The Mystery of the Emeralds (4 page)

Trixie had just finished helping her mother with the dusting the next morning when she heard Honey at the back door.

“Am I ever glad to see you, and fifteen minutes early, too!” Trixie exclaimed, coming out on the porch and shaking the dust cloth with savage vigor. “I hate dishwashing, I hate to make beds, but most of all, I hate to dust!”

“Oh, it’s not as bad as all that, is it, Trix?” Honey asked.

“Not really, I guess,” Trixie sighed. “It’s just that it seems to interfere with my ‘detecating,’ as Bobby would say.”

“Well, hurry up and take off that silly apron. It doesn’t make you one bit more domestic-looking,” laughed Honey, pulling at the tie.

As the two friends rode off on their bikes down Glendale Road toward town, Trixie suddenly asked, “Do you know anyone in Croton-on-Hudson, Honey?”

“No,” Honey replied. “The only time I’ve ever been there was when Sleepyside played basketball with them last year, and Jim took me along. Why?”

“Oh, I was just thinking about Miss Sunderland to whom that letter was addressed. Do you suppose there are any Sunderlands left who still live anywhere near there?” Trixie mused.

“You know the telephone book stood us in good stead when we were looking for Mrs. Hall down at Cobbett’s Island. Have you thought of trying it again?” Honey asked.

“I’m afraid it’s such an obvious thing to do that I just plain didn’t think of it, dear partner.” Trixie laughed. “Let’s look as soon as we get to Mr. Lytell’s store. But,” she warned, “try to act perfectly natural when we go in and don’t discuss anything until we get outside. Remember how snoopy he was when Jim was hiding out in the old Mansion.”

Fortunately, Mr. Lytell was waiting on a customer when the girls entered and they went to the back of the store where the telephone directories were chained to the wall. Mr. Lytell wasn’t going to run the risk of anyone stealing them, even though they were not really his property.

Trixie, trying to look casual, thumbed through the book until she came to the
S
’s. There was only one Sunderland in Croton, a Miss Julie, living on Revolutionary Road. Trixie pointed it out to Honey, and then, seeing Mr. Lytell looking at them over his glasses, she went into the booth and pretended to make a call.

“Phone out of order up at your house?” the old gentleman asked Trixie as she and Honey came up to the front of the store a few minutes later.

“No, Mr. Lytell, there’s nothing at all wrong with it,” Trixie answered with a saccharine smile. Then she and Honey went out leaving Mr. Lytell’s curiosity completely unsatisfied.

“You’re improving, Trixie. You know, you didn’t blush even a little bit,” Honey said warmly. “Now, what’s the next step?”

Trixie looked at her wrist watch, and then, after a moment, she proposed, “Why don’t we bike up to Croton, take a look at Revolutionary Road, and see if we can find where Miss Julie lives? We can go to the library tonight.”

“That’s a wonderful idea! Croton’s only a few miles from Sleepyside and the exercise will do us good,” Honey answered. “We’ll stop at Wimpy’s Diner and get some sandwiches to eat along the way.”

“And we’d better make an honest-to-goodness phone call, too, so our parents will know where we are,” Trixie said as they pedaled off down the road.

As the girls approached Croton, they stopped at a gas station to inquire the way to Revolutionary Road.

“Why, that’s way up by the reservoir,” the attendant told them. “You’ll do more walking than riding going up, but it’ll be a breeze coming back,” he added good-naturedly. “Just follow this road up the hill, bear left through the upper village, and you’ll come to the dam. You can cross right over the top of it, and Revolutionary Road will be the first on your left.”

“Oh, I remember now,” Trixie cried. “There’s a lovely park under the dam with a fountain. We went there once for a picnic. It will be a perfect place to eat our lunch.”

“If we ever get there,” Honey moaned. “I’m exhausted already.”

“You’ll get your second wind soon,” Trixie encouraged her. “We can’t turn back now.”

“I’ve already used up my second wind, and my third, but maybe I’ll catch my fourth before it’s too late,” Honey said as she pushed the hair off her forehead.

Even though they were anxious to explore Revolutionary Road, the girls took a long time to eat their sandwiches. It was a lovely day. The water poured over the spillway at one side of the dam making miniature rainbows where the sun hit the spray. They stretched out on the cool grass and watched the clouds laze across an incredibly blue sky until they both felt revived and ready to pedal on their way.

They had not gone far along Revolutionary Road before they rounded a curve and saw ahead of them a
small but lovely old house nestled at the foot of a hill as though seeking protection from the weather. The gray shingled roof sloped in a gentle curve over a wide veranda. At the side of the house was an ivy-covered well with a bucket hanging above it.

“I’m dying of thirst,” Trixie said. “Do you suppose it would be all right to take a drink?”

Before Honey had time to answer, the girls saw the side door of the house open and a frail-looking, white-haired old lady came out and down the path to the gate.

“I saw you young people from my upstairs window and thought you looked rather hot and tired. Wouldn’t you like a drink of my wonderful well water?” she asked as she approached them.

“We were just wondering if it would be all right for us to have a drink. We
are
thirsty after our ride,” Trixie answered.

“You wait right here and I’ll fetch some glasses,” the old lady said. “By the way, let me introduce myself. I’m Miss Sunderland.”

Miss Sunderland! It was all Trixie could do to contain her excitement. Darting a warning glance at Honey, she said, scarcely breathing, “I—I’ve heard your name, Miss Sunderland. And—I think your house is called ‘The Homestead,’ isn’t it?”

“Indeed, it is, my dear,” the old lady answered briskly.

Trixie and Honey glanced at each other swiftly with shining eyes. Then, struggling not to show her excitement, Trixie introduced Honey and herself.

“We are from Sleepyside,” she added. “It was such a nice day, we decided to picnic by the dam and—Revolutionary Road is beautiful. Does it really date back that far?”

“Oh, my, yes!” Miss Sunderland answered with a smile. “You let the bucket down while I get some glasses and then I’ll tell you all about it—and about this house, too.”

“Isn’t she adorable?” Honey whispered as the old lady left them. “Are you going to tell her about the letter?”

“I don’t know yet.” Trixie was almost breathless. “Let’s wait and see what she has to say. Maybe we should just try to get some leads today and wait until later to tell her—shh! Here she comes!”

“I thought you might like some fruit, too,” Miss Sunderland said as she returned. She was carrying a basket of beautifully ripe fruits and two glasses. She filled them with water from the mossy bucket and invited the girls to sit down and relax.

“Now, you were asking about this road,” Miss Sunderland said. She sat down in a comfortable wicker chair alongside the well, smoothed her neat print dress, and folded her hands in her lap. “Did you notice that it isn’t even paved? Well, it never has been. There aren’t many cars come through this way. It’s much too winding. It’s just the way it was years and years ago and most of the houses go way back, too.”

“Have you lived here long?” Trixie asked.

“Oh, yes, my dear, I’ve lived here all my life, and I’ll be—let me see, how old will I be?” Miss Sunderland paused, her brows wrinkling as she tried to recall her age. “I guess I’ll be eighty-nine my next birthday, or is it ninety? My memory isn’t as good as it used to be.” She laughed. “Why, I even forgot where I put my gloves yesterday, but I finally found them, and do you know where? In the refrigerator, of all places!” She chuckled softly as she thought about it.

“Do you live here all alone?” Honey’s question was solicitous. She couldn’t help feeling that Miss Sunderland’s advanced years and absentmindedness made it a bit dangerous for her to be by herself.

“Well, yes and no,” Miss Sunderland answered ambiguously. “You see, I have Neil to run errands for me and look after the place. He’s a nice boy, too,” she added,
nodding her head to emphasize the point. “He just happened along one day wanting work and I took him in. He has a couple of rooms over the barn where the hired man used to live, and he helps out on a farm down the road a piece. He just went down there to get some milk and eggs for me. He should be back pretty soon. And my neighbor stops by every day to check on me. As though I needed checking at my age.” She chuckled. “And the first of the month, I get the money from the bank. I am, as you might say, comfortably off.” Her blue eyes twinkled.

“And you have no relatives?” Trixie pursued.

“No, not a single one that I know of. My parents died when I was just a young thing. I wasn’t born until quite a while after my father came back from the Civil War. My only relatives were my father’s sisters, Helen, who never married, and an aunt whom I never saw. Seems to me she went south. Yes, I’m sure she did. Ruth went south and got married. Never did come back home.”

Trixie and Honey were spellbound. This must be the aunt who had written the letter from Virginia! Would Miss Julie have any more information about what happened to Ruth, whom she had never seen, and who, so long ago, had gone away from home? Was this the end of the trail or just the beginning? The next few minutes would probably give the answer.

With bated breath, Trixie asked, “Why do you think Ruth left such a lovely place as this, Miss Sunderland?”

There was a long pause. The old lady twirled her thumbs as she looked off across the meadow, seeming to forget for the moment that the girls were there. Finally, with a little shake of her head, she said, “I suppose it was what makes lots of young folks leave home. She probably fell in love with some young man—Yes, I remember Mother saying she married and went off to Virginia when she was little more than a girl.”

“And then?” Trixie’s question was almost a whisper as she tried to encourage Miss Sunderland to reminisce further.

“Well, let me see,” she said slowly. “Seems to me Ruth had a baby—she would be my cousin, wouldn’t she? Then later Ruth died after her husband was killed in the war. My goodness, what a long time ago that was. I don’t see why you young folks are interested in all this. I’m afraid I’ve been talking too much again.” She laughed as she brought her attention back to the girls.

Trixie glanced at Honey as if to ask her if she felt the time was right to mention the letter. When she saw Honey give an imperceptible nod, Trixie said, “As a matter of fact, we are very interested, Miss Sunderland, because yesterday I found a letter up in our attic that I think your aunt Ruth wrote years ago.”

“A letter in
your
attic? But how could that be?” Miss Sunderland asked, edging her chair up closer to Trixie.

Very slowly, and as gently as possible, Trixie told about Rufus and the necklace. There was a long pause. Miss Sunderland was lost in thought again, trying to comprehend it all and fit the pieces together.

“What a strange story!” she finally said. “That girl must have had a lively imagination, just like my aunt Helen. She was always making up stories for me when I was a little girl. An emerald necklace! Imagine!”

“You mean you don’t think it’s true about Rufus and all?” Trixie asked.

“Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t.” Miss Sunderland’s eyes twinkled. “But one thing I know, I’m much too old to care about emeralds. Never did like anything except plain gold jewelry, and not much of that, either.”

“You said, ‘maybe it is,’ Miss Sunderland,” Trixie said. “Would you mind if we tried to find out more about it?”

“Mercy, no, child,” the old lady answered warmly. “I know how young folks like to dream. You just go right ahead and see if you can find the necklace. A charmed one, too, they say. Hmm.”

“One more question, and then we should be on our way,” Trixie continued. “Have you any idea where Rosewood Hall was? That’s where the letter was written from, so that part must be real.”

“Rosewood Hall, Rosewood Hall,” Miss Sunderland mused. “No, I don’t rightly think I do, although the name has a faintly familiar sound. I wonder—”

Trixie and Honey kept perfectly still, waiting for whatever it was the old lady was groping for.

“No, I don’t recall anything about Rosewood Hall, but maybe you’d find some mention of it in my father’s diaries. He kept them for several years, and I have them all,” she volunteered.

“Oh, may we look at them?” Honey and Trixie asked almost in the same breath.

At that moment they saw a young man coming up the road.

“Hi, Miss Julie,” he called out cheerily as he jumped over the fence, carefully balancing an old-fashioned milk can in one hand and a basket of eggs in the other.

“Why, it’s Neil,” Miss Sunderland said pleasurably.

The boy was tall and rangy, with wide shoulders and slim hips. His light brown hair was carefully combed, almost too carefully, Trixie thought to herself. His blue jeans and T-shirt were clean but worn and his scuffed cowboy boots looked a bit incongruous.