The Great Snapping Turtle Adventure (10 page)

“But we didn't do it!” said Max emphatically, his ears bright red with excitement.

“No way!” added Charles.

“I never said you did,” said Miss Marie. “No, I found that basket, too. And it was early, just about sunrise. I like to get up early. No, my guess is that lady snapping turtle had some mystery working with her and just managed to squirm free all by herself.”

“Like Houdini,” added Fred.

“Well, I'm glad we don't have to find her a home in Baltimore,” said Max. “I was getting worried about what people might say to us if we brought Cinderella Snapper home with us.”

“She's welcome here. And her brood, too, I guess. No more ornery than the rest of the folk who live in this town, or me,” said Miss Marie. “Well, now, you boys better eat up. You haven't finished those cakes yet, and I have another whole bowl of batter waiting in the kitchen to fix you up seconds.” She pushed back her chair and went into the kitchen.

“I hope you boys aren't too disappointed. I know you really wanted to show the snapping turtle off, but I really do think, like Miss Marie, she's probably better off here, closer to her natural habitat,” said Fred.

“Oh, we do too, Fred, don't we, Charles?” said Max, with a sideways look at his brother.

“Yep, I'm glad she's here. But can we see the eggs? Do you think Miss Marie will mind digging up her garden again, so we can at least get a head count? I mean, I'd like to know just how many eggs Cinderella had,” said Charles.

“No, I don't mind at all,” said Miss Marie, looking in the door. “I counted fifteen, but you boys ought to count for yourselves after you eat. Anyway, seeing snapper eggs growing in a vegetable garden is a sight any boy would give his favorite lucky charm to see, I bet.” She carried another plate of pancakes in. “Or any girl, for that matter.”

They could hardly walk. Filled to the brim with breakfast, Fred, Max and Charles followed Miss Marie out into the garden. She pointed to the place where the dirt was messy and worked-up looking. With her broom, she carefully brushed away the loose soil, and there were the eggs.

“Feel them,” said Miss Marie. “You don't have to worry about leaving your scent on them. The snapper, or Cinderella, as you boys call her, won't be coming back. It's ok to touch as long as you're gentle.”

Fred, Max, and Charles each knelt down. Each felt an egg.

“Like soft leather,” Fred said immediately.

“Not like a chicken's egg at all!” said the surprised Charles.

“No, quite different,” said Miss Marie.

“I wonder where she went,” pondered Max.

“Oh, probably back to where it's nice, wet, quiet and cool,” said Miss Marie. “Someplace like her own home, where she can live her way, far away from crazy people.” Miss Marie winked. “Just kidding. You all are some of the nicest folk I ever met from the Western Shore. 'Course, I'm from Southern Maryland myself, as I told you already, and I don't abide by strict Eastern Shore rules of judging. Still, I think you are pretty close to being good ol' Eastern Shore boys! I think you're just fine.” She patted Max and Charles on their backs and shook Fred's hand.

“Thanks, Miss Marie. Coming from you, that's a real compliment,” smiled Fred.

“You know it!” Miss Marie said.

It was time to go. The boys climbed into the truck and stared out over the lawn to the Nanticoke lapping quietly against the shore.

“Thanks, Fred, for bringing us here. For taking us out after crabs and all,” said Max slowly.

“Yeah, Fred, it was great,” added Charles.

“Unique!” said Max.

“Unforgettable,” finished Charles.

“And besides all that, we still have crabs to eat. A feast to end this great adventure,” said Fred, turning the key in the ignition.

The truck gave a roar. Miss Marie waved her hand and yelled, “See ya all soon!”

Fred and the boys called back: “Soon, soon, soon!”

And, “Thanks for everything!”

“Bye!”

“And good luck to Cinderella wherever she may be!” yelled Charles.

“And goodbye to the sad lady in the summer kitchen, wherever you may be,” whispered Max.

“And so long Hattie Harriston. So long Ham. So long Miss Ruby. So long,” said Fred.

“We're on our way…” began Max.

“Home!”
finished Charles.

On their way home, back from the End of the World and all the mysteries they had found there.

THE END

EPILOGUE

O
NE CAN STILL FIND
V
IENNA
on a map of Maryland. It was almost the state capital, once upon a time, as folk on the Shore will tell you. Now it is a sleepy little town. There is an inn there, but its name is different and the owner is not named Marie.

You can find End of the World, too. But the post office is gone. So is the button factory, though it was there not too long ago. The church is there, and the graveyard. As for Hattie Harriston, well, you must look for yourself.

There are soft and hard shell crabs, jelly fish and heron. Snapping turtles will cross in front of you and muskrat can be seen skimming along in the ditches.

Lunch or dinner at Suicide Bridge is still a must, a lovely creek to watch as you eat. But Miss Ruby's restaurant is gone, or maybe she's moved to a more hidden spot. I hope she's still serving her split pea soup somewhere, filled with smooth, spongy dumplings, and dishing up those lovely coconut cream pies.

As for ghost stories, you can find them everywhere on the Shore. Stories of Big Liz and a house where many lights flicker off suddenly when you walk up the drive. The headless dog howls on Black Dog Alley and on Buck Town Road. John Truitt once saw a white figure drifting toward him. The figure suddenly disappeared when he put his car lights on, reappearing just as quickly when he turned them off.

Maryland's Eastern Shore, it's a magic sort of place to visit, but go with gentle ways. Don't trample her lovely reeds. Instead, listen to her soft songs. And when you leave, please leave her as you found her. Leave her as she has been for hundreds of years: a world of mystery and majesty, where oysters hide, blue fins scurry, and proud Canada geese take wing across the great, gray Chesapeake Bay.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

S
USAN
Y
ARUTA
-Y
OUNG'S
roots in Maryland soil are deep. In 1634 her ancestor, Richard Nevitt, sailed into St. Mary's on the
Ark
and
Dove
expedition. The family moved to the Eastern Shore, and Susan's mom, Louise Truitt, grew up on a dairy farm known as Money Make in Trappe. Susan lived on a small farm in Baltimore County until 1996 when she and her husband, Luther Young, moved their family to Downeast Maine. A published poet and short story crafter, Susan was a Maryland State Arts Council Poet in the Schools from 1974–1996, often conducting workshops in the Eastern Shore counties of Talbot, Dorchester, and Wicomico. She is a pastor who enjoys writing for all ages in all genres.