Violet said, “It says Orville. That’s the same boat, all right.”
“Orville?” repeated Benny. He looked at the painted letters. “I think that’s the word printed on the owl page in the nature journal.”
“Maybe this boat and the owl page are connected,” Henry said.
Jessie was poking around the side of the boat. “Look at this.”
She pointed to an eye hook screwed into the hull. About a foot of frayed green nylon rope was looped around the hook.
“That’s weird,” said Jacob. “Why would anybody tie up their boat with the hook way down there?”
“It’s not used to tie the boat,” Henry said, tugging on the frayed rope. “I bet our ‘ghost’ stands on the dock and pulls the boat across the pond. With the rope at the bottom, you wouldn’t see it.”
“So it looks like an empty boat going across the water by itself,” said Violet. “Now all we have to do is find the ‘ghost.’”
“We’re leaving after the sugar festival,” Henry said. “That gives us two days to solve all these mysteries.”
After supper, Grandfather made a fire and sat down with a book.
The children washed and dried the dishes. While they worked, they discussed the mystery.
“Most of the strange things around here have happened at night,” Violet observed.
“Violet’s right,” agreed Jessie. “Let’s go outside. Maybe the ‘ghost’ will appear again and we can catch him. Or her.”
Wiping crumbs off the table, Henry said, “Grandfather, may we go out for a few minutes? We’d like some air.”
“Dress warmly,” said James Alden. “And don’t go far.”
The children slipped into jackets and mittens and scarves. Outside, they hopped off the porch and ran partway down the hill to the pond.
“This is far enough,” Henry told the others. “We’re away from the lights of the cabin, so we won’t be seen.”
They waited, watching for any movement on the still pond.
Overhead, the moon was still mostly full, though tattered clouds drifted across it.
Violet thought the moon looked bigger here than back home, possibly because they were away from the lights in town. She shivered, wondering if the “ghost” would show up. What would they do if it did?
Just then she heard a horrible sound.
Scree-eech! Scree!
“What is it?” she whispered. “Is it the ghost?”
Henry shook his head. “There is no ghost. The boat we found proves that human hands have been pulling it across the pond.” But what was making that sound?
Screee-eeech!
Suddenly the scudding clouds parted. Henry saw a dark winged shape gliding against the pale surface of the moon.
He knew what was making the horrible sound.
CHAPTER 9
Snowstorm!
“What is that?” Benny exclaimed. He moved closer to his big brother.
“I think I know,” said Henry. “Let’s go back inside.”
In the cabin, Henry went to the bookshelves and pulled down a well-worn guidebook.
“Aha! I thought so.” He turned the book so the others could see. “That sound we heard is the call of a screech owl.”
“Is that what we’ve been hearing all along?” asked Jessie.
“Maybe.” Henry paused. “I still think a person was making that noise the other night. It didn’t sound exactly the same.”
Violet studied the picture. “I bet this is the same owl as the one in the nature journal.”
Benny thought of something. “We keep seeing owls around here.”
“That’s right,” Jessie said. “The owl’s-head stick at the tree house … the picture in the journal … and now a real one.”
“Definitely a pattern,” Henry murmured, putting the guidebook back in the bookcase.
Yet, the pieces did not add up.
“Snow!” Benny leaped from bed the next morning. “Henry, it’s snowing!”
Henry went to the window. “Looks pretty deep. It must have started snowing during the night.”
Downstairs, the children quickly ate Grandfather’s egg-and-sausage casserole with cranberry muffins. For once, Benny didn’t pile his plate with a second helping.
“What’s your hurry?” James Alden asked him with a wink.
“The snow!” Benny cried. “We want to go out and play!”
“I’m afraid you can’t do that yet,” said Grandfather.
“Why not?” said Violet. She was eager to sled down the big hill.
“The sugar bush workers will have to finish the run today,” Grandfather said, carrying the casserole dish to the sink. “Do you want to help them?”
“Make syrup?” This was a dream come true for Benny. Even snow could wait. “You bet!”
After cleaning up the dishes, the Aldens dressed in jeans and sweaters, then climbed into the rental car.
Grandfather drove slowly. The woods were a frosty wonderland.
The guardhouse was abandoned at the sugar camp. Grandfather parked in the snow-covered lot near the sugar hut.
Trucks prowled up and down the snowy lanes between the maple trees. Some were loaded with last night’s sap, while others carried empty gathering tanks into the woods to collect more sap.
Benny inhaled as he got out of the car. The sweet aroma of maple sugar filled the air.
“This smells better than any perfume,” he commented as they headed for the cabane.
“No wonder people eat pancakes all day long,” Violet said with a giggle. “The syrup smell makes them hungry!”
Inside the sugar hut, workers scurried back and forth, checking thermometers, pouring syrup into tins, turning valves connected to vats of simmering sap.
Marie-Louise, their guide from their first visit, waved when she saw the Aldens. Today she wore her long red hair tied back. An apron covered her jeans and blue shirt.
“We’ve come to help,” Grandfather told her. “I’ve had some experience in making sugar and my grandchildren are good workers. I hope you can use us.”
“How kind of you!” she said. “With this snow, we need every pair of hands.”
Grandfather was assigned to working with another man on an evaporator.
Benny and Henry unloaded raw sap from the gathering tanks as the trucks pulled in. The sap was funneled through a tube that led directly into the hut and into another gathering tank.
Jessie and Violet were assigned to help Marie-Louise grade syrup.
“I will do the testing,” she told the girls. “You can paste labels on the bottles. The law requires us to mark the grade and color class of syrup on every container.”
She poured syrup from a flat pan into bottles.
“What a pretty color,” Violet remarked. “Like my amber crayon, only it’s see-through.”
“Out,” Marie-Louise agreed, selecting a strip of preprinted labels that read CANADA #1, EXTRA LIGHT. “This grade and color is the most desirable. We were fortunate to make several high-quality batches this year.”
She screwed on metal caps, then set each bottle on its side on a shelf. The containers were spaced far apart.
“Shouldn’t we turn them upright?” Jessie asked. “And put them closer together?”
Marie-Louise shook her head. “The syrup is always poured hot into the containers. Placing each bottle on its side sterilizes the cap and neck. If the bottles are placed close together as they cool, the syrup has what we call ‘stack burn,’ an unpleasant aftertaste.”
Violet wiped her forehead. It was quite warm in the sugar hut. “I never knew there was so much to learn about making syrup.”
“We will have demonstrations at the festival tomorrow,” said Marie-Louise. “But you are learning the best way—by doing!”
While the girls pasted on labels, Marie-Louise left to get another pan of finished syrup.
Suddenly one of the workers, who was passing the small window, looked out. His mouth formed a shocked O.
“Zut
alors!” he cried. “L’homme qui habite dans la maison en arbre!”
Everyone except the Aldens stopped working and raced to the window. They all crowded around, pointing and remarking in rapid French.
Henry wanted to see what all the fuss was about, too, but then he noticed an unattended evaporator.
“Benny, nobody is watching that batch of syrup,” he said. “Grandfather is busy at his own evaporator. We’d better go over there.”
The evaporator consisted of a metal pan with a propane-fueled stove beneath.
Henry knew the pans had to be watched carefully. “The temperature can’t get too high or the whole batch will be ruined.”
Benny looked at the thermometer. “It says 215. How high is it supposed to go?”
“No higher than 218 degrees,” Henry said. The syrup was nearly ready. All the workers were still clustered at the window, talking to one another excitedly.
The mercury on the thermometer rose steadily: 216 … 217. Hot bubbles popped in the amber liquid. Another few seconds and the batch would be ruined!
How can we get the workers’ attention? Henry wondered.
Then Benny exclaimed, “Zut alors!”
Everyone at the window turned to stare at him.
“The syrup’s ready!” he said.
At once, three workers lurched across the room and removed the covered pan from the stove.
Marie-Louise came over with Jessie and Violet.
“I didn’t know you could speak French,” she said, teasing Benny.
“I just said what that man said,” Benny explained with a shrug. “But I don’t know what it means!”
The Aldens helped until noon. By then it was clear the workers would finish the run before the festival.
“See you tomorrow,” Marie-Louise said before they left. “Admission will be free. That is the least we can do, since you helped us so much. We are very grateful.”
It had stopped snowing. As Grandfather drove through the gate, the children saw a familiar figure in the guardhouse.
André Plessis.
When he saw the Aldens, he glanced away guiltily. Violet noticed something hanging out of his pocket. Since she was sitting up front with Grandfather, she decided to wait until they were at the cabin before mentioning it to the others.
“I wonder what that man said that made everyone run to look out the window,” said Henry as they drove out.
Jessie was already thumbing through her French-English dictionary. “I remember some of it. He said, ‘Man who lives in the house of the tree.’”
“What?” asked Benny.
“I think he was talking about a man who lives in a tree house,” Jessie replied.
Grandfather shook his head. “Whoever the man is, he certainly got the workers excited.”
Jessie exchanged a look with Henry. Grandfather was right. The man who lived in the tree house obviously knew something. They needed to find him and get some answers.
Maybe he was the key to the strange happenings at Broken Moon Pond.
The Anderson kids were waiting for the Aldens on the porch of the main cabin.
“Where have you been?” asked Patty.
Violet explained about their morning. Then she added, “André Plessis had a piece of green nylon rope hanging out of his pocket. I saw it. It was just like the one tied to the Orville boat!”
“I bet anything that André is our ‘ghost,’” Henry concluded.
“That’s probably why he looked so guilty today,” said Jessie. “He knows he isn’t fooling us.”
“We’ve found something, too!” said Aaron. “But we have to wear snowshoes.”
The children strapped on the snowshoes stacked on the porch. Trying to walk in the fluffy snow made them laugh until they got the hang of it.
“Here!” said Patty. “Look at these!”
Down by the pond, fresh footprints marked the snow. The tracks led into the woods, toward the tree house.
“I bet these prints take us right to the tree house!” said Jessie. “They must belong to the man who lives there.”
They set off into the trees. When they reached the clearing, Violet, who was in front, gave a cry.
At the base of the huge maple tree lay a crumpled figure.
CHAPTER 10
Benny’s Guess
Violet said, “That’s the man we saw in the square the other day!”
Henry was the first to reach him. The bearded man was lying on his side with one leg twisted beneath him. Henry checked the man’s breathing, then peered into his eyes.
“He’s conscious,” Henry concluded. Carefully, he straightened the man’s bent leg and felt his ankle.
When the man moaned, Jessie asked, “Is it broken?”
“Sprained, I think.”
The boys helped the man sit up.
“Do I feel foolish,” the man said, his teeth showing in a rueful grin through his beard. “I guess I’m not as young as I think!”
“Can you stand?” Henry asked him.
The big man struggled to his feet, then winced with pain. “Not very well.”
“He needs to get inside,” said Jessie. “His clothes are wet.”
“Violet, find some strong branches,” Henry said. He took off his scarf and wound it around the man’s ankle.
Violet returned with several sturdy branches. Henry chose two that were long enough to fit under the injured man’s arms.
With Henry and Aaron on either side of the man, the children snowshoed through the woods to Broken Moon Pond. When they led him up to the main cabin, the man nodded.
“I know my way, thank you,” he said.
He limped inside, with the Aldens and Andersons trailing, and sank into the nearest chair.
Grandfather turned from the stove. “I see we have a guest. I’m James Alden. And you are?”
“Orville,” Benny blurted.
Everyone stared at him.
“Orville?” repeated Jessie. “Where on earth did you get that name?” She knew the stranger hadn’t spoken a word during their trek through the woods.
The man laughed. “The lad is right. My name is Orville!”
“How did you know that?” Henry asked Benny.
Benny shrugged. “I just guessed. That was the name on the boat we found. I bet it’s the name on the owl page in the nature journal. And … he looks like an Orville.”
Grandfather smiled. “You made what is known as an educated guess. I can see you are injured, Orville. Benny, would you bring that stool over?”
Henry helped the man take off his wet jacket and boots. Violet draped one of the plaid wool blankets over his shoulders while Jessie fixed a pot of tea.
With his foot propped up, Orville sighed with relief. “Much better, thank you. I feel foolish falling out of my own tree house. But I suppose I shouldn’t have tried to climb that slippery ladder at my age.”
“You built the tree house!” Jessie exclaimed.
“I did indeed,” Orville replied. “My parents owned this camp. I became interested in nature when I was about Benny’s age.”
“You kept a notebook,” said Patty. “We’ve seen it.”
Orville sipped his tea. “That notebook was the start of my career. I’m a naturalist — a special kind of scientist. I still watch birds and animals, only now I take photographs.”
Grandfather snapped his fingers. “Now I remember where I’ve seen your name! You’re Orville Dupré—I’ve seen your work in many nature magazines.”
Orville nodded. “It’s an interesting life and I’m suited to it. I was a loner as a child. I preferred drifting on the pond in my boat or drawing in my notebook. I built the tree house to better observe wildlife.”
“That’s some tree house!” Henry said admiringly. “A person could live in it.”
“I did,” Orville said with a chuckle. “Not all the time, because I soon grew weary of eating canned beans.”
Benny had a thought. “You like owls, don’t you? That’s wh
y you carved an owl on the stick that makes the ladder come down.”
“I am fond of screech owls. Now perhaps you can answer a question for me. Where did you find my field notebook?” asked Orville.
“It was stuck in the dresser in the bedroom Violet and I are using,” replied Jessie. “We take it with us on our walks in the woods. Yesterday I left the notebook behind in the tree house. When we found it, somebody had torn a page out.”
“I did it,” Orville admitted. “I was looking through my journal when I accidentally ripped that page. I wondered how my notebook suddenly appeared in the tree house. Then when I came back today, it was gone again. I thought maybe I had dropped it off the catwalk. I was going out to look for it when I fell off the ladder.”
“I used to come here as a boy myself,” said Grandfather. “I don’t remember you, though.”
Orville chuckled again. “There were a lot of Dupré children. My cousins and I were forever running in and out of the cabins, hiking in the woods, swimming in the pond. I miss the camp. This is my first time back in years.”
“Why don’t you live here?” Benny asked. If he owned that neat tree house, he’d stay in it forever.
“My work takes me all over the world,” replied Orville. “I’m not in one spot for very long.”
Grandfather brought a pot of potato soup to the table. As he served everyone, he said, “I suppose that’s why you are selling Broken Moon Camp.”
Orville looked downcast. “I wish my cousins and I could keep the place. But they don’t come here anymore, and I need the money.”
“My parents would like to buy the camp,” Aaron told him. “We love it here.”
“Why, that’s wonderful!” Orville said. “I would be delighted to see Broken Moon Pond owned by caring people.”
“The Andersons have been discouraged from buying the camp,” Henry stated.
Orville looked surprised. “Discouraged? How?”
“The ghost boat, for one thing,” Jessie answered.
“Ghost boat?” Orville frowned in confusion.
Violet hastily explained. “It’s not really a ghost. At night, somebody pulled your old boat across the pond to make it look like a ghost was rowing it.”
“Then the boat disappeared,” said Jessie. “After we found it.”
The Mystery of the Screech Owl Page 5
