Flossie's Revenge

by Lubrican

Chapters : Foreword | 1-2 | 3-4 | 5-6 | 7-8 | 9-10 | 11-12 | 13-14 | 15-16 | 17-18 | 19-20 | 21-22
23-24 | 25-26 | 27-28 | 29-30 | 31-32 | 33-34 | 35-36 | 37-38 | 39-40 | 41-42 | 43-44

Chapters 3

The next few weeks went better than Flossie would have hoped, had she any hopes at all. She had been around enough racist white people (and black people too, for that matter) that she believed racism was a disease that ran too deep to be "cured" in anything less than generations. And, her teaching methods did not change. Harvey Wilson might eventually get what he wanted, but she was quite sure that, without a new building, and more affluent students, the possibility of them luring a white teacher to this small town was non-existent. And it would take time for Harvey Wilson, or anybody else, to convince anyone that a new building was worth the expense.

It did, in fact, take Harvey two more years to drive through agreement that a new school was needed. By that time, though, his interest had waned somewhat, since, by the time it would actually be built, his own children wouldn't ever see the inside of it.

But that's for later in the story. Right now, you want to know what happened during those two years.

That night, when Flossie got home, she wrote a letter to her uncle. She explained the situation, and asked him if there were any documents or other proof he could send her that would establish, beyond doubt, that he had been a fighter pilot in the war.

Flossie's plan to educate the Wilson children wasn't really any more radical than what she had planned for the education of all her students. She used her copy of the text book written by Henry Baker to identify a number of Colored people who invented many of the things that almost everyone used in some situations, and which had made striking differences to the way farming was done in Calloway County.

The next bit of what would someday be called "Black History" was about George Washington Carver. There was a grainy old-time photograph of him in the book too, and she showed it to the class, listing how, as an agricultural chemist, he discovered three hundred uses for peanuts and hundreds more uses for soybeans, pecans and sweet potatoes. Among the listed items that he suggested to southern farmers to help them economically were his recipes and improvements to or for: adhesives, axle grease, bleach, buttermilk, chili sauce, fuel briquettes, ink, instant coffee, linoleum, mayonnaise, meat tenderizer, metal polish, paper, plastic, pavement, shaving cream, shoe polish, synthetic rubber, talcum powder and wood stain.

This time, all three Wilson children participated in looking at the book, running down the list of the man's inventions as if they didn't quite believe what they were hearing. Seeing has a strong impact on believing.

There was discussion between all the students on how these things had affected their own lives, and the lives of the farmers throughout America, and not just in the South. Flossie capped it off by announcing that, On July 14, 1943, U.S. President Franklin Delano Roosevelt honored Carver with a national monument dedicated to his accomplishments, and that Carver was offered an annual salary of $100,000.00 to work for a white-owned company, making him the highest paid Negro in America up to that time.

"A hundred thousand dollars!" sighed Bernadette. "I can't even imagine that much money in the whole world. I heard my Pappa talking about a loan he approved - it was to build a whole new house - and it was only for twenty-five hundred dollars!"

Then Flossie switched into a math session, where the children had to cipher out how many houses could be built with a hundred thousand dollars, and how many mules, or cars could be bought with that kind of money. Soon the children were squealing as they thought up other products, most of which cost less than a dollar, which made the quantities seem astronomical to them.

The next day, when Nathan trooped into the room, his face was tense.

"Daddy wants to talk to you," he said to Flossie. "He said to tell you to get your nigger ass out there, because he ain’t ... I mean isn't coming in here."

"All right," said Flossie.

She went out, passing a subdued Bernadette and Hilda Mae, who looked almost frightened. She walked around to the driver's door of the station wagon, to find Harvey Wilson scowling at her through the open window.

"What's all this horse shit about some nigger making a hundred grand a year?" he snarled.

"We talked about George Washington Carver yesterday," said Flossie simply. She noticed that Luthor, Johnnie Sue and Jesse were approaching the school house together, and had stopped to listen to the exchange.

"I don't need my children asking me questions like how much money I make in a year, just to have them tell me some Northern nigger makes ten times as much. You stop filling their heads with hogwash, you hear me?! I will not have some nigger whore telling my God damned children that their God damned flesh and blood can't do better for his God damed family than some uppity coon who takes credit fror something he probably didn't invent nohow!" He finished with a scream that left his lips actually flecked with spittle.

Flossie turned on her heel and walked around the front of the car, wondering if he would run her down or not. She walked stiffly back into the building as dirt and gravel sprayed in a half circle that peppered her back, and the front of the school house.

When she got inside, the three Wilson children were standing in a line. They looked anxious.

Bernadette's voice was shaky as she spoke. "We were just talking at supper, and Hilda Mae asked him what his salary is. Then he wanted to know why she wanted to know and when he found out he just got crazy! He sent us all to bed right then and there! He was yelling at Mamma about how he was going to get rid of you if it's the last thing he ever does. We were afraid he was going to kill you out there!"

"Well, he didn't," said Flossie stiffly.

"He said it ain't right for a ni ... I mean for that George Washington man to make that much more than a white man," said Nathan.

"Each person has worth to his fellow man," said Flossie, as Johnnie Sue and the two boys came in the door. "In some cases that worth is more highly valued than in others. That's why you want to become the best person you possibly can, so you are worth more to other people, and they'll reward you for that."

"I've never seen him that mad before," said Bernadette. "You'd better be careful."

"I know," sighed Flossie. "I know."

That night, a skunk somehow found its way into the Wilson household in the middle of the night, while the family was sleeping. The odor woke them all, and they all got out of bed to investigate. The animal was found in the kitchen, where it was going through the overturned trash can.

The skunk obviously felt threatened when Harvey Wilson decided to eject him. Harvey got a direct shot, some of which got in his eyes.

The next morning, Luthor, Jesse and Johnnie Sue were at school when Flossie arrived herself. They looked so freshly scrubbed that Flossie noticed it. As she approached, she got a whiff of skunk odor.

"Don't you three know enough by now to stay away from a skunk?" she asked, laughing.

"What skunk?" asked Johnnie Sue, looking around as if there might be a skunk in sight.

"What have you been up to?" asked their teacher, sensing immediately that there was mischief afoot.

"Must have been a skunk that went through some of the grass we walked through," said Luthor. "I thought I smelled skunk somewhere back there."

They all turned to see the Wilson station wagon edging down the dirt path that led to the school house. Today their mother was driving. When the car stopped, and the Wilson children climbed out, she got out and stood by her door.

"We had a little trouble last night," she called out, stiffly. "I did everything I could, but I don't think it did any good. I'm sending the children to school anyway. You'll just have to live with the smell. Lord knows we had to live with it all night."

Then she got back in the car and drove away.

The smell of skunk coming from Nathan, Bernadette and Hilda Mae was overpowering. Their eyes were still red from running almost constantly. They stood in a morose little group, heads hanging.

"A skunk got in the house," said Nathan. "Daddy had to get the doctor out of bed because he was blinded. We didn't get no sleep at all last night."

"Didn't get any," corrected Flossie automatically. Her eyes went to find Johnnie Sue and the two boys, but they were gone ... vanished as if they had never been standing there only moments before. She frowned on the outside, but was grinning on the inside. Still, she'd have a word with the three in private. What they had done was undoubtedly a great adventure for them, but it could be very dangerous too.

It was then that she realized all three of them had smelled of skunk, and that Jesse must have been involved too. Her heart shrank as she thought about what would happen if he got caught doing something like that to a white family. She couldn't wait until later.

She handled it by announcing that they would have class outside that day, where the wind would help. She ordered Johnnie Sue, Jesse and Luthor to stay inside and "help her get ready." As soon as the Wilson children had gone outside, she lit into the three best friends with a hushed vengeance. When they started carrying desks outside, the two white children were as pale as ghosts, and Jesse looked almost gray.

Flossie saved L. Frank Baum's book for the afternoons, when she worked primarily on diction, and language skills. Curtis Lee might as well have been her teacher's aide, had there been such a thing back then. His reading and language skills so outclassed those of the Wilson children that it was plain, even to them, that his level of intelligence was beyond anything they'd ever seen in a boy his age, white or black.

Flossie didn't make any assault on the vernacular they used that first year she taught them. Just getting them to practice good enunciation and expand their vocabulary was sufficient for her. Slowly ... very slowly ... the Wilson children lost the knife-edged unrelenting hatred for those that they could no longer deny had talents of one kind or another. There was no friendship extended, to be sure, and their attitude of superiority accounted for other "accidents" that seemed to happen around the Wilson home, or to their property, but nothing could be traced to any intentional act by someone outside the household. Flossie inquired of Johnnie Sue, Luthor and Jesse, but they swore they had given up after her lecture. It was quite possible there were other people in town unhappy with Harvey Wilson. Bankers were never easy to like, it seemed.

Sadly, perhaps the brightest spot of that first year was that the Wilson Children intentionally quit talking, at home, about what they learned in school. When they got questions like "What else has that damn nigger teacher taught you that I have to unlearn you about?" they simply looked at their father with bland faces and said they studied math, or reading. Their father tested them, making them read out loud from the Bible, and do numbers long hand in front of him. And, though he was actually impressed with the advancement of his children, he never uttered a word of encouragement to them. The only reason they even knew they were doing well was when he presented them with the kind of math that was done in the bank.

"Harvey Wilson!" his wife scolded him. "You know well and good that these children can't do that kind of ciphering! They're doing quite well and you know it. You're just itching for a reason to get that woman fired."

In fact, Bernadette thought she might be able to figure out how to do the math, which involved interest percentages. But she never got the chance. Her father gave out a snort and snatched the paper from in front of her.

"Of course they can't do proper math," he snarled. "They're too stupid from being schooled by a nigger!"

When, the next day, Bernadette wrote the problem she remembered seeing at home, on the board, and asked if she could try to solve it, Flossie was delighted, and gave her free rein. She had to correct the decimal point in two places, but otherwise the answer was correct. Bernadette glowed, and sat back down smiling.

There were tight, tiny smiles on the faces of her brother and sister as well.

That began a process that was built in fits and starts. Flossie was able to go much deeper into math with the Wilson children, and Curtis Lee, than she had dreamed of. The younger students weren't interested, so that extended learning happened in the afternoons.

But the success of the older students in understanding the concepts led to requests on their part for other deeper learning. The Wilson children became expert at asking just enough at home, about this or that field of knowledge, to get either a partial answer from one or the other of their parents, or a statement that the answer to the question wasn't important. The latter comment soon became a clear indicator that the adult asked didn't know the answer, and the children took delight in then getting the information at school.

Children, at least those in their teens, have always thought their parents were clueless about most things. Harvey Wilson's stubborn pride, and his wife's meekness ... unwillingness to give an answer that her husband didn't know (or, heaven forbid, correct him in front of the children,) just nurtured that belief on the part of his offspring.

They never let on that they were becoming much better educated than their father was. He would snarl, "Ask your nigger teacher!" and then, later question them on what she had said. Their answers always seemed to come back to "I still don't know, so I guess it's not important," and that fed his own feeling of superiority.

Teens, everywhere, have always seemed to have some special desire to make their parents' lives a living hell, if they can do so without getting in trouble for it. The Wilson children chose to remind their parents often that, in Catfish Hollow, there was nothing for them to do, and no one of their station to visit. Picking at the sore wound that was Harvey's fate made them feel better, even though, in their own minds, they didn't actually lack for much. Now that "Miss Flossie" as they had taken to calling her privately, had widened their horizons, and they could all read much better, they almost always had a book hidden away that they could crack open and while away the hours with.

The upshot was that, unconsciously, the children knew that their teacher was also better educated than their father and mother. The fact that she was more than willing to give them the knowledge drew them closer to her.

And, every time Harvey got on his soap box about how the town needed a new school, and a decent teacher, he got stony faced silence. As far as the rest of the men in the town felt, he already had all their money in his damn bank ... and now he wanted them to cough up more just so his little darlings could have a nice building to fritter away their day in?

As far as lessons in English went, as it turned out, the Wilson children usually knew the proper usage of a word, but just spoke in the same vernacular of their parents, or other relatives. That caused some discussion about appropriate language.

"You need to know how to speak in different settings," explained Flossie. "When you're home, you use one kind of language, but if you're in another setting, you need to be able to speak that language, to fit into That environment."

"But it's all just English," complained Bernadette.

"Actually, it's different dialects of the same language," said Flossie. She dropped into the vernacular that older Negroes often used when they were alone. "I's fixun to mebbe go fishin', boss." she drawled. Then she switched to a high-pitched voice with inflections so typically Southern white male that the children stared at her. "I cain't unnerstand what all them niggers air talkin' bout." She went right on to sound like a typical white woman in those parts. "You know, Ah do declare, it's just swelterin' in here! Ah'd just give about any-thin for a breath of cool air!" Not stopping there she changed her voice to a dry, clipped diction that all the children recognized as Yankee. "Well, the fact of the matter is, that not a single one of those relapsed Confederates south of the Mason Dixon Line can speak a word of proper English!"

She stopped to see what the reaction was.

"I understood everything you said," said Hilda Mae. "And you used that word, too, by the way!" She raised her chin. "That word you said was a hurtful word."

"It's a word people use," said Flossie. "It's a hurtful word, but I'm sure you'll hear that word used many many times in your life. The point is that, depending on who you're with, you may want to be able to change the way you speak so that you fit in better. That means you need to study language in all of its aspects, and be aware of how you, and others around you, are speaking."

"There was this man," said Nathan. "He came to our house selling brushes and all sorts of things. He was from someplace up North. I remember I couldn't hardly understand a word he said. Mamma wouldn't even let him in the house."

"It's very uncomfortable when you're around people who speak differently than you do," said Flossie nodding. "It can be frustrating too. That man would sell a lot more brushes if he learned to speak like the customers he was talking to."

She got a nod from Nathan, which, to Flossie, seemed like a real accomplishment.

"If you never leave Catfish Hollow, you could speak like you do now for the rest of your lives," said Flossie. "But, if you're going to see the world, or look for a job somewhere else, it will pay you to learn how to speak properly so that people don't stare at you, or make fun of you."

"I'd just die if I had to stay in Catfish Hollow for the rest of my life," said Hilda Mae, looking forlorn. "But darned if I know what I could do anyplace else."

There was one incident, that year, that resulted in intense excitement. When Flossie had written to her uncle, Daniel Pendergast, and had told him about Nathan's reaction to her re-telling of his exploits in the war, she had asked him to send pictures, or some other kind of evidence she could use to convince the white students that a Negro could fly. He did her one better.

Daniel, after the war, wanted to keep flying. He could find no job as a pilot, since people still wouldn't hire a black man. But he had made some white friends in the war, and, together with one of them, they started their own crop dusting company. They found an old beat up plane, renovated it, and went into business. The white partner was the "face" of the company, dealing face to face with customers, most of whom were white. Daniel flew the plane. Nobody on the ground knew the difference. The business prospered, and they bought more planes. Eventually, Daniel flew because he wanted to, and not because he had to.

When he got Flossie's letter, he simply chose the plane he wanted, got into it, and flew off. He had grown up in Catfish Hollow, and gone to the same school his niece was teaching at, so he knew exactly where he was going, and exactly what the terrain was like, assuming no major changes had been made. He didn't expect any.

He buzzed the school house, grinning behind his goggles, and then worried that the air turbulence and vibration of his passage might have just knocked the building down. He went into a tight left turn, climbing steeply and looked down to see the building still standing, and small dots of people running out of it. He buzzed them again, this time going well clear of the structure itself, and coming to within twenty feet of the ground. He wagged his wings and went through a series of acrobatics that were second nature to him now. He ended up with a few low level barrel rolls as he flew directly over the heads of the people in the yard. He had already noted which direction the dust drifted after one of his low level stunts kicked some up, so he lined up and landed, rolling to a stop twenty feet from the cluster of people.

He hopped out, pulled off his goggles, and strode over to give a grinning Flossie a hug.

"How's my favorite niece?" he asked.

"I'm your only niece," she grinned, slapping his arm. She turned. "Children, I'd like you to meet my uncle, Daniel Pendergast. I told you about him during our session on the air war."

The reaction was all that either Flossie or Daniel could have hoped for. Nathan was stunned, completely speechless. When the plane had rocked the whole school building during that first pass, and dust and plaster had dropped from the ceiling, accompanied by a roar that shook their bones, there had been general panic. Running out into the yard had been instinctive for all of them. Then the plane came by again, wind from its passage washing over all of them, flipping skirts up, making hair fly and generally scaring the pee out of them. Shouts of "Who is it?" and "What's he doing?" rang out. Then, as the acrobatics commenced, Nathan had uttered the fateful words.

"Now that's a pilot!" His eyes had never left the dipping, turning aircraft as he went on. "That's the kind of thing no nigger could ever do!"

When Daniel landed, and got out of the plane, Nathan's world had fallen apart.

Flossie didn't rub it in. She acted, in fact, as if he had never said anything.

"Anybody want to take a ride?" asked Daniel, grinning.

For poor children in the South, even getting to see an airplane up close was a treat of the first magnitude. The thought of getting to be in one, and off the ground caused bedlam.

It wasn't much, in terms of how we'd think about a ride today. He packed two or three kids in the extra seat, belting them all together, took off, flew in circles for a few minutes, and then landed. When the first group, which consisted of Curtis Lee, and two eight year olds, got back safely, and Curtis Lee couldn't wipe the almost painful looking grin off his face, Bernadette and Hilda Mae insisted on going next. They went together and were chattering non-stop upon their return. Daniel didn't do anything radical with the kids on board. He just flew them around for a bit, banking sharply so they could see the ground. That was more than sufficient. Nathan objected when his sisters went up, but they ignored him. In the end he and Flossie were the only ones left who hadn't flown.

"Anybody else?" Daniel said, looking around as if there were tens of others who hadn't gone yet. All of the children who had already ridden jumped up and down, their hands in the air, begging to go again.

"I couldn't leave the children," said Flossie, looking yearningly at the airplane.

Curtis Lee stepped forward. "Ruth Ann and I can watch them," he offered. "And Nathan too, if he doesn't want to go."

Curtis Lee's statement could be received in two ways, if someone tried. It could be received as "Curtis Lee, Ruth Ann and Nathan will watch the others" or "Curtis Lee and Ruth Ann will watch the others and Nathan". The second way, of course, suggested that Nathan needed watching, and that's how Nathan heard it.

"I don't need to be took care of by the likes of you!" he said angrily.

"If Nathan wants to go, I'll stay here," said Flossie, ignoring the outburst.

"You can go fly in that thing if you want to," said Nathan sulking. "I'm staying right here on the ground where it's safe."

So Flossie got her ride, during which Daniel put the plane through its paces again, doing barrel rolls as it flashed over the screaming kids. Flossie could also be heard, very faintly, screaming at her uncle. When they landed, a laughing Daniel had to help her walk because her knees were so shaky. As they approached the children, she was heard to say "I think I need to change my pants!"

Something twisted inside of Nathan as the plane rose from the ground, bumping over the ground of a fallow field next to the school house, and lifted into the air one last time. He had wanted badly to get in that airplane, and see what the world looked like from up there. His pride had kept him from it, though, and he was quite aware of that. As the plane wagged its wings one last time in farewell, and lifted higher, he wondered if that pride was worth it.

About then the constable drove up in his battered 1938 Chevrolet. He got out, hat firmly on his head, and waddled over to the group.

"Saw the plane from town," he said shortly. "Thought there might be some problem."

"Not at all," said Flossie, still a little breathless from her ride. "The pilot was helping the children understand how airplanes work. We're studying flight in school this week."

She lied right in front of the children. All of them knew that they weren't studying flight at all, and never had. Most of the children knew why she lied. If the townspeople found out she had let the children go up with a Negro pilot, all Hell would break loose. It wouldn't matter that everyone had gotten back safely. All that would matter was that the pilot was a nigger.

"Quite some pilot," commented the constable.

"Yes," said Flossie as if everything were completely normal. "I met him while I was in college. He was nice enough to show the children all about the plane. He flew in the war."

"Thought so," said the constable. "Flew like my nephew talks about. He was a fighter pilot in the war, Harry was. He might know the feller that was helping you out. What's his name? I could ask Harry."

"What theater did your nephew fly in?" asked Flossie, instead of answering the question.

"Flew Corsairs in the Pacific," said the constable.

"I don't think this man would know him then," said Flossie calmly. "He flew Mustangs in Europe." She turned around. "Well! Now that the fun is over, I 'spect we'd best get back to work! Inside, children." She turned to the constable. "Thank you for your concern. I'm sure that if there had been a problem we would have needed you. It's good to know you are vigilant as usual."

The man grinned, hitched up the belt around his waist, upon which hung a .38 revolver, and actually tipped his hat. Then he got in his car and rolled away. Flossie faced the receding car, waving, until it went out of sight, while Curtis Lee and Ruth Ann started herding the children back into the building. Nathan hung back.

"Why did you lie to him?" asked Nathan.

"I lied to him because he's just like you ... or like you were before Daniel landed here. He would never believe that a Negro could fly a plane, or take the children for a ride safely. Had I told him the truth, it would have caused a lot of trouble."

"Oh," he said, unsure what to say. He was seeing things from a black perspective for perhaps the first time in his life. "I guess so."

"It would still cause problems if you told your parents about it," said Flossie, her heart in her mouth. She went on, despite her nervousness about taking this chance. "That would give your father everything he needs to have me fired."

Nathan thought about the last few things she had said. She had just assumed that he thought about things differently now than he had in the past. That was true. He couldn't deny that. When he said "no nigger could fly like that" he was aware that he had used a word that he was trying to stop using. Then, when he was too proud and embarrassed to take a ride, she had gone, even though it was clear the idea frightened her. He had heard her screams in the plane ... heard that she was clearly terrified ... yet she had clamped down on that terror, and recuperated quickly. She had stood and lied bald faced to the law, which put her in danger, and had trusted all the students not to betray her. And they hadn't. Not a one. Not even himself! Every one of them knew it was wrong to lie, yet not one of them had said a word to gainsay her. Yet, she had lied only as little as she had to. That too was obvious. Many of the things she had said were carefully true. She had just left out the things that would cause trouble. And he knew that he lied sometimes, and that, when he lied, it was usually for the purpose of staying out of trouble too. He also thought about how wrong he had been. Even the constable had seen how skilled the pilot was. Nathan Wilson felt something very close to shame.

"I won't tell them," he said finally. "I'll make sure my sisters don't either."

"Thank you, Nathan," said Flossie gently. She didn't remind him that he owed her an apology.

Chapter 4

It would have been natural for the other children to needle Nathan about his comments about how "niggers couldn't possibly fly a plane". Flossie didn't want any of that, so she simply used the whole incident as an example of how, if you don't have all the facts, you can sometimes come to a conclusion that is in error.

"Just because you're wrong about something doesn't mean it's the end of the world," she said. "It can cause trouble because you're operating on a basis that is false, but, if you're willing to learn and change, you can correct problems like that. Nathan had an opinion that was in error. He has learned some things, and his opinion has changed accordingly. That's what education is all about."

She then went on to name several things that other children had believed, and which had been proven wrong. By the time she was done, it seemed like what Nathan had done was not only ordinary, but not worth talking about any more either.

That incident also led to a revival of identifying more black inventors in class. The first one popped into her mind as one of the children asked to use the pencil sharpener. She explained that a man named John Lee Love, whose parents had been slaves. He had improved the common pencil sharpener by enclosing it so that the shavings didn't drop on the floor.

The next one came on what Flossie called a field trip. It was really just an excuse to get out in the air and get some exercise after a long session on Government that had been boring to most of the kids. She took them on a walk to identify native plants that were good for food and medicinal uses, and saw a man plowing a field with a mule.

"See the plow that man is using?" she asked. "Does anybody know what it's called?"

"It's a Beard plow," said Luthor instantly. "My daddy has one, but we haven't used it for a couple of years. He got one that goes on the three point hitch of the tractor and we use that now."

Several other students said their parents had a plow like that too, some of them still in use, like the one they were looking at.

"It was invented by a man named Andrew Beard, in 1887. He was born a slave in Alabama. He took the money he got from inventing that plow and put it into real estate. He owned hundreds of properties, and was a very rich man."

Of course she also talked about the inventions of white people, which weren't hard to come by at all, but in the process also made sure to emphasize that they came from all different kinds of cultures, whether it be German, French, Russian or whatever.

Their study of planting cycles brought out that Benjamin Banneker, a black man, created the Farmer's Almanac in 1791, and that almost every farmer, black or white, still used it religiously to this day.

In studying science, the subject of changes in food came up. Things had been canned at home for as long as any of them could remember. Now, though, there were new products showing up in the General Store. Meat in packages from the store lasted longer before it went bad, and store-bought ice cream didn't melt quite as quickly as it did when you made it at home. The addition of chemicals, preservatives and processes to food production was discussed.

That gave Flossie an opportunity to talk about advances that women had made. She told them that the coffee filter, which was invented in 1908 by Melitta Bentz, a housewife in Germany. She invented it because she was tired of getting grounds in her mouth, that went from the brewing pot to the cup.

Hilda Mae commented that, at their house, coffee wasn't brewed at all. They had a jar of Nescafe in the cupboard, and their mother just added it to hot water. Flossie suggested that she should research how instant coffee was invented, and make a report on that to the class. Hilda Mae wrote to the address on the coffee jar in her cabinet, asking for the information, and learned that Japanese American man named Satori Kato, invented instant coffee in 1901. He had noticed that the dregs of a cup of coffee, when they dried, formed a powder that could be reconstituted into dark liquid. Nescafe had invented the freeze drying concept in 1938, and it was their opinion that one could not tell the difference between a cup of fresh brewed coffee and their product. They sent her samples of their product, and their thanks for her interest.

That led to an experiment in school. A fire was built outside, and coffee was brewed normally. They didn't have a filter - most people in those parts didn't spend money on things like that - but Hilda Mae let the coffee pot sit, and then poured carefully to make sure no grounds got into the cup. Another pot had boiling water in it. She had Flossie help her add instant coffee to a cup of boiling water until they were about the same color, and Flossie said they tasted about the same. Identical cups were used, and, before they went inside, they changed cups back and forth several times, in case someone had been peeking through the window to see which coffee went into which cup.

Coffee was sipped, and opinions were formed. Nathan sipped the real coffee and said "Now that is the real McCoy."

And THAT led to Flossie pulling out her book, and showing the class information on how a black man named Elijah McCoy, in 1872, invented an automatic lubricator for steam locomotives that freed the engineer from having to stop often to squirt or pour oil into the various parts of the engine. This was wildly popular with the operators of trains, because it improved efficiency and made the engines last much longer between rebuilds. Others tried to invent their own systems, but by 1880, train manufacturers were inundated with requests for "The Real McCoy" lubricating system. In his later life, Elijah McCoy became a consultant to the entire railroad industry.

Little by little, the Wilson children were exposed to information that altered many of the preconceptions they had about race, and gender, and the worth of people, regardless of both of those descriptions.

Thus passed the first year of the Wilson children's exposure to the woman who would change their lives in ways they couldn't comprehend, even had they tried.

The summer break between that first and second year was also momentous, though none of the children in the Catfish Hollow Public School would have said so. For most of them, it was a typical summer ... work hard all day, and play at night. For three of them, there was nothing to gauge it by, and they were more or less miserable.

Nathan, wanting like any young man to have some money in his pocket, wanted to get a job. From his viewpoint, he didn't much care what he did. From his father's, his choice of employment was critical.

"Don't you go gettin' no job that trash should do," scowled Harvey, when Nathan first voiced is desire to enter the work force.

"In this town?" asked Nathan, his voice high. "What else will there be to do?"

"You don't need a job!" was his father's reply. "What would you spend money on anyway?"

"A car!" said Nathan instantly. "Maybe a record player."

The girls approved of that idea, and approved loudly.

That got his father on another rampage. Even in the South, the radio played the Beach Boys, and Elvis Presley and all those other heathens who got youngsters wagging their asses around like a bitch in heat. He would be damned if his "precious babies" would sway their hips like a common whore, in front of decent people.

In the end, Harvey pronounced that, if Nathan had someplace to go that was suitable, and approved by his parents, he could take the station wagon. There would be no devil rock and roll music brought into the house.

And Harvey drove the wedge between himself and his children a little deeper.

One result of that was that the Wilson children dusted off their bicycles, which they hadn't ridden for years. It was a way to get away from the house, without specifying a particular place they were going. Riding bikes was accepted by their parents as a healthy pursuit. They didn't think about the fact that it also gave their children freedom to engage in other pursuits.

The other thing that happened, was of a much less violent nature, though its effects would be felt by the children for the rest of their lives.

Bernadette, while wandering through the small town library, picked up a copy of a Nancy Drew mystery, titled "The Mystery at the Moss-Covered Mansion." She was first drawn to it because of the picture on the faded hard-back cover.

The old woman who ran the library in the parlor of her house, looked up from the needle work she was doing.

"That's a good one," she commented. "I've got some more around here somewhere. Got 'em in a box that was donated from up Wilksburg way."

"Donated?" asked Bernadette.

"Yup, that Curtis Lee boy ast me one time where books go when nobody wants 'em any more. I laughed, 'course, cause I ain’t never throw'd a book out. But it got me to wund'rin, so I called up to the librarian up in Wilksburg, and ast her what they do when a book is wore out. Durned if she didn't say they thow 'em away! So I ast her if she'd start thowin' 'em away in our direction. I get a box full once or twice a year. They was a bunch of them Nancy Drew books in one of 'em. They's seen better days, but they's mighty nice stories, and pop'lar with young'uns like you."

So Bernadette checked the book out and took it home.

She was enthralled.

She was so enthralled that she didn't respond when her sister came to the bedroom door and told her it was supper time. When Hilda Mae had to come back again, she was naturally curious about what was so fascinating. When Bernadette finished the book that very night, she was so effusive in her description of the story that Hilda Mae started reading it in the morning.

Both of them visited Miz Hopkins' library that afternoon, to return "The Mystery at the Moss-Covered Mansion," and to get their hands on any other Nancy Drew mysteries she had.

There were, as it turned out, seven tattered books in Miz Hopkins' collection, some of them printed clear back in the 1930s. All had hard backs, though, and other than having been handled by countless hands, and having loose bindings, they were imminently readable.

The girls checked out all seven. The titles, for the most part, don't matter to the telling of this story, but two of them would have a far reaching impact on the sisters, and others in this story. Those were "The Secret in the Old Attic", where Nancy searched a cluttered attic in a rundown mansion for valuable musical manuscripts, and the other was "The Hidden Staircase", in which Nancy strives to find the "ghost" who is trying to drive the Turnbull sisters out of their mansion, and finds a hidden staircase.

Why it mattered was because three of the stories that had inflamed the imaginations of the Wilson sisters had to do with old, run-down mansions.

And the town of Catfish Hollow had its own mysterious mansion.

They found that out when they ran into Curtis Lee at Miz Hopkins' library when they were returning some of the books. They hadn't seen Curtis Lee since school let out, of course, and seeing the boy who had, in some small way, opened their eyes to Nancy Drew caused what could only be called, these days, as a feeling of friendship. It was a decidedly odd feeling for both girls ... to be ... happy ... to see a Negro.

But, being young and full of excitement about their newfound hobby they chattered to him about the books, and Curtis Lee told them about the mansion.

"Now don't you go fillin' the heads of those precious girls with all that nonsense," drawled Miz Hopkins. "That old place is a-fallin' down, and all that fiddle about ghosts is just horse pucky!"

"Ghosts?!" squealed both girls together.

The only way they could get any more information was to take Curtis Lee somewhere else. That presented a problem. No self-respecting white girl would walk down the street in the company of a colored boy, much less beg him for information.

And that led to their first secret meeting with a boy of the Negroid race.

To be truthful, both girls felt like they were amateur sleuths themselves, whispering to Curtis Lee that they had to talk to him, and then ordering him to identify someplace where they could meet in private. Curtis Lee, painfully aware of the danger he could be placed in, said the first thing that came to his mind.

"The school house," he said.

"Now how in tarnation are we going to get all the way out there?" asked Bernadette in an exasperated voice.

"It's only a couple of miles," he said softly. "Walk."

The assignation was arranged, but the girls weren't willing to walk to get there. Truth be told, their bicycles would have solved that problem, but there was also a reluctance to meet a Negro boy alone.

So they decided to enlist their brother to borrow the car and take them. While neither of them had any particular fears concerning Curtis Lee, now that they had been around him so much, they just felt better knowing that Nathan would be along.

Truth still being told, there was another reason they wanted their brother along. Nancy Drew had Ned Nickerson to go with her sometimes, and while Nathan was a far cry from Ned, he was at least a male. It was part of their fantasy that an older boy would accompany them, watch out for them and be at their beck and call.

Getting Nathan to go along with the plan was easier than either of them had dreamed. Nathan wasn't caught up in a summer long romance with Nancy Drew and her pals. Nathan was bored. And getting the chance to drive was all he needed. Of course they couldn't explain where they were actually going, but when the girls told their mother they wanted to gather some wild flowers from "out in the country", to press in their Bibles, they appealed to exactly the thing Marian had been hoping to see - some genteel notion of beauty and poetry in her daughters.

When it was discussed at supper that night, and Harvey's expected objections to "an outing" were voiced, his wife reminded him that he had promised Nathan could practice driving, and that the girls could have a proper picnic along the way.

"Besides," she muttered. "With the girls along he won't be able to drive all wild and crazy." She turned to the girls. "You'll tattle on him if he does, right?"

Both girls grinned and curls flew everywhere as their heads nodded energetically.

The three of them walked down to the bank the next morning, picnic basket in hand, and Nathan went in to get the keys to the station wagon.

His father ignored him for as long as he could, obviously dragging out a conversation with a farmer who had come, hat in hand, trying to get money to try that new pesticide stuff that was being raved about so much.

"I'll check into it, neighbor," beamed Harvey finally, when it was obvious the man wanted to leave. "Check back with me in a day or two. I should know something about the risks and benefits by then."

He scowled at Nathan, dragging the keys out of his pocket.

"Don't you go spinnin' the tires!" he barked. "That ve-hicle is the only one we got, and I won't have you tearin' it up!"

"I'm just practicing driving, Daddy," whined Nathan, his eyes glued to the keys. "I'll be careful."

"An' I'd better not have to walk home," growled Harvey. "It wouldn't be seemly for the town banker to be walkin' home."

"We'll be back in plenty of time," promised Nathan. "You can drive yourself home just like always."

"Just see to it!" the man said sternly.

Harvey winced and almost ran outside when he heard the grinding of gears, and the car starting up again after stalling. But another customer came in and grabbed his elbow, anxious to talk about a late loan payment. He stared out the window with dismay on his face as the station wagon got moving and weaved slightly down the street.

For the Wilson children, it was an adventure of the greatest magnitude. The girls squealed and rolled down all the windows, hopping around in the back seat, while Nathan, grim faced and embarrassed, at first, slowly got more confidence and eventually grinned inanely. The drive to the school was short ... so short that Nathan had only gotten a taste and didn't want to stop to listen to his sisters jaw on about some books they had read. They hadn't told him about a mansion or ghosts, thinking he'd laugh at them. They had only told him that Curtis Lee was going to help them with some reading. By now, the thought of Curtis Lee helping them with reading didn't seem odd to him at all. And he knew that both of them had had their noses pasted inside one book or another for the last two weeks. Their sighs and moans of excitement while reading those books had ... almost ... caused him to inquire as to what was so interesting. But he was the older brother, and whatever interested his baby sisters was surely nothing he'd be interested in.

"I'm gonna drop you off and keep practicin'," he announced as he pulled up in front of the school.

"No! You can't!" cried Bernadette. "We can't go in there and be alone with Curtis Lee!"

"Why not?" asked Nathan, looking into the rear view mirror at them. He had no fears about Curtis Lee any longer either.

"Cause we're gonna talk about a haunted mansion!" squealed Hilda Mae.

Bernadette slapped at her sister's arm, which Nathan saw in the mirror. That caused him to turn around and demand to know more. In the end, he went in with them. His boredom played no little part in that too.

The girls weren't the only ones who brought somebody else with them in the interests of security, or peace of mind. Curtis Lee was aware, despite the Wilson children's general softening attitude toward colored folk, that meeting the girls alone could be a recipe for disaster. His reinforcements were in the persons of Luthor, Johnnie Sue and Moses Finshaw, a quiet fifteen year old black boy in their class.

Jesse couldn't convince his father to let him have a day off to "go gallivanting around". Moses' parents thought he was off fishing. Luthor had used the same excuse, and Johnnie Sue had invented an invitation to the Wilson house. Her mother was more astonished than she let on, and elated that her tomboy daughter was finally showing an interest in the company of other girls, not to mention that the girls in question had such high station. Johnnie Sue also promised to pick up some thread at the store for her mother while she was in town.

So it was that there was a 'reunion' of sorts, involving all the oldest children in the class, with the exception of Jesse. That there was an almost immediate confrontational atmosphere didn't seem strange at all. The Wilson children were still considered outsiders, (uppity too, in private) and they hadn't seen any of their classmates for over a month.

"How come all of them are here?" Nathan asked Curtis Lee, his jaw jutting slightly as he pointed to the other three.

Curtis Lee felt anger begin to seep into him, and instead of answering he faced the girls and said "Why'd you bring him?"

"He drove us here," explained Bernadette.

"Well it about scared the poop out of us!" said Johnnie Sue explosively. "When we saw that car coming into the yard we thought it was your Daddy and about died!"

Nathan, being reminded that he wasn't out driving the car, got impatient.

"What's all this about ghosts?" he demanded.

For the telling of this story, we'll skip over all the part where the Wilson girls, intermixed with commentary by Curtis Lee, told the story of why they were all there. They all knew why they were there, but when a bunch of teenagers get together there has to be a lot of unnecessary talk for some reason. Once the preliminaries were out of the way, it still took an hour for the four relatively long-time residents of the town to cobble together the story of the mansion. That was because adults didn't talk to children about the mansion. They simply forbade them to go near it. So, the information that each person had was only what had been gleaned from overhearing the adults talk about the place to each other.

The kids had, of course, compared notes to some degree, but for the most part the house, and what it had been, was more or less ignored by everyone in those parts.

The structure that had brought all these young people together on this day, defying social norm by a mixed-race meeting when it wasn't required, didn't even have a name. At least none that any of the kids had ever heard. It was an old plantation house, built before the "unsettling conflict" and which had been partially destroyed in that same war. It was a two story structure, classically antebellum, with four tall columns supporting the front overhanging balcony. An attempt by Union soldiers to burn it had fizzled when they had to leave before the job was fully done. One corner of the house had been virtually destroyed, though. The master of the house was reputed to have put up a stirring defense, but was killed. No one knew quite what had happened to the womenfolk, but there were dark stories about how the slaves were freed by the Yankees, but did not leave for some time. Those dark stories were of murder and rape, and were responsible for the additional belief that the ghosts of the victims still resided in the house.

That was the information imparted to the Wilson children on that summer morning. There was more that they were not aware of, and that might have tempered the subsequent decisions that were made that morning.

In fact, the surviving family members of the owner of the plantation had already fled when the Union soldiers arrived and killed the plantation owner when he fired upon them. They planned on taking what they needed from the place, and moving on, but when fired upon, they retaliated. Once they had killed the owner, and told the cowering slaves they were free to go, they did take what they needed, set fire to the house, and rode off to seek more men to do battle with. The slaves, having no idea what to do, hung around for days. They even kept tending the fields for a while. Slowly, the bolder ones drifted away in small groups. It took longer for the more timid to believe they could strike out on their own. None of them entered the mansion, or took anything, because they were quite sure they'd be killed immediately if found in possession of the master's belongings.

More troops, from both sides, passed by the wreck, and were not so timid about taking what they wanted. Much of the furniture was used in cook fires. By the war's end, the place was a wreck and the fields overgrown. Those fields were 'annexed' by the farmers who neighbored them, and it was in those farmers' best interests that the owners never re-appear. Nor was it desired that outsiders have much interest in the property. Thus began the rumors that spirits with foul moods inhabited the structure. More parts of it were removed, including the slave quarters in total, as well as all other outbuildings, to facilitate the rebuilding of other homes in the area. Eventually all that was left was the falling down mansion house, surrounded by weeds and trees, a small ecosystem surrounded by fields. Eventually, property rights were re-established, and the small plot of land that nobody could show claim to was taken over by the county. Because there was no available tillable land around it, and no real way to get to it, and because the cost of clearing the land was more than any of the neighboring farmers was willing (or able) to expend, it lay in the county records until it was forgotten. There was almost nothing of value left in the place.

But, as was said, the children didn't know those parts of the story. All they knew was that the war had emptied the place, and that people had died violent deaths there, and that strange lights and eerie sounds came from its haunted shell.

The Wilson girls, of course, having just read several stories about old mansions, and the amazing and valuable things that could be found in them, let their imaginations run free.

"We have to go there!" said Hilda Mae excitedly.

"Nobody goes there," said Moses, wide-eyed.

"Why would you even want to go there?" asked Curtis Lee.

That led to a discussion about Nancy Drew, and another hour was taken up as the tales were retold.

"Who knows what kind of treasure could be hidden in that place?" asked Bernadette, almost panting with excitement.

"There's nothing there," said Johnnie Sue, her voice soft. She looked startled that she'd spoken, and Luthor elbowed her.

"What do you mean? How do you know?" asked Hilda Mae.

Johnnie Sue and Luthor were exchanging dark looks.

"We might as well tell them!" said Johnnie Sue.

"We swore we would never tell anybody!" came back Luthor.

"Tell us what?" came several voices.

Luthor looked around and gave a ferocious frown.

"Oh, go ahead then! You already opened up your big mouth!" he said to Johnnie Sue.

The girl beamed. "We went there one time!" she said excitedly. "I even went inside!"

She got round-eyed looks from everyone except Luthor.

"It was on a dare!" she went on animatedly. "Jesse dared me to go in there and I did it!"

"Jesse?" asked Curtis Lee instantly.

"Jimminy cricket, Johnnie Sue!" exploded Luthor. "Have you lost your mind?"

Johnnie Sue looked pale as she stared around the circle of faces ... staring back at her.

"Um ... we were going somewhere one day," she said, her eyes darting around, "and we went by there. That's all."

"Where would you and Luthor and Jesse be going to that's way out there?" asked Moses.

"Don't you want to know what it was like inside that house?" asked Johnnie Sue, desperately trying to change the subject.

"I want to know what you were doing way out there together!" said Curtis Lee heavily.

Something in Johnnie Sue snapped. Fire came into her eyes. Luthor knew her as well as any brother would know his sister by now, and he groaned as she took a breath.'

"We were out there together because we're friends!" she shouted. "We do all kinds of things together because we like each other! And we went there to have an adventure! And Jesse dared me to go inside and I did it! Now what are you gonna do about it?!" she ended up yelling.

"You're friends with a nigger?" asked Nathan, his voice shaky.

He's not a nigger you stuff shirted cracker!" screamed Johnnie Sue. "He's a boy, and he's nice and he can climb a tree quicker than anybody I know and I don't care if the whole damn world knows he's my friend!" She had screamed so long and so loud that her voice cracked at the end.

There is an intricate and complicated social organization among teenagers, something they don't really understand, and which adults don't think about all that much. It isn't so much like layers of onion skin, as it is like spaghetti, with different strands of consciousness passing by others, sometimes touching, and affecting each other in small degrees. Part of that phenomenon involves a teen standing up for something he or she believes in. That is powerfully recognized by other teens. Especially when what she believe in flies in the face of social norm. That 'renegade' aspect in teenagers is quite commonly seen by adults as something undesirable. But it can often appeal quite strongly to other teens, especially when, in their own eyes, following the 'norm' isn't all that appealing.

For Curtis Lee and Moses, the concept of having a white 'friend' was odd, certainly controversial, but not abhorrent. They liked most of the white children they knew, and not a few white adults. Curtis Lee, for example, had a great fondness for Miz Hopkins, even though she treated him with segregationist tendencies.

For the Wilson children the notion, of putting 'Negro' (to put it nicely) and 'friend' together as a concept, was just fantastic. It was something like saying you could eat ... octopus, for example. Who'd ever heard of such a thing?

Still, while racism was fully inculcated into their upbringing, the Wilson children had been exposed to blacks in the last year much more intimately than before that, and that exposure had affected them in ways they couldn't have explained. It left them unsure about how to proceed.

"Why would you want to be friends with a ni... Negro?" asked Bernadette.

Johnnie Sue's anger had flowed out of her along with the breath it took to scream her emotions and beliefs. It had been replaced with a dread that now made her almost limp. If her parents found out she had been inside the haunted mansion, not to mention announcing she was friends with a black child, she'd be grounded for the rest of her life.

"I told you," she said listlessly. "We go fishing together, and explore together," She glanced at Luthor, who looked serious, and went on. "and Luthor is the same. I like doing things with both of them. We have fun together. I like Luthor, and I like Jesse. I just don't understand why I'm supposed to treat Jesse different than Luthor."

Curtis Lee turned to Luthor.

"And you knew about this?" he asked.

Luthor ground his teeth. But he'd sworn an oath, and he couldn't break the part of it that was most important.

"He's my friend too. We do lots of stuff together."

"Wow," said Hilda Mae. She looked at Johnnie Sue curiously, as if she expected to be able to see some difference in her, now that she knew this girl ... mixed ... with ... She didn't even know what to call them any more, she realized. She found that curious.

"Why is that so hard to understand?" asked Johnnie Sue, revived a little by the fact that people hadn't stampeded out to tell the world her secret. "Didn't you three come here to talk to Curtis Lee? Why would you want to come talk to a ... nigger?" Her voice was harsh on the last word.

"That's different!" said Bernadette, looking startled.

"Why?" asked Johnnie Sue. "Just because you wanted to talk about the mansion? When I go places with Luthor and Jesse we talk about stuff. What's the difference?"

"I just ... I mean ... we were going to ..." she trailed off.

"And didn't you just sit here and tell us all about the books you read, and how cool they were?" asked Johnnie Sue. "You made me want to read those books. Weren’t we all standing around here talking ... like friends?"

"But we can't be friends with you!" moaned Bernadette.

"Why ... because we're trash? Because we're niggers?" asked Johnnie Sue.

"You're not a nigger," blurted Nathan. "You're a nigger-lover."

"See?" shouted Johnnie Sue again. "Why do you have to say such hurtful things, just because I want to have friends? Me being friends with Jesse, or Moses or Curtis Lee can't hurt you! Me being friends with you can't hurt me." She put her hands on her hips and tossed her head. "Though why I ever thought about being friends with you I don't know!"

"But ..." spluttered Nathan.

"But nothing!" shouted Johnnie Sue. "Didn't Hilda Mae say she wanted to go to the mansion? How are you going to get there? You don't have the faintest idea where it is, and no grownup is going to tell you. You'd have to be taken there by one of us. And why would any of us want to do that? That's what a friend would do, you idiot!" she shouted, her voice cracking again.

"Damn!" said Nathan, frustrated by the logic in her argument.

"You better watch your mouth," said Hilda Mae instinctively to her brother's outburst.

Perhaps because she was the youngest Wilson child, and therefore the most adaptable, her opinion about all this was conflicted. Being reminded that she wanted to go see this haunted mansion, though, combined with the overload Carolyn Keene's books had caused in her imagination recently, caused her to come down on this side of radical thought.

She went on, facing her brother. "You can just go drive around in circles. Bernadette and I want to go see that mansion."

Bernadette looked confused, thinking about all these new ideas, and her own desire to see a haunted mansion.

"This is crazy!" whined Nathan, not sure exactly which part of all this he was talking about.

"I told you ... there's nothing there," said Johnnie Sue.

"Did you go into the attic?" asked Hilda Mae. "Did you explore the whole house?"

"Well ... no," admitted Johnnie Sue. "But I went in the front door and stood where the staircase used to be. It was creepy, though, so I left."

"Maybe there's a hidden staircase." Bernadette's imagination was re-fired. "You know, like the one in the book." she suggested.

"I don't know about that," said Johnnie Sue uncertainly.

"Well, don't you want to know?" asked Hilda Mae, pushing her advantage.

Then, as quite often happens when teenagers are involved, exceedingly strange concepts were pushed aside, to talk about something less troubling, and of more immediate interest. In the process of doing that, however, there was a hint of defacto acceptance that friendships could be made that, before this meeting, would have been considered impossible.

The conversation turned to logistics. At the upper levels of unconscious thought, as was common in segregated parts of the U.S., there were things that could be done openly, and things that couldn't. All of the young people present had those thoughts firmly in their mind, albeit unconsciously, and, despite the fact that they were acting, more or less (and somewhat tentatively) as a group of friends, they knew that they could not do this thing publicly. The most momentous part of the whole process was that no one thought of the simplest solution to the logistics of getting a group of black and white youths together ... that of simply banning the blacks from participating.

For the Wilson Children, room to maneuver was the primary problem. They couldn't drive to the property, because the roads had been plowed over decades ago and planted in crops. Even had the roads been open, trying to put the others in the car without anyone seeing them would be almost impossible. Their understanding of the time it took to walk or run somewhere was fuzzy, at best. They cold ride their bikes, but they didn't know how long that would take either. So the primary logistical problem was in determining how long it would take to do the exploration, and when everybody could get that much time apart from families without raising suspicions. The thought of actually asking parental permission, of course, was not contemplated.

Sunday afternoon was the obvious answer. It wasn't a work day, and the adults would all be sitting around relaxing.

"Mamma always watches Lassie," said Bernadette, "and Daddy won't miss the Ed Sullivan Show. If we rode out bikes we could move a lot faster, and go where there aren't roads. Maybe we can be back by then anyway."

It never occurred to them that the other children might not have bikes.

Then the discussion turned to what equipment would be needed to do the exploration. Johnnie Sue said that, if they wanted to get to the upper story, they'd have to have some way of climbing, because the stairs were missing. A ladder was dismissed immediately, but Moses said he had a rope he could bring. Luthor wanted to bring a hatchet ... "just in case" ... whatever that meant.

"You'll have to wear jeans," said Johnnie Sue to Bernadette and Hilda Mae. "You do have jeans ... don't you?"

"Of course we have jeans!" said an outraged Bernadette. "And I have tennis shoes too!"

"Well, all I've ever seen you in is a dress," explained Johnnie Sue.

"Just because we dress like girls," said Bernadette, glaring at Johnnie Sue meaningfully, "doesn't mean we're strange!"

And so, the grand adventure was planned. The following Sunday, assuming it didn't rain, the event would take place. Johnnie Sue insisted on inviting Jesse, and that was agreed to without comment.

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