Andy, a fourth grader from Indiana, whose mouth runs quicker than his brain, has found himself in trouble again. While hiding out in his mother's car, a tornado hits, and sends him back thousands of years - surrounded by Indians and praying for his life. As he journeys through centuries, he perfects the art of tree-climbing, train-hopping, and landing in just the right spot to be transported to another time. But Andy's free-spirited adventures are tested as he experiences major events in history, where the stormy realities of war, slavery, and racism force him to make life-changing decisions.
Midwest Mischief
An Historical Indiana AdventureBy Jennifer SoboleskiAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2009 Jennifer Soboleski
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4490-3263-0Chapter One
Stuck
"Andy, it's getting dark - put a light on," his mother snarled. His mother was always getting on him about something. These days, it seemed like everyone was. She flicked on the lights and stood behind him as he stared at his closed textbook. He could sense her irritation growing by the second, and his folded arms tensed even more as she laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Andy, you haven't even opened your book!"
In one fluid motion her hands reached over and opened it for him.
"Start reading!" Her voice even lower. "No procrastinating - get to it, mister!"
Andy turned and gave her the evil eye. She surveyed his messy room - video games all over the floor, dirty clothes everywhere - even hanging from his dresser mirror, dozens of Pokemon cards strewn about, having worn out their welcome long ago. She shook her head in disgust.
"I'll be in my room taking a nap, and when I get up, you better be able to tell me what you read. Understood?"
"Yes," mumbled Andy, rolling his eyes.
"And then you're cleaning this pigsty." She turned on her heel and left.
Andy cracked his knuckles and yawned. He knew if he didn't do it he would end up in worse trouble, but he just sat there, not bothering to open the book to the correct page. He was determined to drag this out until the last possible moment. His mother called him "The Great Procrastinator", and he always thought that a compliment until he looked it up in the dictionary.
It was only four o'clock in the afternoon, but it felt like midnight to Andy. The wind was picking up, and the sky had darkened. Droplets of rain tapped against the window, streaking it so much it made the trees outside look like one of his watercolors. The day definitely matched his mood now, and he couldn't resist the urge to go out and watch the approaching storm.
Although his mother told him to stay indoors during bad weather, he figured since she'd be taking a nap, she wouldn't have to know. He donned a mischievous grin, and grabbed his book and a flashlight. Dodging fat raindrops, he made his way to his mother's car in the driveway. If he absolutely had to read, he'd at least try and enjoy it. Once inside the car, however, his so-called "nerves of steel" seemed to fade. Andy didn't really mind the lightning; it was the thunder that always scared the begeezus out of him. The car rocked like a boat on a wavy lake, and he watched as leaves blew from the trees and scraped against the car. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.
Then, just as suddenly as it began, the downpour stopped. Andy breathed a sigh of relief, thankful the endless battering of rain on the windows had ended. He inched toward the windshield, rubbing the fog from it to see better, and was greeted with an enormous thump, and then another, and another. He backed away, slowly realizing what was happening. He swallowed hard, goose bumps on his arms. Hail.
And not just speck-like hail - golf ball-sized hail banging on the car wanting in. Remembering that hail often came before a tornado, Andy made a quick decision. After jumping at a too-close-for-comfort flash of lightning, he snatched his book, opened the car door - and was knocked out cold.
* * *
"Where in the world am I?" Andy looked around in a daze. He kicked at the ground with his bare feet and raised a cloud of dirt. He searched his surroundings for anything that looked familiar. Where was his house? Where were any of the houses? Where were the roads and power lines? Andy tried to remember what had happened before he got lost. He cracked his knuckles, scratched his head and found a basketball-sized lump.
"Holy Cow! The storm!"
Had his mother found him, put him to bed, and now he was dreaming? That would seem to be the only logical explanation.
Andy peeled his sweaty t-shirt from his chest and gazed at the bright sky. Now he was truly confused. The sweat dripping off his nose was real - this couldn't be a dream. Just moments before, he was in the middle of a terrible storm, and now he was roasting in the hot sun.
There were no cars and no people. He sucked in his breath and listened intently - not even the sound of cars. There were cicadas though, and judging by the noise, thousands of them. The overwhelming smell of dirt made Andy scratch his nose. What is this place? A flock of squawking birds, larger than he had ever seen, flew overhead, and appeared to land just past the hill he was on.
Andy decided to investigate. He walked about ten feet, through thick brush and mobs of gnats, then cried out in pain. Instinctively, he grabbed for his foot with both hands. He lost his balance and fell forward, somersaulting all the way down the hill.
When he finally stopped rolling and opened his eyes, he wished he hadn't.
* * *
An old Indian looked down at him and touched his shirt, rubbing the cotton fabric between his fingers, while a younger one stood as still as a statue - holding a spear two inches from Andy's throat.
Andy heard trampling - a buffalo herd? - but realized he was hearing and feeling his own pounding heart. After what felt like hours, the older one motioned for the other to take the spear away. Andy sat up and saw the blood covering his foot. He felt queasy, and his vision blurred. But before he could steady himself, he fainted.
Events from earlier that day came back to him. He was in the principal's office - again. This time it was for talking back to his teacher, Miss Sharpnose. Actually, her name was Miss Lubbock, as in Lubbock, Texas. She wanted everyone to know she was from Houston, but what everyone remembered about her was that her nose had the sharpest ridge anyone had ever seen. It was hard to look her straight in the face because your eyes focused onto her nose, and you'd end up forgetting everything either one of you was saying. And that's just how he got in trouble.
Miss Lubbock, in her Texas twang voice, had called on him to answer a reading question. Even though Miss Lubbock was only a 2nd year teacher, she seemed to have a good eye for those not paying attention and could sniff out a wanderer from ten feet away. As usual, Andy had been thinking of other things - like climbing his favorite tree, riding his bike, playing video games, anything to do with not being in school. Fourth grade had proved to be a bore so far - like all of his previous school years. He found it much more interesting to make up stories than read from some dumb textbook about things that happened to other people.
So when Miss Lubbock asked him to summarize what had just been read, he stared at her like a deer in the headlights, not knowing what to say to get himself out of the jam he was in. He stared just a little too long, and the sharpness of her nose sucked him into never-never land: Never get caught daydreaming, and never fix your eyes on her nose for longer than three seconds. His response: "Did your parents give you that nose or was it plastic surgery?" earned him a seat next to other juvenile delinquents waiting to see the principal.
He awoke laughing, and the two Indians stared blankly at him for a moment before they, too, began to laugh. Andy breathed easier now that they appeared to be friendly; but when he realized he must have traveled back to the time of the Indians, he almost passed out again. How far back he still didn't know. And how did he do it?
Of course, the more burning question was: How would he get back home?
Chapter Two
Man's Best Friend
The Indians helped Andy up by his arms, and he noticed they had wrapped his own shirt around his foot to stop the bleeding. Andy thanked them for their help, and the two men looked at him like he was from Mars. The younger one said something to him - what language was he speaking? - then pointed in the direction of a huge tree. Andy looked at the tree, thought briefly about how to climb it since its branches didn't start until at least ten feet up, and then realized he had been left alone. Where did the Indians go?
He scanned the area and found what looked like a spear point on the ground - and there was blood on it. This is what I must have stepped on! He put it in his pocket: maybe he could show it off to the kids at school once he got back home. That is, if he got back home.
He headed for the tree, but was taken by surprise when a large black dog started racing across the field, barking wildly. Andy screamed and sprinted full-speed in the direction of the tree. It was the only shelter of any kind in sight, and Andy was frantically trying to figure out how to climb it as he ran. He didn't need to worry about that however, because just before he could claw and scratch his way up the tree, he fell into a two-foot hole.
A moment later the dog was there - inches from Andy's face: teeth bared, ears back, and a growl that said, "Don't move."
* * *
Andy closed his eyes and whispered a silent prayer. When he opened them, the dog was lying on the ground with his nose between his paws.
The dog looked up as the old Indian approached. Andy watched as the man stroked the dog's head and spoke gently to him. The man motioned for Andy to climb out of the hole and come over to the dog, but Andy tensed. Am I going to be the dog's next meal? But as the Indian spoke to the dog and Andy nervously pet its head, he soon relaxed. Before he knew it, he and the dog were playing fetch, just like he did with Maynard, his neighbor's beagle. Andy was happy to have something here that reminded him of home.
He pet the dog's huge head and stared blankly into the distant woods. He thought about his parents, and how he'd run away right after they divorced. Actually, he ran into his neighbor's backyard and hid in Maynard's doghouse for about four hours. Maynard was more than happy to have Andy cuddle up next to him and fall asleep. He always wished Maynard was his dog, but his mother said they couldn't have a dog because they were too big a responsibility.
The woody smell of the fire brought Andy back to reality, or whatever this place was. The Indians were placing rocks in the fire, and then taking them out with sticks and tossing them into a water-filled pit. They did this a few times, each time replacing the cooled rocks in the water with heated ones. They're boiling water, Andy suddenly realized. Wow! But why would they be boiling water? Is it some ritual where they're going to burn off my infected toe?
Just as Andy's imagination was about to get the best of him, he noticed something in the distance by the tree line that made every muscle in his body freeze from fright.
Chapter Three
Hard to Bear
The men had seen the bear, too, and they rose slowly, spears in hand, ready to protect themselves. It stood what must have been ten feet tall on its two legs and swatted at the branches above its head. Something fell, and the bear swiped at it before scooping it up and tearing at it with its teeth. He must have been satisfied because he turned and headed the other way, his giant backside swaying from side to side as he went out of sight. The Indians lowered their weapons, and Andy finally took another breath.
While the Indians placed their spears against a tree and continued to heat the rocks, Andy wondered how they kept warm in the wintertime with only their loincloths to cover them. Or did this place even have a winter? He studied the trees and thought they looked like ones around his house, those that shed their leaves in the fall. As he listened to the cardinals and blue jays singing their happy songs flying from tree to tree, Andy thought this was a pretty and peaceful place, unlike his home and the situation he left just earlier that day.
Gee, was it really this afternoon that I was called in to the principal's office? It seems like a week ago!
He and Mr. Hardimon had begun a long-term relationship, one that spanned Andy's elementary school career. Each time Andy saw him, Mr. Hardimon's eyes seemed bigger and more threatening. One time, Andy thought he even saw fangs in his mouth. Andy remembered when they last spoke and thought he might have pushed the principal over the edge.
"Andrew Goforth. To what do I owe the pleasure this time?" Mr. Hardimon asked sarcastically.
Andy knew every little nook and cranny of Mr. Hardimon's office - what had recently been dusted, how far he'd gotten on his chess game, new pictures he'd put up. Andy didn't feel badly that he knew all of these things - anything to get out of class was fine by him, even if it did mean hearing, for the umpteenth time, Mr. Hardimon's speech about respecting others. It wasn't that Andy meant any harm; it was just that his mouth ran quicker than his brain, and he often became aware he'd messed up just a fraction of a second too late.
"But, Mr. Hardimon, have you seen her nose?" Andy blurted before he realized what he'd said. Mr. Hardimon's laser-like glare made Andy afraid that the principal might be drilling a hole into his head at that very moment.
"Mr. Goforth, I am very disappointed in you. Do you have any idea how badly you hurt Miss Lubbock's feelings?" Mr. Hardimon searched Andy's face for some kind of answer and when he found none, he continued. "We are going to have to call your parents. You've been in here too often, and this is the last straw."
Andy knew he had gone one step too far. By the time his mother arrived an hour later, he'd racked his brain trying to think of an excuse for what he'd done, but couldn't come up with a good one. He'd just have to face the consequences - which, Andy was sure, would be no video games and no friends over for at least two days.
After speaking with Mr. Hardimon, his mother walked into the room and picked him up by his shirt collar. Her eyes were ablaze - her face contorted into shapes Andy had never seen before, muscles came out of nowhere. The only thing missing was green skin and she'd be the Incredible Hulk.
"You're in some big trouble, mister!"
Not as big as I'm in now! Andy swatted at the mosquitoes and gnats buzzing around his sweat-soaked hair. The Indians were squashing the nuts from the tree and placing them in the boiling water. Andy scooted by the fire to watch. The nutshell would drop to the bottom, then the Indians would harvest the nutmeat and the nut oil by dragging a container along the top of the water. How'd they make that container?
"Whoa! There's got to be a dozen containers!" he shouted as he looked along the trunk of the tree. The older Indian said something, and Andy wondered if the man had understood him. Andy faced him and smiled. But the man wore a serious look as he gazed out where the bear had been. Andy looked and saw a group of Indians heading toward them.
Are we going to be attacked? Andy had read stories of battling Indian tribes, and he desperately hoped he would not be in the middle of a battle now. But then he heard sobbing, and when he looked closer he saw why. They were carrying a dead body.
* * *
Andy watched as the Indians dug a pit just deep enough to cover the body with dirt. The body was that of an old Indian - a very wrinkly Indian. He was bare-chested and wore a loincloth and a necklace made of animal bones. He had red paint on his forehead and cheeks, and flies were already starting to gather around his armpits and mouth. Andy ventured closer, but was overcome by a smell like sour milk and had to turn back. At first, Andy thought the bear got him, but after not seeing any marks he decided the Indian must have died from just being so old.
The sun had set, and Andy became even more aware of his strange and frightening situation. Here he was, back in time - what? thousands of years ago? - with a bunch of Indians he couldn't speak to, in a land he didn't know, but was somehow familiar. A dead body was being buried in a pit, and it was dark. He didn't think he could have made this any scarier if he'd made up his own story about it.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Midwest Mischiefby Jennifer Soboleski Copyright © 2009 by Jennifer Soboleski. Excerpted by permission.
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