The Mystery of the Castaway Children

by Campbell, Julie

  Freshly showered and dressed in clean, dry clothes, Mr. Belden ran into Trixie in the upstairs hall. “What’s all the rumpus?” he asked.

  At a loss for an explanation, Trixie blurted, “We have a new baby!” Then she hurried to fetch the towels, leaving her father to gaze after her, openmouthed.

  Minutes later, a sober Belden family gathered around the kitchen table. Mrs. Belden was bathing the tiny boy, who shuddered with nervousness, temperature change, and hunger. “Poor baby, I wonder how you got so dirty,” she crooned. “You’re too hungry and tired to even cry.

  “That’s just when I do cry,” Bobby confessed.

  “Don’t we know,” Trixie sighed.

  Brian made the formula by his mother’s directions and cooled it to suit himself. Then he trickled milk from the tip of a spoon into the baby’s mouth. “I know he’s swallowing too much air,” Brian worried.

  “He’ll burp,” Bobby surmised.

  “How old is he?” Mart was still so flabbergasted that he forgot to use the longest words in the dictionary.

  Mrs. Belden thought for a moment. “He weighs about twelve pounds. If his birth weight was an average six pounds and he gained at the regular rate of eight ounces a week, a weight of twelve pounds would indicate an age of three months. Don’t you think that’s about right, Peter?” She turned toward Mr. Belden. “Peter, have you been listening to a word I’ve said?” Mr. Belden shifted his gaze to his wife. “But, Helen... a baby?” he asked weakly.

  Elastic Walls ● 2

  SOON, IN RESPONSE TO Mart’s telephone call, the Belden kitchen was crowded with new arrivals. Di Lynch had brought with her not only a package of baby clothes, but also Honey Wheeler and Jim Frayne.

  Di had two sets of twins at her house. Mrs. Lynch had gathered up a wardrobe for the newcomer simply by opening dresser drawers in a storage room. As she handed the package to Mrs. Belden, Di said, “My mother said to tell you that if she’s omitted something essential, I’ll call our butler to drive over and drop it off. She also said to tell you, ‘Congratulations!’ ”

  “I’m sure she thought of everything,” Mrs. Belden said, hastily sorting out a change of clothing for the baby. “Thank you!”

  Honey, Trixie’s best friend and her partner in mystery-solving, set down a grocery sack, from which she took cans of formula and packages of disposable bottles and diapers. “When Mart called, Jim and I were at the Lynches’,” she explained. “Jim drove us straight to Mr. Lytell’s store for the formula. We didn’t think you’d have any. Oh, Trixie, isn’t this exciting? The Belden-Wheeler Detective Agency has found a lot of lost articles, but never a baby before!” She turned to Mrs. Belden. “How much formula do I put in this bottle?”

  “Here, let me help you,” Brian offered. At the kitchen counter, the two bent to the important task of serving the waif’s first full-fledged meal at the farm. ,

  Mrs. Belden dressed the baby while Mart went to the laundry room for ’the clothes basket. Bobby ran upstairs and returned with his own soft blanket to be used as a mattress. Honey handed the bottle to Brian, who took charge of the feeding. At once the infant set to work.

  For a moment, the watchers were so quiet that they could hear the occasional intake of air and smack of lips.

  “The boy’s a bottomless pit,” Mart commented in amazement.

  “Mart, I think you’ve met your match,” Brian said dryly.

  Freckle-faced Jim Frayne, Honey’s adopted brother, shook his head in wonder. “I’d forgotten babies were that small.”

  Already Bobby felt possessive. “He’s not finished yet. See? No hair and no teeth!”

  Brian took the half-emptied bottle from the baby.

  “Please, may I burp him?” Trixie asked.

  “Don’t drop him,” warned Bobby, “and don’t get him wet again.”

  “I’m dry now,” Trixie assured him. She raised the towel-wrapped baby to her shoulder and patted him carefully. She was so thrilled that she didn’t even flinch when warm milk trickled onto her shoulder.

  “Maybe it’s time to relinquish the cherub,” Mark teased gently, “before he develops an allergy to schoolgirl shamuses!”

  Trixie ignored him and continued her patting.

  How could anyone abandon this sweet creature? she thought.

  Pretty Di felt left out. “Let me hold him,” she begged.

  “He needs rest,” Mrs. Belden decided. “Di, you and Mart may carry that basket to the guest room. With the door open, we’ll be able to hear him if he cries.”

  The guest room was dimly lighted. Even though it was a hot August night, Trixie rushed ahead of Di and Mart to find a spot where the baby wouldn’t be bothered by a draft. Cautiously, Di and Mart set the basket down where Trixie indicated. Leaving the door ajar, the three tiptoed from the room.

  In the kitchen, they found family and friends enjoying fruit punch and cookies and discussing the baby.

  “Trixie, tell us all about it!” Honey demanded. “I never heard of anything so mysterious in my whole life.”

  At the word “mysterious,” Trixie’s round blue eyes began to shimmer. She and Honey constantly found themselves involved in mysteries. They had solved so many of them that they were planning to form their own detective agency eventually. In their sleuthing, they usually had the loyal support of the Bob-Whites of the Glen, a club that, besides Trixie and Honey, included Di, Jim, Brian, and Mart. The seventh member, Dan Mangan, was frequently too busy with other responsibilities to take part in the mysteries. Mysteries just seemed to drop-into Trixie’s and Honey’s lives as if by a miracle... like this baby.

  Trixie jumped up and rummaged through the baby’s things.

  “Did my mother forget something?” Di asked.

  “I’m looking for clues,” Trixie explained. “But there aren’t many. There’s a diaper, a blanket, and a knitted shirt—not much to go on.”

  “That blanket and shirt are of very good quality,” observed Di.

  “Maybe there’s a note in the doghouse,” Mart suggested.

  “The what?” Di squeaked.

  “Did you say doghouse?” Honey put in.

  “That’s where we found him,” Brian answered. He was already on his way out of the kitchen. Soon he came back to report that there was no note, and that the heavy rain had washed away all tracks except his own.

  “How in the world did you know he was there?” gasped Honey.

  “I heard him first,” Bobby reported. “He kind of mewed. You know, like a kitten.”

  “When did you first hear him?” asked Di. “Before the rain,” Bobby replied.

  Jim looked upset. “Who would shove a baby into a doghouse and leave him alone in the middle of a storm?”

  Honey’s hazel eyes welled with sympathetic tears. “And why?” she cried.

  Inside Trixie’s skull, the wheels were spinning. A living, breathing mystery lay sleeping in their house. Who was this tiny boy? Who had failed to protect him? What drama had been enacted in their backyard earlier that evening? Somehow, Trixie knew she would discover answers for those questions.

  Trixie had been crumbling a cookie, totally out of contact with family and friends. She looked up to meet her father’s dark eyes.

  Mr. Belden refilled his punch glass. His fingers drummed the tabletop. “I recognize the symptoms,” he sighed. “You’re about to solve the kidnapping case of the century and get your name in the headlines of The New York Times.

  Trixie, I must insist we go to the police at once. A human life is involved. We can’t take a chance on a haphazard search.”

  “Haphazard!” Trixie’s temper blazed.

  Mr. Belden raised one hand for silence. “Hear me out, Beatrix.”

  “Wow,” Bobby breathed. “That’s Trixie’s company name, same as mine is Robert.”

  Mr. Belden nodded and went on. “Brian, since you’re the one who found the baby, you’re the logical one to call the Sleepyside police.”

  Brian crossed the kitchen to the
phone, while Trixie exchanged crestfallen glances with Honey. As determined as she’d been to take on this case for herself, Trixie knew, deep down, that her father was right.

  Brian cleared his throat. “This is Brian Belden, and I wish to report—oh, Sergeant Molinson!” Eye contact united the Bob-Whites. Although Sergeant Molinson usually ended up expressing reluctant appreciation for their efforts in solving crimes, his first reaction was always impatience with the young people’s “interference” with police business.

  “Sir, have you a report of a missing child?” Brian asked. “We’ve found an abandoned baby.”

  Brian turned to the others to report, “He’s checking.” Then he muttered, “Yes, sir,” several times. Finally he turned to his parents. “The sergeant says he has to contact the FBI, in case there’s a kidnapping involved. That’s a federal crime. Also, he thinks it will take a few hours to get the official wheels rolling. Is it all right if I say we’re willing to give the baby lodging till then?”

  “Of course,” said Mrs. Belden.

  “If we’re going to have to keep the baby more than a day or two,” Brian continued, “the county will send a social worker tomorrow to investigate us. And the sergeant will be here tomorrow morning for the same purpose.”

  “Investigate us?” Trixie gasped. That was a switch.

  After Brian had finished his conversation and rejoined the group around the polished maple table, Di spoke up. “Mrs. Belden, if your house is too crowded, I’m sure we could care for the baby in our nursery. After all, with two sets of twins and a nurse for each pair, we re certainly equipped for it, and I know my parents wouldn’t mind.”

  Then Honey offered the hospitality of Manor House, the Wheeler mansion. “Miss Trask would fit that baby into her schedule in no time at all,” she insisted. Miss Trask managed Manor House, but still had time to be a friend to her young charges, Jim and Honey.

  Bobby looked distressed. “Moms! Dad! There’s plenty of room in our house, isn’t there?”

  Mrs. Belden smiled at the two girls. “Thank you for offering, but we’ll manage. These walls are elastic. There’s always room for one more at Crabapple Farm, isn’t there, Peter?’

  Peter Belden agreed, though a trace of bewilderment still lingered in his eyes.

  Trixie turned to Jim, her copresident of the Bob-Whites. “Even though Dan’s patrolling the game preserve tonight and won’t be able to come, I think we should have a club meeting now.”

  “If you say so,” Jim answered. “We can fill Dan in later. By the way, what happened to you? Get dumped in a rain barrel?”

  “The precipitation drove her to distraction,” Mart remarked. “Were applying for federal flood control funds tomorrow.”

  Trixie glanced down at the clothing that had dried on her warm skin. Her hair was still damp, and her bare legs and feet were splotched with dried mud. “I forgot to take my bath,” she giggled. “Let’s meet on the front porch.”

  Bobby had wisely refrained from mentioning baths. “Let me come, too,” he suggested.

  Mr. Belden glanced outside at the dark sky. “I think you have a previous engagement with the tub and your bed, son.”

  Bobby poked out his lower lip, but he spoiled the effect by yawning. “I heard that baby first,” he began. “I think I should stay up and talk about it some more.”

  “And I think you should go to bed,” his mother said.

  “I might ’member something I thought I forgot,” Bobby said slyly.

  “Then you think about it and tell us in the morning. Scoot!” Mr. Belden ordered.

  Stalling for time, Bobby said good night to each person in the room, then asked, “Can I say night to the baby?”

  “May I,” Mart corrected. Words were Mart’s love.

  “Sure, you, too,” said Bobby with a wave of his arm.

  Mr. Belden threw up his hands, and one by one, the group tiptoed into the guest room for a last peek at the sleeping infant.

  Who are you? Trixie asked him silently. How long will we he able to keep you?

  Once the Bob-Whites were comfortably seated on the front porch, Trixie called the meeting to order. Although the rain had stopped, only a few stars managed to elude the cloud blanket. It was pleasantly dark. Grass and flowers smelled clean and fresh. Trixie felt full of energy, as though all the nervous crankiness of the day had been washed away.

  Brian was the first to speak. “Moms already has her hands full. I think we owe it to her to arrange some kind of schedule, in case the baby is here through tomorrow. To be on the safe side, he should be fed every four hours, and that’s only part of his care.”

  “An exemplary diet schedule” was Mart’s comment. At fifteen, growing fast, he was always hungry.

  “I’ll share the work,” said Honey, and Di was quick to agree.

  “I, for one, could really use the experience of caring for an infant,” Brian put in. “Besides...”

  “You feel, if not exactly paternal, at least fraternal,” Mart finished for him.

  “Right,” Brian said.

  “Me, too,” Mart admitted.

  “If this is a learning experience, I can use it, too,” Jim said.

  “Good!” Trixie said. “Then it’s unanimous to share the baby’s care?”

  “Yes!” was the response of the Bob-Whites. Part of the club’s function was to help people in need of help, and there couldn’t be anyone more helpless than a tiny baby.

  “Until we know who he is, he kind of belongs to us,” Di mused. “Shouldn’t he have a name? We can’t keep calling that baby ‘he’ and ‘it.’ ”

  “Such an appellation is awkward,” Mart agreed.

  “If we didn’t already have a Bobby, we could name him Bob White,” Honey said.

  “We don’t have a Clancy,” Mart said impishly.

  “Nobody names a three-month-old baby Clancy!” Di exclaimed.

  I should hope not,” Mart told her. “Most of the Clancys I know were named months earlier than that.”

  “What about Moses?” Jim asked.

  The whole group hooted.

  “Moses was hidden in a basket and pulled out of the Nile River,” Jim argued. “This little guy was pulled out of Reddy’s doghouse in the rain.”

  “We could call him Mo,” suggested Honey. Di, who enjoyed being a hostess, spoke up next. “Let’s have a welcoming party for Moses Bob-White, with a naming ceremony. We could have arks for favors!”

  “Wrong patriarch—that was Noah,” Mart teased. “But you’re on the right track. We could decorate with bulrushes.”

  “I never did find out what a bulrush was,” Di said plaintively.

  “Never mind,” Mart said. “You have black hair and violet eyes.”

  The rest of the group didn’t see what that had to do with bulrushes, but Di seemed satisfied.

  “All in favor of Moses Bob-White?” Trixie inquired.

  The vote was unanimous again, and Brian pointed out that it was almost ten o’clock.

  “So?” Honey asked.

  “Six, ten, two, six, ten, two,” Brian said. “That’s Mo’s schedule.”

  “Dibs on feeding Mo before Jim takes us home,” Di called.

  “I’ll take two,” Brian offered. “I’ll want to check to see if he has a cold.”

  “Six for me,” Mart said. “I’m certain our sister will still be somnolent.”

  “Whatever that is, I won’t be,” retorted Trixie. “You’ll need help. Make that six for us.”

  Later that night, Trixie lay awake for some time, racking her brain over Moses and where he might have come from. A few minutes’ walk in any direction from this farm placed one in the wilderness. Then, just barely out of sight was a great spider web of bridges, tunnels, parkways and turnpikes, state highways and county roads, country lanes and bridle trails, footpaths and animal traces. When you added the air lanes, railroads, and canal and river traffic of New York City, it was possible to say that the world’s traffic flowed past Crabapple Farm.

/>   Thinking of the millions of people who traveled on this traffic pattern every day, Trixie was overwhelmed by the size of the mystery she faced. Moses could have come from Sleepyside-on-the-Hudson, or Beulah, North Dakota, or Ocean Beach, California. He might have come from any place in the whole wide world.

  Yet there he was, sleeping in the Belden clothes basket. Was he left by a starving young mother who could no longer take care of him? Was he unloved and unwanted? Had he been kidnapped and abandoned for some reason? Was someone out there right now in the wet dark, watching the house? If that someone did care what happened to the baby, what would that person do when the police came?

  Police!

  “I forgot about Sergeant Molinson,” Trixie mumbled to herself. He would arrive early. Well, then there was one person who was going to get up even earlier.

  Trixie set her alarm clock.

  Batter Is Pancakes ● 3

  AT FIVE-THIRTY, Trixie was dressed and quietly slipping from the house. Her first stop was at the doghouse.

  Reddy was less prepared to face the day than was Trixie. He stirred and yawned, until finally she was able to persuade him to come out.

  Trixie patted around the edges of Reddy’s rug, but Brian’s search had been thorough. There was no ransom note, no good-bye letter, not even an extra piece of clothing or a soft toy— nothing that might be traced.

  Trixie stood up, looked about, and informed Reddy, “Unless someone brought Moses through the raspberry patch, he must have used the bike path.” This trail ran downhill from the Manor House stables. After crossing the farm, the path roughly paralleled Glen Road all the way to Glen Road Inn.

  Reddy looked unimpressed, and Trixie headed alone into the woods, which were cool and clean after the rain. She could smell the grass she stepped on and could see the rainbow jewels in the wet, sunlit spider webs. On such a heart-lifting morning, nothing should be wrong with the world. Yet something was very wrong for ' one little boy. Soberly Trixie studied the earth she walked on.

  She saw nothing unusual, just a path chopped by horses’ hoofprints. Because of the daily exercising of all the horses in the Wheeler stables, the crisscrossing trails on the game preserve were naturally marked with myriad prints. There was also Mr. Lytell, who often rode slowpokey old Belle on these grounds. Dan saved time by riding Spartan when he ran errands for Regan, the Wheelers’ groom, and Mr. Maypenny, the Wheelers’ gamekeeper. Even Di's palomino, Sunny, spent much time on Wheeler land. All of these animals were loved and given the care one would give a human.