Cartboy Goes to Camp (9 page)

Theo handed out the animal hides, beads, thread, and bone needles to Scot, Vinny, Perth, and me. He explained that the favorite design of the Powhatans was the bald eagle. But that we could do whatever we wanted. “Leather beading is worth four hats on Pioneer Day. You'll be judged on design concept and overall beading skill,” he said.

While Theo gave out the supplies, I took a look around the museum. And while I was looking, I realized something: I'd been so busy digging behind the museum, I'd never been inside it.

Every wall was covered with shelves full of old stuff. Indian headdresses. Jewelry. Authentic documents. And a bunch of musty colonial clothes.

One wall had a whole section for past winners of Pioneer Day. My dad's name was right there. Underneath his wood carving of the original Sam Prentice.

I noticed the other campers had started sewing bead designs onto their leather. Clouds, trees. All the stuff Mr. Prentice told us the Powhatans liked.

I was just sitting there, so I figured I'd sew the letter
P
onto the leather. Just to kill some time. But the funny thing was, once I started sewing those beads, I realized I was almost, sort-of good at it.

My design was just about done when Mr. Prentice walked by.

“Ah, yes. The letter
P
for the mighty Powhatans. Magnificent idea, Mr. Rifkind.”

When he got to Cora's table, Mr. Prentice took a long look at her design. “Let's see,” he said. “It's a uh, um, uh…”

“It's a butterfly, Mr. Prentice. Can't you tell?” Cora lifted up the animal hide. “One of my ancestors was a Powhatan. Her name was Aponi. It means ‘dancing butterfly.'”

I thought I heard a slight quiver in her voice.

Could it be that Cora was not good at something? And I was? Could that actually be possible?

While Mr. Prentice and Cora talked, I took a break from my beading. For one thing, I was almost done with my Phillies logo. And for the other, trying to get that bone needle through the leather was
killing
my fingers.

I walked to the shelves on the back wall of the museum. They were full of books, and there was a whole section called “The First Settlers.”

I picked up a few of the books and skimmed some of the pages. A bunch of time must have passed while I was looking at those books. Before I knew it, the gourd blew for lunch.

D
OO  
D
O  
D
O
  L
OOO
!

“You coming, Hal?” asked Vinny on the way out.

“I'll be there in a minute.”

Everyone put their beadwork on a shelf and left the museum. All of a sudden, it was completely quiet.

It was just me in there. With all that old colonial stuff.

I walked toward the shelf to put my beading project away. But when I got near it, my foot kicked a chair. At least I thought it was a chair. So I was pretty surprised when I looked down and saw it was a book.

It must have fallen off the shelves.

I picked it up. The pages were super yellow and faded-looking. The handwriting was the same as the page Vinny showed us. And there was a signature inside the back cover.

My heart started racing like crazy. Could this be the book Vinny was looking for? Could this be the rest of Sam Prentice's journal?

I quickly glanced around the museum to make sure no one was around. Then I sat in my chair and flipped through the pages.

It turns out, Sam Prentice was a super-hard worker. He tried everything he could to harvest the settlement's pathetic crops. He hunted every day. And built a wattle-and-daub cabin for his family.

He also tried to make peaceful trades with the Powhatans. And—this part really caught my eye—he
buried
stuff to trade with them later.

Sam Prentice's last diary entry said how so many people in Jamestown were starving. Near the end of the diary, his handwriting got even worse. By the looks of things, he never made it. And neither did his family.

My hands started to shake when I saw what was at the bottom of the last page.

I hid the book in my pocket, then ran out the museum door. My feet couldn't carry me to the dining hall fast enough.

I didn't see Ryan and Billy anywhere. But just to be safe, I ducked down so those two food-grubbers wouldn't notice me.

“Guys,” I whispered when I got to my table. “Look at this.” I pulled the diary out of my pocket and opened it to the last page.

Vinny was the first to say something. “Holy. Jeez.”

“Five hundred feet west of the B. E.?” said Perth.

“The handwriting isn't clear,” I said. “He must have been weak from hunger. Or maybe the ink faded. Either way, we have to figure out what the B. E. is.”

“Wait a second,” said Vinny. “What about the big elm? There's only one elm tree at camp. It's near the edge of the clearing. I even have it on my map.”

We ran from the dining room to the big elm. Then, together we started walking west. Putting one foot in front of the other, and counting out loud with every step.

“One—two—three.” And then, after a few minutes, “one hundred—two hundred—three hundred…” Until finally we were almost there.

“Four ninety-seven … four ninety-eight … four ninety-nine—”

We all stopped dead in our tracks.

Exactly five hundred feet from the big elm was Ryan Horner's hammock.

With who else lying in it, but Ryan Horner.

“You better tell me why you're here, Cartboy,” he said.