they washed, the children had to change into a second pair of nightclothes.

  No one had come to help them. Lucy and Jasper could hear their parents’ voices through the wall, but they could not hear what was being said. When Lucy pulled open the door to ask if Mummy or Daddy could tuck her in, she could see that someone else was in the compartment with them—someone with a voice that Lucy had never heard before, because, surely, if she had heard it, she would have remembered.

  It was a man wearing what looked like a fluffy black wooly jumper and a floppy black hat he wore pulled down to his nose. He had on a pair of dark shaded glasses so Lucy couldn’t see his eyes.

  Lucy’s father stood and walked to the door. Lucy opened her mouth to say something, but Tobias Modest closed the door without a word, flipped the lock, and nearly pinched the tip of Lucy’s nose. He hadn’t even said “goodnight.”

  Climbing into her bunk, her charm bracelet between her teeth, Lucy stifled the tears that threatened to fall. Jasper climbed down and tucked his sister in, kissing her on the nose and on the forehead. This is what their mother did when she was not away from home and not busy with something else, and when she remembered to come and tuck in her children at night. Then, Jasper climbed back into his bunk.

  They could still hear the voices next door, but they were much more muffled. Lucy got out of her bunk and climbed up into her brother’s. Neither Modest child fell asleep easily that night, even though the train trundled along like a great cradle, rocking from side to side.

  Later that night, it was Lucy, in the upper bunk with Jasper, who noticed the crack of light coming through the top of the doorway. Jasper had begun to doze in earnest when someone turned the lock. Pressing close to her brother, Lucy shut her eyes quickly so whoever was coming through the door would think she was asleep, too.

  Lucy felt soft lips upon her forehead and realized it was her mother. “Bonne nuit, ma chére petite fille,” Isabelle Modest crooned softly. Lucy didn’t notice as her mother unhooked the clasp on the bracelet that the little girl had worn as far back as she could remember—and that was very far back—but she did notice when Isabelle Modest slid the bracelet off her wrist. Then, she did the same with Jasper’s. “Je les en ai besoin, mes chers,” she said softly, explaining that she needed to take them, speaking to what she believed to be her two sleeping children. “Mais... j’espére... je souhaite...” Isabelle Modest began, but what she hoped and wished was not expressed aloud.

  Tobias Modest stepped into the cabin and walked over to the bunks, placing his hand on his wife’s shoulder. The two walked out, the crack of light bending, then disappearing, as they closed the door behind them.

  Lucy turned over and clung to Jasper. Her wrist went instinctively to her mouth, but there was nothing to chew. It was then and there, for the first time, that Lucy brought a finger to her lips, and she began to nibble at her nail. She buried her face into her brother’s back, and slowly fell into a fitful sleep.

  In the morning, Jasper and Lucy lay together in Jasper’s upper bunk, looking at the rolling countryside from the window. They both waited to be fetched for breakfast, but no one came. They knocked on the adjoining door, but no one answered. The door was still locked. They could hear no voices from the other side.

  Jasper and Lucy thought that their parents might still be asleep. The children dressed and left the cabin, thinking to try the hallway door. They knocked and the door fell open. The room was tidy, as if no one had been there. Neither their parents nor their parents’ belongings were anywhere to be found.

  “There’s nothing under the table, then?” Jasper asked, helping his sister out of the tight space.

  “Not even a crumb,” said Lucy.

  “Not even a crumb?” asked Jasper, amazed. “On a train?”

  They searched the room thoroughly, including behind the closet door, and in the water closet. They even checked under the bunks. Nothing—not even a speck of dust or dirt. The beds looked as if no one had ever slept in them. The carpet looked as if it had never been trodden upon.

  The children walked
down the hallway in hopes of finding their parents or someone who knew where to find them. They even hoped to find that odd man Lucy had seen, or the others who had come to their house that fateful evening. They went up to the observatory, back to the caboose, and all the way to the engine. Along the way, they peeked into the dining car, which smelled of breakfast and coffee, and the lounge car, where well-fed travelers reclined in well-stuffed chairs, well-stuffed themselves with breakfast. To the great displeasure and dismay of several inhabitants, the two Modest children peeked into private compartments that were unlocked or ajar. Unable to find either their mother or their father, Jasper and Lucy shuffled toward the smell of sausages, eggs, and coffee.

  They sat themselves down at a dining car table for four in hopes their parents would arrive with an explanation. After waiting a half an hour, they ate breakfast on their own. They had ordered eggs, but when the man in the black apron brought the food, Lucy found she couldn’t eat them, because they jiggled too much as the train bumped along. She nibbled on the corner of a piece of toast, tearing bits from around the edges. If nothing else, this kept her from crying. Jasper, on the other hand, ate four eggs, sausage, bacon, tomatoes, and three scones smothered in strawberry jam and clotted cream. For later use, he placed two more scones in his pocket, not knowing what might happen next. He and Lucy thanked the steward, who looked at them sadly. He hadn’t seen either of their parents on this journey, he had said when they had asked him. Jasper and Lucy walked back from the dining car to their cabin.

  The two leather cases that held all their personal things were now packed and sitting at the door of their compartment, which was otherwise completely empty. Like their parents’ cabin, theirs had been scrubbed top to bottom, as if no one had ever been in it. Even the big wet spot on the carpet where Jasper had spilled from the pitcher was gone. The two Modest children sat in silence, gazing out the window, wondering where this train was taking them and what was happening to their lives. They sat and watched the countryside change as the sun moved across the sky.

  “My bracelet!” Jasper said suddenly. He startled Lucy, who was deeply involved with a hangnail on her third finger. “Lucy, where are our bracelets?” It was not until this moment that he realized the bracelets were gone.

  “Mummy took them,” Lucy said, her face sad and her voice resigned.

  “When?”

  “When we were asleep. Well, you were asleep. I was almost asleep, but you were totally asleep. I was more like pretending.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Jasper tried not to shout, but suddenly, for the first time, it truly, deeply, painfully felt like his entire world was crashing down around him, and he was helplessly watching.

  “We were so busy, investigating.” Lucy’s eyes were frightened. “I didn’t think it would help find them. I’m sorry.”

  Jasper opened his mouth to scold, but stopped. What difference did it make now? Lucy was right.

  “Why,” he said, swallowing, “why did Mummy take them, Lucy?”

  “She said she would need them.”

  This, to Jasper, seemed utterly absurd. “Need them? For what? Grandmother gave them to us when we were small—so small we don’t even remember. They were ours, we always had them, they... they were ours.” Jasper found himself crying. Lucy was crying too now, right into his shirt. “She didn’t say anything?” Jasper said, wishing he hadn’t gotten so upset in front of Lucy.

  “Just that she wished...”

  “Wished what?” asked Jasper.

  Lucy sat up a bit and cocked her head to one side. Then she shook it. “She didn’t say. Just that she would need them both, but not for any particular thing.”

  “What could she need a charm bracelet for? Two children’s charm bracelets? It’s not like they’re made of gold, or belong to King Edward or something. They don’t do anything. They’re ours.” He noticed Lucy chewing on her torn fingernails. “Stop that!” Jasper said grumpily.

  How could his parents leave him to take care of Lucy, let alone himself, on a train, in a foreign country, without his charm bracelet? This was not right. He put his arm protectively around Lucy’s shoulder.

  Well, he would take care of her. Clearly, no one else was going to do it.

  The train ended its journey in Dayton, Ohio in the early afternoon. No one came to fetch them from the cabin. No one let them know where to go. Jasper and Lucy took their bags and walked to the exit at the back of their train car. They looked out at the sea of people, waiting to greet their long-awaited arrivals. Among the coaches and horses and carts, Jasper and Lucy saw the one they knew had to be theirs—a big black carriage, like the ones that had taken them from their home to the ship, and then from the ship to the train. Gingerly, the two children stepped down from the train.

  As soon as they descended, a man grabbed for their bags. Jasper cried out and struggled to keep a hold of them with both hands. With a flick of the wrist, the man yanked the bags from Jasper’s grasp and, with one hand, held them well above Jasper’s reach. With the other hand, the man hustled the two children along the platform. Jasper turned to shout and, for the first time, got a good look at the man.

  Wiry, dressed in a black linen jacket and trousers much too large for his skinny frame. His hat, too, seemed much too large, and his face was invisible in the shadow it cast. It was precisely because of this strange black attire that Jasper knew this man was there to fetch them, and was not some nefarious stranger out to do them harm. Well, he might well be a nefarious stranger out to do them harm but, if so, he was their own personal nefarious stranger, and Jasper knew they had no choice but to follow. The man placed their bags next to the black carriage and disappeared into the crowd.

  “Where are our parents?” Jasper asked of a second man—this one in a black brimless hat bent at the very top and dark thick triangular glasses the same shape as his hat, as he heaved their bags up onto the carriage. The man did not answer, but he ushered the children toward the open coach door. Jasper stopped and Lucy bumped into him.

  “We’re not going anywhere with you until you tell us where our parents are,” Jasper said. “What have you done with them?”

  The man simply grabbed the children, one by one, and placed them bodily into the carriage. Jasper fought burning tears of anger and humiliation as he sat like a prisoner. Lucy clung to his arm, the little fingers of one hand digging deep into his flesh, the other hand poised against her chin. As she nibbled her nails, Jasper pulled Lucy’s hand away from her mouth. Lucy looked down, feeling a bit sheepish for having been nibbling unawares. She placed her hand firmly in her lap. Within seconds, however, once again without realizing it, she put her fingers back into her mouth. Jasper did not say a word, but simply took her hand into his and held it.

  The carriage drove them for what seemed like hours. It felt as if they went back and forth, zigzagging throughout the city. Lucy began to recite addresses as they passed the same ones periodically, first going one direction, then another. Finally, the carriage turned onto a lovely street lined with big elm trees. They pulled up in front of a grand house that stood alone on the west side of the block, no neighbors on either side. There was an expansive lawn on either side of the house, and a stone walk that led to the front steps. “One Elm Street” was written in gold letters on a sign by the gate.

  Gingerly, and with great trepidation, the children slowly descended. The driver stood by the open carriage door. He then walked around and took their bags from the trunk, set them on the pavement and then, without a word, returned to his seat on the carriage. With a flick of the wrist, he pulled the horses into a trot, and the carriage was off, the children standing alone in front of One Elm Street.

  At once, they both noticed a short round woman wearing a white apron standing at the door, waving enthusiastically. It was clear she was waving at them, because no one else was around, but neither Jasper nor Lucy had ever seen her before. As she approached, they could see that the woman’s face was rosy and jolly, and she smil
ed at the children, arms opened wide, welcoming them. It was as if she had been missing them, as if they were returning and not arriving.

  “My dears, my dears,” she said, waddling down the steps to meet them, wrapping her arms around them both. Immediately, Jasper, smothered in a giant bosom, had to catch his breath. Her arms were like a vice. “Let me look at you. I bet you’re hungry after a journey like that.”

  “Who are you?” he gasped. Lucy, too, was struggling to find air. “I mean, I’m sorry, but—”

  “Oh, Jasper, it is me who should apologize,” said the woman, pulling them back from her embrace and looking intently at both children. “I’m Rosie. I’m your Rosie. I’ll be taking care of things here at home. I’m the cook and the nanny and the nurse. And whatever you need, just ask.” She smiled again and winked. “Give me those heavy bags, my darlings,” she said, picking up their bags as if they weighed nothing. For such a short, round woman, she certainly seemed to have arms of steel. With powerful arms around the two children and a bag in each hand, Rosie walked them up the path.

  When they stepped over the threshold, both children let out a deep breath. They had been traveling so long, it was a pleasure to step into a house that really looked like a home. What they felt was an invitation to come in and be welcomed. And this house was filled with the most delicious aromas two hungry children had ever smelled.

  “I’ve got a pot of mutton stew waiting for you two,” Rosie said to Jasper and Lucy as they stood dumbfounded in the doorway. She gave each of them another hug and shuffled them into the entrance hall. Rosie’s round, squat body, as well as the clucking sound she made with her teeth, reminded the children of a mother hen rounding up her chicks.