A/N: Two chapters of THLS were posted this week. Did you miss one?

Disclaimer: The Music Man was written by Meredith Wilson and Franklin Lacey. Not by me. The only things I can claim are any errors. Those are totally mine.

Chapter 25

The Closed Window

"Miss Marian," Buster said to Fern, acting out his lines as Professor Harold Hill, "you're late."

"But you said fifteen minutes," said Fern, acting out her lines as Marian.

It was a dark and cloudy Sunday afternoon. A cold snap had happened overnight, with the possibility of snow flurries later on, the first of the year, but Fern and Buster were warm in the Walters's family dining room. Her mother had left over an hour ago to host an open house, while her father prepared for an upcoming business trip in his home office. That left the majority of the downstairs free for them to practice their lines for The Music Man with little distraction. They were rehearsing the footbridge scene, a crucial part of the story. With no actual bridge at their disposal, Fern had suggested they take their marks between the sideboard and one side of the table, using the area as a spatial aid.

"Not that kind of late," Buster continued. "No, I meant that you're about…well, I'd say about twenty-six years late. It took you all this time to get to the footbridge with a fella."

Fern sidled up closer to him, pretending to look coy as she held onto the back of a chair, a stand-in for the footbridge railing.

"If you want to know the truth, it almost took longer."

"Oh?"

"Halfway here, I nearly turned back. I suppose I'm not the first to discover that it is easier to think clearly when not under the spell of your salesmanship."

"Oh, Miss Marian, now surely you don't think I've been trying to sell you anything."

"Not at all. You've given me something. That's why I decided to come."

"I don't recall giving you anything."

"Oh, yes, you have," she said, gazing into his eyes. "Something beautiful. That's why I came. And I'm glad, so very glad. Please don't be afraid that I'll expect too much more. One can't expect a travelling salesman to stay put. I know there have been many ports of call and there will be many more, but still, there is no reason not to be grateful for what you will have left behind. For me."

Buster blinked.

"Wow…" he said, this time as himself, breaking character to marvel at Fern. "You really are good."

She could not be annoyed at his lack of attention because he had sounded so sincere. She smiled in spite of herself, flattered.

"You think so?"

"Francine can say it's BS all she wants; Coach Sorrell made the right choice. You are Marian. Even I believe you're in love with Harold. You're gonna break a leg, I just know it."

"You and everyone else, it seems," she said with a small laugh, watching the now well-trained Buster return to his mark.

She could not help but notice Buster's face fall as he stepped back into place. It was not a frown, but the look of someone lost in thought. Yet again.

Maybe today isn't a good day to ask.

She could tell that Buster had been preoccupied with something from the moment he walked through her door this afternoon, even if they did have the house to themselves, something would not leave him alone.

Look at me, trying to put it off. If I can sneak into an abandoned theme park, I can ask a boy to the Autumn Ball. I can do this. I just need to find my window. Engage him.

That meant more conversation. Instead of leaving the room to take her mark, she took a step toward him to narrow the distance.

"You know…" she said, "a part of me can't believe I ever tried to get out of this role. I was so wrapped up in my newest story I didn't want to leave it, not even for a minute. But it has been quite fun, Binky's tirades aside."

Buster broke away from whatever was occupying his mind long enough to focus on her.

"Oh, yeah, you mentioned a new story. What's it about?"

"I don't want to say too much right now, mostly because it keeps changing, but it involves urban exploration and murder."

"Cool… Cool. So how many funeral homes have you sneaked around for this one?"

"Exactly zero, but I have been doing practical research."

Fern told Buster about her trip to Wonderworld and sneaking into Kiddie Cove. He was surprised to hear of its existence ("I can't believe a creepy place like that was in our own backyard and we never knew it."). He listened to her, distractedly as his eyes kept darting away, while she described her trip and the Cove in extensive detail.

"And you did all that for your story, huh?"

"Yes. I thought my methods were unorthodox, too, until I read Storyteller's Journey, that is," she said, referring to the Stephanie Bachman book Buster had given her. "I'm on my second read, by the way. It turns out Bachman did quite a bit of practical research herself when she first started out. That's how she became a motorcycle enthusiast, while she was drafting Bangor Brick. She's done a lot of things for her stories like skydiving, searching for sunken treasure, and she even constructed her own moonshine still and secretly sold the alcohol to her friends, just to get a feel for what it was like. Her story has been really inspiring. And remember how, in his letter, Ernesto Del Rey told me that I should apply life experience to my craft? It's as if this is all one big glorious sign that I'm on the right track, that I should keep doing what I'm doing."

"Awesome," said Buster, "as long as you stick with the urban exploration part of your story and not the murder part."

"There are lines even I must draw. So, urban exploration it is. But I'm not stopping at Kiddie Cove. That was just a warm-up act. There are loads of other abandoned places around Elwood City I feel are worth checking out."

"Oh, yeah? Like where?"

"Ever heard of Raccoon Hill?"

Buster shook his head.

"The proper name for it is Van Houten Farms. It was one of the first farms established in Elwood City, even before Elwood City officially became Elwood City, and it was chiefly responsible for the strawberry boom that gave our town its reputation."

"'The City of the Strawberries'," Buster said after a moment's thought.

"Precisely. The farm became defunct in the late 1970s, and the farmhouse has just been sitting there ever since, perched on top of Raccoon Hill with all its land surrounded by miles of dense woods and the road leading to it closed off to the public."

"Ooh—the big, white 'road closed' sign on the other side of town? I've seen it. So that's where that road leads?"

Fern nodded. "That's the big score, my Everest. There's an abandoned farmhouse scene in Around the Dark Corner—my new story, you see—and it's a pretty big deal. If I could make it to Van Houten Farms and get a good look at it, capture the experience of what it's like to trek through the woods and see the farmland in all its desolate glory, I know I'll be able to make my scene much, much better."

"You're actually going up there, up…Raccoon Hill?"

"I want to. I really, really do, but…to be honest, I'm a little intimidated. It's kind of out in the middle of nowhere. Travelling up the main road would be risky—someone could easily spot me and stop me. Or worse. That leaves me with accessing the farm the long way around, and that means hiking through the woods and up the far side of Raccoon Hill, which would be unknown territory. It could even be treacherous."

"I'll say."

"But…I think I've found my sweet spot, the route where the farm and civilization have the shortest distance between them, and you'll never guess where the trail lets out."

She had not expected Buster to know the answer, but she had expected him to at least fire back a one-liner. Instead, he shrugged.

"Near the field behind Mill Creek Middle."

"No kidding?" Buster said. "That must be a huge plot of land. How did you find that out?"

"Google Earth is your friend, my friend. I found Van Houten Farms and checked out the surrounding area, and it seemed like MCM was incredibly close by. I calculated the distance, and it's a little over three-quarters of one mile, though it is a wooded area and a lot of the journey is uphill. Not exactly a walk in the park."

There's finding a window, and there's stalling. Hurry up and ask him.

Fern swallowed.

"Um, can I ask you something, Buster?"

"You want me to trek up Raccoon Hill with you?" he said.

"Yes," she answered, secretly horrified that she had bailed last minute. "Yes, that's exactly it."

What is wrong with you?

She had originally planned to go to Van Houten Farms on her own, just as she had traveled to other places in her research. The idea of bringing someone along on something so personal would had been off-putting before. But if Buster were genuinely interested, perhaps an exception could be made.

"Wow, Fern, I can't believe you'd want me involved. I've never gone urban exploring before. Are you sure I wouldn't just slow you down?"

"Quite the contrary, she said. There's no one I'd rather have by my side. Of course, you don't have to if you don't want to."

"Yeah, no. It sounds cool. I'll just have to make sure I'm…free. Do you have a day in mind?"

He looked so uncertain, nervous. He was actually fidgeting with his hands. This was a far cry from the jovial Buster from earlier this week. As much as she wanted to ask him to the dance, as much as she wanted to pep talk herself into staying in the game until the thing was done, she could not do it without getting to the bottom of what was bothering him. It just did not feel right.

"Is everything okay?" she said to him. "You're miles away, and you're nowhere near as quippy as you usually are. I feel like I've cracked more jokes than you have today."

Buster shrugged. "I'm fine. It's just…yesterday was a weird day."

Had something happened when Buster met up with is father? Or maybe…

"Oh," Fern said, lowering her voice. "Is it your parents? Is counselling not going well, or—"

"No. Mom and Dad are great. A little private about what happens in counselling, but great. I'm sorry—I know I've been distracted. I know how important the play is to you, and I'm getting into it, too, I swear… And I love hearing about your stories… Something really unexpected happened, and I can't stop thinking about it."

"The good kind of unexpected?" she said carefully, genuinely hoping that it was.

"Uh, maybe?" he said, holding back a sheepish smile. "I'm not really sure."

If she was not mistaken, he was blushing, not something she was accustomed to seeing from him.

"Well, you've got me on tenterhooks now, Buster," she said. "What is it?"

He took a deep breath.

"Okay… Ladonna stabbed you in the heart yesterday evening."

"Huh?" Fern said, trying to disguise her gasp.

There was a low-level buzzing in her brain, her pulse thudded in her ears, and it was hard to collect her thoughts. Certainly, she had misheard Buster. What had he actually said?

He said Ladonna kissed him yesterday evening, you dolt.

He stood there, looking at her expectantly, and here she was gaping at him like a fish.

"Yeah, I'm just as surprised as you are," he said. "Someone actually kissed me. Pretty unbelievable, right? Fern?"

"I, um…don't understand. You said you were going to your dad's work."

"Oh, I'll back up. I invited Ladonna to come along. See, she's never traveled by plane before, and since she gets excited over, well, everything, I thought she might enjoy…"

No. No…

This was not what she had meant. Of course, she had been confused as to how a day with his father somehow ended with Ladonna Compson's lips, but she did not wish to hear Buster recount the events in detail. She would rather read Nicholas Sparks, and she hated Nicholas Sparks.

Just shut up, please.

As if hearing her thoughts, Buster stopped.

"I'm rambling," he said. "Anyway, long story short, she planted one on me at the end of the day. Just…boom."

"Boom?"

She wanted him out of her house. She could hear Sue Ellen's speech from parents' night:

"But if you are interested in him, maybe don't do silly things like push him away."

She needed to get away from Buster before she lost it. Through the fog in her brain, she had presence of mind to let her improv skills take over.

"Yeah. Boom. And I still don't know what—"

"Hang on," she said, holding up a finger. "I think I heard my phone ringing."

"I didn't hear anything," Buster said, confused and looking around for a source of noise.

"Just a sec…"

Fern darted into the living room to pick up her phone from one of the end tables and shot a quick text to Sue Ellen.

Calling now. Play along.

"It was Sue Ellen," she said upon returning to the dining room, "but I didn't make it in time. She knew I was busy today. I doubt she would call unless it was important. I'd better call her back."

She waited for Sue Ellen to pick up while Buster watched her. This had not been the first time she had pulled this trick, which she had mostly employed to avoid talking to her mother.

"Hello," Sue Ellen said on the other line, sounding as if she knew what to expect.

"Sue Ellen?" said Fern. "Yeah, hi. I just missed your call. What's going on?"

She held a long pause while Sue Ellen said nothing on the other line.

"Oh… Oh, yeah? Really? Sure, I can help… No, really, it's no bother. I'll be over soon… Yes… No problem."

Sue Ellen had barely gotten out a dull, "Bye, Fern". Fern was already hanging up.

"So, change of plans," she said quickly. "I need to get to Sue Ellen's. We'll do this some other time, okay? Okay."

She left the dining room to retrieve her coat from the coatrack and grabbed Buster's things while she was there. Buster followed her.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, no. She just needs a little help with a…a thing."

She flung Buster's coat and beanie in his direction. He reflexively caught them, looking back at her as she shoved her arm into a sleeve.

"Can I help?"

"No! No… It's…girl stuff. You wouldn't understand. No offense."

"None taken. You're probably right."

She popped her collar to protect herself against the cold. There was no time to locate her scarf or gloves, so this would have to do, at least until Buster was well away from her house.

"Anyway, I have to leave now. I'll get there quicker if I take a shortcut. You can see yourself out, right? Good."

Fern was out the door in two seconds, and then she left in the direction she normally would have taken to go to Sue Ellen's house, starting off at a jog. Instead of making a left at the corner, she continued straight as soon as traffic was clear, only to detour off the sidewalk a few paces after crossing the street. She cut through a thicket on a highly-worn trail forged by others to avoid going the long way around, and she came out at Puffer's Pond.

She half expected at least one stubborn soul to be out here on this gray, cold day, fishing in the pond with the threat of snow looming over him, but there was no one, thank God. There was birdsong and the occasional rustle of a flighty chipmunk, signs of her only companions. She focused on the steam rising off the still water and the sound of her breath slowing, but it did nothing to calm her.

Face it, you didn't come here to be calm anyway.

Though her face was cold, she was still hot under the collar. Her eyes stung. Her nose stung. Sure that she was now completely alone with no one to witness, Fern doubled over, and she began to cry.

To be continued…