The Mystery of the Indian Carvings

by Gloria Repp

  She might as well unpack, since her trunk stood in a corner of the room, waiting, and she was stuck here for three weeks anyway. Dad was planning to stop at Bartlett on his way back from his lectures in San Francisco, and that’s when the grownups would discuss her.

  She’d find out whether she could stay for the rest of the summer—or be sent to camp.

  Did she really want to stay here, anyway? Her fingers closed on the small figure that swung from a chain around her neck. She dropped into the blue chair and took off the pendant to admire it once more.

  On the plane from Chicago, her father had presented her with a narrow box wrapped in gold paper. Inside, she’d found a strange little animal carved out of glossy brown wood. Its tiny pointed ears and face reminded her of a kitten. It seemed to be lying on its back, sleeping, with its forepaws curled over its chest.

  “Oh! What’s this?” she exclaimed.

  “It’s a sea otter,” he said. “A water animal, like a big muskrat, but it has flippers, like a seal. See the flippers?” He pointed to what she’d thought was a wide tail, curving gracefully over the small body.

  Her father smiled. “A memento of my days on beautiful Bartlett Island. I had it put on that gold chain so you could wear it. I hope you’ll have as many wonderful things to remember as I do.”

  What she remembered now, as she held the small otter in her hand, was the unhappiness she’d often seen on Dad’s face. Sure, she’d caused it by her furious outbursts at home, but things didn’t used to be that way. In the long years since her mother died, she and Michael and her father got along fine. Until he met Barbara.

  She jumped up, opened the window, and leaned out over the sill. Everything was turning velvety black, quite different from the brightness of a Chicago night. Through the trees nearby drifted a fresh, piney scent, mixed with a sweeter fragrance. Something must be blooming out there, and maybe she could find it tomorrow.

  What else would tomorrow bring? Loneliness rushed in, threatening to smother her.

  If only Melissa were here! She’d say something like, “Don’t let ’em get you down!”

  Julie took a ragged breath and turned from the window. Let tomorrow come. For Dad’s sake, she would fit in, even though it looked as if she was going to be miserable.

  In bed at last, staring into the darkness, she remembered what Stan had told her. Why had he warned her about strange things in this house?

  She puzzled sleepily over Aunt Myra’s missing raven. A raven was like a big black crow, right? Had the family pet disappeared? Was that why Aunt Myra acted so upset? Maybe tomorrow she’d find out.

  Thump-thud. Thump-thud. She snapped awake, blinked in the morning sunlight, and sat up. Thump-thud. Thump-thud.

  What in the world was that noise? Softly muffled, it seemed to repeat itself monotonously from some place nearby. Was this part of the strangeness that Stan talked about?

  She had started to ease back under her blankets when she heard a slurping, watery sound through the open window. Curious, she slid out of bed and hurried to see what it was.

  Through the branches, she caught sight of a large dog thirstily lapping water from a pan. His powerful muscles rippled under short black fur that gleamed in the sunlight, and she smiled at the sight of him. A black Labrador Retriever!

  Besides books, she liked dogs best, even better than people. She’d never been allowed to have one, but she’d pored over Michael’s dog book for hours, sharing her brother’s interest.

  Would this black Lab be as friendly as the book said? She’d go down right away and get to know him.

  Hurriedly she dressed in new jeans—and the pink-striped blouse to give her courage—and tiptoed down the polished stairway. The thumps had stopped, and the house lay silent around her. Something gave her the feeling that she should step softly and make as little noise as possible in the wood-paneled hall . . . as if the house itself would be displeased with any happy sounds she made.

  Through tall glass doors, she glimpsed a room lined with bookshelves. That must be the library, but she couldn’t stop to explore it now. She stepped into the kitchen and paused. Aunt Myra was hunched over a cup of tea and Karin sat at the other end of the counter, eating a dish of oatmeal.

  Breakfast time already? She’d have to visit the dog later.

  Aunt Myra gave her a weak smile and waved toward the stove. “Help yourself to porridge and whatever else you’d like,” she said in a blurred voice.

  Julie served up a small bowl of oatmeal, poured herself a glass of milk, and sat down next to her aunt. “I saw a beautiful black Lab outside,” she said. “What’s his name?”

  Aunt Myra put her hand to her forehead as if the effort of speaking were too much to bear. Her eyes were shadowed with dark smudges, and her face was sickly white.

  Karin spoke up, but she sounded as if she were explaining something to a child. “His name is Siem. It’s an Indian name.” At Julie’s questioning look, she added, “If you want to know what it means, you’ll have to ask Robert—he’s the smart one around here.”

  Who was Robert? But concern for her aunt pushed the question away. “Are you sick, Aunt Myra?” she asked.

  “I’ve got one of my headaches, a migraine.” Her hand moved in a feeble gesture. “I wish we could find that raven club. It’s a valuable part of your uncle’s art collection. I can’t imagine what could have happened to it.”

  Karin stood up and clattered her dishes into the sink.

  Aunt Myra raised her voice plaintively as Karin walked out of the kitchen. “Now, listen, you girls be good.” She looked at Julie. “Your uncle insists on absolute quiet in this house. He does very important work.”

  Julie nodded. She’d better not ask any more questions. Silently she finished her breakfast and put her dishes in the sink next to Karin’s.

  A door from the kitchen led into the dining room, and she wandered past a long polished table toward a fireplace with brown leather chairs arranged around it.

  She turned a corner of the L-shaped room and found herself in the library. Nearest her were shelves of wooden carvings, with photographs of animals and ocean scenes arranged between them.

  Exclaiming in delight, she stepped closer to study the photo of a sleek brown otter floating on his back. He seemed to be asleep, like the little carved one Dad had given her.

  “Cute, huh?” Karin walked over to stand beside Julie in front of the shelves. “These are only a few of my father’s Indian artifacts,” she said, with a proud lift of her chin.

  She slanted a glance at Julie. “If you like otters, you should see the one upstairs. It’s carved out of wood and has the neatest little pointed ears. I’ll show you, if you like.”

  Julie looked at her uncertainly, but Karin, her eyes bright, gave no hint of what she might be thinking. She hadn’t seemed very friendly last night. What had changed? Maybe she just wanted to show off her father’s collection.

  An Indian club on the shelf attracted her notice, and she touched the gleaming wood with careful fingers. Its handle was skillfully shaped to ensure a secure grip, and the other end was carved into the snarling head of a bear.

  She looked at Karin. “That raven club Aunt Myra was talking about—is it like this one?”

  “Yeah. Only it looks like a raven.” Karin sounded curt again. “C’mon, I’ll show you that sea otter.”

  “Okay.” Could there be another one like hers?

  Karin marched into the hall, bounded lightly up the stairs, and stopped at the room next to Julie’s. Its door stood slightly ajar, and her cousin pushed it wide open, motioning Julie to enter.

  Miniature totem poles with sly-looking animal faces grinned at her from shelves by the fireplace. Beside them squatted a beaver with a face like a bulldog’s, his long teeth bared to protect the bowl that was carved into his back.

  Where was the otter?

  Another shelf held woven baskets with intricate zigzag designs. A cone-shaped hat lay next to them, and she picked it up for a c
loser look. Only then did she realize that a large desk, scattered with papers, stood nearby.

  Was this someone’s office? She turned to ask Karin.

  A door opened at the far end of the room, and a tall, dark-haired man carrying a camera walked up to the desk. He stared at her, and Julie dropped the hat back onto the shelf. She looked up into steel-blue eyes set in a frowning face.

  Exploring

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  Julie darted a frightened glance over her shoulder. But her cousin was gone.

  “I—I didn’t mean to . . .” The words stuck in her throat.

  “You must be Julie,” he said, and the frown lifted from his black eyebrows. “It’s unfortunate that I couldn’t be here to greet you yesterday. Perhaps you didn’t know, but this is my study, and no one comes in here without my permission.”

  He set the camera on his desk and reached for a paper.

  “I’m sorry!” Before he could see the embarrassment on her face, she scurried out, down the hall, and into her room.

  She flopped into the blue chair. Uncle Nate, of all people! She had blundered into his private study—the last thing she wanted to do—and what would he think of her now?

  All because of the sea otter! Karin was the one who had taken her there. She must have done it on purpose.

  The knowledge came like a cold breath along her skin. She remembered how quickly her cousin had disappeared, and her chilly feeling was replaced by a flush of anger. Well! The friend she’d hoped to find on Bartlett Island certainly wouldn’t be Karin Fletcher.

  A chrr, chrr, chrr sounded outside, and she wandered over to her window to watch the scolding squirrel. The black dog was watching too, and she remembered her plan to visit him. At least he didn’t have any bad opinions of her.

  First, she’d better tidy up. She stuffed her pajamas under her pillow and smoothed the comforter in case Aunt Myra checked the room, like her stepmom would.

  The long blue drapes at the end of the room slid open easily, and she discovered another window and a glass door leading to a balcony. The door was locked, but the balcony had trees hanging over it, and it looked like a good place to read. Maybe Aunt Myra would let her have the key.

  She gave the room a quick glance and hurried downstairs to make friends with the dog.

  “Siem.” She said his name gently and walked toward him with her hand held flat and low, the way Michael had taught her. The dog lifted his head and stared at her with golden eyes. “Easy, boy,” she said. “I want to be your friend.”

  Siem rose, took a few steps forward, and sniffed at her outstretched hand. The glossy black head reached as high as her waist, and she said, “You’re kind of big, aren’t you? I’m glad you decided to be nice.”

  She scratched behind his ears. “Do you want to show me around?” she said. “Where’s the beach?”

  The dog looked toward the ocean, and she followed him through more cedar trees to a place where stones had been set into the bank, forming rough stair steps down to the beach.

  She paused to gaze at the shining, dancing blue spread below. The smell of the sea drifted up, sharp and exciting, pulling her down the steps to the sloping brown shelves of rock that made up the beach. The only sand here was in the bottom of small pools that glistened in the rocks.

  She kicked off her sandals beside a driftwood log and walked down to the ocean to let ice-cold ripples break over her feet. Siem paddled in the shallows for a few minutes but soon left the water and trotted purposefully away across the rocks.

  She hurried to put on her sandals and follow him. When she caught up, he had swerved into the trees and was snuffling down a narrow trail. She walked after him, wondering where he would take her.

  The ocean flashed and glittered beyond the leafy branches, and she paused for another look. As she turned back to the trail, she saw a boy passing through the woods—an Indian, judging from his light brown skin and black hair. He was about her height, but solid and muscular, and perhaps a year older.

  She attempted a shy smile, but he stared at her, his bright eyes aloof. A chipmunk ran across the trail and made her jump. When she looked up, the boy had disappeared.

  Siem kept on, trotting farther and farther into the woods, and finally she glanced at her watch. They’d been walking for quite a while, and it must be close to lunch time. Better not to take a chance on upsetting Aunt Myra by being late. Would Uncle Nate be there? Had he told Aunt Myra about finding her in his study?

  Reluctantly she called to Siem and turned back down the trail.

  Uncle Nate did not appear at lunch, and she felt a twinge of relief—at least the moment of facing him could be postponed.

  But Aunt Myra began to scold her for disturbing her uncle that morning, and she lowered her head, frowning at the salad on her plate to keep from showing how awful she felt. Really, she hadn’t done anything so terrible, had she?

  While her aunt was still talking, she stole a glance at Karin. From the look of smug satisfaction on her cousin’s face, she guessed that Karin was the one who’d told Aunt Myra what happened. And she’d probably made it seem worse than it really was.

  Julie’s indignation boiled over. She pushed her chair back from the table and stood up, and Aunt Myra’s eyebrows arched in surprise.

  “It’s her fault,” she cried, waving her fork at Karin. “She did it on purpose so I’d get in trouble.”

  She threw down her fork and ran from the table. She rushed up to her room, banging the door shut behind her, and tumbled onto the bed.

  It was starting all over again. The same horrible, left-out feeling she’d had when Dad married Barbara. No one wanted her here, either—they wouldn’t even give her a chance to fit in.

  And as usual, she’d made everything worse.

  The hot anger began to seep away, leaving a cold, hard knot twisted in the pit of her stomach.

  She buried her face in the pillow and felt the little sea otter pressing against her throat. A quick memory filled her mind—Dad saying, “You’ll do fine, Julie. I know I’ll be proud of you.”

  Dad would be disappointed, but there was nothing she could do about it. Aunt Myra wasn’t going to let her stay, not now. Not that she wanted to. How could she stand even the three weeks until she could leave? Three weeks until she had to go to camp.

  She closed her eyes and concentrated on listening to the muffled rhythm of waves on the beach. At least there was the ocean. And Siem. He seemed like a friend already, better than Karin would have been.

  She tightened her lips. She wouldn’t let them know how much it mattered, how much she wanted to be part of this family. She would be cool and correct and unfriendly, just as they were. And she would enjoy Siem and the island for these three weeks, in spite of them all.

  That night at supper, she followed her plan. Although her heart thudded when her uncle strode into the dining room and took his place at the head of the table, she kept her face expressionless. He spoke pleasantly to her and she began to relax, but even so, she said nothing.

  As they ate, Aunt Myra prodded Uncle Nate into a few short sentences about the missing raven club, but he looked as if his thoughts were far away. Karin threw her a sharp, curious glance, and she stared icily back.

  Having missed most of her lunch, she was hungrier than ever. Now that she could stop worrying about Uncle Nate, she found that broiled salmon tasted delicious, and so did Aunt Myra’s fresh rhubarb pie.

  After supper, she avoided talking to anyone and slipped into the library to find a supply of books for her room. She chose several mysteries, a story about Queen Elizabeth, and a book for identifying birds. The only birds she really knew were the sparrows and starlings she’d seen in Chicago. Here, the woods seemed alive with all kind of birds, and in the morning they filled her room with cheerful songs.

  When she’d finished arranging her books, she eyed her trunk, still waiting to be unpacked. She’d better do some of it, or Aunt Myra would be sure to comment
on her wrinkled blouses.

  She flipped the trunk open and lifted out her swimsuit. A gleam of red leather caught her eye, and she snatched up her new Bible—a gift from Melissa.

  “I want to show you my favorite verse,” Melissa had said. “Here, in the book of John.”

  Julie turned the pages, looking for the verse. It was in the New Testament, she remembered . . . John. There it was, underlined with Melissa’s red pencil. For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.

  Melissa had told her to read it again and put her own name in the verse. “For God so loved Julie . . .”

  She leaned back in the chair and said the verse aloud. It was still true. She had decided to believe in Jesus, and God loved her. Wouldn’t He make everything work out okay?

  She closed her eyes and whispered her thankfulness to Him.

  When she opened her eyes, it was already growing dark outside, and a breeze murmured through the trees. She pulled the drapes shut across the door leading to the balcony and reminded herself to ask Aunt Myra about a key.

  The small brass lamp by her bed made a satisfying pool of light, perfect for reading. Quickly she changed and climbed into bed with the most enticing of her mystery books.

  For the next hour she shared the adventures of a French boy and his loyal sheep dog, but she grew so sleepy that she finally put down the book and clicked off the lamp.

  Her thoughts were drifting hazily when she heard a soft thud that seemed to come from outside. She held her breath and listened. Footsteps padded along the balcony.

  Finding Out

  Julie lay tense under the blankets, wondering whether the footsteps would stop at her balcony door.

  Silence.

  She slid out of bed and crept behind the drapes she had closed earlier. All she could see on the balcony was tree-shadows. As she stared at the yellow light spilling from the window of her uncle’s study, she heard murmuring voices.

  For a long time, she waited to see what would happen, but finally she crawled back into bed to wonder about the voices. The next thing she heard was the trills and chirps of birds outside her window and the same thump-thud sounds that awakened her yesterday.