by Karen Kane
“But when we get back,” said Mrs. Tickler, “we’re going to spend lots of quality time with you—Alistair! The taxi!”
Herman, not realizing the Ticklers weren’t in the taxi yet, had started slowly driving away. Charlie’s parents jumped into the moving vehicle, stuck their heads out of the window, and waved.
“Good-bye, Charlie! Good-bye, darling! Don’t worry! We’ll call! We’ll have quality phone conversations! Several of them!”
“Wear your seat belts!” Charlie yelled as Herman’s taxi rolled down the street.
If Charlie’s parents had taken the time to pay attention to him, he would have told them that he was worried.
He was worried about Frog because of what Vince Vinelli had said last night.
But most of all Charlie was worried about the Boney Hand.
Within the walls of Castle School for the Deaf, stories flourished and flowed. These stories were always swirling around Charlie. He could see them with his eyes, but he didn’t understand most of them because they were shared in American Sign Language.
But two stories Charlie did know well.
The story behind the statue of Alice and Francine in the middle of the great hall.
And the story of the Boney Hand.
Charlie knew the story of Alice and Francine was true. It was the story of how the Castle family founded the Deaf school two hundred years ago. Frog’s great-great-great (Charlie wasn’t sure how many greats, but there were a lot) grandmother, Francine Castle, had been born Deaf. When her parents learned about the first Deaf school in America, they went to visit. There they met a girl named Alice, who taught Francine her first sign—“frog.”
But the story of the Boney Hand? Charlie had no idea if it was really true. Here’s what Charlie did know:
One hundred and fifty years ago, pirates sailed the Hudson River.
When children spotted a pirate flag, they ran inside their homes and warned their parents to hide their animals.
Because pirates stole puppies as they plundered.
Pirates snatched cows as they pillaged.
Nefarious, as Chief Paley would say.
Which means bad.
Pirates were bad people. Everyone could see the pirates were bad.
And the most feared pirate of all was Jeremiah Bone, also known as Boney Jack.
Boney Jack looked bad—very, very bad.
Which meant he was supposed to be bad.
Except he wasn’t.
When the pirates pilfered a puppy, Boney Jack made sure the hound found its way back to its child.
When the pirates finished drinking their stolen milk, Boney Jack untied the cow and sent the bovine home.
Boney Jack never stole. He only returned.
This, of course, outraged the bad pirates. A good pirate was not allowed. All pirates must be bad.
So they plotted to get rid of him.
They bribed a wealthy, powerful landowner to falsely accuse Boney Jack of thievery. No one came to his defense. Everyone believed what was said about Boney Jack, instead of looking at who Boney Jack was and what he really did.
A pirate trial ensued.
Boney Jack was found guilty.
On a chilly fall day, Boney Jack was forced to walk the plank.
He sank to the bottom of the cold Hudson River.
The fish ate every morsel off Boney Jack’s bones until only his skeleton remained.
But Boney Jack’s story didn’t end there.
When the moon was full, one of Boney Jack’s bony hands left his bony skeleton. It crawled along the muddy bottom of the river. When it came to a bluff, its bony fingers clung to the rock and climbed upward to Castle School for the Deaf.
The hand inched its way to the graveyard.
And dragged itself into the church.
It was there the school caretaker found the bony hand crouched on the floor, covered in seaweed and mud. The caretaker walked slowly toward it.
He got closer.
And closer.
Until he was poised directly over the bony hand.
The caretaker bent down and picked it up.
Suddenly, the hand reared up on its bony bottom. It fingerspelled a message to the stunned caretaker, who keeled over in shock.
A teacher found him lying on the stone floor, next to the now motionless bony hand. As she gathered the caretaker in her arms, he used his last breath to tell her what the hand had said.
“It fingerspelled,” the caretaker signed to the teacher, “NO…ONE…SAW…”
The caretaker’s hands fell to his sides.
“No one saw WHAT?” the teacher asked.
But the caretaker died before he could finish the message.
What had the bony hand been trying to say?
No one saw…what?
To this day, it remains a mystery.
To this day, nobody—
“Charlie, watch out!”
Charlie had been walking in the village, thinking about the Legend of the Boney Hand, when he bumped into Elspeth Tweedy. Miss Tweedy held a large pot out at arm’s length as something orange dribbled down the side.
“My goodness!” said Miss Tweedy. “I almost spilled Enid’s pumpkin soup! And my sister makes the best pumpkin soup.” Through her pointy eyeglasses, she gave Charlie a disapproving look.
“Sorry, Miss Tweedy,” said Charlie.
Matilda Blythe was coming down the steps of the Pig and Soap Bed-and-Breakfast holding a box. “Hi, Charlie! If you’re heading to the school, would you mind helping us carry these to the bookshop on your way?”
Matilda, along with her grandfather, Thelonious Bone, owned Blythe and Bone Bookshop.
“Sure,” said Charlie. He took the box from Matilda, who went back up the steps of the Tweedys’ bed-and-breakfast.
Elspeth and Enid Tweedy owned the Pig and Soap Bed-and-Breakfast. Elspeth Tweedy was also acting librarian of the Castle-on-the-Hudson Library and curator of the Castle-on-the-Hudson Museum, which Charlie had yet to see. Enid Tweedy owned the Naked Ewe, a knitting shop.
Enid came out of the Pig and Soap with a second soup pot. Knitting needles protruded from her apron pocket. Enid had used a knitting needle to protect Aggie Penderwick against Dex and Ray over the summer. Enid had once told Charlie she always liked to have knitting needles with her—for safety when needed, and for knitting when not.
“Thanks, Enid.” Matilda took the soup pot from her. “Maybe this will help Bone snap out of his mood.”
“Sprinkle toasted pumpkin seeds on top,” said Enid. “Toasted pumpkin seeds are essential.” She waved to Charlie, patted her knitting needles inside her pocket, and went back inside.
It was a glorious autumn day—the sky bright blue, the air crisp and cool, and smelling of freshly brewed coffee. The village of Castle-on-the-Hudson was famous for having the most coffee shops per square block. Right now, it was also decorated with pumpkins and hay bales, cornstalks and scarecrows. Fall was Charlie’s favorite time of year.
“I commend your mother and father, Charlie,” said Miss Tweedy as they walked to the bookshop. “They seem determined to become experts in parenting. I told them anything they want to learn about being a good parent can be found in a book.”
“I don’t think that’s how it works,” said Matilda.
“What’s in the box?” asked Charlie before Miss Tweedy could argue about Charlie’s parents.
“Pig soap,” Miss Tweedy answered. “My latest batch.”
“What’s pig soap?” Charlie asked. “Soap for pigs?”
Matilda giggled. Miss Tweedy sniffed.
“They are soaps in the shape of a pig,” said Miss Tweedy. “They are for humans.”
“We sell them at the bookshop,” Matilda told Charlie.
“Books and pig soap go so well together,” said Miss Tweedy.
“They do?” said Charlie.
“Certainly they do,” she said. “People read in the bathtub. People wash with pig soap in the bathtub. The
re you are!”
“Makes sense to me,” said Matilda. “Charlie, how’s school going?”
This was Charlie’s first year at Castle School for the Deaf, even though he was “hearing.” It was Mrs. Castle, Frog’s mother, who had insisted he attend school there because, she decided, Charlie needed them. And she was right.
So how was school going?
Charlie could say he loved school, which was one hundred million percent true. He could say it was different than any other school that he had ever attended, and Charlie had attended lots of schools.
Castle School for the Deaf wasn’t different just because it was a Deaf school and used ASL. It was special different in so many other ways. But right now, Charlie was worried about letting everyone down—especially Frog and Mrs. Castle. So right now, school wasn’t going that well.
“Fine,” said Charlie.
“You know,” Matilda told him, “I always wanted to go to school there, but I was hearing and I wasn’t a Castle.”
Until Charlie enrolled, the only hearing kids who had ever attended Castle School for the Deaf were Castle family members, like Oliver and Millie, Frog’s hearing brother and sister.
Matilda nudged Charlie with her elbow. “You must be an honorary member of the Castle family.”
Matilda had just said the best thing ever. Charlie took a moment to imagine the Castles as his real family. Then he immediately felt guilty about not wanting the family he did have.
They passed Junk and Stuff, Frog’s favorite place to buy her “statement pieces,” what Frog called the jewelry she wore every day. Nathan’s Ice Cream Emporium wasn’t open yet. Charlie wondered what vegetable-flavored ice cream Nate was concocting for the fall. Squash ice cream? Corn ice cream? Or maybe pumpkin ice cream, which sounded much better than the butterscotch broccoli ice cream he had tasted over the summer.
“Charlie,” said Miss Tweedy, “you seemed lost in thought when you bumped into me earlier. What were you thinking about?”
Miss Tweedy’s question reminded Charlie to start worrying again.
“I was thinking,” said Charlie, “about this.” He curled his fingers into a claw shape, the sign for “the Boney Hand.”
Miss Tweedy stopped walking. The pumpkin soup sloshed inside the pot and once more dribbled down the side.
“Don’t sign that,” said Miss Tweedy. “Just seeing that unnerves me. It’s a horrendous story because it involves”—her voice dropped to a whisper—“the D word.”
“Death,” said Matilda helpfully, in case Charlie didn’t understand.
“Language, Matilda!” Miss Tweedy scolded.
“It is a scary story,” agreed Charlie as they started walking again. Then he blurted out, “And it’s even scarier because I’m one of the kids signing the story this year.”
This was what had been worrying Charlie.
Every year, at the Fall Extravaganza, students signed two performances of the Legend of the Boney Hand while Mr. Willoughby, who was hearing, read it out loud. Mrs. Castle, who was Deaf, had been tutoring Charlie in ASL. She insisted Charlie was ready to sign a few lines in the performance.
It was one thing to sign with Frog or Mrs. Castle or another student. It was something else entirely to be signing in front of everyone. Charlie knew from past experience that it was always safer when you stuck to the edges. It was like playing the game of dodgeball, which was very popular at Charlie’s last school. Some kids stood right in the middle, daring others to try to hit them with the ball. Other kids, like Charlie, tried to avoid being seen by staying away from the front and center. A hearing kid trying to sign in front of a Deaf school was a sure way to get a ball in the face.
“I love the Legend of the Boney Hand,” said Matilda. “I wish I could go this year and watch you, but I have to be at the bookshop since Bone wants the night off. You’re braver than I was at your age, Charlie,” she said as they crossed the street. “I would never go near the Boney Hand when I went to the Fall Extravaganza.”
“What do you mean?” said Charlie. “It’s just a story. There is no Boney Hand.”
“Oh, yes there is,” said Miss Tweedy. “Edward Willoughby keeps that awful thing locked away all year. He takes the Boney Hand out only for the Fall Extravaganza.”
“Whoa,” said Charlie. “Wait a minute.” Now he was the one to stop walking. “The Boney Hand is real ?”
“Oh, it’s real,” said Matilda. “And it’s spelled B-O-N-E-Y because the Boney Hand is supposedly the hand of our ancestor Jeremiah Bone. My grandfather despises the Fall Extravaganza for that reason. Bone refuses to attend the Legend of the Boney Hand performance because the hand is on display. He says it’s disrespectful. But other family members, like my cousin Edward Willoughby, disagree.”
“He’s your cousin?” said Charlie. Mr. Willoughby was on the Board of Trustees at Castle School for the Deaf. He gave a lot of money to the school, and once a year directed and starred in the Legend of the Boney Hand. He was as cantankerous (Chief Paley’s word) as Matilda was kind.
“Edward is part of the Bone family on his mother’s side,” said Matilda. “I’m surprised no one told you about all this.”
“They probably did,” said Charlie. He sighed as they began walking again.
The problem was Charlie was still new at sign language. And he didn’t always have someone nearby to help him navigate the conversations around him, such as one of the school interpreters or Frog’s brother, Oliver. When people signed directly to Charlie, they always slowed down because they knew he was just learning ASL. But when they signed to each other, they signed at their normal speed, and Charlie wasn’t fluent enough to understand everything at that speed yet. So when everyone was talking about the Boney Hand, Charlie had completely missed the part about the hand being real. That was the price he paid for being signing-impaired in a Deaf world. He missed out on a lot of stuff.
“So if Jeremiah Bone is your real ancestor,” Charlie said to Matilda, “does that mean the story of the Boney Hand is true? That the Boney Hand crawled out of the river and up the cliff to the graveyard and then fingerspelled the words ‘No one saw…’ to the caretaker, who died of shock?”
“Language, Charlie!” said Miss Tweedy. “And yes, it’s absolutely true!”
“It’s a story,” said Matilda. “Stories describe how something felt, not how something exactly happened. This story has been told in our family and at the school for generations. It’s taken on a meaning and a life of its own. So did it really happen? Who knows?”
“I know,” said Miss Tweedy as they arrived at Blythe and Bone Bookshop. “It did happen. And that’s exactly why I never attend the Fall Extravaganza. Because the Boney Hand is still alive! It can scuttle and scurry—here, there, and everywhere!”
“Elspeth, please,” said Matilda as she balanced the soup pot on one knee, took out her keys, and opened the door.
“I would be afraid,” Miss Tweedy called to Charlie as he followed Matilda into the bookshop. “Very afraid.”
Matilda put the soup on the counter and took the box of pig soap from Charlie. Then she placed her hands on his shoulders. Tattooed on Matilda’s arm was a little girl holding a book. She had the same cloud of black curly hair as Matilda had.
“Charlie,” said Matilda, “it’s just a story, so stop worrying! That’s an order!”
Then, as if Matilda could see what was really bothering him, she added, “It’s not easy learning a new language. And you’re in a new school as well, so there’s that.” Matilda took her hands off Charlie’s shoulders and pointed to him. “There are no accidents. You’re at that school for a reason. And Frog will be there for you tonight.”
Ever since Charlie had started at Castle School for the Deaf, Frog had been his anchor. When Charlie was with Frog, Charlie belonged because Frog belonged. She was always helping him with sign language and included Charlie wherever they went. She calmed him down during the Legend of the Boney Hand rehearsals, signing Charlie’s part along w
ith him so he could follow her.
Matilda was right.
Of course Frog would be there for him.
She was always there for him.
“Remember,” said Matilda, pointing to the words on her tattoo, “you are not alone.”
Like Charlie, there were other students in the village who rode the gondola to school instead of living in the dorms. Several of them were in line at the gondola station when he arrived. As Charlie watched their hands, arms, shoulders, and faces easily conversing in ASL, he wished with all his heart he understood everything they were saying.
Mr. Simple locked the gondola door behind the last rider. He flashed his giant round signal lamp toward the castle, letting them know the gondola was preparing to leave. Modern technology such as cell phones simply did not work in the village of Castle-on-the-Hudson—only up at the castle. No one knew why, and no one, Charlie noticed, seemed to care very much—except for Augusta V. Paley, chief of police.
As the gondola lurched into the air, Charlie took a deep breath and tried not to think about the Boney Hand, which was hard to do with the two visitors sitting across from him.
“I love coming to the castle every fall to hear the Legend of the Boney Hand, don’t you?” one woman said to the other.
“Do you think it’s true?” the other woman asked. “About the Boney Hand being alive?”
“Of course it’s true! Just like the Headless Horseman is true! Why wouldn’t it be true?”
Charlie knew about the Headless Horseman thanks to Ruthella Jones, one of Frog’s best friends. Ruthella had read “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,” and then retold the scary story to Charlie.
A finger tapped Charlie on the knee.
“Can you hear me?” the woman asked loudly, exaggerating her lip movements.
Charlie nodded. He almost laughed at how silly she looked.
“Don’t you think the legend is true?” the woman asked. “About the Boney Hand?”
Both women looked at him expectantly, waiting for his answer.
“No,” said Charlie firmly. “I think it’s just a story.”
The woman snorted. She whispered to her friend, “What does he know? He’s not Deaf like them.” The woman tilted her head toward the students signing to one another. “He doesn’t even go to that school!” she added.