Eleven

  Sam closed his eyes. Freighters’ horns back and forth, one after the other, warning in the fog. And hadn't that woman who'd come into the shop asked about Heart Island?

  “Some of those islands were so large you couldn't see where they began or ended. And there was one that had only enough soil to fly a flag.”

  A little tuft of land. A flag whipping in the wind.

  “We'll go back now. Today. Back to the Thousand Islands, back to the castle.” He touched Sam's shoulder. “Back to where it all began.”

  22

  Heart Island

  They crossed a bridge into Gananoque on the Canadian side of the St. Lawrence. Mack parked the truck, and they sat on a bench near the water. The bag with Onji's lunch lay between them as they waited for a ferry to take them to the castle.

  Sam glanced out at the pier, at the wisps of mist that rose above the river, and watched a small boat slapped by the waves as Mack began to talk. “We lived on the American side, and I kept the sailboat there,” he said. “But we always came to this town, to Gan, Lydia and Onji and I.” He talked slowly, looking out at the water. “There was a bulletin board every summer, telling who'd caught the largest muskie.” He put his large hand on Sam's shoulder. “That's not important.”

  The muskie was more important than Mack knew, the word muskie. Hadn't it brought them here?

  The picture of the sailboat was in Sam's pocket, and he pulled it out, seeing it tremble slightly in his fingers.

  Mack ran his hand over it, almost the way Anima had run hers over the sweater. “My boat.” He turned to face Sam. “How did you find it?”

  Sam hesitated. “I climbed up into the attic.”

  “You went up the pipe?”

  “I lied about it afterward—” He stopped and began again. “I'm sorry about that, about the lying.”

  “The pipe,” Mack repeated. “And you found everything that was there? The little boat? I'd meant to give it back to you someday. But as time went on, it got harder. And you never asked.”

  “No one else could have built that boat.”

  Mack put his arm around Sam. “There's so much more to tell.” He stopped and pointed. In the distance, a gleaming white ferry had appeared on the river, its horn sounding. A familiar sound.

  Mack sighed. “When I was young I was always angry. Angry over foolish things. Angry until I brought you home to Anima and Onji. And then the anger seeped out of me like sap from a tree. But it was too late to mend things with my daughter; it's my worst regret.”

  The ferry had angled its way to the pier; the blast of the horn was all that could be heard.

  Aboard the ferry, they climbed to the top deck. The mist was stronger, sheets of it spread across the water as the ship pulled out slowly, almost lumbering.

  Mack was talking about the castle now. “Boldt was the name of a man who changed the shape of the island into a heart for his wife, and you'll see the stone deer called harts.”

  They passed islands and then went under a bridge that curved upward like a steel cobweb. It must have been the bridge that Onji had described. And there, suddenly, was the castle Sam had dreamed about.

  “Three hundred men worked there every day,” Mack said. “But the day George Boldt's young wife died, everything stopped. He never went back.”

  They left the ferry and climbed a gravel path. “Years later, I was one of the workers who began to restore it,” Mack said.

  Sam glanced up at the towers, the roofs like cones, the narrow windows cut into the stone. If only Caroline could have seen it. Mack, smiling down at him, nodded. “Yes, it's like yours.”

  They wandered through the rooms. It was cold inside, but there was a fire in the massive fireplace. They sat on a bench watching the flames, and Mack took a breath. “You came here often. Your mother brought you. You'd follow me, the sound of your footsteps so loud, going up the stairs and down. You watched everything, squeezing in to see me hammer …”

  If only he could remember.

  “Everything was my fault,” Mack said. “We argued over something, my daughter and I, and I left and went to Florida. I lost my daughter, lost you, lost everything.”

  Wait. Sam felt his teeth going into his lip. Mack's words echoed in his head: “Your mother brought you. … I lost my daughter, lost you.”

  Sam's clenched hands went up to his face.

  He knew. He didn't have to wait to be told. He tried to speak, but the sound wouldn't come. “My mother,” he began at last, “was your daughter? Was really your daughter.”

  Mack turned, shock in his eyes. “Julia, of course. How could you not have known? I built the little boat for you in her kitchen.”

  Something was filling Sam's chest, growing, coming up into his throat. He opened his mouth, and a sound came.

  Mack's arms were tight around him again, the heat from the fireplace warming him. “Oh, Sam,” Mack said.

  Sam was crying now, but whatever had filled his chest began to melt, to seep away with the tears. “Like sap from a tree.” “It was your voice shouting.”

  “When?”

  “At the Children's Home. Banging doors, one after the other.”

  “I was so angry,” Mack said. “In a rage. That woman. How can I ever tell you? How can I explain? When your mother died, no one knew where I was, so a neighbor took you to the home. But then they found me.” He ran his hand over his face. “Shocking, the packet that came in the mail: a loving note from Julia written just before she died, and legal papers giving me the right to take care of you, to raise you.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “I'd missed you, thought about you both all the time.”

  Sam wiped his face with his sleeve. It was all right, it was going to be all right.

  “I came up on the boat to get you. I never stopped, never slept. You'd been in the home for almost a month, and that night, the woman wouldn't let me have you. ‘I'm tired,’ she said. ‘Come back tomorrow.’

  “I waved the court papers in front of her. I said you weren't going to stay there one more night, one more hour.

  “ ‘Legal or not, you'll wait until tomorrow. He's in bed, and that's where I'm going soon. I'm not getting any child ready now. I've done my work for the day.’ ”

  Sam pictured her face: she had lines across her forehead, and her hair was flat against her head.

  “That terrible place.” Mack raised his hand to his chest. “I can't tell you how angry I felt.”

  That something inside.

  “I took the stairs two at a time. I opened one door after another—”

  “You called, shouted.”

  “I wrapped you in a sweater and scooped you up in my arms, you and the boat, and went down the stairs. ‘Night Cat,’ you said.”

  Sam nodded, remembering the stairs tilting, his arm out, wanting the cat.

  “The woman blocked the way into the kitchen, where Julia's cat was cowering under the table. Blocked the way until she saw my face.”

  They sat back, the flames crackling in the great room of the castle. Mack's eyes were closed. He seemed out of breath.

  “I took you to the boat,” Mack said.

  “I remember the sound of foghorns,” Sam said.

  “I was too angry to think straight, or I wouldn't have taken you out in the storm. We went onto the rocks, the hull split, and the boat went under, all of it. We were in the water, and I reached out for you and the cat. Somehow you'd held on to the little boat I'd made.” Mack's mouth was unsteady. “I nearly lost you the second time.”

  They went outside then, Sam feeling the wonder of it. They watched the moat below them, the boathouse across the way, swirls of mist.

  “We took a train then to Onji and Anima,” Mack said. “Both of us were soaked, the cat shivering. There was a nurse who sat nearby and bandaged my leg. I never thought what people would think. And then I carried you the last mile and they were waiting. And you were safe.”

  “Safe.”

  “I told myself I'd never go
near the water again,” Mack said. “I'd never have a boat again.”

  He smiled at Sam. “The next day we heard about the newspaper report.” He shook his head. “Onji and I went back to let them know we were alive.”

  What Sam was feeling inside was a burst of happiness. He and Mack belonged together. Julia was his mother, Lydia his grandmother.

  He realized what Mack had said. “Never have a boat again.” He put his hand on Mack's sleeve. “Don't say that. Let's build a boat. The two of us, together.”

  23

  The festival

  In the mornings, Sam still awoke before it was light. Go back to sleep, he told himself, yawning. The castle was finished, after all. He closed his eyes, but there was one more thing he might do for Caroline, even if she never knew it.

  He nudged Night Cat lightly with his foot. The cat climbed over him and jumped off the bed to wait at the bedroom door.

  Sam went downstairs into the kitchen and shredded a little leftover chicken for the cat, and took a roll for himself.

  He still thought of Caroline. If only he could tell her the whole story.

  In front of the castle, he plugged in the small cutters, listening to their buzz, and cut a rectangle into the front of the castle over the curved doors. Enough glass was left for one more window.

  He smoothed the edges of the opening, fit the glass into it, and framed it by gluing on small pieces of wood. He stepped back.

  The medieval lady was visible now; she stood in the tangerine room, looking out. Making friends with the world instead of hiding, he told Caroline in his mind.

  He stood there, looking at the castle, satisfied. It could go upstairs now, maybe with the little boat on his dresser.

  Mack was at the door. “Isn't today the school party?”

  Pease porridge hot. Trenchers. Cloves and cinnamon.

  “The medieval feast.” Sam shrugged.

  “I'll drive you in the truck, Sam. You won't be able to carry—”

  “The castle? I'm not going to bring it.”

  “But why?”

  Sam shook his head. He'd really made the castle for Caroline and for himself.

  Mack glanced at the castle. “I always thought it was a shame that Boldt never finished his castle, that for years it just crumbled away.”

  “It isn't like that. I finished it, all of it.”

  Mack touched the small green book on the corner of the table. “Caroline wrote it down about building it. Didn't she? And shouldn't everyone know about that?”

  Mack went to the door, tapping on the frame. “I'm going to scramble some eggs, not as good as Onji's, but still—” He reached out. “Take the castle to school today, Sam. You'll be glad afterward.”

  How could Sam say no to Mack? He ripped out the back pages of the notebook, the section that belonged just to him, and took them up to his bedroom.

  After breakfast they left for school a little late because it had taken so long to wrap the castle and put it in the back of the truck.

  “Want me to come inside?” Mack asked as they unloaded it at the side door, but Sam shook his head. Without thinking, he reached out to hug Mack. He carried the castle down the hall alone, maneuvering his way around kids who were carrying cans of water for plants, kids who quick-stepped instead of running, because Mr. Ramon might be lurking around the stairs.

  In the classroom, Sam put the castle, still covered, on the table under the window. The room was noisier than usual. Five kids were getting ready to do their play, and Eric marched back and forth with his sword and a paper helmet that made Sam laugh. In the corner, Marcy practiced her oral report, her lips moving, her arms waving.

  Stacked on the table were the large round pieces of bread with the centers scooped out, the trenchers Mrs. Stanek had promised she'd make. She'd actually brought in a huge pot of mashed peas to put on the bread, although Sam couldn't imagine anyone eating any of it. Marcy's mother had brought apple juice with cloves and Eric's mom had made a cinnamon cake, all food that had been around in the Middle Ages.

  Mrs. Stanek turned and saw him. “You've finished the castle, Sam.” She said it as if she'd known all along it would happen.

  He stood there, embarrassed, not knowing what to do with his hands.

  “Show us,” she said.

  He unwrapped the castle slowly, setting Caroline's horse straighter on the base, feeling the heat in his face.

  Mrs. Stanek moved away from the board and came to the table, her hand to her mouth. “Oh, Sam.” She touched the small knights standing in front, the towers, and bent over to see the medieval lady standing in the window. “It's Caroline, isn't it?”

  “Her mother made them, and Caroline made the horse,” he said. “It's all here in her notebook.”

  “Hey, look at what Sam did,” Marcy said, and then everyone was crowding in to look at the castle, looking at him. “Cool,” someone said, and “Sam built this?” someone else said.

  Eric grinned at him. “Terrific, MacKenzie. Really terrific.”

  Sam couldn't stop grinning back at Eric, and at the rest of them. Mack had been right. Sam went back to his seat, glad that he'd brought the castle. More than glad.

  Marcy began her speech, talking about cities with walls built around them for protection. And Mrs. Stanek walked around the room passing out her trenchers, holding out the pot of peas.

  Sam took a trencher. “I'll try the peas.” He'd probably be the only one, but after all, Anima made something delicious with chickpeas—how different could this be? Besides, Mrs. Stanek's face was red. For the first time he thought about how hard she tried.

  The peas were terrible, with enough pepper to make him sneeze, but he didn't have time to think about it, because the classroom door banged open, and Marcy stopped speaking, one arm raised.

  Caroline stood there, her bracelets circling halfway up her arm. She was wearing a purple hat that curled around her face. As if no one else were in the room, she smiled at him, and said, “Here I am, Sam-I-Am.”

  24

  Mrs. Warjng

  The dismissal bell rang. Sam zigzagged down the hall, carrying one end of the castle. “Those trenchers. Ugh.”

  Caroline zigzagged behind him with the other. “I'll tell Mom it was worth that two-hour drive this morning just to taste those peas. Yum.” They laughed.

  Sam backed down the three outside steps, trying to hold the castle level.

  “Easy,” Caroline said, and then, “So what about Sam Bell?”

  “It was my parents’ name.” He bent to pick up a knight that had slid off the edge of the castle. “But Mack thought it would be easier for me to have his.”

  They reached the van, and Caroline's mother popped the rear door from the driver's seat.

  “You're sure it's all right?” Caroline asked.

  Sam grinned at her. “About my name? About the castle? Sure.”

  “One thing. I know why you put the window in my room in the castle.”

  He waited.

  “You want me to look for friends. Don't you?”

  “Just go to the classroom door. Just pick out a kid, and smile. You have a great smile. You'll see.” He slid the castle into the rear of the van.

  “Oh, Sam,” she said. “I will. I'll never forget—” She did smile then. “Thanks. But one more thing. How can we stay friends if you don't e-mail, if you don't write?”

  She put a crumpled piece of paper in his hand. “My e-mail address.” She leaned forward—purple hat, a dozen bracelets, a constellation of freckles—and kissed his cheek before she went around to the front of the van. “Think about it. Write to me. I'll figure it out. Say yes.”

  He stepped back to stand on the curb, his hand raised to his face, watching until they pulled away and turned the corner. He went back into school and down the stairs to the Resource Room.

  Mrs. Waring was at the window, watering her plants.

  “I have to read,” he said.

  “Sam?” She brushed a drop of water off a leaf.
“I saw your castle at lunchtime. Everyone's talking about it, and no wonder. It's amazing.”

  “Thanks, but listen, I don't have to be a great reader, but I have to get by.”

  Her head was tilted, the watering can dripping.

  How could he tell her the whole story? The papers in the attic, the computer, Caroline, all of it? What a difference it would have made if he could have read? He settled for telling her just about the boat. “My grandfather and I are going to build a sailboat. I want to write it down. What we do, how we do it.”

  “How much time did you spend thinking about that castle? How much time working on it?”

  He knew what she was thinking. “Every minute I had.”

  “That's what it takes sometimes.” She put the watering can down and wiped her fingers on her jeans, then lifted the pot off the C and traced it with her finger. “How about giving me a couple of afternoons every week after school, a couple of mornings for part of the summer? We'll keep at it, work on it; we'll really try.” She held out her hand. “Give me a chance, Sam. I love to teach the way you love to build.”

  She had such a nice smile, her teeth a little crooked, her dark eyes soft. All right, he could do that.

  He swept his hand around the room. “And sometime soon, I'll make shelves for this room.”

  He'd missed the bus again, but that was all right too. It was warm out, almost summer, so he jogged part of the way.

  Mack was outside, waiting for him. They walked out back to stand in the doorway of the shed. Piles of sweet-smelling wooden planks stretched from one end to the other, and boxes of screws and nails were stacked against the wall. Mack had begun the cradle that would hold the growing hull of the boat.

  They breathed in the sweetness of the wood, half-listening to the music that was coming from Anima's restaurant. Sam flexed his fingers; he couldn't wait to begin. But Onji poked his head out the window. “Plenty of time for that. First, how about some muffins, you guys, and a glass of milk? Put some meat on those bones.”

  “We're built that way in our family,” Mack said. “Thin but tough.”