Lost in the Tunnel of Time Read Free Page B

scene.
    Mrs. Powell continued. “Long before there were bridges and highways, about the time that Mr. Greene’s grandpa Mac and his mother came here, there lived an old Shawnee Indian woman down by the river. She was about a hundred years old and was very wise. All the river men knew her and looked out for her. They would bring her fish, or cloth, or pretty shells that they collected in their travels on the river. In turn she helped them if they got sick or if they needed a place to sleep.
    â€œMany people said that she also helped escaped slaves, but no one knew for sure. Some said that a tunnel ran from her place by the river, all the way under the city; others said it just seemed that way because she moved so silently and quickly.
    â€œBut everyone knew about her songs. Her voice,sometimes sounding like a bird, sometimes like the whispering wind itself, soothed and comforted all who heard it. Listening to her song made anyone smile. She would sit by the water’s edge at sunset and sing. Long after dark, her songs filled the night.”
    â€œWhat was her name?” asked Mimi.
    â€œThey called her Sun Spirit,” Mrs. Powell answered.
    â€œThat’s a beautiful name,” Mimi remarked.
    â€œOne night the songs were silent,” continued Mrs. Powell. “The folks who lived by the river searched for the old woman, but they found only the ashes of an old campfire and seven small, smooth stones.”
    At the mention of the seven stones, Rico looked at Ziggy in amazement.
    â€œYou know, in some cultures the number seven means good luck,” Mrs. Powell added.
    â€œI told you!” Ziggy whispered to Rico in triumph.
    â€œSo is Sun Spirit the ghost?” asked Jerome.
    â€œNo one knows, Jerome,” Mrs. Powell replied softly. “But late at night, after everyone has gone to bed, that strange whistling wind can still beheard, blowing from the river and over the streets of Cincinnati. Sometimes it sounds like a voice; sometimes it sounds like a song,” she said, finishing her story as she’d begun it.

    The children shivered, even though the sun was warm and bright. “That was a good story,” whispered Nicole.
    * * *
    Mrs. Powell stood up, looked at her watch, and announced, “It’s about time to head for the boat, class. That’s where we’ll eat our lunch.” Everyone stretched and walked slowly and quietly to the bus. Each child seemed to hold a little bit of the morning in his or her mind.
    â€œThanks, Mr. Greene,” Mrs. Powell added. “Your knowledge about the past makes it all seem very real to us.”
    â€œIt was my pleasure,” Mr. Greene replied. “And thank you, Mrs. Powell, for your story as well. The children will help us keep the old stories alive. We must never forget the past.”
    â€œRashawn took my lunch!” screamed Tiana. “He said he was going to throw it in the river!”
    â€œRashawn, unless you plan to swim in the river to get her lunch back, give Tiana her lunch and get on the bus!” called Mrs. Powell.
    â€œI was just playing,” Rashawn protested with a grin as he tossed Tiana her lunch bag. “I don’t want her stinky old sandwich anyway!”
    A short bus ride to the riverbank took the class to the boat launch.
    â€œOoh. Yuk!” Nicole complained as they boarded the boat. “I see a dead fish!”
    â€œYou’d be dead too, if you had to swim in that polluted water where the boat docks, mon,” said Ziggy.
    The captain of the brightly painted BB Riverboat smiled as each student stepped off the walkway and onto the boat. The boat was large enough to hold lots of people, but they had it to themselves this afternoon. There were tables set up for them to eat their lunches, and large open windows to view the river.
    Jerome stood by the window, felt the soft river breeze, and smiled with satisfaction. “I should be a riverboat captain! This is the