The Atomic Weight of Secrets or The Arrival of the Mysterious Men in Black (26 page)

All, that is, but one. But that was expected.

“Miss Brett...” Wallace stood tentatively in the doorway to the boys’ room.

“Of course, Wallace,” she said gently. She patted her lap and opened her arms.

Wallace climbed up onto the chair, into her arms, and curled up onto her lap. She rocked the chair, humming softly and caressing his head until he was asleep.

It had been their special secret ever since his arrival. Wallace had been so fearful. He hated himself for needing to be held like a baby. He was desperate for the others not to know. He wanted to be
strong and fearless and powerful like his dad, but he wasn’t.

But Miss Brett understood. The little boy’s feeling of loss had made him especially fragile. A warm lap and loving arms was something she could provide. He needed a mother’s love.

Looking down at the sleeping boy in her lap, she thought of that baby bird Lucy had held in her hands. Miss Brett looked at this sweet, sad little boy, and she wanted, more than anything, enough time to add joy to the story of Wallace Banneker.

A B
RAIN
F
OR
D
R.
B
ANNEKER

OR

WALLACE FINDS HIS FEET

W
allace Banneker knew about the past. He came from a long line of American inventors, scientists, and mathematicians. It was said that if past and present Bannekers stood in a line of their own, hand in hand, they would represent some of the world’s greatest scientific minds in history. His parents would both have stood in that line. Both were been brilliant scientists, and both had exposed their young son to the magic of science from the day he was born.

Wallace’s earliest memory was seeing a human brain in a vat. That was when he was three years old. The brain belonged to his great-great-great-grandfather, Benjamin Banneker I. Wallace’s father, Ben Banneker IV, kept it on a shelf.

“That brain changed America,” Dr. Banneker would say. “In fact, it changed the world.”

Wallace knew all about his great-great-great-grandfather, the first famous Benjamin Banneker. He knew the man had been born in America, in Maryland, in November of the year 1731. He knew that Benjamin Banneker I’s own grandfather had been a slave. That grandfather (Wallace’s great-great-great-great-great
grandfather) was named Banneka, and he had married Molly Welsh, a brilliant, brave, and beautiful European lady who freed him from slavery. Their daughter, Mary, was Benjamin’s mother. Wallace knew, too, that Banneka had come originally from a tribe of astronomers in Africa before he was sold into slavery.

Like Wallace, Benjamin I didn’t go to school. Instead, he was taught at home by Molly, or at the home of their Quaker neighbors. Wallace also knew something about the Quakers: They were believers in racial equality and abolition of slavery, and were pleased to help such a clever young man, no matter the color of his skin.

Wallace knew lots of stories about his great-great-great grandfather. He knew that everyone who ever met Benjamin Banneker believed the man to be brilliant. Wallace’s favorite story was the one about the clock. When Benjamin Banneker was twenty-one, he took apart a neighbor’s clock, drew sketches of all the parts, and put the clock back together perfectly. He then built a clock of his own out of wood, following the sketches of his neighbor’s clock. This wooden clock worked perfectly, and it ran perfectly for more than fifty years. It probably ran longer than the neighbor’s original.

Benjamin Banneker I did all sorts of amazing things, and so did every other Banneker descendant, all the way to Wallace. In fact, the line stretched back to before Benjamin I, to before Banneka and Molly, and into the distant past, when Wallace’s ancestors, including great astronomers from the African tribe of Dogon and European scientists (in France, for example, with the
Société Scientifique)
originated some fabulous discoveries and inventions. The only thing Wallace knew about these, though,
was that, if they really existed, they were so important they were all kept secret.

Wallace had heard bits and pieces about the secret inventions and magical creations. The stories supposedly went back to ancient lands and mystic leaders. They told of legendary mysteries, and the stories always seemed rather jumbled and confusing. When he was small, Wallace, wanting to document all of these bits and pieces, asked his father to tell him more, but his father didn’t know, either.

Truthfully, Wallace found the mysterious magic and legends a tad mystical for his taste. He liked the tangible. Magic was not anything one could ever really do. It wasn’t real—it had no order to it. For Wallace, it was so much less interesting than science, which one could do if one knew how. Wallace knew enough about the Bannekers, and he was proud to be a part of such a family. With documentation bestowed upon his great-great-great-grandfather, he was no longer compelled to dig any deeper into legends.

And that was just his father’s side. On his mother’s side, Wallace was the great-nephew of Lewis Latimer. Latimer was himself an inventor, among other things. He was most famous for being a master draftsman, and he was the person responsible for getting Alexander Graham Bell the patent for his telephone. If Lewis Latimer hadn’t been such a fine draftsman, and hadn’t worked so fast and hard to get the draft of the invention done, the patent would have gone to someone else who had also invented a telephone, and was applying for a patent that very same day. Wallace heard it had only been a matter of hours between the two inventors getting their patents into the office.

“You’ve got some shoes to fill, son,” Wallace’s father would say.
In fact, he said this a lot.

Wallace didn’t have to try to fill someone else’s shoes, though, because he had some pretty impressive shoes of his own. From an early age, he showed great talent for organic chemistry and molecular physics. It was lucky for Wallace that both of his parents could help him hone his skills. Until Wallace was six, his mother would stay home three days a week and teach her son all about geometry and algebra. The other two days a week, Wallace’s dad stayed home and tutored him in chemistry and physics.

“We don’t want to waste your mind in school,” his father would say.

When Wallace was eight, he invented a device for measuring tiny particles. They contacted Uncle Lewis, who helped them draft a patent for the invention.

“Your mother would have been so proud,” Wallace’s father had said. He said this a lot, too.

Wallace’s mother had died when Wallace was six years old. He missed her every single day afterward. He would close his eyes and he could hear her, smell her, feel her—her smile, her touch, the way she laughed. He thought about her every night before he fell asleep. He imagined her caressing his cheek and telling him she loved him. Sometimes it helped. Sometimes it just made him feel the empty space where his mother once stood. Wallace had always had a hard time falling asleep. At least, he had had a hard time since he was six years old.

After Wallace’s mother died, Wallace’s father did not come out of his bedroom for three weeks. Then, one morning, he stepped out and began his new life without his wife. He changed his schedule so he could tutor Wallace in everything—everything important,
that is. Benjamin Banneker IV believed that science and math were important. He would stay home every morning and teach Wallace until noon. They would usually have lunch together, and then do some stretches or races or some kind of exercise.

“The body is the home of the brain,” Dr. Banneker would say as he performed these exercises with ease and grace. He had always been a tall, strapping man, broad-shouldered and well-chiseled. Wallace, who had always been a bit pudgy and awkward, hoped that he would grow to be like his father. So far, the exercises had not made him strong or strapping.

After lessons and exercise, Wallace’s father would go off to his lab, leaving Wallace to his own devices. It was on his own time that Wallace had created his minute particle-measuring invention. It was because of this invention that he was invited to travel with his father from their home on Long Island, New York to Washington, D.C. to meet President McKinley.

“You are surely the youngest boy in history to get a patent,” Wallace’s father had said.

The trip to Washington, D.C. was the only time Wallace had ever gone on a trip with his dad. At least, it was their only trip before setting off for Dayton. When they got to Dayton, Wallace’s father had simply abandoned him on the side of the road. On the trip to Washington, D.C., Wallace had been left sitting on benches outside of closed doors. He had been hoping to have some fun on that trip. He didn’t have much fun at all. Wallace had wanted to go to museums and walk around the National Mall, but they were only able to stay in the capital city for one day after meeting the president. And Wallace’s father spent most of the time talking to scientists and politicians, but not to Wallace. Wallace spent most
of his time waiting and thinking. It made him feel even lonelier. At least at home, he had his own room, his lab, and his greenhouse. Here, he just sat on a bench while his father busied himself doing other things.

Mostly, it gave him time to sit alone and miss his mother. He knew his father believed in him, but not the same as the way his mother believed in him. Wallace’s father never held Wallace in his arms and told him how special he was.

“By your tenth birthday, you will create something that will save the world,” Wallace’s mother had told him when Wallace felt he could never live up to his legendary ancestors, and especially his father, who had been offered a place at Oxford when he was only fifteen. “You are your own man, Wallace. You are your own Banneker.” And Wallace promised not to disappoint her.

Wallace thought about that as he sat alone in Washington. He kept his hand in his pocket and held his lucky coin so tightly in his hand, it left a mark in his palm. His mother had given him that coin. She told him that if he always keep it near, it would always bring him good fortune.

“It’s very, very old, sweetums,” she said. “For generations, it has been in the hands of an inventor—an inventor from your own family.” He had looked at it for hours before placing it deep in his pocket. It was old, for sure, and it had a good weight to it. But it was unlike any coin he had ever seen. It felt good in his hand. The best part was that whenever he put his hand in that pocket, there it had been—for him, for his mother, and for all those who came before them. It was like carrying a little piece of her, a piece of her he could touch, in his pocket, always.