The Great Snapping Turtle Adventure by Susan Yaruta-Young

‘I’d just like to have her sing me a lullaby, just once before I die.’”
    â€œIncredible!” said Max.
    â€œOnly on the Eastern Shore,” sighed Fred. “I love it.”
    â€œAnd did she? Did the ghost sing her granddaughter a lullaby?” asked Charles. He was suddenly wide awake again.
    â€œThat’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.”
    â€œYou heard it?” asked Fred.
    â€œWell, 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.”
    â€œWhat a story,” said Fred.
    â€œAnd what did the old lady do?” asked Max.
    â€œWell, she spent the night. It was really too late for her to drive all the way back to Elliott Island…”
    â€œOr End of the World,” whispered Charles.
    â€œâ€¦ 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.”
    â€œAnd did she ever come back?” asked Max.
    â€œOh, 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.”
    â€œWho!” yipped Max.
    â€œHattie Harriston?” said Fred. “What a small world!”
    â€œWhat is it?” asked Miss Marie, looking at their stunned faces.
    â€œWell, 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.
    â€œIt has to be the same one,” said Miss Marie.
    â€œWell, 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.
    â€œHas to be the same,” Miss Marie agreed.
    â€œWow!” said Charles.
    â€œThere’s one other thing you’ve got to tell us,” said Max.
    â€œIf I can, what?” asked Miss Marie.
    â€œWell, 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.
    â€œAnd 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.”
    â€œI’ve heard tell of it,” said Miss Marie slowly.
    â€œIs the death date on the stone?” asked Fred slowly.
    â€œYes, 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