The Mystery at Mead's Mountain

by Campbell, Julie

  “I honestly didn’t know there were so many mountains in the world,” Honey breathed.

  Down in front of them was the chair lift, a mere thread connecting them with the miniature lodge below. They could see the Tan Van, looking more like a toy, and the swimming pool, resembling the jeweled setting in a ring. Beyond the lodge was the village of Groverville, pavement ribbons extending from it.

  “It’s as though we’ve been miniaturized and placed on top of a relief map,” Trixie mused.

  “No,” Mart disputed gently, “we’re the giants. It’s the rest of the world that’s lilliputian.”

  Then, for a long time, no one spoke or moved. It was a beautiful, quiet moment. Working so hard to achieve it had made it even more special.

  Presently, Jim said softly, “Shall we pick out our ski trail now?”

  “Gee,” Brian said, “I feel almost like an intruder.”

  “What say we intrude upon our snacks first?” pleaded Mart. “They must be getting lonely in our knapsacks.”

  The others, laughing, agreed that some nourishment was in order and got out the snacks the boys had packed earlier.

  Afterward, Trixie stood up and looked around. She was ready for adventure. The thrill of exploring the unknown was coursing through her veins. “Let’s take this trail,” she said, pointing left. “It stays on top of the crest and winds through the trees.”

  “But didn’t Eric say to take one of the trails to the right?” Di asked.

  “Yes,” recalled Trixie, “but which way is right? If you face the lodge, it’s this way. But if you face the valley between us and those peaks, it’s that way.”

  “I don’t know what he meant either,” said Honey. “What should we do?”

  “I think Robert Frost could answer that question for us,” said Mart.

  “Huh?” Di looked blank.

  “ ‘Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by,’ ” he quoted.

  “ ‘And that has made all the difference,’ ” Trixie finished.

  “Isn’t that from ‘The Road Not Taken’? Since when did you become the poetry expert, Trixie?” Jim teased.

  “I’m not,” she admitted. “I just remember Dad reading the stuff to us when we were little, instead of bedtime stories.”

  “Well, none of these trails look traveled by to me,” said Di, confused.

  “How about this one?” Jim said. He glided over to a trail smaller and less noticeable than the others.

  “Perfect!” Trixie was delighted. “That looks like our very own secret hidden trail!”

  “It won’t be too secret after our ski tracks are left behind,” Mart pointed out, getting ready to follow Jim.

  “It looks fun, though,” said Brian. “I guess Eric isn’t such a sadistic guide, after all.”

  “He certainly is very good-looking,” Di sighed.

  “You would think so,” said Mart jealously. Pointing" to his short blond hair, he muttered to Brian and Jim, “Maybe I should grow wild curls myself. They seem to drive the ladies mad.”

  “Don’t you dare!” cried Di. “We like you just the way you are. You’re a real individual, Mart.”

  “Good-bye, wild curls—hello, Di,” Mart said happily. “Anyway, curls would cause too much of a resemblance to my beloved sibling Beatrix, which would be a catastrophe. Speaking of which”—he turned to Trixie—“I saw you eyeing Eric before the ski lesson, and you had that schoolgirl shamus look on your face. What’s up?”

  “I don’t know, dear twin,” answered Trixie, tossing her own sandy curls. “I’d ask your advice if you were good for anything but getting haircuts. Eric seems awfully nice, but there’s just something about him....”

  “I thought it was sweet, the way he was worrying about his mother just because she got called away on business and didn’t have time to phone him personally,” said Honey, brushing the snow off her pants.

  Trixie didn’t say anything more as they set off along the small knolls on the top of the mountain ridge. As she slid into the easy rhythm of skiing, she was too fascinated with exploring this hidden trail to think any more about Eric. She was content to enjoy being part of the beauty and stillness of nature. She felt that she fully understood what cross-country skiing was all about.

  The others seemed to share her feeling, and they skied along in silence for quite some time, as though the sound of their voices might knock the snow from off the branches.

  Eventually Honey remarked, “I feel just like Lewis or Clark, setting off to chart lands far away from civilization. It’s all so gorgeous and quiet. It’s as though we’re the only people in the world.”

  “It certainly seems that way,” agreed Trixie, “but look way over on the side of that hill across the gully.” She pointed with her ski pole. “There’s a little house hidden in the trees.”

  The group halted in their tracks. “I see it,” said Brian. “It’s probably a way station or survival cabin, or maybe even a ski patrol hut.”

  “I doubt it,” said Jim. “There wouldn’t be enough people traveling through here to make use of those things. It could be a mountain man’s abandoned cabin.”

  “You guys have no imagination,” Mart said mischievously. “It’s obviously an old prospector’s hideaway. It’s full of gold just waiting for Trixie to come along and rediscover it and make us all rich.”

  Trixie playfully grabbed a handful of snow and tossed it at Mart. Then she was silent for a few minutes. Finally she announced, “You know, that cabin would be a good hiding place so far back in the woods. I think we ought to go over and explore it.”

  “I’ve created a monster,” Mart groaned.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Trixie,” Brian chided her. “Besides, it must be almost time we head back for the lodge,’ Honey said reasonably. “We want to be out of the woods before it gets dark.”

  “And Vermont is farther north than Sleepyside, so it will get dark sooner,” Jim reminded her.

  “Oh, I suppose you’re right,” said Trixie, disappointed. “But it seems like every time I want to explore something mysterious, all of you vote me down. Doesn’t being the Bob-White president count for anything?” she asked plaintively.

  “Copresident,” Jim corrected her. “And no, it doesn’t count for anything, at least in this instance. Besides, there’s nothing mysterious about an old cabin in the woods. They’re all over the countryside.”

  Feeling very frustrated, Trixie lifted her ski to lead the way back down the trail. Too late she discovered she’d been standing on that ski with her other ski. Losing her balance, she plunged headlong into a snowdrift.

  She heard some smothered chortling above her after Mart said something about a sitzmark, and she decided not to move, uncomfortable as she was. Maybe they will think I’m dead and go away, she thought, too upset to be rational.

  But they didn’t. Instead, Brian reached down and pulled her out. “You okay, Trix?” he asked, trying to hide the fact that he was weak from laughter.

  “No, Brian Belden, I am not okay,” Trixie said furiously. “I’m suffering from all of your superiority complexes, which, I might add, are totally erroneous, since you , are not the least bit superior. But I’ll tell you this, if there’s anything funny going on in that cabin, I’ll find out!” And with that, off she skied toward the lodge.

  “Oh, Trixie,” said Brian, starting to follow her.

  Honey grabbed his arm. “Let her go. She’s had her feelings hurt.”

  “It’s no fun falling, either. I should know,” added Di, rubbing her sore hip. “I thought I’d never get the hang of herringboning.”

  “Don’t worry about her, Brian. Trixie knows there’s no mystery in that cabin just as much as the rest of us do,” said Honey, not particularly convincingly.

  Trixie had skied off most of her resentment toward the others by the time they all got back to the lodge. At the base of the chair lift, they met Eric.

  “What’s the verdict?” he asked. “How do you l
ike our little mountain?”

  “It’s just beautiful,” said Honey enthusiastically. “It’s stupendous,” agreed Jim. “And so is crosscountry skiing!”

  “Words fail me,” Mart put in. “Except the words I had for you when we were climbing that crest.”

  “I told you that wouldn’t be easy,” Eric said. “Did you take one of the trails to the right, as I suggested?”

  “We didn’t know if you meant right facing the lodge or right facing the valley,” Di answered.

  “I meant right facing the valley.”

  “In that case, we went left,” Trixie told him. “We saw something very interesting, too—an old cabin.”

  “You didn’t go there, did you?” Eric demanded.

  He seems nervous, thought Trixie.

  “Why, no,” said Honey. “Is there something special about it that we should go see?”

  “Don’t bother,” he replied. “I was there yesterday. It’s a dusty old cabin. It’s abandoned now and rotted through. I’d stay away from there if I were you. It’s dangerous.”

  That’s funny, Trixie thought to herself. I could have sworn I saw smoke coming out of the chimney. She didn’t say anything to the others, realizing that they weren’t ready yet to hear her suspicions. But she decided to explore that cabin the very next chance she could get.

  All squabbles forgotten, the Bob-Whites burst into their suite to find Miss Trask reading a book on the couch in front of the fire. “How was your afternoon?” she asked, slipping in her bookmark.

  “Oh, we had the most marvelous time, Miss Trask,” Honey began. “We’ll tell you all about it. But first, may I have my watch? I was so worried when I couldn’t find it this morning, and then Jim remembered that you must have taken it to hold on to for safekeeping.”

  “What do you mean, Honey? What watch?” Miss Trask inquired calmly.

  “You don’t have my grandmother’s gold watch?” Miss Trask shook her head. “No. What happened?” Honey’s eyes filled with tears. “It’s gone! We’ll never find it now!” She tore into the bedroom and threw herself down on the bottom bunk, sobbing.

  Trixie followed her, even though she wasn’t sure what to do or say. Honey was the one who was good in situations like this. From the bedroom, she could hear Di and the boys explaining everything to Miss Trask. Trixie sat down on the bunk next to Honey and put her arm around her friend.

  “Honey, we’ll find that watch,” she said firmly. “We’ll go through the entire suite again. We’ll talk to Pat and Katie. We won’t leave Mead’s Mountain until we find out what happened to it!”

  “Oh, Trixie, I wish we’d never come to this place,” Honey wailed.

  “I didn’t want to tell you this until we’d talked to Miss Trask,” Trixie said hesitantly, “but—Honey, I think your watch may have been stolen.”

  “Stolen?” Honey sat up.

  “Remember how our front door was unlocked when we came back from swimming, but the patio door to the pool was mysteriously locked? Someone could have seen us swimming, come into the suite, locked the patio door so we wouldn’t disturb him, and taken your watch.”

  “Why wouldn’t he have taken other things, too?” Honey asked logically. “And who would do something like that, anyway?”

  “Don’t you remember running into Eric right near our front door?” asked Trixie.

  “He was looking for Rosie,” said Honey.

  “Oh, Honey,” said Trixie impatiently, “can’t you see? Wanda’s quarters disappeared the day Eric arrived. Your watch was discovered missing right after we saw Eric outside of our room.”

  “It is kind of suspicious, isn’t it?” said Honey.

  “He must have just come into the room when we were getting out of the pool,” Trixie continued. “When we started banging on the door, he grabbed the first thing he saw—your watch—and quickly left. That’s when we met him in the hall.”

  “You’re probably right,” sighed Honey. “But that doesn’t help me get my watch back.”

  “We’ll have to report it missing to the police and Pat,” Trixie decided. “Then we’ll have to keep a very close eye on ol’ Eric. Don’t worry, Honey. I just know you’ll get your watch back before we have to leave Mead’s Mountain.”

  “Trixie, one other thing,” Honey faltered. “You don’t suppose our friendly neighborhood ghost took my watch, do you?”

  Trixie was sure that the “ghost” was tied in somehow with this, but she was trying to calm Honey down, not upset her more. “I don’t think so,” she said. “Stealing doesn’t seem like a very ‘ghostly’ thing to do.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Honey said, shivering. “I’ve never met a ghost before, real or not. And you know what? I don’t think I want to start making their acquaintance now!”

  “I don’t think you’ll have to,” Trixie said, hugging her friend. “I’m sure Eric took your watch. Right now let’s worry about dinner. Who can go sleuthing on an empty stomach for valuable family heirlooms?” Honey giggled. “Now you’re beginning to sound like Mart!”

  Snowfield Danger ● 7

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING dawned bright and beautiful again, but the Bob-Whites, exhausted from their first day on the mountain, decided to sleep in late.

  At nine, Miss Trask awoke the girls to tell them that a policeman had come to get a full report on the missing watch. Trixie decided not to tell him anything about seeing Eric around their room. She could prove nothing, and she had a feeling that if she just bided her time, Eric would prove himself the thief without any help from her.

  After the policeman left, Trixie and Honey called the only pawnshop in Groverville to see if the watch had been pawned. The pawnbroker was a pleasant, talkative man who called himself Pawnbroker Joe.

  He asked all about the watch and all about the girls. Although he hadn’t seen the watch, he was very sympathetic about Honey’s loss, and he promised to let them know if he heard anything about it.

  Miss Trask joined the Bob-Whites for their swim that morning and enjoyed it as much as they did. Afterward, they all got dressed for breakfast. Honey’s blue and brown outfit and Di s purple ensemble both had come from an exclusive ski shop, but Trixie felt that their outfits weren’t any more becoming than her own. The cream and powder blue sweater Moms had knit her for Christmas went perfectly with the blue ski pants that Brian and Mart had given her. You couldn’t buy a sweater as special as Moms could make. Trixie could tell by the approving looks she received that she looked nice.

  Once they got to the restaurant, the Bob-Whites decided to have a big breakfast and no lunch, since the morning was nearly gone already. During the course of conversation, it developed that not one of them wanted to attempt the steep climb above the chair lift they had experienced the day before.

  “Why don’t we ski through the woods just above the bunny tow?” suggested Brian. “It’s easily accessible, and we can check out good places for picnicking and fishing. I’ll bet Mr. Wheeler would appreciate that information.”

  Following up on Brian’s suggestion, the group found plenty of material for their notebooks. That part of the woods was full of all kinds of fascinating foliage.

  “Dad really ought to organize a nature hike through this area,” Jim said. “He could have signs labeling each of the different types of trees, flowers, and shrubs.”

  “The signs could tell a little bit about each, too,” Trixie offered. “Like that tree—isn’t it a sugar maple?” Jim nodded. “Vermont is famous for maple syrup. A sign near that tree might tell all about sapping time and making maple sugar and syrup.”

  “When I was in one of those stuffy boarding schools,” said Honey a bit sadly, “I read a book all about some kids gathering sap. I remember wanting to join them so badly.”

  “How did they do it, Honey?” asked Di.

  “Well, it sounded pretty easy,” Honey recalled. “They pushed a pipelike thing called a spile into the tree, and the sap dripped out into a bucket hanging from the tree. Then they gathe
red up the sap and boiled it down into syrup and maple sugar. They kept the pots covered with screens so dirt and stuff wouldn’t get in. I remember that part because the youngest boy, who was a little older than Bobby, had to take one of the horses back to the house to get the screens. The boy was really proud to be able to do that alone.”

  “Oh, that sounds like fun!” exclaimed Di. “Wouldn’t our parents be surprised if we brought home some maple syrup we had made ourselves?”

  “Surprised? They’d probably award us the Pulitzer prize for achieving the impossible,” commented Mart. “Sorry, Di, but the sap doesn’t start running until mid-February at the earliest. It’s the rise and fall in temperature that makes the sap start flowing. But, you know, we could tell Mr. Wheeler that maple sapping parties here would be a great activity in the early spring.”

  More possibilities for the nature hike were spotted as the Bob-Whites skied on through the woods, laughing and joking. At one point, Jim, who was in the lead, stopped abruptly.

  “Dead end,” he called back. “We’ve come to a stream. Looks good for fishing, but it’s the end of the road as far as skiing is concerned.”

  “It is too wide to cross,” agreed Honey, joining him at the edge of the rocky creek. “Why don’t we follow it to see where it goes?”

  Off they skied, only to be stopped again by Jim in a few hundred yards. This time he didn’t say a word, just held up his hand. The others, catching up to him, sensed the need to be quiet, but gave him quizzical looks.

  Then they followed his gaze and saw two deer, magnificent graceful creatures, drinking from the opposite side of the creek. Every line of their bodies had a smooth purposefulness to it. One doe lifted her head and, looking directly at Trixie, stood as motionless as a piece of sculpture.

  “They know were here!” gasped Trixie.

  “Yes, but I don’t think they’ll be afraid of us as long as we don’t make any sudden moves,” Jim whispered back.

  “I’m beginning to feel guilty about that roast venison we had at your house,” Di said softly.