The Secret of Goldenrod

by Jane O'Reilly

  “Good idea, Missy. Why don’t you go first?”

  Prissy Missy stood up. “My name is Missy. It’s short for Melissa. And my favorite subject is spelling.” After Missy, all the introductions blurred together because Trina wasn’t listening. She was too nervous knowing she’d soon have to stand up and talk in front of her new classmates.

  “Citrine,” Miss Dale smiled at her. “Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself?” Miss Dale sat down on the edge of her desk. “Maybe start by telling us where you’re from.”

  From? As Trina stood up, her stomach swelled with the mile-high pancakes. She wasn’t from anywhere. She could tell them about every place she’d ever lived, but she wasn’t from any one of those places.

  One by one, the kids turned in their seats to stare at her, except for Charlotte who hissed behind her back, “Cat got your tongue, Latrine?”

  Trina pretended she didn’t hear Charlotte. She stared at the front of the classroom, hoping Miss Dale would move on to another question. Any question except where she was from.

  “Do you have any brothers or sisters?” Miss Dale asked sweetly.

  “I have five brothers and sisters,” Edward shouted from his desk.

  “Thank you, Edward,” Miss Dale said. “But you already had your turn.”

  Trina shook her head. No brothers. No sisters. No mother. “I live with my dad. He’s a master carpenter and we—”

  “Ooo, master carpenter,” Charlotte sneered, sending a ripple of chuckles up and down the rows.

  “Charlotte, please,” Miss Dale said with a stern look.

  “What? I mean it,” Charlotte said. “A master carpenter is really cool.”

  Trina ignored Charlotte’s fake compliment. “We move a lot so my dad can remodel houses. We just moved here from Santa Fe.” There. Done. As usual, she had told her life story in two simple sentences.

  “Ooo. Santa Fe. Grand Canyon. Cool.” Another fake comment from Charlotte.

  But Trina was too good at geography to let that one go by. She turned around and said, “The Grand Canyon is in Arizona, not New Mexico.” And then she smiled, pleased with herself.

  Edward laughed, but the rest of the class was silent, eyes wide and focused on Charlotte, who squinted spitefully at Trina.

  “That’s correct,” Miss Dale said. “And now you’re living here in town?”

  Trina shook her head, wondering what the reaction of the class was going to be to her next bit of news, but at this point she wasn’t sure she cared. “We’re living at Goldenrod.” Eleven kids and Miss Dale uttered one big gasp.

  “Goldenrod is haunted,” Charlotte said.

  “My dad says there’s no such thing as a haunted house,” Trina snapped back.

  Charlotte got louder. “My grandma says—”

  “I know that house,” Miss Dale interrupted. “We all do. It must be very interesting to live there.”

  “It is very interesting,” Trina said, keeping the details to herself as she sat down.

  “It is very interesting,” Charlotte mimicked.

  “Charlotte,” Miss Dale said firmly, pointing at an empty desk in front of her. “Enough. Please sit up here by me.”

  Charlotte didn’t move. Miss Dale didn’t either. Not even her eyes, which she kept straight and steady on Charlotte. At last, Charlotte huffed, slid out of her desk, and shuffled to the desk at the front of the room.

  “That house is a historic treasure,” Miss Dale continued. “As you know, my great-grandparents—your own great-great-aunt and great-great-uncle, Charlotte—were gardeners there.”

  Did that mean Miss Dale and Charlotte were related? Trina was dumbfounded that someone so mean and nasty could be related to the wonderful Miss Dale.

  A blond boy raised his hand. “Yes, Ben,” Miss Dale said.

  “My grandpa says the whole reason this town is so small is because people are afraid to live anywhere near it. So everyone keeps moving away.”

  “Yeah,” Edward said as he shot a rubber band that hit Ben’s head. “My dad says Mr. Shegstad has the only successful business in town.”

  Shegstad. Shegstad’s Funeral Home. A funeral home was the most successful business in this dying town. Trina laughed out loud at her own thought, making everyone stare at her again—including Charlotte, who turned her head and stuck her tongue out.

  At this point, Trina would have given anything to undo the entire morning. If the radiators hadn’t filled Goldenrod with steam, they wouldn’t have gone to Miss Kitty’s diner. If they hadn’t gone to Miss Kitty’s, she wouldn’t know school had started. If she hadn’t known school had started, she’d be back at Goldenrod and never would have had to meet Charlotte and the other kids. If only the radiators hadn’t gone crazy, then she wouldn’t be sitting here with everyone staring at her. It was all Goldenrod’s fault.

  Miss Dale hopped off her desk. “As you can see, Citrine, there are lots of stories about Goldenrod. We look forward to hearing yours as the year goes on.” Then she picked up a silver whistle and blew it so loudly Trina thought the windows might break. “Please line up for gym. Dodgeball today.”

  Dodgeball! Trina loved dodgeball so much she stopped fretting. The game would be the first good thing to happen so far in New Royal. Just in case, though, she put herself at the end of the line so she wouldn’t have to stand next to Charlotte, who barged her way up to the front.

  She ended up on the same team with Edward and Prissy Missy and a few other kids, playing opposite Charlotte, who had declared herself the captain of the other team. Every time the ball came anywhere near Missy, Missy screamed and turned her back. And then Edward was out when Ben smacked him in the back with the ball.

  One by one Trina’s teammates ended up on the sidelines and pretty soon it was just Charlotte and Trina left on the court. And Charlotte had the ball. Charlotte made an angry face at Trina, wound up, and threw the ball as hard as she could right at her. Poor Charlotte, Trina thought for a moment, but only for a moment. She caught the ball with both hands as easily as she would catch a pop fly. In a second, Charlotte was out and the game was over.

  Edward started jumping up and down, shouting, “We won! We won! We’re the champs!”

  Miss Dale blew her whistle. “Edward. Sportsmanship,” she said. “And please get in line with your team.”

  “Good game. Good game. Good game,” all the kids said, slapping hands in passing until Charlotte paused in front of Trina. Instead of high-fiving her, Charlotte gave her hand a burning squeeze. “This’ll teach you to butt in where you don’t belong, Latrine,” she whispered.

  “What will?” Trina said, refusing to buckle, pretending her fingers didn’t feel as if every one of them was being held to Miss Kitty’s hot griddle. She wasn’t going to give Charlotte an iota of satisfaction, so she smiled. Charlotte sneered. When she released Trina’s hand, Trina made a beeline for the drinking fountain. Charlotte followed her.

  “Hey, Latrine,” Charlotte called as the rest of the kids headed back to the classroom.

  Trina ignored her and got an extra-long drink.

  “Latrine, I’m talking to you.” Charlotte tapped her big foot. “Are you deaf or something?”

  What would you say that’s worth listening to? Trina thought. She wished she was bold enough to say it out loud, but she knew she was no match for Charlotte—at least not off the dodgeball court. Finally turning around, Trina said, “I can hear you just fine.”

  Charlotte squinted her eyes. “That’s good, because I’m going to tell you a little secret.”

  Trina stood as tall as she could, but Charlotte, with her mean, freckled face, still loomed over her. She clenched her teeth so her lips wouldn’t quiver.

  “Just because you lived in Santa Fe and have traveled around a lot, you’re no better than anyone else, Latrine. You understand? And just so you know, these are my friends.” Charlotte made a huge fist with her big right hand and waved it in Trina’s face. “If you ever have trouble remembering . . .” She s
lugged her fist into the open palm of her big left hand. “I’ll remind you.”

  Trina didn’t need a big fist to remind her that she wasn’t better than anyone else. She already knew it. No friends, no real home, no mother. “Thank you, Charlotte, I’m sure I won’t forget.” As she gave Charlotte her biggest fake smile possible, she made up her mind right then and there she would simply keep to herself for the rest of the day and never again set foot in New Royal Public School.

  When the bell rang at three thirty, Trina was the first one out of her seat. She left her books on her desk and ran from the classroom, down the stairs, out the door, and all the way to the parking lot.

  Her dad’s truck was nowhere in sight.

  And then it started to rain.

  Trina wrapped her arms around her shoulders, hopping from one foot to the other, staring down the road for her dad. “Hurry, hurry, hurry,” she whispered to herself. When he finally turned into the parking lot, she ran for the truck. As soon as it stopped, she opened the door and climbed in, out of breath. “You’re late,” she said.

  “A minute, maybe, but don’t worry. We still have plenty of time. I have all the papers right here.” He picked up the tattered green folder that contained Trina’s records. Birth certificate. Shots. Grades. Everything. Her whole life fit into one measly file folder.

  She yanked her seat belt across herself and clicked the buckle. “It doesn’t matter. I’m never coming back. I hate New Royal.”

  “Now wait a minute, Trina. I mean, Citrine—”

  Citrine. Her own name made her sick. “Don’t call me that. Don’t call me Citrine ever again.”

  “Oh, o . . . kay.” Her dad slipped the green folder between their seats. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

  “No.”

  “But you love school.”

  “You always say that, but it’s not true. Why would I love school? Everybody knows everybody else and I’m always the new kid.” She folded her arms across her chest and looked at her feet. “Just take me home,” she said, doing everything she could do to keep from crying at that meaningless word: home.

  Her dad flicked on the windshield wipers and they sat silently in the idling truck for what seemed like forever until he slid her baseball cap from the gear shift and placed it cockeyed on her head—as if that made everything okay—and drove out of the parking lot.

  Trina pulled down the brim of her cap, put her feet on the dashboard, and stared straight between the tips of her tennis shoes at the gray world. She could feel her dad watching her, but she didn’t look at him, and he didn’t say anything until they were halfway to Goldenrod.

  “I stopped by the post office today.” He pulled a postcard of a yellow hot-air balloon from his shirt pocket and waved it in the air. “Maybe this’ll cheer you up.”

  Trina felt a flicker of hope. Maybe her mother would invite her along on an adventure and she could leave this terrible place for good. “Where is she now?” She grabbed the postcard from her dad and turned it over, eager to read the note.

  Dear Citrine,

  I am an official, certified hot-air balloonist tour guide here in New Zealand. I hope you like your new school. Someday I will show you what the world looks like from way up here. Remember, the sky’s the limit.

  Love, Mom

  “Wow. She’s in New Zealand,” Trina said.

  “I saw that. Pretty amazing,” her dad said, cranking up the windshield wipers. “Man, these prairie storms roll through as fast as semitrucks on a highway.”

  Raindrops the size of grapes plinked against the truck as Trina read the note again, holding onto that word, someday, as tightly as she held onto the postcard. Someday. Someday her mother would come for her. And then her hope flickered out. New Zealand was on the other side of the world. Her mother wouldn’t be coming home anytime soon.

  Trina pulled off her cap and twirled it in her fingers, thinking of Miss Dale’s perfume and wondering what kind of perfume her mother wore. And if her mother ever wore nail polish. She bit down on her lip and let the scrub and swipe of the windshield wipers fill the silence the rest of the way to Goldenrod. By the time they pulled through the black gate, the rain had stopped and the sun was peeking through the clouds.

  “What do you think?” her dad said as they got out of the truck. “Took me forever to get the boards off the turret.”

  Trina glanced up. Extension ladders and scaffolding leaned against the front of the house. The boards were gone from the big bay window in the parlor. Gone from the turret and the rest of the upstairs windows, too. The ancient glass shimmered.

  Goldenrod was changing, beginning to come to life, but Trina was stuck in the middle of nowhere. And she was never going back to school.

  “Looks nice,” she said only because her dad was waiting for her to say something.

  He bent down and picked up a long squeegee from the ground. “Think maybe you could help me out a little? Maybe wash the inside of the windows and let me keep going on the outside? There’s an extra bucket in the basement. Or maybe you could tackle the laundry.”

  Trina waved the hot-air balloon postcard in the air as she headed in the front door. “Just let me put this away first,” she said.

  Clutching the postcard, Trina went into the kitchen, grabbed a piece of bread, and ate it on the way upstairs to her room. So what if sunshine poured through the stained glass windows in the stairwell, casting a rainbow of colors across the walls? So what if the hall was filled with light? What difference would it really make that the windows were open, letting fresh air into the house for the first time in a hundred years?

  She was still motherless. And friendless.

  She flopped on her mattress, grateful her dad had brought it upstairs so she had somewhere to go to feel sorry for herself, and read the postcard again. But she had no idea when someday would come and she was too antsy to wait. She got up and put the postcard on the mantel with the others and then she took off her Diamondbacks cap and hung it on one of the curlicue hooks on the big mirror. The hook was loose and her first thought was to grab a screwdriver and tighten it, but when she wiggled the hook, it clicked. Like a latch.

  The hook was not an ordinary hook.

  And the mirror was not an ordinary mirror.

  The mirror was a door.

  Chapter Five

  Trina’s heart fluttered in her chest.

  She pushed on the mirror and felt it give way, slowly opening inward.

  The turret room!

  Trina gasped, but for some reason, she wasn’t afraid. Even though secret rooms were notorious for scary and mysterious things, Trina could see that this little room was different. It had pink shutters on the windows and it was ringed with deep shelves as tall as she was, and each shelf was painted a different color. Frayed yellow fabric was tacked to the edge of the shelves, which made the room look like an old-fashioned circus wagon.

  The shelves were empty except for one lonesome book—a copy of Grimm’s Fairy Tales. Trina blew dust off its cover and set it back in its outline on the dusty shelf.

  A nursery rhyme was painted on the walls above the shelves, each line a banner floating through the air, carried by little blue birds.

  What are little girls made of, made of?

  What are little girls made of?

  “Sugar and spice and all that’s nice.

  That’s what little girls are made of.”

  A playroom. That’s what this room had been. A room full of toys for the little girl who slept in the bedroom next door. A hundred years ago the shelves were probably filled with puzzles and dolls and books. Now it was a room full of loneliness, and it made Trina feel sad, so sad she wanted to leave the room and forget all about it.

  When she put her hand on the doorknob, she heard a tiny ping—the sound of something very small hitting the floor—and it rolled toward her shoe. A nail? She took it to the windows and opened the shutters to see it better in the sunlight. It couldn’t be a nail because it was bumpy and
had four little balls on one end and a pinhole at the other. Trina still wasn’t sure what it was, so she stuck it in her pocket for safekeeping. This time, when she turned to leave, the mirrored door swung shut in front of her, creaking as if to say, “Take another look!”

  Trina took another look.

  There, hidden in the shadows, recessed beneath a deep shelf like a puzzle piece in a puzzle, was a dollhouse—a two-story dollhouse whose rooftop, complete with a chimney and weather vane—reached to her waist.

  The tiny curtains hung in tatters, wallpaper curled just like in the parlor downstairs, and everything was covered in a layer of fine dust. But Trina could tell in an instant, the house had good bones.

  Very carefully, she pulled the dollhouse forward. It slid smoothly across the wooden floor, as if it had traveled the same path many times and knew the way. When Trina reached the center of the room, the yellow dollhouse filled with sunshine through its own rippled glass windows.

  Sunlight glinted off tiny brass sconces and silver mirrors, illuminating a parlor with a fireplace, a dining room, and a kitchen with its own little swinging door. Trina gave the swinging door a nudge and it swung with a tiny squeak. “The first thing I’ll do is oil that door,” she whispered.

  Miniature books were stacked on shelves in the parlor, paintings the size of postage stamps adorned the papered walls, petite fringed rugs were scattered across its wooden floors, and the dining table was set for three with little white dishes—and one tarnished candlestick in the center of the table, identical to the mysterious object in Trina’s pocket. She pulled out the bit of silver and stood it next to the other candlestick. The dining table was now ready for company.

  The dollhouse didn’t have a bay window or a turret, but it had a very large balcony, and beneath the balcony was a stable with four stalls. An old-fashioned carriage was in one of the stalls and a little black horse lay on its side in front of the carriage, still wearing its bridle and saddle.

  The upstairs had a bathroom with a claw-foot tub, and two bedrooms, one green and one pink, each with a four-poster bed. Most extraordinary of all was the tiny doll lying in the bed in the pink room. Her face, no bigger than a dime, peeked from beneath the covers.