The Marshland Mystery

by Campbell, Julie

  “Okay, okay!” Trent lapsed into sullen silence, but the look he gave Trixie as she hurried after the sergeant was angry and accusing.

  “Why, Officer Rooney!” Miss Rachel put out an frail white hand in greeting to the young policeman. “I haven’t seen you since the road went away from here!”

  Sergeant Rooney grinned and touched his cap. “It’s Sergeant now, ma’am. And I’m sorry to bother you, but we’ve got to find someone to guide us into the swamp so we can look for that little girl the Beldens told you about.”

  “The swamp?Tonight?” Miss Rachel’s face looked drawn. “Oh, no! It’s too dangerous.”

  Trixie felt a shiver crawl up her spine. Miss Rachel’s eyes looked enormous, and, even in the half-light, Trixie could see that she seemed frightened.

  Sergeant Rooney spoke soothingly. “Now, Miss Rachel, we’ll be careful. Just tell us somebody who can show us through.”

  But Miss Rachel shook her head firmly. “There’s no one. After a hard rain like today’s, even the one path that’s usually safe would be under water. You must wait till daylight.”

  “Too late,” the sergeant said grimly. “We’ll have to get in there and find her before she panics.” He touched his hat and strode back to the police car.

  Miss Rachel shook her head as she watched him go.

  Trixie said impulsively, “I’m sorry we bothered you, Miss Martin, but you do see how important it is to find Gaye as soon as we can.”

  “If you can,” Miss Rachel sighed, with another nervous look toward the swamp. Then as Trixie started to turn away, the elderly woman stopped her. “Did you say the little girl had yellow curls?” she asked thoughtfully.

  “Oh, yes,” Trixie nodded. “Very pretty golden ones, practically down to her waist.”

  “Emily’s curls were like that, and her hair looked just like spun gold when the sun shone on it,” Miss Rachel said. She had a faraway look and spoke almost in a whisper.

  Trixie was startled. Emily? Who was Emily? She opened her lips to ask Miss Rachel, but before she could speak, the noise started.

  It was coming from inside the barn. Someone was pounding on the closed door. A voice was crying hysterically, “Let me out! Let me out!” and a small dog was barking shrilly.

  Trixie recognized that voice, and she knew that sharp little bark.

  Gaye and her poodle puppy had been found.

  Someone Named Emily • 11

  FOR A MOMENT, everyone was too startled to move. Then Sergeant Rooney hurried toward the barn, with Paul Trent, Jim, and Brian close on his heels.

  Trixie took a quick glance at Miss Rachel. She wondered if Miss Rachel would show by her expression that she had known all along that Gaye was in the barn. But she saw with relief that Miss Rachel seemed just as surprised-as the others.

  Now Miss Crandall ran after the men, as Gaye’s sobs and yells kept on, to the accompaniment of Mr. Poo’s excited barks.

  It took Sergeant Rooney only a minute to drag the pin out of the hasp that held the barn door secure, and then he flung open the door. Gaye came stumbling out, followed by the joyfully barking puppy.

  Trixie heard Miss Rachel catch her breath suddenly and cry out softly, “Emily!” And when Trixie turned to look at her, the little old lady had buried her face in her hands and was sobbing pathetically.

  Emily again!Trixie thought, puzzled. She looked back quickly toward Gaye, who was now clasped in Miss Crandall’s arms, crying loudly. There was something about Gaye’s appearance that didn’t seem just right. It puzzled Trixie for a second, until she realized that the child was wearing a frivolous little lace-trimmed white dress made in the style of forty years ago. It was at least a couple of sizes too large for her. Trixie remembered seeing a dress like that on a picture of some Belden, in a snapshot album in the farmhouse attic.

  “Now, how did she get hold of that outfit?” Trixie wondered.

  The answer came to her suddenly. The little imp had gotten into one of those old trunks up in the barn loft and helped herself! She had probably been hiding up there while Trixie was searching for her and had deliberately kept quiet, hoping it would worry Trixie.

  And now, Trixie thought disgustedly, she was acting for all her worth, looking pathetic as she leaned against her aunt’s shoulder and pointed at Miss Rachel accusingly. “She locked me in her barn!” she wailed. “I was scared!”

  “Well, you’re out now, kid,” Paul Trent assured her, with a scowl toward Miss Rachel, “and we'll see she doesn’t get her hands on you again!”

  That was too much for Trixie. She stormed over to confront Gaye accusingly. The others, even Jim and Brian, looked surprised.

  Blue eyes flashing with anger, Trixie told Gaye loudly, “You’re just putting if on, Gaye Hunya! I happen to know you were hiding in the barn. And when I came to look for you, you scrunched down in the loft and kept Mr. Poo quiet so I wouldn’t know you were there!”

  Gaye pushed Aunt Della’s arms away and glared at her accuser. “I hate you!” she yelled. “You ran away and left me, when you promised I could go with you!”

  Paul Trent scowled at Trixie. “Let the kid alone. Can’t you see she’s had a bad time? What are you trying to do?”

  “Get her to tell the truth!” Trixie flashed. “Miss Martin didn’t lock her in purposely. She didn’t even know Gaye was in the barn!”

  “She did, too!” Gaye shouted, starting to cry again. “You’re not telling the truth,” Trixie said flatly.

  “That’s enough, Trixie!” Sergeant Rooney sounded very stern. “I think I’d better have a talk with Miss Martin.”

  But when he brought Miss Rachel over to them a couple of minutes later, he was at ease.

  Gaye was still sniffling and trying to look tragic, but this time the sergeant only smiled at her and then turned to Miss Crandall. “I think we’d better get her back to the Wheelers’, Miss Crandall. She’s a little mixed-up. I think the truth is that she fell sleep in the loft after Trixie went out, and when she woke up, Miss Rachel was locking up for the night. I don’t know, Gaye, why you didn’t let Miss Rachel know that you were there, unless it was because you had opened one of those trunks that didn’t belong to you. Was that it?”

  Gaye scowled at him and hung her head. Miss Crandall frowned. “Is that where you got that awful outfit?

  Where are your decent clothes?”

  Gaye sniffled. She nodded toward the barn and answered meekly, “Up in that balcony or whatever it is. I was wet and cold, and I didn’t think anybody would mind if I put on some dry things nobody was using.”

  “It’s all right,” Miss Rachel said with a little smile. “I’m glad you could use it, child. And I wish you and your friends would come in for a cup of my hot mint tea. It would warm you all up for your trip home.”

  “No, thanks,” Miss Crandall said stiffly. “As soon as the dress is laundered, Gaye will return it, with her apologies, and pick up her own clothing.” She snatched Gaye’s hand. “Come along, now. We’ll discuss your misbehavior later.”

  Trixie expected yells from the little girl as Miss Crandall led her away, but Gaye went along meekly.

  Trent sullenly watched them go but made no effort to follow them. Sergeant Rooney clapped him on the shoulder good-naturedly. “There goes your big kidnap scare, kid. Spoiled little girl hides for kicks, but, thanks to Miss Trixie here, no harm done!” He beamed at Trixie.

  Trent scowled toward Trixie and the boys and spoke loudly enough for them to hear him. “Yeah, Miss Trixie’s a smart little cookie. Everybody knows that. I’ll see she gets credit. This little stunt could sell a lot of tickets for the Arts Club! Hooray for the Bob-Whites!” Then he laughed and swaggered away toward the car.

  Sergeant Rooney chuckled. “He’s a bad loser. Don’t mind him, Trixie. We don’t think you cooked up the whole deal, even if he does!” He grinned and added, “Or says he does!”

  Trixie was bewildered. “I don’t understand. That’s just silly of him.”

  Jim sco
wled. “I think I’ll go take that up with him, before he makes any mistakes in his story!” He turned away to follow Trent, with a grim look on his face.

  “Hold it,” Sergeant Rooney said quickly. “Let him go. He’s just spouting off to save face, after all his loud talk about a kidnapping. He doesn’t really think Trixie or any of you had anything to do with Gaye’s running away.”

  “He’s a nut if he does,” Brian growled.

  But Trixie wasn’t at all convinced that the young reported was “just spouting off.” She thought uneasily that she would feel a lot better after she had seen what the Sun had to say in its Monday edition about the affair.

  “Too bad the little demon had to get Miss Rachel mixed up in her mischief,” Brian said. “She’s a sweet old lady.”

  “I think so, too,” Trixie agreed quickly. “Oh, I meant to ask you whether Dad ever mentioned someone called Emily when he talked to you about the Martin family.”

  “Not that I remember. Why?” Brian seemed surprised.

  Trixie explained about Miss Rachel calling out the name when she caught sight of Gaye in the little white dress.

  “I just wondered who Emily was,” she concluded.

  “Dad’s sure to know,” Brian said. “Why don’t you ask him at dinner—if we ever do get home before midnight!” He glanced suggestively at his wristwatch.

  “Yikes!” Trixie clapped her hands to her head. “Moms will skin me alive! Let’s get started this minute! I promised I’d be back in a couple of hours, and here it-s already getting dark!”

  They piled hurriedly into Brian’s jalopy and sped homeward. Jim jumped out at the foot of the Wheeler driveway and vanished in the twilight, with a wave of his hand.

  Mrs. Belden didn’t scold. She had called the Wheelers and knew everything that had been going on.

  “I’ve had expert help,” she told Trixie, giving her a peek at Mart, who was glumly setting the dining table. Trixie stifled a giggle as she carefully backed away from the kitchen door.

  “Just go wash up and see that Bobby’s ready for dinner,” her mother suggested.

  “Okay, Moms!” Trixie dashed off to find Bobby.

  “Where’s my bike?” he demanded accusingly, when she finally located him watching the baby chicks in the new incubator. “I been waitin’ an’ waitin’, an’ I bet you forgot to get it.”

  “Oh, no, I didn’t! It’s right in its stall. Tomorrow you can go riding with me. Won’t that be fun? We’ll go exploring and see if we can find some wild flowers for Moms!”

  “I want Gaye to come, too. I want her to ’splore with us.”

  Trixie couldn’t help feeling a tiny twinge of jealousy again, but she swallowed it and said quickly. “We’ll invite her, but she may be busy. You know, Gaye’s not an ordinary little girl with lots of time to play with other children.”

  Bobby frowned. “You don’t like her.”

  “Of course I do!” Trixie assured him. “Now come along and get cleaned up, or Moms will be angry.”

  Bobby let her take his hand and lead him toward the house. “Gaye’s so pretty. I just love Gaye. I hope she stays at Honey’s house a long, long time. Don’t you, Trixie?”

  “Oh, sure!” Trixie said hastily. “Let’s hurry now.”

  “Ask her about tomorrow now,” Bobby demanded as they came into the house and started upstairs. “Call her.”

  “I haven’t time right now, Bobby,” Trixie explained hastily. “I’ll call her later.”

  “But I have to go to bed early,” Bobby protested. “Okay, I’ll come wake you up as soon as I talk to Gaye. How’s that?”

  “Well—” Bobby thought it over—“awright. But don’t forget!”

  It wasn’t until they sat down to dinner that Trixie noticed that her father’s place was not set.

  “Where’s Dad, Moms? I wanted to ask him something about Miss Martin,” Trixie said.

  “He ate early and dashed over to Wheelers’ to talk about some business or other with Mr. Wheeler. He’ll stay on for the reception, and I’ll join him as soon as I’m able to.”

  “I’ll be glad to run you over, Moms,” Brian said. “Thanks, dear. I’ll phone Miss Trask that she needn’t send the car for me, in that case.”

  “Nice going, bud,” Mart said sourly to Brian. “I peel potatoes and scrape carrots, and now I get stuck with the dishes, as well.”

  “Seems to me there’s a certain curly-headed squaw not more than a mile away from here,” Brian said with a meaningful look at Trixie, “who’d be glad to lend you some expert help.”

  “I wonder where she could be?” Mart asked, pretending to look all around the room and under the table.

  “You can stop being silly, both of you. And I can do the dishes without any china-breakers pretending to help me!” And Trixie elevated a snub nose at both her big brothers.

  “Ah! But it’s a poor job that doesn’t need a boss to watch it!” Mart grinned. “So I’ll hang around and keep you amused with my witty sallies while you labor.”

  But a little later, when Brian and their mother had left, Mart and Trixie washed and dried the dishes and forgot all about their little squabble as Trixie told Mart about Gaye and the borrowed white dress that had seemed to startle Miss Rachel.

  “I can hardly wait for Dad to get home so I can find out who Emily was,” Trixie concluded.

  “Ah! A mystery, hey? Well, it’s been all of a couple of weeks since we had one kicking around here!” Mart teased.

  “You can laugh, but if you’d seen Miss Rachel’s face when she saw Gaye, you’d wonder, too!”

  Out of the Past ● 12

  THEY WERE ALMOST finished with the dishes when the phone in the study rang. It was a mad dash, but Trixie got to it first and heard Honey’s voice.

  “Hi, Honey!” she said, settling down in her father’s overstuffed chair, with her feet over the side. “How’s it going?”

  Mart waved a dishcloth at her from the doorway and melted away back to the kitchen. “Don’t talk all night!” he called back and then disappeared.

  Honey’s voice sounded a little worried. “Gaye’s in bed, resting till the last minute before the people start arriving. She looks to Miss Trask as if she might have a fever, but Miss Crandall says it is just that she’s so high-strung and so nervous after her shocking experience this afternoon!”

  “What she needs is a spank or two,” Trixie said with a disgusted snort. “Her aunt must know that she hid up in that loft deliberately when I was trying to find her.

  If she had answered me, none of the rest of it would have happened.”

  “I suppose Miss Crandall does know it, and she’s probably furious with Gaye.” Honey’s worried tones turned to a giggle. “Gaye’s maid told Miss Trask that Miss Crandall doesn’t dare to cross Gaye too often, because Gaye gets even by pretending to be too ill to practice and then has to be coddled and bribed.”

  “One good thing,” Trixie said, laughing, “she won’t be able to cause an uproar very much longer. She’ll have to leave soon on her tour.”

  “Thank goodness!” Honey said quickly and then seemed to feel ashamed. “Oh, I shouldn't have said that. I guess we don’t realize that it can’t be much fun to be a child prodigy.”

  “I s’pose that’s true,” Trixie admitted soberly. “Moms says that she’s glad there are no prodigies in our house. We’re about as far from that as we can get, I guess.”

  “Who cares?” Honey had her laugh back. “I wouldn’t want to live with one, I know. Not if they’re all like our dear little Gaye!”

  “It would be a shame if she disappointed all those people who have promised to come tonight, Trixie said indignantly.

  “It really would,” Honey agreed, “especially after Mother and her committee have worked so hard.”

  “Well, I guess that’s how it is with prodigies.” Trixie sighed sympathetically.

  Mart appeared in the doorway. He had a wedge of blueberry pie in his hand and a rim of blue around his lips. “You ca
n stop stalling here now. I just scrubbed the last of the pans,” he said and took another bite.

  “Ugh! Excuse me, Honey; I’ve got to go now,” Trixie said into the phone, “but call me again if anything exciting happens.” She hung up the receiver and glared at Mart. “I suppose you know that’s the last piece of pie!”

  “Sad, but true,” Mart admitted, gulping another chunk.

  “It happens to have been my piece,” Trixie told him coldly. “I didn’t eat it at dinner because I was saving it for breakfast. And now you’re gobbling it!”

  “Dear me, I’m so sorry!” Mart grinned with blue teeth. “I only did it to save you from falling a victim to excessive avoirdupois, dear sibling!”

  “Hmph!” Trixie snorted scornfully, but a moment later she giggled. Mart had tried to cram the last large bite of pie into his mouth as he finished speaking, but he had dropped half of it on his shirt. “That’ll learn yuh to watch your langwidge, podner!” she teased as she started past him into the hall.

  “Hey, wait a minute, Trix!” Mart looked with dismay at the mess on his clean white shirt. “Gosh, how can I get this stuff off my shirt? Moms will scalp me! I was supposed to wear it to school Monday,”

  “Gleeps! You’ll start a new style!” Trixie laughed.

  “Quit clowning, sis!” Mart pleaded. “What will take the stain out?”

  “Hm-m-m.” Trixie pretended to be thinking hard. “Let’s see now. Should it be soaked in milk or—no, that’s ink stains. Salt and lemon juice? Nope, that’s for rust.”

  “Come on-n!” Mart begged. “Have a heart!” He had an inspiration. “I’ll help you cart those weeds to school Monday morning if you lend me a hand with this mess.”

  “It’s a promise!” Trixie twinkled. “Okay, I remember now! On to the kitchen. March!”

  Mart had a little trouble getting the stained shirt off without spreading the gooey stains, but he finally managed it while Trixie was putting on the teakettle.

  When the water started to boil, Trixie spread the stained shirt over a large mixing bowl and held it stretched taut. “All right, now,” she told Mart, “hold the kettle as high as you can and pour the boiling water through the stain. But don’t splatter it on me, or I’ll yell so loud old Miss Martin out at the marsh will hear me!” Mart stood on a chair and tipped the steaming kettle over the bowl.