The Tracks

By ROSALYN RIKEL RAMAGE and Alison Davis Lyne

Twelve-year-old Emma Mae and her 10-year-old brother Edward live with their family on a farm in rural West Kentucky in 1914. Most of the time, they live ordinary lives. Once in a while, though, exciting adventures come their way.
This time the adventure begins on Halloween night on the railroad tracks near their home. They, along with their 14-year-old brother Clarence and their three-legged dog Jiggs, . . and two hobos . . . are swept up by a mysterious, almost-invisible train that carries them, screeching through the night, to a far away place, where they may never again see light."
It doesnt take the children long to learn that their lives are in danger. Then they make another unbelievable discovery. Some of their own family members live near the circus camp/prison where they have been taken, The many adventures they experience at the hands of the man in the brown suit with the black derby hat and his sidekick, the ringmaster at the circus, will leave the reader wondering if they'll ever be able to escape and return to their home. If so, what would they tell their family about the adventure? And would another adventure ever come their way?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Sep 21, 2011
• ISBN: 9781426992728

ROSALYN RIKEL RAMAGE

Rosalyn Rikel Ramage is the author of two books of children’s poetry and a middle-grade mystery entitled The Tracks. She is a retired elementary school teacher whose love of children and family has inspired her to incorporate bits of family lore with fantastical adventures. She hopes her books will enlighten as well as entertain her audience—middle school through persons of any age. She and her husband Don split their time between their farm in Kentucky and their home in Nashville, Tennessee.

Book preview

The

Tracks

Written by

Rosalyn Rikel Ramage

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© Copyright 2011 Rosalyn Rikel Ramage.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

isbn: 978-1-4269-9271-1 (sc)

isbn: 978-1-4269-9272-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011914976

Trafford rev. 09/14/2011

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Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

For my children,

Rae Ellyn, Ron, and Risa

* * * * * * * *

Special thanks are extended to the many family members as well as old and new friends who have been involved in various ways to help bring this book into existence. Specific acknowledgement is given to students at Barfield Elementary School, Eakin Elementary School, and DuPont Hadley Middle School, as they especially encouraged me to share my story. But without the support and encouragement of my husband, Don, this book would never have been written or published.

SKU-000481022_TEXT.pdf

THE FAMILY (Photograph Circa 1914)

Front Row: Frederick, William, Arthur

Middle Row: Papa, Edward, Mama

Back Row: Emma Mae and Clarence

Mini-Glossary of German Words Used in the Story:

Chapter 1

Watch out for Bossy! I hollered at Edward as he led the cows to the barn for milking. She’s coming up behind you with her head down!

Instantly, my ten-year-old brother turned around, flung his hands in the air, and yelled, Hey!

Bossy stopped in her tracks. She glared at him, shaking her head resentfully.

Thanks for the warning, Emma Mae, Edward called back as he moved off the cow path. She was really after me that time.

Bossy had a reputation for sneaking up behind people and giving them nudges with her horns. Now that she had been stopped, she led the other cows to the barn where Edward had their food waiting for them in the milking stalls. Papa and our older brother Clarence were due back any time now from working in the fields with the team of horses.

I jumped down from the top of the gate where I was sitting and sprinted across the barn lot to join Edward. Since I’ve finished feeding the chickens and gathering the eggs, would you like me to help feed the pigs? I asked him.

Why don’t you take care of the horses’ feed and I’ll take care of the pigs? Then we’ll be done.

Good idea, I said in my most agreeable twelve-year-old voice. I hurried into the larger section of the barn and opened the barrel where we stored the horses’ feed. When I finished filling the wooden troughs, I got the pitchfork and tossed some fresh hay into the stalls. As I put the pitchfork up and walked out of the barn, I sneezed. That was my usual reaction to being around hay.

"Gesundheit, Edward yelled from the pigpen, laughing. That’s the German expression for bless you," which our family frequently said when somebody sneezes. Our ancestors migrated to Kentucky from Germany many years earlier; but even now, in 1914, we still sprinkled some German words and phrases through our conversation.

Ed emptied the slop bucket full of dishwater and table scraps into the pigs’ trough. He added some dry food to this mixture to finish out the pigs’ supper.

I climbed the fence that separated the barn lot from the back yard. The last tinge of orange was almost gone from the clouds. If we’re going to the hideout to get my crown for tonight’s party before dark, we’d better get going, I called to Edward.

I’m ready when you are, he announced, jumping the fence and running to my side. He plopped the empty slop bucket on the back steps beside the basket of eggs I had gathered earlier. He put his hands in the hip pockets of his overalls as he looked at the darkening sky.

Can we get across the tracks and back before dark? I asked.

Edward scratched above his left ear like he always did when he wasn’t sure about something.

"Ja! he answered. I think we can make it if we hurry."

Since I need the crown for part of my costume, let’s go!

With that, we took off running like the wind, our bare feet skimming along the pathway. We ran through the garden gate, past the sweet potato cellar, and toward the nearby railroad tracks. Then we took the familiar trail that led across the tracks, up the small incline, and into the wooded area beyond.

It was getting quite dusky in the woods by now, but we could still see the path that led to the clump of bushes that was our hideout. Wait, Ed, I whispered as we stopped beside the thicket. I grabbed his arm. Why do I have prickly shivers running up and down my spine? I’ve got that weird feeling that something strange is about to happen.

I feel it, too, he whispered. Probably because it’s getting so dark here in the woods.

I shrugged my shoulders. Maybe so. Let me grab my crown and I’ll race you back to the house.

This cluster of low-growing bushes looked like a solid mass from the outside, but it hid a wonderful clearing in the middle. A small opening in one side is what we used for the entrance. I dropped down on my hands and knees and crawled in the open space.

It’s almost dark inside here, I said in a hushed tone. I could hardly see the doll bed on the other side of the clearing. Edward had made the bed out of pieces of scrap lumber, and I had filled it with straw.

There on the small bed was my China doll I had also left in the hideout yesterday. Hello, Maizey, I whispered to her. You look funny with my paper crown on your little head. The doll’s eyes in her tiny porcelain face stared back at me. "I’m going to wear this crown to a party tonight. A Halloween party. I’m so excited!"

I picked her up and pecked a kiss on her cheek before plopping her back down on her bed. Thanks for trying out my crown, Maizey. See you tomorrow.

Quickly, I jerked around to crawl back out of the opening, but I bumped into something that yelled. My heart lurched!

Watch out, Emma Mae! Edward hollered. Don’t knock me down!

I laughed out loud. I didn’t know you had come inside. You scared the living daylights out of me.

"And you skeered the livin’ daylights outta me! he exclaimed, plopping down on the moss-covered ground inside the thicket. I just wanted to come in and rest for a minute."

"Only for a little minute, I said. Mama might be upset if she finds out we came out here this late."

Yeah, especially since she told us about the hobos she saw in the neighborhood today.

As much as we have those homeless hobos coming in off the tracks around here, you’d think she wouldn’t pay much attention to it.

I know. It seems like havin’ hobos around is a fact of life when you live near the railroad. As Papa says, and here Edward dropped his voice to sound more like a man, ‘Call them hobos or bums or tramps, it don’t really matter, but one thing’s for sure. Most of them are out of a home, and they’re down on their luck. We jest need t’ help ‘em out, as best we can.’

You sound so much like Papa when you talk that way, I smiled, but we’d better get going. It’s getting darker out there by the minute.

Just then, there was a loud snapping sound nearby. What was that? I whispered.

Shhh, Ed responded with his finger to his lips. Listen.

Chill bumps popped out on my arms again.

There was another snap … and another … and still another. Something alive was rustling through the leaves toward us here in the middle of the darkening woods. Something big!

We sat like statues inside the hideout as the sounds came closer. Only our eyes shifted to look at each other. I could distinctly make out the sound of feet shuffling through the leaves, but there was more. It was a puffing kind of sound, like someone out of breath. There was a squeaking sound, too. Then we heard voices, soft and low at first, but gradually getting louder.

We crept to the inside edge of our hiding place so that we might peek out without being seen. In the gathering twilight, I could make out the forms of two men. One of them was pushing a wheelbarrow. To my great alarm, the men stopped right outside our hideout.

The first man had long red hair with a bushy red beard that matched. He was carrying a shovel.

The second one had a round belly that stuck out over the top of his pants. His clothes looked dirty and ragged; his face, covered with stubby whiskers. A greasy-looking felt hat perched on his head while an unlit stub of a cigar dangled from the corner of his mouth. He was breathing hard from pushing the wheelbarrow.

I peered through my uneven peephole, wondering if these men were the ones who had scared Mama earlier in the day. My heart pounded inside my chest. It was so loud, I was afraid they might hear it!

The hobo with the stubby whiskers struck a match to light his cigar. The flare from the flame allowed me to see the wheelbarrow more clearly. It was old and rickety-looking. A large mound covered with burlap bags totally filled it. Dark red stains on the bags seemed to glare at me.

I glanced at Edward with enormous eyes. I wanted to scream, I was so scared.

The men began to speak again. One of them rolled his rrrr’s around on his tongue when he spoke. Herre by these bushes looks like a good spot to burry ‘im, he said. It’s out o’ the way, so nobody’s likely t’ spot ‘im herre.

If you think it’s fur enough away from the railroad tracks, then I reckon it’ll be okay, the other man drawled in a deep, raspy voice.

All rrright then. I’ll start the diggin’. You brring the wheelbarrow on ‘round.

Will do, Scottie, but ye’d best dig as fast as ye can. We need to git the buryin’ done before it gits completely dark, replied the raspy voice.

Aye, the red-bearded man answered. He used the point of his shovel to tap into the soil before he began to dig.

As I turned to look at my brother, I saw fear in his eyes. Not only were these tramps trespassing in our family’s woods, but they were digging a hole and were planning to bury something! Or somebody!

After he had plunked some shovels full of dirt into a pile, the man with the red beard paused from his digging. He leaned on the shovel and looked around while he wiped his forehead with a dirty handkerchief. Nobody’ll everr think to look for ‘im away out herre. He stuffed the handkerchief into his pocket and went back to work.

I hope not, agreed his partner. I feel sorry for any poor sucker that happens onto this buryin’ spot. We’re a’goin’ to bury him deep, so’s people will never know what happened to ‘im. Here, now, let me take a turn at the diggin’. He moved so that he could take the shovel.

Edward and I squeezed each other’s hands. I was terrified.

As the digging continued and the mound of dirt grew bigger, Edward started backing away from his peephole. I did the same. We had to be careful not to make a sound. Silently, we crept across the mossy floor toward the small open space on the other side. With the crown in my hand, I followed Edward out of the hideout.

We knew we had to move with caution. One stir of the dried leaves covering the path could call attention to our presence. We crawled on our hands and knees, moving slowly, slowly, ever-so-slowly.

I felt a sharp stab of pain in the palm of my hand. It hurt so much I wanted to holler, but I bit my lips together instead. I looked to see what had caused the pain. It was a prickly ball from a sweet gum tree. It had made tiny dents in my palm. Quietly, I tossed it beside the trail and rubbed my hand.

I began moving again. A twig cracked beneath my knee. The sound was so loud, it sounded like a rifle shot! Both of us froze, afraid they might have heard and would come after us. We waited for what seemed forever. Finally, Edward began to move again. I followed, looking carefully at the trail. Another broken stick might bring disaster!

As we crept along, an owl suddenly swooped down just above our heads. Edward gasped loudly, then clapped his hand over his mouth to stifle a yell. Once again we stayed frozen until we were sure his sound had not been heard.

Finally, we were safely out of hearing range. We stood up and ran along the leaf-covered path toward home as fast as our bare feet could run. We raced across the wet, muddy area of the marshy bog, and slid down the steep incline. We only slowed a little as we came to the edge of the railroad tracks. Quickly, we jumped over them.

At last we were on the house-side of the tracks. We plopped down beside a bunch of red sumac and golden-orange sassafras bushes to catch our breath. We peered over the leafy limbs and listened. There was definitely a thumping sound. Was it footsteps pounding down the pathway we had just traveled? Were the hobos