To Keep the South Manitou Light

Anna Egan Smucker

Great Lakes Books Series
Price: $23.95
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Extract

Jessie grabbed a branch from the ground and hunched down behind the jagged, storm-splintered pine. She held her breath, watching, waiting. The grunting, scuffling sounds came closer. Never run from a bear, she reminded herself. What else? Hit it on the nose? With sweaty hands, she tried to hold the branch steady. The sounds were nearer, louder, a snapping of twigs, crunching of leaves. Something was shuffling through the dark woods toward her. She took a deep breath and tightened her grip. Then through the underbrush, Jessie saw the wild, gray hair with twigs and leaves stuck in it . . . the dusty, black clothes, layers of them, in tatters . . . the skin around a toothless mouth stained purple. Omie.

“I—I thought you were a bear,” Jessie said, trying to make her voice steady. “You know, if I’d had a gun, Omie, I might have shot you.” Jessie dropped the branch and shoved her trembling hands down into her apron pockets. She always dreaded encountering Omie. As she backed away, Jessie’s heel caught in the hem of her long skirt and she found herself sitting in the dry leaves staring up at the old woman.

“Ach, ach,” Omie muttered, reaching out a dirty hand, gnarled as a tree root, to help the girl up. In her mixture of German and English, “Alle fallen down, alle fallen down,” Omie said in a hoarse singsong.

Jessie took the old woman’s hand, touching it as lightly as she could while still being well mannered. She wanted to say, she wanted to shout, “I don’t play nursery games, Omie! I’m twelve years old!” Instead, she smoothed her apron and brushed the dirt and leaves from her skirt.

“Ach,” Omie said, “fallen down,” and opened her arms as if to give Jessie a hug. The stench of sweat, dirt, and foul breath almost made Jessie gag.

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