“Aren’t we all?” I say, thankfully earning a chuckle from him.
“Why don’t you tell me which materials you are hoping to access and a little about your project.”
“The Kezia Gardner diary, for a start. I’m working on a theorythat the reports of her alleged smuggling activities were misleading or inaccurate.”
It takes only that one sentence for the gentle expression on Mr. Fanning’s face to shift into stiff aloofness. He hasn’t seen me for years, but as his eyes narrow, I feel certain in that moment that he realizes exactly who I am.
“As your father was told before being banned from this museum, along with several others, if I’m not mistaken, we don’t make a habit of exposing sensitive materials to agenda-driven hobbyists, and especially not to those who have berated and harassed our staff for years.”
Banned? Dad hadn’t mentioned that to me, though I guess it’s not a complete surprise. “I have no interest in berating or harassing anyone,” I say, moving to keep pace beside him when he continues down the street. “I just want to look more fully into her life, and her diary would be a huge help. And,” I add when he starts to interrupt me, “I’ll abide by any guidelines you set forth.”
“Your father—”
“Is dead,” I finish for him, doing my best to hide how devastating it is for me to say the words. “Earlier this year.”
He pauses. “My condolences. But unfortunately we do not allow public access to vulnerable materials at this time. You’re welcome to view any items currently on display, but—”
“That’s not good enough.” I can feel color flushing hot in my cheeks. “I need to see more than two pages through a display case. And I really need someone to help me sort through all the accounts. Don’t you care that history, our history”—I gesture around us to the buildings that have lined Broad Street for centuries—“may have gotten it wrong?”
“As someone who has studied all the available materials, I can tell you the same thing I told your father.” He leans closer to me. “We didn’t. And I promise that you won’t get a different answer from any of the other museums on the island.”
I resist the urge to call or chase after him as he walks off, but if I’m being honest with myself, that went about as well as I expected. Dad burned a lot of bridges around here, and it’s going to take more than a cute dress and friendly smile to rebuild them. I don’t know exactly what it’s going to take, but I’ll find out. Maybe tomorrow I’ll show up with coffee for Mr. Fanning. He’ll have to talk with me then, right? And if not, I’ll try something else the day after, and the day after that, and...
I stop with a sigh. I know that with enough time I can change his mind. After all, Nantucket was the last place Mom wanted to set foot on a few months ago, and I’d made that happen. But I don’t have endless weeks to gradually persuade him that my idea is the right one. My time here is limited.
Gnawing at my bottom lip, I take a deep breath and try not to feel too discouraged. It helps that the cherry tree–lined streets are literally snowing pink petals in the late morning breeze. And then I spot a familiar face winding toward me with a cheerful hand lifted in hello.
“Lili? I thought that was you.”
“Hello, Mrs.—Mrs.—”
“Mayhew,” she offers, seemingly not the least bit offended that I forgot. “Now why do you look like a hungry cat staring at an empty food dish? Is there something wrong with the house?”
I shake my head and retrieve my bike. “The house is fine. I just”—my eyes land on Mr. Fanning’s retreating figure—“didn’t get the answer I wanted to a really important question.”
Mrs. Mayhew follows my line of sight. “Something about the museum then?”
I turn to her, surprised.
“You live here as long as I have and you tend to get to know everyone, even little men like Mr. Fanning whose ego trips are legendary.”
I choke back a laugh. “Little or not, I really need his help finishing a family research project, and I was just told in no uncertain terms that not only will I not get it from the Whaling Museum, but I shouldn’t bother with any of the other museums on the island either.” Of course, I plan to bother anyone and everyone I have to until somebody helps me, but I keep that detail to myself.
Mrs. Mayhew gives me a tight, one-armed hug. “That just shows that his mind is as little as the rest of him. I happen to know of a museum right around the corner that I’d wager would be happy to do the exact opposite of anything Mr. Fanning approved of.” Keeping her arm around me, she starts guiding me down the street. “And an exceptionally smart friend who works there and knows more about the history of this island than just about anyone, my late husband and your dad excepting.”
Her last few words push everything else she just said out of my mind. “How well did you know my dad?”
“Oh, not well. He and my Henry didn’t get on, some kind of historical disagreement.”
I catch one more glimpse of Mr. Fanning before he disappears around the corner. “Sounds like my dad had historical disagreements with a lot of people.”
“But he was always kind to me. In fact, after I lost Henry, hecame by every year to help me get my Christmas decorations down from the attic.”
I smile, liking the image of him helping her even as it collides with one of Mom and me struggling every year with ours. “You said you know someone who might be able to help me?”
“I sure do, and I think with a bit of inventive persuasion on your part, you might find the exact help you’re looking for.”
“Really?” I try to rack my brain for the museum she could be referring to. There are quite a few on Nantucket, all with different focuses, everything from the Shipwreck and Lifesaving Museum to the tiny Lightship Basket Museum. But the only museum on this particular street is...
