“Did Janie object?”
“She didn’t object, exactly, but she was sort of bewildered. It seemed to me that Juliana knew this but kept on asking—almost as though she wanted to be... mean.”
“That’s a harsh word.”
“I know it is. I told you it’s hard to explain the feeling I had. It makes me ashamed, because look how wonderful she was this afternoon with Larry and Terry Lynch and Bobby! Who else would have thought to ask Dan to ride Spartan over here so the boys could see him dance? They loved it. Dan thinks she’s one hundred percent perfect.”
Mrs. Belden laughed. “She doesn’t sound like a mean person. I wonder—is it Juliana who rubs you the wrong way, or would you feel the same about anyone who upset your Bob-White activities?”
“Oh, Moms, I hope I’m not that selfish. I don’t feel that way about everybody-not about Janie. Everybody loves Janie.”
“Does Honey have this impression of Juliana? Does Jim?”
Of course Jim doesn’t. She’s his cousin. I haven’t said anything to them about it. I guess it’s just me. Forget it!”
Mrs. Belden opened the door to let Reddy out in response to Bobby’s whistle. “You forget it, Trixie. Whatever the feeling is, it will pass away. I’ve been thinking about something else. Since Janie seems to be greatly recovered physically, do you think it would help this amnesia if she’d get away from the hospital, away from the atmosphere of sickness?”
“Oh, Moms, it would! It would! It would help her more than anything. Do you think we could possibly—”
“Invite her to stay with us for a while at Crabapple Farm? This is exactly what I had in mind. I thought I’d ask the doctor about it tomorrow morning. I’ve already talked it over with your dad. He thinks, as I do, that wholesome food, lots of fresh air, walks in the woods, normal people around her— all of it could help Janie. I’ll see if Dr. Gregory agrees.”
In the morning Mrs. Belden took Bobby to White Plains to do some shopping.
“I’ll stop at the hospital first thing and talk to Dr. Gregory,” she told Trixie. They may let me bring Janie home with me later on.
“Perfect! Do you think they will?”
“It’s possible. Oh, dear, I meant to dust the downstairs bedroom. The sheets have been changed, but the room does need more cleaning. Maybe I’d better wait till tomorrow to see about Janie coming here.”
“No! No! I can clean the room. The boys will help me.”
“Oh, we will, will we?” Mart asked. “Who says so?”
“I do,” his mother answered. “It won’t take long. You want Janie to come here, don’t you?”
“Of course, Moms. Oh, all right! All right!”
The big old-fashioned farmhouse was ideally arranged to provide a maximum of privacy for a guest. An extra room and bath had been built downstairs for Trixie’s father and mother just after they had married. A few years later, both grandparents died. Now the room housed Mr. Beldens occasional business guests and, from time to time, the children’s guests.
A big picture window looked out on Mrs. Belden’s rose garden. She had taken prizes at the county fair, especially for the comer garden of old-fashioned yellow banksias, which trailed along the white picket fence, and bushes of sweet-scented moss roses. These were an inheritance from Mr. Belden’s mother and had grown in the same spot for over half a century.
The room itself had been recently refurnished and was gay with yellow-flowered chintz and pale green walls. The furniture was pine, with twin spool beds, bookcases and a matching desk—an inviting room, and one in which Trixie hoped Janie would be happy and grow strong and well.
When Mrs. Belden and Bobby left, the dust began to fly. The boys carried the rug from the guest room and out onto the grass to beat it.
“Whack!” Brian wielded the rattan beater. “There’s one for the guy in the Bronx who put our Bob-White bus on the blink!”
“Whack!” said Mart. “Another for the goon Trixie saw down at the marsh.”
“They’re both the same person,” Trixie said, giving the dust mop a vigorous shake in Mart’s direction. “It was his pipe I found, too, after he jangled those wires on our car.”
Brian laughed. “You and your one-track mind.”
“Yeah, Trixie the Schoolgirl Shamus,” Mart teased. ‘Where did all this dust come from, anyway? Don’t you and Moms ever clean that room?”
“We can’t take the rug out and beat it every time you and Bobby and Brian tramp dust in there. If you’d ever come in the back door, the way Moms keeps telling you to, and use the mat—”
“Forget it!” Mart told her as he and Brian folded the rug. “Is the floor all waxed and ready to accept this superclean job?”
“It is. Will you help me take down the curtains from my room and trade them for those in the guest room?”
“For pete’s sake, what’s the matter with the ones that are hanging there now?” Mart asked.
“Mine are prettier. I want the room to be perfect for Janie. What do you have to do that’s so terribly important that you can’t help me?”
T have to have some time to practice catching balls.”
“All right, then, Brian will help me.”
“And who will pitch the balls? Reddy?”
“Try him. He’s pretty smart. There’s one thing I know, and that is that I promised Moms to have this room ready, and she said you were to help me.”
“We are helping you, aren’t we?”
“Yes, but I can sense mutiny in the air. Mart, this mat has to be centered.” She gave the pretty hooked rug a tug. “There! Now, Brian, you lift one end of the bed while Mart and I try to roll the rug under it. Then you’ll have to help me put the dresser and desk back in place.”
“Gol!” Brian protested. “You’re more of a slave driver than Moms. I’d sure hate to be the guy that you marry.”
“Why?” Mart asked unexpectedly. “Trixie is already a good cook, and, boy, does this room look neat!”
He stood off, dusting his hands. “There should be some flowers on that desk, shouldn’t there?”
“I’ll get ’em,” Brian said and came back soon with a conglomerate bunch of colors—zinnias, marigolds, late, fragrant pinks. He thrust them into a squat Bennington jar, where they looked amazingly appropriate and colorful. “I just hope Janie appreciates all this toil,” he said. “Oh, my aching back!”
“She will. You’ll see,” Trixie said. “It’s going to be wonderful having her here and helping her get well.”
“Trixie, the Florence Nightingale of modern New England!”
“Oh, yes?” Trixie smiled. “You pretend to be so hardhearted, Mart. You’re just an old softie. You’re glad she’s coming here, and you know it.”
“Who wouldn’t want to help a girl who’s in a jam like she is? She doesn’t even know where her family is. She doesn’t even know if she has one or not. It beats me why someone isn’t looking for her. Oh, yikes!” he groaned. “Look who’s coming up the drive now—Juliana! We’ll have to put her to work.
“I don’t think so,” Brian said. “She doesn’t seem to be the working kind. Look how dressed up she is.
They all went out to greet her.
“I didn’t hear Reddy bark, and I didn’t see your mother’s car. I thought perhaps nobody was at home.”
“I’ll say we are,” Mart said, “beating rugs, moving furniture. You’re just in time to help.”
“Don’t pay any attention to Mart,” Trixie said. “We’re through with the hard part of the work. Janie is coming here to stay with us for a while. We’re hoping it will help her get well. Moms and
Bobby have gone to the hospital to get her.”
“Janie... is... coming... here?” Juliana gasped. “Yes. She can take walks in the woods, and Moms will feed her good food, and—” Trixie leaned over to pick up one of Bobby’s toys from the walk. “What makes you so surprised?”
“I’m not surprised. I’m shocked! Did the doctor say she could leave the hospita
l?”
“Moms is going to ask him. She won’t bring her home unless Dr. Gregory says it’s all right. Why?”
“Why? She might be dangerous, that’s why! She could suddenly go crazy and hurt someone.”
The idea seemed so preposterous to the Beldens that the boys burst out laughing.
“There’s nothing the matter with Janie’s mind,” Trixie said with spirit. “People with amnesia are not dangerous. And Janie’s so little. No wonder Mart and Brian are laughing. Janie probably doesn’t weigh much more than a hundred pounds. How could she hurt any—”
“So even if she were a black belt karate expert, she could hardly take on Bobby,” Mart said, still laughing. “She’s liable to be here soon, Juliana, so if you’re afraid....”
“I can go back to Mrs. Vanderpoel’s. Is that what you mean, Mart? Well, I can go back and I’m going. You may regret what you’re doing.” She turned to
“Don’t be cross with us,” Trixie called after her.
“We shouldn’t have laughed at you, but, honestly, Janie isn’t...
“She can’t hear you. She’s so mad she’s practically running,” Mart told Trixie. “Gol, is she some kind of a kook herself?”
“I don’t know. Gleeps, Mart,” Trixie said, “she was so serious.”
“Lost memory dangerous?” Brian snorted. “Anyone with half a head knows better than that.”
“You know it because you’re going to be a doctor. Let’s give Juliana a break. She is Jim’s cousin, and we did make fun of her. Moms won’t like that if she hears about it.” Trixie glanced at the clock as Reddy barked excitedly—as usual when he recognized the sound of the Belden car approaching.
Jeepers, she thought frantically, I only had time to butter the bread and put it in the oven to toast. She looked in the mirror over the stove. “Mrs. Witch in person,” she groaned. “Oh, well, the room’s ready.”
Quickly she whisked blue homespun mats from the kitchen drawer, put them on the old maple drop leaf table, then added silver and yellow paper napkins. Moms would have something ready to eat in no time, she thought as she toweled her face till it shone and brushed back her sandy curls.
“Welcome to Crabapple Farm!” she called to the slender girl who came in with Mrs. Belden, followed by Mart and Brian carrying boxes.
Inside the kitchen Janie stood quiet, sniffed the fragrant toast, saw the sprigged curtains stirring in the breeze from the garden, and let her eyes wander to the hospitable table with its ladder-back chairs pushed in and waiting.
She saw Trixie, red-faced and radiant, felt the brush of Reddy’s wagging tail, saw the boys disappearing down the hall with her possessions, and tightened her hold on Bobby’s hand. “It’s all so wonderful,” she sighed. “Why are you so good to me?”
“We want you to get well,” Mrs. Belden said briskly. “Trixie, take Janie back to her room. I’ll have some salad and soup on the table in a minute. Bobby, take Reddy outside, please. No dogs in the house when we are eating, remember?”
“Reddy’s not a dog,” Bobby pouted. “He’s part of the family.”
“Then part of the family will eat lunch outside.” Mrs. Belden handed Bobby Reddy’s dish. “I added a little of that cat food he’s so crazy about. After all, he’s entitled to something special, too, because Janie’s here.” She ran her hand lovingly over Bobby’s cowlicked hair.
“When do we eat, Moms?” Mart asked, pretending to puff from the weight of Janie’s box he had carried. “Where’d she get all those things, anyway? All she had was what she had on when she was found—”
“Shhhh!” Mrs. Belden warned. “Honey s mother told Miss Trask to buy the things Janie needed,” she added in a quiet voice. “Oh, I do hope she’ll be happy here.”
“And gets well soon,” Bobby added, slamming the screen door.
“Amen to hoping Janie will get well, but why can't Bobby ever learn to close a door without a bang?” Mart asked.
“He’ll learn it the same way you and Brian did,” Mrs. Belden said and told both the boys to wash their hands at the kitchen sink.
“See, smarty?” Bobby jeered.
“Oh, yeah?” Mart answered and pulled the chair out from under his brother, dropping him to the floor, howling.
“Mart, pick Bobby up immediately,” his mother said, “and all of you, for goodness’ sake, stop yelling at one another.”
“You see?” Trixie said to Janie, who had come in from her room. “It isn’t all sweetness and light at the Belden homestead.”
“Who’s perfect all the time?” Janie answered, smiling, and won the boys’ hearts. “That’s the loveliest room, Mrs. Belden—and the view!
“Trixie and the boys put it in order,” Mrs. Belden answered. “Just sit anywhere, Janie... maybe over there next to Bobby. Then there won’t be any squabbling about ‘who’s sitting in my chair?’ ”
“That’s what the bears said,” Bobby told Janie and handed her the napkin-covered basket of crisp toast.
“I faintly remember reading something like that about fifteen years ago,” Janie said, smiling.
“The salad’s from our garden,” Bobby said. “Take a lot of it, Janie. We have it every day. Hey, Trixie, there comes Honey on her bike. Just listen to Reddy barking.”
What Happens to Missing People? ● 9
WHY DIDN’T YOU let me know Janie was coming? Honey asked. “I’d have helped you get ready.
The luncheon dishes were done, and, at Mrs. Belden’s suggestion, Janie had gone to her room to rest.
Honey and Trixie were in Trixie’s room upstairs. How she loved this room of her own and Moms s inflexible rule: No one enters a room with a closed door without knocking. Here was privacy, a rare thing in a household of young people, and it was greatly treasured.
“I’d have let you know she was coming,” Trixie said, “but I wasn’t sure—not really sure—till she came home with Moms. Anyway, Mart and Brian helped me get the room ready. Oh, Honey, do you think she will be happy here?”
“It’s a perfect place for her.” Honey’s eyes shone. “I wouldn’t mind losing my memory, if I could stay for a while at Crabapple Farm.”
“Anytime... any old time you want to come,” Trixie said, putting her arm around her friend. “I wish I could really do something to help Janie... soon; she looks so white and thin. Oh, I know what you’re going to say: Moms’s food will soon change that. That’s true, but there’s much more to it.”
“She keeps worrying about not knowing who she is,” Honey said sadly. “I know what you mean. I don’t know what anyone can do about that—I mean anything we haven’t already done.”
“She’s so helpless. Honey, we can’t just play around this afternoon. We have to start doing what we can for her. I know! I’ll ask Moms if I can go to the library. We can ride our bikes.”
“What could we do there?”
“Look over every inch of the New York Times for at least ten days back—see if we can find any item about a missing person.”
“Don’t you think the Missing Persons Bureau would know that before a news story could get into the New York Times?’
“Maybe so. Maybe they would. But with so many people disappearing all the time, they could overlook something. It’s worth trying. Miss Trask won’t care if you go, will she?”
“Not if your mother thinks it’s all right. Shall we ask her?”
“We’ll just ask if we can go to the library. She might think we were silly to look through the newspaper. I’m sure the boys would think so if she told them.”
Mrs. Belden had no objection. “You may go—if you think you can get your bike out of the barn and get away without Bobby seeing you. Lately he thinks he has to go along with anyone who leaves this house. He’s back in the pasture with Reddy now, so hurry!”
The two girls pedaled rapidly to the top of the hill, then coasted their bikes down into the village. They parked them in the rack outside the library and went into the reading room.
“May we pleas
e see late copies of the New York Times?” Trixie asked.
“Help yourself, girls,” the librarian answered. “They’re hanging on that rack over there—this week’s editions. If you want to go back farther than that, reach into the shelf right back of the rack.” They carried copy after copy to the long table and ran their fingers down each column looking for news of accidents or missing people, following through on any item that seemed to have any promise. Aside from the small notice about the dredging of the marshland, which Honey found, there was no other mention of Sleepyside.
“I didn’t think we’d find anything,” Honey said sadly. “After all, the police all over the state of New York have been notified.... What are you staring at, Trixie?”
“This!” Trixie said aloud, and the librarian held up a warning finger. “Look, Honey.” She spread out a copy of a small newspaper from Lakeside, Illinois, a Chicago suburb.
“That man who was sitting across the table from us left it,” she told Honey excitedly. “And I saw this headline. It may mean something.”
Honey read the headline: WHAT HAPPENS TO MISSING PEOPLE?
In response to a roving reporter s questions, several people had given their answers. Trixie’s eyes fairly popped from her head as she huddled close to Honey, reading.
The picture of one woman, and her answer, stood out as though it were in boldface type.
The woman s name, Beth Meredith, was given, and her address. In an excited whisper, Trixie read Beth Meredith’s answer to the query:
“Ten days ago my younger sister, Barbara Crane, went to the southern part of New York State to take her first teaching job. She promised to write or call the minute she found a place to stay. I haven’t heard a word from her. Today I called the president of the school board, and he said she had not reported to him. What do people do to trace missing people?”
“It’s Janie!” both girls shouted.
“Shhhh!” the librarian warned.
“Let’s go outside where we can talk,” Trixie whispered. “Wait. I’ll copy the name and address.” Outside, Trixie found herself trembling. “It’s Janie... I know it is! What shall we do?”
The Mystery of the Missing Heiress Page 7
