The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels (155 page)

“Well, well,” she cackled, “anybody that’s a friend of Silas is a friend of mine. You’re welcome to bed and board fer as long as you want to stay.”

Penny thanked her and stepped closer to the kettle. “We’ve not had anything to eat since noon,” she said suggestively. “My, whatever you’re cooking looks good!” She sniffed at the steam arising from the iron pot and backed hastily away.

Old Mrs. Lear broke into cackling laughter. “You gals don’t want none o’ that! This here is soap and I’m head over heels in it. That’s why I’m workin’ so late.”

“Soap,” repeated Penny with deep respect. “Why, I thought soap was made in a factory.”

Mrs. Lear was pleased at the girl’s interest. “Most of it is,” she said, “but not my soap. This here is homemade soap and I wouldn’t trade a cake of it for all the store soap ye can lug home—not for heavy cleanin’, I wouldn’t.”

Moving near enough to the fire to see the greasy mixture bubbling in the kettle, Penny asked Mrs. Lear if she would explain how soap was made.

“Bless you, yes,” the old lady replied with enthusiasm. “You are the first gal I ever ran across that was interested in anything as old fashioned as soap makin’. Why, when I was young every girl knew how to make soap and was proud of it. But nowdays! All the girls think about is gaddin’ and dancin’ and having dates with some worthless good-for-nothin’. Come right up to the fire and I’ll show you something about soap makin’.”

Mrs. Lear poked the glowing logs beneath the kettle.

“First thing,” she explained, “is to get your fire good and hot. Then you add your scrap grease.”

“What is scrap grease?” Louise asked, greatly intrigued.

“Why, bless you, child, that’s the odds and ends of cookin’ that most folks throw away. Not me though. I make soap of it. Even if it ain’t so good smellin’ it’s better soap than you can buy.”

The girls looked over the rim of the steaming kettle and saw a quantity of bubbling fats. With surprising dexterity for one of her age, Mrs. Lear inserted a long-handled hoe-shaped paddle and stirred the mixture vigorously.

“Next thing ye do is to cook in the lye,” she instructed. “Then you let it cool off and slice it to any size you want. This mess’ll soon be ready.”

“And that’s all there is to making soap,” Penny said, a bit amazed in spite of herself.

“All but a little elbow grease and some git up and git!” the old lady chuckled. “Them two commodities are mighty scarce these days.”

While the girls watched, Mrs. Lear poured off the soap mixture. She would not allow them to help lest they burn themselves.

“I kin tell that you girls are all tuckered out,” she said when the task was finished. “Just put your horses in the barn and toss ’em some corn and hay. While you’re gone I’ll clean up these soap makin’things and start a mess o’ victuals cookin’.”

Mrs. Lear waved a bony hand toward a large, unpainted outbuilding. Louise and Penny led their horses to it, opening the creaking old barn door somewhat cautiously. A sound they could not instantly identify greeted their ears.

“What was that?” Louise whispered, holding back.

“Only a horse gnawing corn!” Penny chuckled. “Mrs. Lear must keep a steed of her own.”

It was dark in the barn even with the doors left wide open. Groping their way to empty stalls, the girls unsaddled and tied the horses up for the night. Mrs. Lear’s animal, they noted, was a high-spirited animal, evidently a thoroughbred.

“A riding horse too,” Penny remarked. “Wonder how she can afford to keep it?”

Finding corn in the bin, the girls fed Bones and White Foot, and forked them an ample supply of hay.

“Now to feed ourselves,” Penny sighed as they left the barn. “My stomach feels as empty as the Grand Canyon!”

The girls had visions of a bountiful supper cooked over the camp fire. However, Mrs. Lear was putting out the glowing coals with a bucket of water.

“Come into the house,” she urged. “It won’t take me long to git a meal knocked up. That is, if you ain’t too particular.”

“Anything suits us,” Louise assured her.

“And the more of it, the better,” Penny muttered, though under her breath.

Mrs. Lear led the way to the house, advising the girls to wait at the door until she could light a kerosene lamp. By its ruddy glow they saw a kitchen, very meagerly furnished with old-fashioned cook stove, a homemade table and a few chairs.

“While you’re washin’ up I’ll put on some victuals to cook,” Mrs. Lear said, showing the girls a wash basin and pitcher. “It won’t take me a minute.”

With a speed that was amazing, the old lady lighted the cook stove and soon had a bed of glowing coals. She warmed up a pan of potatoes, fried salt pork and hominy. From a pantry shelf she brought wild grape jelly and a loaf of homemade bread. To complete the meal she set before the girls a pitcher of milk and a great glass dish brimming with canned peaches.

“It ain’t much,” she apologized.

“Food never looked better,” Penny declared, drawing a chair to the kitchen table.

“It’s a marvelous supper!” Louise added, her eyes fairly caressing the food.

Mrs. Lear sat down at the table with the girls and seemed to take keen delight in watching them eat. Whenever their appetites lagged for an instant she would pass them another dish.

“Now that you’ve et, tell me who you are and why you came,” Mrs. Lear urged after the girls had finished. “You say Silas sent you?”

Good food had stimulated Penny and Louise and made them in a talkative mood. They told of their long trip from Riverview and almost before they realized it, had spoken of the Headless Horseman. Mrs. Lear listened attentively, her watery blue eyes dancing with interest. Suddenly Penny cut her story short, conscious that the old lady deliberately was pumping her of information.

“So you’d like to collect Mr. Burmaster’s reward?”Mrs. Lear chuckled.

“We shouldn’t mind,” Penny admitted. “Besides, we’d be doing the Burmasters a good turn to help them get rid of their ghost rider.”

“That you would,” agreed the old lady exactly as if the Burmasters were her best friends. “Yes, indeed, you’ve come in a good cause.”

“Then perhaps you can help us,” Louise said eagerly. “You must have heard about the Headless Horseman.”

Mrs. Lear nodded brightly.

“Perhaps you know who the person is,” Penny added.

“Maybe, maybe not.” Mrs. Lear shrugged, and getting quickly up, began to carry the dishes to the sink. The firm tilt of her thin chin warned the girls that so far as she was concerned, the topic was closed.

Rather baffled, Penny and Louise made a feeble attempt to reopen the conversation. Failing, they offered to wipe the dishes for their hostess.

“Oh, it ain’t no bother to do ’em myself,” Mrs. Lear said, shooing them away. “You both look tired enough to drop. Just go up to the spare bedroom and slip beneath the covers.”

Louise and Penny needed no further urging. Carrying their knapsacks and a lamp Mrs. Lear gave them, they stumbled up the stairs. The spare bedroom was a huge, rather cold chamber, furnished with a giant fourposter bed and a chest of drawers. The only floor covering was a homemade rag rug.

Louise quickly undressed and left Penny to blow out the light. The latter, moving to the latticed window, stood for a moment gazing out across the moonlit fields toward the Burmaster estate.

“Nothing makes sense about this trip,” she remarked.

From the bed came a muffled: “Now you’re talking!”

Ignoring the jibe, Penny resumed: “Did you notice how Mrs. Lear acted just as if the Burmasters were her friends.”

“Perhaps she did that to throw us off the track. She asked us plenty of questions but she didn’t tell us one thing!”

“Yet she knows plenty. I’m convinced of that.”

“Oh, come on to bed,” Louise pleaded, yawning. “Can’t you do your speculating in the morning?”

With a laugh, Penny leaped into the very center of the feather bed, missing her chum’s anatomy by inches.

Soon Mrs. Lear came upstairs. She tapped softly on the door and inquired if the girls had plenty of covers. Assured that they were comfortable, she went on down the hall to her own room.

Worn from the long horseback ride, Louise fell asleep almost at once. Penny felt too excited to be drowsy. She lay staring up at the ceiling, reflecting upon the day’s events. So far, the journey to the Valley had netted little more than sore muscles.

“Yet there’s mystery and intrigue here—I know it!” Penny thought. “If only I could get a little tangible information!”

An hour elapsed and still the girl could not sleep. As she stirred restlessly, she heard Mrs. Lear’s bedroom door softly creak. In the hallway boards began to tremble. Penny stiffened, listening. Distinctly, she could hear someone tiptoeing past her door to the stairway.

“That must be Mrs. Lear,” she thought. “But what can she be doing up at this time of night?”

The question did not long remain unanswered. Boards squeaked steadily as the old lady descended the stairs. A little silence. Then Penny heard two long rings and a short one.

“Mrs. Lear is calling someone on the old-fashioned party-line telephone!” she identified the sound.

Mrs. Lear’s squeaky voice carried clearly up the stairway through the half open bedroom door.

“That you, Silas?” Penny heard her say. “Well, those gals got here, just as you said they would! First off they asked me about the Headless Horseman.”

A slight pause followed before Mrs. Lear added:“Don’t you worry none, Silas. Just count on me! They’ll handle soft as kittens!”

And as she ended the telephone conversation, the old lady broke into cackling laughter.

CHAPTER 8

A RICH MAN’S TROUBLES

Rain was drumming on the roof when Penny awakened the next morning. Yawning sleepily, she sat up in bed. Beside her, Louise, curled into a tight ball, slumbered undisturbed. But not for long. Penny tickled an exposed foot until she opened her eyes.

“Get up, Lou!” she ordered pleasantly. “We’ve overslept.”

“Oh, it’s still night,” Louise grumbled, trying to snuggle beneath the covers again.

Penny stripped off all the blankets and pulled her chum from the bed. “It’s only so dark because it’s raining,” she explained. “Anyway, I have something important to tell you.”

As the girls dressed in the cold bedroom, Penny told Louise of the telephone conversation she had heard the previous night.

“Mrs. Lear was talking to Silas Malcom I’m sure,” she concluded. “And about us too! She said we’d handle very easily.”

Louise’s eyes opened a trifle wider. “Then you figure Silas Malcom intended to get us here on purpose!”

“I’m beginning to think so.”

“But why?”

“Don’t ask me,” Penny said with a shrug. “These Valley folk aren’t simple by any means! Unless we watch our step they may take us for a merry ride.”

“Not with the Headless Horseman, I hope,” Louise chuckled. “Why don’t we go home this morning and forget the whole silly affair?”

Penny shook her head. “I’m sticking until I find out what’s going on here,” she announced. “It might mean a story for Dad’s paper!”

“Oh, that’s only your excuse,” Louise teased. “You know you never could resist a mystery, and this one certainly has baffling angles.”

The girls washed in a basin of cold water and then went downstairs. Mrs. Lear was baking pancakes in the warm kitchen. She flipped one neatly as she reached with the other hand to remove the coffee pot from the stove.

“Good morning,” she chirped. “Did you sleep right last night?”

Penny and Louise agreed that they had and edged close to the stove for warmth. An old-fashioned clock on the mantel showed that it was only eight o’clock. But eight o’clock for Mrs. Lear was a late hour, judging by the amount of work she had done. A row of glass jars stood on the table, filled with canned plums and peaches.

“You haven’t put up all that fruit this morning?” gasped Louise.

Mrs. Lear admitted that she had. “But that ain’t much,” she added modestly. “Only a bushel and a half. Won’t hardly last no time at all.”

Mrs. Lear cleared off the kitchen table, set it in a twinkling, and placed before the girls a huge mound of stacked cakes.

“Now eat hearty,” she advised. “I had mine hours ago.”

As Penny ate, she sought to draw a little information from the eccentric old woman. Deliberately, she brought up the subject of the Burmaster family.

“What is it you want to know?” Mrs. Lear asked, smiling wisely.

“Why is Mrs. Burmaster so disliked in the community?”

“Because she’s a scheming, trouble maker if there ever was one!” the old lady replied promptly. “Mr. Burmaster ain’t so bad, only he’s pulled around by the nose by that weepin’, whinin’ wife of his.”

“Mrs. Burmaster seems to think that the valley folk treat her cruelly.”

“She should talk about being cruel!” Mrs. Lear’s dark eyes flashed. “You know what them Burmasters done?”

“Only in a general way.”