Page 53 of The Daring Times of Fern Adair
The house had been tomb-like since dinner, but at midnight, as Fern crept downstairs and into her mother’s study, it felt like the ground had rent apart and swallowed it entirely.
Dunning. Her father had been angry, but surely, he hadn’t meant it. He wouldn’t have his daughter committed to an institution just for defying him. For accusing him of graft. Fern’s mother would never stand for it. Buchanan wouldn’t either. Would he? The disgrace of such a thing would be irreparable to their family name.
But he had the power to do it. That much, Fern knew to be true.
He was serious about Young Acres. Fern’s mother would have to contact them in the morning. It might call itself a retreat, a haven, a farm, but it was still an institution—just one that was better equipped than the insane asylum here in Chicago.
At twenty-four, Fern was an adult, legally. She couldleave. She could live on her own. But how would she support herself? All she’d known was her turret and her isolation, the protective bubble that kept her away from the rest of the world. The world she’d always been told would never accept her.
She couldn’t get a job as a secretary, like Bessy—no one would hire her to be the first face a person saw at their business. She had no skills to run a machine, like the ones at Harris Looms.
Cal.Fern couldn’t stop thinking about him. She’d lain in bed, staring at the ceiling or out the window, for hours since leaving the dining room. Now, the hour was obscenely late, but she couldn’t wait until morning when the newspapers were delivered to find out whether the hit had been successful.
The small Tiffany lamp on her mother’s desk buzzed with the electric feed as she switched it on. The candlestick telephone shone in the light. Fern dug out the exchange directory. There were four columns of subscribers with the last name Levy. Knowing the street name was her saving grace. She ran her finger down the columns, finally finding it.
She lifted the receiver and dialed the operator. Her breath shortened as she waited for someone in the Levy household to answer. Impatience and remorse for calling so late crossed through her. On the fifth ring, the line picked up.
“Levy residence,” a breathless voice answered. A woman.
“Hello, I’m sorry for calling so late, but is this Hannah speaking?”
“It is,” she replied after a startled moment. “Who is this?”
“I brought Cal to you earlier in the evening.”
“Oh! Yes, of course. Fern, isn’t it?”
Hannah’s bright tone fed her hope.
“That’s right. I…well, I was calling because I wanted to know if Cal…if he’s all right?”
“I wish I’d thought to ask for your last name and extension—I would have let you know. Yes, he’s going to be fine. He was hit twice, but my father said neither of the bullets struck any major arteries or organs, and he was able to extract them.”
The knot in Fern’s stomach unraveled, and the sensation nearly made her feel ill.
“Fern? Are we still connected?”
She blinked, realizing she’d gone silent. “Yes. I’m just relieved is all. Is he still with you?”
A fuzzy clicking sound over the line accentuated her own beat of silence. Then, “Rodney took him right after he woke up. He was a bit groggy from the chloroform, but my father said that as long as they were careful, the stitches would hold.”
Of course. He belonged with his brother, didn’t he? Even though Dr. Levy’s home had felt safer. More…normal.
Fern’s silence was awkward, and though she felt bad about it, she also couldn’t fix it.
“He asked where you were,” Hannah offered.
“Did he?”
“And if you were all right. He seemed angry,maybe a little worried Rodney might have seen you, but I told him I sent you home before he arrived.”
Cal’s worried expression could probably be mistaken as anger. Fern could picture it well as she stared at her mother’s blotter, and the telephone wire coiled around her fingers. The way his forehead would smooth and soften, his brows released from whatever tension that kept them almost constantly pulled together. His eyes, a depthless brown.
“Thank you,” Fern said, a little breathless still. “I’m sorry to call so late, Miss Levy.”
She laughed. “Just Hannah is fine since I’m calling you Fern. And it’s nothing. My father gets calls at all hours of the night.”
Fern found she liked Hannah very much and suddenly wished she would have the chance to see her again. But their only connection was Cal, and besides, it seemed she would be in Zionsville soon.
