The Great Snapping Turtle Adventure (8 page)

Miss Marie rocked her chair a couple of times before she continued. “But then, when I went to open a post office box for myself up town, the postmaster just happened to let it slip about the time Marge had her séance. At the market, on Route 50, the cashier made mention of the fact that some people, by the name of Tapper, never came back to Vienna after the ghost talked. Instead of driving through Vienna, they'd do their shopping over in Hurlock rather than come anywhere near this little town. But the real kicker was when the lady who owns the Nanticoke Resting House told me that she heard wails coming from my kitchen about the same time every year. Always in the summer, when the storm had come up and the lightning bolts had taken the life of the young woman.”

“Wow!” whispered Charles.

“So, there I was, the proud owner of an inn that needed about a year's worth of repairs, just to have its rooms in good enough shape to rent, and a live-in ghost in its kitchen to boot.” Miss Marie stood up stiffly. “Here, let me get that dessert for you boys. I suspect you're feeling just a mite bit hungry now.” She crossed the porch toward the kitchen.

“But what about the ghost?” asked Charles.

“Oh, she and I get along just fine now. We've come to a nice understanding. I told her one night that her baby was fine. That it just needed a little loving. So, now she doesn't go looking in the middle of the night for food to feed it, like she once did.” Miss Marie opened the screen door and slipped in. She stood looking out for a minute and then continued, “Of course, you can hear her most every sweet, summery night rocking in her rocker, down in the summer kitchen. Sometimes if you listen real careful, you can just barely hear scraps of the lullaby she sings, ‘Hush little baby, now don't you cry.'” Miss Marie hummed the rest of the old lullaby as she went to get their dessert.

“Oh, wow!” said Charles. His eyes were as big as they could get.

“I may be tired, but I don't think I'll go to sleep all night,” said Max, shaking his head.

“Well, we'll see, won't we,” said Fred.

“Did you hear the ghost when you stayed here with Mom?” asked Charles.

“No, not that I recall,” said Fred.

“Could we possibly check out of here and into some other place, Fred?” whined Charles.

“No, afraid not. I already paid for our room. But more importantly, I don't want to hurt Miss Marie's feelings. Besides, the ghost sounds friendly enough. Just a poor, lonely, loving mother.”

“Actually, great-grandmother,” corrected Miss Marie, coming out with the big creamy pie, a bowl of ice cream, and a frosty pitcher of homemade lemonade.

“How's that?” asked Fred.

“Well, about a year after I had moved in, I had a most unusual visitor from Elliott Island. One evening as I was sitting on this porch, rocking away and snapping some beans, a truck pulled up. This ol' gal gets out and comes straight away up the steps and onto my porch.” Miss Marie put the dessert tray down on a small table in front of Fred and the boys. “Then, before I could say ‘How do ya do?' she up and says to me, ‘Are you Marie?' ‘Yes, ma'am,' I said back, nice and proper. ‘Well,' she says, ‘My grandmother is your ghost!'”

“What?” said Fred and boys all at the same time.

“Well, that's about what I said. I guess my eyes were about as big as your eyes are now.” Miss Marie started cutting the pie and continued fixing their dessert as she talked.

“She told me that the baby in the house had been her mother. Shortly after the lightning bolts, her father had sold the farm and moved to another place, across the Nanticoke River, up to the town of Mardela Springs. He bought a fine big house there and continued to farm some, but not as big as before. Instead he got interested in the mineral springs in Mardela, which the town was named for. Around the time of the young woman's death, it was real popular for people to visit mineral springs.”

“Why?” asked Max.

“Well, folk believed just by drinking those minerals, you could heal what ailed you.”

“Just by drinking some water?” asked Charles.

“Yes sir. 'Course, some folk also liked to sit and bathe in the mineral water. That was a popular remedy, too.”

“Sounds pretty silly!” said Max.

“Well, it may, but some very famous people were quite taken by the idea of mineral cures. In fact, George Washington was very fond of the springs down in Berkeley Springs, West Virginia. He went there often for his cures.”

“Fact of the matter is,” added Fred, “many people still go to Berkeley Springs for that same cure. They go to bathe and drink the waters. Some folk swear by those waters.”

“That's wild,” said Max.

“Wild, but true,” said Miss Marie.

“But to get back to the story,” said Charles, as he quickly took the slice of pie Miss Marie handed him.

“Well, the sorrowing gentleman decided to cash in on the popularity of mineral springs, and he built a huge inn for people to come and vacation in. From far and wide, folk would come to Mardela Springs. They'd stay in that inn and take the cures of the healing waters. That's how this little girl grew up, and even though her daddy never remarried, she was able to find lots of nice ladies to be her pretend-momma. But it wasn't good enough.” Miss Marie began pouring out the ice cold lemonade.

“She grew up and for awhile she helped her father run the business. But, as will happen, one day she met a young man and fell in love.”

“This is where it gets yicky,” groaned Charles.

“Well, not too yicky. As a matter of fact, it was more like a ‘sticky' problem.” Miss Marie handed out the lemonade and sat down to begin on her own piece of pie. “Mmmmmm! No one makes coconut cream pie like Miss Ruby,” she sighed.

“Best I ever had,” agreed Fred.

“It's real good, but what happened next?” urged Max.

“Well, this young man was not of the same, shall we say, gentlemanly class as the young girl's family. He was a waterman from Elliott Island, and though the folk around here do really value the work a waterman does, not everybody wants their children to grow up and marry one. This was the case of the old widow man, the girl's father. He forbade his daughter to have anything to do with the young waterman.”

“That wasn't very nice,” said Max.

“No, it wasn't,” agreed Miss Marie, “and it wasn't very smart, either. 'Cause their love was strong and that pair, the waterman and the daughter of my lovely ghost, eloped one night. They went off to the town of Hurlock, woke a minister up, and got themselves married.”

“And lived happily ever after,” said Charles.

“Well, not quite. They moved to Elliott Island. The young man worked hard as a waterman. He worked long hours out on the water. His wife had one little daughter but never saw her father again. He disowned her.”

“That was stupid!” said Max in a slam-down voice.

“Sure was. I think he regretted it later, but he'd never admit it. He never saw his daughter again. She died about two years after she eloped. She and her husband drowned together one summer day during the crab season. Caught in a summer squall, their boat capsized quicker than the blink of a lightning bug's light.”

“Boy, this really is a sad story!” said Fred.

“Sure is,” agreed Charles.

“The little girl was sent to live with her grandfather and grew up in the inn helping him until she was well into her thirties. Then, when he died, she married.” Miss Marie smiled. “Guess who she married?”

“Who?” said Max and Charles at the same time.

“A waterman from Elliott Island!”

“Boy, I bet her grandfather wouldn't have liked that much,” said Max.

“Nope, I suspect not. But she was smart. She didn't give in to her love and get married until after he died. So, she inherited all of her grandfather's fortune, a considerable amount. She sold the inn in Mardela Springs and with the money bought some very nice boats for her husband. She had a beautiful home built on the island. She lived quite happily there, raising her big family of three sons and three daughters, none of whom became watermen nor married watermen.”

“None of them?” asked an incredulous Fred.

“Nope, and only one stayed on the Shore. The others scattered to New York and other big cities, choosing business over beauty. The son who stayed on the Shore (I shouldn't say this, but I will) is a lazy no-account. He thinks himself to be a business man, but spends most of his time going to meetings at local restaurants. I think his meetings are with bowls of soup and dinner plates.” Miss Marie rolled her eyes.

“So, let me get this straight. The old woman who came to visit you was the granddaughter of the woman who was killed by lightning,” said Charles slowly. The day had been a long one, and with a full stomach, he was feeling a bit sleepy. His mind was somewhat blurred by the long and complicated story.

“That's right, dummy,” whispered Max.

“That's right,” said Miss Marie.

“But what did she want with you?” asked Charles.

“Well, here's the real kicker. She told me she had come to meet her grandmother's ghost. That, all her life, from a little girl on up, she had always wanted someone to sing her a lullaby. She had heard a rumor that her grandmother's ghost lived in my summer kitchen and sang lullabies at night. She said to me, ‘I'd just like to have her sing me a lullaby, just once before I die.'”

“Incredible!” said Max.

“Only on the Eastern Shore,” sighed Fred. “I love it.”

“And did she? Did the ghost sing her granddaughter a lullaby?” asked Charles. He was suddenly wide awake again.

“That's what she told me. Oh, I let them be alone. I told that lovely old lady she could stay in my inn as long as she wanted, days if need be. I was so moved by her sad longing.” Miss Marie wiped her eyes at the memory. “But it didn't take days. Her grandmother appeared that very night and sang and sang.”

“You heard it?” asked Fred.

“Well, mind you, I didn't stay with them. I went to my own rooms. But it was a cool summer night and my window was open to the salt breezes. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but yes, I heard the most beautiful singing I think I've ever heard in my life. It was truly a miracle.”

“What a story,” said Fred.

“And what did the old lady do?” asked Max.

“Well, she spent the night. It was really too late for her to drive all the way back to Elliott Island…”

“Or End of the World,” whispered Charles.

“… Or End of the World,” repeated Miss Marie. “I saw her in the morning. She was flushed in the face, like she'd been crying most of the night. She took me in her strong thin arms and she held me for a long, long time. She told me ‘thank you' maybe a thousand times. She said she'd never forget the wonderful gift I'd given her.”

“And did she ever come back?” asked Max.

“Oh, she comes back when she can, but it's not often now. Her big, stupid son thinks she's off her rocker, crazy, don't you know. He even made her give up her beautiful home on Elliott Island. Put her in some fancy nursing home. But it's a nursing home all the same. She has spunk and keeps after him. About every two weeks, he picks her up and takes her for a ride down to Elliott Island for the day, sometimes to spend the night. As a matter of fact, I saw him in his big yellow limo heading back with her just this morning. I tell you, Mrs. Hattie Harriston deserves better than that son,” Miss Marie said matter-of-factly.

Crash! went Charles' plate. It spun around but didn't break. “Oops,” he muttered. “Sorry.”

“Who!” yipped Max.

“Hattie Harriston?” said Fred. “What a small world!”

“What is it?” asked Miss Marie, looking at their stunned faces.

“Well, we met a Hattie Harriston, must be the same one. We met her this morning on the road to End of the World,” said Fred.

“It has to be the same one,” said Miss Marie.

“Well, she was with her son in the yellow limo,” said Charles, trying to clean up the mess his plate of coconut cream pie had made on the porch floor.

“Has to be the same,” Miss Marie agreed.

“Wow!” said Charles.

“There's one other thing you've got to tell us,” said Max.

“If I can, what?” asked Miss Marie.

“Well, when we were down on the island this morning, we came to the graveyard at the Methodist church. We got out and looked around at the different graves…” said Charles.

“And there was one for Hattie Harriston with a date engraved on it,” interrupted Max. “Only we couldn't read the date because it was sunk too deeply into the ground.”

“I've heard tell of it,” said Miss Marie slowly.

“Is the death date on the stone?” asked Fred slowly.

“Yes, it is, but it's hidden and will stay hidden until after Hattie Harriston dies. She had it engraved on there. She claims her grandmother told her of her death, when it would be. Hattie had it put on the stone up in Baltimore, so no one down here would know what it said, and she was careful to be there when they placed the stone in the graveyard, making sure no one saw the date.”

“That's really morbid,” said Max.

“Well, not according to Hattie. She told me it was lovely. Her grandmother told her not to worry, death would arrive peacefully. She told Hattie she'd come to her with her mother, some evening when wild geese rest in the fields, rustling their feathers as they settle into sleep. Some night when the moon spills its golden light up the rippling Nanticoke River; when the only sound one will hear is the hush of marsh grasses singing the same lullaby her grandmother's ghost has always sung in my summer kitchen.”

“That's lovely,” said Fred.

They all sat silently on the porch for a few moments listening to the sounds of the marsh grass and watching as the full moon shone on the river.