The Hundred-Year Mystery

by Gertrude Chandler Warner

  The others came over and helped search for number seventeen. “There!” said Henry, pointing to a building just outside of town. “There’s the orphanage.”

  “But…but it’s not there anymore,” said Violet. “That’s where they built the Skatium.” The children loved skating at the ice rink, which had been around as long as they had lived in Greenfield.

  Henry searched the area around the orphanage. There was nothing on the map but a large farm. “Jessie, what did the poem say about a neighbor?”

  Jessie recited, “‘I hope that this next clue still waits inside my neighbor’s friendly gates.’”

  Henry tapped his finger on the map. “A hundred years ago, this was the only neighbor anywhere near the orphanage.” The number twenty-two was written on a building. Henry looked at the map key. “The building used to be called Daisy’s Dairy Farm!”

  “The dairy’s still there!” said Benny. “My class went there on a field trip. I got to milk a cow.”

  “Well, then,” said Henry, smiling, “we’d better get MOO-ving.”

  MOO-ving Day

  The Aldens made a quick stop at home for lunch. The kitchen became a flurry of sandwich making. Mrs. McGregor’s sandwiches would have been tidier, but the children’s sandwiches would taste almost as delicious. And Mrs. McGregor would never have thought to put sweet-pickle slices inside Benny’s peanut butter and jelly sandwich. They brought their creations to the kitchen table and started eating.

  The metal box with The Only sat in the center of the table. “Let’s bring this book to Wintham Manor,” Jessie said. “A famous one-hundred-fifty-year-old book might help Ella bring visitors to the manor.”

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about the manor,” said Henry. “I’ve always dreamed about building my own house someday. And I’ve studied every book of house plans in the library. But I’ve never seen anything built like the manor. Why did Alfred Wintham build it that way? I can’t figure out what he was thinking.”

  Violet speared a pickle from the jar. “I’ve never been inside a more fun house,” she said. “We can’t let them tear it down. We just can’t!”

  Jessie passed around a bowl of fresh berries. “I’m really curious about who wrote the Journal for the Curious,” she said. “A hundred years ago, the writer created a wild treasure hunt. But why?”

  “Jessie, you should blog about our search for the treasure,” said Violet. “People love treasure hunts.”

  Jessie thought about the idea. Her Where in Greenfield? blog had started as a project for her computer class. At first, only her classmates had read it. But then the Greenfield Gazette ran an article about her school’s “Brilliant, Budding Bloggers.” Suddenly, a few hundred fans were following Jessie’s blog.

  “All my readers love solving riddles,” said Jessie. “I’ll blog the clues we’ve been following. My readers can try to guess where we’ve been.”

  “They’ll never guess,” said Benny, his lips and tongue blue from eating blueberries. “Not in a million, billion, kazillion years.”

  “You can use my pictures,” said Violet. She picked up her camera and went back through the photos she’d taken. “Here’s one of Henry pulling the time capsule out of the cornerstone. And here’s the Journal for the Curious.”

  “I’ll post your photos tonight with the first clue.” Jessie held the journal steady while Violet took a photo of the clue.

  Jessie turned the page. “Tomorrow, I’ll post your photo of the finger rocks. I’ll show the box with The Only inside. Then I’ll give my readers the second clue.” Violet photographed the second clue.

  Jessie’s voice grew more excited as she planned her blogs. “And the next day I’ll post the photo of the old map that shows the orphanage and—”

  “Daisy’s Dairy,” said Henry. He checked his watch. “It’s getting late. We have to go to the dairy. We’d better get…” He paused and smiled. “I said, we’d better get…”

  “MOOOOO-ving!” the others said together.

  The children biked past the Skatium ice rink, where the orphanage used to be. Soon they rode along a wood fence. It curved around pastures as far as they could see. Cows grazed in the fields or sat in the shade of trees. A large sign at the dairy entrance said:

  Daisy’s Dairy

  Delicious milk from happy cows

  Visit our stand for fresh milk, cheese, butter, yogurt, ice cream, milkshakes

  Open 10–4 Daily

  “Ice cream!” cried Benny, pedaling past the others. Even after a big lunch, Benny always had room for ice cream.

  The farm stand stood next to a large white farmhouse. A woman was placing different kinds of cheeses into a glass case. Another case displayed many flavors of ice cream. Benny pressed his nose against the glass. There were so many flavors. He wished he could bring one hundred ice-cream cones for his hundred-day project.

  “Howdy,” said the woman, wiping her hands on her apron. “I’m Anabel. What can I get for you?” She had a kind smile and cheerful voice.

  “A chocolate cone, please,” said Benny.

  “Comin’ right up.” Anabel picked up a colorful cane and walked behind the counter. She rested the cane to one side while she scooped their orders.

  As she handed Henry his strawberry cone, he asked, “Do you know if someone named Tyler used to live here?”

  Anabel’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Tyler? Wh…why, he was my grandfather. But he died years ago. How do you know his name?”

  “It’s in a poem we found,” said Jessie. “A riddle. The person who wrote it lived in an orphanage that used to be next door to your farm. Your grandfather Tyler was his friend.”

  “Well, I’ll be gobsmacked,” said Anabel. She handed Violet a vanilla cone. “I have heard stories about that orphanage, but it was gone before I was born.”

  Benny licked around the sides of his cone. “Do you remember your grandfather?” he asked.

  “Oh, I was just a little tyke when he died,” said Anabel. “All I have left of Grandpa Tyler is some old stuff in the attic—war medals, a bunch of old photos, that sort of thing.”

  A car pulled up. Anabel waved as four noisy children piled out of the car and raced toward the stand.

  “Just one more thing,” said Jessie. “Could you tell us if this makes sense to you?” Jessie recited:

  I hope that this next clue still waits

  Inside my neighbor’s friendly gates

  I asked that Tyler please pass down, my

  Brownie treats that caught our town

  “We thought your Grandpa Tyler might have passed down a brownie recipe or something,” said Henry.

  Anabel’s smile disappeared. Her soft voice grew sharp. “Brownies? Why on earth would we have brownies? We’re a dairy farm not a bakery. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have customers to tend to.”

  “But—” Benny started to say.

  Henry put a hand on Benny’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”

  The next morning, the children sat quietly around the breakfast table. Benny rested his elbows on the table. He propped his chin on his hands and stared at the writing on the back of the Panquake box. He was trying to read all the words. Watch sat next to the stove, his tail wagging as Grandfather heaped pancakes on a platter. James Alden was concerned. It wasn’t like his grandchildren to be so quiet in the morning. He carried the pancakes to the table.

  “I know the Panquake box says to ‘just add water,’” said Grandfather. “But it doesn’t say ‘don’t add blueberries.’” He set down pancakes that seemed as much blueberries as pancake.

  The children perked up at the taste of plump berries inside warm pancakes. They told Grandfather about their trip to Daisy’s Dairy.

  “The woman, Anabel, was really nice,” said Violet, “until Jessie told her the riddle.”

  “Hmm,” said Grandfather. “I wonder why. May I see the poem again?” Jessie brought him the journal. He read the riddle a few times. “I see nothing in these words to upset someone. Did
you ask her about these ‘Brownie treats’?”

  Jessie nodded. “That’s when she got upset.”

  After breakfast, Grandfather left to run errands. Henry, Violet, and Benny cleaned up. Jessie stayed at the table, staring at the poem. She liked reading poems, but something about the words in this one seemed strange.

  I asked that Tyler please pass down, my

  Brownie treats that caught our town

  Finally, she saw it. “Look,” she said. “This poem is written wrong.” She pointed to the words down and town. “These are the two words that rhyme. They should be at the end of each line.”

  Jessie wrote out the lines on a sheet of paper.

  I asked that Tyler please pass down

  My brownie treats that caught our town

  Violet looked at the two poems. “It looks like the author wrote the poem to make Brownie the first word of the line.”

  Henry nodded. “I see what you are saying. He wanted the B capitalized. Why would he do that?”

  “It has to be the name of something,” said Jessie.

  “Brownie,” Violet whispered, “Brownie, Brownie, Brownie…” It sounded familiar. But what sort of Brownie could capture a town?

  “Brownie could be a nickname if the person’s last name was Brown,” said Henry.

  “Or,” said Benny, looking at the box of pancake mix, “it could be the name of a brand. Like the P in Panquake.”

  “That’s it!” cried Violet, clapping her hands. “Brownie is a type of camera. My photography teacher brought a Brownie to class. It was over a hundred years old!”

  Henry shook his head. “The Brownie in our poem can’t mean a camera.”

  Violet’s smile disappeared. “Why not?” she asked.

  “Remember when we lived in the boxcar?” said Henry. “We earned money by mowing lawns and walking dogs and working in gardens. Every penny we earned went to buy food. We could never afford anything as expensive as a camera.”

  Violet’s smile came back. “But that’s what made the Brownie camera famous! It was made out of cardboard. It only cost a dollar.”

  Jessie slapped her hand on the table. “Now the poem makes sense. ‘Brownie treats’ aren’t food. They are photos the orphan boy took of Greenfield. Photos ‘that caught our town.’”

  Violet gasped. “Anabel said she has her Grandpa Tyler’s photos in the attic.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I wonder if she still has his Brownie camera.”

  “That settles it,” said Henry. “We have to go back to Daisy’s Dairy.”

  Benny’s eyes grew wide. “B…but what if Anabel is mean again?”

  “We can’t stop now,” said Henry. “We might be close to finding the treasure.”

  “And Ella is counting on us,” said Jessie. “We have to find the treasure to help save Wintham Manor.”

  Secrets in the Attic

  Henry rang the doorbell of the white farmhouse. It chimed “Old McDonald Had a Farm.” The children heard Anabel’s cane clacking on the floor. Benny hid behind Henry and peeked out as the door opened.

  Anabel looked surprised. “Oh,” she said, “it’s you.” She did not sound angry. “I was hoping you would come back. I feel bad about the way I acted yesterday. Please, come in.”

  The children looked at each other. This wasn’t the greeting they had expected. Inside, the house smelled like Mrs. McGregor’s home cooking. The Aldens followed Anabel into a sunny yellow kitchen. “I’m fixing lunch for the farmworkers,” she said. She stopped to stir a large pot. “Please, sit down.”

  The children sat at a large, round table. “Why did you hope we’d come back?” asked Jessie.

  “Because I want to apologize,” Anabel said, joining them at the table. “You surprised me yesterday. I hadn’t heard Grandpa Tyler’s name in years and years.” She brushed back a strand of hair. “And when you mentioned the Brownie…” Anabel pressed her lips together. She looked like she might cry. “I knew right away you meant his old Brownie camera.”

  “May we see it?” asked Violet.

  Anabel looked even sadder. “It’s gone,” she said. A tear rolled down her cheek. “I sold it.” She took a tissue from her apron pocket and blew her nose. “We were having a yard sale a few years back, getting rid of all sorts of old things. I was clearing the attic when I found the Brownie in a chest with Grandpa’s photos. That old Brownie was nothing more than a cardboard box with a little lens put in. I offered it to my kids and grandkids, but they’d rather take photos with their cell phones. So…” Anabel sighed. “I set the Brownie out at the yard sale, and someone bought it.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “I always felt bad about selling something that belonged to Grandpa Tyler.” She smiled at the children. “I wasn’t mad at you. I was upset with myself.”

  Violet’s stomach did a little flip. Had they lost their next clue? “Was…was there film in the Brownie when you sold it?” she asked.

  “No,” said Anabel, “I checked.”

  “Whew,” said Violet. “That’s good. That means your grandpa Tyler developed all the pictures in the camera.”

  “Well, there’s plenty of photos up in that old chest.” The kitchen timer dinged, and Anabel pushed up from the table. “You’re more than welcome to go to the attic and take a look-see.”

  The children ran to the attic. The room was almost too hot to breathe in. Henry tried opening windows, but they were painted shut. A light bulb hung down from a thick cord in the middle of the attic. Jessie pulled the chain, and the room lit up. “Oh dear,” she said. The attic was full of old furniture, magazines, and racks of clothing. There were boxes everywhere. Jessie shook her head. “I wonder what this attic looked like before the yard sale.”

  “There’s so much stuff,” said Violet. “We’ll never find the photos.”

  “Anabel said the photos would be in a chest,” said Henry. “Let’s start with those.”

  The Aldens spread out in four different directions, climbing over and under, looking through all sorts of things. Benny called, “This chest has someone’s soda can collection. Maybe I can bring a hundred soda cans to school for my project.”

  “Keep looking for photos,” said Henry.

  Jessie opened a chest that smelled like mothballs. There was an old army uniform inside. Violet found a chest of holiday decorations.

  “I think I found it!” called Henry. He stood over a small chest filled with stacks of black-and-white photos. They were in neat bundles tied with twine. He slid out a photo of two boys. The words Tyler and AJ were written on the back. Henry lifted the chest onto his shoulder.

  “Where are you going?” asked Benny.

  “Back down where it’s cool,” said Henry.

  “Set that right here,” said Anabel. Henry put the chest on the kitchen table and opened it. Each stack of photos had a piece of paper on top with a date. Henry lifted out a stack marked AJ and ME. “I never heard tell of any AJ,” said Anabel.

  The pictures showed two boys. Henry took out a photo of a husky boy with straight blond hair. The boy, who looked about Henry’s age, stood on a small bridge holding a fishing pole. Anabel smiled. “That’s Grandpa Tyler, all right. All the men in our family look just like that.” In another photo, a boy with curly dark hair sat on a black-and-white cow. The boy was smiling and waving at the camera. AJ was written on the back of the photo.

  There was a photo of the boys leaning against a Welcome to Greenfield sign. There were photos of them licking lollipops in front of The Penny Candy Shoppe, of them watching a blacksmith shoe a horse, and of them using sticks to roll metal hoops down the street. In the background, there were horses and wagons, women in long dresses, and men in suits and hats. Horses pulled wagons down the street. “Where are all the cars?” asked Benny.

  “There weren’t many back then,” said Anabel. “Too expensive. Most people walked or biked or took a horse.” She pushed up from the table to check her cooking.

  Violet held up a photo and laughed. “Look at this one.�
� It was taken on Greenfield’s Main Street. A big stone container sat on a street corner. Water flowed into it from a spout. In the photo, Tyler and AJ bent over the container and pretended to drink the water. A horse drank next to them.

  “Eee-yeww!” Jessie wrinkled her nose. “I hope those boys didn’t really drink that water. Eee-yeww!”

  The children spread out the photos: AJ and Tyler shooting marbles. AJ and Tyler swimming in a pond. AJ and Tyler fishing.

  “You can just tell they were best friends,” said Henry.

  Violet pointed to a few photos. “Look,” she said. “Tyler wears all sorts of different clothes. But AJ always wears the same dark pants and long socks.”

  Henry pulled out other photos of AJ. In some backgrounds there were other boys dressed like him. Henry slapped the photos on the table, one by one. Slap. “AJ’s wearing a uniform.” Slap. “AJ lived in the orphanage next door.” Slap. “It’s AJ’s journal we’ve been reading!”

  The Aldens stared at the photos. At last, here was the face of the orphan whose clues had led them this far.

  “Those orphan boys didn’t have much,” said Anabel. “My aunt told me those boys were fed and kept safe. Young ones, maybe Benny’s age, cleaned the orphanage and tended the garden. The bigger boys found jobs in town. I don’t think they had much time for play.” She shook her head. “Years back I saw pictures of the inside of the orphanage. Not a speck of fun anywhere in that place.” She picked up a photo of AJ jumping from a tire swing into a pond. “AJ was lucky to make a good friend like Grandpa Tyler. And I reckon Grandpa Tyler was lucky to have AJ too.” She smiled at the photo of the two friends. “I wonder what ever became of AJ.”

  “We think he was a builder,” said Henry. “Maybe a stonemason or a construction worker.” They told her about Wintham Manor and the cornerstone and the hundred-year-old journal they’d found. “We’ve been following AJ’s clues. They’re supposed to lead to a treasure.”

  “A treasure!” Anabel laughed with delight. “Imagine Grandpa Tyler having a best friend who had a treasure.”