The Atomic Weight of Secrets or The Arrival of the Mysterious Men in Black (29 page)

T
he children were up before Miss Brett the next morning. This had been happening more often than not recently, as sleep was elusive, coming late and leaving early. All their dreams were peppered with failed flights, fallen birds, and wayward rockets, and the children often woke one another with new and exciting ideas. The boys bounced ideas around their room until well after midnight, and even little Lucy was prone to waking Faye, talking in her twilight sleep about tails and wings.

“Faye? Do you think we need an extra thingie on the wing?” she’d say—or “Faye, your canard elevators might need to be adjusted.” Faye would groan into awareness as Lucy would drift back to sleep.

Lucy and Wallace were the perfect team for keeping the designs, blueprints, equations, and drawings in order. Wallace had the best handwriting and was the most focused on organization, while Lucy was so clever with sketching, her drawings could be used as actual blueprints. As promised, Lucy was the keeper of the Young Inventors Guild journal, which is where they now kept everything. She slept with it under her pillow, in order to protect
it from any more of those men in black, and she kept it tied tightly with a ribbon to maintain her fragile flowers.

“If Lucy’s memory is perfect,” Wallace had asked at one point, “why are we keeping everything in the book? Writing things down might be dangerous.”

Faye rolled her eyes. “Yes, she can remember everything, Wallace,” she said, “but she’s six, and her explanations are not always, well, explanatory.”

Faye was right. No matter how brilliant Lucy was, the explanations she had to offer could sometimes be a bit cumbersome. Wallace, on the other hand, had a knack for precision. He kept beautiful notes. Everything was clear and precise, and it made progress easy, because they could detect miscalculations and adjust with each attempt. The green book of the Young Inventors Guild was now a real book.

“I don’t know if Wallace should get to keep the notes,” Faye had said to Jasper.

“Why on earth not?” he asked.

“Because he never is around when we need him,” she said, a frightening amount of sincerity in her voice.

Jasper wanted to argue, but he couldn’t. With a look, they both seemed to agree to leave things be and let it remain a silent truth between them.

They still had much to overcome—like the fact that, to hold an engine as heavy as Noah’s, Faye would have to design her wings to span two hundred feet. But in order for Faye’s wings to be moved by Jasper’s propeller, they would have to be no longer than six feet each. And Lucy’s tail, on paper—actually, made of paper—worked to balance the wings, but the flight pattern was
erratic and the wings flip-flopped through the air. They had run out of material from the classroom, so they used the old tractor, the siding for the old barn, and the tin roof for parts.

But today, as the children sat under the willow, snacking on the first apples of the season and looking at the birdwatcher as he untangled himself from his binoculars, Wallace thought that a truly good birdwatcher could not be so clumsy. A good birdwatcher needed to become a part of the tree—invisible, so the birds would not be frightened away.

Wallace suddenly felt as if he was not a part of the tree. Only he had done nothing to contribute to the aeroplane.

“I know what you say, Jasper, and it is kind, but the truth is I’m mostly a chemist,” he said, biting into an apple. The apples were definitely not ripe yet—they were small and tart and hard as a rock. “My work doesn’t include wings and tails.”

“Wallace, you’re doing something very important,” said Jasper, who had noticed how downcast Wallace sounded. “Besides, you
have
helped. It was you who pointed out the adjustments that got more than five horsepower out of that last engine.”

“But that was only after Noah said there needed to be an adjustment. I simply suggested that—”

“It was you who pointed out that a weight balance needed to be attained in the space between the glider wings.”

“Only because Faye knew there was a ratio issue and asked me to calculate her estimation.” Wallace looked pleadingly into Jasper’s eyes.

“Well, it was you who found ‘The Young Inventors Guild’ written on the cover of the journal.” Jasper put his hand on Wallace’s shoulder.

“Jasper, it was only because I opened it.”

“But we might never have—”

“You know that isn’t true,” said Wallace. “I’ve done nothing vital. You have your propeller and—”

“And without you, I’d never have considered the angle-shift improvements you suggested.”

“That isn’t true. You know that. And Faye has the wings and Lucy has the tail and Noah has the engine.”

“But Wallace—”

“Is Wallace feeling insignificant?” Faye said, walking over.

Jasper shot her a look that she understood. “Jasper’s right, Wallace. You have been helpful. Truly. Every step of the way,” said Faye, looking back to Jasper as if to prove she understood what was needed. She did not, however, totally believe what she said. What could be more important than the wings? And what a waste of time Wallace’s little experiment was. Faye resented Wallace, but the wilting look Jasper gave her kept her quiet.

“Look at that bird!” she said suddenly, pointing to a bright red bird perched on the fence at the edge of the field.

“It’s a cardinal,” said Wallace. “They’re not so uncommon.”

“Well, the birdwatcher seems excited about this one,” said Faye. “That’s probably why he’s come back again.”

“Maybe there’s a nest around here somewhere,” said Lucy.

“Maybe,” said Faye, absentmindedly.

“Samson has a nest,” said Lucy.

“I said I—what?” Faye said.

“Our little bird. I can hear him tweeting,” said Lucy, who proceeded to tweet. “See? He answers me.”

“You’re mad, Lucy Modest,” Faye said. “You really are.”

“Well, when he flew out of my hand—”

“Flew out of your hand?” Noah’s ears perked up. “When was he in your hand?”

“Oh, I visit him sometimes,” said Lucy. “When you’re all arguing about the aeroplane and being silly, I go and visit Samson. I call him down and he comes. He’s thinking of starting a family.

“He’s what?” Faye looked at the little girl. “You are barking, howling mad.”

“Anyway,” Lucy continued, dignified and upright, “Samson is able to use his tail to cut the air when he takes off and lands. Maybe we can make the tail less flat, as I had it, and more angled.”

“Angled?” Faye was about to argue when she realized Lucy was correct.

“I don’t know what it needs exactly,” said Lucy. “I don’t think I know the word for it. But we can try.”

After weeks of designing and redesigning, Lucy’s comment on the positioning of the tail made everyone reconsider its importance.

“I don’t know what it’s called,” Lucy said at least three times a day.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Faye, standing on her desk with a paperboard copy of the wing-and-tail design, with Lucy’s adjustments. “It probably doesn’t have a name. It’s just the position of the tail.”

“Or not always,” said Lucy. “Sometimes not the tail.”

“Lucy, you’re starting to make as much sense as those men in
black,” said Noah.

Faye shushed him.

Then she launched the model.

With the wound miniature propeller, the plane, for the first time, maintained height in the air and flew across the classroom.

“Yes!” said Faye. “Yes! We’ve done it!”

Everyone cheered. Getting the tail right had changed everything. They would have to try it again, this time with a properly weighted center.

No one but Wallace noticed Lucy’s thoughtful pout.

Lucy looked at Wallace. “There are more bits,” she said, tugging at his sleeve.

“Yes, but the pieces are coming together,” he said.

And putting the model into action, in the meadow, was the next thing to do.

During the carriage ride home for the weekend, Lucy, having dozed since she stopped waving, sat up.

“I’m famished,” she said, rubbing her eyes, then her belly.

“Amazing, after having nearly eaten your entire fingers,” grumbled Jasper, trying to get comfortable again after just beginning to sleep.

“Jasper!” Lucy said, holding out her hands like a little waif begging for alms. Jasper sighed and reached down to the basket on the floor between his legs. Pulling back the napkin, Jasper released the smell of the butter cakes. He took one out and handed it to Lucy. She took it in both hands, deeply breathed in the scent,
then took the biggest bite possible for such a small girl.

“You’re going to get it everywhere,” he said, but Lucy seemed determined to catch every crumb.

“Anyone else hungry?” he asked. There was enough for everyone to have two.

When they passed Willow Street and Magnolia Street, Lucy clapped her hands in excitement. “We live near here,” Lucy said.

“How do you always know?” Jasper asked. The neighborhood
did
look somewhat familiar, but so did the several other neighborhoods they had passed.

“Look at the names of the streets, silly. In our neighborhood, I remember seeing Willow and Magnolia. And that elm tree there,” she said, pointing. “It has a birdhouse on that second-lowest branch. I remember that. Also—”

“Sorry for asking,” Jasper said, rolling his eyes.

The driver turned right, passing the Modests’ One Elm Street, but the carriage didn’t stop. Instead he turned right onto Oak.

“Okay, here we go,” said Noah. “Bets, anyone? I call seven. It was six last week. Maybe they’re stepping up security!”

“Five,” said Jasper.

“Three,” said Lucy, hopefully.

“Four,” said Wallace.

“Seventy-two,” said Faye, slumping in her seat.

The children had been making bets to see who guessed correctly the number of times the carriage went around the block.

This time, Jasper was right. After five rounds, the carriage stopped in front of One Maple, and Noah took his bag—his small, but heavy, package—into the house.

Wallace was eager to get inside. He knew it was fanciful, but even after months of disappointment, he still hoped, every weekend, that his father would be home to greet him. His hand darted to his pocket, for what he knew would not be there.

But it was not until Jasper, Lucy, and Faye had already left that the carriage, after making one more tour around the block, that the carriage finally stopped in front of One Oak. The driver took Wallace’s bags and walked them to the door, handing them to Daisy, who greeted him with a giant smile on her face. Wallace clung tightly to his bundle.

“Well, my darling boy, you must be hungry, mustn’t you?” said Daisy, smiling a smile almost like Miss Brett’s.

“Hello, Daisy,” Wallace said.

Before he could ask, she said, “I’m sorry, darling. He’s not here today.”

“I didn’t think so, but, well, you know, I had hoped.” Wallace looked down at his feet.

“But there is a letter...”

L
ETTERS
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ROM
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