Thanksgiving on Thursday - Mary Pope Osborne [9]
Squanto stopped walking. He pointed to the field.
“You must plant corn in the spring,” he said. “Put the seed in the ground when the oak-tree bud is as small as a mouse’s ear.”
“Oh, wait, please,” said Jack. He slipped his notebook and pencil out of his bag. It was the first time he’d had a chance to take notes all day. He wrote:
Then he looked up at Squanto and nodded.
“Dig holes and put two rotting fish in each hole,” said Squanto.
“Rotting fish?” said Annie, making a face.
“Yes, rotting fish is good food for the soil,” said Squanto. “On top of the fish, place four corn seeds. Then cover them with dirt.”
Jack quickly wrote:
“Got it,” he said, looking up.
“I give you these corn seeds to take home,” said Squanto. He held up a small pouch.
“Thanks,” said Annie, taking the pouch.
“Thanks a lot,” said Jack. “Well, good-bye.” Jack was eager to get going—before Squanto could ask them questions about the past.
“Wait, I have a question,” said Annie. “Squanto, why did you say you remembered us?”
Squanto’s dark eyes twinkled. “I did not say I remembered you,” he said. “I only said I remember.”
“What did you remember?” asked Annie.
“I remembered what it was like to be from a different world,” said Squanto. “Long ago, I lived with my people on this shore. But one day, men came in ships. They took me to Europe as a slave. In that new land, I was a stranger. I felt different and afraid. I saw the same fear in your eyes today. So I tried to help you.”
Annie smiled. “We thank thee,” she said.
“And now you must always be kind to those who feel different and afraid,” said Squanto. “Remember what you felt today.”
“Indeed,” said Jack.
Before closing his notebook, he added one last thing:
Squanto bowed.
“Good day, Jack and Annie,” he said.
“Good day!” they said.
Squanto turned and headed back to the village. The sun was setting. All of Plymouth was lit with a fiery light.
“It really was a good day,” said Annie.
“Yeah, it was,” said Jack.
Annie sighed. “Ready to go home?” she asked.
“Indeed,” Jack said.
They started running through the woods. Their feet crunched through the red and yellow leaves. They scrambled up the rope ladder into the tree house.
From the distance came the sounds of the Pilgrims singing a hymn and the Wampanoag beating their drums. Annie picked up the Pennsylvania book. She pointed at a picture of the Frog Creek woods.
“I wish we could go home!” she said.
“Good-bye, Priscilla!” Jack called.
“Good-bye, Squanto!” said Annie. “Good-bye, everyone!”
The wind started to blow.
The wind blew harder.
The tree house started to spin.
It spun faster and faster.
Then everything was still.
Absolutely still.
Jack opened his eyes. He sighed. They were wearing their own clothes again. His leather bag was a backpack.
Sunlight slanted through the tree house window. As always, no time at all had passed in Frog Creek.
“Home,” said Annie. She held up the pouch of corn seeds. “Proof for Morgan we found a special magic.”
“The magic of community,” said Jack.
Annie placed the pouch on the floor—next to the scrolls from Shakespeare and the twig from the gorillas of the cloud forest.
“Let’s go,” she said.
Jack took the research book out of his pack. He left it under the window. Then they climbed down the rope ladder.
As they started through the woods, a warm wind blew, rattling the leaves. Jack felt happy. He was looking forward to visiting their grandmother today and seeing their cousins and aunts and uncles.
“You know, Pilgrim kids had a really hard life,” said Annie.
“Yeah. They did as much work as the grown-ups,” said Jack. “Maybe more.”
“Worst of all, lots of their friends and family members died,” said Annie.
“Yeah,” said Jack.
Both were silent for a moment.
“If they could be so thankful,” said Annie, “we should be really thankful.”
“No kidding,” said Jack. “Really, really thankful.”
And they were.
MORE FACTS FOR
JACK AND ANNIE AND YOU!
In 1863, President Abraham Lincoln designated the last Thursday in November