by Andre Norton
" 'N cookies and bananas," chanted Parky.
"There are no more bananas and not many cookies." Mother set the basket down on top of the long table. "If you people are going to go picknicking every day we shall have to lay in more of that kind of supplies. As it is, Parky, you'll have to do with what we have left for today."
Parky stood on one leg and hopped. "I'm going outside. Come on, Perks. And we don't want to wait too long."
Christie opened jars and got sandwich bags ready. But Mother did not begin spreading bread at once. Instead she looked from Christie to Neal.
"I told the twins that you two are in charge, and I mean it. But also, don't order them around. You know that only makes Parky stubborn. And Perks follows his lead in everything. So both of you watch what you say and don't start trouble. If it weren't that the washing has to be done and the twins hate waiting at the launderette, I wouldn't leave them. Just you be careful."
"Yes, Mother," Christie answered, and Neal nodded.
The basket was filled at last and Christie put Shan on his leash. She was going to be extra careful about him today. Letting Neal carry the basket, she cuddled the cat in her arms. The twins were waiting outside with Baron.
As they passed the old bunkhouse Pinto called to them: "Rain comin'. You watch out— don't go too far."
"We found a cave," Parky answered. "Rain can't get at us if we go in that."
"A cave?" Pinto sounded surprised. "First time I heard tell of a cave 'round here. When I get me a little more time I'll mosey over and take a look at that. Me, I lived 'round here off 'n' on for a good many years, and this is the first time I heard tell of any cave—"
"Shut up!" Neal said in a fierce whisper to Parky as Christie smiled at the old man.
"It isn't a very big one." She tried quickly to think of something to say that would make their find appear to be of little importance. "We're going to look for arrowheads—"
"Toliver and Libby goin' with you? It's better if they do—they've enough sense to know what kind of shelter to find. Good luck hun-tin'."
"Thanks!" Neal used the basket to bump the twins on ahead. "We told you," he was hissing as Christie caught up, "that the cave's got to be a secret for now. Then you, Perks, and you Parky, have to go blabbin' it all around!"
"Christie told Mother!" Perks exploded indignantly. "She did! I heard her."
"Only after you had started talking too much yourself." With that Neal made Christie feel better. "Now, if you're going to help with the Plan, you've got to keep quiet until we're ready. Maybe if other people knew now they wouldn't let us keep that stuff."
"Maybe we can't anyway," Christie said in a low voice. "Once they see it. That mailbag, Neal—shouldn't we bring that home and give it to the postman?"
"Why? It's so old now the letters in it—if there is anything in the bag—won't mean much. They'd only go to the dead letter office probably."
Parky was surprised. "What's a dead letter office?" he demanded.
"We learned about that in social studies last year," Neal answered. "Letters that can't be delivered, when there's no return addresses on them, are sent there. They open them up to find if there is anything inside to tell who sent them or who they are for. If they can't find out, then that's that—they throw them out. The people those letters were written to—those in the bag—must all be dead, too. So I don't see why we couldn't have them to show—they wouldn't be any use to anyone."
Neal sounded reasonable, but Christie had an idea that Mother and Father, and maybe the mailman, might not agree. But they did not have to decide just yet.
"I wonder why the people who left all the stuff never came back to get it," Perks said. "And why was it put there anyway?"
Could all those things have come out of the coach Pinto had told them about—the one that had tried to get through the attackers? Perhaps they never really would know.
But Neal was more optimistic: "Maybe we can find out. But we have to get going now. Hey, there's Toliver and Libby!"
The Navajos came hurrying to meet them.
"Thought perhaps you couldn't come today," Toliver said. "It's going to rain, so we'd better hurry to get to the cave before the storm catches us. Look what I have." He held out two camp lanterns. "Just put fresh batteries in these and they'll last a good long time. We need more than just a flashlight in there now."
Libby carried a bag slung over her shoulder. "I brought some extra lunch. Here, wait a minute." She paused by a big bush and, taking out a knife like Toliver's, sawed off a heavy branch thick with leaves, which she handed to Christie before cutting another for herself. "We can use these to sweep out the dust."
The girls had lagged behind and by the time they caught up the boys were already fast at work unpacking the stones they had used to conceal the entrance. Neal started to throw them out helter-skelter in his haste to get in until Toliver pointed out they would be needed again and started to pile them to one side.
With the camp lanterns on, the cave was brightly lighted, and they could see everything within clearly. There was not too much in the pile after all—two trunks, small and covered with dusty hide, one with tacks pounded in the lid to make the initials C.K., which they could see after Christie and Libby used the branches to sweep them off.
"One thing," Toliver said. "It's been dry in here, so things inside these ought to be in good shape. I wonder—did that holster and belt we found come from here? Maybe the rats found it and dragged it out, or it could have been dropped by one of the men who left this. Now, let's pull these trunks away from each other so we'll have more room to open them up. Which one are we going to do first?"
"This one!" Neal's voice was sharp with excitement. "This is the strongbox! It's got to be. And it's locked!" He was on his knees, tugging vainly at the lid. "Maybe there's gold dust inside."
As he tugged at the box it grated across the stone floor. Grabbing the leafy brush from Christie, he swiped back and forth, sending dust flying to make them all sneeze and draw back a little.
" 'Bright Stage Line,' " Neal read, running a grimy finger over the lettering. "This sure must be the strongbox! But how are we going to get it open?" He jerked impatiently at the rusty padlock.
"Try hammering it with a stone," suggested Toliver.
What did gold dust look like, Christie wondered—like glittery powder? And how could you turn it into real money? Did you just take it into a bank and say "I want some dollar bills for this"? Did they then weigh it—
Neal had hurried outside to find a suitable rock and was already back, pounding away at the lock without any results. Toliver came back with another and started in to help. But though they battered it, they could not get the thing open.
"No use." Toliver settled back on his heels. "We'll have to have a tire lever or something like that to bust this. Have to wait to do it."
Neal, red-faced from his efforts, looked very disappointed. But it was plain they could not force the lock with just stones. "Okay," he said reluctantly, and helped Toliver to drag it to one side.
"Here's another box." Parky tugged aside a very dusty bag. "Say, it looks a lot like that other one and it's got no lock!"
"Let's see!" Neal elbowed Parky aside and jerked what had sat behind the bag into the full light.
It was another metal box, even larger than the strongbox. And when he brushed off the dust there was white lettering on the top. Christie leaned closer to read that. This was not the name of the stage line. Instead it seemed to be an address—very clear now that the dust had been brushed away.
" 'Miss Maude Woodbridge, Woburnscott, Maine. Handle with care.' " Neal read aloud. "This must have been important, all done up like this. But there's no lock, how did they keep it shut?"
Toliver moved one of the lanterns a little closer. "It's been sealed. See here?" There were rope handles on either side by which to carry it, but all around the edge of the lid ran a red line. He pushed at it with a fingernail. "Old waxy stuff, real dry now—it ought to b
e easy to break." Unsheathing his knife, he began to pick at the strip and the dull red stuff came away in flakes.
Even with the sealing all gone, they had to pry, Toliver with his knife, Neal using one of the stones as a clumsy lever. Then Toliver held up the lamp as the lid finally came off.
"Newspapers! Just a lot of old newspapers!" Neal cried out in disappointment, and would have jerked at them roughly had not Libby caught his arm.
"Those are very old papers. Look and see what the date on them is."
"Eighteen seventy-five." He held the lantern very close to the print. "The London Times— but that's an English newspaper!"
"Libby's right—they may be worth something, being so old," Christie pointed out. "We have to be careful. Old English newspapers found way out here—that's strange enough for any museum! Take them out carefully—they may fall apart, they're so old."
Neal looked down at his dirty hands. "Maybe you girls better do it—we're too dirty."
The layers of paper were so brittle that, in spite of all their efforts to be careful, a lot just fell apart. But it was a very thick layer and some in the middle were better preserved. Under all those sheets was folded cloth, yellowish and queer-smelling. Lying on that was an envelope.
"Miss Maude Woodbridge" was written on it. Christie picked it up with the same care with which she had handled the papers. It was not sealed, as she could see when she turned it over. After a moment of hesitation she drew out the folded paper it contained.
"It's a letter. Perhaps we shouldn't read it— you should never read other people's mail."
"It's a dead letter, just like Neal said," Parky spoke up. "Neal says they open and read dead letters. So you can do it, Christie."
She held the brown-edged paper into the full light of the nearest lamp. The writing was very clear, though there were queer fancy flourishes to make it different from any she had ever seen before.
My dear little daughter:
The Sea Maid made a record voyage to San Francisco. But there I found disturbing news awaiting me. I shall not be able to return home as I had promised. The Sea Witch was here in port lacking a master, Captain Daniels having died of the fever. The Sea Maid, as I told you in my last letter, is being sold to a South American company, but the Sea Witch has a full cargo for Hong Kong and I must take her there.
Thus I shall not spend your birthday at home with you this year as we have both so longed would be.
Mr. Hawkins, the mate of the Sea Maid, intends to return east overland, carrying some important papers for the company.
He has kindly consented to take Lady Maude in his charge. I know that she will not be the same as having your father with you, but I think you shall find her a charming addition to your family.
She comes from Paris, France. But in a very roundabout way, for I found her in Hong Kong. She had been sent there for another little girl's birthday gift but arrived too late, for a sudden change in Mr. Lebrebre's plans had already taken him and his family out of the city and on their way back to France. So, since Mr. Lebrebre's replacement had no use for her, he was willing to let me buy her. Thus, when she reaches you, she will have traveled almost around the world!
All her clothes and belongings accompany her and I think you will discover that she is a very fine lady indeed. I shall write you again as soon as I have time. And may we be together before Christmas. I shall pray that is so, and so you do likewise.
Your loving father, Asa Woodbridge, Captain
"Lady Maude," repeated Neal blankly. "But she—"
"Let me." Christie pushed him aside, tucking the letter, once again in its envelope, inside her shirt.
She drew out the cloth. The odor from the box grew stronger—it was a very pleasant one. Christie sniffed at the folds of the material. Yes, that was where it was coming from.
"Smells good!" Perks caught at the edge of the cloth and held it to her nose. "Nice, like Nana's old fan—"
"Sandalwood!" Christie now remembered her grandmother's carved fan, too.
Under the sweet-smelling cloth was a bundle wrapped around and around in more cloth. The edges of that were fastened with dabs of red sealing wax.
"Here, let me."
As Christie held the bundle, Toliver carefully pried at the seals with the point of his knife until they broke so that Christie could unwind the wrapping. As that finally fell away Neal took one astounded look and then gave a disgusted snort: "Nothing but just an old doll! What's all the fuss about that?"
Trouble at Ten Mile
"Not just a big old doll!" protested Christie, being very careful how she drew away the cloth that had been sealed for so long. "This is"— she tried to remember the right words—"a French fashion doll!"
"So what's the difference?" Neal wanted to know.
"Remember when Mother and I went to the doll show at the auditorium last year—the one where all the collectors showed their old, old dolls? They even had a piece about it in the paper."
"I remember, if Neal doesn't!" Perks cried. "I went, too!"
"Mrs. Edwards, the lady from the church who sold Mother our tickets, showed us some of the dolls she said were worth a lot of money.
Trouble at Ten Mile
There was one something like this, dressed just like a lady of a long time ago."
"She even had a little umbrella," Perks broke in again.
"Mrs. Edwards called it a parasol," Christie corrected.
"And a fan, and little gloves, and a purse, and real earrings in her ears." Perks turned her description into a kind of chant. "Only we couldn't touch her—they had her standing up in a big glass case."
"That for sure—that dolls like this are worth a lot of money?" Toliver stooped for a closer look. "Hey, this one's wearing earrings, too. And a necklace—"
"I think that's a watch chain. See? The end of it's tucked into her belt. Ladies wore watches like that once." Christie held the doll upright, folding the cloth about her to keep it between her own dirty hands and the flounced and ruffled dress.
"Lady Maude,** Libby said. "That's the right name for her, isn't it? She looks proud and important—like she's somebody."
Lady Maude had puffs and curls of dark red hair, brown eyes, and lashes and brows of what Christie thought might be real hair, too—not just painted on. On the elaborate rolls and curls of hair perched a small hat with curled black plumes. The earrings that had been fitted into very tiny holes in her ears looked gold and
Trouble at Ten Mile
showed sparks of red stones. Her dress, with all its stiff ruffles and drapings, was dark green, her small boots black. And she did have gloves on, while a swinging metal purse, very small, was clipped to the belt of her dress. Around her shoulders was a black velvet cape lined in fur, and a small muff of the same fur had been fitted over one of her hands.
"There's more in there." Neal pointed into the box. "Let's see what it is!" He tried to reach over Christie's shoulder.
"Be careful! Don't you dare touch anything with those dirty hands!" she commanded. "Libby, you hold Lady Maude." She passed the doll to the Navajo girl and lifted up another layer of packing. Again the sweet sandalwood smell was strong. What lay beneath were Lady Maude's belongings.
There was a good-sized (for a doll) trunk with a high, rounded top. It was covered with leather and had a small gold-painted crown on the lid with M below. With that were two round hat boxes, also doll size, two bags made of brightly colored flowered material like carpet, a parasol, and a second, smaller trunk. Christie bounced she was so excited.
"She has clothes, a lot of clothes!"
"Nothing more?" Neal was plainly disappointed. "Just doll clothes. Let's open something else." He turned away to inspect the rest of the boxes and bags.
Christie paid no attention to him but rather spoke to Libby. "If we washed our hands maybe we dare look at the rest."
Libby nodded, as eager as Christie. "Let's just take all this outside!"
Christie was willing to leave the res
t to the boys. Lady Maude was too wonderful to just put aside all at once. She picked up the box by its rope handles. It was heavy, but she could manage. Libby carried Lady Maude and Perks tagged along.
Hunting up one of the canteens and a roll of paper toweling, Christie washed her hands and Perks then took the doll while Libby did the same.
Sometime later they sat just staring at a wealth of treasures. Christie had thought that the doll Mrs. Edwards had shown them had lovely things, but Lady Maude was wealthier. There was even a jewel case, holding two more pairs of earrings, a necklace, three bracelets, and a little crown thing to wear in the hair, as well as two jeweled pins. There were stockings folded into a case, shoes, hats, a corset, dressing gown, nightgown, comb, brush, mirror, a very tiny bottle, which must have been meant for perfume, and hairpins so small Christie was afraid they would be lost. Another purse held foreign-looking coins, French maybe, and was laid away among dresses and petticoats all embroidered, tucked, and ruffled—even a pair of eyeglasses mounted on a stick fastened to a chain. And there were long gloves and short ones, all made to fit over the doll's kid hands, which were so perfectly made that even the tiny fingers were separated by sewing.
"You know, Christie, even in those days, when things were a lot cheaper, Lady Maude must have cost a lot of money." Libby surveyed all they had unpacked as if she could not quite believe what she saw.
"Maybe even hundreds of dollars," Perks said. "Only—she's fun to look at, but you never could play with her, could you? I'd rather have Raggedy Ann."
"I don't think she was ever meant to be played with, not really," Christie answered. "The doll Mrs. Edwards showed us didn't have near as much as this, and her hair wasn't nice anymore the way Lady Maude's is. I'll bet Lady Maude is worth twice as much as that doll! If she were put in a case, why, everybody would want to come and see her!" Christie thought of a big glass case set in the station. Lady Maude would be better than any old arrowheads.
