Meryl Lee looked around Dr. MacKnockater’s office—Robespierre’s desk, the shelves of books, the long dark carved box in front of the fireplace. Then she looked outside onto the lovely commons, where a breeze was puffing at the new leaves. “There’s no place like home,” she said.
Dr. MacKnockater looked out the window with her. “Indeed,” she said softly. The sun came out suddenly and light dappled the slate roof of Newell. “And have you thought about your living arrangements?”
Meryl Lee nodded. “We’ve figured it all out. Heidi had her heart set on Grafton Regis, since that dorm looks over the field hockey field—of course. But in Malvern they have suites with two bedrooms for three girls each. That means that Heidi and Marian and Charlotte and Jennifer and me and one other girl can all live together. We just have to find one more girl to complete the suite.”
“I see,” said Dr. MacKnockater. “Have you considered who the sixth girl might be?”
“Not really,” said Meryl Lee.
Dr. MacKnockater smiled. “I think you may have,” she said. “You know someone else who needs a home.”
Meryl Lee looked down at the fireplace. “Dr. MacKnockater,” she said, “what’s in the box?”
“A relic,” she said.
Meryl Lee looked at her.
“When I need a great deal of patience, it helps me to look at the box and remember . . .”
“Dr. MacKnockater, it’s not . . .”
Dr. MacKnockater looked at her.
“Not really,” said Meryl Lee.
Dr. MacKnockater still looking at her.
“I’ll talk to Ashley,” said Meryl Lee.
“There’s no place like home,” said Dr. MacKnockater.
* * *
On Tuesday morning, Meryl Lee looked for Ashley at breakfast to ask her if she would room with her next year. But Ashley wasn’t at breakfast.
Or Chapel.
Or any of her morning classes.
Or dinner.
So Meryl Lee left Greater Hoxne Dining Hall early to run back to Netley to see if she was sick.
She knocked at her door, and when Ashley didn’t answer, Meryl Lee tried the door and it was open so she looked in.
Ashley’s side of the room was bare. She was gone.
Meryl Lee asked Mrs. Kellogg why Ashley’s room was bare.
“Last night, her aunt and uncle came to take her home,” said Mrs. Kellogg.
“Is she coming back for graduation?” said Meryl Lee.
“We had hoped so, but it seems she felt she could no longer stay,” said Mrs. Kellogg.
“Is she coming back in the fall?”
Mrs. Kellogg shook her head. “Miss Kowalski, life is hardly a Victorian novel where all must be revealed. Sometimes personal stories should remain personal.”
The rest of that week, Meryl Lee couldn’t stop thinking about Ashley.
Friendships start in different ways, Meryl Lee thought. Sometimes they start right away. Sometimes they start slowly. And sometimes, maybe sometimes they dont have any chance at all.
* * *
On the last day of the semester, when classes were over and finals were done and Heidi had passed algebra and all that remained was graduation, Meryl Lee walked down to the wall, where three gardeners under the supervision of Dr. MacKnockater were ripping up the poison ivy vines! They were wearing plastic protective suits so they wouldn’t be contaminated, and they had saws and shovels and even a backhoe. Dr. MacKnockater stood by the main gate and when she saw Meryl Lee, she asked what she thought.
“Any time you can rip up poison ivy, it’s probably a good idea,” Meryl Lee said.
“Just so. Have you heard back from your parents?”
Meryl Lee very quiet.
“Oh,” said Dr. MacKnockater, “I’m so sorry.”
“I’ll be riding back to New York with Marian and her parents,” said Meryl Lee.
“Very good.”
“Dr. MacKnockater,” Meryl Lee said, “there are some rumors going around.”
“Miss Kowalski, it’s a prep school. There are always rumors going around.”
“There’s a rumor you’re going to stay on as headmistress.”
Dr. MacKnockater spread a smile as happy as the blue spring day. “I’m thinking of having the entire wall taken down this summer,” she said.
“But hasn’t it been around for, like, a couple of centuries?”
Dr. MacKnockater looked at Meryl Lee.
“Miss Kowalski, perhaps what you have shown St. Elene’s Preparatory Academy for Girls this year is that any time you can take down a wall, no matter how long it’s been around, it’s probably a good idea.”
Meryl Lee looked at Dr. MacKnockater.
“We could plant something instead,” Meryl Lee said.
“What would we plant?”
“Chrysanthemums.”
“That will do nicely.”
They watched together as the gardeners ripped out the poison ivy, handful by handful.
* * *
The fourth quarter evaluations of Miss Meryl Lee Kowalski were waiting for her in her mailbox the next morning. There were comments from Coach Rowlandson: “shows the effort of a true athlete—if not a natural one.” From Mrs. Saunders: “developed surprising artistic skills as she honed her oral presentation style.” From Mrs. Bellamy: “evidence of a focused scientific mind that may flourish into real expertise.” From Mrs. Connolly: “the heart of a sensitive and perceptive writer.” From Mr. Wheelock: “as dependable and determined as an axiom.” From Mrs. Wyss: “as lemon is to scrod.”
From Dr. MacKnockater: “Accomplished.”
Thirty-Nine
In the last week of May and the beginning of June 1969—the month when Meryl Lee Kowalski would graduate from eighth grade at St. Elene’s Preparatory Academy for Girls—two hundred and forty-two young Americans died in the Vietnam War. Life magazine published all their names and pictures together for a nation to say goodbye.
In June 1969, President Nixon announced that the number of American soldiers in Vietnam would be sharply reduced. When he made that announcement, there were more than half a million Americans at war. Many of them were not sure why they were fighting.
* * *
In June 1969, Dr. MacKnockater named Miss Bettye Buckminster and Miss Alethea Browning to be instructors in the new Culinary Arts Program of St. Elene’s Preparatory Academy for Girls. As part of their remuneration, Bettye and Alethea would each receive a St. Elene’s scholarship to cover all of their St. Elene’s costs, as well as all future college tuition costs.
Maybe, Meryl Lee thought, if Alethea’s brother had been there right then, maybe he’d say this was what he had really been fighting for.
* * *
In June 1969, Coach Rowlandson said Meryl Lee should be proud of what she had accomplished in her short career as goalie for the Lasses this spring. She said Meryl Lee should try out for goalie on the freshman team next year.
Meryl Lee thought that this was Coach Rowlandson’s way of telling her that life doesn’t stop even when horrible horrible things happen.
Meryl Lee told Coach Rowlandson she wasn’t sure about spring soccer, since she’d be pretty busy with Life Sciences. Mrs. Bellamy had asked her to think about becoming her lab assistant. And besides, Heidi might want to play first-string goalie again.
“But won’t you have to dissect things as a lab assistant?” said Coach Rowlandson.
Meryl Lee nodded.
“Ick,” said Coach Rowlandson, and shuddered.
“Sticks down, Coach,” said Meryl Lee.
* * *
In June 1969, on graduation day, Mrs. Connolly congratulated Meryl Lee on completing her first year at St. Elene’s. “I hope you continue to write your poetry over the summer,” she said. “You don’t want to waste all those days.”
“I won’t,” said Meryl Lee. “I think I may be in New York for a few days, then in Philadelphia for most of the summer.”
“A
fascinating city,” said Mrs. Connolly.
“Will you stay here?” said Meryl Lee.
Mrs. Connolly looked across the campus. “St. Elene’s is lovely in July and August, but I think I may be spending some time in Montreal. I’ll look forward to seeing you next fall, perhaps in the next edition of the St. Elene’s Literary Society.”
“I’ll be there,” said Meryl Lee.
“We’ll start with Spenserian stanzas,” said Mrs. Connolly. “Do you know what a Spenserian stanza is, Miss Kowalski?”
Meryl Lee shook her head.
“Then you have your first summer assignment,” said Mrs. Connolly.
“My first?”
“Others to follow at regular intervals,” said Mrs. Connolly. “Poetry is a demanding mistress.”
* * *
On graduation day, Dr. MacKnockater asked Meryl Lee to pose for a graduation Polaroid, and Meryl Lee had an idea. She ran to her room for Jonathan’s yellow scarf. Then she ran back to Newell, gathering girls along the way. “Maybe this is going to look silly,” she said, “but . . .” No one thought it would look silly. She wound the end of Jonathan’s scarf around her neck, and then Charlotte wound the scarf around her neck, and by then, it had momentum.
“For posterity,” said Dr. MacKnockater. And there they were in a row: Meryl Lee, then Charlotte, then Jennifer, then Marian, then Heidi, then Bettye, then Alethea, who pointed out that even with all that winding, there was more than enough scarf for the rest of the eighth grade of St. Elene’s Preparatory Academy for Girls.
What there wasn’t enough room for, Meryl Lee thought, was the Blank.
When Meryl Lee went to help Dr. MacKnockater figure out how to develop the Polaroid, she reminded her about her promise.
“My promise?” said Dr. MacKnockater.
“You said you’d tell me what I had become Accomplished in.”
Dr. MacKnockater smiled. “Oh, Miss Kowalski,” she said, and she pointed at the group of girls who were still getting themselves untied from the scarf, with Bettye winding it around her left arm.
“There is your Accomplishment,” Dr. MacKnockater said.
“What do you mean?”
And she took Meryl Lee’s face in her two hands and she said very very quietly, “Meryl Lee Kowalski, look.”
And Meryl Lee saw Marian and Alethea laughing as they tried to untangle Jennifer, and Bettye laughing, and Heidi and Charlotte hugging each other.
And she saw Mrs. Connolly watching them and laughing. Mrs. Connolly—whose son was now so far away.
And Matt! There was Matt, still with his limp, coming up the walk.
“You are the Tin Woodman,” said Dr. MacKnockater, “who lost your heart, and despite the Obstacles, found it again in the only way that you can find it: by giving it away.” She leaned in close. “And I suspect that you will give it away again and again, and that you will find it again and again. Meryl Lee Kowalski, that is your Accomplishment. And believe me, it is a very rare one indeed.”
Meryl Lee looked around again.
“It didn’t work with my parents,” she said.
“The future is always in motion,” said Dr. MacKnockater. And just like that, Meryl Lee felt herself hurtle into Resolution.
Summer 1969
Forty
Matt, down on the shore, below Bagheera’s house, a blue June day, the waves calm enough that he could skip seven, eight times easy, the sun bright and warm on his chest, his toes digging into the cooler strip of sand.
And then the memory.
The sea breeze brought it to him like a gift, like something that had been released.
He was on the beach.
He was on the beach, sitting on a blanket and digging his toes into the sand, and his mother said, “Let’s put some of this lotion on you.” She squirted it into her hand and rubbed it on his shoulders, on his back, on his chest, on his cheeks, and then, with a laugh, on the very tip of his nose.
His father came up from the water. He let himself collapse beside the blanket, laughing. Then he rolled and got sand all over himself, and Matt laughed and started to pile sand on his back.
“Make Daddy into a sandcastle?” said his mother.
He remembered.
She handed them both paper cups filled with mixed lemonade and grape juice from a red thermos and it was so cold it almost hurt. But he drank it anyway. So did Daddy. Then he showed Matt his purple tongue, and Matt showed him his.
He remembered.
Then his father handed some guy his camera, and the guy took a picture of the three of them scrunching together on the blanket on the beach.
It was all there: the sound of the waves, the gulls, the drying salt water on his shins, the smell of lemonade and grape juice, the sand, his mother and his father sitting on the blanket, and the cool lotion on the tip of his nose.
It was all there.
And he knew what he would do now that he was free of Leonidas Shug. He would look for his mother and his father. He would ask Lieutenant Minot to help—since he was pretty good at what he did. Dr. MacKnockater would help too. Maybe he would find out what had happened to them. Maybe he would find them.
Maybe.
* * *
As it turned out, Meryl Lee came back to St. Elene’s sooner than she had imagined—in mid-July. Matt met her at the bus station, and together they walked the long way to Dr. MacKnockater’s house—Matt still limping a little bit. Down at the docks the next day, Matt helped Dr. MacKnockater step on board Captain Hurd’s lobster boat—she would not use her cane—and then Matt and Meryl Lee stood at the stern beside Bettye while Reverend Turner Buckminster officiated at the wedding of Captain Willis Hurd and Dr. Nora MacKnockater on the slow and gentle waves of the bay.
Afterward, Matt had Meryl Lee look over the stern at the newly painted lettering for the newly christened boat—now renamed The Tin Woodman.
“Is that a good name for a lobster boat?” said Meryl Lee.
“It is for this one,” said Matt.
That afternoon, the newlyweds left for a honeymoon in Edinburgh. “Take care of things,” they told Matt.
He promised the Captain and Bagheera he would.
In the evening, after securing The Tin Woodman, Matt and Meryl Lee climbed through the chute in Matt’s room and up to the slate roof. They watched the tide run out and the moon run up and the stars run all about. Below them, the front room was picked up and the kitchen was clean enough and the lamp by the window lit. The red embers were banked in the wood stove, since it had been a coolish evening. They’d pulled the east windows halfway down against the damp.
Meryl Lee sat close to Matt, and Matt draped an afghan around their shoulders. They held hands, and they looked out at all that the bright moon had lit: the shore ridge, the pines, the moving tide, the white-cresting waves, the distant islands.
“We can see everything,” Meryl Lee said.
“Safe and secure from all alarms,” said Matt.
She looked at him.
“For now,” he said.
Meryl Lee closed her eyes. The sea breeze came up and swirled around them, and she drew the afghan a little closer, then leaned into Matt. “For now,” she said.
And far away, the buoys belled and belled and belled their ocean lullaby while the waves rolled in and broke upon the eternal shoreline as they always do—just like that.
· 1 ·
The Players
Cricket teams, both batting and fielding, may have up to eleven players each. The captain of the batting team determines the order of the batsmen; the captain of the fielding team sets players in positions determined by the style and pace of the bowler.
If it hadn’t been the first day of school, and if my mother hadn’t been crying her eyes out the night before, and if the fuel pump on the Jeep had been doing what a fuel pump on a Jeep is supposed to be doing, and if it hadn’t been raining like an Australian tropical thunderstorm—and I’ve been in one, so I know what it’s like—and if the very la
st quart of one percent milk hadn’t gone sour and clumped up, then probably my mother would never have let the Butler into our house.
But that’s what the day had been like so far, and it was only 7:15 in the morning.
7:15 in the morning on the first day of school, when the Butler rang our doorbell.
I answered it.
I looked at the guy standing on our front stoop.
“Are you kidding?” I said.
That’s what you would have said too. He was tall and big around the belly and wearing the kind of suit you’d wear to a funeral—I’ve been to one of those too, so I know what a funeral suit looks like—and he had a bowler on his head. A bowler! Which nobody has worn since, like, horses and carriages went out of business. And everything—the big belly, the funeral suit, the bowler—everything was completely dry even though it was an Australian tropical thunderstorm outside because he stood underneath an umbrella as big as a satellite disk.
The guy looked down at me. “I assure you, young man, I am never kidding.”
I closed the door.
I went to the kitchen. Mom was tying back Emily’s hair, which explains why the dry Ace Robotroid Sugar Stars Emily was eating were dribbling out both sides of her mouth. Charlie was still looking for her other yellow sock because she couldn’t start fourth grade without it—she couldn’t she couldn’t she couldn’t—and Annie was telling her what a baby she was, and Charlie was saying she was not she was not she was not, and just because Annie was going into fifth grade that didn’t make Annie the boss of her. Then Charlie looked at me and said, “Does it?” and I said, “You think I care?”
“Carter,” my mom said, “your oatmeal is on the stove and you’ll have to mix in your own raisins and there’s some walnuts too but no more brown sugar. And, Carter, before you do that, I need you to run down to the deli and—”
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