Oma was glad to see us again, I guess. She started right up about how we needed to make sauerkraut.

“Well, first we need to fix your lid, and then it needs to dry,” I told her, reading the glue instructions.

“Mrs. S., can I talk to you about something?” Eli asked, and she floated over and grabbed the pencil out of his hand.

I got a damp rag from Uncle Gregor’s kitchen and started wiping all the dust off of the crock and the lid pieces while Eli negotiated with Oma. He said it felt more equal when they were both writing. At least it meant they were quiet for a while.

“Gross,” Eli said, coming over and examining my dirty rag. “I bet Mrs. S. didn’t like all that dust. Good thing she doesn’t have allergies, or eyes, or a nose, or—you know.”

“No kidding.” I wiped it out again, and then one last time. “How’d it go?”

He handed me the piece of paper. “She’s good with the food processor.”

Eli: I know your recipe says to use the kraut cutter, but it looks like a super-sized version of this special slicer called a mandoline that my mom accidentally cut her finger really bad on. So I don’t think HD’s mom will let us use it.

Oma: As long as you are careful, you will not cut your fingers.

Eli: Right, and I am careful—I was extra-careful when HD let me light the last rocket we launched—and here, you can hardly see the scar at all now, right? But my mom says no way, no open flames and no sharp objects until I can keep better track of where my hands are at all times.

Oma: Hmm.

Eli: But since you’ve been dead, scientists have invented a machine that will cut cabbage with the press of a button, in seconds! And it has a special sensor so it won’t let you cut your fingers off. My mom says even I can use it.

Oma: Where is this machine?

Eli: HD’s mom has one—she got it before she told Mr. Schenk he could never again buy her a birthday present with a cord.

Oma: We will go there, and we will try this machine, and we will make the sauerkraut.

Next, Eli showed Oma his dance moves, and sang the music for her, and told her which parts were the hardest, while I assembled my supplies: the glue, all the lid pieces, and a bunch of paper towels.

I fitted the pieces of the lid back together, like Mr. Z. had, so I could be sure where they all went before I opened the glue.

“On the avenue I’m taking you to—FORTY-SECOND STREET!” Eli belted out, shuffling his feet, while Oma hummed along.

I opened up the silicone sealant and squeezed a tiny bit onto a paper towel, to see how fast it came out, and how much. Then I took a deep breath, picked up the first piece, and squeezed it along the broken edge.

“Okay, this part is hard—” There was a thud, like maybe Eli ran into some boxes or something.

I didn’t look up. Eli would tell me if there was a problem, and it’s better to stick pieces together right after you put the glue on. Carefully I pressed the next piece onto the glued edge, turning it around so I could see if any extra glue dripped out. I held them together for another minute, then squeezed some glue along the next broken edge.

“Let’s take it from the beginning,” Eli said, and started over, with Oma singing along. “Hear the beat of dancing feet…”

I tried to tune them out while I concentrated. There was a bad moment where I didn’t get two of the edges lined up quite right, but I caught it before the glue set, and wiggled them into place without any of the others falling off.

Finally, all the pieces were stuck together in their places. I squeezed a drop of silicone into the gap where the tiny piece was missing, and smeared it around with the glue nozzle to make sure it filled the little hole.

“BA-dum! DA-dum! Bu-BA-dum! Wop-wop—Fo-orty…SECOND STREET!” Eli yelled. I could hear his sneakers sliding across the basement floor in his grand-finale move, just as I put the glue cap back on.

“Bravo!” shouted Oma.

“Whoa!” Eli yelled. “HD, come here!”

I looked up.

Eli had backed up against a stack of boxes. He was staring right at Oma.

I stared too. “Oma, what happened? Why are you wearing your pajamas?”

Because she wasn’t just thick air anymore—she was a glowing ghost. Still see-through, but now I could see the wrinkles on her face and hands, and the buttons on her pajamas.

Eli blinked. “I need to make some notes.”

Oma looked down at her glowing pajamas. “Well…if I had known that I was going to die then, I would have gotten dressed.” She looked up again, staring back at me.

Wait—had she been able to see me clearly before? Or had I looked as blurry to her as she did to me?

Maybe she didn’t know I didn’t look like her grandson, or any of the other blond, blue-eyed Schenks she knew before.

I swallowed hard. I’d had a lot of practice explaining why I don’t look like my dad. But not to my own great-great-grandmother.

She floated slowly toward me, still staring. It was creepier to be able to see a person flying through the air at you, even if she was see-through, and glowed and stuff.

I kind of froze up when she reached for me. Then I realized she was giving me a hug.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

It didn’t feel like a regular hug. But it was still nice, once I knew she wasn’t going to pass through my body or anything.

“Everything okay?” Eli asked, his eyes big.

“Yeah,” I said. “We’re good.”

 

EXPERIMENT: CHECK TO SEE IF MRS. S. IS REAL, PART TWO

Researcher: Eli Callahan

Do you hear anything? Yes

If so, what? A ghost yelling “Bravo!” for my tap dance! Then my friend HD asking a ghost why she’s wearing her pj’s—and then I heard the ghost answer!

Do you see anything? Yes

If so, what? Blurry air, moving around

Do you smell anything? Yes

If so, what? The same sweet smell, only stronger (also mildew)

Does the basement feel hot/cold/normal? Cold, but the same as last time

Conclusion: I think Mrs. S. really is floating among us. (Don’t get mad, HD, I believed you before. But it’s kind of different when you can see someone with your own eyes.)

 

“When did you fix her lid?” Eli asked, still making notes.

“Right before I looked up and saw her like this,” I told him.

Eli nodded. “So they could be related. Now that her lid is fixed, you can see her better, and I can hear her, and kind of see her.” He made another note. “Hey, Mrs. S. Can you try lifting that hockey stick? I want to see if you’ve gained muscle mass—er, ghostly strength.”

Oma floated over to the hockey stick and lifted it about a foot off the floor.

“Nice!” Eli said. “It’s like you’ve been working out!” He bit his lip. “Uh, HD, maybe we could wait on having her yell? Or pass through me?”

“No problem.” It was good to know that Eli wasn’t quite so cool about this stuff after all—at least, not now that he could kind of see her.

“Hey, Oma, come check this out and see if it’s okay,” I called, holding up her crock lid.

She rushed over, the buttons on her pajamas glowing.

I wouldn’t say it was my best maker work or anything. But it was food safe, like Mr. Z. said, and it was the best I could do.

She inspected the lid, and nodded. “Thank you, Hans Dieter,” she said, giving me another hug.

“Any time,” I told her when she let go again. “It needs to dry longer before we move it, though.”

“We must find the kraut pounder so we can make the sauerkraut!” she said, taking off for another stack of boxes.

Carefully I wrapped masking tape around the lid so that all the pieces would stay in the same places even if they got bumped.

“Looking good!” Eli said, coming over to see it. “Now come here and check this out!”

I set the lid aside on the workbench, and sat down on the steps to watch Eli’s routine and holler, “Yeah, man!” when he got the time step right.

After that, Eli worked out some ideas for his solo, and I started opening boxes.

The first one had an old plastic mixing bowl and some dish towels in it. “Hey, Oma, did you ever use this?” I asked.

She poked her head out through the side of a box and examined the bowl. “That is not mine,” she said. “And this is no time for baking. We must make sauerkraut!”

“Got it,” I said, putting the bowl in the pile of things to give to someone else.

“I have found it!” Oma cried, sticking her head through a different box. She floated out, and tried to lift the top box down. It fell to the floor with a crash.

Eli and I went over to help. Nothing broke, thank goodness—it was full of old screwdrivers and boxes of nails and stuff. We lifted the next box down, and took off the lid.

“The kraut pounder!” Oma cried, lifting up something that looked kind of like a wooden club with a flat bottom and top. “Now we are ready!”