There was a soft knock on my door.
"Yes?"
Cary poked his head in.
"Are you okay?"
"No, but it's all right," I said. "I guess in my heart I knew everything your father said. It's just hard hearing it like that."
Cary nodded. "It'll be all right. Things will be just fine," he promised.
I smiled at him. "Sure."
"I'd better go up and start studying," he said. "I gotta pass those finals."
"Yes, you better. Cary," I said, as he started to close the door. He raised his eyebrows. "One day this week, will you take me to see Kenneth Childs?"
"Sure," he said. "I don't know what he'll do. He doesn't like people coming around much, I know. I hear that when he works, he won't even come to the door." "Still, I'd like to try to meet him," I said.
"Okay. Nose to the grindstone," he said and left.
I lay there for a long time, just thinking, remembering silly things Mommy had done, recalling her whining and crying and Daddy's soothing her all the time. Then I thought about her with Archie Marlin.
Children inherit so much from their parents, I thought. Would I become like her one day? It frightened and intrigued me. I had to know who my real father was. Then I could learn what part of him I had inherited and whether that part was strong enough to overcome the bad I had inherited from Mommy. To be without a past is almost like being without a future, I thought.
I would know my past. No temptation of a fortune, no threat, nothing would keep me from pursuing the truth.
No one at school knew anything about my trip back to West Virginia. They didn't question why I had been absent. Some-of the girls thought it was in sympathy with Cary and his unfair suspension. I didn't say it was, but I didn't deny it. There was a lot of excitement because of the school year's approaching end.
The week before finals was a week mainly for review. At the end of the week of finals, the school would have its variety show, the proceeds of which went toward college scholarships. The principal, Mr. Webster, hadn't forgotten that I played the fiddle. He had Mrs. Topper, the school music teacher who was in charge of the show, ask me to perform.
I tried to get out of it, claiming the truth: I hadn't been playing much these past months.
But Mrs. Topper was desperate. "I barely have enough performers to fill a half hour, much less an hour. I need you. You have to do two numbers," she pleaded. "It's all in good fun and for a good cause. Won't you help us?"
How could I refuse? But this, along with my anticipated visit with Kenneth Childs and my final exams made me more nervous than a flock of hens with a fox at the gate. I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep. Cary was more excited about my performing than I was. He insisted on watching and listening to me practice. Aunt Sara thought it was wonderful, too, and even Uncle Jacob looked and listened with interest.
I decided I would play one of Papa George's favorites, "Katy Cline," and a traditional Woody Guthrie folk favorite, "This Land is Your Land." I sang when I played, of course. Uncle Jacob looked amazed and Aunt Sara had the widest, happiest smile yet on her face. Cary beamed. I felt sorry for May, but she seemed content just fee
ling the vibrations when I let her or just watching my face and actions. I didn't think I was good enough to actually perform, but even Uncle Jacob said I was. He hinted that he would attend the show, which Cary said would be a first.
"The only community event I've ever seen him attend is the Blessing of the Fleet."
Cary suggested that on Thursday, after we had brought May home from school, he and I would go to the Point to see if I could speak to Kenneth Childs.
"What are you going to say?" he asked.
I thought a moment. "I'll introduce myself first and then see what he says."
"What if he says nothing? What if he just nods and walks away?"
"I'll find a way to get him to talk to me," I said. Actually, I was excited with the idea of just seeing him, seeing if there was anything about him that reminded me of myself. I couldn't really tell much from the few photos I'd seen.
"The last time I saw him, he had a beard," Cary said. "Laura and I used to go to the beach up there, but I've never been in his house or studio. What excuse are we going to use for driving over to see him?" he asked.
"We'll tell him my mother asked me to stop by to say hello," I replied. Cary nodded and smiled.
"You've been scheming, haven't you?"