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Authors: Joseph Helgerson
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missing river trolls find their way home. Bo topped them, though: Any river troll who won't help mine has to bring her a shooting star to light the tunnel going to the moon, and he has to do it before the hatch of his firstborn. If he does that, fine, she trades him one of the crickets who knows where the first three miners went. If they don't..."
"They become human?" I cringed.
"Exactly. It's a possibility that curls their tails good. Once they're human, the only way to change back to a troll is to stand up to Bo in person, and so far as I know, it's never been done. So you'd better hand over their three silver dollars and go tell that cousin of yours to stay as far away from Bodacious Deepthink as he can manage."
"What would she do to him?" I asked.
"Put him on her pantry shelf, I shouldn't be surprised."
"I'm afraid they've only given me two silver dollars to trade," I confessed, not wanting to think about pantry shelves. "I'm supposed to use my sweet voice to talk you into a third."
"That's Jim Dandy for you." She clucked her tongue in disgust.
"Does the third dollar absolutely have to be from a troll mother's purse? What if I promised to sneak one out of my mother's? I doubt that she'd mind."
"Sorry," she firmly said. "Got to be from a river troll mother. I give each of them a silver dollar for her newborn boy, as a promotional for the store. Baby girls get free thornbushes. When the boys grow up, they bring the dollar back for a screen. The girls trade their thornbushes in for a look into the future. That's the going price."
"There must be exceptions," I reasoned. "I mean, what if a mother loses her silver dollar? Then what?"
"These silver dollars don't get lost," she explained, sounding awfully sure of it. "They're special."
She meant it too, wouldn't budge a bit, not even on a couple of free willow cats for goodwill. So I handed over the two silver dollars. They'd no more than touched the old lady's hand than the woman engraved on the first silver dollar started yapping away. I could see her lips moving as she said to the old lady:
"They've got your ukulele, you know."
"There's a rhino boy too." The woman on the second silver dollar chimed in.
"Several people have been turned to stone."
"A dog too."
"And they've been singing that ridiculous song."
"Chug-ga-la-ka, chug-ga-la-ka."
Quick as she could, the old lady dropped them in a nearby cookie jar and closed the lid, confessing sheepishly, "Helps keep me abreast of the troll community."
So now I knew why it had to be silver dollars from their mothers' purses or nothing at all. Such goings-on left me pretty much speechless and a touch numb. Talking silver dollars weren't something you ran into every day, not even along the river.
Collecting two screen doors, which were twice my height and wide as my hands could reach, I started edging out of the store.
Before I'd gone three steps, the old lady stopped me to take a hard look into my eyes, just the way she'd done in the rowboat.
"What do you see?" I whispered.
"A turtle," she answered, puzzled.
"Is it Lottie?" Suddenly I felt hopeful.
"Hard to say."
"What's she doing?"
"Hiding in her shell."
That didn't sound like Lottie, unless she was in trouble. Up to then I'd been avoiding the old lady's eyes by gazing above her head, but now, worried about Lottie, I lowered my vision.
My own reflection wasn't gazing back from her eyes. No, facing me was a young woman from another time. I say from another time because she was dressed in an old-fashioned frilly blouse and long skirt and sunbonnet that hid most of her face. Still, she struck me as kind of familiar, and after a while I thought maybe I knew why. I guessed the old lady was somehow showing me what she looked like way back when she was my age. If that was the case, she must have been even older than I'd thought, for the young woman peering out at me was dressed like a pioneer. Since my mom had drummed into me that you never, ever inquire about a
"They become human?" I cringed.
"Exactly. It's a possibility that curls their tails good. Once they're human, the only way to change back to a troll is to stand up to Bo in person, and so far as I know, it's never been done. So you'd better hand over their three silver dollars and go tell that cousin of yours to stay as far away from Bodacious Deepthink as he can manage."
"What would she do to him?" I asked.
"Put him on her pantry shelf, I shouldn't be surprised."
"I'm afraid they've only given me two silver dollars to trade," I confessed, not wanting to think about pantry shelves. "I'm supposed to use my sweet voice to talk you into a third."
"That's Jim Dandy for you." She clucked her tongue in disgust.
"Does the third dollar absolutely have to be from a troll mother's purse? What if I promised to sneak one out of my mother's? I doubt that she'd mind."
"Sorry," she firmly said. "Got to be from a river troll mother. I give each of them a silver dollar for her newborn boy, as a promotional for the store. Baby girls get free thornbushes. When the boys grow up, they bring the dollar back for a screen. The girls trade their thornbushes in for a look into the future. That's the going price."
"There must be exceptions," I reasoned. "I mean, what if a mother loses her silver dollar? Then what?"
"These silver dollars don't get lost," she explained, sounding awfully sure of it. "They're special."
She meant it too, wouldn't budge a bit, not even on a couple of free willow cats for goodwill. So I handed over the two silver dollars. They'd no more than touched the old lady's hand than the woman engraved on the first silver dollar started yapping away. I could see her lips moving as she said to the old lady:
"They've got your ukulele, you know."
"There's a rhino boy too." The woman on the second silver dollar chimed in.
"Several people have been turned to stone."
"A dog too."
"And they've been singing that ridiculous song."
"Chug-ga-la-ka, chug-ga-la-ka."
Quick as she could, the old lady dropped them in a nearby cookie jar and closed the lid, confessing sheepishly, "Helps keep me abreast of the troll community."
So now I knew why it had to be silver dollars from their mothers' purses or nothing at all. Such goings-on left me pretty much speechless and a touch numb. Talking silver dollars weren't something you ran into every day, not even along the river.
Collecting two screen doors, which were twice my height and wide as my hands could reach, I started edging out of the store.
Before I'd gone three steps, the old lady stopped me to take a hard look into my eyes, just the way she'd done in the rowboat.
"What do you see?" I whispered.
"A turtle," she answered, puzzled.
"Is it Lottie?" Suddenly I felt hopeful.
"Hard to say."
"What's she doing?"
"Hiding in her shell."
That didn't sound like Lottie, unless she was in trouble. Up to then I'd been avoiding the old lady's eyes by gazing above her head, but now, worried about Lottie, I lowered my vision.
My own reflection wasn't gazing back from her eyes. No, facing me was a young woman from another time. I say from another time because she was dressed in an old-fashioned frilly blouse and long skirt and sunbonnet that hid most of her face. Still, she struck me as kind of familiar, and after a while I thought maybe I knew why. I guessed the old lady was somehow showing me what she looked like way back when she was my age. If that was the case, she must have been even older than I'd thought, for the young woman peering out at me was dressed like a pioneer. Since my mom had drummed into me that you never, ever inquire about a
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