The Mystery of the Screech Owl (3 page)

“Then we can go exploring,” Benny said.

“Of course,” Grandfather said. “Just wear your coats and hats. These cold nights and warm days are perfect conditions for the sap to rise in the sugar bush.”

Everyone looked puzzled. Grandfather laughed.

“I'll take you to the sugar bush this afternoon,” he said. “And you'll see what I'm talking about.”

After washing the dishes, the children bundled up in jackets, scarves, and hats.

As they walked down to the edge of the pond, Violet told the boys about the boat she and Jessie had seen the night before.

“A boat with nobody rowing it?” Benny exclaimed. “How could that happen? You don't think there are any ghosts here, do you?”

“I'm sure there's a logical explanation,” said Henry. “Let's look for the boat.”

Now that it was bright daylight, Jessie could see the camp wore signs of neglect. The cabins around the pond were rundown. The gravel paths sprouted weeds and the lawns had gone to seed.

Down by the pond, cattails and reeds grew thickly along the shore.

They walked out on the sagging dock, carefully stepping over missing planks.

“We saw the boat leave on this side.” Violet pointed. “And then it went around over here. I think I see it!”

The children hurried back down the dock, then pushed through a thicket of cattails along the shore.

A rickety rowboat was beached on the muddy bank, hidden by reeds. It had been painted dark green at one time, but the boards were mostly scraped bare. Ghostly orange letters spelled out the boat's name.

“Is this the boat?” Henry asked.

Jessie stared at it. “I think so. What's that written on the side? The letters are so faded …
Orville
?”

“What a funny name for a boat,” Benny commented.

Henry shook his head. “Are you sure this is the boat? This old thing would sink if you tried to float it in the bathtub!”

“Well, it was night, so we couldn't see what color it was,” Jessie said doubtfully. “But it
looks
like the same boat.”

Just then they heard laughter and voices on the hill above them.

“The Andersons are out early, too,” said Jessie, waving.

“Let's go meet them!” Benny was already halfway up the path.

Patty, Aaron, and Jacob ran the rest of the way down the hill when they saw the Aldens.

“Hi!” said Patty, her blue eyes bright with excitement. “Guess what? We're going to buy this place!”

“You're kidding!” Jessie remarked. “You're going to buy Broken Moon Pond?”

“Yep.” Aaron grinned. “We like it here so much, our folks decided to buy it.”

“We're going to use the cabin you're in,” added Patty. “And rent out the others. After we fix them up.”

“My dad called the caretaker,” said Aaron. “He said we wanted to make an offer. The caretaker called the real estate man in town. We're going to see him now.”

“He's the man we picked up our keys from,” Jessie said, nodding. “That's great news.”

“We saw you guys staring at something by the pond,” said Aaron. “What were you looking at?”

“Just an old boat,” said Benny. “We'll show you.”

They went back over to the dock.

“Well?” said Patty. “I don't see anything.”

Henry pushed the reeds aside. “Right there —” he began.

But there was nothing hidden among the reeds.

The boat was gone.

CHAPTER 3

The Sugar Bush

“I
t was right here!” cried Jessie. “An old green boat with
Orville
painted on the side.”

Patty looked dubious. “Maybe the boat was someplace else and you thought it was here. These reeds are pretty thick.”

“No, it was here,” Henry insisted. “We all saw it. See the broken cattails?” That gave him an idea. “If the boat had been here, there would be marks in the mud.”

But before he could look further, Mrs. Anderson appeared at the top of the hill. She was carrying little Emma.

“Kids!” she called. “We're leaving!”

“We've got to go,” said Aaron. “We're going to town to buy the camp!”

After the Andersons left, the Alden children searched for the vanished rowboat.

“This is too weird,” said Violet, her shoes squishing as they walked back to the cabin. “How could a boat disappear?”

“And without us seeing anybody,” Jessie added. She rubbed mud off her shoes on a patch of grass. “Who could have taken the boat?”

“Maybe the same person who rowed it across the pond last night,” said Benny.

“But we didn't see anybody.” Violet stopped. She could guess what Benny was thinking. “Benny, there are no ghosts at Broken Moon Pond.” At least, she didn't
think
there were.

At that moment, Grandfather came out on the porch. “Ready for our trip?”

The children raced one another to the top of the hill.

“Where are we going?” Benny wanted to know as he fastened his seat belt in the rental car.

“Sugar bush country,” was all James Alden would say.

They drove the short distance to Nibelle, then took a crooked road leading away from the village.

Deep woods surrounded the road. More snow lay on the ground. Because of the heavy forest, the sun didn't melt the snow as quickly.

A sign in French stood next to a rutted lane. Grandfather turned down the lane and stopped at a small shack. A big man in a flannel shirt leaned out the window of the shack.

“
Bonjour
,” Grandfather greeted him.

“
Bonjour
,” the man grunted.

Jessie whispered to Benny, “That means, ‘Hello.'” She had looked up the word in her French-English dictionary.

Now James Alden was asking if they were permitted to visit the sugar bush and if there was a fee.

The man, whose name tag read ANDRÉ PLESSIS, peered into the car. He stared at the children, then said, “You are a family of four children?” He looked puzzled.

Grandfather smiled. “I am lucky enough to have four grandchildren.”

“That way,” André Plessis said, giving Grandfather a brochure.

Henry poked Jessie. “I wonder why that guy looks so confused.”

“It's like he was expecting some other people or something,” she whispered back.

They drove through the gate. Benny was the first to notice something odd about the trees.

“They have buckets on them!” he exclaimed.

“And faucets!” Violet chimed in.

Grandfather laughed at their amazement. “That's how they get sap from maple trees.”

Grandfather pulled the car into a graveled lot near a long, low building and they got out.

“Mmmmm!” said Benny, taking a deep breath. “It smells like candy!”

The air does smell wonderful
, Jessie thought. It made her want to eat breakfast again!

“This is the sugar hut,” explained James Alden. “It's where the sap is processed into maple syrup. When I came here years ago, the hut really was a hut. Now it's a modern facility.”

A tour guide met them at the door. Her name tag read
MARIE-LOUISE
. Jessie thought Marie-Louise was very pretty, with her long red hair and green eyes.

Marie-Louise spoke very good English. “Welcome to
cabane du sucre
, or sugar hut, as you would say. Some syrup operations use tubes to collect the sap from the trees, but here in Nibelle, we still use buckets. I will show you.”

Outside again, she walked over to a large tree that had a bucket hanging from the trunk.

“The best trees are sugar maples or black maples,” she explained. “Sap starts to run when the temperature is above freezing for a few days but still cold at night. We've had very good weather this year.”

“Do you just stick that thing in the tree and turn it on like a faucet?” Violet asked.

“Almost,” Marie-Louise replied with a smile. “First, we drill a small hole into the tree. It does not harm the tree, by the way. These trees have been tapped year after year. Next we drive in a spile, which allows the sap to flow through the spout on the end. The bucket hangs from this hook and the sap drips into it.”

Henry looked around. “Do you have to carry all the buckets back to the building?”

“No,” said Marie-Louise. “We collect the sap in a gathering tank and drive back to the
cabane
. But the sap must be processed immediately. That is why our operation runs day and night during sugaring season.”

She led the way back to the facility. Inside, people worked over metal tubs, checking thermometers that they dipped into the vats.

Marie-Louise walked over to one of the tubs. “This is an evaporator,” she said, lifting the lid. “The lid keeps the syrup clean. This pipe carries the steam outside. That is why a sugar camp smells so good!”

“How does the sap turn into syrup?” asked Jessie.

“The evaporator boils away the water,” explained Marie-Louise. “See the channels at the bottom of the pan? They allow the sap to move up and down, which concentrates the syrup.”

“How long does it take?” Grandfather wanted to know. “I worked here when I was a boy, but the operations weren't modernized.”

“Generally, it takes a few hours to reach sugar stage,” Marie-Louise replied. “When the temperature reaches 218 degrees, the syrup is ready. But very quickly, the syrup can burn, so timing is critical.”

“Grandfather, I didn't know you made syrup,” said Violet.

He winked at her. “I've had a lot of jobs in my long life.”

Marie-Louise turned to Benny. “How would you like to make
tire sur la neige
?”

“I don't know,” he said hesitantly. “Will I like it?”

Their guide laughed. “I think you will!”

Marie-Louise placed some of the dark, sweet liquid into a small tray. Then she led them outside once more. There, she poured the syrup in stripes on a hard-packed snowbank.

Instantly the golden syrup turned into sugar strips.

“That is sugar-on-snow candy,” she told them. “Try it!” From her pocket, she pulled out plastic forks.

Benny used his fork to pick up the maple taffy. “Yummy!” he said approvingly. “When I grow up, I'm going to be a syrup-maker.”

Marie-Louise laughed again, then said, “Be sure to stop at the café. They serve a very good lunch.”

“Sounds wonderful,” said Grandfather. “Thank you for showing us around.”

They walked down the path to the cedar log building. Inside, a fire crackled in the raised brick fireplace. Red-checked curtains hung at the windows. Hand-carved wooden spiles and buckets decorated the walls.

The waitress was all smiles when they first walked in, but then she frowned and crossed her arms over her chest.

“What's with her?” Violet whispered to Jessie. “She acts like she doesn't want us to come in.”

“I don't know,” Jessie said. “It's not like it's crowded or anything.” An older couple occupied a table by the fireplace, but the restaurant was otherwise empty.

With a grudging wave, the waitress signaled the Aldens to sit at a cramped table in a far corner.

“Perhaps we could sit over there by the window?” Grandfather said politely. “Since there are five of us.”

“Suit yourself,” grumbled the waitress, whose name tag read
BERTHILDE
. She threw down a sheaf of menus written in French.

“She's not very friendly,” Henry remarked.

“Maybe she's having a bad day,” said Violet. “How do we know what to order?”

“We'll get the special and hope for the best,” said Grandfather. “I'm sure it'll be fine.”

After a long wait, Berthilde brought them five plates of maple-baked beans, pancakes with maple syrup, and maple tarts.

“Boy, they sure like syrup around here,” Jessie commented. But the food was delicious, and she ate heartily.