Mystery of the Stolen Sword (2 page)

Grandfather laughed and shook his head. “You certainly haven’t changed, Seymour. It sure is good to see you.”

“And these must be your grandchildren,” Seymour said.

Grandfather nodded and proudly introduced Henry, Jessie, Violet, Benny, and Watch, who all shook the farmer’s hand (including Watch!).

Though frail-looking, Mr. Curtis had a very firm handshake. “Please call me Seymour,” the farmer insisted. “None of that Mr. Curtis nonsense. Your grandfather and I have known each other since we were six years old.”

“We met in first grade,” Grandfather explained as he followed his friend up to the house.

The Aldens entered a small living room with a low ceiling and a worn wooden floor, covered with a small Oriental rug.

“This way,” said Seymour, gesturing toward the big kitchen where his wife, Rose, was at the stove stirring a big pot of stew.

Already seated at the long wooden table in front of the stove were two middle-aged men.

“These are my farmhands,” Seymour said as he introduced them to the Aldens. “Mike Johnson and Jeff Wilson have been working for me ever since they were in high school.” They were both tall, big-boned men with dark curly hair and blue eyes. Henry noticed Mike had especially large feet, and he wore thick hiking boots. Jeff wore a pair of worn red sneakers. The two men looked a lot alike. The Aldens were not surprised to learn they were cousins.

“Will you be here long?” Jeff asked. Jeff had a wide smile and large white teeth.

“The Aldens are welcome to stay as long as they like,” Seymour said. “Goodness knows, I’ve been trying to get my old friend up here for years now, but he’s always been too busy.”

Grandfather laughed. “We’ll probably stay a week or two,” he answered.

“Well, we’ll have to put you to work,” Jeff said, addressing Henry as he spoke. “We could show you around the farm, and you could help us bale some hay, if you feel like working.”

“I could help, too,” said Benny.

“Nah, you’d just be in the way,” Mike muttered. Benny just stared at the farmhand, too hurt and surprised to say anything more. The others didn’t seem to have heard Mike’s comment.

“Lunch is ready,” Rose announced as she pulled a big tray of warm biscuits out of the oven.

“Oh, homemade buttermilk biscuits. My favorite,” said Grandfather, rubbing his hands together. “Did I ever tell you that Rose makes the best biscuits in New England?” he asked his grandchildren.

“Now, James,” Rose protested, laughing, “that’s an exaggeration.” But she looked pleased.

“Everything smells wonderful,” said Jessie.

“Food’s always good here,” Jeff agreed as he heaped stew on his plate. “It keeps Mike and me working here.”

“We had a mighty good harvest this year,” Mike was telling Grandfather. “Especially with the Baldwins.”

“The Northern Spy did well, too,” Seymour added.

Benny perked up. “There’s an apple called Northern Spy?”

“There sure is, son. You’ll have to taste one before you leave,” Seymour answered.

“Sure, I’ll taste almost anything,” Benny said.

“So the orchard is doing very well, Seymour,” Grandfather remarked.

“Yes, the orchard is,” Seymour said slowly, “but we’ve been having some other troubles.” At this point he exchanged a look with his wife, who was frowning.

“I have to tell them, Rose,” Seymour said. “James is one of my best friends.”

“But they only just arrived,” Rose protested.

“What is this all about?” asked Jeff. By now, everyone at the table was looking at Seymour, who was shaking his head sadly.

“Well, the truth is,” Seymour began, choosing his words carefully, “we’re being robbed.”

“No!” Jeff exclaimed, while Mike whistled under his breath.

“Y
ou mean someone is stealing your fruit?” Benny asked.

Seymour actually smiled. “No, nothing like that.” He cleared his throat. “The fact is, someone is stealing our antiques — not the furniture, but smaller things like my stamp collection and some old family letters.”

“Oh, no, Seymour,” Grandfather said. “Your stamp collection was very valuable.”

Seymour put down his fork. “It was,” he agreed. “And so were some of those letters — at least to me. A lot of them dated from the Civil War.”

“Were there any letters from the ghost?” asked Benny.

Seymour looked puzzled, but only for a moment. “Oh, you mean Joshua,” he said, chuckling a little. “I see your grandfather has told you all the family history.”

“Everyone for miles around knows about Joshua’s ghost,” Mike reminded the farmer.

“I suppose they do,” Seymour agreed as he stirred his coffee. “But to answer your question, Benny, yes, some letters from Joshua were taken, along with Gideon’s diary. Gideon was one of my ancestors, the one who built this farm,” the farmer added, looking at the Aldens.

“Oh, we know about Gideon,” Benny said.

Seymour looked at Grandfather and raised his eyebrows. “I can see you prepared your grandchildren well for this visit,” he said.

“But we should be glad you didn’t lose all of Gideon’s letters,” Rose reminded her husband as she handed him a piece of homemade apple pie for dessert.

“No, I have a few left. There are plenty of old letters in this house, some I haven’t even read yet,” Seymour remarked.

“Seymour, why didn’t you tell us about this? When did these robberies take place?” Jeff wanted to know.

Seymour looked at his farmhand. “I didn’t notice the missing letters until last night,” he said. “And as for the stamp collection, well, I think it disappeared maybe a week ago.”

“You should have told us,” Jeff persisted.

Seymour looked down at his hands. “Well, the truth is, I, uh, had to make sure those things really were missing. You know how forgetful I can be in my old age.”

Jeff nodded, but he looked troubled. “Did you call the police?” he asked.

“I did. They came over to check things out.”

“They told us there had been some other robberies nearby, in Chassell,” Rose said. “Chassell is the nearest big town,” she explained to the Aldens. “The thieves only took small items — old photographs, paintings, antique jewelry, things like that.”

“So these thieves want antiques,” Jeff said.

“Apparently so.” Seymour sounded grim. “I just worry they’ll take some of the old swords. But I think they’re safe enough in the secret passageway.”

“Are you sure?” Jeff asked, looking doubtful. “Everyone who’s ever worked on the farm knows about the secret passageway. I wouldn’t be surprised if most of the town knew about it, too.”

“That’s true,” said Seymour, frowning. “But only the farm workers and some of my relatives know how to get inside it.”

Benny perked up. “You mean the passageway has a secret entrance?”

Seymour nodded. “It has two secret entrances in fact.”

“And all the people who work on the farm know how to get inside the passageway?” Henry asked.

“Yes, they would,” Seymour answered. “The only other people who know are my children and grandchildren, and they’re sworn to secrecy. The entrance to the passageway has always been a farm secret.”

“I guess you can’t be too careful,” said Jeff as he rose from his seat to stretch his arms. “I’m really sorry this happened, Seymour. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“I will, Jeff, thank you.”

“Well, Mike and I should be getting back to work. There’s still a lot of clearing and pruning to do.”

Mike looked at his hands. He had grown even more quiet during dessert and seemed very upset about the robberies. At last he sighed and rose, thanking the Curtises for lunch.

“Oh, you’re welcome, Mike,” Rose said.

Mike merely nodded and followed Jeff out the door.

Seymour watched them leave, stirring his coffee. He waited until the farmhands were out of sight before turning to the Aldens.

“You know, I have something to confess,” Seymour began as Rose cleared the plates from the table with Violet and Benny’s help. “This isn’t easy for me to say, but the reason I didn’t tell Jeff and Mike about these robberies right away is that, well, I just don’t know what to think.”

“What do you mean?” Grandfather asked.

Seymour sighed and looked close to tears. “Well, it’s just that whoever did those robberies knows a lot about me and where I keep my things. I just can’t help thinking that the burglar is someone I know pretty well.”

“But, Seymour, surely you don’t suspect Jeff and Mike. They’ve been working for you for years, ever since they were boys,” Rose said.

“No, I don’t believe it could be them, but I do employ other farmhands to help during the picking season.”

“Who?” Jessie wanted to know.

“Well, this fall I had two high school students, Veronica and Martin. You’ll meet them while you’re here — they still help me out around the farm. They’re good kids. I know their parents and grandparents.”

“You know, Seymour, it’s entirely possible this robbery is tied to the other antique robberies in town. It may not be anyone we know at all,” Rose said.

“I wish I could believe that.” Seymour sounded sad. “I hate to be in the position of suspecting everyone who works around here. But that stamp collection was in a secret drawer in my desk. And nothing else was touched. The thief knew just where to look.”

“You’ve told your farmhands about your secret drawer?” Grandfather asked.

“Well, yes. I like to show that old desk to the people who come in. And Jeff and Mike have seen my stamp collection.”

“Did the others know where your stamp collection was?” Jessie asked as she handed Benny more dishes to take off the table.

Seymour scratched his head. “Well, I told Veronica about it. She collects stamps, too.”

“I don’t think we should jump to any conclusions until we have more evidence,” Rose suggested. “You know that’s what the police said.”

“Right,” said Seymour. “My wife is the down-to-earth one,” he told the Aldens. “She always talks good sense.” The farmer rose slowly. “Who would like to take a walk around the farm?” he asked.

“Me.” Benny was the first to answer. “Can we see the secret passageway, too?”

“Follow me,” Seymour said, walking toward the door.

“Oh, Seymour, before you go, why don’t you show the Aldens where their rooms are. They may want to unpack, or at least unload their belongings from the car. They’ve only just arrived.”

“Good idea,” said Seymour. “I told you Rose is the sensible one.”

Everyone laughed.

The bedrooms were all upstairs on the second floor. Jessie and Violet had a fireplace and a four-poster bed in their room. Henry and Benny shared a corner room with built-in beds and bookcases.

“This is like a ship’s cabin,” Henry said happily when he saw it.

The Aldens unpacked quickly, and before long they were following Seymour outside toward the barn.

On the way, they passed a long vegetable garden guarded by a scarecrow made from sticks and straw. He wore a flannel shirt, loose denim pants, and a black felt hat.

“This is a great scarecrow,” Benny remarked.

Seymour chuckled. “He sure comes in handy in the summer when he keeps the crows from eating all our vegetables.”

One side of the old red barn was filled with hay and the other had stalls for two horses, three cows, and a goat named Elvira.

“You watch out for Elvira,” the farmer warned the Aldens. “She’ll eat anything in sight, even the shirt off your back, if you’re not careful.”

Benny giggled.

“I’m serious,” Seymour said. “She’s been known to nibble on laundry that’s hanging outside to dry. And she eats everyone’s food.” Seymour shook his head and gave Elvira a playful pat.

“How often do you feed the animals?” Jessie wanted to know.

“Twice a day, now that winter’s coming on,” the farmer answered. “Early in the morning, and then again in the late afternoon. And sometimes they also get snacks during the day.” Seymour reached into his pocket for two cubes of sugar, which he handed to Benny.

“Here, son, you can give these to the horses. They’re outside,” Seymour said, leading the way out to the pasture.

Once outside, Benny walked over to look at the two horses who were grazing near the fence. “They don’t bite, do they?” Benny wanted to know.

“Nah, they’re tame as can be,” the farmer assured him. The horses moved closer to Benny, and Benny promptly took a few steps backward, away from the fence.

“No need to be afraid,” Seymour said. He reached through the fence to pat the white horse on the nose. “This one is called Hazel,” he told the Aldens.

“Hazel?” Violet asked, a little puzzled.

“Her eyes are hazel,” the farmer answered.

“And this one here” — Seymour pointed to her gray companion — “is Mister Mist.”

Violet put her hand through the fence to stroke Mister Mist’s mane.

“Now, Benny, if you want to feed Hazel, put the sugar on the palm of your hand and hold your hand flat.”

Benny followed the farmer’s instructions. “Oooh, she tickles,” said Benny, yanking his hand away after the horse had taken the sugar cube. Then he quickly gave Mister Mist his sugar, while Seymour gently nudged Hazel out of the way.