The Great Snapping Turtle Adventure (9 page)

CHAPTER 11

L
ATE NIGHT.

A sound of rustling leaves as wind tossed the great willow outside the Vienna Inn. The river was wild with whitecaps. Spray flew up into the swishing marsh grass and reeds.

“The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,” whispered Max to Charles. The two boys sat in their room on an old trunk in front of the window looking out on the river.

“The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,” quoted Charles back.

“And the highwayman came riding…”

“…riding, riding…”

“The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door,” they ended together.

“Whew!” sighed Charles. “Almost like this place, huh?”

“Except for a few minor details, like
The Highwayman
was written by Alfred Noyes a long, long time ago. And, like the lady in it, Bess, was shot by a Red Coat, not killed by lightning,” said Max.

“Still, look at the sky,” Charles pointed to the full moon riding over the choppy sea of clouds.

“Yeah, yeah, so now what do we do?” asked Max.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, the plan.”

“The plan,” said Charles in a squeaky voice.

“Yeah, the plan. What are we going to do about Miss Cinderella turtle waiting down in her basket coach for us to free her?” said Max.

“Well, I'd like to try and release her tonight, but I mean, after the story Miss Marie told us about the ghost of Hattie Harriston's grandmother singing in the kitchen, I don't feel…I don't exactly feel…”

“Brave!” Max finished for him. “You're scared.”

“Aren't you?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” admitted Max. “But, I mean, chances are it was just some old ghost story Miss Marie made up.”

“Except for the details, like Hattie Harriston visiting and all,” said Charles.

“Don't remind me. But if it's the same ghost, it's a kind one.”

“A real grandmotherly one.”

“Not scary.”

“Except, I don't want to meet a ghost,” said Charles, feeling a chill slither over his skin at just the thought of it.

“No, me either. But it's a slim chance,” said Max.

“Still a chance,” said Charles strongly.

Max stared out the window for a moment. Behind them, the boys could hear Fred softly snoring.

“Well,” said Max finally, “I'd be willing to at least venture out. I mean, it's a pretty safe little town and it is a time of night when most folk are sleeping.”

“And it's not like we'd have to go too far. I mean, the water is almost right up to the porch…almost,” said Charles, with a slightly braver voice.

“And Cinderella is close to the Inn,” added Max.

“Yeah, right off the kitchen porch.”

“Ugh,” sighed Max. “That's right. Right off the
summer kitchen
porch.”

“Oh, geez,” wheezed Charles.

“This is silly,” said Max. “Let's go free a snapping turtle and be done with it. Enough hemming and hawing.”

“Ok!” said Charles, but his voice was twitchy and squirming.

“The way I see it,” said Max slowly in a matter-of-fact type voice, “the most crucial part of this adventure is getting out of this room without waking Fred. These floorboards squeak a lot. I've been testing them ever since we came up here tonight. The worst squeaks are in the center of the room. So, we should avoid that area at all costs. We should walk around, as close to the walls as we can on our journey out.” He pointed to the front door to their room, a good ten to twelve feet from where they were sitting on the trunk.

“Or we could go out the back door, through the little efficiency kitchen and down the back stairs,” said Charles, pointing to the exit about four feet away.

“Oh, sure! Those back steps go right down into the summer kitchen, Charles,” said Max.

“They do?” asked Charles. The squirm in his voice gave a trembling wiggle to his words.

“Uh-huh,” nodded Max smugly.

“Scratch that,” said Charles.

“You sure?” teased Max, a bit of a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

“Positive,” said Charles.

“Ok, then we go out the front door. We make sure not to lock ourselves out. We go down the main steps, out the big front door—that we'll prop open with a brick doorstop I saw.”

“Miss Marie might not like having her front door left wide open in the middle of the night,” interrupted Charles.

“Not wide open, Charles, you nit, just open the thickness of that brick.”

“Ok, ok. Let's stop talking about it and just do it, ok? All this talking is making me uptight.”

“Ok, we're off then,” said Max.

Slowly, softly, the boys crept along the edge of the room. Occasionally a board would begin to squeak, and they would both stop and hold their breath, listening for Fred's snores. But, for the most part, the floor cooperated and didn't make much noise.

The lock on the door was another matter. It was an old lock, actually two locks in one, which required the sensitivity of a safecracker to get them open. But finally, Max was able to twist the great brass knob just the right way, with his knee pressed to the middle board in the door. There was a click and the lock gave up.

A creak of the brass hinges. A whine as the door opened. And the boys were out.

“We'll leave it open. I have a sock we can wedge in, so it won't lock us out,” whispered Max as he took off his tennis shoe. He slipped out of his sock and quickly returned his foot back to its place inside the shoe.

“Stinky lock,” giggled Charles nervously, as Max placed his sock in the lock and gently pulled the door closed.

“Better than being locked out,” said Max. “Ok, next, down the stairs we go.”

The stairs were wide and carpeted. The boys made very little noise on them, only a slight brushing sound as their shoes slid against the worn tapestry carpet.

All too quickly, they were face-to-face with the great, tall, old-fashioned front door. It had never looked so big before.

“Ok,” said Max after a moment of staring at the hinged barrier separating them from the outside. “Here goes nothing.” He placed his hand on the enormous brass knob.

“Think it has a fancy alarm attached to it?” hissed Charles by his ear.

“I don't see anything. No little square box with numbers and signal lights,” said Max, looking carefully around the door.

“Ok, try it,” said Charles.

“Here goes,” said Max. He held his breath and shut his eyes into a squinty line. Slowly he turned the knob.

It rattled its screws loose in their places.

It slowly turned.

With a slight push, Max opened the door.

Both boys slipped out into the salty, sultry late night air.

“Ok, step two,” said Max, his voice just above a whisper. He bent down and picked up the old brick. He placed it in the doorway. “This must be what Miss Marie uses, all right.” He put the brick between the door and its frame and pulled the heavy door closed as far as it would go.

“So far, so good,” Max continued as he rubbed the sand from the brick off his hands in a satisfied sort of way.

“But still a long way to go before we reach ‘home plate,'” reminded Charles in true baseball slang.

“Next step, Cinderella.”

Both boys eased off of the porch and stepped into the tall grass. The wind through the reeds and the lap of the water seemed to roar in their ears. They started toward the water when suddenly they heard a great honking cough close by.

Both boys jumped and grabbed each other.

The cough was followed by a flutter of wings and another coughing, honking sound.

“Geese,” said Max. “It's ok, Charles. Only geese.”

“Whew!” sighed Charles. Now the only thing he could hear was the thudding of his heart. It felt like it must have divided into three parts: the greatest piece springing up into his throat, the other two, smaller pieces had each landed in his ears and were still pounding away. They pounded together, in unison, as if they were all, somehow, still mysteriously connected.

“Let's keep going. I don't like to lose our momentum. I also don't want to leave those doors open for too long,” Max said. He started to walk again.

Charles followed him as close as any shadow can be to its leader.

They were following the edge of the porch, only four or five feet away from the brick walls of the old inn. They walked in the grass so their footsteps could not be heard. In the ghostly shadows from the willow and moonlight, those old walls seemed like a huge tower. Every window was dark, except for one.

Straight ahead, just before the corner of the inn, in the place just opposite where the snapper waited, there was a window. The window glowed a rectangle of eerie light.

Max turned and looked at Charles. Neither spoke. They both simultaneously looked back to the window.

“It's just the kitchen, isn't it?” whispered Charles.

“No,” corrected Max, his voice taut as a guitar string. “It's the summer kitchen window.”

“Oh, geez,” trembled Charles.

“Let's just keep on going,” said Max. But there was very little confidence left in his voice.

They edged closer and closer, then they stopped again. Frozen in a moment of terrifying alertness.

A sound.

The creak of a rocking chair could just barely be heard coming from the summer kitchen.

“I'm outta here!” wheezed Charles as he took off running as fast as he could.

“Hey, wait for me!” squeaked Max after him.

Both boys flew through the grass, then up the walk, kicking away the brick and through the open front door. Only then did they pause long enough to quietly close the door, before bounding up the stairs, two at a time. Max pulled his sock free and they slid into their own room. The door shut with a whining click. Lock. Sigh.

“Shhh! You'll wake Fred,” Max said, slamming his hand over the wet, wheezing lips of Charles, then his own.

“Sorry, geez, ugh,” Charles' voice rattled as he tried to keep it quiet. “Did you hear that?”

“Yeah, and a bit of her singing, too. Did you catch it?”

“I think so, yeah. I'm sure it was that lullaby Miss Marie sang to us: hush little baby, don't you cry!”

“Oh, yeah!”

“I guess it's nix on the Cinderella plan,” said Charles after a lengthy pause.

“Double nix. We'll just have to think of something else, unless you want to go out and free her yourself.”

“You've got to be crazy to think I'm going anywhere but under the covers of our bed!” whispered Charles.

“Me too!”

Quickly, they slid out of their shoes and some of their damp and sweaty clothes. They climbed into the double bed they were sharing for the night.

“You know something, Charles?” asked Max after a few moments with their heads tucked under the sheets.

“What?”

“This is the first time I can ever remember not minding having to share a bed with you.”

“Yeah, I know. I was just thinking the same thing.”

“Night, buddy.”

“Good night,” sighed Charles.

Down in the summer kitchen, there was a creak as someone moved in the old rocker. A sigh, and the light went out.

But Max and Charles heard nothing.

CHAPTER 12

“M
ORNING, GUYS, RISE AND SHINE!
We have a long trip home and plenty of crabs to steam up before they all decide to kick up their little back fins and die on us!” Fred pulled back the rumpled sheet from over the heads of Max and Charles. “It's a wonder you guys didn't smother under that sheet! Like you're hiding in a shell. What's the matter, did Miss Marie's ghost come after you?”

“He's all too cheery this morning,” muttered Max.

“Something like a ghost, maybe,” said Charles quietly in answer to Fred's question.

“Oh, you just heard those geese honking and shuffling their wing feathers all night long,” laughed Fred. “Hurry up, Miss Marie has made us some blueberry pancakes with lots of maple syrup.” Fred moved toward the front door of their room. “Meet you both down in the dining room in ten minutes. I'm in need of a cup of hot wakeup juice.”

“He means coffee,” whispered Max.

They watched Fred go out the back door and heard his footfall down the steps into the summer kitchen.

“It's a beautiful morning. The sun on the Nanticoke looks like diamonds,” they heard Miss Marie greet him.

“Well, I guess he didn't hear anything last night,” said Max, throwing off the sheet and lunging out of bed.

“You mean it wasn't a dream?” said Charles, shaking the sleep out of his body the way a dog shakes water out of its fur.

“Not unless you and I were in the same dream, buddy,” said Max. “Beat you to the shower!”

“Go ahead. I need time to think,” said Charles. He sat dazed in the middle of the bed, recalling the events of last evening. The story by Miss Marie. The late night encounter with the squeaking rocker and lullaby whisper coming from the summer kitchen. If he had ever doubted the reality of ghosts, that doubt was totally gone.

Charles got up and walked to the trunk by the window, where he and Max had watched the moon pass through a sea of clouds. The sky was brilliant blue, clear. Below, he could see the Nanticoke shining like tin foil. Close to shore, Canada geese bobbed on the water like a hunter's decoys. Past the tall reeds and marsh grass, other geese paced along the bank, dipping their long necks to feed on a scattering of yellow flecks. Corn, Charles decided, spread out as a feast for the waterfowl.

Charles let his gaze go back to the water's edge. He could just barely see the bushel basket, the “coach” for Cinderella. But it was tipped over and lying on the bank. Beside it was the lid.

“Max!” Charles yelled. He ran to the bathroom and pounded on the door.

“I'll be out in a minute, you nit!” Max called back. His voice was muffled slightly by the sound of spraying water.

“No, not that, Max! Shut off the shower!” Charles tried the door knob. It was unlocked. He threw open the door and bounced into the steamy bathroom.

“What's the matter with you!” yelled Max as Charles pulled back the shower curtain and cut off the water.

“She's out! Gone! I think she must have escaped!” sputtered Charles.

Max just stared at his lunatic brother. Soapy water streamed down his nose and dripped off its end. Blotches of suds covered his body.

“Good thing it's No More Tears,” muttered Max. “What are you talking about?”

“Cinderella! I just looked out the window. The one we were sitting by last night before we went outside. I was watching the geese and stuff and then I saw the basket. It was tipped over on its side. The lid was in the grass. If she's in there, then she's in a coma or something. She must have escaped.” Charles handed Max a towel.

“Let me see.” Max slipped out of the shower. He slid across the shiny floor and raced on tiptoe, for the sake of better traction, to the window. Squinting out into the brilliant morning he, too, could just see the basket with its lid off.

“Robbed. We've been robbed,” Max muttered. He pushed the towel up over his hair.

“Well, we did want to let her free anyway,” said Charles.

“Free, yes. Free to have a life. But if someone came and took her, then we both know where she'll be soon. Maybe even now.” Max shook his head and slowly retraced his steps back to the bathroom. Like a frog hopping from one lily pad to another, he stepped in one soapy puddle after another.

“You mean, snapper stew,” sighed Charles sadly.

“Most likely. Poor Cinderella,” said Max. “Ok, let me finish my shower and we'll go down together. We'll check out the scene of the crime.”

Max re-entered the shower and quickly rinsed off. Charles, meanwhile, threw off his dirty underclothes and prepared himself for a quick rinse off, too.

Moments later, both boys were pulling on fresh clothes over very wet bodies.

“But who could have known Cinderella was there?” asked Charles. “I mean, it's not as if Miss Marie had an inn filled with guests. I think we're the only ones here.”

“Well, anyone could have cut through her yard, seen the basket and decided to make a raid. You know how Fred was telling us about people stealing crabs out of crab pots? So, someone could have stolen Cinderella.” Max pulled on his tennis shoes.

“But why take her out of the basket? Why not steal basket and all? You know how wild and dangerous she is. She's a lot to handle, especially if it was early morning and the person who stole her was working alone.” Charles finished pulling the Velcro in place on his still soggy, salty tennis shoes.

“Good point. Still, these water people, down this way, they're not afraid of a little bite from a snapper. They know just how to give a turtle's jaws plenty of respect.” Max stood up and dug his fingers through his wet hair in a feeble attempt to comb it.

“Ready?” asked Charles.

“Yeah.”

“We have to be fast, you know. Fred will be looking for us. He's probably wondering right now why we're not downstairs scarfing down those blueberry pancakes.”

“With that dripping maple syrup. Yeah, I know. I'm not going to spend too much time looking. I'm hungry!” said Max. He opened the door and held it for Charles.

Both boys quietly crept down the great front stairs. They could hear Fred's voice as it drifted from the dining room into the main hall. He was saying something dumb and boring, like how good the coffee was when it was brewed up fresh with good Eastern Shore water.

They could hear Miss Marie laugh back about how the water on the Shore was so dense you could cut it with a knife. And how she guessed that's why it made good strong coffee. Strong and dense like steel.

The great front door was open to the morning. The boys quickly slipped out unnoticed.

They raced to the water's edge and, just as they had suspected, they found the basket empty. The seaweed and eel grass that they had used to keep the snapper wet and content was still slick. It had not dried out in the intense, bright sun.

“She got out recently,” said Max.

“Yep, or else the grass would have dried out,” said Charles.

“Well, that's that,” said Max.

“The rope is still here,” said Charles, pointing to where it rested, still looped around the basket.

“Yes, but the ends are frayed. I don't know, maybe she just pushed and pushed until finally she got out,” said Max.

“Hope so,” said Charles. “Geez, I wonder where she went?”

“I don't know. I hope she's ok. I was starting to really like her,” said Max.

“Strange stuff happens around here,” added Charles.

“Don't remind me,” said Max.

Both boys turned away from the water and walked slowly back to the inn.

The dining room was warm and old smelling. It smelled of dust and rich coffee, old wax polish and steamy sweet blueberry pancakes that dripped with golden maple syrup.

“You boys weren't hungry enough? You had to work up an appetite by taking a morning stroll down by the river?” asked Miss Marie in her great booming voice.

“It's so silver-like today,” said Max quickly. He pulled out a massive wooden chair. It was big like a throne from a castle.

“It was so nice outside. We just had to see the water before breakfast,” added Charles. His chair was also big and ornate with a tapestry seat so worn there was a big hole in the middle. Charles sat and sank in, in, in.

“Antique,” said Miss Marie, a slight smile twisting her lips. “But I think the springs will hold you up.”

“If it were any more antique, Charles would be lost,” laughed Max.

“Yes, gone like Alice or something,” said Fred.

“Pancakes?” asked Miss Marie.

Before either boy could answer, they were face-to-face with a stack of six pancakes each. A meal more fit for a king than a boy or girl falling into wonderland.

Miss Marie sat down at the end of the table and picked up her own coffee mug. She watched the boys silently gulping down the great, perfectly round pile of sopping sweet pancakes. After a moment, she cleared her throat to get their attention.

Fred and the boys looked up.

“You know, I went out early this morning to my garden. I was hoping to find me some cantaloupes to add to your meal. Well, none of the 'lopes were left. Ones I did find were all too green or too mushy to eat. But I did make a surprising discovery.” She paused and took a deep drink from her mug.

“What was that?” asked Fred with great interest. Gardening was another one of his many outdoor loves.

“Well, I saw where the earth had been turned over in one spot. Like someone had taken a trowel to it. And I knew I'd been too busy with the painting to have done any weeding this week. Besides, this was in a place where nothing was planted. In a place where the earth was just waiting to have winter spinach seeds pushed in.” She paused again for effect.

Both boys were watching. Something about the way she was leading up to the story made the subject sound interesting. Maybe she was going to say something more interesting than a tale of ripe tomatoes or the quantity of potato bugs she had found sitting on the underside of a leaf.

“Well, I decided to brush away that worked-up earth and see if something were there. And lo and behold, I made a great discovery.”

“What?” Fred and the boys said at once.

“Turtle eggs. Fresh-laid turtle eggs, sitting happily in my garden,” Miss Marie finished.

“What?”
repeated all three again.

“Well, it looks like some lady turtle had a desire to get rid of her eggs, and whose garden did she pick? Mine! I looked around for her, but she was a sly one and had already disappeared, leaving me the job of being a foster mother to her little brood. So, I guess I'll be growing more than spinach in my garden this year.” Miss Marie laughed a great, long laugh.

“I wonder if it was our snapping turtle. The one the boys were going to take home,” said Fred thoughtfully.

“We saw the basket just now, Fred. It was on its side and the lid was off!” said Max, unable to hold back any longer.

“That's why we took our walk before breakfast. We could see the basket from our window upstairs,” added Charles. “When we saw it was turned over, we went out, and then we discovered she was gone.”