A Summer of Sundays (26 page)

“What I should do? I’ve been trying to find a way to stand out since I got to Alma. I finally solve a huge mystery that the world is going to go crazy over, and you’re saying I shouldn’t tell anyone? Maybe you should go to my house and hang out with my family. They’re the whole reason you’re friends with me anyway. You liked Emma from the moment you saw her. Well, she would never like you, even if you were the last boy on earth.”

I knew I had hurt Jude, but I couldn’t stop the words. I didn’t want to stop them. I plunged on. “So fine. Go ahead. You can just slip into my place in the family. No one would even notice anyway. I thought you wanted to help me. I thought you were going to stick by me.”

I slammed his bedroom door and stomped out of his neat little house. What did he know? He was a stupid, fat, only child who had all the attention he could ever want, and could have whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it. How could I think he could ever understand?

Ms. Bodnar leaned out of the café as I passed. “Hi, Emma!” she shouted.

I didn’t wave or smile. I kept right on moving.

If that wasn’t reason enough to go to the newspapers, I didn’t know what was.

“Yes, that’s Sunday,” I said into the phone. “Like in the first day of the week. Then Fowler. F-O-W-L-E-R.”

“And where are you calling from, Miss Fowler?” The man on the line was asking all the wrong questions. Didn’t he want to know why I was calling? Not where I was calling from? Besides I’d already answered these same questions for two other people in his office.

“I’m living in Alma, Pennsylvania.” I needed to tell him what I’d found or he’d have me answering his silly questions all day. “You’ve heard of Lee Wren, right?”

“Of course.
The Life and Death of Birds
.”

“Well, I’m calling because I’ve found a second manuscript written by her, along with other personal items.”

The man laughed. “That’s very funny, Miss Fowler. Now that you and your friends have had a good laugh, why don’t you run along and play hopscotch.”

He thought I was joking. “If you knew anything about Lee Wren, you would know that she grew up in Alma and is also buried here. I just so happen to have recorded
tapes of her talking about the manuscript, letters that she wrote, and the manuscript, itself. But if you don’t want to come see for yourself, then maybe I’ll just call another newspaper.”

There was a brief silence. “This isn’t a prank?”

“No, it is not.”

“How old are you?”

“I’m eleven, almost twelve, though I don’t see why that should matter.”

“Can I talk to your parents?”

I knew I’d get this question and I was prepared. “You can, but they don’t know anything about this. I found the manuscript in the library when my parents were remodeling, and I’ve done all the research by myself.” I thought of Jude and forced the words out, “With a friend.”

There was a sigh from the man on the line. “Fine. I guess I can send someone down to Alma to see what this is all about. But if this is a joke, I’m warning you, my boss will take this to the police.”

“I hope he does,” I said. My heart was pumping wildly. He was sending someone down! “The library is holding a big reopening party in two days. If you’d like to come then, I’m planning on making the announcement. I’m also contacting other newspapers and TV stations about this, so I hope you’ll be smart enough to take me very seriously.”

He mumbled a quick “nice speaking with you,” and we both hung up the phone. I turned to my right, thinking that Jude was sitting there beside me, but remembered our fight. Pushing aside the words I had yelled at him, I glanced at myself in the mirror and smiled. I had done it.

And there was no going back now.

Crossing off the first newspaper on the list, I took a deep breath and clicked the phone. “On to the next.”

By the time I was done, two TV stations and five newspapers had agreed to send reporters down to Alma on Saturday to check out my story. It was really happening.

Jude’s uncertain face flashed into my head again, and I tried to shake off the guilt. What was there to feel bad about? I found the manuscript and the letters and the tapes. Shouldn’t I be able to tell the world?

I walked to the mirror and took a deep breath. “Now I’ll go and tell Ben,” I said to myself.

When I got to the house, Ben was bent over one of the flower beds, watering can in hand. He glanced up and welcomed me with a small smile.

“Hi, Sunday.” He stood up, his eyes searching behind me. “Where’s your partner in crime?”

“He decided not to come,” I said, shrugging.

Ben grunted in reply and patted the soil around one of
the flowers. “Daisies,” he said. “They were Lee’s favorite. I forget when I first started leaving them for her on her windowsill.” He looked up at me, his eyes squinting in the sun. “But you probably already know that.”

Did Jude tell Ben what we found?

Ben turned back to the garden. “No. I can tell what you’re thinking. Jude didn’t tell me anything. But it wasn’t hard to figure out what you had. Only someone who had found Lee’s story and the letters would try and sneak around the house of the most feared man in town—the man who eats raw meat—and keep coming back.”

I knew I should say something, but I didn’t know what.

“I couldn’t remember where I’d put Lee’s papers until a few weeks ago. I went to the library basement when I was helping out. The silver box had been raided.”

“Yeah, um—”

He waved off my embarrassment and continued down the flower bed with his watering can. “Don’t worry about it, Sunday. I should’ve taken those things out of there a long time ago. Truth is, I thought I had. And you, being just as smart and curious as my Lee was, found the box and opened it. But tell me, is the manuscript all right? And the letters?”

I shook my head. “I’ve taken really good care of all of it.” And I had. I sat down, the walkway warm on my bare legs. “I’m sure glad you know. Jude thought you’d mind
that we found out and that I called the newspapers, and everything.”

Ben Folger’s head jerked up. “What do you mean ‘newspapers’?”

I shrugged, my mouth instantly drying out again. He definitely didn’t look excited. “You know … the newspapers and TV stations that’ll be interested in the fact that I found a manuscript written by the famous Lee Wren.”

He sighed and sat down beside me, bringing his legs up and leaning back on his hands. He didn’t say anything. I half hoped that meant that even though he was a little disappointed, he was really fine with everything.

“And, of course, I won’t mention your name,” I said. “I don’t think they’ll figure out that you were the Mark that was in the manuscript.”

He sighed. His shoulders slumped, and when he looked up at me again, his face was droopy with sadness.

I stood up and looked out over the neatly clipped grass, attempting to push away the guilt that was now rushing over me. “I better get back.” I started away and then turned around. “I’ll be making the big announcement on Saturday at the reopening of the library.”

“Did you ever finish the story, Sunday?” he asked, his voice soft.

I shook my head. “Almost.”

“
The Life and Death of Birds
was her masterpiece. It
was beautiful—as beautiful as the person who wrote it. When it was published, I’d never seen her so happy.

“But then the fame that she’d always wanted, well, it wore on her fast. Newspapers calling for interviews. People asking what she would write next. The pressure to write something equally brilliant. The possibility of failing. I encouraged her to write another story, convinced that it would be just as beautiful as her first. ‘I can’t,’ she told me. ‘I spent all I had and all that was inside me on that book. I don’t think I have another one in me.’

“Oh, she’d write little things here and there. Articles, essays, her thoughts, but nothing more serious, and nothing she was willing to show to the world. Instead she read and tended the tiny garden we had at our apartment in New York City. Then, one day, about a year before she died, she woke up and told me, ‘Ben, I have one more story to write. But this one isn’t for anyone but us. You have to promise me. It’s not for the world. I can bear them picking apart my words, but not my life. And not us.’ ” Ben stopped and looked up at me.

I hadn’t moved a muscle.

“She gave it to me on our tenth anniversary. I read it a hundred times over, and each time I loved it more than the last. But I put it away when she died. Locked it up so that no one would find it. It’s not what the experts and critics would call brilliant. Oh, it’s good. She couldn’t
write anything that wasn’t good. But she knew, and I know now, that it isn’t what people would want. They’d find out that it was her story. They’d pry into her childhood and label her. They would criticize and pick apart every word, every moment. Maybe they’d praise her, or maybe they’d pity her, or maybe they’d be disappointed in her. But what they wouldn’t know, what they wouldn’t think about, is that she didn’t write it for them. It was like her diary, never meant to be shared.” He stopped and whispered, “She didn’t want it to be shared.”

“But someday,” I started, “someone was bound to find the manuscript and figure out who wrote it. Like
The Diary of Anne Frank
. It’s a classic.”

He nodded. “I know. And there wouldn’t be anything I could do about it then.” He ran his hands through his white hair. “But now … well, I should’ve protected it for her. Like she asked me to.”

I swallowed. “But …”

He looked up at me. “Please, Sunday. Please don’t give it to the newspapers.”

I turned away, starting down the pathway. “I’m sorry. I … I have to.”

As soon as I had passed through the gate, I dashed off across the field toward my house.

Everything that had seemed to fall perfectly into place last night was now turning out all wrong.

THE YARD
was empty. There were no saws buzzing, CJ wasn’t ordering anyone around, Bo didn’t rush out to greet me, and the horn wasn’t honking. In fact, the van was gone. Had I missed hearing the triangle ringing? I checked my watch. 4:35. Mom didn’t usually start dinner for another hour.

I flashed back to sitting on the orange bench in front of the gas station, staring into the wavy heat. Waiting for them to remember me.

“Mom!” I called out. “Dad?”

Nothing. Just the hammock swaying between the trees and the triangle gently clanging against the side of the house.

“This is why I need to tell the world what I found,” I said aloud, making my way up the porch stairs and through the front door. “Mom?! Dad! Bo!” My voice rang through the silent house. Our house was never silent. Butters barked excitedly, her tail wagging and her ears
dragging on the ground as she ran up to me on her little sausage-y legs.

“Where is everyone, Butters?” I said, bending down and scratching her long, velvety ears. “They forgot me again, huh?”

Something fell up above me, and then there was the sound of footsteps.

“Sunday? Is that you?” Mom.

I sighed. “Yeah, it’s me.”

She walked down the stairs, pulling her hair back into a ponytail. “Where on earth have you been? Everyone else left for the county fair an hour ago.”

“What? What fair? No one told me that we were going to a fair.”

“Your dad talked to everyone about it last night at dinner. Since we’re pretty much done with the library, we wanted to take you guys all out to celebrate. I’ll call your dad to come pick us up. Where were you?”

“At Ben’s house.”

“You okay? You look upset.”

I pasted on a smile hoping that it looked sort of genuine. “I’m fine.” I wasn’t really in the mood to go to a fair, but I started up the stairs. “I’ll be ready in a minute.”

In my room, I flopped onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Like the story of the princess and the pea, I could practically feel the manuscript underneath the
mattress.
Why did I ever tell Ben?
I could’ve just made my announcement and then he would’ve found out what I knew with everyone else. Now I felt guilty about something that wasn’t even wrong.

And Jude probably hated me. I rolled over onto my side and stared out the window.

There was a knock on my door. “Sunday?”

I sat up, remembering that I was supposed to be getting ready for the fair. “Come in.”

Mom opened the door. “Your dad’ll be here in about twenty minutes with CJ and Henry. I guess they rode the Tilt-a-Cup five times in a row. Now both of them are feeling sick. I’ll just stay back here with them.”

“I can stay, Mom. I’m not in the mood for the fair.”

She stepped toward me and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Everything okay?”

I shrugged. “Yeah, I’m just tired. Really. You go ahead with Dad. I’ll be fine here with the boys.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I can handle CJ and Henry. Besides, if they’re not feeling well, maybe they’ll go straight to bed.”

Mom went to the small mirror, let her hair down from the ponytail, and fluffed it up with her fingers. “I think that’s wishful thinking. But I trust you. You can call us on our cell phones if you need anything at all. Lock the doors and …” She sighed. “You’ll be fine.”