Read Online A Bone to Pick by Gina McMurchy-Barber - Free Book Online

splattered in tomato sauce.
    I slunk away and headed toward the replica Norse settlement. I didn’t know why Eddy didn’t want me to stay and help her, or why Robbie was always so obnoxious. Kids Explorers program — I had just turned thirteen, not six!
    I followed the boardwalk toward the Viking settlement. All around were low-growing plants and shrubs. I thought one of them was the bakeapple — at least it had the small orange berries Bertha had shown me in the kitchen. I plucked a berry off and popped it into my mouth, then shivered. Boy, was it tart!
    At the settlement there was a small group of tourists crowded around a Viking guy. I knew he was just acting the part, but with his shaggy blond hair, sheepskin vest, and woollen pants he looked really authentic.
    â€œMost people tink the Vikings were a dirty bunch. But I tink they must’ve been clean freaks,” he said. “Why else were so many tweezers, razors, and combs found around the site?” The guy sounded a bit Irish. Kind of like Bertha, only she spoke much louder. Must be the Newfoundland accent Mom had told me about.
    The guide held up a piece of stringy tree bark. “Here’s one dirty little fact most folks don’t know. The Norsemen would take some of this touchwood fungus here, let it marinate in human urine fer several days —”
    â€œThey soaked it in pee? Gross!” yelled a kid in the tour group.
    The guide laughed. “Now wait a minute. Let me finish. After that they boiled the urine and fungus fer many days, then took it out and pounded it into flat mats. Now comes the really good part. When they went on a voyage, they could light this stuff on fire. And instead of burnin’, it would smoulder fer days and days. This clever invention meant they’d have fire any time they needed it right there on the ships.” There were murmurs of approval from the group.
    â€œThose Vikings were real wizz-ards ,” I said. A few people in the group chuckled at my pun.
    â€œGood one,” said the guide, smiling. “Feel free to join our tour, young lady — urine good company.” More snickering.
    â€œThanks. Pee jokes aside, are you an expert on the Vikings?” I asked.
    â€œI suppose it depends on who you’re talkin’ to. I was born and raised a stone’s throw from here. When I was a boy, they discovered this place. I often came and watched the archaeologists — that’s Helge Ingstad and his wife, Anne Stine Ingstad — excavatin’ this site back in the 1960s.”
    â€œThat’s cool. I’m going to be an archaeologist. In fact, that’s why I’m here.”
    â€œOh, I see. You’re one of the students then?” asked the guide.
    â€œWell, no, not exactly. I’m too young to join the university class. But I know enough about archaeology to talk for hours.”
    The man looked confused. “So if you’re not a student, then you’re a tourist?”
    â€œActually, I’m the cook’s help. I help make the meals for the archaeology field school.”
    â€œOh, I see. So you’re helpin’ Bertha. She’s a fine cook, though a bit of a hothead at times, and I’m not just talkin’ about her red hair, either.”
    I nodded, glad that someone else knew what I had to put up with.
    â€œSo ya like to cook, eh?”
    â€œActually, I’m a terrible cook and just as bad at being a cook’s helper. I took the job so I could come here and learn about the Vikings and be part of an excavation of the site. My friend, Eddy, she’s one of the field school professors. She got me the job.”
    â€œAh, I tink I met that friend of yers — white-haired ol’ lady with a vest full of pockets. Some might mistake her fer somebody’s little ol’ grandma instead of an archaeologist.”
    Eddy was sort of old and was a grandma, but I never thought of her as a “little ol’