Sons from Afar (35 page)

“I won't. And you might not. Maybeth can teach you how to dance—she's really good. And think of all those eighth and ninth grade girls, looking up to you as the older man.”

“I'll probably embarrass you.”

Sammy laughed. “Nothing embarrasses me.”

“I envy you,” his brother said.

Sammy couldn't believe that. He wondered what James was really thinking about, that would make him say that, and he wondered why James was agreeing to go to a dance. Even if it was one with only underclassmen he was going to for the sake of his little sister, it was still a dance. Sammy guessed, wondering, “James, you haven't ever been out on a date, have you?”

“A date with a girl?”

“Don't be stupid.”

“Hey,” James joked, “nobody's supposed to say that to me.”

He was avoiding the question—Sammy could figure that out. He let James avoid it. He guessed, wanting to avoid it answered the question.

Over to the east, over the black, choppy water, the moon had risen, to begin the journey across the sky. Sammy could see how you would think the moon, with its cold, sad face looking down, was a chariot, pulled by pale horses, driven by a goddess. The silver light glimmered on the tops of the waves. Sammy thought, It would be something to stand on the moon and see the earth. He wondered if the earth shone. “Could you look it up in a book to see if the earth shines, from the moon?” he asked James.

“I guess. They took pictures, the astronauts, so I guess you could. I didn't know Mr. Norton was Robin's father.”

“He isn't. He's a stepfather. Robin likes him better than his real father, it sounds like, when he talks, but he doesn't seem to know that.”

“Yeah. He seems kind of young. Robin.”

“Didn't you like him?”

“I liked him fine,” James said. “He's just—sort of pale, quiet—I dunno, he sort of reminds me of myself a little, kind of wimpy.”

“Wimpy?” James wimpy? If James hadn't sounded serious, Sammy would have laughed.

“You know, the way he didn't say much and tried to agree with everyone.”

“Nobody thinks you're wimpy, James.” Sammy tried to explain: “You're weird—different—because you always—think so much about things and I never know what you're going to be thinking, but—”

“Wimpy,” James said. “A dork. That's what people think.”

“Stuck-up, maybe.” Sammy could see how people might think his brother acted superior.

“You just don't know, Sammy.”

Maybe he didn't. But even if he found out, he wouldn't agree. He knew better, and he would know better than the people who only knew James at school. He
knew
James.

“Anyway, why didn't you tell me who Robin's father was?”

“I didn't know if you'd want me to know. You didn't say anything about what happened after. What is going to happen?”

“They made him flunk me for the last marking period, which includes the exam. It'll make my year's grade a low B, at worst, but that's only a sophomore grade so it's not all that serious. I hope.”

Sammy didn't know anything about how colleges and scholarships looked at grades, but he hoped so too. “He had to flunk Andy Walker, too.”

“Mr. Norton didn't mind doing that I bet. And Andy won't get a C for the year, so he won't be able to take French III either.”

“Serves him right. But how do you know what he'll get?”

“I know the grades he's been getting all year.”

“How would you know that?”

“You can see, when they hand the papers back.”

“But why would you care about what other people get?” Sammy wondered.

James took a while answering that question. “No good reason,”
he finally said. “You're right, Sammy, there's no good reason for that.”

“One good thing,” Sammy pointed out, “you won't have to study for the exam.”

“Yes, I will,” James said. “I'd like to get a perfect A on that one.

“But why?”

“Because I can.”

James was so right about some things, it was almost depressing. And he was so wrong about others—Sammy couldn't tell what to think about James. He wished he knew for sure, but he guessed he couldn't; but it wasn't the kind of thing he was comfortable with, not being sure. He wondered if getting older meant just getting less and less sure about more and more things. “James,” he started to ask, but James was already talking.

“Do you remember,” James said, so cautiously that Sammy listened carefully, “how we'd go out, all three of us, us and Jeff, crabbing?”

Sammy had caught on and finished the idea before James had half-finished asking it. “And we could split the money three ways, with us getting two-thirds of it, which is almost as good as all. It's lots more than half. I didn't even think of that, James. Let me be the one to ask her, okay? I get to do that. Because—why didn't I think of it? I'm really stupid sometimes.”

“Yeah,” James agreed. Sammy punched at him, for saying that; not hard though, because of his ribs. “Well, you are,” James said.

James looked at his brother, close beside him. He could see that Sammy was glad to have a solution, genuinely glad. Sammy's gladness spread out from him like light, almost visible. James hoped, thinking back over the spring, that Sammy would forget about their father. He didn't want Sammy to be troubled, as he had been troubled, by this question of the man they'd never find.
Sammy wasn't the kind of person to worry at a question though. He was a doer, not a worrier. As long as he had something to do. “Let's build you a backboard,” James said, the idea just shooting into his mind and out of his mouth. He didn't know where the idea came from. “That way, with a backboard to play against, you can practice your tennis even while Mina's traveling in Europe with her choir. So you don't have to get rusty, or whatever it is that happens when you don't practice.” James thought he could figure out how to build a backboard. He could read up on what it was supposed to be like. “We could use the barn wall,” he said, “That should work.” They'd have to figure out how to level the ground, and how to start earning and saving some money for the materials they'd need to buy. When Sammy had something to do, like playing tennis, he was easier on himself; and that would give Sammy a better chance of keeping what was so good about him while he was growing up. “Do you want to?” James asked, doubting now because Sammy hadn't said anything. Thinking about it a second time, James wasn't so sure he wanted to make a backboard. The more he thought about it, the more hard work he knew it would take. It wasn't the kind of thing he was good at, hard work.

Sammy looked at his brother. Did James think he didn't want a backboard? How could James even think he wouldn't want one? How could James not know that was about the best idea Sammy had heard in . . . in ever. Poor old James—he didn't know enough about other people. Sammy hoped that James would be able to forget about their father, gone like that anchor was gone, gone and done with. Sammy figured he himself would have done a lot of fighting with their father, and he wouldn't have liked the man much. Except sometimes he thought they would have gotten along just fine, and that was just as bad. He had less of a father than any of the rest of them, because their
father hadn't ever even seen Sammy, and that was a lonely feeling. If Sammy had known him, though, it probably would mean only that he knew who he didn't want to be like. Which he already knew a lot about. Without a father, it was like being lost without a map: Sammy pictured that, being lost in the stars and no map to guide him. But the picture was exciting, not frightening; it was an adventure. Sammy didn't mind adventures. Not even if they were like flying blind and alone, and wondering what he was going to do next. That was the kind of thing that bothered James, but it didn't bother him. And if James had something to think about, the chances were pretty good he wouldn't waste time being bothered. A backboard was a kind of tennis court, and they weren't easy to build. It would take a lot of planning, and learning about things neither of them knew anything about. James would enjoy that. It was just like James to have such a good idea, but Sammy hadn't known that James understood how he felt about tennis.

There was, however, one thing he needed to get straight with his brother. “Once we start on the work—we'll have to clear away the bushes and flatten the barn wall, maybe rebuild it—you're going to want to quit. I'm not going to let you, once we start. I'm going to stay on your back. I'll make you work more than you want to, make you work hard.” Sammy could do that—he could make James do more than he wanted to, or thought he could. Sammy knew that about himself and about James.

“I think that'll probably be good for me,” James admitted.

“And I'm still going to sing in the chorus, too,” Sammy said. “You can't stop me.”

“Who says I want to?” James demanded. “I never said you couldn't.”

“That way, we can keep an eye on Maybeth,” Sammy pointed out.

“Keep an eye on her?”

“She's awfully pretty, James.” Sammy didn't want to say outright that he didn't want anyone like their father moving in on Maybeth and making a mess of her life. He didn't know how James would take that.

“I can't see myself battling off her boyfriends,” James said.

“I can do that part. What I can't do is know who should be fought off, or when she needs to just make up her own mind. But between the two of us—” Alone he'd probably make a mess of it, Sammy thought. James wasn't saying anything. He wondered what James was thinking.

“We'd probably be smart to do that,” James said. “I'll try,” he said, giving his word. His brother's word was good enough for Sammy.

CYNTHIA VOIGT
won the Newbery Medal for
Dicey's Song
and a Newbery Honor for
A Solitary Blue
, both part of the beloved Tillerman Cycle. She is also the author of many other celebrated books for middle-grade and teen readers, including the Bad Girls series;
Izzy, Willy-Nilly
; and
Jackaroo
. She was awarded the Margaret A. Edwards Award in 1995 for her work in literature, and the Katahdin Award in 2003. She lives in Maine. You can visit her at
cynthiavoigt.com
.

Books by Cynthia Voigt

THE BAD GIRLS SERIES

Bad Girls

Bad, Badder, Baddest

It's Not Easy Being Bad

Bad Girls in Love

Bad Girls, Bad Girls, Whatcha Gonna Do?

THE TILLERMAN SERIES

Homecoming

Dicey's Song

A Solitary Blue

The Runner

Come a Stranger

Sons from Afar

Seventeen Against the Dealer

THE KINGDOM SERIES

Jackaroo

On Fortune's Wheel

The Wings of a Falcon

Elske

OTHER BOOKS

Building Blocks

The Callender Papers

David and Jonathan

Izzy, Willy-Nilly

Orfe

Tell Me if the Lovers Are Losers

Tree by Leaf

The Vandemark Mummy

When She Hollers

ATHENEUM BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS

An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children's Publishing Division

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www.SimonandSchuster.com

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1987 by Cynthia Voigt

The stories about Daedalus and Icarus and about Apollo and Phaëton are derived from
Bulfinch's Mythology
.

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Also available in an Atheneum Books for Young Readers hardcover edition

Book design by Debra Sfetsios-Conover

The text for this book is set in Baskerville.

First Atheneum Books for Young Readers paperback edition July 2012

The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:

Voigt, Cynthia.

Sons from afar.

Summary: Six years after coming to live with their grandmother, James and Sammy Tillerman go in search of their long-lost father.

ISBN 978-0-689-31349-3

[1. Fathers—Fiction. 2. Brothers—Fiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.V874Sp 1987

[Fic] 87-1857

ISBN 978-1-4424-5065-3 (hc)

ISBN 978-1-4424-2883-6 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-4424-8918-9 (eBook)