When my editor, Susan Van Metre, came to me with plans for an anniversary edition of the Sisters Grimm series, I realized I had the perfect opportunity to do something I never thought would be possible—to revisit Ferryport Landing and fix a few mistakes. Some of them were made as a result of an ambitious publication schedule, and others were the blunders of a new, inexperienced writer trying to create a world from scratch. I always wished I had a time machine so I could go back and fix the problems before they were printed. So to everyone at Amulet Books—thanks for the time machine!
Fans of this series will most likely not notice what has been altered. And some flaws I left as is—after all, this was the first book I ever wrote, the starting point in my pursuit to become a better stor yteller, so it shouldn’t be perfect. After all, there’s no such thing as a perfect book. But this edition does make me smile—and to a writer, a smile can be all the perfection you need. I hope you enjoy my return to Granny Relda’s big yellow house, to the Hall of Wonders, and to the two little girls who have given me so much joy.
I’d like to thank my editor, Susan Van Metre at Amulet Books, whose guidance helped me find the book inside my idea; my agent, Alison Fargis of the Stonesong Press, for taking a chance on me; Joseph Deasy, who was honest enough to tell me when my writing could be better; my love, Alison, for telling me when Joe was wrong; Jonathan Flom, for all his support over the years; Joe Harris, for being a good friend; my parents, Michael and Wilma, for filling our house with books even when the checking account was empty; and Daisy, who was patient when I was too busy writing to take her for a walk.
Michael Buckley is the New York Times–bestselling author of the Sisters Grimm and NERDS series, Kel Gilligan’s Daredevil Stunt Show, and the Undertow Trilogy. He has also written and developed television shows for many networks. Michael lives in Brooklyn, New York, with his wife, Alison; their son, Finn; and their dog, Friday.
Dear Reader,
When I set out to write the adventures of the Sisters Grimm, I wanted to update everyone’s favorite fairy-tale characters using adventure, humor, and surprises. I thought it would be easy. After all, I’d heard all the stories and seen all the movies. What else was there to know?
It turns out there was plenty more to know.
When I reread some of the original stories, I found that everything I thought I knew was wrong. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that the Little Mermaid didn’t win her handsome prince’s heart in the end. Or that Pinocchio wasn’t swallowed by a whale but eaten by a shark! Or that Snow White wasn’t awakened when she was kissed but when a piece of poisoned apple, stuck in her throat, was dislodged. I went back and reread all the classics, by the Brothers Grimm, Hans Christian Andersen, Lewis Carroll, Andrew Lang, Rudyand Kipling, L. Frank Baum, and dozens more. What I found was a wealth of funny, exciting, scary, and adventure-filled stories, and my hope is that the Sisters Grimm series will inspire you to do the same. Your local library should have a wide collection of fairy tales and folklore, filled with as many surprises as there are in Sabrina and Daphne’s adventures. I invite you to crack open these classics and find out what you’ve been missing. Happy reading, and beware of the Scarlet Hand!
Michael Buckley
Many people think fairy tales are just stories about princesses and witches that our parents tell us so we won’t take candy from strangers or wander off by ourselves. But if fairy tales were only here to teach us lessons, they probably would have disappeared long ago.
Fairy tales tell us big truths about life—not just as it was in the past, but as it is today—and show us how to make our way through it with bravery, cunning, and wisdom. They are such useful guides that they’ve been followed for centuries, by people in every country on the globe. Two hundred years ago, a young girl fell asleep in her bed listening to the same fairy tale you liked to read when you were little.
So how did fairy tales from so long ago end up here? For a long time, fairy tales were only passed down orally. That means, basically, that they were created from a giant, centuries-long game of telephone. People told stories to children, friends, or strangers they met during their travels. Then those people told the stories to others, changing little details along the way. The general plots stayed the same, but the stories grew and changed, depending on where and when they were told. Sometimes two different versions of the same story would pop up in two different countries. The names and settings would be different, but the same things would happen. For example, there are versions of the Cinderella story in countries as far apart as Egypt and Iceland.
The Cinderella story is one of the most famous fairy tales in the world because it’s been adapted to so many different cultures and times. The first written version appeared more than a thousand years ago in China, and new versions of the tale pop up all the time—think of all the movies you’ve seen about a poor, mistreated girl who ends up with the rich, handsome guy. The details change—maybe “Cinderella” works in a car wash or ropes cows—but the plot stays the same.
You can conduct your own experiment to see how fairy tales might grow or change. All you’ll need is a piece of paper, a pen, and a few friends.
Have one person start writing two or three sentences on the paper to begin the Cinderella story. Then have that person fold the paper down, so only the last line he or she wrote can be seen.
Pass the paper on to the next person, who will add a few sentences to the story, with only the line before as a guide. Then the second writer should fold the paper again, so that only the last line of his or her writing is visible. Continue to pass the paper, write, and fold until you finish a page, or two ifyou’re feeling ambitious. When you’re done, unfold the paper and read the whole story through. See if you can trace how the story line and characters changed as the paper was passed from one person to another.
For a long time, people told fairy tales by memory, and often stories were changed or even lost as they were passed down. That’s when the Brothers Grimm stepped in. Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm grew up in Germany listening to fairy tales, and they worried that the wonderful stories they heard might be changed, lost, or forgotten. The brothers decided to write down their favorite tales so people would remember them forever. Some people think of the Grimm brothers as writers, and they were, but more than writers they were collectors—even hunters—of good stories. They talked to everyone, from their close friends to strangers they met traveling. Once, they met a poor, ragged soldier who asked for their old clothes in exchange for his stories. The Brothers Grimm were more than happy to make the trade—in fact, they probably thought they were getting the better deal!
You may have heard different versions of the same fairy tale, some scarier than others. When the Grimm brothers first wrote their stories down, they were violent tales, packed with villains who died in horrible ways. The Grimms thought that adults, especially professors and historians, would be the ones reading their stories. They were surprised when they realized that it was kids who liked their fairy tales best! So Wilhelm and Jacob rewrote their stories, making them more poetic and a little less violent. But they didn’t take everything out, because they knew that being scared was part of the fun of reading fairy tales. They didn’t want to cheat their younger readers of a good story.
It seems that an awful lot of fairy tales are full of wicked witches, endangered princesses, and handsome princes who save the day. That’s because putting together a fairy tale is kind of like putting together a potion, and different stories use many of the same ingredients. What does a good fairy tale need? Here’s a list of some of the most common elements:
Can you think of any other important components of a good fairy tale?
Do you think all of these components are necessary for a good story?
Some fairy tales, like many of the stories written by Hans Christian Andersen, don’t end happily. Others, like some more modern renditions of old fairy tales, don’t include magic.
As you read the Sisters Grimm series, look for elements from the list above and see how many you can find. Think of Sabrina, Daphne, and Granny Relda as heroes (or “damsels in distress,” sometimes). Who are the villains? Do you ever feel sorry for them? Think about different ways in which the Sisters Grimm books imitate or challenge the typical fairy-tale formula.
The Grimm sisters are “sleuths of fairy-tale crime.” It’s a good thing, too, because there seem to be an awful lot of crimes committed in fairy tales. Without the three little (or not so little) pigs out patrolling the streets, crime was rampant throughout many classic fairy tales. Below are some well-known fairy tales and a list of crimes. Can you connect the crime with the story, and bring the perpetrators to justice like the Grimm sisters?
Not everybody may get the chance to hang out with Everafters and solve fairy-tale crimes like the Grimm sisters, but anyone can follow in the Grimm brothers’ famous storytelling tradition. Because most fairy tales follow a pretty simple formula, it’s surprisingly easy to create your own. See if you can use some common building blocks to write your own story.
Here are a few questions to get you started thinking:
Once you decide what you’re writing about, here are some phrases to help you put your ideas all together:
Once upon a time . . .
There once was a boy . . .
Many, many years ago there lived. . .
Now, you shall hear a story that somebody’s great-great-grandmother told a little girl many years ago . . .
. . . and ___________ was in grave danger . . .
. . . but ___________ was too smart to be tricked, and decided to . . .
. . . and they lived happily ever after!
. . . snip, snap, snout. This tale’s told out.
Remember, part of the fun of fairy tales is being surprised, so be as creative as you can. Boys don’t always have to rescue girls, and villains don’t always have to be wicked old women (think about the surprising heroes and villains in the Sisters Grimm books). After you finish your fairy tale, try reading it out loud to see how it sounds. You’ll be working in the great, centuries-old tradition of Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm!
You can find out more about the Brothers Grimm and their stories at these Internet sites:
Brothers Grimm: Fairy Tales, History, Facts, and More
www.nationalgeographic.com/grimm
National Geographic presents twelve tales from the famous brothers in their original form. Open the treasure chest to find a map of the Fairy-Tale Road through Germany, National Geographic articles on the Brothers Grimm, links to other Grimm resources, and more.
Grimm Fairy Tales
www.grimmfairytales.com/en/main
Interactive, narrated, animated versions of several fairy tales plus biographical information, games, and other fun stuff from Kids Fun Canada.
The SurLaLune Fairy-Tales Site
www.surlalunefairytales.com
This personal website hosted by a librarian serves as a portal to fairy-tale and folklore studies, featuring forty-four annotated fairy tales, with their histories, cross-cultural tales, and illustrations.
“Let’s get this party started, already!” Sabrina grumbled as she rubbed another cramp out of her leg. For the last three nights she and her seven-year-old sister, Daphne, had been crouching behind a stack of Diaper Rash Donna dolls waiting for criminals to rob Gepetto’s Toyshop. She was tired, hungry, and more than a little irritated. She should have been at home, sleeping in her own bed, not using a board game as a pillow.
“Shhh! You’ll wake him,” Daphne said, pointing to their two-hundred-pound Great Dane. Elvis was lying next to a display of yo-yos, sound asleep. Sabrina couldn’t help but envy him.
“Girls, you have to be quiet,” Granny Relda said as she huddled behind some foam rubber footballs. “The crooks could come at any second!”
In most ordinary towns, the police do not rely on two kids and a sleeping dog to solve crimes, but Ferryport Landing was no ordinary town. More than half of its residents were part of a secret community known as Everafters. Everafters were actually fairy-tale characters who had migrated from far and wide to the United States over two hundred years ago. They had settled in the little town and now used magical disguises to live and work alongside their human neighbors. Ogres worked at the post office, witches ran the twenty-four-hour diner, and the legendary Prince Charming served as the town’s mayor. The humans were none the wiser—except the Grimms.
Sabrina would have been happy to live in blissful ignorance, but her family had been involved with Everafters since her great-great-great-great-grandfather Wilhelm Grimm and his brother, Jacob, helped establish Ferryport Landing. Some might think it thrilling to live next door to fairies and princesses, but Sabrina felt like she was trapped inside a bad dream. Most of the Everafters saw her family as their bitter enemies, largely because of the magical curse Wilhelm and a witch named Baba Yaga had used to trap them within the town’s borders. It stopped a war between the Everafters and the humans, but it also created an invisible cage. No Everafter could leave Ferryport Landing unless the Grimms abandoned the town or died out. More than a few folks would have been happy to see either happen.
Even with that dark cloud hanging over her family, Granny Relda had made a few genuine friends in the community. Among them was a portly sheriff named Ernest Hamstead, who happened to be one of the three not-so-little pigs. He occasionally turned up at the family’s door asking for help with unsolved cases, and Granny couldn’t resist a mystery.
So here Sabrina sat, leg cramps and all, waiting for burglars to make their move inside the toyshop. There were things she would rather be doing, things she should be doing, like finding her parents. Instead, she and her sister were hiding behind Etch-A-Sketches and cans of Silly String stacked miles high. It was boring work with few distractions. At least she could use the time productively. Sabrina reached into her pocket and pulled out a small flashlight. She flicked its switch to illuminate a book sitting at her feet. She picked it up and started reading. The Jungle Book might hold a clue to rescuing her mom and dad, but she’d barely read a paragraph before Daphne was grumbling.
“Sabrina,” Daphne whispered, “what are you doing? You’re going to give us away. Turn off that light.”
Sabrina slammed the book closed. There was no arguing with her sister. Daphne had taken to all this silly detective work the way a dog takes to a slice of bologna. Like their grandmother, Daphne loved all of it—the note taking, the stakeouts, the endless research. If only she would use all that energy on something that really mattered—reuniting their family!
A rustling sound drifted across the room, and Sabrina quickly shut off her flashlight. She peered over the stack of dolls and spotted something moving near a display for a hot holiday toy called Don’t Tickle the Tiger. Daphne poked her head up, too.
“Do you see anything?” she whispered.
“No. But it’s coming from that direction,” Sabrina whispered back, pointing toward the rustling. “Wake up Sleepy and see if he smells anything.”
Daphne shook Elvis until he staggered to his feet. The big dog’s bandages had only recently been removed. He’d had a run-in with a bad guy’s boot but had made a full recovery. Still, he was a bit sluggish. He looked around as if he didn’t remember where he was.
“You smell any bad guys, Elvis?” Daphne asked softly.
The dog sniffed the air, and his eyes grew wide. He let out a soft whine. The best nose in the Hudson Valley smelled something, indeed.
“Go get ‘em, boy!” Daphne cried, and the Great Dane took off like a rocket.
Unfortunately, that was when Sabrina realized Elvis’s leash was wrapped around her foot. As the dog howled wildly and tore through the store, he dragged Sabrina, thrashing, behind him, knocking over stacks of board games and sending balls bouncing in every direction. They emptied puzzle pieces everywhere and sent an army of Slinkys slinking across the floor. Sabrina struggled to grab the leash, but every time she got close to freeing herself, the dog took a wild turn and sent her skidding. She slid into a pile of what felt like sticky leaves. Some clung to her arms and legs, and one glued itself to her forehead.
“Turn on the lights!” Daphne shouted.
When the lights finally came on, Elvis stopped, stood over Sabrina, and barked. The girl sat up and then looked down at herself. She was covered in sticky glue mousetraps, each of which had a tiny little man, no more than a couple of inches high, stuck fast in the glue.
“Hey, let me go!” one of them shouted.
“What’s the big idea?” another cried.
“Lilliputians! I knew it!” Granny Relda said, then spotted Sa-brina’s predicament and laughed. When Sabrina scowled at her, she tried to stop but couldn’t.
“Oh, liebling” she giggled.
“Who’s the sick psychopath who came up with this idea?” one of the Lilliputians shouted indignantly.
Granny leaned down to him and smiled. “Don’t worry, with a little vegetable oil we’ll have you free in no time.”
“But I’m afraid you’re under arrest,” Sheriff Hamstead said as he stepped out from behind a rack of doll clothes. His puffy, pink face beamed proudly as he tugged his trousers up over his massive belly.
The Lilliputians groaned and complained as the sheriff went to work yanking the sticky traps off Sabrina’s clothes.
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
“Ouch!” said Sabrina as the sheriff tugged a glue-trap from her forehead.
“I’m not talking, copper,” one of the Lilliputians snapped. “And I’m suing you for wrongful arrest.”
“Wrongful arrest!” Sheriff Hamstead exclaimed. Unfortunately, when the portly policeman got angry or excited, the magical disguise he used to hide who he really was stopped working. Now his nose vanished and was replaced by a runny pink snout. Two hairy pig ears popped out of the top of his head, and a series of snorts, squeals, and huffs came out of his mouth. Hamstead had nearly completed the change when the security guard from the next store over wandered into the chaos.
“What’s going on in here?” the guard asked with a tough, authoritative voice. He was a tall, husky man with a military-style haircut, but when he saw the pig in a police uniform hovering over a dozen tiny men in glue traps, he nearly fainted.
“Oh, dear. We forgot some of the shops have their own security guards,” Granny Relda said softly as she reached into her handbag and approached the stunned man.
“Granny, no,” Sabrina begged.
“I don’t have a choice, Sabrina. It doesn’t hurt him,” Granny explained, then blew some soft pink dust into the guard’s face.
His eyes glazed over as the old woman told him he’d had another ordinary night at work and nothing unusual had occurred. The security guard nodded in agreement.
“Another night at work,” he mumbled, falling under the forgetful dust’s magic.
Sabrina scowled. She hated when magic was the quick-fix to a problem, especially when the problem involved humans.
I’m going to die of boredom here, Sabrina Grimm thought as she looked out the train window at Ferryport Landing, New York, approaching in the distance. The little town seemed to be made mostly of hills and trees next to the cold, gray Hudson River. Endless acres of evergreen forest surrounded it, as if trying to hide its existence from the rest of the world. A few two- and three-story buildings huddled around what appeared to be the town’s only street. Sabrina couldn’t see any movie theaters, malls, or museums, and she felt using the word town to describe Ferryport Landing was a bit of a stretch.
The weather wasn’t helping. It was raining, and rain always made her melancholy. It had been raining the day her parents abandoned her a year and a half ago, and it still made her heart ache. She remembered the day clearly, rushing home that afternoon with a report card safely tucked inside her raincoat. Excited about her As in math and English and her B in science (and a little disappointed by her C– in gym). She proudly taped her grades to the refrigerator for everyone to see when they got home. It seemed odd that her parents weren’t there, but Sabrina didn’t worry until Daphne’s kindergarten teacher called to find out why no one had picked up the little girl. That night the girls slept in their parents’ bed, waiting for them to come home while thunder crashed in the sky outside. When the social workers came three days later to take them away, it was still raining, and Sabrina’s report card was still hanging on the refrigerator awaiting its praise. For all Sabrina knew, it was still there.
The police investigated the disappearance. They searched the family’s New York City apartment for clues. They interviewed neighbors and coworkers. They dusted for fingerprints and filed reports, but Henry and Veronica Grimm had vanished into thin air. Months later the police found their abandoned car, deserted in a lonely park fifty miles north of the city. The only clue was a bloodred handprint on the dashboard that turned out to be paint but didn’t lead to anything else. The investigation came to a dead end, and the cops eventually gave up the search.
The girls were placed under the care of social services at first. A nice but overworked man named Todd searched for a next of kin, someone who could take them in, but came up as empty as the police. No aunts, uncles, grandparents, brothers, sisters, or even distant twice-removed cousins existed. Todd promised to keep trying, but when Sabrina and Daphne were moved to an orphanage, they never saw him again.
Sabrina shook off the sad memories and tucked her long blond hair behind her ear. She felt like crying but couldn’t let her sister see her blubbering. She needed to be the strong one; after all, she was almost twelve years old.
Not that Daphne would have noticed. At the moment, Sabrina’s seven-year-old sister had her face pressed against the train’s window, as she had for the entire two-hour trip. She marveled at each ugly little dot on the map they rolled through like they were Paris, Rome, and Los Angeles. She only took occasional breaks from the view to ask questions about their destination.
“Do they have bagels in Ferryport Landing, Ms. Smirt?” Daphne asked the woman sitting across from them. Ms. Minerva Smirt was the girls’ caseworker from the orphanage. She was a pinch-lipped, humorless woman in her late fifties. As usual, her hooked nose was buried in a book. Sabrina knew she was reading only so she wouldn’t have to talk to them.
Ms. Smirt looked up at Daphne with an annoyed scowl and sighed as if the little girl’s questions were more than she could bear.
“Of course they have bagels. They have bagels everywhere,” Ms. Smirt snapped.
“Not on the moon,” Daphne replied matter-of-factly as she returned her gaze to the window.
Ms. Smirt snarled, and Sabrina snickered. It was so easy to get on the woman’s nerves, and Daphne was particularly good at it. Smirt had made a terrible mistake when she chose a career working with children, Sabrina thought, especially since she didn’t seem to like them. The woman complained whenever she had to touch their sticky hands or wipe their runny noses, and reading bedtime stories was completely out of the question. She seemed to especially dislike the Grimm sisters, labeling them rude, uncooperative, and a couple of know-it-alls. So Sabrina was sure it was Ms. Smirt’s personal mission to get the girls out of the orphanage and into a foster home. So far she had failed miserably, sending them to live with people who were usually mean and occasionally crazy. Some used them as maids and house sitters, while others just plain ignored them. This time, however, Smirt had gone too far. This time she was sending them to live with a dead woman.
“I hope you won’t bother your grandmother with all these ridiculous questions!” Ms. Smirt said curtly, which was how she said most things to Sabrina and Daphne. “She is old and cannot handle a lot of trouble.”
“She’s dead! I’ve already told you a million times, our grandmother is dead!” said Sabrina.
“We did a background check, Sally,” Ms. Smirt replied. “She is who she says she is.”
“My name is Sabrina.” Sabrina sighed.
“Whatever. The orphanage would not just release you into anyone’s custody,” said Ms. Smirt.
“Oh, really? How about Ms. Langdon, who swore her toilet was haunted?” said Sabrina.
“Everyone has their quirks.”
“Or Mr. Dennison, who made us sleep in his truck?” Daphne chimed in.
“Some people love the great outdoors.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Johnson handcuffed us to a radiator!” Sabrina cried.
Ms. Smirt rolled her eyes. “You act like it was the end of the world. Imagine how hard this has been on me. I was mortified when I heard what you said to the Keatons!”
“They locked us in their house for two weeks so they could go on a cruise to Bora-Bora,” Sabrina said.
“I think it was the Bahamas,” Daphne said.
“It was Bermuda, and they brought you both back some lovely T-shirts,” said Ms. Smirt. “Anyway, it’s all water under the bridge now. We found a real relative who is actually eager to take you into her home, and not a moment too soon. To be honest, we have run out of families looking for rude little girls. Even if she were an imposter, I would hand you over to her.”
With that, Ms. Smirt put her nose back into her book. Sabrina looked at the title. It was called How to Get the Love You Want.
The conductor’s voice rang out from the speakers on the ceiling. He announced that Ferryport Landing was the next and last stop.
“What’s an imposter?” Daphne asked.
“It’s a person who pretends to be someone she’s not,” Sabrina said.
“Do you think there’s any chance she’s really our grandmother?”
“Not a chance,” Sabrina whispered into her sister’s ear. “Dad told me she died before we were even born. No, she’s some crackpot, but don’t worry—we’ll be gone before the crazy old bat knows what’s happened.”
The train slowed as it pulled into the station, and passengers got up from their seats. They took down their bags from the luggage racks above and tossed half-read newspapers onto the coffee-stained floor before heading toward the doors.
“Ladies, let’s go!” Ms. Smirt ordered. Sabrina didn’t want to meet this imposter, but she knew better than to argue with the old crone. Smirt had a reputation as a pincher, and she’d left more than a few nasty purple bruises on back-talking orphans. So Sabrina did as she was told and dragged Daphne’s and her tiny suitcases down from the rack, then followed Ms. Smirt and her sister off the train.
The rain was bitingly cold. Daphne shivered, so Sabrina wrapped her arm around her sister’s shoulders and held her tightly as they disembarked onto the crowded platform.
“The two of you had better be polite, or there’s going to be trouble,” Ms. Smirt said. “No sass, no back talk, stand up straight, and act like young ladies for once, or so help me I’ll—”
“Ms. Smirt?” A chubby old woman interrupted the caseworker’s threat. She was dressed in an ankle-length navy-blue dress and had a white knitted shawl around her shoulders. Her gray hair was streaked with red, hinting at its original color, and she wore it tightly tucked under a matching navy-blue hat with an appliqué of a big fuzzy sunflower in the middle. Her face was a collection of wrinkles and sagging skin. Nevertheless, there was something youthful about her. Perhaps it was her red cheeks and clear green eyes.
Next to her stood the skinniest man Sabrina had ever seen. He wore a dark pin-striped suit that was several sizes too big and held a wide umbrella in one hand and his hat in the other. His head was full of untamed platinum hair, and his enormous, watery eyes were hidden beneath wild, unkempt brows.
“Yes, Mrs. Grimm. It’s us,” Ms. Smirt said, forcing her usual frown into a smile.
“Sabrina? Daphne?” the woman cried with a hint of a German accent. “Oh, you are both so beautiful. What little darlings! I’m your Grandmother Grimm.” She wrapped her arms around the girls and pulled them close. The girls squirmed to escape, but the old woman was like an over-affectionate octopus.
“Mrs. Grimm, it’s so nice to meet you,” Ms. Smirt interrupted. “I’m Minerva Smirt. We spoke on the phone.”
The old woman raised herself up to her full height, which wasn’t very high, and cocked an eyebrow at the caseworker. Sabrina could have sworn she saw the old woman smirk.
“It’s nice to meet you, too,” said Mrs. Grimm stiffly.
“I am just so thrilled to have helped you and the girls reunite.”
“Oh, I’m sure you are,” Mrs. Grimm said, turning her back on the caseworker and giving the girls a wink. She placed a hand on each girl’s shoulder and turned them toward her companion.
“Girls, this is Mr. Canis. He helps me take care of our house and other matters. He lives with us, too, and he’ll be helping me look after you,” she said.
Daphne and Sabrina stared up into the old man’s gaunt face. He was so frail it seemed as though the umbrella he was holding might collapse on him at any moment. He nodded, silent as a statue, then handed Mrs. Grimm the umbrella. He took the two suitcases from Sabrina and walked down the platform toward the parking lot.
“Well, ladies, this looks like good-bye,” said Ms. Smirt. She stepped forward and limply hugged Daphne, whispering something in her ear that made the little girl cringe. Then she hooked Sabrina in her uncomfortable embrace. “Let’s make this the last time we see each other.”
She gave Sabrina a final, painful pinch before the girl could pull away, then turned back to the old woman.
“Good luck, Mrs. Grimm.” She reached out to shake Mrs. Grimm’s hand, but the old woman looked at it as if the caseworker were trying to give her something smelly and dead. Smirt sensed her disapproval, hemmed and hawed for a moment, then quickly reboarded the train without looking back. The doors shut, and soon it pulled away, back to New York City.
Mrs. Grimm directed the girls down the platform, unloading a barrage of kisses that continued all the way to the parking lot. Mr. Canis was waiting there, next to a rusty heap of a car that squealed in protest when he opened the back door.
“Is this safe?” Sabrina asked.
“It got us here.” The old woman laughed. “I suppose it will get us back.”
The girls crawled inside to find the interior was as ancient and shabby as the outside. Springs and foam erupted through the seat cushions, and when Sabrina looked down she could see a hole in the floorboard that revealed the pavement below.
“Put on your seat belts,” Mrs. Grimm said.
The girls searched for the belts but found just two ends of a frayed rope buried in the seats.
“These?” Daphne asked.
Mrs. Grimm reached around, tied both ends together over their laps, and then smiled.
“There! Safety first,” she cried.
Mr. Canis started the engine, and it sputtered, backfired, and then roared to life, belching a black fog out of the tailpipe. When he put it into drive an orchestra of gears screamed so loudly that Sabrina thought she might go deaf. Daphne plugged her fingers into her ears.
Mrs. Grimm turned to the girls and shouted something Sabrina couldn’t hear.
“What?” Sabrina shouted back.
“What?!” the old woman asked.
“I can’t hear you!” Sabrina yelled.
“More than six!” the old woman replied.
“Six what?” Sabrina screamed.
“Probably!” The old woman laughed.
“I love dolphins, too!” Daphne exclaimed.
“Not since I hurt my toes!” Mrs. Grimm shouted.
Sabrina put her face in her hands and groaned.
They drove through the little town, which consisted of a two-lane road bordered by a couple of antiques stores, a bicycle shop, a police station and jail, a post office, a dentist, a restaurant named Old King Cole’s, a toy store, and a beauty parlor. Mr. Canis made a left turn at the town’s one and only stoplight, and within seconds they were cruising out of the town proper and into what Mrs. Grimm called “Ferryport Landing’s farm country.” As far as Sabrina could tell, the only crop this town grew was mud.