Trouble (16 page)

It was Dr. Cavendish's hope that the ship could be excavated and put on display in a new addition to the historical society's building. (Donations were now being solicited from the society's "gold members.") Meanwhile, a display of ship's artifacts would be ready at the historical society's museum for late summer, including its cargo and armaments, as well as examples of the troublesome chains. Perhaps by that time, more would be uncovered about the ship's history. "Until then," said Dr. Cavendish, "we just don't know."

Henry could not figure out why not knowing about a wreck mattered all that much—especially since now there was another wreck in Blythbury-by-the-Sea. And this one seemed a whole lot more important.

One calm, warm June night, Adams Auditorium in the Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Preparatory High School was, as the two Blythbury-by-the-Sea policemen put it, "devastated." Every year before the high school graduation ceremonies, banners that reached back to Henry Wadsworth Longfellow himself were hung in Adams; their gold braid and silver tassels would glisten against the high school walls. But the banners had been torn down and shredded. The deep-paneled walls had been smeared with white paint. The podium had been ripped from its moorings and toppled over into the front seats. The rich blue velvet of the auditorium chairs had been slashed, and all the footlights on the stage smashed in.

"No human beings of any conscience could have participated in such a desecration of a historical institution," the editorial in the
Blythbury-by-the-Sea Chronicle
claimed. "Only those undeserving of the privileges of American citizenship could be responsible."

Henry read the editorial while taking Black Dog down into the cove. When he came back up, he threw the paper into the garbage.

By mid-June—after the Whittier Academy crew team had finished so poorly at Regionals that they would not be going on to State—the sea had given back most of the beach to Salvage Cove. New sand stretched from the dark boulders as it once had, and the boulders themselves, scoured clean by the storm, began to grow back their long seaweed whiskers. Dark mussel colonies took hold in the new clefts the toppled rocks provided, and the sea turned bluer and warmer as green spring yielded to yellow summer. The water was so warm that even Black Dog sometimes let the green-white froth of a wave come up to her feet—though she would never, ever go in.

Little by little, Henry cleaned and polished all of the camping equipment—his own and Franklin's. He sorted it out, repacked it into his own backpack, hefted the thing up to his shoulders to feel its weight and balance, took it off and repacked everything, tried it on his shoulders again, and felt that everything was about right.

He bought a new tarp—always useful—and then splurged on a new Buck knife—also always useful—as well as a new short hatchet. This represented only a small drain on his savings account—and anyway, he needed all three. Late at night he studied Franklin's maps of Katahdin's trails, imagining himself hiking upward, catching his breath when the lines drew close together and the climbing steep, and then finally coming to the top of Katahdin and turning around full circle and finding that there was nothing between him and outer space but the blue atmosphere—and not so much of that—and then looking down at hawks shredding the clouds with their rigid wings.

There were times when Henry wondered if he should ask his father to climb the mountain with him—which would, of course, eliminate the problem of going to Katahdin without telling his parents, since there was no way in this entire green and yellow world that his mother was going to say, "Sure, go ahead. Have a good time."

As for his father—well, his father hadn't been to his accounting firm in Boston for weeks. He hadn't seen a single one of his Beacon Hill colleagues. He wouldn't go to St. Anne's anymore. He didn't drive into Manchester, or even into Blythbury-by-the-Sea. When he came to dinner, he hardly spoke. During the day, he stayed in the library. At night, his slippered feet stalked the halls. It seemed as if all that remained between his life now and the brooding
stone was to wait for more Trouble.

Once, Henry almost did ask his father to climb the mountain. He came into the library and saw that there was no work on his father's desk. His pipe was cold and unsmoked, and he was sitting alone in the bay window, looking across Salvage Cove and the wrecked ship with his hands on his knees. Henry almost asked him then. But he wasn't sure that his father could even answer, because the other question was so fierce. Would Franklin have grown into a good man? Henry watched him brooding on this, and the other questions that went with it: What could have been different? Why had he not done something about the Trouble within?

So Henry did not ask him, but on some days he would stand beside him at the bay window, and together they would look out on the wreck. Then Henry would feel the fire of Katahdin grow stronger and hotter within his guts. He would climb it alone; he would handle it himself. But his father would be quiet and still, and when Henry left the library, he would leave him sitting silently in the fierce battle, looking out the window like a lonely ghost in an ancient house understanding his life too late, and now helplessly watching what he could not change.

Which was pretty much what Louisa was doing, too. Alone.

One late night when Louisa came downstairs—and when Henry and Black Dog were watching a Buster Keaton movie—Henry surprised her in the kitchen. She told him that she thought that everyone was asleep because she didn't hear anything downstairs. He reminded her that Buster Keaton made silent movies. And then Henry told her something that he had never told her before. He told her that he missed her when she wasn't around. She almost began to cry. Henry said that he knew what she was feeling, because he felt it, too. Real crying, Louisa's head low. And then Henry said that he was going to Maine and he was going to climb Katahdin.

She looked up at him as though he was abandoning her.

"Why go now?" she said.

"Because I was going to climb Katahdin with Franklin."

"That's not an answer."

"I'm not asking your permission, Louisa. I'm just telling you that I'm going to go."

"With who?"

"With no one. By myself."

"They won't let you go," she said. "Especially by yourself."

"Maybe."

"And that's not why you're going," she said. "You're going because he said you wouldn't make it."

Henry looked at her.

"Frank is gone, Henry. He's gone. But he was also wrong. Henry, he did things to hurt people. He did. He told you that you couldn't make it to ... hurt you. Doing something crazy like this all by yourself isn't going to fix that."

"Oh, and you're the expert on doing something crazy. Like not going to his funeral is going to fix that." Henry was breathing hard. He could hardly believe that he was saying what he was saying. "Like dropping out of your life is going to fix that."

Louisa stared at him. Her eyes filled again. Then she slapped Henry hard and abruptly across his face. "You don't know anything," she said.

She ran upstairs to her room.

And since that had gone so well, Henry decided that he would wait a few days before he told his parents he was going to climb Katahdin.

He figured that he would wait until after they had had a really good supper. Probably he'd tell them when they were in the kitchen, cleaning up, when Black Dog was sitting patiently near his mother, who would be feeding her leftover scraps of marinated flank steak.

But when that time came three nights later and he told them about Katahdin, things didn't go any better than they had with Louisa—maybe because it wasn't marinated flank steak. It was just plain fried chicken.

"Are you out of your mind?" was the first thing that Henry's father said.

"When there's all this Trouble?" was the first thing that Henry's mother said.

"It's what Franklin and I planned to do. You know that."

"That's the point," said Henry's mother. "It's what
Franklin
and you planned to do."

"It matters to me," said Henry. "A lot."

"We know it matters to you, Henry," said his father. "But not now."

"And you certainly can't go by yourself," said his mother.

"I'm not going by myself," said Henry.

His father looked at him. "Who were you planning to go with?"

Henry thought wildly. "Sanborn," he said.

"Sanborn's planning to go with you?" said his mother.

"Yes. Sanborn. And Black Dog, too."

"And you two have this already planned this out?"

"Yes."

"Then I'm sorry, Henry," said his mother. "But you'll have to unplan it. It's not the time for us to be splitting apart."

Henry did not say what came into his mind right away: We are already splitting apart.

Henry looked down at Black Dog. How could he explain to his parents that there was something about climbing Katahdin that was important? That it was so important, that it was the last word that Franklin had cried out before the darkness in his brain fell over him? That it was so important, that fire burned in his guts?

"Katahdin," whispered Henry.

And Black Dog barked.

It startled them all—a quick, loud, cutting bark. Once. Then she sat and looked at them with bright eyes and thumping tail. They stared at her, and she rolled over onto her back and arched her belly up to be scratched.

And that ended it. Henry leaned down to scratch her, and his parents turned back to clean up the remains of the fried chicken, and there was no more talk of Katahdin. Outside, the wind picked up, sweeping from the north, carrying on its back fullblown clouds that had scratched their billows over Katahdin's peaks.

That night, Sanborn called.

"So," he said, "you told your parents that I was going with you."

"I guess my mother must have called your mother."

"I guess she must have. So when are we going?"

"Your parents would let you go?"

"They don't care."

"Sanborn ..."

"A mile in six minutes and twenty-three seconds, kiddo. I'll make it."

"Listen, Sanborn, this was supposed to be between me and my—"

"Yeah, I know it was. I'm just coming along to make sure that you don't get busted up in some ravine. You know, part of that mountain is called—"

"The Knife Edge, and you know exactly how high it is and how thin the trail is and how exposed we'll be and how many people have fallen thousands of feet to their doom."

"As a matter of fact, I do know all that. So when are we going?"

Black Dog stood. She cocked her head and stared at Henry.

The wind from the north swept by his window. It was full dark, so he did not see the scoured clouds running over the wreck and above the house.

"You are such a jerk, you know that, Sanborn? And we leave the second of July."

"Ah, the second of July, the third full week of summer break—not the first, but the third, when all suspicions will be allayed, and we'll naturally be gone all day anyway. Deceptive and devious, Henry. Ingenious, even."

"Shut up, Sanborn."

The Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Preparatory High School graduation ceremonies were held outside on the school's grassy common, instead of in Adams. Policemen ringed the crowd, and not just the two policemen from Blythbury-by-the-Sea. Henry had never before been someplace where he was being guarded by state troopers with rifles. Very big state troopers with very big rifles.

The Smith family was at the graduation by special invitation of Longfellow Prep. Henry and his mother attended. Henry's father did not come. Louisa did not come. And the two boys arrested in Merton could not come. Two empty chairs among the graduates heralded their absence. Someone had placed the school's torn banners across them.

Henry sat with the graduates in the chair that Franklin would have occupied. He watched Franklin's friends and worshipers and fellow rugby players graduate and head on to new Ivy League life—the life that Franklin would have headed toward after he had graduated. When it came time for his row, Henry stood with the other graduates—he was easy to pick out, since he was the only one without a blue-and-yellow robe—and he processed to the podium, paused while Franklin's name was read, and then walked across to take the diploma and shake a trustee's hand—all to the hearty applause of the standing audience.

Henry's mother, who was in the front row, was weeping.

***

The morning of the Katahdin trip dawned clear; it was warm already by seven thirty, when Henry's father—shaved and dressed—went out to the BMW to try to leave for Boston but then came back inside and went in to the library instead. It was hot by ten, when Henry's mother left for a meeting with Mr. Churchill. It was steamy by eleven, when Mrs. Lodge from the historical society came by to have some papers signed by Henry's father, who did not sign them because he couldn't see anyone just now.

After Mrs. Lodge left, Henry filled two water bottles. He left a note for his parents. He took out the leash he had bought for Black Dog and tried it on her. She thought that she was being punished and immediately fell to the floor and showed her belly. "No, Black Dog. Good dog. Good, good dog. It's fine. Get up. Good dog."