They said goodbye, and Fern replaced the receiver on the hook. The Tiffany lamp’s bulb hissed a little when she switched it off. The sound wouldn’t have been noticeable in the light of day, but at night, so many things were clearer. All senses, heightened. At night, more things seemed possible too.
After a few hours of sleep, Fern was awake again as the sun slid up over the lake’s horizon. Not a single tear had slipped from her eyes the day before or during the night, not even after the announcement that she would be sent off to Young Acres. Yet her eyes burned when she woke.
She couldn’t imagine living on a farm in the countryside,with other deformed or scarred people, children and adults alike. Sure, she wouldn’t be someone to stare at any longer…but what would shedothere?
What could she dohere?
In whatever fantasyland her mother lived in, she’d envisioned Fern marrying and setting up a home, just as she had. Hadn’t some part of her, however deeply buried, known how far-fetched that vision was?
The blame didn’t rest on her mother alone; Fern had lived in a fantasyland herself, never thinking about or planning for a future. In her turret, time stood still. She’d been lying to herself and avoiding making any real plans. So perhaps there was something attractive about Young Acres. At least she’d be exchanging her turret for a new room, a new home, a new path forward, whatever it may be.
Maybe she should have felt excitement. Instead, her chest ached. A knot formed in her throat. She wished it had been her idea to go to Young Acres. She wished she’d asked her parents to send her, rather than be told she must leave home and go. If they’d expressed hesitation at sending Fern away, rather than anticipation, then maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much.
What would Cal say? Would he think it was a good idea? One thing she knew for certain—he wouldn’t sugarcoat his opinion.
Breakfast was served, but Fern was the only one who arrived to eat. They were all avoiding her.
The last few times she’d left the house, nothing good had come of it, so she walked onto the back lawn. The gardener had clipped the grass in diagonal lines, and theflower beds were erupting in reds and whites and pinks. A small fountain burbled at the end of the crushed stone path. Everything was so subdued, so cautious.
No one had forbidden her to leave, and really, she was an adult and able to make up her own mind about where she went—but the lawn still seemed to have an invisible wall around it. No, nothing good had come out of her few trips beyond the perimeter of her home, but at least she’d gone out. Seen parts of the city that she’d only read about and looked at on maps. Her heart had beat wildly, and from more than just running up and down the main staircase.
As illogical and dangerous as it was, Fern wanted to see Cal, just to make certain he really was okay. But going to the Lion’s Den was out of the question. Her stomach roiled just thinking about stepping foot inside Mama Rosa’s front door and seeing Rodney. Cal would be furious too. He wouldn’t want her there.
She spent the rest of the day bringing up all the reasons she shouldn’t see Cal whenever her mind gravitated toward the idea of it. The whole next day as well. When no one came up to the turret to talk to her about Young Acres, Fern started to hope that nothing would come of the threat. But then, at breakfast the following morning, her mother appeared and dashed that hope away.
“Mrs. Crane, the superintendent at Young Acres, has approved your placement there,” she said as Fern was pouring coffee from the silver carafe. She spooned in sugar, her heart clamping down on the next pump of blood. “They will be ready for you next week.”
The bite of toast in Fern’s mouth turned to sawdust.
“I don’t think I want to go, Mother,” she said before sipping from a glass of water.
“That might not matter,” she replied, taking her chair at the table. Though she sounded tired, the stare she gave Fern was alert and solemn. “Your father won’t have you in this house any longer.”
The excuse rang hollow. “You brought up Young Acres before any of what happened at Harris Looms. These last few weeks haven’t inspired you to send me away. Not being able to find a beau for me at any of those ridiculous dinner parties inspired you.”
Her mother set down her coffee cup with a clatter. “That’s not fair. It’s not true.”
“Then maybe you just want me out of your hair.” Her mother opened her mouth to reply, but Fern continued, “Whatever the case, it isn’t because of my odd behavior these last few weeks.”
“It has been odd,” she agreed. Fern saw and heard her mother’s confusion and realized her father hadn’t shared anything with her mother regarding the pictures Rod had blackmailed him with. If he had, she wouldn’t appear so confounded. She’d tell Fernexactlywhy she needed to go to Young Acres.
“You’ve been associating with dangerous men, Fern” she whispered, lowering her voice in case a nosy cook was listening at the door to the kitchen. The shadows of Mrs. Jennaway’s feet could be seen in the gap between the door and the floor.
“I’m not the only one,” Fernreplied.
“But you are a woman,” her mother hissed, then took a deep breath. “Your father’s business is his business.”
So, she did know of some of his activities at least.
“He is better equipped to handle the situations that might arise,” she went on, her voice accentuating different words, likeequippedandarise. As though trying to make Fern understand, or maybe to convince herself.
Fern didn’t know for certain if her father had encouraged the hit on Cal. He’d never admit it, not to her, not to anyone, but she did know he despised the Rosetti brothers. Fern hated one brother but couldn’t find it in her to despise the other. Even knowing that he wanted revenge on Buchanan for what he’d done to his sister, she couldn’t bring herself to hate Cal.
“I don’t think a place like Young Acres is for me,” Fern said, disappointed in her mother for knowing about her father’s corruption and never saying anything. For acting like it was fine for her, but wrong for Fern, to be associated with someone who was connected to organized crime.
“At least go and see it,” her mother urged. “You can’t make assumptions before visiting there.”
They ate in silence, but in Fern’s mind, there was too much noise. Maybe she should just go and see it. It might be nice. Or she might hate it and refuse to live there.
