The Mystery of the Emeralds (2 page)

“Where do you want me to start?” Trixie asked her mother as she pushed aside an enormous cobweb which some enterprising spider had hung between an old chest and a Victorian umbrella stand.

“Why don’t you begin with that chest, dear? I haven’t the faintest idea what’s in it. As a matter of fact, I don’t think I’ve ever used it. It’s probably full of your great-grandmother’s things. Take a look.” And Mrs. Belden went on to sort out some discarded picture frames on the other side of the attic.

Trixie opened the top drawer and took out two little bonnets. The feathers were no longer perky and the
ribbons were faded, but they were still pretty. Trixie put one on and tied the ribbon under her chin. She brushed the dust from the mirror over the chest and surveyed herself critically. She was a bit surprised to find the image rather pleasing. Her face, outlined by the soft lines of the bonnet, took on an unaccustomed sweetness and Trixie resolved to try harder to curb her tomboy impulses. And forgot the resolve a moment later.

Pushing the little bonnet back on her head, she tried to open the drawer below, but it was stuck fast. She braced her foot against the bottom of the chest and gave a mighty tug. It worked all too well! The drawer came out completely, cascading its contents all over Trixie who, losing her balance, was thrown against the wall behind her.

“Trixie, are you hurt?” cried her mother, running over to help her up.

There was a smudge of dust on the end of Trixie’s nose, but she wasn’t hurt. “I’m fine, but I’ve broken this board to smithereens,” she said, looking curiously at the splintered wall behind her. “What’s back there, anyway?” she asked, pushing the board to one side.

“It’s just a crawl space over the wing of the house where the kitchen is,” her mother answered. “It’s too
small to be of any use, so I guess it was just boarded up when the attic was finished off. It doesn’t even have a window.”

Trixie thought no more about it as she picked up the scattered clothing from the chest. The attic was getting very warm, and her forehead was beaded with perspiration.

“Speaking of windows, why don’t we open this one and get a little air in here?” she suggested. “The rain won’t blow in. It’s coming straight down.”

As she made her way to the dormer, she looked out and saw that the rain was actually letting up and the sun was trying to break through the clouds. She opened the window and as she turned to go back to her work, a streak of sunlight fell across the room and lanced through the broken board. Trixie caught a glimpse of something through the crack—a kind of dull metallic gleam. There was more than just an empty space back there, but what? She pushed and pulled the board impatiently until it came loose.

“Hey, Bobby, run and get the flashlight in my room, will you? There’s something in there, but I can’t make out what it is,” she said, her voice suddenly tense with excitement.

“Sure, Trix, but wait for me. I wanna go in, too,” begged Bobby as he good-naturedly went to get the light she wanted.

Mrs. Belden, who had come over to see what was going on, laughingly asked, “What have you unearthed this time, dear?” She was no longer surprised when Trixie uncovered a new mystery. It had happened so often before. In fact, she even began to believe that Trixie’s dream of starting a detective agency with Honey wasn’t as far-fetched as it might seem.

Before Trixie had time to answer, Bobby came padding up the stairs. “Here’s the light, Trixie. You go first. I’m skeered!” he cried, fear crowding out his curiosity. “There may be a ghost in there or sumpin’.” His eyes were wide and he edged up to his mother’s side for reassurance.

Trixie squeezed through the opening into the room, which was, indeed, little more than a crawl space. On the floor was a pile of old clothing, which she gingerly nudged with the toe of her sneaker. A mouse scurried out from a coat sleeve and ran away into the darkness. Trixie shivered, despite the stifling heat, but since Bobby by now had got up nerve enough to join her, she concealed her momentary fright. Stooping, she picked up a round object which lay on top of the old clothes.

“Gleeps, Bobby, this looks like Brian’s old Boy

Scout canteen. How could it ever have got in here—and where do you suppose these old clothes came from?”

“I dunno, Trixie, but I don’t like it in here. It’s spooky. Let’s go back to Moms.” Bobby caught Trixie’s hand and started pulling her toward the opening in the wall.

“Okay, Bobby, you’re a brave boy to come with me,” Trixie said gently, permitting the little boy to lead her back to the main part of the attic.

Mrs. Belden hadn’t the faintest idea where the old clothes and the canteen had come from. “That part of the house has been closed as long as I’ve lived here,” she said. “Maybe your father will know something about it.”

“This couldn’t be Brian’s canteen, then,” mused Trixie as she examined it more closely. “No, this one is much heavier and older-looking.”

“You know, it looks like the kind the soldiers carried during the Civil War,” Mrs. Belden said. “I remember my grandfather had one. He’d bring it out and let us children play with it.”

“Do you think it would be worth any money at the White Elephant Sale?” Trixie asked. “It’s nothing we can use.”

“Well, someone might be interested in it as a collector’s item. Personally, I’d rather have a nice clean
Thermos bottle,” Mrs. Belden laughed. “And we might as well get rid of those old clothes, too. Hand them out to me, Trixie. I’ll put them in this box, and we can burn them later.”

“Jeepers, I hate to touch those dirty old things,” Trixie said as she glanced around the attic. Her eye finally lighted on an old pair of tongs. “I know what! I’ll use these and spare my lily-white hands.”

She slipped back through the narrow opening into the crawl space. Out came an ancient overcoat, followed by a worn blanket. As Trixie was picking up a moth-riddled pair of pants, an envelope dropped out of one of the pockets. She put it in her own pocket, quickly deciding to read it later in private. It was probably of no importance, but she had had enough teasing about her playing detective lately.

On the other hand
, she thought to herself,
it just could be the beginning of something interesting
.

By four o’clock, Trixie and her mother decided to call it a day. Tired and disheveled, they went downstairs, carrying the boxes of articles they had sorted out for the sale—some china, a beautiful old parasol, a mirror, and odds and ends of clothing.

Trixie went out on the porch and called to her brothers to come in for a snack. Bobby, who had deserted the attic soon after lunch to go out to the barn with Mart and Brian, came running to the house with the case of an alarm clock in one hand and its works in the other, followed by Reddy, the Beldens’ red Irish setter, who was never very far away from the little boy.

“I’m gonna fix this up good as new for the elephant sale,” he announced proudly. “Mart’s gonna show me how, aren’t you, Mart?”

“I sure am, but right now I’m ready to tear into those cookies. Wow! My favorite kind, too!” he cried as he caught sight of a plate piled high with homemade molasses cookies. He grabbed his mother and
spun her around the kitchen until she begged him to let her go.

“Mart, you’re making me dizzy.” She laughed as she straightened her apron and pushed several hairpins back in place. “Now you all go and wash your hands while I pour the milk. You look like hoboes.”

“It’s just good honest grime,” Brian answered as they went out to get cleaned up.

They were soon back, holding out their hands, palms up, like three-year-olds.

“Do we pass inspection now, Moms?” Trixie asked teasingly.

“I’ll give you an ‘A’ for effort,” Mrs. Belden laughed, “but I still see signs of cobwebs and dust in your hair.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Trixie said. “I’ll take a quick shower as soon as we’ve finished eating, and then while Mart and Brian are getting cleaned up, I’ll go ahead and pick up Honey and Jim. Meet you at the clubhouse in half an hour. Okay?”

“Sure, chief,” Mart answered, helping himself to another glass of milk.

“By the way,” Brian said, “is the key still hidden in the same place, Trix?”

“What did you say?” she asked, munching absentmindedly on a cooky. “I wasn’t listening.”

Brian repeated the question, wondering why his sister was so preoccupied.

“So far as I know, it is,” Trixie said. “Remember, we closed up just before we went to Cobbett’s Island. The place will probably need a good airing out. Whoever gets there first, open all the windows.” With this, she was off, leaving a half-eaten cooky on her plate.

“I wish I had that child’s energy,” Mrs. Belden sighed as she brushed the crumbs from the red-checked tablecloth.

“She’s certainly got more pep than I have after cleaning up that old barn,” Mart commented, “but she’s acting so funny and vague. I’ll bet she’s got something mysterious cooking in that silly old head of hers. I wonder what?”

Mart, of course, could not know about the letter Trixie had found, which by now had filled her mind with curiosity. As she was undressing, she took it from her pocket and had her first real look at it. It was addressed to
Miss Helen Sunderland, The Homestead, Croton-on-Hudson
. The paper was old and brittle, folded, and held by a wax seal. Her first impulse was to read it right then and there, but she decided to save time and wait until she was on her way to Honey’s house.

She quickly showered and put on a clean pair of
shorts and a matching blue blouse. She took only long enough to run a comb through her short, curly hair, at the same time scowling into the mirror as she looked at her nose, which was peeling from her recent sunburn. Then she set out for the Manor House.

As soon as she was out of sight of Crabapple Farm, Trixie opened the letter, being careful not to break the seal, but only to pry it away from the paper. Before she had time to read it, she heard the sound of horses’ hoofs, and Honey and Jim came into view, calling her as they rode down the lane toward her.

“It turned out to be such a marvelous day, we thought we’d give the horses some exercise,” Honey said as she reined Starlight up beside Trixie. “They missed us while we were at Cobbett’s Island. Starlight was so frisky, I could hardly hold him.”

“Here, jump up behind me and I’ll give you a free ride to the club,” Jim said as he offered Trixie a hand. “I think this noble steed can carry us both.”

“I’m not so sure!” Trixie laughingly replied. “I’m full of Moms’s cookies and gallons of milk, and I must weigh a ton. Besides, I want to show you something before we go on.”

“A letter?” asked Honey, catching sight of the paper in Trixie’s hand. “Who’s it from?”

Jim and Honey dismounted, and leaving the horses to graze along the roadside, they perched on the post-and-rail fence that surrounded the Wheeler estate.

“I found it this morning when Moms and I were cleaning out the attic, and I haven’t had a chance to read it yet,” Trixie said.

“In the
attic!
” Jim exclaimed. “Who’s it from?”

“Hurry up! What are we waiting for?” Honey urged as Trixie unfolded the letter.

There were two pages written in small but very legible script. At the top of the first sheet was an embossed crest, identical to the one imprinted in the wax. The words
Lux et Pax
underneath it, which had not been clear on the seal, were now easy to read.

“Sounds like a new kind of soap, doesn’t it?” chuckled Trixie. “What does it mean, Jim?”

Jim, one of the oldest of the Bob-Whites, was an excellent student, and since Latin had been part of his college preparatory course, it was easy for him to translate the words.

“It means ‘Light and Peace,’ ” he said. “I like that! It would make a good motto for my school, wouldn’t it?”

Jim’s dream was to start a school for homeless boys when he finished college.

Trixie started reading:

Rosewood Hall
June 27th

Dearest Sister
,

What an age it seems since your visit, when actually it has been less than a year. I started several times to talk to you while you were here about my deep concern over the growing dissension between the North and the South, but I could not bring myself to spoil the pleasure of your stay with unhappy thoughts. Since you left, my apprehension has increased daily. What may happen to Rosewood, my husband, and my child, no one knows, but my intuition tells me there is bound to be a long, hard struggle ahead
.

Because I am a Northerner, people here have always treated me with a certain coolness, as though I didn’t really belong in Virginia. Did you sense that when you were here? I’m sure they didn’t like the idea of one of their sons marrying a girl from the North, no matter how respectable her family. It was as though Lee had broken an unwritten law! I have many acquaintances here, but not a single close friend in whom I can confide
.

The question of slavery is on everyone’s lips. Fortunately, Lee and I are of the same opinion about this matter. We freed all the slaves here at Rosewood some time ago. Most of them did not want to leave the plantation
where they had spent all their lives, and so they stayed on, either for wages or a share of the crops. But on other plantations where their relationship with the owners is not so good, slaves have been escaping to the North in great numbers. Feelings are running high and there is bound to be trouble soon
.