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Dear Martha,

Our jerky is ready. I should say our DELICIOUS jerky is ready. I should say our SCRUMPTIOUS jerky is ready. I wish you could taste some right now.

The sun has been shining hot for two days straight, and the strips of meat have turned very dark. That means they’ve dried out properly. I helped Mama take them down and store them between layers of cheesecloth. Mmmm! I could eat every one.

I said, “May I have three pieces for Travis Lark?”

Mama said, “Travis Lark? What on earth for?”

I told her about the slingshot contest and winning my marbles back and his cat’s eye shooter.

Mama said, “Are you sweet on him?”

I practically screamed, “MAMA! Of course not. He’s just my friend.”

Mama said, “Well, alright then. You’re just being neighborly.”

We had school again today. Miss Melman said, “I hope your interviews are going well. I’m going to give you a few more days to work on them. Don’t forget to include some pictures in your sketchbooks.” I’m glad she gave us more time. I haven’t had much time to do my drawings. Life is so busy on a wagon train. Where does all the time go?

We settled in for Miss Melman to read several more chapters of Tom Sawyer. This time we were quiet and listened to every word. Tom Sawyer is such a good book. Miss Melman was just getting to the part about Tom and Becky Thatcher being sweet on each other. She liked him, but she pushed him off a bridge into the water.

I thought about Travis Lark. He’s a boy, and he’s my friend, but he’s not my boyfriend. I don’t know why Mama had to say that. I only wanted to give him the jerky because he was such a good sport about losing his marbles and his shooter. He would love our jerky.

I looked around for Travis, but to my surprise, he wasn’t there. I was wondering where in the world he could be when he rode up on Dixie, all huffy and out of breath.

He said, “Sorry I’m late, Miss Melman. A constable rode up a few minutes ago with his deputy and asked Captain Walsh if we had seen a Dr. Xavier Zoren, selling his Elixir of Life. He said Dr. Zoren swindled his townspeople out of their money. He had sold them bogus medicine. The constable’s wife gave the stuff to her pet kitty—and the cat got drunk.”

We burst out laughing. Miss Melman said, “Oh dear! I had my suspicions about Dr. Zoren. I studied my maps and the globe, and I’m afraid the country of Rambonia simply doesn’t exist.”

I said, “It doesn’t?”

Miss Melman said, “No, and I’ve never heard of the Rendini people, either. I think Dr. Zoren is a swindler, and I don’t think we’re the first group of people to fall for his scheme.”

Hallie said, “But why would he lie to us?”

Miss Melman looked thoughtful. “It’s sad to think about it, but there are dishonest people in this world. Instead of doing an honest day’s work, they would rather trick people out of their hard-earned money. In my book, that’s just not right.”

I remembered folks handing their dollars over, dollars that had been earned with hard work.

I felt sick with shame. I’d been so wrong about Pap.

Love,

Teddy

Dear Martha,

Two good things happened today.

First of all, Travis challenged me to a slingshot contest. I said, “What are we playing for?” He said if he won, I’d have to give him some of our venison jerky. I said, “How many pieces?” and he said three. I said, “What if I win?”

He said, “There’s no way you’ll win.”

I said, “What if I do?”

He looked at Jasper Lowe with a you-and-I-both-know-I-can-beat-Teddy-Bodain look.

He said, “You won’t. But if you do, I’ll give you all your marbles back.”

I said, “And your cat’s eye shooter?”

He said, “And my cat’s eye shooter.”

I trounced him good! Jasper Lowe was our officiator. He said I won fair and square. Travis gave me back all of my marbles, including his cat’s eye shooter, in a marble sack. He said, “If I hadn’t taught you so much about shooting a slingshot, you wouldn’t have won.” But he was a good sport about it, all in all.

Jasper said, “Travis, maybe you need a spoonful of Dr. Zoren’s Elixir of Life.”

The second good thing that happened was my interview with Mrs. Carter. She is such a nice person. I asked her about her tinctures and liniments. I wanted to know how she had learned to use them to heal folks.

She said, “I’m not a doctor or anything like that. My mama just taught me which plants are good for different ailments. That’s the way we did in the old days when we couldn’t get to a doctor.

“Mama taught me to rub a rhubarb leaf or a slice of lemon on a hornet sting. That will take the pain away every time. She taught me that evening primrose is good for arthritis. Feverfew can cure a headache. Ginger aids in poor digestion.” As she talked, she showed me each plant or herb. Some were dry, some were growing in pots, and some she had crushed to a powder.

She said, “Garlic is good for fatigue. You can eat it whole, fresh, or roasted over a fire. Mama taught me how to gather golden seal, bayberry, butternut bark, chamomile, and mayapple. Things like that. They’re all found in nature. I make tonics and tinctures to take by mouth and liniments to rub on the body.”

I said, “Like Dr. Zoren’s Elixir of Life.”

She gave me a look. “You didn’t buy a bottle of that, did you?”

I shook my head. “No. Pap thinks it was hogwash.”

Mrs. Carter said, “Then your pap has got a good head on his shoulders. Maybelle Terwilleger showed me her bottle, and I gave it a taste. It wasn’t anything but cheap corn whiskey and red sugar syrup. That man isn’t a doctor, let me tell you. He just swindled folks out of their money.”

I said, “But what about the dog? Didn’t you see how thin he was? After he drank one spoonful of that elixir, he was well.”

Mrs. Carter said, “Honey, I don’t know exactly how he did it, but that hornswoggler pulled a fast one. His assistant was in on it, somehow.”

I said, “But I was standing right next to the cage, Mrs. Carter. I saw it with my own eyes.”

Mrs. Carter said, “Like Mr. P.T. Barnum says, ‘There’s a sucker born every minute.’”

That got me wondering. If it was true what Pap and Mrs. Carter were saying, we’d all been had.

Love,

Teddy

Dear Martha,

Today, the wagons ahead of us slowed and stopped, but we had no idea why. Travis Lark came galloping by, telling us that there was a peddler who wanted to show his wares. Captain Walsh said we could stop for a few minutes in case anyone wanted to make a purchase.

The man was dressed in fancy clothes, including a vest and top hat. His wagon was bright red and yellow, and it opened up on the side, like a little stage. We wondered, what in the world is this?

He said, “Folks, Dr. Xavier Zoren at your service. It is my pleasure to present to you an amazement, a wonder, a staggering demonstration that has confounded commoners and gentry alike.”

We gathered around.

Dr. Zoren continued. “My assistant, the lovely Flavia, will help me.”

A woman wearing a strange costume came from the side, pushing a large cage to the center of the tiny stage. The cage was covered with a green velvet cloth. She flipped the cloth back for us to see what was inside. A pitiful looking dog sat looking at us. He was so thin his ribs showed.

Dr. Zoren said in a loud voice, “Notice this unhealthy mongrel. Not one of you would want him in this condition.” He paused. “Fortunately, I have a regenerative syrup, a life-giving liquid, a restorative recipe, which will dramatically improve this animal’s condition, right before your very eyes.”

He held up a glass bottle containing a red liquid.

“Dr. Zoren’s Elixir of Life. This highly sought-out formula comes from the Rendini People of eastern Rambonia. Its medicinal powers are astounding.”

He poured some syrup in a big spoon and stuck it through the bars of the cage. The dog lapped it up hungrily. “See?” Dr. Zoren said. “This dog is eager to get well. He is weak, let me tell you. Even the sun hurts his sore eyes.”

His assistant, Flavia, flipped the green cloth back over the front of the cage, so the dog was hidden.

Dr. Zoren said, “My miracle cure, Elixir of Life, only takes a short while to work on small animals. It takes a few days on humans, but it will have the same healing effect on any one of you. It’s been known to cure rheumatism, arthritis, ringworm, sleeplessness, gout, headache, teething babies, and general malaise. It works on colic, dyspepsia, fungus, and—the swooning vapors.”

He snapped his fingers.

Flavia whipped the cover back, so we could see. The dog was fat and healthy! He held his head high, and his eyes were bright! We crowded forward. The dog was a beauty. He barked and wagged his tail.

Everyone gasped, including me. Folks started digging into their pockets to buy bottles of the syrup.

Dr. Zoren said, “They’re going like hotcakes, ladies and gents. Get yours while the getting’s good.” While he sold his elixir, Flavia pushed the cage off the stage, back into the wagon.

I took one last look at the beautiful dog, wishing he was mine.

A few minutes later, Dr. Zoren and his assistant were gone.

On our way back to the wagon, I said, “Pap, have you ever seen anything like that?”

He said, “I’ve seen a trickster in a monkey suit before.”

That made me mad. I said, “Didn’t you see how he healed the sick dog? Made him like new?”

Pap said, “Theodosia, some people will try any trick in the book to cheat you out of your money.”

Why does Pap have to be such a fuddy-duddy? Seeing is believing. Why can’t he believe?

Love,

Teddy

            One of my great joys is having two-day workshops in my home for teachers and other adults who have a burning desire to become children’s book authors. As a child addicted to reading all kinds of fiction, the authors of the books I read were mysterious, intriguing individuals so far beyond my reach that I could never hope to see one, much less meet one. Yet, the more I read, the more I knew that one day I wanted to create terrific stories and other worlds for kids to lose themselves in (I know the previous sentence ends with a preposition, but I’m an author for Heaven’s sake. I can twist and manipulate words as I choose).

            I wrote as a child, I wrote as a teen, and I wrote as an adult. I dreamed about writing books for children, but I had no idea how to go about it. I still had not met a real, live author to guide me along the way, so I made every embarrassing mistake along my quest to becoming a published author. I was as green as a pickle. Somehow, because of some budding talent and a huge will and a dogged determination not to be turned away, I got into the vast and curious world of writing for children. Along the way I earned a master’s of fine arts in writing for children from Vermont College. I met and learned from scores of authors, many of them legendary in the field of children’s books.

            I am still on my journey, learning more each year of my life, but I enjoy helping others join the party. It is thrilling to sit at my dining-room table and answer questions from would-be children’s authors. Teachers make terrific writers. After all, they spend hours upon hours with children, answer their questions, and listen to their fantasies. They know what colorful and obscure topics kids are interested in or curious about. I love to listen to story plots and nonfiction topics and discuss which ones might make the best children’s books with the eager future authors who come to the workshops with all the same fears and insecurities I once had (I still probably have some). A writing workshop revs me up and gets my creative juices flowing.

One writer who came to my workshop 15 years ago has published 25 plus nonfiction books. One writer from two years ago is now working with an agent from Los Angeles to turn her children’s series into television or movie property. Another writer last year published a beautiful picture book about the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico and the effect it might have on animals. What could be more wonderful than creating something children will enjoy and treasure?

            Sometimes we have as many as 22 at the workshops in my home; sometimes we have as few as four. Several weekends ago was just such a workshop: four eager beavers who wanted to learn as much as they could about story arcs, memorable characters, current topics that would be of interest, publishing trends, and so forth. We moved from the dining-room table to the living room. One activity on descriptive writing had us blowing bubbles in the front yard. The eight hours each day melted as quickly as butter left in the sun as we encouraged and enthused, analyzed and considered, created and developed every idea we could think of and then some.

            Now, it is up to my fledgling writers to go home and do the long, intricate, solitary work it takes to write and develop a manuscript so that it is ready to be presented to an editor. We need good books for children. We need teachers and other loving adults who want to spin the stories that will transport kids to wondrous, imaginative worlds.

            I wish them well. I wish them every success. I wish them magic.