A Summer of Sundays (5 page)

Though I thought of trying to sneak away to the basement to see what was in the silver box, the stacks of books were endless.

May and Emma had slipped off together to make lunch, and it wasn’t too long before we heard the familiar clang of our dinner triangle. Mom had insisted on bringing it with us. “It’ll feel more like home with it hanging
off the porch, and besides, that’s the only way that we can call everyone in for dinner.”

The boys dropped the books where they stood, and we all walked back over to the house and sat down on the porch to eat the egg salad sandwiches, apples, and chips.

Seizing the opportunity to slip away, I wrapped my lunch in a paper towel and started back for the library. “Mom, I’ll go see what the basement’s like.”

“All right, Emma … I mean, May. Ugh. I mean, Sunday.”

CJ laughed. “Don’t get scared.”

I walked into the library, then down the stairs through the
EMPLOYEES ONLY
doors, setting my half-eaten lunch on one of the desks. The basement was still dim since there was only one small window, but Dad had replaced the bulbs, so the black shadows that had been eerie last night were only dusty corners now. The two desks I had seen by flashlight were older and more run-down than the desks and chairs in the main library. I stood on my tiptoes to get a glimpse of the silver locked box.

I should have looked for the key before I came down. Then again, who knew how long I would have by myself before one of my brothers or sisters came poking around? I needed to get the box down and find out what was inside before one of them found me.

After setting aside a stool with wobbly, unstable legs, I pulled up one of the old chairs, tested to see if it would
hold me. I grabbed a small cardboard box and set it aside, then reached for the silver one.

It was heavy, so I put it down on the desk, then ran my hand over the dusty top. It was mostly smooth with a few scratches. I took a deep breath and pulled on the lock, hoping that maybe, just maybe, it was broken.

It held fast.

There were a million and one places the key could be in the library, if it was even
in
the library.

I considered returning the box to its place on the top shelf.

But maybe it held something special inside like a treasure map to a fortune. Or maybe there was treasure inside the box itself?

I had to find out.

After glancing around the small room, I checked both of the old desks. The drawers were empty except for a lone queen of hearts and a few pencils sharpened down to nubs.

Maybe the key was upstairs.

Just in case one of my siblings came down while I went to look, I lifted the box off the desk and placed it against the wall, where it blended in with the rest of the messy room. Taking another quick bite of my sandwich, I ran up the stairs, then glanced out the window toward the house.

Whew. Everyone was still eating.

I turned and looked for where a key might be kept.
The circulation desk was the most likely place. I walked behind it, opening every single drawer.

The first had little animal stamps and an
I LOVE READING
stamp. I remembered how much I loved to get a stamp on my hand at the library when I was younger and pressed a small penguin against my skin. Nothing showed up and I moved on. Another drawer had pencils, pens, paper clips, tape, and a stapler. I rummaged through the clutter and finally noticed something silver.

A small key!

I grinned and placed it on the desk. That wasn’t so hard. Still, I should check the other drawers, too.

Once I’d gone through every drawer I had collected seven keys. Actually I’d found eight, but one was too big, so I put it back.

A voice yelled from just outside the library window, “Just meet us back here at five, okay?”

Dad! There was shouting from my brothers, and my mom asked, “Do you
have
to talk about poop all day long?”

I swiped the keys into my hand and rushed back down the stairs just as a stampede of footsteps entered the library.

Leaving the box right where it was, I began to try the different keys.
Nope. No
.

“Where’s Sunday?” It was Bo. Usually I liked that he searched me out. But not now. I just needed a few more minutes. I held my breath and tried another key.

Not that one
.

His footsteps tromped down the stairs just as the fourth key slipped easily into the lock. I turned it, then pulled down. The box opened!

The basement door swung wide, banging into the wall. I sat on the box, trying to act like I hadn’t been doing anything at all. “Hi, Bo,” I said, trying to catch my breath.

“Hi, Sunday. What are you doing?”

“Oh, just taking a little break. I was looking through some of these boxes.” I got up, slipped the key into my pocket, and went to a cardboard box, lifting up some old books and two cassette tapes that looked like the ones Mom and Dad had showed us once. “You know, just seeing what’s down here.”

“Bo?” It was Henry now.

“We’re in the basement!”

Henry blasted into the room and looked around. “What’s down here?”

“You know, more old dusty boxes,” I said, walking to the doors and hoping they’d follow me. “Nothing much. Now, why don’t you guys go upstairs and see what Mom and Dad need help with?”

Bo sat down on one of the chairs, then Henry did, too. “No, I want to stay down here with you.”

“Yeah, me too. CJ might like this for a fort,” Henry said, glancing around.

“NO!” I said quickly. “You should make one outside. Besides, we have to organize down here.”

“Oh.”

I sighed.

“Sunday?” Now it was Mom.

“Yeah?”

“Can you come up here and help finish sorting this stack? And boys, I still need you to help move more books.”

I followed Bo and Henry out of the basement and turned to get one last look at the box.

I had to find out what was in there.

THE NEXT
three days were filled from sunrise till sunset with so much stacking, separating, wiping, sweeping, vacuuming, and dusting that I never got a chance to sneak away to the basement. I saw the silver box glinting now and then in the bit of sun that slipped through the small basement window, but with Bo on my heels and CJ getting into mischief every time I turned around, there was never anything I could do about it. On the third day, after the triangle clanged announcing dinner, I realized I was just going to have to go to the library by myself. I’d creep out while my brothers were taking their baths and my sisters were holed up in their room.

Dad locked up the library, and we all met in the dining room. Spaghetti and bread sat steaming on the table.

“The director said that I could help with costumes for the play,” Emma said. Her eyes sparkled, and she talked in
quick bursts of excitement. “They’re doing
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
. I’m thinking simple but elegant.”

“That’s wonderful,” Mom said, though I could tell she was calculating the number of hours she was going to spend behind Emma’s sewing machine.

“Mom let me drive home,” May said, twirling a glob of spaghetti around her fork.

Mom nodded and gave Dad a shaky smile.

I’d witnessed both of my parents in the car with May and decided that even though Mom’s face and neck broke into hives, and she and May always ended up crying at the end, Mom was a little better under pressure than Dad. He always got frustrated with May’s lack of driving skills and wound up throwing his hands in the air, yelling, and then taking the wheel and driving back to the house.

“And how did it go?” Dad asked.

May let the spaghetti drop off her fork and shrugged. “It went pretty good.”

“Pretty good?” Emma cried. “She almost killed us! First she barely missed a mailbox when she looked out the window at a dog, then she ran a stoplight and got honked at, and then she knocked over the trash cans in the driveway because she—”

“I just misjudged the distance!” May shouted.

“They were right in front of you!”

“That’s enough,” Dad said. “I think you have the driving
part down. It’s just the paying-attention part that needs some work.”

Emma laughed and mumbled something under her breath but was silenced by a glare from Dad.

After dinner was finally over, I waited up in my room until I heard the water running downstairs and my sisters’ door close. Then I found Dad. He was sitting at the kitchen table waiting for the timer to ding, signaling that the last dozen of his Fowler Family Chocolate Chip Cookies were ready to come out of the oven. On the counter, earlier batches of cookies were cooling on wire racks next to four loaves of Mom’s pumpkin bread.

“Dad, I think I left something over at the library. Can I run and get it?”

Lucky for me, the timer dinged at that moment. Dad sprang out of his seat, rustled in his pocket, and handed me a set of keys before rushing to the oven and pulling out a tray of lightly browned cookies. He smiled with almost evil delight. My dad loved chocolate chip cookies almost more than life itself. If Mom didn’t hide some of them, we’d be lucky if we got to eat two each before they were gone.

He lifted them one by one off the tray and onto a cooling rack. “The key to the library is the gold one,” he said, not taking his eyes off his task. “Make sure you turn out the lights and lock up after you’re done.”

“Okay, thanks.”

I slipped out the front door, dashed for the library, and was inside before anyone saw me.

I ran down to the basement, pushed through the door, and went to where the silver box sat. My fingertips tingled with anticipation. Whatever was inside, it had to be really important or it wouldn’t have been locked up and set high on a shelf.

Maybe it was a confession.

SUNDAY FOWLER UNLOCKS CRIME OF THE PAST
.

Hefting the box onto the desk, I took a deep breath and gently opened the small door.

A bundle of envelopes, yellow with age, sat on top with the word
Librarian
written in blue ink—just old, musty documents. I plopped them into the cardboard box, my excitement dwindling.

The only other thing was a stack of typed papers held together by a large red rubber band. I picked up the bundle and read: