The Mysterious Tintype of Oz

By Leo Moser

This is the tale of Dorothy’s return trip to Oz, as recorded by her long ago in the hidden Chronicles of Oz. These chronicles cannot be kept secret from her great-grandson Jeremy, who alone among her young descendants has inherited her magic. His future safety requires that he know crucial facts about Erdavon, the entire alternate world in which Oz exists.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leo Moser
• Release date: Feb 10, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301449255

Leo Moser

Leo John Moser and Carol Marie Nelson are a father and daughter team.Leo was born in that part of Los Angeles usually characterized as Hollywood, but he has seldom been there since.He is a former diplomat and university professor. He has had several books in the non-fiction category published: The Technology Trap: Survival in a Man-made Environment, published by Nelson Hall Inc.; The Chinese Mosaic: The Peoples and Provinces of China. Westview Press; The Political Culture of the United States, Gavilan. He and Carol coauthored an Oz book published by Whitfield & Dodd Publications.Carol was raised around the world, in Washington D.C., in Moscow, in Venezuela, in Taiwan, et alia. She has been active in script writing and resides in Burbank, California.

Book preview

The Mysterious Tintype of Oz

by Leo Moser and Carol Nelson

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Published by Leo Moser

Whitfield & Dodd Publications

at Smashwords

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Copyright 2012 Leo John Moser

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The Hidden Chronicles of Oz: Book One

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Smashwords edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the authors.

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Based on the Oz books of L. Frank Baum (1856-1919).

In sequel to The Wonderful Wizard of Oz (1900).

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"I am enough of an artist to draw freely upon my imagination.

Imagination is more important than knowledge.

Knowledge is limited.

Imagination encircles the world."

~~~ ~~~ Albert Einstein, October 26, 1929.

The Mysterious Tintype of Oz

TABLE OF CONTENTS

~~ Prelude: San Francisco, 1973. ~~

Chapter 1: Impossible Dreams

Chapter 2: Oozy, Oozy, Oz

Chapter 3: Under the Same Skies

Chapter 4: Purple Ribbons from Nowhere

Chapter 5: A Boy with Lavender Hair

Chapter 6: Gillik Magic

Chapter 7: Darkness of the Moon

Chapter 8: Glen of Darkshadows

Chapter 9: Horrors of Black Magic

Chapter 10: Race to the Emerald City

Chapter 11: King, Cat, & Pumpkin

Chapter 12: March of the Gingerbread Girls

~~ Interlude with Jeremy. ~~

Chapter 13: The Haunted Castle

Chapter 14: Firebreathers & Tombstones

Chapter 15: Sixvillages

Chapter 16: The Arts of Wizardry

Chapter 17: Minister of Secrets

Chapter 18: Crisis at Dandelion Inn

Chapter 19: Dangers & Divas

Chapter 20: Elves & Aldermen

Chapter 21: Of Mice & Magic

Chapter 22: Staircase of Horrors

Chapter 23: Thunderbolts

Chapter 24: Fireballs

Chapter 25: The Silent Tintype

Chapter 26: Purple Ribbons in Her Hair

@1 Map of Oz

@2 Speaking Ozlish

@3 Ozian Runes

@4 Speaking Acadon

@5 About the Series: The Hidden Chronicles of Oz

@6 About the Authors and their Books

@7 Acknowledgments

~~~

Preview of Book Two of the Hidden Chronicles of Oz:

Balloon To Oz: Pinhead to Potentate

~~~ Peanut Butter Prelude: San Francisco, 1973 ~~~

Chapter 1: Below in the City of Emeralds

Chapter 2: Getting Real

Chapter 3: Pinhead and the Amazing Gloriosa

~~

The Mysterious Tintype of Oz

Prelude: San Francisco, 1973

Eight-year-old Jeremy lay on the shag rug of the family-room, intent on the television set before him.

A fanfare boomed, the film was over. He got up and turned off the TV.

He hurried over to his great-grandmother, who was sitting in a rocking chair nearby.

"Thanks for letting me see The Wizard of Oz again, Gran-gran. You’re my favorite babysitter. I won’t tell Mom an’ get you into trouble."

The boy winked at her, then plopped down cross-legged on the floor before her. Mom was afraid those flying monkeys would give me nightmares. But you know Ripley won’t let me have bad dreams anymore.

He nodded toward a place next to him occupied by his imaginary friend.

You told me before that you liked the Oz books better, his great-grandmother said. After seeing the movie again, do you still think that?

"Oh, I love the movie, but, well, Oz is a real place in the books, an’ Dorothy keeps going back. So Ripley an’ I think it’s gotta be real. You agree with us, don’t you, Gran-gran?"

"Oh, yes, Oz is real all right. I should know."

"Since it’s only Judy Garland’s dream in the movie, whizz-bang, that solves her Oz problems. But back in Kansas, poor Toto’s still in trouble with that horrid Gulch lady. Course, she wasn’t in the book—or those hired hands either."

Takes a great deal of imagination to think Oz could exist. You and I have very good imaginations, Jeremy.

More’n Mom. She gets real nervous if I say anything about Ripley.

I know, but remember others can’t see Ripley.

One time you promised to read me the stories you made up about Oz. An’ I know you lived in Kansas then, an’ your maiden name was Dorothy Gayle. Real cool coincidence—even if your last name was spelled wrong.

Spelled right for me.

Anyway, you sorta pretended to be the real Dorothy.

Yes. . . sort of pretended. . . . We had a tornado, you know. And I’ve kept journals for more than seventy years now. . . went back several times. Used my journals to rewrite my stories—over and over. Got help from Alex, your grandpa.

You said your stories are closer to the book than the movie.

"Well, consider those ruby slippers in the movie. Now how could anyone do all that walking in slippers. Red wasn’t the right color either. Silver shoes, that’s what they were. It’s silver that’s magical in Oz."

My silly sister had nightmares just seeing the movie. So I imagine the real Dorothy might have had nightmares, too. An’ if she told the kids at school about Oz, she’d have been teased something awful. I learned to shut up about Ripley.

Your imagination is right on, young man. She had to learn how to deal with bullying and teasing.

I know you’ve got the next story all written up, probably smack-dab there in your travel bag. He pointed to a large travel bag on the floor next to the rocking chair. Hint, hint. This would be a great time to read it to me. Mom being away.

"Yes, I do have a copy here. One that’s been written up, not just my personal notes."

"Truth is, I like being read a story a lot better than watching TV. I can close my eyes an’ imagine things just how I want. Bright colors maybe, or if I like, all dark an’ spooky."

Spooky? Speaking of spooky, when Dorothy went to Oz the second time it was after hearing spooky voices. Some came from a photograph of her parents, an old-fashioned tintype, a photo taken on their wedding day. It was all she had left of them after their house burned down, so it was precious to her.

You mean to say that some sort of photo could talk to her—voices from Oz?

So it seemed. It got lost there after the tornado. Scariest part was that Dorothy had to go after the tintype to Oz or she’d be killed, right there in Kansas.

Wow. Ripley wants to hear what happened next. Me, too. Please, please.

Dorothy rummaged through her travel bag. She pulled out a typewritten manuscript, adjusted her bifocals, and she began to read.

~~

Chapter 1: Impossible Dreams

Dorothy tried to scream.

No sound came.

Wave after wave of unreasoned dread swept through her—intense, terrifying. She struggled in her sleep, tangling herself in the patchwork quilts of her small bed.

Terrifying darkness had taken over her mind, her thoughts. It seeped into her very soul, like the negation not only of light, but of everything joyful and good. Beads of sweat dotted her brow.

Amid the desolate gloom, a distant pinpoint of light appeared. It slowly enlarged and then came right at her face. The light flickered and shattered, then slowly transformed into an eye—a large and very bloodshot one. The pupil of the gruesome thing rolled back and forth aimlessly.

The eye jerked and stopped its rolling. It fixed upon her and blinked twice. Laughter rang out, distant, echoing.

Ah, there you are! came an eerie, hollow voice. Answer quickly. What do you know of Shandoor. Of the curse? Of the magus. What danger is there at the Emerald City?

What? I don’t understand, Dorothy answered. She rolled over in her sleep, clutching her head. Don’t know what you’re talking about. My head hurts. Who. . . what. . . are you anyway?

What power lurks in the walls of the City? Answer clearly, I will know if you lie.

Danger at the Emerald City? Power in walls? Nothing you’ve said means anything to me. That’s the truth.

"Well . . . good enough for now. Now go deeply asleep. . . empty your mind. Forget all this. I command it."

The bloodshot eye darkened. Only its veins flickered. They pulsated, turned into flames. Uncontrolled fire raged, all was engulfed in dancing flames.

Mocking laughter echoed.

You are to forget this, the ominous voice was fainter now. "I command it."

The fire faded and the voice trailed off in hypnotic whispered tones: All is dark. . . Erase this visit from your mind. . . totally. . . deep sleep. . . darkness only. . . forget. . .

But then. . .

AWROO, AWROO-OO, HOO.

A piercing, howling sound yanked Dorothy awake.

She sat straight up in bed, clutching her head. Strands of her hair had slipped from her two waist-length braids and clung to her sweaty face. Her eyes were wide open with fear, her mouth dry.

AWROO, AWROO-OO, HOO.

Toto, her little black dog, was howling at the foot of her bed.

Dorothy looked around hurriedly, assessing reality.

Shhh, Toto. We mustn’t wake Aunt Em and Uncle Henry. She reached down and lovingly stroked her small companion.

Toto stopped his wailing.

Dorothy wiped the hair from her face with her sleeve as she sat motionless and listened to make sure her aunt and uncle hadn’t awakened. All she could hear was the wind pounding away at the small wooden farmhouse. Lightning flashed at the narrow window of her tiny bedroom. Thunder grumbled in the distance.

Thanks for waking me, Toto. Had a horrible nightmare. It was giving me an awful headache.

By a shimmer of distant lightning at her window she could see that he was wagging his tail.

He lay down nearby, perched his head on his front paws, and watched her.

Did you hear him, Toto? Or was it a her?

Toto’s only answer was a thump or two of his tail.

Dorothy lay back down, straightened out her quilts and pulled them up to her chin. Toto came up and curled close beside her. He was only a little dog, not much more than a puppy, yet she felt comfort in his presence.

A chilling sound, like fingernails clawing at the window, sent Dorothy burying deep under her quilts not knowing what to expect next.

Time passed, nothing happened.

She lowered her blankets and looked at Toto, still close beside her. He nuzzled her with his little wet nose. She hugged him and realized she had been holding her breath. She let it out. She cautiously peered at the window, then wondered at her childishness. It was only a branch of Aunt Em’s scrawny apple tree dragging its naked limbs against the windowpane in the gusting wind.

I mustn’t let my imagination carry me away, Toto, like Aunt Em says it does. I suppose it was only a dream. She thought for a while, I sure hope that’s all it was.

~~~~~

Dorothy had not fallen asleep easily that October night in the year 1900. She’d been feeling particularly lonely.

It was almost exactly a year earlier that she’d lost her parents in a sudden fire back in Kentucky. The shock and pain had lessened some with passing time. But then in the last few weeks she’d dreamt that her father and mother were trying to talk to her. She couldn’t understand more than an occasional word which was doubly unsettling. She missed them all the more.

Her aunt and uncle were her new family, but they were no longer young, and were still struggling to survive on land not ideally suited to farming. Above all, they hadn’t been at all prepared to have a child suddenly thrust upon them.

Their farm in western Kansas had seemed bleak and alien to Dorothy, but she was doing her best to adjust to the treeless prairie. Nevertheless, she longed for the forested rolling hills of home.

No, no, no, she thought, "I can’t keep thinking of Kentucky as home. I’m here in Kansas to stay. Kansas, Kansas. Home, home," she repeated to herself.

And yet, that summer there had been that amazing trip to a magical land called Oz. Like her childhood memories of Kentucky, Oz had forests, rolling hills, and lush meadows. She knew she’d been carried there by tornado, house and all, but no one else believed it. It was lonely to have no one believe you.

In the three months since her trip to Oz, Dorothy had turned thirteen. She was rapidly growing taller, even filling out a bit. Her tiny bed would soon no longer fit.

However, it wasn’t the bed that had kept her awake for so long that night, nor her feeling of loneliness. It was recurring thoughts, worries, and regrets about how she was adjusting to all that had happened in her life.

Though her school grades were good, she decided that she lacked common sense. It was downright stupid of me to lose the only photo I had of my parents while I was in Oz. It was their wedding photo, a tintype. And I’m a dismal failure in dealing with the people around me.

She tried to shake off the unhappy thoughts, but more crept in.

"So many things I shouldn’t have done. Should never have told anyone, especially my schoolmates, about Oz. Should have known they’d never believe me. Shouldn’t let some of the girls there get started teasing me—about being an orphan, about my clothing, about Oz, about everything. Should never have let one of the nicest boys at school see me cry."

She looked down and envied Toto, now snoring so peacefully.

She closed her eyes and did her best to stomp the worries from her mind. She thought of the farm, their cow Imogene, the nesting chickens, Toto happily chasing a butterfly in her pumpkin patch. . . .

The clock in the next room bonged twice. Two o’clock, was her last thought before sleep overtook her.

~~~~~

Within an hour, Dorothy was dreaming again.

The new dream was not terrifying although it did make her uneasy. Thick green fog first swirled about her, then thinned. Through the misty air she saw she was in a large elegant bedroom, in a bed canopied in green silk. An ornately decorated table, also in green, flanked the bed.

On the table sat the missing tintype of her deceased parents.

After her house had crashed in Munchkin Land, she had carefully wrapped it in a napkin and put it in the bottom of her basket and carried it off with her down the Yellow Brick Road in her search for the Wizard and a way home. When she returned to Kansas, however, her precious tintype was nowhere to be found.

But now she saw it! So near. So real.

She reached out for it.

Her fingers went right through it.

She looked at the apparition in wonder. Its familiar golden frame glowed, and the images of her parents looked more lifelike than before. It was not the first time she had dreamt about the tintype though it was the first it had appeared this clearly, this close at hand.

Transfixed, she stared at the couple in the picture. The images of her parents blurred, then shimmered slightly. Dorothy jumped, her mouth fell open.

A choppy voice that sounded like her father’s came from the picture. Danger, Dorothy. . . terrible danger. . . must hide. . . Hope you can hear us. . . run away. . . hide. . . far as you can.

Who, what? Dorothy was hardly able to speak.

The image of her father came into focus, then blurred again.

You must hide. . . ready to kill you both. . . hide far away. Anyplace at all, the voice continued.

She swallowed back tears and stammered. Is that you, Daddy? But it can’t be. You told me not to believe in ghosts. Is it some Oz magic? I’ll never forgive myself for losing the tintype of you and Mama. I know I lost it in Oz. I don’t understand any of this.

The image of her mother sharpened and moved ever so slightly within the frame.

Hide, child. . . a soft voice like her mother’s responded. Run off. . . make sure Emily follows, looking for you. . . Hide. . . . your only hope. . . yes, my magic. . . used it. . . curse of the Emerald City. . . must listen.

Mama. . . Dorothy gasped out loud, and with this, she awoke with a jolt.

She sat up, looked around, blinked away tears.

Toto was also awake. He quietly watched her, his ears up, listening.

Oh m’gosh, she whispered, "one thing I do know, it couldn’t really be them. But what was it? Who was it? And more mention of curses and dangers. And now I’m supposed to run away from here? Whatsoever for? And that other dream with that creepy voice that told me to forget. All so confusing."

From a crude wooden table just inches from her bed, she snatched a stubby pencil and a small notebook. On it, scrawled letters proclaimed: My Journal: Dorothy Marie Gayle.

I’m having senseless dreams, I suppose, but I’ve got to get them down in my journal. That dream with the horrible eye told me to forget. Well, I won’t take rude commands from anybody, whoever or whatever that thing was. Not even from my own dream—if it was my own dream. I’ll write both of them down so I won’t forget. Maybe I can make some sense of them later.

She lit a candle and began jotting down notes. "Write it all down, that’s what the librarian, Miss Pepperell, told me to do."

Miss Pepperell was the only grown-up who had paid any attention to what Dorothy told her about Oz. Yet she couldn’t find any mention of that land, not even in indexes of books about ancient legends.

The other adults just asked about the bump on her head and worried about the aftermath of her ‘coma.’ That’s what Doc Rogers had called it.

During the summer, a rumor began floating that Dorothy had been knocked cuckoo by the tornado. The kids were convinced of it after she returned to school in the fall, told a story about a trip to a magical land, and then insisted it had actually happened.

Dorothy finished writing, sighed and put her journal away.

Her thoughts went back to Kentucky where she was born. It’s been almost exactly a year since they. . . I waited, Mama and Daddy just never came out of the house. Horrid, dangerous fires.

She blinked back tears and her eyes wandered to her bedside candle. She blew it out, then wet her fingers and pinched the wick to make sure no spark remained.

She lay back down and quickly fell asleep. It was a dreamless sleep this time.

~~~~~

Dorothy awoke at her regular time the next morning. She sat up in bed and tried to clarify her thoughts. Not much success.

She yawned, got up, and looked in the small mirror that lay on her dresser.

Ugh. Her eyes were puffy, a hint of dark smudges under them.

What happened last night, Toto? I don’t believe in ghosts so the voices from the tintype can’t have really been my folks, but if a scarecrow can talk in Oz, maybe an old photo could. But why would it tell me to run away? From here? That’s as crazy as that horrid nightmare about forgetting. In both those odd dreams there was something about the Emerald City. All silly stuff, I suppose, like most dreams. No real relation to Oz. I hope they go away after Halloween.

The dog woofed as if replying.

She stared blankly out the window at the light of dawn and pondered the nature of dreams.

They don’t have to make sense at all. Not if they’re plain dreams, but these seemed like they could be different. Toto howled, and that could mean something. Might actually be more like messages. Creepy thought. I’d ask Aunt Em about bad dreams, but it’d only make her fret. She frets too much as it is.

She washed up, then took a green and white gingham dress from a bed post. She looked at it dubiously, it never fit well. Her aunt was a good cook, but not much of a seamstress. Her clothes always looked secondhand.

She pulled an old hand knitted wool sweater from the bottom drawer of her dresser. Tight in all the wrong places due to her growth spurt.

She managed to get the sweater on, then ran her hands down her pigtails. She felt distinctly inelegant.

She glanced at her hair in the mirror, a couple strands had come loose from her braids.

No time, she thought, it will have to do for today. The Bronson twins will snicker, I know.

~~~~~

She peeked out her door. Aunt Em was in the kitchen mixing batter for biscuits.

A tattered apron partially covered the long gray dress that hung loosely over her slender frame. Her gray hair was in a tight bun though a few curly wisps had already slipped out. Her weary face still held a hint of former beauty, but was lined beyond her years.

Dorothy, come help with the biscuits. No time for dallyin’.

Normally such chores were routine, but today the thought only annoyed Dorothy.

‘Womanly chores,’ Aunt Em called them. They were what girls were supposed to do and they were so horribly dull. While in Oz she had done many things that the men there couldn’t, even Mr. Pat McLarkey, the so-called ‘Wonderful Wizard of Oz.’

Dorothy took over the biscuit-making chore without grumbling aloud and got a tin sheet of biscuits into their rusty wood stove. After the tornado, the battered stove had been rescued from the middle of a field.

Whenever is Uncle Henry going to get a new stove? she complained. This one is next to hopeless.

For its part, the stove lived up to her low expectations, and soon tendrils of black, nostril-offending smoke rose from it.

Dorothy, setting the table, got a whiff of the burnt biscuits. She turned, glared at the stove, stomped her foot, and kicked the cast-iron leg of the stove.

This affected her more than the stove. She hopped about in pain, clutching a throbbing toe.

Stompin’ won’t do no good, child. Get ‘em out of the oven. Her aunt handed her a tattered potholder.

That’s bad grammar, Dorothy thought to herself. But she gritted her teeth and said nothing.

Then a flood of shame washed over her. She knew her aunt hadn’t had much schooling, what with the Civil War and all. No need to act uppity toward her. Dorothy realized her lack of sleep was making her extra touchy, also thinking about school and likely taunting added to her grumpiness.

Aunt Em went on, Gettin’ all fussed up don’t solve nothin.’ Only real solution’s hard work.

By this time, her aunt had isolated the burnt biscuits and was scraping off the scorched parts into a kitchen pail.

Gotta get them eggs, Aunt Em said as she headed out the kitchen door, pail in hand.

Dorothy was disgusted with herself and plopped down on a chair.

Off to a bad start today, stubbed my toe and burnt the biscuits.

She sighed, placed her elbows on the table and cupped her chin with her hands.

Poor Aunt Em, saddled with the likes of me. She tries her best. No sense being annoyed with her. They got stuck with me, no warning. Probably never wanted children. Nobody else to take me.

She reached down and patted her small dog on the head.

I miss Scarecrow, Tin-man, and Lion. It’s just you and me, Toto.

Toto sat up as if in response.

Aunt Em entered with the eggs cradled in her apron. Dorothy sat silently, content to watch her aunt complete preparations for breakfast. There was a lot to do in the early morning on the farm and breakfast was always hearty.

Aunt Em, you ever have any scary dreams? she hesitantly asked.

Naw, Aunt Em replied. She cracked the eggs into a bowl, added cream. Don’t dream much at all.

She stopped in the middle of whipping the eggs and looked over at Dorothy.

Ya know, I don’t normally have any such, but I had one lately. Somebody ornery tryin’ to find me. Lookin’ and lookin’. I tried to hide, but couldn’t. She sighed deeply, Best not to think of such things. Woulda forgot if you hadn’t mentioned.

Maybe I’m having bad dreams ‘cause it’s Halloween time again and I remember what happened last year. I miss Mama and Daddy so. I don’t even have my precious picture of them anymore.

We lost lots in that twister, child. Best not fret about what we can’t change. Don’t do no good.

Aunt Em turned her attention back to her cooking, but wrinkles deepened between her brows.

When Uncle Henry was in and back out, breakfast over, and household chores done, her aunt hurried out to feed scraps to the pigs.

The dreams, however, nagged at Dorothy. She slumped down on a kitchen chair. Did the two of them relate in any way? Had she heard things right? Did the voices from the tintype tell her to run away? Even suggest that she get Aunt Em to chase after her? Now that was so silly that it hardly deserved a moment of thought.

I wouldn’t do such a thing if my life depended on it, she blurted out. She caught her breath and gasped. "Oh my. . . the dream said just that—that my life does depend on it. What a weird dream. And why would anyone put a curse on the Emerald City? Makes no sense."

The door banged shut. Dorothy came back to reality as Aunt Em entered.

No time fer daydreamin’, child. You’d best be on yer way or you’ll be late fer school. Hope yer poor foot don’t hurt.

She got up, walked over to the door, and put on a threadbare coat that hung on a peg next to the door.

Bye-bye, Aunt Em, she said, smiling feebly.

Her aunt made no reply; she was already preoccupied with her chores.

Dorothy sighed, swept up her books and lunch pail, and headed out the door.

Her mind was confused, but one fact was clear. She wasn’t going to make the mistake of telling anyone at school that she was now having dreams from Oz.

I sure hope no one says a word about Oz today, I’ve had about all I can take, she mumbled to Toto as she reached the gate and patted him goodbye. Shouldn’t have told everyone about Oz. But it’s hard not telling anybody anything. Except you, Toto. You understand, you were there with me.

Toto licked her hand, his kiss goodbye.

With a slight limp, she headed down the dusty dirt road that would take her to school.

~~

Chapter 2: Oozy, Oozy, Oz

Dorothy pulled up the collar of her coat that chilly Friday morning. She could see the rural schoolyard ahead and tried not to limp even though her toe still ached.

Then she heard heavy footsteps clomping up behind, rapid footsteps.

"Oh, no, don’t let it be him," she almost spat out the words.

She glanced back and frowned. "I knew it. First horrible nightmares, then this toe, and now Dirk Johnson."

Up thundered Dirk, a burly boy of sixteen, ruggedly impressive. He stumbled along and offhandedly bumped Dorothy.

Oops, so sorry. How clumsy of me. He grinned and patted her on the back. Well, if it ain’t our famous trav’ler, little Mizz Dorothy. Made any more trips to oozy Oz? He chuckled, a bit out of breath.

Dorothy glared at Dirk, but said nothing.

You know ye’r real pretty when ye’r mad, don’t ya? Z’at why ya get mad all the time? He cocked his head to the side and grinned at her. It was a lopsided grin, but all his grins were lopsided. The Bronson girls say you dress like a gypsy, but some gypsies are right beautiful, I hear say.

Dorothy looked away and quickened her pace. She wanted to close her eyes so she didn’t have to look at him, but he began dancing about in front of her and the last thing she wanted to do was bump smack into him.

Leave me be, Dirk, please, she murmured.

So I’m not good enough to walk ya to school like them Gault boys do, is that it? He scratched the back of his neck. Or is it ‘cuz I’m honest enough to tell you I can’t believe yer tale about meetin’ a tin man, an’ some wizard, an’ all sorta witches? This is 1900, ya know. Nobody believes in witches no more, good or bad. Don’t know why you stick with such a coo-coo story. Ya gotta admit it musta been a dream.

Dorothy gritted her teeth and thought to herself: It’s the truth, can’t change the truth. She said nothing though. To voice it out loud would only increase his taunting.

Ahead she could see the traditional one-room schoolhouse, its dark red paint peeling in places. Most of her schoolmates were lolling about the schoolyard, enjoying themselves for the last few minutes before the big brass bell in the small bell tower above the entry hall would ring and order them inside.

She could see Ralph Gault, one of four Gault boys at the school, turning cartwheels; he was showing off to a group of giggling girls, including the Bronson twins. His brother Fred stood nearby, making faces at him. Fred was not quite as handsome as his older brother, but only because of rather prominent ears.

Oh m’gosh. Dorothy felt her stomach tighten into a knot. She could see that Tammy-Lou, a striking blonde of fifteen, had left the Bronson twins and the rest of her crowd and was coming out from the schoolyard toward her and Dirk.

Tammy-Lou was even more of a problem than Dirk. She not only ran Dorothy down with all sorts of small snubs and insults, but had tripped her twice, and one of those times Dorothy had skinned a knee badly. Of course no one saw Tammy-Lou do it. She was very skilled at such things.

Moreover, her coming their way was double bad news for Dorothy since Dirk was always much ruder when Tammy-Lou was present.

He began to fidget as Tammy-Lou sauntered up, her shapely hips in full sway.

Just walkin’ Dorothy along so she don’t get lost an’ fall into a hole an’ go back to oozy Oz, he hastily explained.

Well, be careful, Dirk. Don’t catch any of her coo-coo cooties. Don’t know why I bother talkin’ with you when you walk to school with the likes of her. Tammy-Lou pursed her lips at him, then threw her shoulders back and turned toward the schoolyard.

There she spotted Willie Gault. Her face brightened and she waved at him. "Willie, Willie, she called out. Morning, Willie."

Willie was the eldest of the Gault boys in school. A tall and lanky blond with striking green eyes, he was much admired by the girls. Willie nodded back, a very small nod. He then leaned languidly against the schoolhouse and looked the other direction—toward his brother Ralph and his antics.

Dorothy was sure that Tammy-Lou had intended to enthrall Willie with the seductive beauty of her walk as she sauntered his way—and guessed Dirk must have thought the same.

Hey, Tammy-Lou, don’t go a-prancin’ off, Dirk pleaded. I thought up a poem for ya. Listen.

She swiveled back around, folded her arms across her chest, and looked at him. She fluttered her long eyelashes and tossed her flowing blonde hair over a shoulder.

Dirk swallowed, his Adam’s apple rose quickly. Then he grinned and sang out in heavy cadence:

"Dor-oh-thee is coo-coo-COO.

Don’t ya think so, Tam-mee-LOO?"

Tammy-Lou smiled ever-so sweetly at Dirk. "If you make up a poem for me, Mr. Dirk Johnson, it should be about me, not some peculiar little girl who can’t even braid her hair right."

"But it’s to you, Tammy-Lou, addressed to you." Dirk puffed out his broad chest and laughed proudly. It was clear he felt his rhyme was clever. He repeated it.

Louder.

Once they were in the schoolyard, Dirk repeated his ditty for the benefit of those there, and enhanced it by bowing to Tammy-Lou with an exaggerated sweeping gesture of his arms as he did so. He broke into laughter, and some of the younger children joined in.

One who had evidently not been at school when Dorothy had innocently told everyone all about going to Oz, asked Dirk a question. Dorothy couldn’t hear it, but she could hear Dirk’s raucous reply.

Well, fer example, she claims she met a straw lion in a city made outta emeralds—an’ he could even talk. Dirk guffawed.

This was too much for Dorothy. She glared at him and quietly muttered, I said no such thing.

"Now she’s taking it all back!" Tammy-Lou screeched gleefully. She put a hand to her forehead and dramatically acted as if she might faint, then stuck out her tongue at Dorothy.

Dirk roared with laughter. "Just plain coo-coo-coo."

Almost all those in the schoolyard had by now gathered around Dirk, Dorothy, and Tammy-Lou.

Tim Gault, the youngest of the four Gault boys, face full of freckles, a nose something of a pug—the only redhead around—pushed his way to the front. You got it mixed up, Dirk. It was the scarecrow that was made of straw—and it was a plain, ordinary lion. Well, lions there are palavins, and that means they can talk. It’s mootles that can’t. . .

Dirk’s eyes widened as he stared at Tim in disbelief. "Shut yer trap, little carrot top. You daft? Ya always talk so fast yer brain’s come loose. Keep yer pug nose out of this, or I’ll really flatten it."

He held a fist at Tim’s face. Tim peered up at him from under his mop of red hair, his pale blue eyes flashing.

Dorothy knew her friend Tim didn’t like to be razzed about his hair, but he was in no position to challenge Dirk since he was only about half his size. Tim was still twelve, younger than Dorothy by five months. And she knew that Dirk was not likely to attack him either since Tim had three older brothers present—Fred almost fourteen, Ralph fifteen, and Willie now sixteen. She noticed that Ralph and Fred had already come up behind Tim.

It was all too much for Dorothy. Frustrated and near tears, she walked off toward the schoolhouse as calmly as she could in hope of attracting no more attention. She made a special effort not to limp.

Comes here from Kentucky and pretends she’s special, Tammy-Lou said loud enough for Dorothy to hear. Got knocked out by a tornado, went to Oooooze.

Dorothy glanced back and saw Tammy-Lou sticking her tongue out at her. I sure wish Teacher would catch her doing that just once. Never does.

As she passed Ralph, she blinked back tears. Ralph had often flirted with her, but then he flirted with all the girls. To her relief, he was now busy doing back flips to the oo-ing and aa-ing of the girls. Fred was nearby, mimicking him, slapstick style. Fred liked teasing people, but he didn’t do it in a malicious way like Dirk Johnson. He enjoyed acting silly and often made fun of himself.

Tears pooled in Dorothy’s eyes as she crossed the schoolyard. Through her watery vision she could make out Willie Gault still leaning against the schoolhouse, near its front door, quietly watching the goings-on.

Willie had never teased Dorothy at all, much less flirted. Quite the contrary, he seldom spoke a word to her. A few smiles maybe, but they were nice smiles and Dorothy valued them. When he had heard her story about the magical land, he had made no comment, asked no questions, just looked at her in a worried way.

She was determined to stay composed as she whisked past Willie. She especially didn’t want him to see her tear-filled eyes. Luckily, his mind is always a thousand miles away.

She headed up the school steps and thought, He’s smart, must be thinking something. Sure wish I could read his mind. But she quickly wavered: "No, guess not. I’d hate to have anyone reading my mind. Too many wild and jumbled thoughts. Then they’d really think I was crazy."

She stopped in the vestibule and took a few deep breaths to calm herself as she hung up her coat. Then she wiped away tears on a sleeve and entered the schoolroom.

Her good friend Susan Norton was already there, seated in the back of the room. Susan smiled and waved at her. She was almost two years older than Dorothy, yet they had instantly become close friends when Dorothy had first arrived. Unfortunately, she seldom saw Susan outside of school since the Norton’s lived in the other direction. However, early that summer they had gone to a circus together in the nearest town, Butterfield.

Loud voices came from the schoolyard, followed by laughter. Dorothy headed back toward the door to see what was going on, but was met by the scrutinizing stare of Teacher, who motioned her to her seat. Dorothy walked down the center aisle and quickly took her seat on the girls’ side of the classroom.

She mumbled a hello to Gertrude Otts who sat next to her. Gertrude turned away as if she had not heard.

Dorothy was not surprised. She knew that Gertrude wanted to be accepted as part of Tammy-Lou’s crowd, but apparently couldn’t qualify. Poor Gertrude was more than a little overweight.

Dorothy recalled one time when Tammy-Lou had looked Gertrude square in the face and said ‘oink-oink.’ The Bronson twins found this hilarious. Dorothy did not.

Anyway Dorothy chose not to be annoyed by Gertrude. She only felt sorry for her.

There was more noise outside. Dorothy sighed, opened a book and pretended to read. A tap on her shoulder from Susan made her aware that her book was upside down. She quickly flipped it around.

She heard more commotion outside, then a wave of laughter. "They’re still laughing at me," she thought bitterly.

~~~~~

What Dorothy did not see outside was Willie Gault walking over to the crowd around Dirk. Willie frowned at him.

Stop picking on her, Dirk, he said in a hushed voice. She’s had hard times. It’s only been about a year since she lost both parents in a horrible fire back in Kentucky. She’s done nothing to you. Just stop bothering her.

HO, HO, NOW, Dirk sneered. He glanced at Tammy-Lou, who smiled back. Don’t have to do nothin’ just ‘cuz you say, Willie Gault. What’s it to you, anyway? If you believe her, you’re loco, too.

Willie glared at Dirk. Careful what you say, Dirk. Just stop razzing her.

Look who’s talkin’ now—ol’ silent Willie.

Dirk danced about, getting the crowd laughing. If she ain’t crazy, she’s a liar. Comes out here from back East an’ tries to show off. If you believe her, you’re plumb loco. A place where all the animals can talk. Crazy.

Not all of ‘em can talk, Tim Gault interspersed, some are mootles.

Dirk whipped around and glared at Tim. Shut up, little freckle face. You Gaults all crazy?

You’d better take that back, Willie countered, and leave Dorothy alone.

Dirk sneered and slowly turned to face Willie, his muscular arms akimbo. I ain’t takin’ nothin’ back, skinny Willie. Yer only talking big ‘cuz ya got three brothers behind ya.

This is just between you and me. To underline that, Willie turned around and motioned his brothers to stay back.

Dirk saw this as an opportunity and jumped Willie from behind, dragging him to the ground. The two wrestled, raising dust but accomplishing little else. Eventually, Willie pushed Dirk off and stood up. Dirk hopped up, fists raised.

For a while, the two danced around each other warily, fists jabbing at the air. Then Dirk, an inch or so shorter than Willie, but almost a year older and far more muscular, swung wildly. Willie ducked and socked him square on the nose.

Dirk stumbled backward and fell to the ground. Blood streamed from his nose. He pulled a handkerchief from a back pocket and held it to his face. He got up, and without a word, walked away.

BONG, BONG, BONG.

The schoolhouse bell rang to start the school day.

As the four Gault boys strolled toward the schoolhouse, Ralph slapped Willie on the back. "Good shot, big brother."

Fred smiled slyly at Ralph, Ralph don’t want nobody teasing Dorothy but him, ‘cuz he’s sweet on her.

Shut yer trap, Fred, Ralph said, lunging at his brother.

Fred taunted, Sweet, sweet, sweet. Gooey-gooey sweet.

He laughed and ran off toward the schoolhouse with Ralph in close pursuit.

As Willie and Tim headed toward the schoolhouse, Willie put a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder. He spoke softly. "Think before you speak, baby brother, or one of these days you’re going to get in real trouble."

Tim grinned, then nodded.

I don’t know where all her Oz stuff comes from. Willie sighed deeply. Dorothy’s your friend, Tim, you talk to her a lot more than the rest of us. What do you make of it?

Well, Tim began, scratching his head and mussing his hair, "Susan’s been reading up on that new stuff called psychology, and she says Dorothy ain’t even one percent crazy. I believe that. Guess you could say I know that. But I sure wish she’d stand up to all that bullying some better. Tammy-Lou and her crowd even been spreading rumors about her, insult her to her face."

Yeah, but what can she do, pull their hair? Punch ol’ Dirk in the nose? Not very ladylike.

There are ways. Susan would never put up with all that bullying.

Big problem is all that about going to Oz. No such place on Earth.

Well, I’m going to be a scientist when I grow up, you know. So I’ve got to keep an open mind. Anyhow, that Oz stuff sounds a heck of a lot more interesting than the stuff Teacher throws at us.

~~~~~

Dorothy walked part of the way home that day with Tim. This happened quite often since the Gault homestead was off in the same direction and Tim was easy to talk to. Even if younger, she felt he was wise in his ways.

She was angry enough about the day’s events that she forgot about her sore toe and kicked at the dusty road. The toe began to throb again.

You’re still mad about all the teasing and bullying, aren’t you? I can tell. You got to learn to stand up for your self.

"Well I have kept standing up for myself by insisting that I really went to Oz. That just seems to make things worse. What do you expect me to do, kick Dirk in the shins?"

"I know where I’d like to kick him. But I won’t give you a diagram. One thing I do know is that kicking up dust won’t help any. He scratched his head, mussing his mop of unruly red hair. But maybe cussing would." He smiled.

Aunt Em says ladies don’t do that. Boys swear, even at school sometimes. I’ve heard them. Just one more unfair thing.

I could give you some mighty fine cussing lessons if you’d like. Hear plenty with four older brothers. Pa, too, if Ma or Granma aren’t around.

When I get home I’m going to tell Aunt Em just how mad I am about what happened at school today.

They walked in silence for a moment and Dorothy mulled over what she had just said.

She sighed deeply. Naw. No use. I already know what she’d say. ‘Child, anger isn’t becoming of a young lady.’ Then she’d give me some ‘womanly chores’ to take my mind off it.

Nobody asks me to act like a young lady, Tim grinned. Not even ‘like a young gentleman.’ Know better. My only problem with work is that being the youngest I get all the rotten, no-count jobs nobody else wants, like slopping the pigs. We’ve got lots of pigs, you know. Getting more.

Did you see Tammy-Lou today during class? she asked. She kept grinning, and rolling her eyes at me. She started a rumor that I was a baby abandoned in a shoebox. Some believe such stuff, the Bronson twins for sure. I almost stuck my tongue out at her, but Teacher would’ve caught me for sure. Tammy-Lou never gets caught.

Your friend Susan says Tammy-Lou’s real jealous of you.

"That makes no sense, she and her girl friends think I’m ugly, dress ugly, some kind of outcast. Why would anyone on earth be jealous of me?"

Well, Susan says it ain’t just because you get such good grades in class.

What’s that supposed to mean?

Sheesh, how am I supposed to know? This is all some complicated girlie sort of thing, best I figure. Anyway Susan told Willie that Tammy-Lou was the prettiest girl in school until you came along. But now she’s number two—an’ she knows it.

Gossip, Susan loves to gossip. Anyway, she’s a good friend. She was being polite to me. In a softer, hesitant voice she asked, What did Willie say?

Nothing really. Ralph was there, and I reckon ol’ Ralph agreed with Susan.

They walked along in silence for a spell, Dorothy’s mind shifted to her recent dreams. What could she make of it all? So puzzling.

She grabbed Tim’s arm to stop their walking and looked earnestly at him. If I told you something Tim, would you keep it secret? Tell nobody?

Sure, cross my heart and hope to die. He quickly crossed his heart with a finger.

I’ve been having strange dreams, really strange ones. Sort of ominous. They’re just regular dreams, mind you, nothing like my memories of being in Oz. So don’t mix them up even though they may have to do with Oz.

Nightmares?

Some. Not all are exactly nightmares, but all of them are weird. Some friendly enough, but full of danger. One was the creepiest of all, downright spooky.

You tell your aunt about ‘em? he asked as they resumed walking.

Not really. Haven’t told anyone. Some seem to come from Oz, maybe all of them do. I wrote them down in that journal I started, but you’re the first person I’ve told. Please don’t think I’m crazy. I’m not. Least I don’t think I am.

Don’t get all worried. You might be just having dreams about Oz, like about any other place. I had a dream about Patagonia once.

My dreams were warnings, and they seemed to come from the tintype I told you about, the one that got lost someplace in Oz. And the voices sure sounded like them. Said weird things though, like my mama mentioning danger to me, maybe to my aunt, too. If I tell my aunt that, she’ll think I’m as crazy as Dirk Johnson does.

Lots of dreams are weird.

The worst was a nightmare I had last night. A creepy-looking eye stared down at me from above and asked me questions that made no sense. Tim, tell me fair and square, do you think I’m crazy?

Naw, and I doubt ol’ Dirk does either. He’s just a bully and a show-off. Now about your dreams, I see two possibilities. Number one: they might be nothing more than odd dreams like everybody has from time to time, ones that picked up stuff from your time in Oz. After we went to that circus in Butterfield with Susan, I had a dream about an elephant.

Tim counted on his fingers. "Number two is more interesting. They just might be messages coming in from Oz—assuming it’s real, of course. If scarecrows and fighting trees can talk in Oz, why not a tintype?"

"I thought that, too. But my parents seem inside it—and that can’t be."

"And what you’d hear from a magic tintype might well sound like the people in the tintype should. When I put my mind to it, I can believe in magic power. After all, I believe in scientific powers I can’t really fathom, things like magnetism and gravity. But I don’t believe in ghosts. You ain’t being haunted."

Dorothy smiled and shook her head before turning serious again.

"But the tintype warns about danger, says I ought to run off and hide or I’ll be killed! Each dream’s been a little clearer, but they still make no