Numbering All the Bones, by Ann Rinaldi; Hyperion Books for Children: New York, 2002; $15.99 Only once in a very long time is a book published that is truly a work of art. It takes a great deal of work and time to have created such an extra special piece of writing. Only once in a while is a truly artistic and skillful book published, that readers of all ages can enjoy, now and for years to come. I’m proud to say that one such book exists. It is called Numbering All the Bones, by Ann Rinaldi. This book has a few imaginary characters but is actually based on a true story It tells history through the eyes of a thirteen- year-old slave girl, named Eulinda, who struggles to reunite her family—or what is left of them. In the 1800s, slavery was a common thing. It was 1864—the year of the Civil War. The north against the south; blacks against whites. It was the year of Abraham Lincoln, and his Emancipation Proclamation. I really liked this book because it was so convincingly written. It is based on things that happened in the past, but the way it was written and pieced together makes it seem unbelievably realistic. This book wasn’t just entertaining, though. I learned things that I’ve never really thought about before. Did you know that a woman named Clara Barton founded the American Red Cross in 1912? Well, neither did I until reading this book. My favorite character in the story was Clara Barton. Clara, a character in the story but also a real person, was a civil rights activist. I was amazed at how much she had accomplished, considering the fact that a woman back then had so few rights. She was even thought to be the most powerful woman in the world. In 1864, Confederate soldiers created a prison in Georgia in which they held prisoners of war—their own fellow Americans. It was a horrible prison; Ann Rinaldi really emphasizes that. Thousands of prisoners were dying every day, and more kept coming to the prison to take their places. The dead were neglected—carelessly dumped into trenches, many corpses sharing one trench. After the fall of the Confederacy, the prison was just shut down, for the war was over. Clara Barton, Eulinda, and a former and much luckier prisoner, got together and planned to properly re-bury the dead, one of whom was Eulinda’s last living family member. The most interesting part of the story was when Eulinda’s past was uncovered. It told of how her mom had died, how her brother was sold away after being framed for stealing a ring, and the devastating truth that her one last surviving family member, Neddy, was being held captive in that dreadful prison. I consider myself lucky to have had the opportunity of reading this book. It gave me a hauntingly realistic glimpse of what the past was really like, in a way that years of history books and classes could never have accomplished. Sajeda Ahmed, 13Detroit, Michigan
July/August 2007
If at First You Don’t Succeed, Try, Try Again
Izzy and her sister, Natalie, stepped onto the asphalt at Bergman’s Running Track on Norm Street. This was Izzy’s favorite time of day. Quiet. The sun was rising. Izzy began to run, slowly at first, then speeding up. By the time she reached Natalie again she was at full speed. “Time?” asked Izzy. “Two-thirty,” replied Nat. “Yes!” Izzy exclaimed. “One more time.” The big race, three miles, was three weeks away—so far yet so near. Izzy spent afternoons practicing with her teammates. She practiced at the track near her house on Saturdays. Natalie, who raced for her high school, went along. Nat made Izzy feel confident. She was pretty and kind. Izzy admired her. She was a streak when she ran yet she was so happy and carefree. She would never be like Nat but oh how she wished. Izzy was also a little competitive with Nat. Izzy sort of thought it was good to be a little competitive. Maybe. For the next hour, Izzy pushed herself to beat her best time. She loved running and the sensation of wind against her face at top speed. But she also wanted to win. “Let’s stop for a drink,” Natalie suggested. Izzy was glad. She was hot and sweaty. It was not an uncomfortable feeling, just a little feeling saying “mission accomplished.” They headed to Brooks convenience store, where she bought a bottle of water. Then they walked up Norm Street towards home. “On your mark, get set, go!” instructed Natalie Every Saturday, Izzy kept to the same routine: she got up with her sister at five AM, worked out at the track until seven and returned home a half hour later. At ten, her best friend Jessie would come by During those hours, Izzy amused herself by trying to watch a movie (Harry Potter), or reading a book (Harry Potter) or fitting together the pieces of a puzzle (Harry Potter), though she could hardly pay attention. Finally, ten o’clock came and so did Jessie. She tapped out the secret knock, although it wasn’t very secret anymore. The door swung open and the two friends gave each other a quick hug. They grabbed some Power Bars and left for the pool. That was how it went every Saturday. Izzy liked it. * * * It was the last Saturday before the race. Jessie had decided to join Izzy and Natalie for their Saturday routine. “On your mark, get set, go!” instructed Natalie. Izzy and Jessie ran and ran. On this morning, Izzy didn’t notice the wonderful silence or the beautiful sunrise. “Time?” Izzy breathed after finishing twelve hard laps, hopping from one foot to the other. “Thirty-five minutes flat,” Natalie replied. “Not bad for three miles,” Jessie said, trying to laugh. She was trying to be funny but Izzy could tell she was worrying about the race. They practiced for another hour, trying. Izzy and Jessie were pleased. Better. “You’ve got a whole week to practice,” Natalie said. Her words were reassuring, but seven days didn’t seem enough. When they got home Izzy and Jessie were exhausted. No swimming. * * * Izzy’s time was improving, but butterflies were beginning to form in her stomach. They came flying in as the day drew nearer. And finally just when there was no room for another butterfly, not even a moth, it was time. Izzy and Jessie arrived twenty minutes early, as did the rest. The girls greeted each other with chatter. They warmed up alongside the track. Parents, teachers and friends arrived. Then noise. “I’m scared,” Izzy whispered to Natalie, who stood with her. “Don’t worry you’ll do fine,” she replied. Izzy took her place on the track. The whistle blew. Before Izzy could think, her legs were carrying her. Going, going, Izzy felt so tired and she began to slow. It seemed like forever before the finish line came into view. And it seemed even longer before she crossed it. Everyone else was there already, it seemed. She had failed. Izzy had thought she was a good runner and now what? Should she quit? She sat down with the rest of her team. She couldn’t hear the loudspeaker as it called out the winners. Tears pressed hot behind her eyes. She looked down. This was more than embarrassing. * * * Weeks went by, races were missed. Practice didn’t go well either. Nothing could comfort Izzy. She hadn’t run for days. You’d have to be very smart to think of anything that would upset Izzy more than this, but your guess would probably be wrong anyway. Almost every day Natalie would ask, “Are you sure you don’t want to run today?” And Izzy would always say, “Just leave me alone!” One day, Jessie sat down beside Izzy in her room to talk. “We’ve been losing all this time and if you don’t start coming to practices today we won’t get to go to the championship race. You need to be back. And I miss you with me.” “Huh?” Izzy was stunned. “You’re a great runner, Izzy.” “But I let you down,” Izzy sighed, “didn’t I?” “You didn’t. You were nervous. Everyone has those days. Don’t let a silly little race tear you away from something you love,” Jessie explained reassuringly. “Really?” Izzy asked excitedly. “Yeah,” was Jessie’s calm answer. Izzy felt like crying. “Thanks,” was all she could say. “So will you win?” asked Jessie. Her tone had changed. Now it was determined. Izzy nodded. They hugged, then walked out the door of Izzy’s house and headed to go—what else?—running. As she sprinted, wind whipping at her hair, a smile crossed her face. She was back. * * * Izzy and Jessie were the first runners at the championship race. Then the crowd and then noise. But Izzy didn’t hear the noise; she was happy. “On your mark. Get set. Go!” Izzy knew exactly what to do. She felt like wind. Sunlight shown on her cheeks, her heart bursting with joy.
Night Flight
I walk out into the hot summer night and head across the lawn to the barn. Fresh dew covers the lush grass, and I lift the small red backpack that hangs by my side so that it will not get wet. Fireflies flash silently through the air, gleaming like tiny flying diamonds. The full moon shines almost as brightly as the sun. I reach the barn, where my horse, Athena, stands in her stall. When she hears me coming, she lifts her head and pricks up her ears. She snorts softly. I reach into my backpack for an apple, and place it on the top of her door. She devours it happily. I open her stall and she prances out. I take off the thick wool blanket which covers her. She trembles with excitement. She knows what comes next. I slide her bridle over her head, and fasten the tiny buckles. I take a moment to slide my backpack over my shoulders. Then I slip up onto her broad bare back. It wouldn’t be the same to ride her with a saddle. I turn her out of the barn and we walk down the driveway until we are out of earshot of the house. Then we walk a little farther just in case. I don’t want to wake my parents. When we have gone a safe distance, I ask her for a gallop. She responds immediately, taking off, her neck stretching out, her hooves striking the ground in a quickening rhythm. The gentle thundering of her hooves ripples through the still night air. She pulls hard, asking for some extra rein. I let her have it, allowing it to slip easily through my fingers. Faster and faster we go. I feel as though we’re flying and suddenly, we are. She gives one last push with her mighty back hooves, then spreads her giant wings and we begin to soar through a black velvet sky. The moonlight is shining on Athena’s snow-white coat We fly low over the tops of trees, startling birds who are already asleep. They awake unhappily, squawking and shrieking, flapping and fluttering. We are the largest thing they have ever seen in the night sky. Then we clear the trees and we are flying over open ground, sparkling with the same dew that I walked through earlier on my way to the barn. I keep Athena down low so that people cannot see us easily. We fly over backyards where dogs look up at us and bark an alarm. But when people come out to investigate they do not see us, for we are flying so fast we are already gone. I look down to see a series of tiny ponds below me. The moonlight is shining on Athena’s snow-white coat, and I can see her image reflected in the ponds as we glide past. I ease her down out of the sky and we land softly by the water’s edge. I slide off of her back. Athena slips her delicate muzzle into the water and drinks noisily. When she is done she lifts her head and water dribbles from her lips. I cup the water in my hands and bring it to my mouth. It is cool and refreshing. I remove my canteen from my backpack and fill it. I scoop up some water and pour it over my head. Athena watches me closely, enviously. I pour the contents of my canteen over her back and she closes her eyes in bliss. I refill my canteen and relax on the bank of the pond as I sip from it. I am suddenly aware of just how beautiful the night is. The moon’s reflection dances across the water. Crickets sing from the nearby meadow. Tiny bats flutter over the pond, snatching mosquitoes out of the air and swooping down low for an occasional drink. The scent of summer flowers lingers in the air. After a short rest, I mount Athena again and we are off. As we soar beneath the stars, the gentle notes of “Pachabel’s Canon” drift lazily below me. I look down and see that there is a concert on the lawn of the museum. This is one of my favorite pieces of music, and hearing it played live is a special treat. I guide Athena down behind the museum and together we sit and listen to the beautiful notes hanging in the still night air. Even though I have no saddle, the feathers of Athena’s furled wings feel so soft and comfortable that I feel as if I am sitting on a down comforter. When the last note has been played and the concert is over, I turn Athena around and we run again. I am reminded once more of how much I love the way it feels when she finally lifts off. Her speed creates a wind that ruffles my hair and lifts the mane off her neck. It makes the feathers dance on her wings. As she flies, the beating of her wings makes a comforting sound similar to the sound made by my mother’s sheets, snapping on the clothesline on a windy afternoon. I feel as if I could fly forever. I wish that everyone could see her, she is so beautiful as she flies, but I know that this secret must be mine alone. I shudder when I think of what might happen if people knew that she existed. She might be taken or stolen from me. My parents might decide that it is too dangerous for me to fly. Someone might kill her, just because she’s different. Even if none of that happened, publicity could be the end of all that we love. There would never be quiet times again for us to just fly silently through the darkness; under a canopy of glowing stars… enjoying ourselves and all the night has to offer. As we fly, I look down at my watch and realize that it is
