by Kelly Jones
“She’s an adult,” Eli explained. “I mean, she’s a ghost, but she’s an adult ghost. You never said an adult ghost couldn’t supervise us.”
I met Mom’s eyes, so she’d sense I was telling the truth. “I want you to meet my great-great-grandma on Dad’s side, only I guess you can’t see or hear her. I’m not sure what’s happening here either. But she’s lonely, and she needs help making her sauerkraut. I’m not crazy, but I don’t know how to prove that to you.” I took a deep breath so I wouldn’t cry. Someone had to be reasonable here.
Eli had gone back to taking notes. “Mrs. Schenk, how old are you?”
Mom stepped forward to feel my forehead. “Why do you need to know that?” she asked, right as the ghost said, “I was born in 1891, young man. You do the math.”
Mom frowned at me, not a mad-frown, but concerned. “What’s going on with you, sweetie? This isn’t like you.”
“You told me family takes care of family.” I was breathing deep, like she taught me, so I could get my words out. “And every person has to make their own choice to do what they decide is right, no matter what anyone else does. Well, I’m trying to do the right thing, and I’m trying to take care of family. Just because Oma is a ghost doesn’t mean she’s not family.”
Oma smiled at me, but it was a pretty sad smile. She started floating out of the kitchen again. I wondered if I should go see what was wrong now, but I knew Mom wasn’t done with me yet.
“We’re doing research on who can sense the ghost, and what the common factor might be,” Eli said. “HD can see her and hear her way better than I can, and I guess you can’t hear her at all. Maybe it’s an age thing? Mrs. Schenk—I mean HD’s mom—can you smell anything?”
Mom looked like she wanted to discuss that some other time, but she knows Eli pretty well. She sniffed. “Carrots, I think—and something sweet…maybe vanilla?”
“Violets,” I told her. “She smells like violet soap. Hang on a sec, Mom.” I walked over to the doorway and stuck my head through it. “She’s in the family room, crying again,” I told Eli.
Mom looked at me for a long time. My mom doesn’t need a Lasso of Truth to tell if you’re lying, she just knows. “What’s wrong?”
“Everyone she knew is dead, only they’re not ghosts.” I shrugged. “It’s okay, Mom. I know I can’t fix that. But I can’t ignore her or leave her by herself. She needs her family, and she hasn’t got anyone else left.”
“She doesn’t usually cry,” Eli said helpfully. “Usually she talks about sauerkraut.”
Mom took a deep breath. She looked at me hard, with her mom-abilities still dialed up to the highest power I’d ever seen. She took another deep breath. “Is she telling you to do anything?”
“She wants us to help her make sauerkraut,” I said. “But that’s it.”
“Are you seeing or hearing anything else that is not a part of your everyday existence up until now?”
“Good question, Mrs. Schenk!” Eli said happily. “Are you, HD?”
I shook my head. “I’m not crazy, Mom, really.”
Mom frowned. “You know we don’t joke about mental health. We remember that help is available when we need it. But first we have to tell someone we trust what’s going on.” She gave me a look. “And we are supposed to tell that someone right away.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. It won’t happen again. But, Mom, I don’t have mental-health issues. I just need to help my great-great-grandma make sauerkraut.”
“We can have her lift something, to prove she’s here,” Eli said. “She’s pretty good at it.”
“Can you see and hear her too?” Mom asked Eli.
“Not as well as HD, but yeah, I can,” Eli told her. “You get used to it. You have to remember, she can hear you, so try not to hurt her feelings.”
“Okay,” Mom said. “You’re responsible boys, usually. You know we don’t joke about this stuff. And you seem to believe what you’re telling me. So show me what’s going on here.”
Eli ran over to the doorway. “Hey, Mrs. S.? Can you come lift a pencil so HD’s mom can see you and know you’re real?”
The ghost turned, those white-blue streaks still on her face, and swooped into the kitchen toward us. She grabbed Eli’s pencil and the notepad by the phone and wrote, My grandson is dead. My family is gone. I am alone.
I heard my mom gasp.
“Hey, I’m part of your family too!” I said. “And I’m not gone!”
“And I’m HD’s friend, so I’m almost like family,” Eli said. “My school picture’s on the mantel and everything. So you’re not really alone.”
My mom was staring at Oma’s words. She reached out and touched the pencil that Oma had dropped on the counter. She looked up at the family-room door for a long moment.
Then she put her hands on her hips. “And you are my family too,” she declared. “HD, tell me where she is. I think she needs a hug. Is she okay with hugs?”
“She’s right next to the phone,” I said. “I think you’re okay with hugs, aren’t you, Oma?”
Mom didn’t wait for the ghost to answer. She went over and put her arms around the air right next to where Oma was. The ghost gave a little sigh, then ducked under Mom’s arms and came up inside the hug.
“I’m sorry this happened to you,” Mom said.
“It’s not that bad,” I said.
“Not you,” she snapped. “Your great-great-grandma.” She gave the air another little pretend-squeeze. Then Mom stepped back and dropped her arms. “Okay. Now, this is my house, so there are going to be some rules we all follow. HD, you can help your great-great-grandma, as long as she doesn’t ask you to do anything your dad or I would say no to. Eli, you can help HD if you want to, as long as it’s nothing HD’s dad or your mom or I would say no to. Mrs. Schenk, you and I will have a discussion about the house rules later, and if I hear that you are asking anyone to do anything that is against my house rules, I will personally see that you are banished from this plane of existence.” She waited.
The ghost wrote, I will not do anything to hurt your family, or your friends.
“Good. We’re going to work with this for now. But if either of you starts hearing or seeing anything unusual that isn’t directly related to this particular ghost, you are going to come talk to me or HD’s dad immediately.” She stopped, and sighed. “I need to call your dad.” Then she looked back at the air by the phone. “Chores before sauerkraut, and no experiments unless Mr. Ziedrich, HD’s dad, or I have approved them first. Got it?”
Eli and I nodded.
I understand, the ghost wrote.
“Thank you,” Mom said.
“Hey, Mrs. S., how old was your grandson when you died?” Eli asked.
The ghost sighed. “He was twelve.”
“So’s HD, and so am I!” Eli told her. He wrote 12 with a big star next to it.
* * *
I took the trash out, and Mom called Dad, and then her sister. She wanted me to say hello.
Aunt Nia’s cool. She’s not a maker herself, but she gets why it’s important to me. She works with kids who need some help with their problems. Sometimes she sends me articles about kids who made amazing stuff, even though their schools don’t have a lot of money. Sometimes I send her Ironheart comics, because they’re her favorites.
“Hey, Aunt Nia. That robotics team was cool,” I told her.
“I thought you might like that,” she said. “Now, your mom says you’re spending time with a ghost. You want to tell me what’s going on?”
I told her how I met Oma in Uncle Gregor’s basement, and once I fixed her lid, Eli could hear her too, and see her, kind of, and how she wasn’t telling me to break any rules, or making me feel bad about myself, she just wanted help making her sauerkraut so she could win the fair.
Then Aunt Nia had me put Eli on for a while so he could tell her the whole thing from his point of view.
We tried to put Oma on next, but Aunt Nia couldn’t hear her at all.
When I got back on the phone, Aunt Nia told me it was fine to want to know about all my roots, not just Mom’s side, and I didn’t need to invent a ghost to talk about that.
“Yeah, I know,” I said. “We already talked about all that when Mr. Z. wanted to teach me German. I’m good with being German American too, even though people can’t guess that’s part of me by looking at me. Believe me, I don’t need to go around inventing ghosts. I have my own project to do this summer.”
“I see,” Aunt Nia said. “How’s that coming along, anyway?”
“Well, I haven’t had a lot of time for it yet, what with helping Oma out,” I told her.
“Mm-hmm,” Aunt Nia said thoughtfully. “HD, you’re a smart kid, and you’re a kind kid, and I know you don’t have a problem with helping people out. So I want you to keep something in mind for me: Your goals are just as important as everybody else’s. When somebody asks you to set your goals aside to help them with theirs, I want you to consider the situation carefully. Do they really need your help? Are their goals truly more important than yours? And do they understand they’re asking you to set aside your goals for theirs?”
“Oma’s been waiting a really long time for this,” I said.
“I can see that,” Aunt Nia said. “But remember: She’s already had her chance to be twelve, and to live her whole life. All I’m saying is, take some time to think about what’s right for you, as well as what’s right for her. Got that?”
“Got it,” I told her.
“Good. Now, I’ll tell your mom who she can talk to about all this, and she might want you to talk to them too. But in my opinion, you’re doing just fine. So I’m going to tell Kikora that she should be glad that her biggest problem is a ghost wanting to teach her son how to cook. Sound good?”
“Thanks, Aunt Nia,” I said.
“I’ve got one more piece of advice for you,” Aunt Nia said seriously. “If I were you, I wouldn’t go telling everyone you know about all this. It sounds like you’re having a special experience that not everyone can relate to. Don’t let me hear about you seeing anything else that no one else can and not telling your parents. But you don’t have to share what you can do with people outside your family, if you don’t want to.”
“Yeah, like not telling everyone you’re Spider-Man—don’t worry, I know,” I said. “It’s only for a few weeks anyway. Eli and I think she’s going to level up after the fair.”
“Call me anytime you want to check in,” Aunt Nia told me. “Now, put your mom back on so we can finish our talk.”
Mom seemed a little more relaxed after that, and I felt better too. Cleaning my room wasn’t so bad. I bet even the Justice League and the Avengers and the Men in Black need an hour where nothing weird happens sometimes. I mean, aside from your friend going upstairs to use the bathroom and reporting that your great-great-grandma is humming along with your mom and Janelle Monáe and maybe doing some ghostly dancing.
But I knew that ghost and her sauerkraut weren’t going to wait forever. “Mom, I’m done,” I said, coming back up into the kitchen with Eli.
Mom put a pan of chilaquiles in the oven. “Good work,” she told me. “Eli, have you called your mom today?”
Eli’s face fell. “I forgot.”
Mom sighed. “Well, it’s three a.m. in Edinburgh right now, so I guess you’d better call her tomorrow instead.” She wrote a big note so Eli wouldn’t forget again.
ELI: CALL YOUR MOM BETWEEN 9 A.M. AND NOON.
She added Eli’s mom’s travel cell-phone number and stuck it to the fridge. “I’ll be at work by then. Do you need a reminder call?” (Mom used to do battalion logistics when she was in the army, and now she helps farmers sort out what they need to run their farms. She’s really good at keeping people organized and on task. Sometimes she says we’re as much work as a full battalion. But I always remind her that without Asad, we’d actually only be as much work as a quarter of a battalion, max.)
“Nah, I’ll help him remember,” I told her. “Sorry we forgot today. We kind of had a lot going on.”
Mom nodded. “So, has your brother met your ghost yet?”
I shook my head. “He might not be able to see her, though.”
Mom frowned. She picked up the pencil and paper and went into the family room.
Conversation Between My Mom and Oma
Mom: I would appreciate it if you would wait to say hello to my younger son, Asad, until I ask HD to introduce you.
Oma: When will I meet him? Is he as helpful as Hans Dieter? He can help us make the sauerkraut too.
Mom: Asad is only six.
Oma: Hans Dieter is a very helpful boy. So is Eli.
Mom: Please try not to scare Asad.
Oma: I had a son, you know, and a grandson. I do not go around scaring little boys.
Mom: Have you met any since—you know—have you met any recently?
Oma: No, not since—not for a long time.
Mom: I see. When Asad and his father arrive, please go stand near HD, and don’t move anything until we do introductions.
Oma: Very well. Please, call me Marietta. May I have your name?
Mom: I’m Kikora. I thought HD said your name was Oma?
Oma: Oma means grandmother. It is what my grandson called me. I can see you are a good and loving mother to your sons, Kikora. Thank you for having me in your home.
Then Eli and I presented our project plan for making sauerkraut to Mom. Project plans are something Mr. Z. taught me about, and Mom and Dad review mine before I start new projects.
We showed her Oma’s recipe and told her we had all our supplies since she’d already picked up the cabbages we needed.
I drew a picture of the kraut cutter, and Oma explained how all you had to do was slide the cabbage along that really sharp V-shaped blade and keep your fingers out of the way. But Mom said under no circumstances were Eli or I to use one, that was an absolute deal breaker, and she was not going to explain to Eli’s mom how he’d lost all his fingers at her house making sauerkraut with a ghost.
So I reminded Oma we could use the food processor instead, and Mom agreed that was a good solution, as long as we cleaned up after ourselves, and Eli didn’t use the knives either.
I explained that Oma would be leading the project, since it was her recipe and her ghostly goal. Eli would wash cabbages and help pound, and stay away from knives. (Oma interrupted to tell Mom that no, we wouldn’t be pounding it into obliteration like Eli said, since we wanted the sauerkraut to be crunchy, not pulverized.) I would cut the cabbages into chunks for the food processor, after cutting a flat part so the cabbage wouldn’t roll around, and I’d help pound too. And Oma would run the food processor. She promised not to stick any of her ghostly essence into the food processor while it was running, since we didn’t know what ghost blood might do to the sauerkraut, if she managed to cut herself.
“What if it gets moldy?” Mom asked. “One of my farmers told me she tried making sauerkraut, but it got moldy, and she had to throw the whole batch out.”
“My sauerkraut will not be moldy! At least, not if all the cabbage is properly covered.” Oma hesitated. “Though, there is a stage where it smells—but only a little bit.”
“She says it won’t get moldy as long as we keep it covered,” I told Mom, right as Eli said, “She says it might stink. Hey, Mrs. S., what does it smell like?”
Mom folded her arms. “If this kitchen starts to smell, we will revisit this project. And I reserve the right to throw out any sauerkraut that goes moldy, or stinks, or does not look safe to eat. Are we clear?”
“What kind of
world is this, where people might throw out good food because it smells a little bit?” Oma said.
But she said it pretty quietly, and she didn’t write it down for Mom to answer. “Yeah, we’re clear, Mom.”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. S. If it starts to smell, maybe HD can set up a fan or something. Or we could move you to the garage,” Eli told her.
Then Mom and Oma had a one-page discussion about why it was so important to make an entire crock full of possibly smelly sauerkraut, and Oma assured her that yes, it would all get eaten, and how she would teach Mom and Dad a bunch of recipes that she couldn’t believe they didn’t already know, all using sauerkraut.
I guess that wore Mom out, because after that she agreed to let Oma keep her crock in a corner of the counter and live (or, you know, ghost, or whatever) in our kitchen. Project approved!
So I got out the kitchen scale and weighed all the cabbages and the salt, and measured all the juniper berries we had in teaspoons, and Eli made notes on the recipe about what we had when we started.
“Attention!” Eli said in his hockey announcer voice. “Folks, you are about to see Mrs. S. make her first sauerkraut in over fifty years—”
“These are good cabbages,” Oma interrupted, inspecting them carefully. “Tell your mother she has chosen well.”
“And…Mrs. S. compliments Mrs. Schenk on her choice of cabbages!” Eli cried.
Then Oma floated over and hovered next to him until he started washing them.
Once he’d handed the first one to me, Oma told me exactly which leaves I should pull off and set aside before I cut the cabbage. (They all looked the same to me, but it was her project, so I did it her way.)
“Mrs. S. puts the first cabbage chunk into the food processor…,” Eli announced. “She’s pushing the button…and…SLICED! She asks HD for an assist: Can they take the machine apart and see how the cabbage looks? The crowd holds its breath as Mrs. S. inspects the cabbage…and—SHE SAYS IT WILL DO! The crowd goes wild!” (Here, Eli played the part of the crowd going wild, until Mom stuck her head in and said that was enough, and could he put some music on?)
