J.M.J.
Author's note: Happy Fourth of July! I'm sorry this chapter isn't a little happier—at least the boys are having fun! Thank you for reading and reviewing! The next chapter will be up tomorrow. God bless!
July 4 – Tuesday
There was no reasonable facsimile of Independence Hall to be found on Barmet Island, so the boys held their reenactment on the beach. The cabin might have been closer, but none of the boys liked spending any more time in there than was necessary. So instead, they carried the table down to the beach and gathered around it. There was only one chair, and Chet was sitting in it, since he was playing John Morton, who was the oldest of the Founding Fathers. They felt a bit awkward at first, and so Frank had to call the reenactment together.
He set the paper on which he and Joe had reconstructed as much of the Declaration of Independence as they could remember on the table in front of him and leaned against the table with both hands, which felt like a vaguely Thomas-Jefferson-like position. "Gentlemen," he said, "thank you for coming on this august occasion. I don't believe any of us are unaware of the risk we are taking by convening here today. Since the founding of these thirteen colonies, we have been under the rule of the British king. However, as time has passed, this rule has become more and more tyrannical. We are taxed beyond endurance and one by one, our rights to self-governance have been stripped away so that we are entirely at the mercy of the whims of a king on the other side of the world, with no understanding of the needs of the American people. This has led to the war in which we are now engaged. There are many amongst our people who believe that we are wrong to fight against the British; there are many who believe we are justified but that this can end with a reconciliation with King George. However, more and more of us have come to realize that this war is both necessary and just and that no reconciliation is possible. For that reason, representatives from all the colonies have voted and we have determined that we must declare our independence from British rule."
"Well said, Mr. Jefferson," Phil said, stepping forward. "If I may add something…"
Frank nodded. "Certainly, Mr. Adams."
"Mr. Jefferson mentioned the risk we are taking in declaring our independence," Phil went on. "It is also important that we bear in mind the significance of what we are doing. Cutting ties with a legally recognized government is not something to be undertaken lightly, or recklessly." He added the last word with a glance at Joe.
"If you are referring to the actions of the Sons of Liberty, they were necessary to draw attention to the atrocities the British were committing against us, Cousin John," Joe maintained.
"Perhaps they succeeded in doing that," Phil conceded, "but it is necessary that as we form a new nation today, that we commit ourselves to acting with virtue and restraint in every instance, lest we sacrifice the ideals of liberty for something that is a mockery of it."
"If we had all practiced restraint the way you do, we would not be here today," Joe replied.
"I doubt that, Cousin Samuel," Phil insisted. "God willing, we will win our independence from the King, but we will only keep it if we concern ourselves chiefly with virtue, justice, and yes, restraint."
"There is no need to concern yourself so much, Mr. Adams—er, Mr. John Adams," Frank interjected. "When men are free, they will be virtuous."
"With all due respect, Mr. Jefferson," Phil said with a slight bow, "it is when men are virtuous that they are free."
"Indeed," added Tony, as Charles Carroll. "We mustn't look at the liberty that we are fighting for as the freedom to do whatever we want, but rather the freedom to do what we ought."
"Gentlemen, gentlemen," Biff interjected, in his role as Ben Franklin. "We have already voted to sign this declaration. To be divided amongst ourselves will be the beginning of its downfall. We are all agreed that the pursuit of virtue is necessary in a free society, even if we disagree in the exact particulars of it. Let us accomplish the business for which we are gathered."
"Mr. Franklin is quite right," Chet agreed. "Let us get on with it."
"Very well. I shall read our Declaration of Independence." Frank cleared his throat, picked up the paper, and began to read. He and Joe had done a good job of reconstructing it, although towards the end, their memories were too shaky to have much confidence that they had gotten it right. Nevertheless, the main content of the document was there, and all the other boys nodded, impressed that the Hardys had been able to remember as much as they did.
When he had finished reading it, he picked up the pen which they had brought—they would have liked to use a feather pen but they didn't have any ink for one—and signed Thomas Jefferson neatly at the bottom of the paper. Then he handed the pen to Biff, who signed it Benjamin Franklin.
Chet went next, and as he signed the name John Morton, he said, "There will come a time when you will all consider this the greatest service I've rendered my country." Joe had told him that that was—approximately—Morton's most famous quote, which was said on his deathbed, but it seemed appropriate enough here.
Joe was next and then Phil, affixing Samuel Adams and John Adams to the bottom of the paper, respectively. Then Tony went last, writing Charles Caroll.
"With all this talk of the risk we are taking, at least you don't have to worry about the British finding you," Chet told him. "There are so many Charles Carolls about."
"True." Tony frowned slightly and then he added behind Caroll's name of Carollton.
After this, their planned script ran out and they all began to break out of character.
"Hey, that was fun," Biff said. "I needed more lines, but other than that, it was a lot of fun."
"Sorry," Frank told him, "but none of the Ben Franklin quotes I could think of would fit."
"It wouldn't have made much sense to have you say Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise, right in the middle of signing the Declaration of Independence," Joe said with a chuckle.
"Wait, Benjamin Franklin said that?" Chet asked.
"I think so," Joe replied.
"So, when were you guys going to tell us that you were history nerds?" Tony asked.
Joe shrugged. "That's what happens when you have a librarian for a mom, not to mention a dad who also thinks that history is the most important subject in school."
"How so?" Biff asked. "I mean, it kind of seems like the least useful one."
"Well, as to that, there's the old saying that people who don't know history are doomed to repeat it," Frank pointed out. "But more than that, knowing your history teaches you about who you are and why things are the way they are and what's been done to try to make things better and what's worked and what hasn't. I mean, it's all the experience in the world up to this point, so why not learn from it?"
"Besides that, there a lot of cool stories in history," Joe added. "We should do more reenactments. I mean, why not? It's not like there's anyone around here to think it's dumb."
HBNDHBNDHB
The music from the fair down at the park was loud enough for Callie to hear it through her open window. It was a cheery mix of various patriotic music, with other summer-themed songs thrown in. Neither it nor the bright summer sunlight matched Callie's mood, and so she closed the window and fell back onto her bed. She wasn't crying now. She was tired of crying. She had done nothing else for the last two days since she had gotten the news. She didn't want to do anything else.
There was a soft knock on her door. She didn't want to see anyone. She didn't want anything except to hear that there was some mistake.
"Callie?" It was her mother's voice, sounding so kind and gentle like it had all the last two days, as if she thought Callie could be broken by the wrong word. Maybe she could.
Callie's mouth was dry, but she managed to say, "Yeah?"
She heard the door open and she felt Leslie Shaw come into the room, but she kept her face partly buried in her pillow. She felt the bed depress slightly as her mother sat next to her.
"How are you doing, honey?" Leslie asked her.
"I don't know," was Callie's muffled reply.
"I brought you some orange juice," Leslie said. "You don't have any water up here, do you?"
Callie finally sat up and looked at her mother. She hadn't been drinking any water and she was terribly thirsty. She tried to thank her mother, but looking at her sitting there, holding that glass of orange juice, just made Callie start to cry again. There was no logical reason why it should, but she was well beyond logic at this point.
Leslie set the glass on the nightstand and wrapped her arms around her daughter, gently stroking her hair and saying, "I know, honey. I know."
After a couple of minutes, Callie had collected herself again, but she continued clinging to her mother. "Have you talked to Mrs. Hardy or the Mortons or any of the others?"
"I've talked to both Laura and Mollie on the phone," Leslie said. Mollie Morton was Chet and Iola's mother. "I didn't want to barge in on them, in case they weren't ready yet."
"I should talk to them," Callie said. "And Iola, too. This is worse for them than it is for me."
"It doesn't do any good to try to decide who's suffering the most," Leslie replied. "Nobody's grief is any more valid than anyone else's."
There was a short pause and then Callie said, "I don't know what I'd say to them."
"I don't think it matters so much what you say. The important thing is to let them know you're there for them and let them be there for you. But you don't need to do anything until you're ready."
"I won't ever be ready to do anything again," Callie stated. "I don't think I ever will be again. I can feel it already. I just…What does anything matter anymore without him?"
Leslie squeezed her tightly. "I know it feels that way now. I wish there was a way I could take all the pain you're feeling right now and endure it for you."
"No, Mom. I don't want it to not hurt. It…wouldn't be right."
"I guess you're probably right," Leslie conceded.
HBNDHBNDHB
Iola was sitting on the back porch of her house, scrolling through the pictures on her phone. There were plenty of all of the boys, but especially Chet and Joe. Those two were always up to something that was picture-worthy, even if they hadn't been the two out of all the boys that she loved best. Then, too, there was Chet's habit of sneaking her phone away and taking selfies with it. Then Joe had decided it was funny, too, and had started doing the same. There were dozens of these selfies on her phone, but perhaps the teasing had backfired, because Iola had thought it funny and had never deleted them. She was glad of that now.
She could hear her parents in the house, talking to someone who had dropped in. Ever since the news had gotten around town, there were constantly people dropping in or calling. Iola knew they meant well, but she was already getting tired of it. They all said the same things: they were shocked; it was such a tragedy; they couldn't believe it. But they didn't really mean it. They all believed it. They didn't even try to question it.
Why shouldn't they believe it? Iola asked herself. As far as they knew, it was true. They didn't have any reason to think it wasn't true. Iola didn't have any reason either, but she didn't believe it.
Part of her felt like she should believe it. Everyone else did and she had no evidence to offer to the contrary and if it was true, then Joe and Chet and the others deserved to be mourned. But as she looked down at the picture of Joe that was currently occupying her screen, she shook her head. They couldn't be dead. It had to be a mistake of some kind.
That thought was the only thing that had kept Iola going the last few days. She tried suggesting it to her parents, but they didn't want to listen. That was understandable, she conceded. All logic and probability indicated that it would be a false hope, and this was a cruel matter to raise false hopes in. She didn't dare bring it up to Callie. She was already taking it hard enough. She hadn't even called Iola since hearing the news. The only word Iola had gotten from her was an exchange of texts.
So there really wasn't anyone else to talk to. This whole incident had been devastating to the number of people she could confide in about things. Normally, if she had a thing like this on her mind, she would have talked about it to Joe or Chet. Neither of them would have thought she was crazy. They probably would have even figured out a way to prove she was right. She could have talked to one of the other boys, too. They had all been friends for a long time. Especially Frank, who seemed like an extra older brother to Iola.
But none of the boys were here to help Iola prove they were still alive. She would have to find a way to do that by herself.
HBNDHBNDHB
Fenton was pacing the hall in front of Lieutenant Hikialani's office, while Sam leaned against the wall with his arms folded. Hikialani had called them to meet him at his office about an hour ago. From the tone of his voice, it sounded like it was more bad news, but how any of this news could get worse was beyond the two men to say.
They were beginning to wonder how long he would keep them waiting when he finally came bustling down the hallway. He greeted the men and then led the way into his office before saying anything more substantial.
"I wish I had called you in with some better news, but that's in short supply." Hikialani heaved a heavy sigh. "I was at the hospital when I called you."
Fenton remained standing. "Dain Sherman talked?"
Hikialani shook his head. "He succumbed to his injuries about fifteen minutes before I called you. He never did regain consciousness."
"So we won't learn anything more from him," Sam concluded. "I assume you didn't learn anything from searching the boat or either man's home."
"Nothing. But there's worse news than that."
"What now?" Fenton asked, bracing himself for some evidence having turned up elsewhere that confirmed Dain's claim.
"Agent Delmont has been removed from the case," Hikialani replied. "Her superiors are not at all happy with how she's handled things. Her replacement is determined not to make the same mistakes. He's going to insist that both of you and Mr. Wayne and Ms. Drew all go back to the mainland."
Fenton bristled. "Whoever hired Coswell and Dain for this is still out there. Do you honestly think I'm going to just give up looking for them just some FBI agent tells me to?"
"No," Hikialani said, "but I am hoping that you might agree to a strategic, temporary cease and desist. The FBI has more resources than I do. They certainly have more resources than you. Starting a rivalry with them is not in the best interests of bringing these people to justice. Besides, I imagine your wife needs you right now."
Fenton clenched his jaw. Sam glanced at him and quickly jumped in.
"You have a good point. But how can we leave right now, with the investigation still in progress? Whether the FBI likes it or not, we're all witnesses."
"We have all your statement and there's no one that we would need any of you to identify," Hikialani explained. "The only other thing we would need from you as witnesses is your testimony. You couldn't possibly stay until we would have a trial, in any case."
Sam nodded reluctantly. "We'll talk about it."
