by Charles Tang
THE MYSTERY OF THE STOLEN SWORD
GERTRUDE CHANDLER WARNER
Illustrated by Charles Tang
ALBERT WHITMAN & Company, Chicago
Contents
CHAPTER
1 A Ghost Story
2 The Orchard
3 The Missing Letters
4 The Secret Passageway
5 Veronica
6 Signs in the Orchard
7 A Stranger in the Library
8 The Antique Store
9 By the Light of the Moon
10 Joshua’s Ghost
About the Author
CHAPTER 1
A Ghost Story
Six-year-old Benny Alden stood outside his house in Greenfield, watching the moon rise. An owl hooted. Oak and maple trees rustled in the wind, and a few raindrops sprinkled Benny on the nose.
Benny shivered. In the moonlight, his front yard looked so spooky, he was almost sure he could see a ghost. And Benny definitely believed in ghosts.
It was early November, just a few days after Halloween. The leaves on the trees were yellow and brown, and many of the branches were almost bare. In the mornings, frost lay on the ground. The perfect season for ghosts, Benny thought.
“Benny, dinner’s ready!” called a familiar voice. It was Benny’s ten-year-old sister, Violet.
“Coming!” Benny called back. He took one more look at the moon before he raced inside.
“I’m starving,” Benny announced to his family, who were already beginning to seat themselves at the long dining room table.
“You’re always hungry, Benny,” Henry reminded him with a smile. Henry was Benny’s fourteen-year-old brother, and he could never resist teasing Benny a little.
Tonight Mrs. McGregor, the Aldens’ housekeeper, had made one of Benny’s favorite meals: spaghetti and meatballs, and her special homemade brownies for dessert.
Benny quickly slid into his seat next to his sister Jessie.
“How many meatballs, Benny?” asked Jessie as she put spaghetti on Benny’s plate.
“Oh, maybe four,” Benny answered.
“We can always count on you to have a good appetite, Benny,” Grandfather remarked.
“I’ll say,” Henry agreed.
Jessie laughed but gave Benny all the meatballs he wanted. At age twelve, Jessie was the oldest girl in her family, and she often acted like a mother to her orphaned brothers and sister.
After their parents died Henry, Jessie, Violet, and Benny had lived in an abandoned boxcar in the woods because they thought they had nowhere else to go. They did not know that their grandfather was looking everywhere for them. When he finally found his missing grandchildren, he was overjoyed. And he lost no time inviting them to live with him — an offer the Aldens were happy to accept. Henry, Jessie, Violet, and Benny were especially pleased that Grandfather let them bring the old boxcar to his house, too. It was now in Grandfather’s backyard, and the children often used it as a playhouse on rainy days.
Outside, the wind shook the trees, and a branch banged against the house.
Violet shuddered. “It’s awfully windy tonight. Is there a storm coming?”
As if in answer, the lights in the house flickered but did not go out.
“The papers did say there would be a storm,” Grandfather told his family as he stirred his tea.
“The kind with lots of thunder and lightning?” Benny asked hopefully.
“Nothing that dramatic, I’m afraid,” Grandfather said.
“That’s good.” Violet sounded relieved. She looked around the dining room. The chandelier cast a soft glow on the walls and over the red-and-white-checked tablecloth. The smell of homemade tomato sauce mingled with that of the brownies baking in the oven.
As Mrs. McGregor cleared away the dinner plates, Grandfather leaned back in his chair. “I have some news,” he told his grandchildren.
“What?” asked Benny, holding his cup in midair.
“Well...” Grandfather began slowly. “My friend Seymour Curtis called today. He’d like us to come visit him on his farm sometime this month.”
“Is he the one who’s always sending us fruit from his orchard?” asked Henry.
“He’s the one,” Grandfather answered, nodding.
“In fact,” Mrs. McGregor added, “we just received a crate of apples from him this afternoon. I’ll probably make apple pies with some of them tomorrow.”
“Mmm,” said Violet and Benny, almost in unison.
“Are there animals on this farm?” Benny wanted to know. “Or do they just grow fruit up there?”
“Oh, there are animals, Benny,” his grandfather assured him. “The main business is the orchard, of course, but Seymour also keeps a few horses, cows, and a goat.”
Benny beamed.
“And you know what else is on the farm?” Grandfather asked, looking at Benny.
“What?” Henry asked, just as eager to know.
“Well,” Grandfather continued, “the orchard is supposedly haunted. At least that’s what the townspeople think!”
Benny’s eyes widened. “You mean there’s a ghost?”
“Sort of,” Grandfather said. “Everyone thinks the ghost of one of Seymour’s ancestors haunts the farm — an ancestor who mysteriously vanished in the apple orchard one day and was never seen again.”
“Oh, that’s creepy!” Jessie exclaimed. “How long ago did this happen?”
“Oh, in the 1850s,” answered Grandfather as the lights flickered overhead and the wind whipped the rain against the window-panes. “In fact, he disappeared on a windy, rainy day like this. It was on the day after Halloween, I believe.”
“And no one knows what happened to him?” Jessie couldn’t believe it.
Grandfather shook his head. “No, no one ever found out.”
“Who was this ancestor?” Henry wanted to know. “And why did he just disappear like that? Was he running away from something? Or was it some kind of Halloween joke?”
“It wasn’t much of a joke if no one ever saw him again,” Violet remarked.
Grandfather leaned back in his chair. “Well, it’s a long story,” he began. “It all started in the middle of the last century when the farmhouse was first built.”
Benny sat up straighter. He did not want to miss a word.
“The man who built the farm was an ancestor named Gideon Curtis, and he was rather eccentric.”
“Ec-what?” asked Benny.
“Eccentric,” Grandfather repeated. “He did some unusual things. For instance, he collected suits of armor and old swords, which he kept in a secret passageway he built in his farmhouse.”
“Wow,” said Benny. He was so interested in his grandfather’s story, he was not even eating the brownie in front of him.
“This collection was very valuable,” Grandfather continued. “So valuable that other people in Gideon’s family wanted a share of it. One day, a relative from Virginia, a man named Joshua Curtis, came to visit Gideon. Joshua insisted that Gideon give him some swords from his collection, swords Joshua said belonged to his side of the family.”
“Did they?” Jessie wondered aloud.
Grandfather shook his head. “Gideon didn’t think so. He told Joshua he had no rightful claim to the swords. Joshua became very angry. He threatened Gideon and his family. Then he stormed out of the house, without any of his things, not even his coat. He walked into the orchard, and no one ever saw him again. It was as if he vanished.”
“But people went out looking for him, didn’t they?” Henry asked. He had barely touched his brownie, either.
“Oh, yes,” Grandfather said as he poured cream into his tea. “Gideon and several men formed a search party. They looked
for hours and hours. But no one ever found a trace of the man.”
“Didn’t he leave footprints?” Benny wanted to know.
“I’m sure he did,” said Grandfather. “But none that ever led to his whereabouts. The townspeople believe that Joshua’s ghost still haunts the orchard. And whenever Seymour has a poor harvest or other trouble on the farm, people blame the ghost. They say it’s Joshua’s revenge.”
Benny’s eyes grew very round. “You know, ghosts don’t leave footprints,” he informed his family. “Maybe that’s why no one could find any sign of Joshua in the orchard.”
“At that point he wasn’t a ghost yet, Benny!” Jessie said, laughing.
“Did the ghost — I mean did Joshua — have a family in Virginia?” Violet asked.
“No, he never married and never had any children,” Grandfather answered.
“How was Joshua related to Gideon?” Henry wondered as he poured more tea into his mug.
“They were cousins.”
“How strange that Joshua just disappeared like that,” Violet said. “I wonder what could have happened to him.”
“It is an odd story,” Grandfather agreed.
“Has anyone seen this ghost?” Henry wanted to know. “I mean, what makes people think the farm is haunted?”
Grandfather swallowed before he answered. “Some of the farmhands have heard strange noises in the orchard — leaves rustling even when there’s no wind, the sound of twigs breaking in the underbrush, noises like that. Of course, it could just be some animal that people are hearing,” Grandfather said.
Everyone nodded, except Benny. “I bet it’s really a ghost,” he insisted.
“We’ll see,” Grandfather said, chuckling.
“So when are we visiting?” Jessie wanted to know.
“We’ll leave the day after tomorrow,” Grandfather answered.
“Mmm,” said Benny, taking a bite of his brownie.
CHAPTER 2
The Orchard
“Grandfather, we have to turn right at the next road,” Jessie said. She sat in the front of the station wagon with a map unfolded in her lap.
The Aldens had been driving for almost three hours. It was now noon — “time for lunch,” Benny reminded everyone. Watch, who was lying in the very back, thumped his tail.
“See, Watch is hungry, too,” Benny announced.
“We’ll be at the orchard by lunchtime,” Grandfather said as he turned onto a narrow winding road. Acres and acres of fruit trees seemed to stretch for miles, broken only by fields where horses and cows grazed.
“Wow, there are a lot of orchards around here,” Jessie commented. “All apples?”
“All apples,” Grandfather answered.
“There’s nothing on the trees now.” Benny sounded disappointed as he looked at all the bare fruit trees.
“All the apples have been picked by this time,” Grandfather explained. “Now Seymour is probably busy pruning the trees and cleaning up things around the barn.”
“Does he need our help?” Benny asked.
“I’m sure Seymour would appreciate any help,” Grandfather answered. “But this isn’t a working vacation.”
“Except that we have to look for the ghost,” Benny reminded his family.
“And we can help feed the animals,” Jessie suggested.
“Yes, you can probably do that,” said Grandfather as he turned onto a dirt road. “You can see the Curtis farm up ahead,” he informed his grandchildren as he pointed to a big red barn in the distance. Around the barn was a big house and a long, low shed.
“It looks like all the buildings on the farm are connected,” Henry observed. Grandfather was driving slowly now because there were deep ruts in the narrow dirt road.
“They are,” Grandfather answered as he steered the car around a jagged rock in the road. “Farms that were built more than a hundred years ago often had connected buildings. They made for easy passage in the wintertime during those blinding snowstorms.”
“Where is the secret passageway?” Benny wanted to know.
“Ah, that I’ll let you find for yourself,” Grandfather answered, “but I’ll give you a hint. The secret passageway is underground.”
“Underground,” Benny repeated. He looked as if he didn’t really believe it.
“Oh, look, a pumpkin patch,” exclaimed Violet, pointing, “and there’re still pumpkins in it.”
“They’re huge,” Jessie commented.
The Aldens were now passing a pasture where two horses pranced very close to the barn.
“And we’re here,” Grandfather announced as he pulled the station wagon up to the big house — a two-story white building with green shutters and a wide wraparound porch.
Benny was the first one out of the car, with Watch at his heels.
“Well, hello, old friend,” a deep voice boomed behind them.
Grandfather turned around and ran to greet an elderly man with silvery hair, rosy cheeks, and bright blue eyes. “I saw you drive up from the barn,” the man said. “I don’t move as fast as I used to, or I would have been up here to greet you before you got out of the car.”
Grandfather laughed and shook his head. “You certainly haven’t changed, Seymour. It sure is good to see you.”
“And these must be your grandchildren,” Seymour said.
Grandfather nodded and proudly introduced Henry, Jessie, Violet, Benny, and Watch, who all shook the farmer’s hand (including Watch!).
Though frail-looking, Mr. Curtis had a very firm handshake. “Please call me Seymour,” the farmer insisted. “None of that Mr. Curtis nonsense. Your grandfather and I have known each other since we were six years old.”
“We met in first grade,” Grandfather explained as he followed his friend up to the house.
The Aldens entered a small living room with a low ceiling and a worn wooden floor, covered with a small Oriental rug.
“This way,” said Seymour, gesturing toward the big kitchen where his wife, Rose, was at the stove stirring a big pot of stew.
Already seated at the long wooden table in front of the stove were two middle-aged men.
“These are my farmhands,” Seymour said as he introduced them to the Aldens. “Mike Johnson and Jeff Wilson have been working for me ever since they were in high school.” They were both tall, big-boned men with dark curly hair and blue eyes. Henry noticed Mike had especially large feet, and he wore thick hiking boots. Jeff wore a pair of worn red sneakers. The two men looked a lot alike. The Aldens were not surprised to learn they were cousins.
“Will you be here long?” Jeff asked. Jeff had a wide smile and large white teeth.
“The Aldens are welcome to stay as long as they like,” Seymour said. “Goodness knows, I’ve been trying to get my old friend up here for years now, but he’s always been too busy.”
Grandfather laughed. “We’ll probably stay a week or two,” he answered.
“Well, we’ll have to put you to work,” Jeff said, addressing Henry as he spoke. “We could show you around the farm, and you could help us bale some hay, if you feel like working.”
“I could help, too,” said Benny.
“Nah, you’d just be in the way,” Mike muttered. Benny just stared at the farmhand, too hurt and surprised to say anything more. The others didn’t seem to have heard Mike’s comment.
“Lunch is ready,” Rose announced as she pulled a big tray of warm biscuits out of the oven.
“Oh, homemade buttermilk biscuits. My favorite,” said Grandfather, rubbing his hands together. “Did I ever tell you that Rose makes the best biscuits in New England?” he asked his grandchildren.
“Now, James,” Rose protested, laughing, “that’s an exaggeration.” But she looked pleased.
“Everything smells wonderful,” said Jessie.
“Food’s always good here,” Jeff agreed as he heaped stew on his plate. “It keeps Mike and me working here.”
“We had a mighty good harvest this year,” Mike was
telling Grandfather. “Especially with the Baldwins.”
“The Northern Spy did well, too,” Seymour added.
Benny perked up. “There’s an apple called Northern Spy?”
“There sure is, son. You’ll have to taste one before you leave,” Seymour answered.
“Sure, I’ll taste almost anything,” Benny said.
“So the orchard is doing very well, Seymour,” Grandfather remarked.
“Yes, the orchard is,” Seymour said slowly, “but we’ve been having some other troubles.” At this point he exchanged a look with his wife, who was frowning.
“I have to tell them, Rose,” Seymour said. “James is one of my best friends.”
“But they only just arrived,” Rose protested.
“What is this all about?” asked Jeff. By now, everyone at the table was looking at Seymour, who was shaking his head sadly.
“Well, the truth is,” Seymour began, choosing his words carefully, “we’re being robbed.”
“No!” Jeff exclaimed, while Mike whistled under his breath.
CHAPTER 3
The Missing Letters
“You mean someone is stealing your fruit?” Benny asked.
Seymour actually smiled. “No, nothing like that.” He cleared his throat. “The fact is, someone is stealing our antiques — not the furniture, but smaller things like my stamp collection and some old family letters.”
“Oh, no, Seymour,” Grandfather said. “Your stamp collection was very valuable.”
Seymour put down his fork. “It was,” he agreed. “And so were some of those letters — at least to me. A lot of them dated from the Civil War.”
“Were there any letters from the ghost?” asked Benny.
Seymour looked puzzled, but only for a moment. “Oh, you mean Joshua,” he said, chuckling a little. “I see your grandfather has told you all the family history.”
“Everyone for miles around knows about Joshua’s ghost,” Mike reminded the farmer.
“I suppose they do,” Seymour agreed as he stirred his coffee. “But to answer your question, Benny, yes, some letters from Joshua were taken, along with Gideon’s diary. Gideon was one of my ancestors, the one who built this farm,” the farmer added, looking at the Aldens.