The Marshland Mystery

by Campbell, Julie

  A quarter of an hour later, a light rain was falling. Trixie stuck her nose out to look at the clouds and saw that they were much darker now and swirling across the sky. Gleeps! she thought. I hope they keep right on going and it clears up, or nobody’ll come to the sale.

  But instead of slackening, the sprinkle became a down-pour. Even Miss Rachel, who had been trying hard to pretend that she wasn’t worried, looked glum. Gaye slept on, with Mr. Poo across her feet.

  “Well, here we sit,” Di said after a while. “Isn’t there something we can still do?”

  “I’m afraid we’ve done everything,” Miss Rachel said with a sigh, “except getting together those packages of herbs I promised you girls for your botany class.”

  “Well, let’s do that!” Honey said briskly. “Where do we find them?”

  “Come along to the potting shed, and I’ll put you all to work,” Miss Rachel told them. “Here.” She reached into the linen drawer of the sideboard. “Aprons for all!” When the girls had put them on and tied the wide, starched strings into bows for each other, they tiptoed out and left Gaye sleeping quietly, Mr. Poo at her feet.

  In spite of the pouring rain outside, the girls had a good time for the next half hour, wrapping and labeling the Oswego tea leaves, the pennyroyal, and the other mints, like spearmint and horehound.

  It was Trixie who thought she heard Mr. Poo barking. The others were busy with the herbs, so she threw her sweater over her head and started out. “I think I’ll see how Gaye’s getting along,” she said hastily and dashed for the cottage. As she hurried along, she looked toward the front of the house, hopefully, for a car. But there was no car—only sheets of rain.

  And when she was inside the cottage and hurried to check on little Gaye, there was no sign of the child. The dog was gone, too, and the small leather suitcase that Gaye had jealously guarded.

  Trixie’s Treasure ● 21

  TRIXIE RAN to the cottage door and flung it open. The small white gate was standing ajar. It was evident that Gaye had gone out that way. But which direction had she taken? Had she gone to the marsh or to the ruins?

  “I’ve got to find her,” Trixie told herself desperately. “That silly story about the miser’s gold could be why she’s gone—or it could be that old yarn about pirate loot in the swamp!” She felt sure now that Gaye hadn’t been sound asleep on the couch. She must have waited till they were out of the room and then stolen out with her little suitcase. “It probably was empty. She was fibbing about Mr. Poo’s lunch being in it! And now I’m sure she never even asked Miss Crandall if she could come with us. She must have sneaked away!”

  Trixie hurried out to the gate. The rain was coming down so hard now that there was no chance of seeing any footprints pressed into the muddy road.

  Then she heard the poodle barking. The sound was coming from the direction of the ruins of the old Martin mansion. Trixie started running as fast as she could against the driving rain and gusty wind.

  “I hope she hasn’t had time to go far,” she muttered uneasily, “but I guess not. I wouldn’t have heard Mr. Poo barking so clearly if they were very far away.”

  She hadn’t gone a hundred feet more before she saw the little dog running toward her, a soggy, small white bundle that barked excitedly and then stopped, turned, and seemed to be trying to urge her to follow him. “Okay, Mr. Poo, I’m coming!” she called and went after him as fast as she could. The poodle splashed his way ahead of her, only stopping a couple of times to see if she was still following.

  He led her around past the old mansion and to the rose garden. But there was no sign of Gaye. The mounds of earth that the intruders had piled up in their digging for treasure were now sodden masses of mud and stones, and a stream of water was rushing past, down over the stone steps that their digging had uncovered. The steps led into what must have been the root cellar, near the summer kitchen, where the fire had started. Trixie peered down into the darkness. She could see that the lowest step was awash.

  “Gaye?” she called uncertainly and was relieved when there was no answer. The little girl was probably climbing around in another part of the ruins.

  Trixie started to turn away, but as she did, the small dog came and stood at the edge of the steps and looked down at the water, whimpering. “Oh, no!” Trixie whispered. “If she’s down there, something must have happened to her.” She called again. “Gaye! Are you down there?” Again there was no reply.

  Trixie hesitated only a second more and then began to descend the steps. Mr. Poo started to follow her, but Trixie ordered sternly, “Stay there!” and he lay down, paying no attention to the rain that drenched his tiny body but watching her and whining a little.

  Gaye was in the cellar. But it was no fake faint this time that kept her from answering Trixie. She had gone down the steps, slipped, and fallen into the water, striking her head. By some miracle, her face was still above water, but most of her body was under. In a few minutes more, she would have drowned.

  Afterward, back at the cottage, Trixie could hardly remember how she had been able to struggle against the force of the rushing water, carrying Gaye’s limp body and inching along the rocky sides of the old cellar toward the steps and safety. It was like a nightmare now, but somehow she had done it and brought Gaye back to consciousness in the shelter of a wildly swaying tree.

  They had staggered hand in hand back to the cottage, with the drenched puppy trotting ahead in the downpour. At the door, Miss Rachel had caught Gaye in her arms as the child collapsed from excitement and fatigue.

  Now, with Gaye safely tucked in bed but babbling with a high fever, and Mr. Poo, rubbed dry and fluffy, sleeping at her side, Trixie sat bundled in a blanket before the fire. Honey hovered about her anxiously.

  “Are you sure I can’t get anything for you?” she asked.

  Trixie shook her head quickly and sipped the spearmint tea Miss Rachel had brewed for her. “Huh-uh. How’s Gaye?”

  “Miss Rachel says the Oswego tea should break her fever soon,” Honey assured her. “She owes her life to you.”

  “Not me!” Trixie protested and meant it. “Mr. Poo did that. I had to save her, or he’d have bitten me!” And she changed the subject quickly. “I hear a car! Maybe it’s a customer, at last! I’d better get out of sight!” She headed for the bedroom, trailing the blanket, as Di and Honey dashed for the door and excitedly peered out. But it wasn’t a customer. It was Miss Della Crandall in Brian’s jalopy. She came storming up the walk, her face dark with anger and determination.

  “Where is my niece?” she demanded, pushing her way in.

  “She’s in the bedroom there,” Honey told her quietly. “She’s quite sick, Miss Crandall.”

  “Nonsense! I know her spiteful little tricks! She’s pretending to be sick so she won’t be punished for running away again!” Miss Crandall shoved the girls aside and stalked toward the bedroom door.

  But before she could reach it, Trixie came out, still wrapped in the blanket, and shut the door quietly behind her. She stood resolutely in front of the closed door. “I heard what you said, Miss Crandall, and you’re all wrong. Gaye didn’t run away for spite. She hoped she could find some hidden gold she heard the servants gossiping about.”

  “Hidden gold? Ridiculous! Gaye earns a small fortune every year with her violin!” Miss Crandall said haughtily.

  “Why would she want more?”

  “To give you so she wouldn’t have to work so hard all the time,” Trixie said very coldly and accusingly.

  For a moment, Miss Crandall stared at Trixie. Then she covered her face with her hands and sank down into the nearest chair. They saw her shoulders shake and knew she was crying silently.

  Honey and Di looked at each other helplessly, and Di said softly, “Oh, Trixie!”

  But Trixie stood her ground, frowning. She told herself she wasn’t sorry. It was time Miss Crandall heard the truth.

  Gaye’s aunt sat up straight suddenly, and, in spite of the tears that still we
t her cheeks, she managed a smile. “I didn’t know how she felt. I was being stern with her for her own sake. There’s a reason—”

  “You don’t have to explain, Miss Crandall,” Trixie interrupted hurriedly. “I’m sorry I was so outspoken.”

  “No, you were right to tell me. But I want you to know why I was so strict. You see, her father—my only brother—was a great violinist. But he was undisciplined all his life, and he died in poverty. I made up my mind Gaye would have something that couldn’t be wasted when she grew up. Every cent she has made, except for our expenses, is in a trust fund for her. She’ll never be penniless.”

  “Maybe if you told her...” Honey said softly. She was remembering how she and her mother had misunderstood each other before Trixie had come into their lives.

  “Someday, when she’s a little older, I will,” Miss

  Crandall said with a sigh. “Meanwhile, I’ve already canceled tonight’s recital. And now”—she looked at Trixie thoughtfully—“after talking to you, I intend to call off the rest of our tour. I want Gaye to have a long vacation, while we both learn to be a real family and not just an artist and her manager.” She smiled fleetingly. “You see, I really love my niece, though I haven’t shown her so, I’m afraid.”

  The bedroom door opened then, and Miss Rachel came out, smiling. “The child is going to be all right,” she told Miss Crandall. “The tea has broken her fever.”

  “I’d like to see my niece,” Miss Crandall said humbly. “She has been asking for you,” Miss Rachel told her. “Please go in.” And she stood aside as Miss Crandall hurried into the bedroom and closed the door.

  “I think she may want to stay till Gaye can be moved,” Miss Rachel told them. “So perhaps you children had better start for home before the rain gets any worse.”

  “But some customers might come—” Trixie began. “Not a chance,” Brian said from the front doorway. “We barely got through. I’m afraid the sale is a big flop, Miss Rachel.”

  Miss Rachel gave a deep sigh. “I suppose it’s all for the best, after all. Even if a lot of people had come, they might have bought only a couple of the pieces. It would only have put off for a short time my going to the Home.”

  And since they had no argument to offer to that, the disappointed little group of Bob-Whites soon left for their homes, promising to come the next morning to help her move her things to storage and herself to the Home, where a place would be waiting for her.

  That night Trixie was wide-awake and restless half the night, trying to think of some way to help Miss Rachel escape what seemed to be her inevitable fate.

  When she couldn’t sleep by midnight, she took the brass box down from the shelf and stole downstairs with it. Might as well be busy doing something, instead of fussing and worrying, she thought. The box’s dullness had bothered her. She would shine it up.

  She set to work on it and was startled to see the dull, brassy look disappear under the polish. A rich golden glow took its place. “It’s almost like gold,” she thought aloud. And then, as she tried to pry a small dark spot off the polished surface with the end of a nail file, her hand slipped, and the file made a deep scratch in the cover. The metal seemed very soft. It might really be gold!

  Trixie felt sudden excitement. She rubbed harder with the polish. “What if it is real gold?” she wondered. And she said at once, “Dad might know!”

  In a flash she was out of the kitchen and running up the stairs to her parents’ room. “Dad!” she called softly. “Please, there’s something important!”

  “Come in, Trixie!” Her father and mother were sitting by the window enjoying the moonlight that had followed the heavy rain. “What’s bothering you at this hour?”

  “My box! I’m almost sure it’s gold, not brass! Won’t you please come and see?”

  “But it can’t be gold, dear. Didn’t Miss Rachel say it was brass?” her mother asked gently.

  “She didn’t say what it was. I don’t think she’d know, because it belonged to her great-grandfather, and it came

  fromChina. Oh, Dad, please come and look at it!”

  “We’ll both come,” he agreed. “I need a glass of milk, anyway, so the effort won’t be wasted.”

  They followed Trixie as she dashed back downstairs to the kitchen. She pointed triumphantly to the box. “Look!”

  “Goodness!” Mrs. Belden stared at the shining box in astonishment.

  “It does look like gold, now that it’s shined up,” Trixie’s dad conceded. “Tell you what. We’ll take it to a jeweler some day next week and let him tell you.”

  “But, Dad, if it is gold, it would be wonderful to know before Miss Rachel has to move to the Home tomorrow. It could change everything!” she argued desperately.

  “It could be just gold-plated, dear,” her mother said sympathetically. “Don’t build your hopes up too high, with so very little to go on.”

  “Wait, Moms! Dad! Remember the letter we found in the desk out there? It spoke about the ‘thing’ that was so strange-looking that he was sending her. It could be the fighting dragon! And he mentioned the scent of sandalwood. Moms, you know how sandalwood smells! Doesn’t this have that smell?”

  Mrs. Belden bent swiftly over the open box and then straightened with wide-eyed surprise. “Why, so it does, dear!”

  “Then why can’t this be the anniversary gift ‘of great price’ that he was sending her?” Trixie’s blue eyes sparkled.

  “Trixie, you really may have solved another puzzle! We’ll drive in to see my friend Sam Lee Fong tomorrow morning and show that box to him. If anybody can tell us what it’s worth, it will be Sam. He has an A-one standing with the Metropolitan Museum of Art as an expert on Chinese art,” Mr. Belden said.

  The next morning, Honey went with Trixie and her father to the city. Tom Delanoy drove them, and Trixie carried the box in her lap all the way.

  But when they came back, except for a short stop to pick up Di, they went directly to Miss Rachel’s, where the boys were hard at work loading furniture on a rented truck.

  The Chinese expert’s verdict was soon told to Miss Rachel, though Trixie found it hard to speak over the lump in her throat. The Museum would pay several thousand dollars for such a perfect specimen of the art of the T'ang Dynasty of a thousand years ago.

  It was an afternoon of happiness for the Bob-Whites. To make it complete, the mayor and his four councilmen came out to call on Miss Rachel and explain a bit sheepishly that they had acted hastily in ordering the work on the road to commence so soon.

  “You are welcome to stay till next summer now,” the mayor told Miss Rachel. “We have found that we were misinformed as to conditions here.”

  “You’re very kind,” Miss Rachel told the gentlemen with great dignity, “but I would like to move into a small home in town, with a shop of my own, as soon as possible—to start my own business again. Thank you, just the same.”

  To cap the whole adventure, after school on Trixie’s birthday, there was a gay party for her in the clubhouse, complete with a gorgeous birthday cake. Miss Rachel was there, and there was a box with a beautiful orchid corsage and a card that said, “With love, Gaye and Aunt Della.”

  Best of all, the Bob-Whites were all there, and to make the day practically perfect, Mart pulled her curls and called her his “twin” in front of everyone, because now, for a whole month, they were both fourteen.

  It was a happy but tired Trixie who tumbled into bed much later. So much had happened in the last few days that her head was whirling. But she wasn’t too sleepy to wonder what adventure lay ahead—and whether her life at fourteen could possibly be as exciting as it had been during this wonderful year just ending.

  Trixie Makes Plans • 1

  Strange Visitors ● 2

  Small Genius ● 3

  The Expedition ● 4

  A Face at the Window ● 5

  Martin’s Marsh ● 6

  Missing ● 7

  A Piece of Glass • 8

 
“Bob-Whites to the Rescue” • 9

  Miss Rachel ● 10

  Someone Named Emily • 11

  Out of the Past ● 12

  Good Intentions • 13

  Trouble Brewing ● 14

  The Twisted Story ● 15

  Aftereffects ● 16

  More Trouble ● 17

  Time Limit • 18

  The Best-Laid Plans ● 19

  Complications • 20

  Trixie’s Treasure ● 21

  Table of Contents

  Trixie Makes Plans • 1

  Strange Visitors ● 2

  Small Genius ● 3

  The Expedition ● 4

  A Face at the Window ● 5

  Martin’s Marsh ● 6

  Missing ● 7

  A Piece of Glass • 8

  “Bob-Whites to the Rescue” • 9

  Miss Rachel ● 10

  Someone Named Emily • 11

  Out of the Past ● 12

  Good Intentions • 13

  Trouble Brewing ● 14

  The Twisted Story ● 15

  Aftereffects ● 16

  More Trouble ● 17

  Time Limit • 18

  The Best-Laid Plans ● 19

  Complications • 20

  Trixie’s Treasure ● 21