The Secret of Goldenrod

by Jane O'Reilly

  Why did Augustine tell her she couldn’t open the door to the turret room? Why couldn’t she talk to the little doll one last time? She crossed her room and put her hand on the lever of the mirrored door. As she started to push down, she remembered she would be breaking a promise if she opened the door. She let go of the lever as Augustine’s words came to mind: I know of no good story where the maiden gives up.

  Trina glanced up at the mantel where her mother’s note sat on top of the postcards. Why give up now? She had her mother’s address. She could write her a letter and tell her all about herself and then her mother would write back and tell her all about her fancy life. By the time they met in person, they would be all caught up.

  Trina grabbed a notebook and pen from her backpack and flopped on her bed.

  And stared at the blank page.

  Her mother had every chance to come to the party and she had decided not to, so a letter wasn’t going to make a bit of difference. Besides, her mother had signed her note “Fondly, C.” Her mother didn’t want to be a mother. Trina knew that now in her heart. She wasn’t giving up; she was just finally accepting the truth.

  KNOCK!

  Trina jumped.

  “The Tin Man has come to see the wizard,” her dad said.

  “You mean witch, Poppo,” she said.

  “Not a wizard?”

  Trina got off her bed and opened her door, shaking her head. “It’s a girl thing, Poppo.”

  Her dad was standing there with a gooey monster brownie on one of the blue plates. “It’s the last one. We’re lucky Edward didn’t see it.”

  Trina gave a half-hearted smile. “Did Miss Dale and everyone go home?” Trina asked.

  “No, the three of them are still downstairs. I’m getting the inside scoop on the whole town.”

  Trina followed his eyes around her room. There wasn’t a stick of furniture in it except for the four-poster bed. After all the special deliveries, it had become the emptiest room at Goldenrod. “Hey, where’s the dollhouse?” he asked.

  “I’m done playing with it, so I put it away,” she fibbed, sitting down on the edge of her bed. “Fifth graders are too big to play with dolls anyway,” she said. It crushed her that no one would ever know the truth about Augustine, or how much Augustine had helped her since they had arrived at Goldenrod. Or how she had lost her mother and her best friend in the same night.

  Her dad sat down next to her on the bed and set the monster brownie between them. Trina didn’t feel like eating, so she stared at the brownie. He stared at the floor.

  “It’s okay if you go back downstairs,” Trina said, but he didn’t move.

  “I think I belong right here with you.” Then he put his arm around her and said, “I’m sorry she didn’t come to the party.”

  “It’s okay,” Trina said, picking up the brownie. But it wasn’t. It really wasn’t. And she couldn’t pretend it was for another second. She dropped the brownie back on the plate and pushed it across her bed. “I even told Charlotte and Edward she was coming.”

  As she started to cry, her dad pulled her close with both arms, hugging her tighter and tighter. When her breathing calmed, he took her face in his hands and wiped her tears with his big, clumsy, loving hands. “You have no idea how much I wanted her to come tonight.”

  “Really, Poppo?” Trina was surprised. After all, her mother had run out on both of them.

  He nodded. “For your sake. And I thought this time she would, after she sent you that note. I just didn’t want you to get your hopes up.”

  “I don’t think she ever wanted to come,” said Trina. The words hurt like crazy, but she knew they were true. She trembled with her next breath. “Growing up is hard, isn’t it, Poppo?”

  “It sure is,” he said. “That’s why I’m here for you.” He took her hand and squeezed it in his big grip. “I know how much it hurts to hope for something that doesn’t come true. I hoped for a long time too.”

  “It’s terrible, Poppo. How do I make it go away?”

  He thought for a few seconds. “By hoping for something else, I guess. Maybe start with something small and work your way up. Tell me one little thing you hope for and I’ll see what I can do.”

  Augustine had said it was the little things that led to happiness, and now her dad was saying the same thing, but Trina couldn’t come up with anything small. Her mother hadn’t come to the party. And the only other thing she wanted was a real home to live in forever. A home and a mother were pretty big things.

  “You go first,” she said.

  Her dad shrugged. “Well, I’m a pretty simple guy. A lot of things make me happy.” He reached for the blue plate. “I’d be happy if you let me eat this brownie.”

  “Poppo,” Trina giggled, and then she picked up the brownie, broke it in half, and took a big bite from the biggest half. She held the other—smaller—half out to her dad. “You have to thtart thmall,” she said to him, trying to talk around the mouthful of gooey caramel and chocolate.

  Trina was still chewing her giant bite of brownie when a splash of bright light ricocheted off the mirror and lit up their faces.

  “Look at that,” her dad said, getting up and looking out the window. “Someone’s coming.”

  Their playfulness had stopped in an instant. “But who would come at this hour?” Trina wondered out loud. Feeling uneasy, she followed her dad to the window. A pair of headlights was bouncing on the dark road that cut through the cornfields and heading straight for Goldenrod. The house lights dimmed as Trina cupped her eyes to the cool glass.

  “It’s a limousine,” her dad said.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because the taillights are a long way from the headlights.”

  Standing at the window, Trina had never felt so cold. Not even when they were snowed in up in northern Minnesota. That day had been the best day of her life. She didn’t know what to think of this day.

  Trina couldn’t read her dad’s face. He wasn’t happy or sad or excited or anything when he put his arm around her shoulder and spoke very calmly. “I’ve been thinking about this possibility a lot lately. And I’m pretty sure the future holds a ton of girl things I won’t understand, so I want you to know . . .” Trina studied his reflection in the glass. There was no sign of that faraway look in his eyes. “If your mother ever invites you to live with her, it will be okay with me as long as it’s okay with you.”

  What was Poppo saying? Was her mother really coming for her? The monster brownie did a full flip in her stomach as Trina watched the car roll through the field, moonlight reflecting off its chrome trim like sparkling diamonds. She wondered what it would be like to live in a place like Hollywood and wear expensive clothes. She wondered what kind of a mother her fancy mom would be. What would a fancy mom do to make her laugh?

  Not only that, what would her dad do without her? And what would she do without him? They were a team. Poppo always knew when something was bothering her. He was grubby and absentminded, and he had a lot of trouble letting her grow up, but he was funny and kind. She always knew he loved her, but now she knew he loved her so much he would do anything for her. Even let her go.

  Running away from New Royal was one thing, but actually living with her mom would be another. After saying good-bye to Augustine, Trina didn’t think her heart could sink any lower in one night until she imagined her mother falling from the sky and plucking her from Goldenrod and the one place she really belonged: with her dad.

  Staying with her dad would be the happy ending to her story.

  “Poppo, I don’t want to live with her,” Trina finally said as the long, dark car approached the gate. “I want to stay right here with you.”

  “But I thought—”

  Trina shook her head. “Sometimes what you think you want and what you really want are two different things.”

  Her dad turned from the window with a big smile on his face. But there was more to his smile than happiness and relief. She could tell he was proud o
f her, and that made her feel more grown-up than anything else she could wish for.

  “Well, Citrine, it looks like we better get downstairs.”

  She raised her eyebrows at him. “On one condition,” she said.

  “What?” he asked, a little uncertainly.

  “You have to call me Trina. Forever. No matter how grown-up I get.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  The limousine’s high beams lit up the parlor as Trina and her dad hurried down the stairs, hand in hand. Mr. Kinghorn, Mr. Shegstad, and Miss Dale were standing at the bay window, watching the car’s arrival.

  “Leave this to me,” Mr. Kinghorn said. He strolled into the foyer, opened the front door, letting in a sweep of cold air, and walked across the porch and down the steps to meet the sleek black car as it rolled to a stop inside the gate. Trina and her dad followed him as far as the porch, while Miss Dale and Mr. Shegstad stayed in the doorway.

  A chauffeur got out of the limousine and spoke to Mr. Kinghorn before he opened the rear door. A parasol appeared first, followed by a woman in a long white dress, holding its handle. She is Mary Poppins, Trina thought, trying to take in every inch of the woman half-hidden in the shadows. A man got out of the other side, carrying a cane. He wore a dark suit and a round hat, and his white collar and cuffs glowed in the moonlight. Most surprising of all, a little girl popped out of the back seat, wearing a white ruffled dress.

  “Poppo, I thought you said she didn’t want to be tied down,” Trina said, grabbing hold of his hand.

  “I did,” he said anxiously, “but that was a long time ago. Maybe she remarried.” Trina squeezed his hand. Hard.

  Mr. Kinghorn shook hands with the couple, straightened his bow tie, and slowly turned to face the porch. “May I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Harlan M. Roy the Second of New York.”

  “The Roys?” Trina let go of her dad’s hand and reached for the railing to keep from falling over. She was so relieved the surprise guests had nothing to do with her mother that she let her dad lift her up and swing her through the air, and she wasn’t the least bit embarrassed.

  But, the Roys?

  “Oh, yes, yes, the Roys!” Mr. Shegstad exclaimed, hurrying down the steps and across the yard, his white angel wings flapping behind him. “I’m Gerald Shegstad, the funeral director. I invited you. So happy you are finally here.” He shook their hands vigorously.

  Mrs. Roy took her husband’s arm and looked up at Goldenrod, who was all aglow with firelight. “Harlan, look. The house is far more beautiful than the pictures. More beautiful than I ever imagined.”

  “This is the man you have to thank for that,” Mr. Shegstad said, accompanying Mr. and Mrs. Roy to the porch. He gestured to Trina’s dad, who was still in such shock that he descended the steps as stiffly as if he still wore his Tin-Man costume. “This is Mr. Michael Maxwell.”

  Her dad’s silver-sprinkled arm glittered in the moonlight as he extended it toward Mr. Roy, and Trina could see the puzzled look on Mr. Roy’s face. “He was the Tin Man tonight,” Trina said, stepping up next to her dad.

  “Ah, yes. A clever idea,” Mr. Roy said, finally shaking her dad’s hand.

  “And this is my daughter, Ci—I mean, Trina,” her dad said.

  With absolute pleasure, Trina shook Mrs. Roy’s hand and then Mr. Roy’s hand. She was glad to meet them, glad they weren’t her mother, but even gladder to hear her dad call her Trina.

  “And up there,” Mr. Shegstad said, pointing to Miss Dale whose teeth were chattering as she stood on the porch in her gingham Dorothy dress, “is Miss Carrie Dale. Her great-grandparents were gardeners here.”

  Mr. Harlan M. Roy the Second tipped his round black hat. “We had intended to arrive for the interment of my great-aunt at the behest of Mr. Shegstad here, but I couldn’t get away at the time. Then Mr. Shegstad informed us of this costume party in honor of my great-relatives, and here we are. Seems a fine time to see how the remodeling is progressing.” He tugged on his white cuffs. “I hope we are dressed appropriately.”

  “You’re dressed just like the Roy family is dressed in a picture we have,” Trina said.

  “We must have that same picture,” Mrs. Roy said.

  “Ahem,” said a little voice. When all heads turned, the little girl who had popped out of the backseat pushed her way to the center of the group. “And I’m Annie.”

  A shiver ran up Trina’s spine. “You’re Annie Roy?”

  The little girl nodded with certainty. “I’m named after my great, great, great, great, great, great, great—” Mrs. Roy pressed one gloved finger to Annie’s lips. “Aunt,” Annie said as soon as her mother removed her hand. “And I’m almost this many years old.” She held up all five fingers of one hand and her other thumb.

  “Six?” Trina’s stomach got ready for another backflip. She looked up at Mrs. Roy. “Is your name Anne, too?”

  “Oh, no, please call me Maggie,” Mrs. Roy said, twirling her parasol.

  “Welcome to Goldenrod,” Trina’s dad said. “Let’s go in. It’s chilly out here.”

  The group hadn’t gotten any farther than the foyer when Mrs. Roy gasped. “Oh, Harlan, the woodwork is gorgeous.”

  “The whole house is trimmed in mahogany,” Trina said. “Follow me. I’ll give you a tour.”

  “Please, let me take your things,” Mr. Kinghorn said.

  Mr. Kinghorn hung Mrs. Roy’s parasol and Mr. Roy’s hat and cane on the coat rack in the foyer.

  “Take my sweater,” Annie insisted. “I’m going to slide down the banister.”

  “Oh, no, you’re not,” Mrs. Roy said.

  Annie stomped her foot and frowned as all the adults followed Trina into the parlor.

  Trina was excited to show the Roys around the house, but it was Goldenrod who really welcomed her guests. For the first time since Trina and her dad had arrived, she looked lived-in, but mostly she looked loved. Two chairs sat on a fringed rug facing the roaring fire, a big bouquet of mums decorated the mantel, and the oil lamp glowed on the fancy little table.

  “Harlan, listen to this,” Mrs. Roy said, cranking up the phonograph. When she set the needle on the record, the Irish voice sang the sweet song about endearing charms and Trina was thrilled to hear the melody filling the house again—all the way to the turret room.

  “I know that song,” Mr. Roy said. “My grandmother used to sing it to me.”

  “Mine, too,” Mrs. Roy said. The two of them hummed along as Trina led the group into the dining room, where Mrs. Roy raved again. “Harlan, just imagine the dinner parties we could host here!”

  “Yes, yes. Seats twelve,” Mr. Shegstad said.

  From the dining room they pushed through the swinging door into the butler’s pantry and on into the kitchen. Mr. Roy was in and out in a second, but Mrs. Roy lingered and Trina could tell she imagined cooking at the giant stove. Or maybe she imagined a cook cooking at the stove, because Trina had a hard time believing she did any kind of cooking herself.

  From the dining room, Trina led them into the library—the long way. “Look,” she said, pulling out one of the carved panels and pushing it back into place. “It has pocket doors.”

  “Lovely,” Mrs. Roy said, but she wasn’t really listening. She wandered the room, running her hand first along the rolltop desk and then along the bookshelves, pausing to read a title or two whenever she bumped into a book.

  “As you can see, Mr. Roy was very generous with his books,” Mr. Kinghorn said.

  Mr. Roy sat down in the big rocking chair by the fireplace and held his chin in deep thought as he stared up at the portrait of his great-great-uncle, Harlan M. Roy. “I had understood the house was empty,” he said.

  Trina caught Mr. Shegstad’s eye first. Nervous Mr. Shegstad rubbed his hands together and his lips moved, but he didn’t say a word. Then she looked to Miss Dale and Mr. Kinghorn and finally her dad. Everyone was speechless. No way could they ever tell the Roys about the Dare Club.

  “It was all in storage,” Tr
ina said.

  “In town,” her dad added.

  “In a big shed,” Mr. Kinghorn said.

  “Under lock and key,” Miss Dale said.

  Mr. Roy stood up and carefully admired the chair he sat in. “Good to know it was well cared for all these years. It’s probably worth a small fortune.”

  “Is the house drafty?” Mrs. Roy asked. She was standing by the windows.

  Trina’s dad shook his head. “She’s got steam—” he began, but Goldenrod interrupted him with a gentle psst, psst from the library radiator, answering for herself.

  Right then Annie came running into the room. “Come play with me, Trina.” And then she found the pocket doors to the smoking room and opened and shut them and opened them again as if it were a game.

  Mrs. Roy sailed out of the library and into the smoking room with a look of determination. Annie ran into the smoking room right behind her mother. As if she’d been there before, she instantly spotted the door to the secret passageway beneath the stairs. “Let’s all go on a treasure hunt,” she said, holding the door open for the entire group. They all followed Annie single-file into the dining room, and soon they were standing in a group in the parlor.

  “Is there a school nearby?” Mrs. Roy asked.

  “New Royal Public School,” Trina said. “Miss Dale teaches there.”

  Miss Dale smiled and Mrs. Roy beamed, but Mr. Roy’s eyes were as big as his derby hat. “Honey, sweetheart, you aren’t thinking about living here, are you?”

  The music crackled to a stop, but Mrs. Roy continued to hum and didn’t answer. She simply wandered from the parlor to the dining room and back again with a tight-lipped smile. Finally, she turned to her husband with a warm and loving look. “Harlan, you can’t sell it. I’d just die if you sold it.”

  “Maggie, my dear. It would cost a fortune to heat.” He held his hands in the air as he spoke. “And the kitchen is from another century.”