The Marshland Mystery (21 page)

A moment later, Mart came scurrying out, carrying a newspaper-wrapped bundle under his arm.

“What’s that?” Brian asked crossly.

“Could be a bread box, but it isn’t,” Mart answered saucily, making the girls giggle. “And I don’t want any of you trying to peek at it. Get me?”

“Oh, who wants to?” Trixie retorted, but under her flippancy, she was excited. She felt sure she could guess what was in that package, and she meant to find out as soon as Mart had hidden it. She knew most of his hiding spots, though he had never suspected it.

Miss Martin had asked her several times to pick out a gift for herself among the antique furnishings of the cottage, but Trixie had insisted that she didn’t want a thing. Only Honey could have guessed what Trixie really wanted, or maybe Mart himself, after their little exchange tonight.

She felt sure it was to be a birthday gift. Her fourteenth birthday was only a week away now, but she couldn’t wait. She had to see her box again tonight.

“What do you suppose is in that package?” Honey asked in a whisper.

“Goodness!” Trixie pretended to cover a yawn. “How can I guess what silly secret my little twin might have?”

She said it loudly enough for Mart to hear, but all she got from him in answer was a dry “Don’t you wish you could?” which made Honey and Di both giggle and also made Trixie sure she had guessed right.

“Why don’t you try three guesses?” Mart gibed.

But Trixie was too happy to bother to answer. At the moment, she was trying to decide just where she would keep the dragon box in her room. Somewhere up high, out of Bobby’s reach till he grew older, of course.

Brian stopped the car on the sloping driveway and left it pointed down toward the road so they could roll down to start the motor instead of making a racket with the ancient starter. They would be leaving early.

Mart got out and took the mysterious package into the house with him. Trixie followed him in, wishing she could say, “Let me carry my dragon box.” But that would spoil the surprise, so she didn’t say it.

Their parents were still up and waiting to hear how things were going out at the Martin cottage.

Mart put down his package and poured himself a glass of milk at the refrigerator. “Everything’s great, except Jim can’t be there,” he said. “But he’s given Trix and Honey and Miss Rachel herself a list of prices to ask, so they don’t really need an auctioneer. Of course, I could have done it, but—”

“I’m glad you decided not to,” his father said dryly. “The fact is, I’ll need both you and Brian here all day. We’ve got to get the kitchen garden planted for your mother. We’re supposed to have rain by Sunday.”

“Suits me.” Mart grinned. “Saves a lot of hard labor moving the furniture out to the shopping ladies’ station wagons. Let ’em bring their own muscle guys!”

“Check!” Brian agreed. “I’ll drop the girls out there and come back.”

None of them noticed Bobby, in his sleepers, come to the kitchen door, sleepily rubbing his eyes. He stood yawning a moment, then spotted Mart’s package and made a beeline for it. He climbed up on a chair and started tearing off the newspaper wrapping.

Trixie heard the paper rattle. “Bobby!” she exclaimed and made a dash for him. “Leave my dragon box alone!” Bobby was so startled that he gave a hard pull on the newspaper, and the box slid off onto the floor.

“My box!My box!” Trixie wailed and fell to her knees to gather it up. “If you’ve broken it—”

“What’s going on?” Mr. Belden asked sharply. Mart was standing with a baffled expression on his face, and Brian was frowning puzzledly.

“I guess I should have known that nobody can keep a secret around here,” Mart growled. “Okay, take your silly brass box. It’s a birthday present from Miss Rachel. But, for the love of pete, don’t let her know you’ve got it now, way ahead of time. She’ll be disgusted!”

“Don’t worry. I won’t!” She hugged the box to her. “It’s going to go right on the highest shelf in my room, and I won’t even think about it till my birthday!”

“I don’t like the idea of your taking
any
presents from Miss Rachel,” her father said, with a little frown, “but I suppose it would hurt her feelings if you took it back. And it’s not anything that would bring her more than a couple of dollars at the sale. So....” He shrugged.

“Dad, you’re just the best!” Trixie beamed at him. “Goodnight, everybody! See you in the morning!” And she fled out into the hall and up to her room before anyone had a chance to have a second thought.

In the morning, she was up at daybreak and lost no time shaking Brian awake. “Up!” she ordered. “I’ll fix breakfast and call Honey and Di to get ready. Hurry!”

“Why,” he groaned sleepily, “did I ever let myself be talked into playing chauffeur for a bevy of females?”

“Because one of them has bee-yootiful hazel eyes! And it isn’t me!” And she dashed out into the hall so fast that the pillow Brian hurled missed her.

By the time they were dressed and had snatched a quick bite of coffee cake and a glass of milk, full daylight had arrived. But it was a gray morning, and over in the east the clouds were dark and threatening.

“There’s that storm that’s due here tomorrow,” Trixie said as they rode along Glen Road in the jalopy. “It looks kind of close, to me.”

“I hope it holds off,” Brian said, turning up into Honey’s driveway. Then he stepped on the brake suddenly as two figures came down the drive from the house. “Hey, look! Gaye!”

“Carrying Mr. Poo like a stuffed doll, poor guy,” Brian chuckled. “And what’s that in her other hand? Looks like a suitcase.”

Trixie jumped out of the car and ran to meet them. “Good morning, Gaye. Aren’t you up early for a young lady who’s playing a concert tonight?” she asked gaily. Honey said quickly, “She’s going with us.”

“Uh-oh!” Trixie said doubtfully. “Does Miss Crandall know about it?”

“Of course she does!” Gaye scowled. “I told her I was going to the sale, and she said—” she seemed to be looking for the right word—“she told me, ‘Go ahead, but be sure to be back early.’ ”

The two girls and Brian exchanged looks, but Gaye didn’t wait. She climbed into the front seat next to Brian and settled down determinedly.

“And what’s in there?” Brian asked, nodding toward the small suitcase.

“Oh, just Mr. Poo’s lunch. He’s on a very special diet— for his nerves, you know.”

“First time I ever heard of that,” Brian said, laughing softly. He beckoned to the two girls, who were still standing, undecided, beside the car. “Climb in and let’s go.”

They picked up Di at her gate, and she crowded in with Honey and Trix. Gaye was very silent in the front seat as Trixie told Di about Bobby and the brass box. She yawned a couple of times and then let her head fall against Brian’s arm. When it stayed there in spite of the bumpy road, Brian realized that the tired little girl was sound asleep.

Even after they stopped at Miss Rachel’s gate, she slept on. Brian gathered her up in his arms and took her inside the cottage, the small poodle close behind.

“Oh, the poor baby!” Miss Rachel whispered, seeing the drawn little face. “Put her down on the couch and let her have her sleep out.”

Brian would have liked to stay awhile, but he knew he was needed at home, so after a few minutes and a handful of Miss Rachel’s raisin cookies, he left.

A quarter of an hour later, a light rain was falling. Trixie stuck her nose out to look at the clouds and saw that they were much darker now and swirling across the sky.
Gleeps!
she thought.
I hope they keep right on going and it clears up, or nobody’ll come to the sale.

But instead of slackening, the sprinkle became a down-pour. Even Miss Rachel, who had been trying hard to pretend that she wasn’t worried, looked glum. Gaye slept on, with Mr. Poo across her feet.

“Well, here we sit,” Di said after a while. “Isn’t there something we can still do?”

“I’m afraid we’ve done everything,” Miss Rachel said with a sigh, “except getting together those packages of herbs I promised you girls for your botany class.”

“Well, let’s do that!” Honey said briskly. “Where do we find them?”

“Come along to the potting shed, and I’ll put you all to work,” Miss Rachel told them. “Here.” She reached into the linen drawer of the sideboard. “Aprons for all!” When the girls had put them on and tied the wide, starched strings into bows for each other, they tiptoed out and left Gaye sleeping quietly, Mr. Poo at her feet.

In spite of the pouring rain outside, the girls had a good time for the next half hour, wrapping and labeling the Oswego tea leaves, the pennyroyal, and the other mints, like spearmint and horehound.

It was Trixie who thought she heard Mr. Poo barking. The others were busy with the herbs, so she threw her sweater over her head and started out. “I think I’ll see how Gaye’s getting along,” she said hastily and dashed for the cottage. As she hurried along, she looked toward the front of the house, hopefully, for a car. But there was no car—only sheets of rain.

And when she was inside the cottage and hurried to check on little Gaye, there was no sign of the child. The dog was gone, too, and the small leather suitcase that Gaye had jealously guarded.

Trixie’s Treasure ● 21

TRIXIE RAN to the cottage door and flung it open. The small white gate was standing ajar. It was evident that Gaye had gone out that way. But which direction had she taken? Had she gone to the marsh or to the ruins?

“I’ve got to find her,” Trixie told herself desperately. “That silly story about the miser’s gold could be why she’s gone—or it could be that old yarn about pirate loot in the swamp!” She felt sure now that Gaye hadn’t been sound asleep on the couch. She must have waited till they were out of the room and then stolen out with her little suitcase. “It probably was empty. She was fibbing about Mr. Poo’s lunch being in it! And now I’m sure she never even asked Miss Crandall if she could come with us. She must have sneaked away!”

Trixie hurried out to the gate. The rain was coming down so hard now that there was no chance of seeing any footprints pressed into the muddy road.

Then she heard the poodle barking. The sound was coming from the direction of the ruins of the old Martin mansion. Trixie started running as fast as she could against the driving rain and gusty wind.

“I hope she hasn’t had time to go far,” she muttered uneasily, “but I guess not. I wouldn’t have heard Mr. Poo barking so clearly if they were very far away.”

She hadn’t gone a hundred feet more before she saw the little dog running toward her, a soggy, small white bundle that barked excitedly and then stopped, turned, and seemed to be trying to urge her to follow him. “Okay, Mr. Poo, I’m coming!” she called and went after him as fast as she could. The poodle splashed his way ahead of her, only stopping a couple of times to see if she was still following.

He led her around past the old mansion and to the rose garden. But there was no sign of Gaye. The mounds of earth that the intruders had piled up in their digging for treasure were now sodden masses of mud and stones, and a stream of water was rushing past, down over the stone steps that their digging had uncovered. The steps led into what must have been the root cellar, near the summer kitchen, where the fire had started. Trixie peered down into the darkness. She could see that the lowest step was awash.

“Gaye?” she called uncertainly and was relieved when there was no answer. The little girl was probably climbing around in another part of the ruins.

Trixie started to turn away, but as she did, the small dog came and stood at the edge of the steps and looked down at the water, whimpering. “Oh, no!” Trixie whispered. “If she’s down there, something must have happened to her.” She called again. “Gaye! Are you down there?” Again there was no reply.

Trixie hesitated only a second more and then began to descend the steps. Mr. Poo started to follow her, but Trixie ordered sternly, “Stay there!” and he lay down, paying no attention to the rain that drenched his tiny body but watching her and whining a little.

Gaye was in the cellar. But it was no fake faint this time that kept her from answering Trixie. She had gone down the steps, slipped, and fallen into the water, striking her head. By some miracle, her face was still above water, but most of her body was under. In a few minutes more, she would have drowned.

Afterward, back at the cottage, Trixie could hardly remember how she had been able to struggle against the force of the rushing water, carrying Gaye’s limp body and inching along the rocky sides of the old cellar toward the steps and safety. It was like a nightmare now, but somehow she had done it and brought Gaye back to consciousness in the shelter of a wildly swaying tree.

They had staggered hand in hand back to the cottage, with the drenched puppy trotting ahead in the downpour. At the door, Miss Rachel had caught Gaye in her arms as the child collapsed from excitement and fatigue.

Now, with Gaye safely tucked in bed but babbling with a high fever, and Mr. Poo, rubbed dry and fluffy, sleeping at her side, Trixie sat bundled in a blanket before the fire. Honey hovered about her anxiously.

“Are you sure I can’t get anything for you?” she asked.