Brian thought for a moment. “It is kind of—”
“Strange,” Trixie finished for him. “See what I mean?”
Surprises on Sunday • 2
HALFWAY UP the long hill to Manor House, Trixie started to run. “Let’s hurry,” she urged her brothers. “We don’t want to keep Regan waiting.”
Mart looked up the hill, then glanced at his watch. “According to my calculations, I predict we will cover the distance between our present locus and the Wheeler stable, our terminus, in less than one minute,” he said calmly. “But just to please you, Trixie, I shall change my modus operandi and perambulate at a more expeditious rate.”
“Thank you, I think,” Trixie said, running on ahead of her brothers.
When the three Beldens reached the stable, Honey, Jim, and Dan were already waiting for them beside the door.
“Hi!” Honey said. “Regan has the horses all ready. Let’s go.”
Regan was waiting for them inside the cool stable. “Too bad you all have to go to school,” he said with a grin. “Now the horses only get ridden on weekends. Any chance of one of you flunking out?”
“No chance!” the young people insisted.
Chuckling to himself, Regan crossed the stable to the row of six stalls. Printed above five of the stalls were the names of the Wheelers’ horses: Jupiter, Lady, Susie, Starlight, and Strawberry. Behind their stall doors, the horses stood saddled and waiting. Jupiter, Mr. Wheeler’s spirited black gelding, was pawing the ground, impatient and restless.
There was no name above the sixth stall. The young people were surprised to see Regan stop at the door of the stall.
“What’s up?” Trixie whispered to Honey.
“I don’t know,” Honey said, as puzzled and surprised as Trixie.
Regan’s green eyes twinkled brightly. With a great flourish, he threw open the door to the sixth stall.
A small Shetland pony stood there, looking out at them with soft, doleful eyes. A little boy dressed in a scarlet riding coat was standing beside the pony, holding the reins.
“Bobby!” Trixie exclaimed.
Her six-year-old brother straightened his jacket and led the pony out to the middle of the floor. In a serious tone, he said, “Trixie... everybody... meet Mr. Pony.” Then he smiled. “It was a secret, and I never told anybody—cept Moms and Dad,” he crowed.
Regan grinned. “I’ve been training this pony for a friend of your father’s, Honey,” he said. “And I needed a small rider to help me. So I taught Bobby to ride.”
Bobby nodded vigorously. “Wait till you see how good he taught me to ride!” he shouted. Impatient to show off, he wiggled out of his riding coat and handed it to Trixie. “Help me up, please, Regan,” he said.
Outside in the big pasture, Bobby rode Mr. Pony around and around. He sat straight and tall in the saddle and held the reins with a firm hand. The
Bob-Whites leaned against the fence to watch.
“Look at him,” Brian whispered. “Bobby rides like a pro.”
Honey was impressed. “He’s a natural,” she said in agreement.
“Well...” Trixie said with a shrug, “I guess he gets his talent from me.”
Mart reached over and patted Trixie’s head. “My sister, the modest one,” he said. “Not an ostentatious ossicle in her whole body.”
“Oh, go chew on a dictionary,” Trixie retorted with a good-natured snicker.
“Okay, you kids,” Regan called. “Time for the rest of you to go to work.”
He led the horses out from the stable. Bobby sat and watched the Bob-Whites mount their horses and get ready to ride. Trixie could tell by the expression on Bobby’s face that he wanted to ride with the “big lads.”
Trixie didn’t want to hold the others up. “You go ahead,” she told them. “I’m going to walk Susie down into the woods so Bobby and I can go riding together.”
While riding through the woods, with Bobby beside her on Mr. Pony, Trixie decided that the Wheeler preserve was at its best in October. The sweet scent of pine filled the air, and the bright-colored leaves of the maples and chestnuts growing among the evergreens rustled in the breeze. Trixie watched carefully for rabbits or raccoon but spotted only bushy-tailed gray squirrels scampering about in search of nuts and berries.
“Trixie,” Bobby said, “it was nice of you to ride with me.”
Trixie brushed aside his thanks. “I wanted to,” she told him. “You ride very well.”
Bobby grew silent. From the way he was frowning, Trixie knew that he must be thinking something over.
“I have another secret, Trixie,” Bobby said. “And I’m going to tell you.”
Trixie reined Susie to a stop. “Remember,” she cautioned, “a secret isn’t a secret anymore if you tell it.”
“I know,” Bobby said. He took a deep breath. “I have a tree house,” he blurted.
Trixie’s eyes widened. “A real tree house?” she asked. “Up in a tree?”
Bobby nodded. “Yup,” he said. “Regan found the tree, deep in the woods, and we built the house. Want to see it, Trixie?”
An uneasy feeling swept over Trixie. Only a short distance from the Wheeler preserve, the woods grew very dense and then ended at the edge of a high cliff. All the young people were forbidden to ride near there.
“Wait a minute, Bobby,” Trixie said slowly, not wanting to spoil his fun. “Moms won’t allow any of us to go deep into the woods. You know that. Regan must have forgotten.”
Bobby slid down from Mr. Pony’s back and looped the reins over a bush. “We’re deep in the woods right now, Trixie,” he told her. “Regan said this spot is the deepest part in the whole woods when you ride down through Mr. Wheeler’s preserve.”
Trixie smiled with relief. “Regan’s right,” she agreed, dismounting. “We are deep in the woods. You can’t even tell there’s a road over there on the left, behind those trees. We could walk to that road and be out of the deep woods in a minute, if we wanted to.”
“But we don’t, we don’t!” Bobby exclaimed, jumping up and down with excitement. “I’m going to show you my tree house.”
“Okay,” Trixie said. “Where is it?”
Bobby doubled over with giggles. “Look up above your head, Trixie,” he said. “You’re leaning against the tree where we built it!”
“Here?” Trixie asked incredulously. Stepping away from the tree, she looked up into the branches. The tree house was nestled in the wide middle section, almost hidden from view. Regan had designed the tree house so expertly that it looked as if it had grown there.
The tree itself was sturdy and not too tall, with strong, low-hanging branches. It was a perfect tree for a small boy to climb in without much danger of falling.
“It’s beautiful, Bobby!” Trixie said. “What made you decide to build a tree house?”
“Well,” Bobby said, putting his hands in his pockets, “I had to. Moms was mad at me ’cause my room was a mess. She says I collect too much junk, but, Trixie, it’s not junk! My collections are full of real valuable stuff!”
Trixie smiled. “I know, I know,” she assured him hastily.
“Come on, I’ll show them to you,” Bobby urged. He scrambled up into the tree.
Seconds later, Trixie stepped gingerly onto the platform floor of Bobby’s tree house. She pivoted slowly on one foot, looking around her. Many of the leaves had fallen from the nearby trees, and Trixie was surprised to see that the old dead-end road was even closer than she had thought. Very few people used the road, and the weather-beaten ROAD ENDS sign looked ready to fall apart.
“Look, here are my collections,” Bobby said, pointing to his treasures lined up on the floor. There was a coffee can filled with bottle caps, a mound of ’lucky” stones, a lopsided ball of string, a bag full of baseball cards, and a tin can full of buttons. Regan had built a covering over the collections to protect them from the elements.
“I was going to collect bugs, too,” Bobby told Trixie, “but Moms says I ca
n’t. She says bugs are good for the ground, so I have to leave them there.”
“Don’t collect snakes, either,” Trixie warned. “Are you going to keep all your collections here?” she asked.
Bobby thought that over carefully before answering. “Not everything. If I find something funny, I’ll bring it home to show Moms. She can tell me what it is.”
Trixie frowned. “Do you mean ’funny ha-ha’ or ’funny peculiar’?” she asked.
“What’s pick—pickooler mean?” Bobby wanted to know.
“Oh, strange things... things you never saw before,” Trixie told him.
Bobby nodded. “Yup. The funny things like that I’ll bring home to Moms,” he said.
The sudden squeal of tires nearby made Bobby jump. “Hey,” he shouted, “there’s a car out on that road!”
Trixie had only a glimpse of the car as she jumped to her feet. Her ears caught the whinny of a frightened pony.
“Bobby,” she cried, “that loud noise scared Mr-Pony! He’s running away!” She hurriedly climbed down from the tree.
Susie was tossing her head fretfully and stomping her feet. Off to the left, Trixie could see Mr. Pony thrashing through the bushes.
Swinging into the saddle, Trixie patted Susie, calming her. “It’s all right, Susie,” she whispered soothingly. “You and I have to catch poor Mr. Pony before he hurts himself.”
Bobby reached the ground with tears streaming down his face. “Come back, Mr. Pony,” he wailed. “Please don’t run away!”
The little pony didn’t get far. Trixie spotted him cowering in a clump of heavy bushes, trembling. His coat was dusty and full of burs.
“It’s okay, Mr. Pony. Don’t be afraid,” Trixie said. Gently, softly, she talked to him and tried to calm his fears. She didn’t try to touch him until he had stopped shaking. Then, taking his reins, she led the Shetland pony out of the thicket and back to the tree house.
Bobby threw his arms around Mr. Pony’s shaggy neck. “Thank you, Trixie,” he said, wiping away his tears.
“We’d better go back now, Bobby,” Trixie said. “Everybody will be waiting for us.”
Honey and the boys were inside the stable, grooming their horses, when Trixie and Bobby got back. Dan had already left to go back to Mr. Maypenny’s cottage.
One look at Bobby’s tear-stained face and the burs caught in Mr. Pony’s shaggy coat, and Regan knew something had gone wrong. Wisely, he asked Bobby no questions about it. “Hi there, fella,” he said, lifting Bobby down from the saddle. “Run down to the pasture and get my jacket for me, will you? I left it hanging on the fence.”
“Sure,” Bobby said. He waved to the “big kids” and ran off on his errand.
“What happened, Trixie?” Regan asked quickly.
Trixie told him about the noisy car. Honey and the boys came out of the stable to listen.
“I didn’t know anyone used that old road,” Honey said, surprised. “It’s a dead end.”
Regan’s concern had turned to anger. “Those crazy kids,” he grumbled. “This summer they were using the road for drag racing. I chased them off half a dozen times, but they came right back. Finally, I told them I’d call the police if I ever saw them back there again. I thought that would keep those young punks away.
“But,” Regan continued, “a couple of times while I was building Bobby’s tree house, I saw cars drive down the road.” He frowned. “I wonder if those kids removed the ’Dead End’ sign at the entrance to the road.”
“Could be,” Trixie said. “We never go into the woods that way, so I don’t know. The ’Road Ends’ sign is still there; I did see that.”
“Well,” Regan decided, “I’m going to have to go check on that other sign.”
Bobby came dashing back, shouting, “Here’s your jacket, Regan!”
“Thanks, fella.” Regan grinned. “You and Trixie can go home now. I’ll take care of Susie and Mr. Pony.”
“Thanks, Regan,” Trixie said. Turning to Honey in a sudden brainstorm, she asked, “Why don’t you and Jim come home with us? We’ll have an indoor cook-out—it’s too cold to eat outside. It won’t be any bother for Moms, ’cause we’ll do the work.”
“I’m so hungry I don’t care where we eat,” Mart said, “just so we eat!”
Honey and Jim didn’t need any more coaxing. Crabapple Farm was a happy place, full of noise and laughter. Honey thought of it as her second home, and she and Jim always enjoyed being with the Beldens.
“Were convinced,” Honey said with a smile. “I’ll call Miss Trask from there.”
“Moms,” Trixie called, leading the way into the big kitchen, “Honey and Jim are going to eat dinner with us. We’ll have an indoor cookout right here in the kitchen, okay? You go in the living room and relax with Dad—we’ll get everything ready, so you won’t have a thing to worry about.”
Mart and Honey prepared a big salad while Jim took charge of broiling the hot dogs. Brian rushed around, getting in everyone’s way, setting the long kitchen table. Trixie peeled potatoes and chopped little white onions for hot potato salad.
Mart breathed deeply as the kitchen filled with appetizing smells. He leaned against the counter and closed his eyes. “Hurry,” he urged. “Rigor mortis is setting in!”
When everything was ready, Mr. and Mrs. Relden and Bobby were called to the table. In the center of the bright red and white checked tablecloth was a steaming platter of hot dogs and toasted buns. The big wooden salad bowl was on one side of the table, and on the other side was a serving bowl heaped with hot potato salad. Catsup, mustard, and relish were close at hand.
“Hey!” Bobby exclaimed. “A picnic!”
“The best kind of picnic,” Trixie’s father pointed out. “No ants!”
Everyone laughed and took a place at the table. Between mouthfuls, Bobby told his mother and father about surprising the Bob-Whites with his riding ability. “Trixie and me rode to a secret place deep in the woods,” he said, “and a car scared Mr. Pony and he ran away.”
Mr. Belden looked questioningly at Trixie.
“The old dead-end road behind the game preserve,” Trixie explained. “Regan told us that some kids have been using it for drag racing. Mr. Pony didn’t go far, and no one got hurt.”
“I wasn’t riding on Mr. Pony when he ran away,” Bobby said quickly. “He was parked.”
This brought more laughter.
“Well, I’m glad no one got hurt,” Mrs. Belden said. “You be careful, young man,” she told Bobby, “and ride only in the pasture unless Trixie or the others can ride with you.”
After finishing off a chocolate layer cake for dessert, the young people helped clean up the kitchen, and then everyone relaxed around the fireplace in the living room and listened to WSTH.
“Boy,” Brian said, “that big band sound is really kind of neat.”
“Yeah,” Mart admitted. “But I wonder how they did it without any electric guitars.”
Peter Belden raised an eyebrow. “Don’t any of you have any homework assignments for tomorrow?” he asked.
“Gleeps!” Trixie said. “I’ve got to finish my social studies report.”
“Me, too,” Honey said.
Jim nodded. “And we just got through telling Regan that there was no chance of any of us flunking out of school. I guess we’d better prove it. See you guys tomorrow... and thanks for the great indoor cookout!”
On the way upstairs, Trixie noticed Mart’s puzzled expression. “What’s your problem?” she asked.
“I was just wondering who invented the electric guitar,” he said.
“That’s easy,” Trixie said with a grin. “It was Ben Franklin!”
Sam, Sam, the Medicine Man • 3
THE SCHOOL BUS was bouncing down Glen Road, and Trixie, her notebook balanced on top of her other books, was trying to keep her handwriting legible. It wasn’t easy—the bus made frequent stops and starts, and Trixie’s paper had streaks and blots where her pen had shot off suddenly in an uninte
nded direction.
“Almost finished?” Honey asked, glancing anxiously at Trixie’s messy paper.
Closing her notebook, Trixie sighed. “All done except for sketching in the coins.”
Brian looked up from a book he was reading. “What kind of a paper are you doing, anyway?” he asked.
“We have to write a report on the culture of one of the groups of people we’ve been studying,” Trixie told him. “I’m doing the Chinese. They’ve really got an interesting culture.”
“I’m doing the Romans,” Honey said.
Trixie looked smug. “We’re both going to include sketches of some of the old coins from Mr. Quinn’s collection,” she boasted. “That’s Honey’s idea, not mine,” she added truthfully.
Honey gave Trixie a poke. “You didn’t have to tell him that,” she said.
The bus pulled up in front of the school, and the young people gathered up their books and started down the aisle toward the door.
“Using drawings of those coins sounds like a good idea,” Brian said. “They should add a lot to your reports.”
Trixie nodded. “Now all we have to do is to talk Miss Lawler into letting us stay after class so we can sketch them,” she fretted.
The warning bell sounded as they entered the building. Trixie and Honey hurried off to their homeroom. Di and the others ran down the corridor to their own homerooms.
“See you at lunch,” Trixie called.
Unlike most Mondays, this one passed quickly. Jeepers, today seemed short, Trixie thought as she walked down the hallway to her last class.
Miss Craven was standing by the open door, and she nodded as Trixie entered the social studies classroom. Trixie slipped into her seat beside Honey and arranged her books on her desk as the bell rang to signal the start of class.
Miss Craven closed the door promptly. “Good afternoon, class,” she said, walking to the front of the room. “Miss Lawler will begin by telling us about another one of the fascinating coins from Mr. Quinn s collection.”
Miss Lawler was seated at a small table that served as her desk. A glass display case with a nameplate engraved RONALD QUINN stood beside the table. The sliding glass doors across the back of the case were locked. Inside, the three shelves were covered with black velvet. Laid out in neat rows was an assortment of ancient coins—Roman, Greek, Oriental, Hebrew—all of different shapes and sizes. Some were so blackened with age that they were almost unrecognizable. Many were sealed inside special plastic envelopes.
The Mystery of the Phantom Grashopper Page 2
