A Good Night for Ghosts Page 5

  When Dipper, Jack, and Annie came to Jackson Square, they found kids playing music again. A band was playing a song Jack knew: “When the Saints Go Marching In.” A few people in costumes were wandering about.

  Dipper led Jack and Annie to the back door of the River Café. “The cook here is a friend of mine. So don’t worry about the waiters,” he said with a wink. “Be back in a minute.” He slipped into the café kitchen.

  As Jack and Annie waited for Dipper, they could hear the jazzy music coming from the square:

  Oh, when the saints go marching in,

  Oh, when the saints go marching in.

  “Teddy was right. I love New Orleans,” said Annie.

  “Me too,” said Jack. “But how are we ever going to accomplish our mission for Merlin? Dipper seems like he’s never going to change his mind about making music.”

  “I know,” said Annie. “In fact, I was just thinking that we might have to do something really drastic.”

  “What’s that?” said Jack.

  “Show him our research book,” said Annie.

  “Whoa!” said Jack. “Do you really think—”

  Before Jack could finish, Dipper came back outside. “Mmm-mmm! Talk about something good!” he said. He clutched a greasy napkin filled with freshly made doughnuts. “Follow me.”

  As Jack and Annie followed Dipper to the river, Jack’s mind was racing. Should they show Dipper the research book? It would prove they’d come from the future. What would Dipper say? What would he think? It’s too weird, Jack thought.

  “Let’s just try talking to him first,” Jack whispered to Annie. She nodded.

  Dipper led them to a bench near the water. Jack and Annie sat on the wet wood on either side of him. Dipper unwrapped the doughnuts and handed one to Jack and one to Annie and kept one for himself.

  “Careful,” Dipper said. “The sugar will get all over y’all.”

  Jack lifted the warm, sticky doughnut to his mouth and took a big bite. Powdered sugar, flour, butter, vanilla—all melted in his mouth. It was mighty good.

  Nobody talked while they ate their doughnuts. When they were finished, they all wiped their sticky fingers on their shirts and pants. By now, Jack’s clothes were soaked with rainwater, coal dust, kitchen grease, sweat, and grime. A little powdered sugar and butter won’t make a bit of difference, he thought.

  “So, Dipper,” said Annie. “You know you’re a really great musician, don’t you?”

  Dipper smiled at her.

  “Actually, you’re a creative genius,” added Jack.

  Dipper laughed out loud. “And y’all know who you are, don’t you?”

  “Yup, the biggest potato heads you ever met,” finished Jack.

  “But this time we’re right,” said Annie.

  “Nope, sorry,” said Dipper. “I’m definitely no genius. The truth is I never got past elementary school. I don’t even know how to read music.”

  “But don’t you love to play music?” said Annie.

  “Yeah, sure, I do. Somehow I’ve got music in my bones,” said Dipper. “Sad to say, all I really ever want to do is blow my horn.”

  “Then why don’t you?” said Jack. He felt desperate. Even without their mission for Merlin, it seemed incredibly sad that Dipper had turned his back on his music.

  “Yeah, why don’t you go play on the riverboat with the fellas?” said Annie. “It wouldn’t hurt you to miss a few hours’ sleep.”

  Dipper took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “When I was twelve years old, I got too rowdy one time,” he said. “It was New Year’s Eve. I was singing with the fellas, and I got carried away and fired off a gun… just into the air. I wasn’t trying to hurt anybody. But I got caught and I got sentenced to two years in the Waif’s Home. I just got out a little while ago. I feel really bad for letting my family down like that. So right now, all I want to do is help them by keeping a steady job.”

  “But what about a job playing music?” said Jack. “Great musicians can make a lot of money and help their families.”

  “Not playing the music I want to play” said Dipper. “At least I haven’t met any. Have you?”

  “Yes. Actually we have,” said Annie. She turned and looked at Jack. “We have to do it.”

  Jack sighed, then nodded slowly. Annie was right. He reached into his bag and pulled out their research book.

  Jack pushed his glasses into place and opened A History of New Orleans Music.

  “What’s that, man?” Dipper asked.

  “It’s a history book,” said Jack.

  “Teddy and Kathleen gave it to us,” said Annie.

  “Oh, yeah, my best friends,” said Dipper.

  Jack looked in the index of the book. He found the right page and turned to it.

  “I’m going to read something to you, man,” said Jack. “Just listen.” And Jack read:

  As a young teenager, Louis Armstrong often performed with “kid bands” on the streets of the city. Eventually he played with older musicians in dance halls, and he developed his musical talents performing on Mississippi river-boats. When he was twenty-one, he moved to Chicago, where he played in the well-known band of his old friend Joe Oliver.

  “Joe Oliver?” said Dipper. “Joe’s in that book? I’m in that book?”

  “Yep. Hold on, there’s more,” said Jack. He read:

  Over time, Louis Armstrong became world-famous, but he always called New Orleans home. The city honored him by naming a large park the Louis Armstrong Park. It also named its airport the Louis Armstrong International Airport.

  “What’s that? International airport?” asked Dipper.

  “That’s where planes fly in and out from all over the world,” said Annie.

  Dipper started laughing. “Y’all are pulling my leg.”

  “No,” said Jack. “We’re not. Look at this, Dipper.” He held up the book and showed Dipper the picture of Louis Armstrong, the King of Jazz, playing the trumpet in front of a huge crowd. “That’s you, Dipper.”

  Jack waited for Dipper to laugh and say the picture wasn’t him. But Dipper stopped smiling and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ve seen that picture before,” he said softly.

  “You have?” said Jack, stunned.

  “You’ve seen this picture before?” said Annie. “Where?”

  “Here.” Dipper touched his chest. “Here, in my heart. It’s the picture I’ve had in my heart for a long time, like a dream. Hey, y’all, is this a dream?”

  Jack and Annie laughed. Annie smiled. “Yes, you could say that,” she said.

  “But it’s a true dream,” said Jack.

  “Keep that picture in your heart, Dipper,” said Annie. “Hold it close to you, and one day you’ll be living it. We promise.”

  For a long time the three of them just stared at the picture. When Jack looked at Dipper again, he saw tears glisten in Dipper’s eyes.

  “Okay, I’ll do that,” said Dipper. He wiped his eyes with the palms of his hands. “I think I can keep my jobs and start making a little room for my music, too.”

  “Yes!” said Annie.

  “Maybe you should go play with the fellas on the riverboat tonight,” said Jack.

  “Yeah, maybe I’ll try and do that,” said Dipper.

  “Great!” said Annie.

  Jack heaved a sigh and put away their book.

  Dipper stood up. “But now y’all have to get going. On the eve of All Saints’ Day, there’s a curfew for kids under thirteen. They have to be off the streets by nine, or the paddy wagon will pick ’em up.”

  “So… you’re definitely on the path to sharing your musical gift with the world. Right, man?” asked Jack.

  Dipper laughed. “I reckon I am,” he said. “Thanks to a couple of potato heads.”

  “Okay, good,” said Jack. He and Annie stood up. “To get home, we need to walk to Bourbon Street and catch a streetcar to Canal Street.”

  “Let’s go,” said Dipper.

  The three of them left the wat
erfront. They walked past Jackson Square and headed past the cathedral on St. Peter Street.

  “I’ll walk y’all back to Bourbon Street,” said Dipper.

  “Then do you have time to ride back with us to Canal Street?” said Annie. “So we can hang out together a little longer on the train?”

  “You know I can’t do that,” said Dipper. “They won’t let me sit with y’all on the streetcar.”

  “Why not?” asked Jack.

  “I’d have to sit in the back while y’all sit up front,” said Dipper.

  “What are you talking about?” said Annie.

  “Y’all are white. I’m black,” said Dipper.

  “So?” said Annie.

  “Black folks aren’t allowed to sit with white folks. That’s the way it is,” said Dipper.

  “Are you kidding? That’s crazy!” said Annie.

  “No, I’m not kidding,” said Dipper. He stopped walking and looked closely at Jack and Annie. “Where are y’all from? How’d you get that crazy history book with my picture in it? And why did y’all come here to find me?”

  “It’s really, really hard to explain, Dipper,” said Jack. “But just know this: one day things are going to change. Everybody will sit together on trains and buses and planes.”

  “And one day an African American man will run for president of the United States,” said Annie. “And millions of people—of all colors—will vote for him.”

  “And he’ll win!” said Jack.

  Dipper laughed and shook his head. “Okay, now I know I’m dreaming,” he said, “but I really like this dream.”

  “It’s the truth,” said Annie. “We promise.”

  By now they had come to the corner of St. Peter and Bourbon Street. “This is where I leave you,” said Dipper.

  Annie threw her arms around Dipper and gave him a big hug. “Good-bye, Dipper!”

  Jack did the same. “Bye, man,” he said. “Thanks a million.”

  “Same to you,” said Dipper. “Hey, there’s your streetcar now.”

  The streetcar glided to a stop at the corner. Jack and Annie hopped aboard and sat in front. As the streetcar went up Bourbon Street, they stuck their heads out the window and waved to Dipper. He waved back. Jack and Annie waved and waved, until they couldn’t see Dipper anymore.

  As the streetcar rumbled down Canal Street, Jack looked over his shoulder. Dipper was right. African Americans were sitting in the back, while only white people were in the front. Jack hadn’t even noticed it on their first streetcar ride.

  Jack’s heart felt heavy. Why would anyone not want to sit next to someone just because they are a different color? he wondered. How could anyone ever be mean to Dipper? Dipper, who is gentle and friendly and kind? Dipper, who hears music everywhere?

  Jack listened to the click-clack of the streetcar rolling down the tracks. The sound had a good beat. Jack tapped his hand against his knee, until the streetcar came to a stop.

  “Let’s go,” said Annie.

  Jack and Annie stood up. Canal Street was bright with lights. People were still selling things on the sidewalk.

  “What time is it, please?” Jack asked the conductor.

  “Five minutes after nine, boy,” said the conductor. “Y’all better head for home.”

  “We are!” said Annie.

  Jack and Annie hopped off the streetcar and started to run. They ran to the bottom of Canal Street and crossed to the palm trees in the grove near the Mississippi River. In the dark, they found the rope ladder and scrambled up it into the tree house.

  Jack grabbed the Pennsylvania book that would take them home.

  “Wait!” said Annie, looking out the window. “Look!”

  A brightly lit Mississippi showboat was rolling up the river. A large paddle wheel behind the boat was churning the water. Music was coming from on board.

  Annie grabbed Jack’s arm. “Listen! The ‘Heebie-Jeebies’!” she said.

  Jack listened. He could hear the trio singing: Little Mack, Happy, and Big Nose Sidney. But the best sound of all was the bright sound of a horn sailing through the New Orleans night.

  “It’s Dipper!” said Annie. “It’s got to be!”

  “He caught the boat!” said Jack. “Just in time!”

  Jack and Annie listened to the joyful swinging sound of Dipper’s music until the riverboat rolled out of sight.

  Jack heaved a happy sigh. Then he pointed at their Pennsylvania book. “I wish we could go home,” he said.

  The wind began to blow.

  The tree house started to spin.

  It spun faster and faster.

  Then everything was still.

  Absolutely still.

  Jack and Annie were wearing their own clothes again. Rain tapped gently against the roof of the tree house. A cool breeze blew through the window.

  “We have to get home before Mom and Dad wake up,” said Annie.

  “Right,” said Jack. He pulled A History of New Orleans Music out of his backpack and left it on the floor.

  Annie put the trumpet beside it. Then they headed down the rope ladder. They pulled up their rain hoods. As they tramped in their boots through the wet autumn woods, they were both quiet.

  Finally Annie said, “I feel good.”

  “I feel good, too,” said Jack. “We accomplished our mission.”

  “But I feel other things, too,” said Annie. “I feel mad that Dipper couldn’t sit on the streetcar with us.”

  “Me too,” said Jack. “And it wasn’t just in New Orleans. A long time ago, they had laws like that in lots of places.”

  “Unbelievable,” said Annie.

  “Yeah,” said Jack.

  “And I feel scared when I think of those spiders in their webs,” said Annie.

  “Oh, they didn’t bother anybody,” said Jack. “But I still feel scared when I think of ghosts.”

  “Actually, they didn’t bother anybody, either,” said Annie.

  “True,” said Jack. “And neither did that bat.”

  Annie laughed. “That’s true, too,” she said. “I feel sad when I think we’ll never see Dipper again.”

  “We can listen to his music,” said Jack.

  “Yeah… and I guess the music all around us will always make us think of him,” said Annie. “Like right now Dipper would hear the music of the rain.”

  “Tappity-tap-tap,” said Jack.

  “And the music of our feet scrunching over the dead leaves—” said Annie.

  “Scrunchity-scrunch-scrunch,” said Jack.

  “Patti-pat-pat!” sang Annie.

  “Skid-dat-de-dat!” sang Jack.

  “Skid-dat-de-doh!” sang Annie.

  “Go, Mama! Go!” shouted Jack.

  And the two of them ran out of the Frog Creek woods and up their street, heading for home.

  The city of New Orleans is nestled on the Mississippi River in southern Louisiana. The historic city is a blend of many cultures. Its architecture, food, and music were greatly influenced by a mix of French, Spanish, African, German, and Irish settlers.

  In 2005, New Orleans was hit by Hurricane Katrina, one of the deadliest storms in American history. Much of the city became flooded, and over 1,000 people lost their lives. The city is still rebuilding after the devastating storm.

  New Orleans is famous for being the birthplace of jazz music. Jazz bands play in clubs and march frequently in street parades.

  The most famous parade of the year happens on Mardi Gras in late winter. On this day many thou sands of tourists and townspeople participate in parties and processions.

  Louis Armstrong was born in New Orleans, Louisiana, in August 1901 and died in Queens, New York, in July 1971.

  His friends and family called him Dipper because he had a fondness as a child for a song called “Dippermouth Blues.”

  All the chapter titles in this book are the titles of songs Louis Armstrong recorded early in his career.

  A year before he died, Armstrong told a reporter, “I th
ink I had a beautiful life. I didn’t wish for anything that I couldn’t get and I got pretty near everything I wanted because I worked for it.”∗

  In Louis Armstrong’s New York Times obituary published on July 18, 1971, his friend and fellow musician Dizzy Gillespie wrote: “Louis is not dead, for his music is and will remain in the hearts and minds of countless millions of the world’s peoples, and in the playing of hundreds of thousands of musicians who have come under his influence. The King is dead. Long live the King.”

  ∗Quoted in Louis Armstrong: An Extravagant Life by Laurence Bergreen.

  Here’s a special preview of

  Magic Tree House #43

  (A Merlin Mission)

  Leprechaun in Late Winter

  Available now!

  Excerpt copyright © 2010 by Mary Pope Osborne.

  Published by Random House Children’s Books,

  a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  CHAPTER ONE

  A Beautiful Word

  It was a chilly afternoon in late winter. Annie was doing her homework on the computer in the living room. Jack sat on the couch and stared at a blank page in his small notebook. He heaved a sigh.

  “What’s wrong?” said Annie.

  “I have to write a story for school,” said Jack, “and I’m stuck.”

  “Well, you’d better get unstuck,” said Annie. “Mom and Dad said we have to get our homework done before we go to the theater with them tonight.”

  “I know,” said Jack. “But I can’t think of anything to write about.”

  “Why don’t you do what you love to do?” said Annie. “Go outside and write down some facts about what you see. Then turn them into a story.”

  “Hey, that’s a good idea,” said Jack. “Thanks.” He jumped up and grabbed his coat from the hall closet. Then, taking his pencil and notebook with him, he headed outdoors.

  The early March weather was sunny but cold and windy. Jack looked around. Then he wrote down some facts in his notebook: