The Secret at Jefferson's Mansion

“Marsh, I can't see anything in here!” KC said. “Hand me the flashlight.”

Marshall Li grinned. “It doesn't work,” he fibbed. “The batteries must be dead. Better watch out for spiders. They love to hide in dark places.”

KC backed out of her bedroom closet. “I just changed those batteries last week,” she told him. She took the flashlight from Marshall and switched it on.

“Don't try to scare me,” she said. “Spiders are gross, but I'm not afraid of them.”

“Spiders aren't gross!” Marshall said. “They're smart and shy and wouldn't hurt a fly … well, maybe they would.”

Marshall loved all creatures, but especially those with eight legs. He had a pet tarantula and hoped to work in the insect zoo at the Smithsonian someday.

KC Corcoran was President Zachary Thornton's stepdaughter. KC had moved into the White House when her mother and the president got married. Marshall Li, who lived nearby, was KC's best friend.

KC had decided to paint the inside of her closet, and Marshall was helping her. They piled all her clothes on KC's bed.

KC had brought cleaning rags and a stepladder from the kitchen.

“Come on, let's get started,” she said to Marshall. They each grabbed a dustcloth and crowded into the closet. KC set the flashlight on top of the stepladder.

“Why isn't there a light in your closet?”
Marshall asked. “Mine at home has one.”

“This is one of the oldest bedrooms in the White House,” KC said. She wiped dust and cobwebs from the wall in front of her. “There was no electricity when it was built. I guess they just forgot about the closet when electricity was added to the White House.”

Marshall climbed up the stepladder and aimed the flashlight around the space. He paused when it shone on one corner.

“Hey, what's that thing on the wall?” Marshall pointed to a small lump under the paint. It was perfectly round and the size of a half-dollar.

Marshall tapped the bump with the end of the flashlight. Some of the old paint flaked off. He looked at the bump more closely. “I think it's a ring,” he said. He
wiggled a finger under the paint and tugged. Suddenly a square piece of wall came away in his hand. He jumped off the stepladder as paint flakes fell onto his hair.

“Let me see!” KC took his place on the ladder. She shone her flashlight into a square hole in the closet wall. “It's a secret cubbyhole!” she said.

“Is there anything inside?” Marshall asked, wiping dust and paint off his shirt.

“Cobwebs,” KC said. “And a couple of shelves.” She stood on the top step and reached into the hole. The shelves were deep, so she had to shove her whole arm in.

KC felt a sharp edge. “I think there's something in here! It feels like some kind of box,” she said.

“Maybe it's a pirate's chest filled with treasure,” Marshall cracked.

“Here, take the light.” KC handed the flashlight to Marshall so she'd have both hands free. She slid the thing forward and pulled it into the closet. It was a chest, but not a pirate's. About the size of a pizza box, it was made of wood and stood only six inches high.

KC set the box on top of the stepladder next to her. She wiped dust and grime off the wood.

“I wonder what's in it,” Marshall whispered. He tried to lift the lid. “It won't open.”

KC noticed a small round hole. “Maybe this is a lock,” she said.

She thrust the chest into Marshall's arms and reached all the way into the corners of the hole. She ran her fingers across the rough wood.

“Found something,” KC muttered. She brought her hand out, holding a small key.

KC's heart was beating wildly. She put the key into the small hole of the box and turned it. When he heard a click, Marshall lifted the lid.

Inside were twelve small horses. Each was about six inches long. They were different colors. Some were wooden. Some were made of clay. One was made of cardboard and twigs tied together with string. Each horse lay in its own pocket, like chocolates in a box. They looked old.

“Cool!” Marshall said.

KC wiped the inside of the box lid. “Someone wrote something here,” she said.

Marshall ran his fingers over the words. “The letters are carved,” he said.

THESE HORSES WERE CREATED
AND GIVEN TO ME BY MY DEAR GRANDCHILDREN.

OF ALL MY WORLDLY GOODS, THESE I TREASURE THE MOST.

Beneath the message were a signature and a date:

THOMAS JEFFERSON, 1808

“Oh my gosh!” KC said. “These horses belonged to Thomas Jefferson!”

“How'd they get stuck in this closet?” Marshall wondered out loud.

“Maybe his grandchildren put them there,” KC suggested.

She gently picked up one of the clay horses. “Just think, some little kid made this about two hundred years ago,” she said. “Come on, we have to show these to my mom and the president!”

KC placed the horse back in its spot,
and the kids raced down the hallway. They found the president and KC's mom in the private library, playing Scrabble. The three White House cats were each curled in a ball on the sofa.

“I don't think ‘pid' is a word, dear,” Lois said to KC's stepfather, the president.

“Yes, it is,” President Thornton said confidently.

“Then use it in a sentence,” the First Lady said. She winked at KC and Marshall.

“‘Pid' is short for ‘pigeon,'” the president said. “The pid flew into its nest.”

“Oh, pooh,” KC's mom said. “You lose a turn for trying to cheat!”

The president grinned. “Busted,” he said. “What have you got there, KC?”

“Can you move the Scrabble board?” KC said.

The president slid the board to one side, and KC set the box on the table.

“We found it in KC's closet!” Marshall said. “It was hidden inside a wall.”

KC opened the box, revealing the twelve little horses.

“Oh, how charming!” Lois said.

“Look what's written here!” KC said. She showed them the words Jefferson had carved into the wood.

The president read the words softly. “Amazing,” he said.

Lois lifted one of the horses from its pocket. “How do you suppose these got in that closet?” she asked.

“Thomas Jefferson left the White House in 1809,” President Thornton said. “I'm sure that ending his presidency and moving out was a confusing time. Imagine
the servants loading all Jefferson's boxes and furniture into horse-drawn carriages. Maybe that closet just got overlooked.”

KC stroked a little gray horse. “What should we do with them?” she asked.

Lois replaced the horse she'd been holding. She looked at the president. “Any ideas?”

“Yes,” the president said. “These horses belong to Thomas Jefferson. They should go to his home, Monticello.”

“I thought he lived in the White House,” Marshall said.

“He did, for the eight years that he was president,” President Thornton said. “But Monticello was his home before he became our third president. After he left the White House, he went back there to live.”

“Cool,” Marshall said.

“Can we take them there?” KC asked.

“I have meetings all next week,” said the president. “But you kids can go with Lois.”

KC's mom opened a table drawer and pulled out her calendar. She flipped over a few pages. “We can go on Wednesday,” she said. “It'll be a great opportunity for you to see Monticello.”

“Where is it?” Marshall asked.

“Monticello is in Virginia,” the president said. “A little more than a hundred miles from here.”

“I'll work it out with your parents, Marshall,” Lois said. “We'll stay overnight near Monticello. It'll be a wonderful adventure. But first you have to get that closet painted!”

On Wednesday morning, Marshall showed up at the White House with a bulging backpack. He set it gently on a chair in the president's kitchen. KC was finishing breakfast.

“What's in there?” KC asked Marshall. “We're only staying one night.”

“I brought Spike,” Marshall said.

KC almost choked on her orange juice. “You're bringing your tarantula to Monticello?”

“He likes fresh food every day,” said Marshall. “And my folks won't feed him for me, so I had to bring him.”

KC looked sideways at the backpack.
“Well, we can't let my mom find out,” she said. “She'll freak!”

Marshall grinned and peeled a banana. “Don't worry. Tarantulas are shy,” he said. “He'll just sleep the whole time.”

An hour later, the kids climbed into the backseat of one of the White House cars.

The car left the city and sped past meadows, forests, and horse pastures. KC opened her book of presidents to read about Thomas Jefferson.

Marshall pulled out two jars from his pack. He had poked holes in the lids. In the larger jar, Spike the tarantula lay on a nest of wood shavings. The second jar was half filled with black crickets. They jumped around on a layer of grass that Marshall had put inside.

Before KC could say a word, Marshall
had unscrewed both jar lids. He plucked out a fat cricket and dropped it into Spike's jar. Spike grabbed the cricket with his two front legs.

“Is he eating it?” KC cried before she could stop herself.

“What have you got back there, kids?” Lois asked over her shoulder.

“Um, Marshall brought some snacks,” KC said.