The Sideroad Kids - Book 1 E-Book

Sharon M. Kennedy

• Herausgeber: Modern History Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Seitenzahl: 244

Beschreibung

The SideRoad Kids follows a group of boys and girls as they enter the sixth grade in a small town in Michigan's Upper Peninsula during 1957 - 58. This meandering collection of loosely-connected short stories is often humorous, poignant, and sometimes mysterious. Laugh as the kids argue over Halloween treats handed out in Brimley. Recall Dorothy's Hamburgers in Sault Ste. Marie. Follow a Sugar Island snowshoe trail as the kids look for Christmas trees. Wonder what strange blue smoke at Dollar Settlement signifies. Discover the magic hidden in April snowflakes. Although told by the kids, adults will remember their own childhood as they read about Flint, Candy, Squeaky, Katie, and their friends.
"Katie, Blew, Squeaky, and Daisy grew up on farms instead of high rises and used their imagination instead of fancy gadgets to make their own fun. An entertaining read for youngsters. And parents, you might enjoy a nostalgic flashback as well. I know I did."
--Allia Zobel-Nolan, author of Cat Confessions
"The stories in The SideRoad Kids are often humorous. However, underlying them is a sensitive awareness that being a kid, rural or urban, then or now, is not easy. This is an enjoyable read that will enlighten today's kids about the past and rekindle memories for older readers."
--Jon Stott, author of Paul Bunyan in Michigan
"Sharon's stories capture the essence of childhood and growing up in a small community. The antics of The SideRoad Kids will keep you entertained and take you back to a simpler time."
--Renee Glass, Senior Production Artist, Mackinac Journal
"Sharon Kennedy is an amazing writer who draws you into the lives of her characters and keeps everything relatable. She makes you laugh, makes you think, and makes you want to keep reading. The SideRoad Kids is an entertaining book about a group of children growing up in Northern Michigan."
--Kortny Hahn, Senior Staff Writer, Cheboygan Daily Tribune

Leseprobe

The SideRoad Kids: Tales from Chippewa County

Copyright © 2021 by Sharon M. Kennedy. All Rights Reserved.

Illustrations by Joanna Walitalo

ISBN 978-1-61599-603-2 paperback

ISBN 978-1-61599-604-9 hardcover

ISBN 978-1-61599-605-6 eBook

Published by

Modern History Press     www.ModernHistoryPress.com

Ann Arbor, MI 4810  [email protected]

Distributed by Ingram (USA/Canada), Bertram’s Books (UK/EU)

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Kennedy, Sharon M., 1947- author.

Title: The sideroad kids : tales from Chippewa County / Sharon M. Kennedy.

Description: Ann Arbor, MI : Modern History Press, [2021] | Audience: Ages 10-12. | Audience: Grades 4-6. | Summary: Katie, Daisy, Blew, Shirley, and the other young kids who live in the farms along a sideroad in Chippewa County of Michigan's Upper Peninsula in the mid 1950s deal with the problems of growing up in their poor, isolated community in this collection of short stories.

Identifiers: LCCN 2021037309 (print) | LCCN 2021037310 (ebook) | ISBN 9781615996032 (paperback) | ISBN 9781615996049 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781615996056 (adobe pdf) | ISBN 9781615996056 (kindle edition)

Subjects: LCSH: Nineteen fifties--Juvenile fiction. | Farm life--Michigan--Chippewa County--Juvenile fiction. | Chippewa County (Mich.)--History--20th century--Juvenile fiction. | CYAC: Farm life--Michigan--Fiction. | Chippewa County (Mich.)--History--20th century--Fiction. | LCGFT: Historical fiction.

Classification: LCC PZ7.1.K5055 Si 2021 (print) | LCC PZ7.1.K5055 (ebook) | DDC 813.6 [Fic]--dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021037309

LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021037310

With love to Stephanie

Acknowledgements

I must first acknowledge my parents, Al and Ann Kennedy, who never complained when I asked for money to buy more books. To my paternal grandmother, the late Julia Kennedy, who always tucked a dollar in my hand to buy another Nancy Drew book. To my 10th grade English teacher, Eugene Buckley, who introduced me to Charles Dickens. To my English college professor, the late Mike Flynn, who said my work was “a golden vein of talent waiting to be mined.” To my Detroit friend, the late George Mallus, who called my writing “beautiful.” To Richard Crofton, the first editor to publish my newspaper column in the Sault News and some of my stories in the Mackinac Journal. To Victor Volkman who published this book. And to readers who hold my work in their hands. I acknowledge and thank all of you. Without your faith in me, these stories would never have been written.

Contents

Chapter 1 – Riding with Fenders

Chapter 2 – Statue Maker

Chapter 3 – A Strange First Encounter

Chapter 4 – Kittens in the Manger

Chapter 5 – Cross-Eyed Boy

Chapter 6 – The Cold War and Bones

Chapter 7 – Daisy’s Unread Story

Chapter 8 – A Trip to Castle Rock

Chapter 9 – Shirley’s Piano

Chapter 10 – Pictures in the October Clouds

Chapter 11 – Katie Tells of Halloween Hazards

Chapter 12 – King Tut Day

Chapter 13 – A Hunting Accident

Chapter 14 – The Parson’s Nose and Buster

Chapter 15 – Katie’s Unlucky Day

Chapter 16 – Scouting for a Christmas Tree

Chapter 17 – The Christmas Play

Chapter 18 – A Balsam Tree for Katie

Chapter 19 – New Year’s Resolutions

Chapter 20 – The January Thaw

Chapter 21 – The Snowball Fight

Chapter 22 – Valentines in the Silo

Chapter 23 – Washington’s Birthday

Chapter 24 – Shirley Waits with Belle

Chapter 25 – The Wearing of the Green

Chapter 26 – Mrs. Eel Goes Away

Chapter 27 – Larry’s Birthday Party

Chapter 28 – Yellow Chickens

Chapter 29 – A Late April Snow

Chapter 30 – JEP, Mama’s Special Gift

Chapter 31 – Saying Goodbye to Miss Penny

Chapter 32 – Apple’s Fate

Chapter 33 – No More School

Glossary

About the Author

Chapter 1 – Riding with Fenders

“Katie, telephone. Daisy wants to talk to you,” Mama calls from the bottom of the stairs. I’m lying in bed, on top of the covers, reading Little Women. I’m at the good part where Laurie tells Jo he loves her.

“What’s she want?” I yell. “Tell her I’m busy.”

“Katie, come to the phone. Make up with Daisy. You’re not doing anything that can’t wait, and I won’t lie for you. Daisy? Katie will be here in a minute.”

I save my place by putting a bookmark between the pages. The last thing I want to do today is talk to Daisy. I’m mad at her. She stole my Annie Oakley canteen and won’t give it back.

“What do you want?” I ask in the meanest voice I have. “What’s up? I’m reading a good book.”

“Fiddlesticks on your old book. Fenders wants to take us for a ride. He’s waiting in the car. Call Blew and be here in ten minutes or we’ll leave without you.” Slam. She hangs up in my ear. I crank my cousin’s number—three shorts and one long. The operator answers.

“This is the operator,” she says.

“I don’t want you. I cranked three shorts and one long.” The line goes dead, and I try again. We were the second family on our road to get phone service this summer. Now everybody has it, but the Brimley phone company hasn’t worked out all the bugs. Grandpa says it’s faster to stand on the front porch and yell than it is to call. He says when the wind’s from the right direction, our voices carry quicker on it than they do through the wires. I think he’s right, but then I hear Blew’s voice.

“Want to go for a ride? Fenders will take us wherever we want to go because Mr. Powell is selling the car tomorrow and this will be our last trip.”

“Where we goin’?” Blew asks. “I’m playin’ cowboys and Indians. I got all my men lined up for battle. I’ll have to put ’em away if I go so the drive better be worth the trouble it’s gonna cause me.”

“I don’t know. Maybe Cedarville. That’s where we were headed last time, remember, but then we got the flat tire.”

“We never even left the field. We didn’t go nowhere.”

“Well, I’m going today whether or not you are. Mama says I have to make up with Daisy. I’d rather eat a dead mouse.” I slam the receiver in his ear just like Daisy did in mine. I know Blew won’t miss a free ride. I run back upstairs and grab a sweater.

“Bye, Mama,” I say as I dash through the kitchen and out the front door. I take my bike out of the red shed and start down the lane, Lard yapping at my heels. “You can’t come,” I scold him. “Stay home.” Obediently, he trots back to the shade of the poplar tree where he was sleeping before he heard me. By the time I reach the end of my lane, I see Blew racing down the road ahead of me. I bet he wasn’t playing cowboys and Indians at all. I bet he lied like he always does.

Fenders has driven at least a thousand miles. He drives everywhere. He’s 18 and doesn’t have many friends his own age so he often plays with us. He’s already sitting behind the wheel when I pedal up the driveway. He waves and yells, “You’re just in time.”

We know the rules. Daisy sits in the front seat when we start our journey, and I sit there on the way back. Blew always sits behind Fenders and pretends he’s driving. A map of Michigan is spread on Daisy’s legs. It’s an old map, torn and stained. Most of the new roads aren’t on it, but it’s good enough for us.

“Where we going?” I ask.

“Where do you want to go?” Fenders responds.

“I want to go to St. Ignace and see Castle Rock,” Daisy says.

“I want to go to Point Iroquois Lighthouse and see where the Indians killed each other,” Blew yells.

“I want to go to the fair and see the two-headed calf,” I answer.

“And I want to go to the Soo and buy hamburgers at Dorothy’s and eat them while we watch the freighters crawl through the locks,” Fenders announces. “I know one of the guys who works in the engine room of the Leon Fraser. It might be locking through today.”

We sit in the car and stare at each other. We know we have to go where Fenders wants to go because he’s the driver. Daisy folds the map, making sure she gets it just right and sticks it back in the glove box. We sure don’t need a map to show us the way to Sault Ste. Marie. Our parents go there every Friday night. Our mamas go to the grocery stores, and our papas go to the beer gardens. I wish I’d stayed home.

“Who’s gonna pay for burgers?” Blew asks. “You got any money, Fenders?”

“I got some.”

“Enough for the four of us and gas?”

“Maybe yes. Maybe no. Don’t worry about money.”

“Why can’t we go to the fair?” I ask. “It’ll be over in three days.”

“All summer you been promising to take me to Castle Rock,” Daisy whines.

“C’mon, Fenders. Take us to the lighthouse,” Blew demands. “Maybe we can find an old bloody tomahawk or some bones buried in the sand.”

Fenders drums his fingers on the steering wheel like he’s thinking. “I wonder how much gas we have. Blew, get a stick and shove it down the tank.” Blew jumps out of the car and tears a twig from a maple tree. He strips the leaves from it, and sticks it in the gas hole. It’s dripping when he pulls it out.

“Look here, we got lots of gas. Enough to get us to town and the lighthouse. We can watch the freighters from there. We’ve seen the locks a million times.”

“Well,” Fenders says. “You could be right but then again, you could be wrong. I don’t have enough money for gas and food, and I don’t like the idea of walking home if the tank runs dry. Blew says the tank’s full, but we all know Blew’s a liar. And he’s broke. Either of you gals got any money?”

“No,” Daisy and I say at the same time.

“Now, this does present a problem.” Fenders scratches his head. “I want to take you kids for an end-of-the-summer ride, but we can’t agree on where to go, and we don’t have enough money to drive all over Chippewa County and grab some burgers, too. I don’t want to disappoint anybody so we’re going to have to compromise. Any of you know what that word means?”

“It means you’re a liar,” Blew grunts. “And we ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

“Drive us to town, buy yourself a burger, then drive us to the lighthouse. I’ll give up Castle Rock, if Katie’ll give up the fair. I don’t want to see no two-headed calf.” Daisy barks out orders like my Grandpa.

“Give me time to think about that,” Fenders says. He stretches his arms in front of him until they almost hit the windshield. It has a crack in it where a gravel truck hit it with sharp stones. Daisy turns and looks at me.

“I don’t know why you’re mad at me. I didn’t steal your canteen,” she says. “I found it. It was filthy so I washed it and brought it home. I’m not giving it back. You should take better care of your things.” She turns around and looks out the window.

“I don’t believe you, but Mama says I have to forgive you so I do.” I don’t really forgive her. What I really want to do is punch her in the nose. “You know I take excellent care of my things. I want my canteen back. You’re a thief.”

“Shut up, Katie,” Blew says. “Ain’t nobody listenin’ to you. We ain’t goin’ nowhere today are we, Fenders? You’re just teasin’ us.”

Fenders doesn’t answer. He takes his wallet from his pocket and counts some bills. He gets paid for helping with farm chores, but I don’t think he likes farm work. I think he wants to be a sailor like his friend. He always reads books about ships that sank in Lake Superior, the big lake a few miles from here. And every chance he gets, he goes to town with his dad and watches the freighters as they lock through on their way to Duluth or the St. Lawrence Seaway.

We sit in the car for what seems like an hour. Everybody’s mad at everybody. Finally, Mrs. Powell comes out of the house carrying four lunch pails. She walks through the grass. “I thought you kids might like a sandwich and something to drink,” she says. She walks around the car and hands each of us a pail. “I baked oatmeal cookies, but eat your peanut butter sandwiches first. There’s cold milk in the thermoses. Enjoy.” We thank her and dig in.

“Now that the food problem is solved, we’ll decide where to go when we finish lunch,” Fenders says. “Daisy, get out the map again. We’ll go somewhere we’ve never been before. We’ll have an adventure.” Daisy hands him the map. He studies it for a long time.

“How about Soldier Lake out Raco way?” he suggests. “We haven’t been there.”

“I don’t have a bathing suit,” I say. “And everybody knows I can’t swim.”

“Good idea,” Blew yells. “I’ll swim in my underwear. Let’s go.”

“I’ll run back to the house and wear my suit underneath my clothes. I’ll grab some towels. Wait for me.” Daisy limps away.

“Run fast,” Fenders tells his sister, but she can’t run fast because she has a club foot.

“You can walk in the woods and search for wildflowers,” Fenders says to me. “When we’re done swimming, we’ll join you and look for different kinds of leaves. There’s lots of trees out that way. C’mon, Katie. That calf will still be there next year.”

“We both know that calf will be dead before Labor Day,” I complain, but it’s useless to argue. I finish eating my lunch. The cookie’s good, but I don’t like raisins so I pick them out and give them to Blew.

Now that we’ve settled on where we’re going, a happy feeling fills the car. The thing is old. I can’t imagine why anyone wants to buy it. It’s mostly junk. The seats are ripped, the radio doesn’t work, the locks won’t lock properly, and the door on the driver’s side won’t open at all. Fenders has to slide across the seat to get in and out. The muffler drags on the ground. When the car was new it was dark green, but now there’s almost more rust on it than paint.

When it quit running, the man at the Chevrolet store in Sault Ste. Marie wouldn’t give Mr. Powell the price he wanted for it so he put one end of a chain on his tractor and the other end on the rear bumper of the car and dragged it into the field. It sat there until Fenders was old enough to tinker with it. Then he practiced driving. The first time we went on the road was thrilling. He made us close our eyes and pretend we were driving down US-2, heading for the ferry that would carry us across the Straits of Mackinac. He said we were going to Detroit. We planned that trip for days, but we never left the field just like we won’t today. The car has no roof and no engine. We go along with Fenders because it’s fun to pretend. Daisy returns with the towels. “All set,” she says. “Let’s go.”

“Close your eyes, kids, and hang on,” Fenders tells us. “Next stop—Soldier Lake.”

Chapter 2 – Statue Maker

“Freeze!” I shriek as I fling Daisy through the air. She lands on her right foot. “Freeze or the game’s over.”

“How can I freeze on my club foot?” she yells. She tumbles to the ground.

“Game’s over then. I win.”

“You always win, Katie, because you cheat. I’m going to tell Mommy.”

“Big baby. Go and whine for all I care.”

“Well, maybe I’ll stay outside just a little longer.”

“Good. If we’re not going to play Statue Maker, let’s watch Grandpa. I think he’s been into Granny’s dandelion wine so you’ll probably have to cover your ears.”

“I thought you said your papa made him promise to stay out of the wine and not say bad words.” Daisy’s eyes are wide with curiosity. “Do you lie as well as cheat?”

“I don’t lie and I don’t cheat. Be quiet and listen.” We run towards the swings and start pumping. Grandpa rocked himself into a corner of the porch and can’t reach his cane. It fell from his knees and rolled next to Lard.

“Katie, you lazy child. Help me out of this chair!” Grandpa yells. “And pick up my blasted cane!” He flings his drink at Lard. “Move, you blasted, mutt, move!”

Daisy is horrified. Her eyes bulge. “I’ve never heard anybody talk like that in all my life,” she says.

I laugh. “If you came over more often, you’d know how he talks. All old people talk that way when they’re mad.”

“My people don’t.”

“You don’t live with your grandpa.” Before she has time to answer, her mother comes out of the house. I guess her visit is over. It’s not really a visit because her mother sells Avon stuff, and Mama always buys something. Mrs. Powell tells Daisy it’s time to go.

“Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, but she probably won’t. She only comes over when her mother brings Mama whatever she bought. It’s too hard for her to walk on the road or ride a bicycle. I jump from the swing.

“Bye, Daisy. See you tomorrow.” She ignores me.

“Are you going to help me or not?” Grandpa hollers. I don’t answer right away.

“I said are you going to help me?”

“Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t. What’ll you give me if I do?” I twist the end of my hair around my finger.

Grandpa narrows his eyes to cat-like slits. He lowers his head, sticks out his neck, and says very slowly, “If you don’t give me that cane right this minute, I’ll strangle you at midnight.”

I laugh and perch on the top step of the porch. “If you strangle me, you’ll go to jail. What’ll people say then?”

“They’ll say a poor old man was driven to madness by a demon-possessed child. They’ll feel sorry for me and give me a prize.”

I think about this for a minute. “Maybe yes. Maybe no. You’ll still go to jail. You can’t kill children and get away with it.”

“You’re not a child. You’re a monster. A monster that came out of Lake Superior or Lake Michigan one stormy night.”

“Oh, Grandpa. You say the funniest things. You don’t even know what a monster looks like. And monsters don’t live in the Great Lakes. Only the skeletons of sailors who sunk to the bottom with their ships live there. Besides, why do you want to go in the house? It’s nice out here on the porch. Look at all the pretty red leaves on the maple tree.” I twirl my hair with both hands.

“I’ll strangle you with your own hair, that’s what I’ll do. I want to go inside because I’m tired. Tired and worn out,” he says. “I’m ready for the bone pile. I’ll probably never live to see another year.” He drops his head low on his chin. “I’ll never see another ripe garden or smell another red rose. I’ll never taste another sweet blackberry or see the beautiful fall colors. Soon I’ll be joining my dear old ma and pa.”

“We don’t have any roses or blackberries, and your ma and pa will be happy to see you. Besides, it’s best to die when there’s no snow. They bury you without waiting so it would be thoughtful of you to die now.”

“Katie, give me that blasted cane.”

“Why do you swear?”

“Give me the cane.”

“Not until you answer me.”

“My cane.”

“When you die, can I have your cane? You won’t need it anymore.” Grandpa reaches for me but misses. I tell him I’ll be right back. I want to get something from the kitchen. I stick my hand in the cookie jar and take out three chocolate chip cookies. Two for me and one for him. I push open the screen door.

“Grandpa, I’m sorry. I’ll help you now. Here’s a cookie and here’s your cane. You won’t really strangle me at midnight, will you?” He doesn’t answer.

“You have to talk to me. Don’t you want to talk to me? Don’t you like me anymore?” I sit next to him. “Mama and Granny will get mad when I tell them you won’t talk to me. Do you want them mad at you?” Grandpa still doesn’t say a word. “I’ve tried to be your friend, but I guess you don’t like me. I’m going to my playhouse.” I set the cookie on the bench next to him. Then I kiss his cheek and run down the steps.

“Well, Lard,” I hear him say. “It’s time for us to go in.”

“....he was just sitting there, not talking to me or anything. I didn’t do anything to him. Honest, I didn’t. I guess he was in one of his moods. You know how old people are.” I chatter to myself in front of the mirror in my playhouse. I’m practicing what to say in case Grandpa tells on me. “I didn’t do one little thing to make him mad. Honest I didn’t. Not one little thing.” The mirror doesn’t answer me like the one in Snow White answered the queen, but I know what it’s thinking. “Sometimes old people are nothing but trouble.”

Chapter 3 – A Strange First Encounter

I met Shirley Quails when I was 11 years old. My name is Elizabeth. My family and had I had just moved into a pretty house in the country near a little town called Brimley in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. The salesman told Captain that a girl my age lived down the road. I waited for her to visit me, but she never did so a few days before school started, I rode my bike to her place. I pedaled against the wind and by the time I got to her house, I was angry.

Her mother was taking clothes off the line. She waved when she saw me and called a greeting. I got off my bicycle and walked over to the clothesline. Instead of shaking my hand or kissing my cheeks like some people do when they meet someone for the first time, she just said “hello” and continued filling the basket. When it was overflowing, she invited me in to meet her daughter. She said she had just baked a cake and when it cooled we could frost it and have cake and cold milk. I was afraid the milk had come from her cows. We don’t get milk from the barn. We get it from the grocery store like you’re supposed to. I followed her inside. What I saw scared me.

Her house wasn’t like ours. There was no kitchen sink and no faucets. There was a little wooden stand with a white metal dish on it and a bar of soap next to it. Two pails filled with water were on a table by the back door. Something they called a “dipper” hung from a nail pounded into the wall. A towel hung from another nail. I was used to living in nice houses. I guess we were rich, although that thought never occurred to me until I stepped inside the Quails’ house.

Shirley was sitting next to her grandmother on a cot in the kitchen. The cot looked like the grandmother’s bed because a pillow and blankets were on it. A little stand was next to it with a lamp, some books, and a ball of yarn with knitting needles stuck in it. I later learned the grandmother always slept in the kitchen not just during the day so she could be part of the activity but all the time. I couldn’t imagine a bed in the kitchen, but my grandmothers were in heaven so I didn’t know if all old ladies preferred the kitchen to a room of their own.

“My name is Elizabeth,” I said. “I’m your new neighbor. I’ve come to make your acquaintance.” I gave a little curtsey like Momma taught me. I guess I was waiting for someone to applaud or something but they didn’t. The grandmother didn’t say anything, and Shirley stared at me like she was conducting an inspection of someone from outer space. Then she asked if I had any dolls.

“No, I don’t like dolls,” I said. “I like horses. Do you have any horses?”

“No,” she replied. “I don’t like horses.” I had never known anyone in my life who didn’t like horses. Our last home was on Mackinac Island where everyone loves horses. I stared at Shirley and she stared at me. I should have left immediately, but Momma never allows me to eat sweets and that cake looked good so I stayed.

Mrs. Quails finished making the frosting and handed a spoon to Shirley and me. She told us to slather on as much chocolate as we wanted and we did. Then we sat at the table and Mrs. Quails cut a big slice for each of us. She opened the refrigerator and took out a jar of milk. I knew perfectly well that milk had come from the barn cows so I politely said I didn’t want any when, of course, I did. My throat was as dry as November leaves.

Shirley wasn’t saying anything so I asked how many dolls she had. She didn’t answer right away. I sat on my chair and stared at her. She wasn’t like me. Her brown hair was braided like an old lady’s. She wore a plaid shirt and shorts. Her blue tenner shoes were like mine, but hers were covered with grass stains. Her front tooth was chipped. Her arms were long and her fingers were long and her legs were long and her feet were long and from what I could see everything was covered in long, brown hair except her feet which were hidden by anklets and the tenners. I didn’t want to be her friend.

Finally she spoke. “I have seven dolls,” she said. “They all have names. Do you want to know their names?”

“No,” I said. “I have to go home.” I had eaten my cake and was so thirsty I was almost tempted to drink the cows’ milk.

“Do you want to go upstairs and meet my dolls?” she asked.

“No, I have to go home.”

“Do you have to go home right now?” Shirley asked.

“Well, no, I guess not.” I didn’t really want to go home because Momma said I could stay for an hour and although I didn’t have a watch, I knew the hour wasn’t up yet. I didn’t want to go upstairs in the creepy old house with the creepy girl, but I did.

Shirley walked in front of me. “I keep my dolls in the spare room above this room,” she said. “It’s our storage room.” I followed her up the stairs. A rickety railing ran around them to the spare room. Shirley opened the door as if she were opening a door to a palace. Then she pulled a string dangling from the ceiling and a light came on.

“Here are my dolls,” she said as if they were precious jewels. She pointed to a bunch of dolls lined in a row against the wall. “I call them my children.” I don’t know how I knew, but I knew for sure Shirley Quails was crazy when she called those dolls her children. I didn’t let on because I knew enough to know crazy people do crazy things.

“They’re very nice,” I said. “But I have to go now.” I didn’t wait for her to answer. I ran down the stairs and out the front door. I got my bicycle and pedaled as fast as I could with the wind to my back pushing me along. I never looked behind me in case crazy Shirley was following me with her crazy dolls all riding bicycles. I pedaled and pedaled and was home in no time, my heart beating like it would jump out of my chest. I threw myself into the safety of Momma’s arms.

“When are we moving back to Mackinac Island?” I asked. “Crazy people live on this road. I don’t think I’m going to like it here.”

“Give it time,” Momma said. “School will start soon. You’ll get to know all the kids, and you’ll soon become friends.”

“Never,” I said. “I’ll never be friends with Shirley or anyone else who doesn’t love horses.”