The boy on the bluff sat with his legs dangling over the edge, gazing up at the sky. He was rendered in fine detail, as if well lit—and indeed he had been, by that enormous moon, although Violet had not included the moon in the drawing. She must have terrific eyesight, Nicholas thought absently, but a greater part of his mind was considering the implications of the drawing and what Violet had said about his character.
Like Nicholas, she had been awake late at night, almost certainly alone as she gazed out at the moonlit world. Had she felt a kinship with him before they ever met? Who had she thought him to be? What kind of boy was that boy on the bluff?
Staring at the drawing, Nicholas became aware of a curious feeling welling up in him—curious and very powerful. He found that he did not want to disappoint this girl, to disillusion her. He wanted to be whoever Violet had thought he was, sitting on that rock in the night.
After breakfast the next morning, the boys went out behind the Manor in hopes of speaking in private. Nicholas was more ebullient than ever, and as they passed through the clusters of children playing marbles and jumping rope, he chattered happily about everything that crossed his mind—everything but the most important things, which required secrecy—and saluted everyone who met his eye, greeting the other children by name even as they anxiously turned away. John, however, though he had been cheerful enough over breakfast, grew steadily less so at the sight of the other children recoiling. He was still not used to being shunned. The constantly averted eyes and retreating steps depressed his spirits horribly.
Nicholas noticed his gloomy expression and guessed the cause. “It helps to be at a distance,” he said, tossing his head back toward the children. “When you’re not right in among them, you don’t feel quite so avoided.”
John looked glumly at him. “I know you’re already an old hand at this. Last week must have been awful for you. You didn’t have anyone.”
“Sure, it was bad,” Nicholas said lightly, “but it was only a few days, and now I have you and”—he glanced back to be sure they had drawn out of earshot—and Violet.”
“I’m glad you do,” John said. “I’m glad we both do.” And brightening a little—in fact, almost smiling—he said, “I still can’t believe you learned sign language in one night!”
“Well, as much as I could learn from one book, anyway,” said Nicholas. “It was a good book, though. Excellent illustrations. Definitely worth the risk.”
John frowned. “What risk?”
“Oh, I had a devil of a time reaching it. I had to climb halfway up the ladder and then lean out as far as I could, hoping I wouldn’t fall. It was even harder putting it back on the shelf.”
“For Pete’s sake, Nick, why don’t you oil that ladder? Then you can just move it and reach any book you like.”
“Why, that never occurred to me!” said Nicholas with a look of amazement.
John began to reply, then checked himself. His eyes narrowed. “Okay, you’re putting me on. I suppose you’ve already tried it?”
Nicholas shrugged. “I have, and it didn’t work. The wheels and the tracks are in terrible shape. Badly rusted, almost falling apart. I could fix them easily enough with tools and some new parts—or even some scrap parts—but not quietly, so I can’t risk doing it at night.”
They walked past the schoolhouse lot, where two boys were kicking a heavy rock back and forth. The Spiders were leaning against the wooden fence, urging them to kick harder and harder, and the boys did not appear to be enjoying themselves. Nicholas and John veered away, giving the Spiders a wide berth and keeping in clear view of the gazebo, where Mr. Pileus was standing on duty. Moray spied them and yelled something insulting that neither boy could make out.
“So is your face!” Nicholas called back, hoping it applied.
They kept walking.
Presently John said, “Well, let’s get to it, Nick. Have you made a decision?”
“I think so,” Nicholas replied, kneeling to tie his shoe. The laces had broken and were so short that tying them was like performing surgery on an insect. “Actually, I’m pretty certain. How about you?”
“I think we’re in agreement,” said John.
Indeed, the boys had felt the agreement forming between them the night before. It might almost have formed the moment Violet made her first appearance. In reality, it had required no serious or prolonged consideration. If they were going to be friends with Violet, they had to let her in on their secret. Still, it had seemed only right to sleep on the matter before making the agreement official.
“We’ll tell her tonight, then,” Nicholas said. “And we’ll get to work.”
The plan was to meet Violet at Giant’s Head at ten-thirty. John had assured Nicholas that there was no need to wait until midnight. Everyone was asleep by ten o’clock, he said, and Violet had confirmed that her parents and her two little sisters were also asleep by then. And so at precisely ten o’clock that night, Nicholas was waiting for John at their usual meeting place, behind the largest oak tree at the far end of the park. Half an hour later he was still waiting. John had not shown up. Finally he left the boots, a candle, and some matches at the base of the oak tree, just in case John came along later, and he hurried up the hill alone.
Violet was already waiting in the observatory. Nicholas knew this before he saw her, for the flickering light of a candle shone from the doorway. He found her studying the cranks, her hands on her hips, her back to the door. But something alerted her to his presence, and she turned to greet him with a smile.
Where is John? she signed.
“He didn’t make it out,” Nicholas replied. “Maybe he’ll come along later.”
Do you think he got caught? Should we be worried?
“I don’t think so. John’s awfully careful. More likely something just kept him from sneaking out.”
Too bad. I brought enough for three. Violet took a thin blanket from her canvas bag and spread it on the floor. Then she opened a small bundle and laid out corn bread, a wedge of cheese, a jar of jam, and a bottle of milk. There’s nothing like a late-night picnic. Are you hungry?
Nicholas laughed with delight. “I’m always hungry!” he exclaimed, and rubbed his hands together in anticipation. But then he hesitated. “Are you sure you can spare it? Won’t your parents miss the food?”
Violet winked. Not a bit. We have plenty of food, if not much else. And since I’m always the one who cooks supper and cleans up afterward, it’s easy for me to tuck away a few things for later while my parents tend to my sisters.
Nicholas needed no further convincing. Eagerly he sat down to eat, and for a time they spoke of rather ordinary things, such as how they had spent their days and whether cheese could properly be eaten with jam. Nicholas thought it could, but Violet insisted he eat them separately. Her little sisters ate them together, she said, and her sisters—though she loved them—were extremely silly. She did not like to think that Nicholas was as silly as they were.
“Oh, never!” Nicholas cried, putting on his most serious expression. “I avoid silliness at all costs!”
Violet nodded her serious approval, and then both of them laughed.
When at last they had eaten their fill, Nicholas told Violet he had a secret—that both he and John did, and that they had agreed to share it with her. The only condition was that she promise not to tell a soul. None of them could tell anyone, he said, without first asking permission of the others. Would Violet agree to that condition?
Looking somewhat puzzled, Violet nevertheless crossed her heart and promised.
And so Nicholas told her about the treasure. He started slowly, laying out the details before hinting where they might lead—the recently discovered diary, Mr. Collum’s strange behavior, Mrs. Rothschild’s missing inheritance….
At this point Violet interrupted him. Yes, everyone around here knows about that. Some say that the money was buried with her—that Mr. Rothschild disliked his father-in-law and so never let his wife touch the inh
eritance during her lifetime. The rumor got around so much that the cemetery in Pebbleton hired a guard. They were afraid of thieves digging up her coffin. Isn’t that horrible?
Nicholas agreed that it was quite shocking. And then he told Violet what he had read in the diary.
Violet watched his lips intently, her eyes growing rounder and rounder. And then, when Nicholas had finished explaining his theory about the treasure—including his suspicion that it was hidden in or around Giant’s Head—Violet looked excitedly about her, as if she might spy the treasure in plain sight. Finally looking back at Nicholas, she made several false starts, raising her hands only to drop them again in bewilderment, before finally signing, Do you honestly think it’s real?
“I’m sure of it!” Nicholas replied, quite exuberantly, for Violet’s excitement had renewed his own, and once again he felt thrilled by the prospect of riches.
If you’re sure of it, then it must be true. With a mind like yours… Violet faltered again, unable to express her wonderment. After a pause, she signed, And we’ll share it? The three of us? Is that what you’re saying?
“Of course!” Nicholas said. “Three minds are better than one, right? We’ll figure out how to find it, and then we’ll share it. There’ll be plenty for all of us.” He explained his plan to relate key passages from the diary. “One of you might notice something I’ve overlooked—a coded combination for the cranks, or some hint about where to search, or something that hasn’t even occurred to me. Or perhaps something will occur to me once I start talking about it. That happens to me a lot. The important thing is that we pay attention and think it all through….”
Nicholas had detected, over the course of this speech, that Violet’s excitement was shading into something else, some emotion altogether more profound. He could see it in her eyes, which, though trained attentively on his lips, nonetheless reflected a kind of deep musing, as if, like Nicholas, she could listen carefully and ponder other things at the same time.
“What is it, Violet?” Nicholas asked, interrupting himself midstream. “What are you thinking of?”
Violet considered before answering. Then, locking eyes with him, she signed, You have no idea what this means to me.
“It means a lot to all of us,” Nicholas agreed. “It’s going to change our lives.”
Violet nodded slowly. It seems fated, she signed. The timing is too perfect. That we should all meet one another now, in this way, with a mystery to be solved and a treasure to be gained. Does it not seem as if it were meant to be?
Nicholas had to admit that it did feel unusual, and he was about to say as much when Violet rose abruptly, as if she had just decided something. Or perhaps something had just occurred to her. Whichever it was, she looked at Nicholas with a troubled expression, the reason for which he could not guess, and told him that she needed to show him something.
Nicholas felt a shiver of excitement. “Does it have to do with the treasure?”
But Violet had already taken up his lantern and was headed for the door. Nicholas leaped up to follow her. They headed north, along the now-familiar trail. Violet was in the lead, which left Nicholas unable to ask her questions. As they entered the trees beyond the clearing, his mind darted from possibility to possibility. Were they headed to the bluff? To her home? Was it possible she knew of something that would shed light on the treasure’s location? A clue in the woods that she had never realized was a clue?
Down into the ravine they went, clinging to trees on the steep descent, then crossing the streambed (whose waters had mostly receded now) by means of stepping-stones. Beyond the next ridge, at the fork in the trail, Violet turned left, away from the bluff.
A dozen paces took them to still another fork. Again Violet turned left. The path they followed now led westward and slightly uphill—not down to the farm, then. Nicholas felt his excitement increase. This path was wider than the others and appeared once to have been well cleared and maintained, though it was now fairly overgrown, in obvious disuse. Before long, it led out of the trees into a strange landscape of rocks—enormous boulders and slabs and scattered piles of rubble—running all the way up to the ridge.
Tromping through gravel and weeds, Violet headed for an impressive mound of rubble surrounded by boulders; and walking around the largest of these, she knelt and positioned the lantern so that Nicholas could see, in among the rubble, the mouth of a narrow tunnel or cave scarcely larger than the lantern itself.
Violet beckoned for Nicholas to kneel beside her and peer into the opening. It was small enough that he doubted a bear could pass through it, but he was less certain about mountain lions, and as he moved to join her, Nicholas ardently hoped that Violet knew what she was doing.
At first he saw nothing. The lantern revealed a long, cramped tunnel, quite empty save for spiderwebs and loose rocks. But Violet had seemed convinced he would see something significant, so Nicholas strained his eyes until, at last, he did. Just at the outer limit of the lantern’s light, he could make out a sort of bundle, something wrapped in burlap or other heavy cloth. Or part of a bundle, anyway—he could tell that the tunnel opened up into a rocky chamber and that the bundle lay mostly out of sight, with just its nearer part visible. His heart was beating faster now. Was it possible that this was the treasure chamber? Had there been some sort of secret entrance here in the woods? Perhaps a tunnel—even an entire series of tunnels—that led between Giant’s Head and this subterranean cave?
One glance at Violet’s face answered his questions. This was not the treasure. It was something else entirely, something very troubling to her. Nicholas felt that it must have to do with her brother, and beating down his disappointment, he waited for her to explain. She gave no sign of doing so, however, but only gazed with sad eyes at the mysterious bundle at the end of the tunnel.
He gestured to catch her attention. “What is it, Violet? What is that thing?”
And Violet told him.
It did not have to do with her brother, after all, at least not directly. But it did have to do with Violet’s family, and in particular Violet herself. The bundle at the end of the tunnel was the symbol of a crushed dream.
Violet was an artist. Even before she could read and write, she had drawn pictures to express herself, and her talent, which was immediately apparent to everyone, had been supported and expanded through constant practice. Over the years she had acquired a great many art supplies and art books as birthday and Christmas presents, and had purchased even more with her own modest savings. Her family’s farmhouse was a veritable art gallery. Once, when Violet was nine, a distant aunt had visited and, seeing Violet’s paintings and drawings, had suggested that Violet might benefit from art school. The aunt knew of a reputable one in Stonetown to which anyone with an eighth-grade degree might apply.
“It’s expensive, certainly,” the aunt had said. “But it’s the only one in the region.”
At the time, Violet had five years left until she graduated from eighth grade at the school in Pebbleton. As soon as the aunt had gone, she asked her parents if five years was enough time to save the money she would need to pay the art school’s tuition. Her parents, wretched at the prospect of disappointing her, nevertheless had to inform Violet that it was extremely unlikely she could attend. Even if the farm grew more productive than it had been in recent years, even if they scrimped and saved, the Hopefields probably couldn’t afford to send her.
This was just before the war, Violet signed. Crops had been terrible for a long time. I could hardly argue. I knew better than that. It was hard, though. I cried myself to sleep for a week.
And then, it seemed, a miracle had occurred. The very next week a scout for a mining company in Stonetown had knocked on their door. Evidently, he believed his company had a good chance of finding a rare mineral—an exceedingly valuable mineral—in the hills behind their farm. The Hopefield property extended all the way to the nearest ridge, which happened to be exactly the best place for an exploratory mine, and the
scout had come to see if Mr. Hopefield would sign a contract allowing the company to drill there.
The family stood to make a great deal of money, the scout had explained, and at no risk. The contract would be for five years, during which time the Hopefields would receive a percentage of the value of any rare minerals discovered, and after which, if the mining operation continued to be successful, a new, even more profitable contract could be negotiated. If no minerals were found and the company ceased its operations before the contract expired, the Hopefields would still receive a handsome sum at that time—a “withdrawal award,” as it was called in the contract.
There had been little need for discussion. Mr. Hopefield had signed the contract. And suddenly it seemed almost certain that Violet could attend the art school, after all. The company came and cleared a lane up the hill. A team of mules, straining and puffing, had pulled a wagon bearing the state-of-the-art drill up to this spot. An engineer and his assistant unloaded the drill, positioned it, and set to work. The hills rang with the tremendous noise. Violet could not hear it, but she could feel the vibrations in her feet even from a distance. A dozen men streamed in and out of the lengthening tunnel, carting and sorting through rubble.
It went on for weeks, and Violet and her brother often stole up the hill to watch the work progress. They were so full of hope—so excited to think that at any moment the miners would strike a vein—they hated to be anywhere else, even though the work was dull and tedious to watch. Indeed, the only thing more dull and tedious was when the work stopped. And often it did stop, sometimes because the foreman had a safety concern, other times because the drill broke down.
At the times when the drill broke down, Violet and her brother would watch with bleak impatience as the engineer and his assistant carted the machine back out into the open, where, in the better light, they would spread out tools and blueprints and make their repairs. Hideous, tiresome hours would pass as the men tried one thing after another. Sometimes they were forced to dismantle the drill entirely, in which case the other workers would retire to their camp, done for the day, and Violet and her brother would trudge back down to the farm. For two children anxious to be rich, such interruptions were an agony.
The Extraordinary Education of Nicholas Benedict Page 20