The Great Snapping Turtle Adventure by Susan Yaruta-Young Page A

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.”
    â€œThat’s really morbid,” said Max.
    â€œWell, 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.”
    â€œThat’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.

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.
    â€œThe 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.
    â€œThe road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,” quoted Charles back.
    â€œAnd the highwayman came riding…”
    â€œâ€¦riding, riding…”
    â€œThe highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door,” they ended together.
    â€œWhew!” sighed Charles. “Almost like this place, huh?”
    â€œExcept 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.
    â€œStill, look at the sky,” Charles pointed to the full moon riding over the choppy sea of clouds.
    â€œYeah, yeah, so now what do we do?” asked Max.
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œI mean, the plan.”
    â€œThe plan,” said Charles in a squeaky voice.
    â€œYeah, 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.
    â€œWell, 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…”
    â€œBrave!” Max finished for him. “You’re scared.”
    â€œAren’t you?”
    â€œYeah, I guess so,” admitted Max. “But, I mean, chances are it was just some old ghost story Miss Marie made up.”
    â€œExcept for the details, like Hattie Harriston visiting and all,” said Charles.
    â€œDon’t remind me. But if it’s the same ghost, it’s a kind one.”
    â€œA real grandmotherly one.”
    â€œNot scary.”
    â€œExcept, I don’t want to meet a ghost,” said Charles, feeling a chill slither over his skin at just the thought of it.
    â€œNo, me either. But it’s a slim chance,” said Max.
    â€œStill a chance,” said Charles strongly.
    Max stared out the window for a moment. Behind them, the boys could hear Fred softly snoring.
    â€œWell,” 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.”
    â€œAnd 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.
    â€œAnd Cinderella is close to the Inn,” added Max.
    â€œYeah, right off the kitchen porch.”
    â€œUgh,” sighed Max. “That’s right. Right off the summer kitchen porch.”
    â€œOh, geez,” wheezed Charles.
    â€œThis is