The Indian Burial Ground Mystery (3 page)

The last days
of school flew by, and
Trixie didn’t fail the math final, after all. Monday morning, Mrs. Belden
dropped the girls at the hospital to pick up their candy striper uniforms and
attend the first-day orientation meeting. The information was familiar to
Trixie, but the new faces she saw in the group made her realize how important
it was to know exactly what a candy striper should, and should not, do.

“All right, girls,” Mrs.
Beales
was
concluding, “tomorrow morning, bright and early. If any of you have any
questions about the work, come up to the front of the room and I’ll try to
answer them.”

“Quick,” Trixie whispered to Honey. “Let’s go to the preserve. I’ll bet
we’ve missed practically everything!”

“Don’t be silly, Trixie,” Honey said with a laugh as she followed her
impetuous friend out of the building. “How could we have missed everything if
they just started setting up this morning?”

“Because,” Trixie said, “we’re not even there yet. We have to change out
of our uniforms, have some lunch— Oh gosh, I can’t bear the thought of missing
even the littlest part! Don’t you feel the same way?”

“I guess I do,” Honey answered. “But it isn’t driving me batty.”

Mrs. Belden was waiting for them outside the hospital in the Belden
station wagon. Bobby was firmly belted into the backseat and complaining
loudly.

“I wanna sit
way
in the back,” Bobby whined peevishly, “where you put the packages. It’s
more fun! Nobody would arrest a six-year-old for not wearing a seat belt. I
think it’s dumb. So there!”

“It’s not dumb, Bobby,” Honey said sweetly. “Look, I’m wearing my seat
belt, and so is Trixie, and so is your mom. Smart people always wear their seat
belts, and you’re one of the smartest little people I know.”

Bobby threw a grateful smile at Honey. Then, mollified, he settled down.
The car drove swiftly along
Glen
Road
. Mrs. Belden dropped Honey at the foot of the
driveway to the Manor House, and then pulled into Crab-apple Farm. The moment
the car stopped, Trixie bolted out the door and ran into the house.

“There are sandwiches on the kitchen table,” Mrs. Belden called after
her. By the time she had gotten Bobby and the groceries out of the car, Trixie
had changed into shorts and a halter top, and was racing down the porch steps
with a tomato-and-cheese sandwich in each hand.

“See you later, Moms,” she called merrily as she jumped on her bike.

Trixie rode across the yard, and down the wooded path that led to the
Manor House. Honey was there, waiting on the veranda steps with her bike and
her sandwich. They quickly made their way along a dirt road to the part of the
preserve where the dig site was located. A truck rumbled past them, kicking up
clouds of dust.

“I bet it’s a delivery,” Trixie said. “Let’s hurry.”

Hot and out of breath, Honey and Trixie finally came to the clearing. It
was a hive of busy activity. They could see tents being set up around the edge
of the small meadow. Young people dressed in colorful shirts and shorts were
carrying boxes, chairs, and stacks of books. Professor Conroy was moving tables
and opening cartons.

“Brian,” Trixie called out, catching sight of her brother. “Did we miss
anything?”

Brian turned. Charles Miller was standing with him. They both had
relaxed, happy expressions on their faces. Trixie wondered briefly why Charles
appeared so nice when talking to her brother, and so prickly when talking to
her.

Brian ambled over. “Don’t worry,
Trix
,” he
said. “Professor Conroy is giving the opening lecture in about fifteen minutes.
All you missed was the hard part.”

“Good,” the girls said, relieved.

“Hey,” Trixie said to Brian, “what did you think of Charles Miller? He’s
a little odd, isn’t he?”

“Not at all,” Brian replied. “Charles is extremely smart, and a real
archaeologist. You wouldn’t believe how much that guy knows about this area.
When he heard I worked as a guard at the Historical Society, he immediately
asked to see the archives. Charles says there’s a wealth of original source
material there—diaries, letters, all kinds of stuff. I’m going to take him down
there as soon as he has some free time.”

“That’s very nice of you,” Honey said, “but where is Professor Conroy
going to give the opening lecture?”

“
Oooh
, that’s right,” Trixie said, her eyes
sparkling with interest. “We should try and get front-row seats!”

“There are no front-row seats, silly,” Brian said with a chuckle. “We’ll
probably all just sit around under a tree.”

Suddenly the three young people heard a sharp noise. Turning, they saw
Professor Conroy blowing comically on a little silver whistle. He was holding a
sheaf of notebook paper in one hand.

With a wave he indicated that everyone should join him under a group of
shade trees at the edge of the clearing. Mart emerged from behind a stack of
boxes and dashed across the clearing to join Trixie, Honey, and Brian. They
quickly joined the group of ruddy-faced students. Trixie listened with rapt
attention as Professor Conroy started to speak.

“Most people think an archaeologist spends all his time in remote
regions of the world surrounded by missing links, dangling skeletons, and
ancient, mysterious civilizations. Well, an archaeological site usually isn’t
as glamorous as people expect, but it can still fill one with awe. Here is
where people actually lived their lives hundreds, or even thousands, of years
ago.

“Archaeology is really the science of garbage—that’s right, garbage. By
going through the abandoned rubbish heaps of ancient civilizations, we can
learn a great deal about them. We can find out how our predecessors lived,
played, and worked.”

Trixie looked around her. Suddenly the preserve that she knew so well
came alive. She could almost see the Indians who once lived there.

The professor continued. “The Algonquin and Iroquois tribes moved around
in the
Hudson
Valley
for hundreds of years. We are
presently standing on what I believe is an Algonquin burial ground. Burial
grounds are important because, in most tribes, a person’s ritual objects were
buried with him upon his death. Most of these things, such as baskets and
deerskin clothing, have disintegrated over the years. But other things hold up
better. These include knives, bowls, and pipes. Most of them were made of
durable materials, such as bone, stone, or fired clay.

“It is these objects we are most interested in. Each tribe had specific
ways of decorating their belongings. By comparing the decorative markings, we
can try to determine the tribe’s movements. On this dig, we’re concerned with
the tribes that moved along the eastern seaboard.

“Tobacco was grown and traded extensively in this region of the country.
Much religious significance was placed on tobacco and its use, so the
decorative markings on pipe heads were more formal and symbolic.”

As Professor Conroy continued to talk about Indian rituals, Trixie
listened, fascinated. When he was finished and began assigning tasks to each
student, Trixie could barely contain her enthusiasm.

“
Gleeps
,” Trixie sighed. “This is even more
exciting than I thought it would be.”

“Now, don’t get too excited,” Brian said reasonably, trying to calm
Trixie down. “I doubt that they’re going to let the high-school volunteers do
the important work. After all, this dig is supposed to be for the graduate
students. We’ll probably be assigned to only the boring stuff.”

“Nothing about archaeology could be boring,” Trixie said in a rush.
“Why, it’s just like detective work. Sometimes the smallest, most insignificant
clue is the one that solves the whole mystery! I almost think I’d rather be an
archaeologist. What could be more exciting than uncovering the mysteries of the
ancient past?”

“Well, you’ll meet a better class of people,” Mart put in. They were
standing in front of a folding table, waiting to be assigned jobs. “No crooks,
robbers, or madmen here. After an exciting life like yours, do you think you
could stand the boredom?”

“Oh, Mart,” Trixie said. “You know what I mean.” She turned her
attention back to Professor Conroy. He had been assigning most of his students
to sections on a large map that lay on the table. The map showed the meadow
where they were standing divided into numbered squares. A big, hand-printed
label in bright-red ink said,
BURIAL GROUND.
To the east of the meadow was another, smaller area
which was labeled,
VILLAGE.
While the professor assigned sections, a group of students were driving
pegs into the ground and tying lengths of string between them, marking off
squares just like the ones on the map.

The five Bob-Whites stood in line waiting to get their assignments. Di
had finally located the group and was standing with them. She’d been delayed by
the twins, who refused to eat their lunch, but she’d managed to arrive only a
few minutes after Professor Conroy began his speech.

“Wasn’t that exciting, Trixie?” Di whispered. “Oh, I hope I find
something really terrific.”

Trixie suddenly had a thought. She tapped the girl ahead of her on line
and said, “Excuse me, but why are there two different sections to the dig? The
map says ‘Burial Ground’ and ‘Village.’ ”

The girl smiled in a friendly way, and gestured across the meadow toward
a path that went off to the east, into the forest.

“Over there, in the woods, is the place where Professor Conroy thinks
the original Indian village was located,” she explained. “The meadow where
we’re standing was where the Indians buried their dead. He hopes to find most
of the important artifacts here.”

“Yikes,” Trixie said, starting to hop from one foot to the other. “We’re
standing on graves!”

“We are not,” Brian said calmly.

“Oh yes we are,” she argued, her voice rising shrilly. “This whole
meadow is the Indian burial ground. What if the ghosts of these Indians get
angry and come back to haunt us?”

“That’s what I love about you, Trixie,” Honey began, trying not to
laugh. But before she could finish, Professor Conroy was welcoming them to the
dig, and assigning them to sections and jobs. Honey and Trixie were assigned to
dig in the village site, which was in the woods. They were also asked to help out
in the cleaning tent, which was at the burial ground site. Everything found had
to be carefully cleaned with soft brushes and placed in marked boxes. Di had
been assigned to the drawing group, because she was such a good artist. She was
to make a drawing of each find on a three-by-five card. Later, the graduate
students would try to date the finds based on where and how deep in the ground
they’d been found. Mart and Brian were to help with the packing. Every find
would be carefully packed in boxes to take back to the university for further
study during the winter. Cataloging and classifying were saved for the more
experienced college students. Each item would be identified by its shape and
decoration, and then a large catalog would be made from the three-by-five
cards.

“Whew!” Trixie said. “There’s more to this than I thought.”

Ghosts had apparently slipped from her mind. But she still walked
carefully around the edge of the meadow as she and Honey made their way down
the wooded path to the village site. All the tents had been put up, and the
last of the equipment was being unloaded from the trucks.

The two girls were surprised when they got to the section of the woods
where they were supposed to dig. It was deserted, dark, and forbidding.

“Who would want to set up a village here?” Honey said in a tremulous
voice. “It’s so gloomy. I would think that any Indian would hate it here.”

“Honey,” Trixie whispered to her friend, “look over there. What’s that
man doing?” Honey turned to see a skinny, seedy-looking man pacing and
whispering to himself. He would occasionally stop to jot something down in a
notebook.

Honey thought she recognized him. “Wasn’t he one of the delivery men? I
wonder what he’s doing off in the woods?”

Suddenly Trixie saw Charles Miller rush over to the man. Trixie and
Honey, standing twenty feet away in the low undergrowth, could hear only
snatches of their conversation. Charles called the older man Harry, and they
seemed to know each other. Trixie put her finger to her lips, cautioning Honey to
remain silent.

The two men spoke briefly, and Trixie distinctly heard the words “a real
treasure trove,” “map,” and “historical society.” Then Charles shook Harry’s
hand and said, “We won’t have any problem dealing with those nosy kids. Just
leave it to me.”

When the two girls were finally alone again, Trixie was aghast.

“Did you hear that?” she whispered, her eyes as round as saucers. “He
called us nosy!”

“How do you know he was talking about us?” Honey asked reasonably.

“Well, maybe not about us, but certainly about the Historical Society,”
Trixie said firmly. “He must have meant something about Brian! Remember, Brian
said Charles was interested in the Historical Society. I’d better warn him that
there’s something fishy about Charles Miller!”