“I walked for hours before reaching the nearest town, which is where I met the man. He wore stained overalls and a faded cap. His hair was gray, and his moustache bushy. He had a muddy cart at his side and a long-handled brush in his hands—he was a simple workman, cleaning a fountain in the town square. I don’t know why, but I stopped to watch him. There was something calming about the way he worked.
“The workman was just packing up when a married couple passed by with a little girl in tow. The old workman set his brush aside and greeted them with a kindly smile. He showed the child a penny he had fished out of the fountain. He told her an impromptu story about wishing wells and lucky coins. I listened from my bench. The girl’s parents seemed to find the man charming. The girl was riveted. The story was a lot of nonsense.
“When he was done, he handed the coin to the girl. She closed her eyes solemnly and tossed it into the water. The old man tipped his cap, and the family went happily on their way.
“I watched them as they walked off down the lane. I had seen the coin. It was a penny. Unexceptional. No aura, no halo, no magic. And yet—
“Impossibly, the girl was changed by the experience. There was a new glow around her. I could see it as plainly as you can see the glow of a candle. It was a blue aura, but a warm blue. It was as though she had been charmed, and I suppose she had been. I would wager anything that little girl got her wish after all.
“The workman was looking right at me when I turned back. He gestured for me to come forward, so I climbed down from my bench and approached him nervously. He hung his rag on the cart and merrily pressed a second salvaged coin into my palm.
“It was a penny, just like the first. Just like countless others. A scuffed Indian Head. Brown. Small. It might have been the least special penny ever minted. The man told me to make a wish. I smiled warily and tossed the thing into the fountain.”
“What did you wish for?” I asked.
“Nothing,” Jackaby said, rubbing his neck. “My life as I knew it was over. I was alone. I was afraid. I wanted nothing that a wet penny could give me. The nice man patted my arm and pushed his cart away down the cobblestones. I watched my penny sink to the bottom of the fountain. That’s when I saw it.”
“Saw what?”
“The first penny, the little girl’s. It was glowing blue, but a warm blue, just like the girl’s aura—a hopeful blue. My own coin came to rest beside it, brown and lusterless. Her coin had been as dull as mine, but the wish had changed it. It was now shining with a raw and radiant optimism—a lucky penny, indeed.”
“Missed opportunity, then,” I said. “The man’s story was real, after all. You should have made a wish.”
Jackaby opened his eyes, and a smile gently returned to his cheeks. “I did not need the wish so much as I needed the lesson,” he said. “I learned what I needed to learn. I learned that we make our own luck, Miss Rook. It wasn’t the coin. It was finding something to believe in. There is real power in that.”
“I like that,” I said. “So, what have you found to believe in, sir?”
Jackaby looked at me for a long time. His storm gray eyes bore into mine, but his expression was curiously gentle. At length he rose to his feet. “Good night, Miss Rook,” he said. “Until tomorrow comes.”
In another moment Jackaby would be out the door. Soon I would hear his feet pad down the carpet, hear his door click shut at the end of the hall. For that instant, though, I felt a curious sensation ripple over me. I felt the knot of fear inside me loosen. I felt as though if I looked down I might see myself aglow—blue, perhaps, but a warm blue, a hopeful blue.
“Good night, Mr. Jackaby,” I said. “Until tomorrow comes.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I must thank Elise Howard, Eileen Lawrence, Brunson Hoole, and all of the amazing minds at Algonquin Young Readers, without whom the Jackaby series would not be the Jackaby series; my brilliant wife, Katrina, who continues to be my first and most trusted reader; and my agent, Lucy Carson, who remains Jackaby’s stalwart ally. I would also like to acknowledge all of the brilliant students who grace my classroom with their presence and who provide me with tremendous hope for the future. Keep reading, love odd, and celebrate strange!
KATRINA SANTORO
William Ritter is an Oregon author and educator. He is the proud father of the two bravest boys in the Wild Wood and husband to the indomitable Queen of the Deep Dark. Ghostly Echoes is the third book in his acclaimed New York Times bestselling Jackaby series. Visit Will online at rwillritter.wordpress.com and find him on Twitter: @Willothewords.
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Published by
Algonquin Young Readers
an imprint of Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill
Post Office Box 2225
Chapel Hill, North Carolina 27515-2225
a division of
Workman Publishing
225 Varick Street
New York, New York 10014
© 2016 by William Ritter.
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. While, as in all fiction, the literary perceptions and insights are based on experience, all names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
eISBN 978-1-61620-657-4
William Ritter, Ghostly Echoes
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