The Mysterious Code

by Kathryn Kenny

  Trixie turned.

  “Wait!” Brian shouted. “There’s a jerk! Eureka, he’s found the wood! It won’t be long now till we have a fire. Go in and twist some of those empty paper bags that held bird seed, Trixie. Make a bed of them in the stove and we can kindle the wood chunks Jim will bring.”

  Trixie hurried to do his bidding, then waited. Seconds ticked by … minutes … Jim did not come back.

  “Where is he?” Trixie called through the door to Brian.

  “I don’t know … the rope seems slack.… I just don’t know, Trixie,” Brian said and began slowly to pull the rope back. Soon he held up a dangling frayed end.

  “It broke!” Brian said, despair choking his voice. “Jim’s out there someplace, and he can’t find his way back!”

  Frantically they both shouted with all their strength, “Jim! Jim! Jim … Jim!”

  The angry wind, triumphant, threw their voices back to them in a ghoulish echo.

  “I’ll go after him,” Brian said, throwing the rope from him.

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort!” Trixie said. “You’d just get lost, too. There must be some way, Brian … some way! Couldn’t we make a loud noise? A horn, maybe … that’s silly, there isn’t any.… One of those old pans Mr. Maypenny left here for feeding.… I could beat on that.… No, I know what I’ll do!”

  Trixie was across the room in a flash and up the narrow ladder in the closet that led to the bell.

  Once at the top, she swung the bell in its cradle. Back and forth, back and forth.

  “Clang! Cling-clang! Clang! Clang! Jim! Jim!—Jim!—Jim!—Jim!—JIM!”

  “Hallooooo!”

  Was it the wail of the wind?

  “Halloooo!”

  No. It was Jim!

  Covered with snow even to his eyelids, Jim stumbled through the door and dropped an armload of wood on the floor.

  “It’s—not—very—far,” he said, panting. “A big—pile of it—but the rope broke. How did you happen to think about ringing the bell?” he asked, a smile breaking over his frosted, reddened face.

  “We didn’t, at first,” Trixie confessed. “I don’t know why we didn’t. We thought of beating pans and things, then suddenly we remembered the bell.”

  Jim had recovered his breath. “Start a fire going with this wood I’ve brought, Brian,” he said. “In a few minutes I’ll go out after some more.”

  “No, you start the fire. I’ll go out this time,” Brian said.

  Jim shook his head. “I know where the woodpile is, Brian. You don’t. At least I know the direction to start. It’s pretty close to the schoolhouse. If the noise of the storm hadn’t been so loud—keep ringing the bell if I don’t come back soon.”

  In spite of Brian’s protest Jim tied the rope around his waist and started back. Trixie had doubled the rope so that if one strand broke the other might hold. This time, too, it was she who took up the post outside the door. Brian built the fire.

  Back and forth Jim went successfully until a heap of wood stood inside the door. When the small wood stove burned bright and the red isinglass in the window on its door sent a rosy light into the darkened corners, the small schoolhouse seemed cozy and warm.

  “Nine o’clock,” Trixie said and loosened Jim’s wrist watch to give it back to him. “Brian, I wish we had some way to let Moms know we are safe. She’s alone at the house with Bobby and Mart. I hope Mart doesn’t get the idea of starting out to look for us. Moms wouldn’t let him, though. I wish Daddy were home.”

  “That’s what bothers me most of all,” Brian said. “The wind seems to have slackened. Don’t you think I’d better make a run for it?”

  “No!” Jim’s voice was stern, decisive. “No one in this place is going to leave tonight.”

  “You don’t need to be so commanding,” Brian said. “You know how Moms will worry.”

  “Of course I do,” Jim said, “and I know that my mother is worrying, too, and Honey, but there isn’t a thing they can do or we can do until daylight. My dad’s in the city, too. I know this, though, and you should know it, too. Your mother and my mother have confidence in us and will be pretty sure we can take care of ourselves and Trixie.”

  “She won’t know it, though,” Trixie said, tears coming unbidden to her eyes, “and Moms is so good to us. She’ll be afraid we don’t have anything to eat.”

  “We don’t,” Brian said, glad to change the subject before Trixie broke down. “Let’s look into the bird seed situation. If it’s for the birds, it could be for us, too.”

  “Sure,” Jim said. “I’ll go get some snow to melt on top of the stove, and Trixie, you stir up a delicious porridge with some of the latest thing in cereal—bird seed.”

  “We’ll pretend it’s one of Moms’ casseroles,” Trixie said, never sad for long, and entering into the game. “I’m stirring up chicken and noodles,” she said, setting a scrubbed pan on the stove, and stirring the bird seed into the water. “Can’t you smell the noodles bubbling in the good broth?”

  “Help!” Brian cried. “I can really smell chicken, but the letdown is going to be too much when I taste it.”

  “Here’s your share, Reddy,” Trixie said and fixed a bowl for the big red setter, cooling it for him with fresh snow. “He acts so queer, Brian, don’t you think? He keeps running back and forth in front of the door.”

  “Probably smells a rabbit,” Jim said.

  “He likes the bird seed anyway,” Brian said. “I don’t think the storm is quite so severe. I’ll take a look.”

  He opened the door and in a flash Reddy was through it, bounding away through the huge drifts.

  No command could bring him back. They called and called, but heard no answering bark.

  “It must have been a rabbit, as you said, Jim,” Trixie said.

  “I was just joking,” Jim said. “Even a bird dog couldn’t smell a rabbit in this snowstorm. He’s gone, though. He’ll come barking around the place later, see if he doesn’t.”

  “I wonder,” Trixie said. “Do you think he could have gone to get help for us?”

  “Gosh, I don’t know,” Brian said. “He’s a pretty smart dog.”

  “Moms will be even more worried if Reddy shows up without us. Why couldn’t Mr. Maypenny have a telephone in this place?”

  “So he could talk to the animals?” Jim inquired. “Be yourself, Trixie. Let’s play Twenty Questions. We’re stuck here till morning, and we might as well make the best of it. Think of a subject, Trixie.”

  Trixie, a little ashamed, brushed her hand over her eyes. “I’ve something in mind,” she said.

  “Animal, vegetable, or mineral?” Brian asked.

  For a while the game went on. Outside the wind slackened, whined around the schoolhouse, and finally died to a whisper. There was no sound of barking, no sign of Reddy. Trixie, her eyes drooping with the warmth of the fire, blurred the words in trying to play the game.

  “I’ll pull one of the benches over to the fire,” Jim said, aware of Trixie’s exhaustion. “It’ll be better than sitting on this dirty, hard, cold floor.”

  He and Brian pushed the heavy feed sacks off a bench, drew it to the fire. “You can rest here till daylight,” Jim said.

  “I won’t even try to rest unless you and Brian do,” Trixie said, her eyes nearly closing.

  So Jim and Brian unloaded the other two benches and drew them close to the other side of the stove.

  The boys stretched their tired lengths, and soon their heavy breathing told Trixie they were sound asleep.

  It wasn’t so easy for her. Pictures of home, of Bobby, her mother and her worry about their welfare, the concern of the Wheeler family—Honey just adored her new brother Jim—Reddy, and his strange escape into the snow, a lingering horror of Jim’s narrow escape when the rope had broken—all these thoughts crowded sleep from Trixie’s weary mind and body.

  The quiet was so profound that Trixie could hear the ticking of Jim’s wrist watch. Gradually she became aware of anoth
er sound—outside—muffled—crackling twigs—movement—Reddy?

  Reddy, of course.

  Trixie slipped from her bench and went to the window. The warmth of the stove had melted the frost enough so she could see through. The clouds had dispersed and a wan moon sent a white path of light through the snow.

  Trixie, peering through the window, could see no sign of Reddy. She did see something else. Just leaving the clearing, a dark shape waddled off into the wood. An animal? A man? That was ridiculous. No man would be in the woods on a night like this. What could it be then?

  Frightened, Trixie turned back into the room to arouse the boys. They slept so peacefully.

  They’d just make fun of me, she thought. They’d say I was imagining things. Maybe they’re right. Mart says my bump of imagination is overdeveloped. Maybe—maybe—he’s—right. Trixie yawned, stretched, and fell exhausted onto the bench, drew the collar of her coat across her eyes, and slept.

  A rosy light from the rising sun filled the room and wakened the boys.

  “Look at the morning!” Jim cried. “The sun is out. There isn’t a cloud in the sky. We can get out of here. I’ll stoke the fire to warm us well before we leave.”

  “Do you want more porridge?” Trixie asked, rubbing her sleepy eyes.

  “Not on your life,” Brian answered. “Not with Moms’ pancakes waiting at home.”

  “I thought I heard Reddy in the night,” Trixie said. “I heard something anyway—then I saw something.”

  “A raccoon, perhaps,” Brian said, “maybe a wolf, or, more likely, a big lump of your vivid imagination.”

  “It wasn’t that,” Trixie said, as she wrapped her wool scarf tight around her head. “Let’s hurry and get started for home.”

  She stepped briskly out into the snow. There in the path, almost close enough to trip over it, lay a bundle wrapped in a tattered quilt.

  “What do you suppose it is?” Trixie asked. “And where did it come from?”

  Jim poked it gingerly with his toe. “A raccoon couldn’t have left it, Brian,” he said. “As impossible as it seems, Trixie, you really must have heard someone outside this schoolhouse toward morning.” He pulled back the quilt and there, good as new, lay the carved oak lap desk!

  Even as they lifted it up to be sure it was real, Reddy, barking furiously, bounded up.

  Close behind him came Regan, then Tom, from the Manor House, struggling through the drifts.

  “Are you all right?” Regan called. “Is Trixie all right? Jim? Brian? All well?”

  “We’re fine,” Trixie called out happily. “We were just starting for home. How did you find us?”

  “I got worried because Jim hadn’t come back with Jupiter,” Regan said. “I knew he wasn’t riding around in the heavy snow. Just about that time your mother called, Trixie, and said that Reddy had come back and was barking and acting strangely.”

  Trixie put an arm around Reddy’s neck and rubbed her face against his warm neck. “Moms must have been frantic,” she said.

  “She was pretty worried,” Regan admitted. “She didn’t know which way to turn. She thought we should call the police and organize a searching party, but I persuaded her to let just Tom and me hunt for you. I was sure Reddy was trying to lead us to you.”

  “How about my mother?” Jim asked anxiously.

  “I didn’t tell her you had Jupiter,” Regan said, “until after Mrs. Belden called. Then she wanted to call your father in New York.”

  “Gee, I hope she didn’t do that,” Jim said. “There wasn’t anything he could do about it.”

  “I finally convinced her of that, and asked her to let Tom and me have a try first,” Regan said. “Tom took Celia down to Crabapple Farm to stay with your mother, Trixie, and we picked up Reddy. We had a hard time keeping Mart from coming, too. I guess we should have let him, but you realize we had to do some wandering around before we found you.”

  “Poor Moms,” Trixie said. “She’s had a worse night than we’ve had, and Mrs. Wheeler and Honey, too. We’d better get started right back so she’ll know we’re safe.”

  “Better than that,” Regan said. “I arranged a signal to let them know at Crabapple Farm and at the Manor House just as soon as we found you and knew you were all right. Stand back, everyone!”

  They all crowded back against the log schoolhouse and Regan took his shotgun from under his arm, aimed it high in the air, and fired three times. Then he repeated it.

  “They’ll all be glad to hear that,” Regan said. “You kids had better eat something before we start back. Mrs. Belden sent some hot soup in this Thermos and some sandwiches.”

  “We can’t be very far from the valley,” Jim said, “if they could hear that gun.”

  “You’re not,” Regan said. “You must have wandered around in a circle. We did the same thing hunting for you. You’re just at the edge of the pie-shaped clearing Mr. Maypenny owns. Right across there, not more than three hundred yards away, is Maypenny’s house, waiting and ready to give you shelter, even if he is away.”

  Jim pulled off his cap, threw it down in disgust. “A fine woodsman I am,” he said, “after all that time I lived in the forest, too, when I ran away from my stepfather. Good Reddy,” he said to the red setter who had been running around jumping up on all their knees, and licking their hands. “Good Reddy! We started out to try to find you and you saved us instead.”

  “Do they give Carnegie medals to dogs?” Brian asked, his voice husky. “Here’s one that rates one, if they do.”

  Chapter 11

  The Mask Comes Off

  A few days after the storm, Trixie was helping her mother clear away the breakfast dishes. Bobby, in his robe, still sat at the table.

  The big kitchen was fragrant with the aroma of coffee, buttered toast, and steaming oatmeal.

  The night of the blizzard, faced with but primitive necessities for comfort, Trixie had thought of the cozy Belden kitchen. Then her mind had turned to little children in far-off countries, little children who didn’t even have the grain and water she and Jim and Brian had had to eat.

  “I hope with all my heart that our UNICEF benefit is a success, Moms,” she said. “We’ll have to work harder than ever. I wish everyone could have a breakfast like this.”

  “Don’t everybody?” Bobby asked, his mouth full of buttered toast and jam.

  “No, lamb,” Trixie said.

  “Why?”

  “It’s a little hard for you to understand, Bobby,” she said. “Some day you will. When I think,” she said, “about all the people who don’t have enough to eat, and how hungry we were in just the short time we were without food …”

  “I don’t even want to think about it,” her mother said.

  “I do,” Bobby said. “I wish I’d been there. I’d have caught that burglar who bringed back the desk. I’ll bet it was the same one who stealed it from us, Trixie. I’ll bet it was that big boy.”

  “What big boy?” Trixie asked.

  “That big boy who shoveled snow—you know, Trixie, at Mrs. Vanderpoel’s house. Brom saw him. He runned away.”

  “Brom ran away?” Trixie asked, puzzled. “Why did Brom run away?”

  “Brom didn’t run away, stupid!” Bobby said.

  “Bobby!” Mrs. Belden warned.

  “It was that big boy who runned away, Trixie,” Bobby said. “The one who asked me how much the desk costed.”

  “What?” Trixie asked. “What did you tell him, Bobby?”

  “I told him a hunnerd dollars!”

  “That isn’t true. It isn’t worth that much. That doesn’t matter, though. What did the big boy look like?”

  “He looked like a big boy,” Bobby said. “An’,” he boasted, “I told him Mrs. Vanderpoel had lots and lots of other things she was goin’ to give the Bob-Whites, trillions of dollars’ worth.”

  Trixie left the dishes she had started to wash and went over to Bobby’s chair.

  “What did the big boy say then?” she asked
seriously.

  “He didn’t say anything,” her little brother answered. “He just runned away, I told you.”

  “What do you think of that, Moms?” Trixie asked.

  “I don’t think a thing about it,” her mother answered. “And please don’t think about it yourself. I can see that detective gleam in your eye. After all the worry I’ve had about the blizzard, I’d appreciate a little calm and quiet. It was nothing but idle curiosity on the boy’s part. Forget it.”

  That was an impossible prescription for Trixie. Try as hard as she could, she couldn’t even remember seeing a boy shoveling Mrs. Vanderpoel’s walks the day the desk was stolen. It was a good thing, she thought, that she had never told Mrs. Vanderpoel what happened to her and Bobby on the way home that day. Now the desk was back as good as ever and what difference did it make where it had been in the meantime? Spider had thought it was a joke. Maybe he thought Tad had taken it. No, Tad didn’t know the woods as well as she and Brian and Jim did. He would never have been out in that blizzard. “It’s a mystery to me,” Trixie said to herself, “a real mystery.”

  Just then the telephone rang. Mrs. Belden answered it.

  Now and then she would say, “Goodness, is that so?” or “What did you do then?”

  “It was Mrs. Vanderpoel,” Mrs. Belden said when she finally dropped the receiver into its cradle.

  “Oh, I know,” Trixie said, “she told me to come over and look at the George the Third silver she had taken from her grandfather’s chest. She said if I wanted to polish it we could show it in our antique show. I guess I’d better go over there now.”

  “That wasn’t what she wanted, Trixie,” her mother said seriously. “Last night someone tried to break into Mrs. Vanderpoel’s home.”

  “Oh dear, I hope they didn’t scare her too much.”

  “It didn’t frighten her a bit,” Mrs. Belden said. “I think it was the other way around. She has real Dutch courage. She said she just took down her father’s rifle and stood in the full light of that half-glass door and shouted, ‘If you come one step nearer I’ll blow the top of your head off!’ ”