by Karen Kane
Suddenly, Ruthella noticed how nervous Charlie was. She patted his arm.
“I’ll do my best to help you if you forget,” signed Ruthella. “It’s just that I might forget, too, because I’ll be thinking about my new book. But if you help me, I’ll help you!”
On the other side of the semicircle, Rupert signed and laughed with some students. But not Jasper. Jasper seemed to be deep in thought.
Rupert caught Charlie staring at him. He smirked at Charlie and signed, “Cute!” before returning to his poking and laughing.
The complete unfairness of Rupert being here and Frog not made Charlie want to lunge and pummel Rupert himself. Charlie willed himself to ignore Rupert and focus on not throwing up instead.
Mr. Willoughby finished his last vocal scale and opened his eyes.
“Ready,” Mr. Willoughby signed by making the letter R with both hands and shaking them slightly. It wasn’t a question; it was a command.
Boris sat down in the pews. Mr. Willoughby nodded to the student in the back of the church to open the doors. Visitors flowed in, talking and signing and pointing to the pedestal. Frog had told Charlie that many of the visitors were descendants of Jeremiah Bone, aka Boney Jack, just like Mr. Willoughby. Mrs. Castle was there, welcoming visitors. Chief Paley walked in, a head taller than everyone else. Charlie saw her try to sign with a few people.
DeafBlind visitors sat up front, each with a Deaf interpreter. They would experience the performance through their interpreters’ hands.
Charlie spotted Grandma and Grandpa Tickler, along with Yvette. Charlie had never seen his grandparents on this side of the Hudson River. He couldn’t believe they rode the gondola just to see him in tonight’s performance. His grandparents were wide-eyed as they looked around the church. They spotted Charlie and gave him a thumbs-up. Yvette gave Charlie a crisp nod, which Charlie knew meant, “You can do this.”
Thelonious Bone was the last person to file in. He sat in the very last row.
Mr. Willoughby faced the students and signed small, tight signs in front of his body so the audience could not see them.
“Do not,” warned Mr. Willoughby, “embarrass me.”
Charlie’s stomach pitched.
Then Mr. Willoughby whipped around to face the audience, doffed his pirate cap, and bowed.
“Pirates!” Mr. Willoughby spoke in a booming voice as Rupert signed Frog’s part with ease. “Yes! Pirates once roamed the Hudson River—pillaging villages, plundering farmhouses! But one pirate was different.”
And so the Legend of the Boney Hand unfolded through the hands of the students and the voice of Mr. Willoughby.
The audience nodded along. The hearing people chimed in with a “That’s right” or an “Mmm-hmm.” The Deaf people signed and smiled their approval as the students performed their parts of this familiar story.
Charlie realized something. The audience wanted them to do well. His stomach settled just a little. Charlie glanced over his shoulder. He could see the full moon rising on the screen, with wispy clouds floating across its face.
Mr. Willoughby pointed to Ruthella. Ruthella just stood there, probably thinking of her new book she wanted to be reading. Charlie poked her with his elbow.
“The body of Boney Jack lay at the bottom of the Hudson River,” Ruthella signed as Mr. Willoughby recited. “The fishes found him. They nibbled away until there were only bones. But Boney Jack wasn’t finished. He had a message he needed to share. And this is what he used to tell that message!”
The audience eagerly leaned forward.
Mr. Willoughby yanked off the velvet cloth. Under a glass dome, the Boney Hand rested on a red velvet pillow. Its yellow-brown bony fingers were curled, as if ready to pounce. The moon had risen to the top of the screen and now shone directly on the hand, illuminating its splendid horror.
Everyone shivered with delight.
“The Boney Hand,” Wendell signed proudly as Mr. Willoughby spoke, “made its way along the bed of the muddy river. It reached the bottom of the bluff and began crawling its way to the top.”
It was getting closer and closer to Charlie’s part, but Charlie could only picture the Boney Hand crawling toward Castle School for the Deaf.
What were his lines?
What was he supposed to say?
The Boney Hand would soon reach the caretaker and deliver its message.
Mr. Willoughby would then point to Charlie. The whole audience would be waiting for him to sign what Mr. Willoughby narrated.
And he would just stand there and sign nothing.
It would be obvious Charlie didn’t belong to this school.
Charlie’s stomach roiled.
The church door opened. Frog slipped in and leaned against the door. All at once, Charlie felt solid and sturdy again. Everything came into focus. Charlie clearly saw Jasper signing. Charlie clearly heard Mr. Willoughby speaking.
“The caretaker,” they signed and spoke, “found the Boney Hand crouched on the church floor. He reached for it. The hand moved its fingers, and this is what it spelled…”
In the back of the church Frog began to fingerspell. Along with Frog, Charlie slowly fingerspelled, NO…ONE…SAW…
And then Charlie perfectly signed, “Saw what? Nobody knows!”
The audience nodded.
“That’s right,” they murmured and signed. “Nobody knows.”
Charlie, with Frog coaching him, had done it. He grinned as he heard Grandma Tickler say, “That’s my grandson!”
• • •
Charlie hadn’t realized how nervous the other students had been until he saw how happy they were now. Everyone hugged and told one another how well they had done.
Except Jasper.
He stood alone, not participating in the back slapping and congratulating.
“You did it!” Ruthella signed to Charlie.
“You did it!” signed Charlie right back.
He turned to Wendell. “Good job!” he signed.
“Thanks,” signed Wendell. “I thought I was going to throw up!”
“Me, too!” signed Charlie.
Wendell started to say something else, but then Frog and Boris were pushing in past him.
“Perfect!” signed Frog. She hugged Charlie. He felt so happy his heart almost hurt.
Audience members came up to the students. Chief Paley shook Charlie’s hand. “Charlie, your signing was subtle yet full of nuance.”
Chief Paley, who was also a writer, often used words that went over Charlie’s head.
“Thanks,” said Charlie. “I think.”
Grandma and Grandpa Tickler made their way through the crowd along with Yvette.
“You did good,” said Yvette when she reached him. “Your parents should have been here.”
“Yes,” said Grandma Tickler. “Myra and Alistair should have been here watching Charlie, not watching Texas blind salamanders!”
“Ayuh!” said Grandpa Tickler.
“It’s okay,” said Charlie. “I’m glad you came, though!”
“We are, too!” said Grandma. “Now, why wasn’t Frog in the performance?”
Grandma Tickler looked over at Frog, who was watching this exchange as Boris interpreted. Frog tossed her head and crossed her arms. She did not want to talk about it.
“I’ll tell you later,” said Charlie.
“We better get going,” said Grandma, “or we’ll miss the Vince Vinelli Special Edition! that’s on tonight. Let’s go ride the gondola, Irving!”
“Chief Paley said she’ll ride back with you and walk you home,” Yvette told Charlie before following his grandparents out of the church.
Mrs. Castle pushed through the crowd to Charlie.
“I knew you could do it!” she told him.
“Frog helped me,” he signed.
Mrs. Castle frowned at Frog, who wouldn’t look at her mother.
“I told Frog,” signed Mrs. Castle, “that she could come and support you. But once the Fall Extravag
anza is over, there will be consequences for what happened.”
“It wasn’t Frog’s fault!” Charlie tried to sign. But Mrs. Castle had turned away.
“Congratulations, Charlie!” Frog’s father, who was hard of hearing, said. “You know, this reminds me of my own theatrical experience when I was a child—”
Mr. Castle switched to ASL, telling Charlie a story of when he was in a school play. As Boris dutifully interpreted, Frog’s grandfather came over to Charlie. Grandpa Sol leaned over and gave Charlie’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. He did the same to Frog before congratulating other students as well.
As Charlie watched Frog, his heart definitely hurt.
Charlie and Frog were the last students to leave the church. As they stepped outside, Charlie smelled the bonfire burning.
Do you want to go make s’mores, wrote Charlie, before the next performance?
Frog shook her head.
“But they have chocolate in them!” signed Charlie, making the letter C and circling it on the back of his other hand. Charlie could sign this because Frog had made sure he knew the sign for “chocolate.” It was one of her “kiss-fist,” or most favorite, things.
Frog shook her head again.
It was too soon, even for chocolate.
Frog was in a bad way if it was too soon for chocolate. Once again, Charlie did the only thing he could do.
“I’m sorry,” he signed to Frog. “I’m sorry about Vince Vinelli, and I’m sorry you’re in trouble. It’s not fair.”
Charlie fingerspelled FAIR as he didn’t know how to sign it. Frog showed him the sign and then gazed up at the starry sky.
“It doesn’t matter,” she told Charlie.
It doesn’t matter?
Frog never signed “It doesn’t matter.” Everything mattered to Frog!
This wasn’t good.
About Vince Vinelli and the letter, wrote Charlie. I think you should write again—
Frog stopped him and took his pen.
Let’s face it, she wrote, I’m not a real detective. I never really was. I’ve only solved one case, and I can’t even talk about it. Maybe I’m meant to be a chemist. Or a clock maker. Frog sighed deeply before she wrote, Or maybe I’ll make pies like Oliver.
What was Frog talking about?
YOU ARE A DETECTIVE, wrote Charlie in big, strong letters.
“No,” signed Frog. Then she wrote, Sometimes dreams die.
Frog stared out into the graveyard. I need to be alone with my muse, she wrote, and accept this death.
Frog thrust the notebook and pen back into Charlie’s hands. She wandered down the path to D. J. McKinnon’s grave. Only Frog would be fine sitting alone in the dark by a headstone.
A tour group entered the cemetery, led by a senior student carrying one of the lanterns. He pointed to the church. The windows glowed. Several visitors signed “Beautiful” before the guide continued walking.
Charlie decided to let Frog have a few moments alone. Then he would find her and cheer her up, even if she didn’t want to be cheered up. He would just have to make her see he was right. She had to write to Vince Vinelli again.
“Charlie?”
It was Mr. Willoughby, leaving the church. “I must reapply my theatrical makeup before the next performance,” said Mr. Willoughby. “No one is allowed in the church until then. Will you stay out front until I come back?”
It wasn’t a question; it was a command.
Charlie nodded.
“Don’t let anyone inside,” warned Mr. Willoughby.
“I won’t,” said Charlie.
He sat on the bench outside the church and breathed in the cool night air. Charlie felt disconcerted, a word he had learned from Chief Paley. On one hand, he felt sad because Frog was feeling so down. But on the other hand, he felt happy. This was his first Fall Extravaganza, his first telling of the Legend of the Boney Hand. And Charlie hadn’t disappointed his school.
An owl hooted.
Charlie remembered this past summer when he and Frog and Oliver had explored the graveyard at night and an owl had frightened him. It dawned on Charlie that he was sitting alone in a graveyard. The sad and happy feelings slid over to let a scared feeling squeeze in between them.
Charlie understood why Obie wouldn’t enter the cemetery, especially at this time of year. With the Boney Hand so near, it was extra spooky. The moon shone above the trees, looking as round and full as it had last night when Boris captured its rising. Charlie heard Rupert’s laugh on the other side of the graveyard wall. Hot anger welled up inside him as he thought about how unfairly Frog had been treated.
The tour guide’s lantern flickered in the trees. Charlie hoped Mr. Willoughby would come back soon. How could Frog be back there alone? Mrs. Castle wouldn’t approve. The tour group moved deeper into the cemetery.
The owl hooted again, and at that moment Charlie heard a soft thump from inside the church.
Charlie stood. He stared at the door, listening.
Where was Mr. Willoughby? Why wasn’t he coming? He had told Charlie not to allow anyone in.
Mr. Willoughby had just left the church, so no one else could be inside. The only thing inside the church was…the Boney Hand.
Charlie’s feet slowly moved toward the church door.
Why were his feet walking?
Why were his legs following his feet?
Why wasn’t he running away?
Charlie told his feet and legs to stop.
They ignored him.
With a shaking hand, he reached for the iron door handle.
The sound of smashing glass from the other side of the door filled his ears.
Charlie’s heart slammed against his chest.
The church door opened with a soft creeeaaak.
Charlie stepped inside.
At the front of the church, shattered glass covered the floor.
The Boney Hand teetered on the edge of the pedestal.
Then it leaped off the pedestal and onto the floor.
Charlie’s mind screamed at his feet and legs: Run!
• • •
Charlie flew out of the church.
He bolted down the path, following the winding trail toward Frog, who was sitting with her back once again against D. J. McKinnon’s headstone.
When Frog saw him, she jumped to her feet.
“What’s wrong?” she signed. “What happened?”
Charlie didn’t have the signs. He couldn’t write. He could hardly breathe. He pointed toward the church.
“The Boney Hand!” he finally signed. “The Boney Hand!”
“What?” signed Frog. “What about the Boney Hand?”
Charlie grabbed her arm. “Come on!”
Together they raced to the door of the stone church, which was halfway open. Charlie pointed again. Then he shook his head and backed away.
Frog marched over to the entrance, flung open the door, and stepped inside. He heard her gasp and run up the aisle. Frog was running toward the Boney Hand!
Charlie couldn’t let Frog be alone with it. He told his feet and legs to move. They obeyed.
He ran into the church and saw the reason Frog had gasped.
Charlie couldn’t believe it.
It was true.
The legend was true.
The Boney Hand was alive and had crawled away.
The Boney Hand was gone.
Frog stared at Charlie. “Where is it?” she signed as Mr. Willoughby ran into the church, Rupert and Jasper right behind him. Mr. Willoughby shrieked when he saw the smashed glass and the empty red velvet pillow.
Then he turned his wrath upon Charlie and Frog.
“He says he doesn’t know what happened?” signed Mr. Willoughby. “Of course he knows what happened! He was here!”
Mr. Willoughby stood near the pedestal and the empty pillow along with Grandpa Sol and Mrs. Castle.
“Not now!” signed Mrs. Castle. “He’ll see you!” Her worried eyes met Charlie’s, who was sitt
ing in a pew next to Boris.
“I don’t care!”
Boris interpreted what they were saying. Only Boris was with Charlie, not Frog. Mr. Willoughby had insisted Charlie and Frog be questioned separately.
“Don’t tell them anything!” Frog had whisper-signed to Charlie. Did Frog think Charlie had stolen the Boney Hand? But Frog was already being escorted out of the church.
Outside, Charlie could hear the crowd gathering for the next performance. Except there wouldn’t be a next performance. Not without the Boney Hand.
“You know what this is like?” said Boris. “It’s like that movie where the skeleton comes alive and starts, you know, attacking people.”
“It didn’t attack,” said Charlie. “It leaped. It leaped onto the floor.” Had it really done that? Charlie couldn’t think clearly.
“I call that attacking,” said Boris. “Wow. The Boney Hand is really alive. I wish I had had my camera set up in here to catch that.”
“It can’t be alive,” said Charlie. “It’s not possible.”
“If it’s not alive,” asked Boris, “then how did it disappear?”
Grandpa Sol and Mrs. Castle approached Charlie and Boris while Mr. Willoughby glowered at the shards of glass on the floor.
“Tell us again what happened,” signed Grandpa Sol as Boris interpreted.
“I heard a noise,” signed Charlie, “when I was sitting outside the church.”
“What kind of noise?” asked Mrs. Castle.
Charlie didn’t know how to describe it. “It just sounded like someone was inside the church,” said Charlie as Boris signed. “But then I heard smashing glass. When I opened the door, I saw the hand on the edge of the pedestal. And then the hand moved! It was on the table, and then it was on the floor.”
Grandpa Sol’s blue eyes were warm and steady. “Are you sure?” he asked.
“I think so,” signed Charlie. “I mean yes—I know it moved!”
“You didn’t see anyone enter the church or near the church?” asked Grandpa Sol.
“Just the tour group,” said Charlie.
