“Oh, I see it now.” Trina gave Missy an overly friendly smile as she patted her shirt pocket, giving Augustine a gentle reminder to be on her best behavior. “Then we’ll just have to be very patient and very quiet and do everything Miss Dale says, won’t we?”
“Yes, we will,” Missy said, copying Trina’s singsong voice.
When Miss Dale finally walked into the classroom, all attention turned to her right arm, which was wrapped in a bandage from the tips of her fingers to her elbow and held close to her body in a sling. “What happened to you?” Edward asked.
“I fell down my basement stairs last night and sprained my wrist.”
Ben raised his hand while he talked. “My dad says 77 percent of all accidents happen in the home.”
“He’s probably right, Ben. We should take it as a lesson to be careful.”
Looking around the room, Miss Dale caught Trina’s eye and smiled, which felt a lot better than a big “welcome back” in front of the whole class. “Everyone, please open your math books to the story problems on page forty-two.”
At the mention of the word story, Augustine crept to the top of Trina’s pocket and peered over its edge.
“Who would like to read story problem number three?” Miss Dale asked.
“I would!” Augustine shouted just as Missy raised her hand.
“You can’t read,” Trina scolded without thinking.
“Yes, I can!” Missy said, turning around in a huff.
Mortified, Trina shrank back in her chair, one hand clamped over her pocket.
Miss Dale smiled at Missy, but then she turned to Trina. “Would you like to read the question, Citrine?”
Trina sat up as properly as she could, trying to cover for Augustine’s outburst. “Yes, Miss Dale.”
“Yes, Miss Dale,” Charlotte mimicked behind Trina’s back in a voice so quiet Miss Dale couldn’t hear her, but that meant Miss Dale couldn’t do anything to help either.
Trina flipped open her math book and frantically scanned the page to find problem number three and read it out loud. “A farmer planted 850 acres of corn and 750 acres of beets. If 250 acres of beets died, how many successful acres did the farmer harvest?”
Augustine harrumphed loudly in Trina’s pocket, “What kind of a story is that?”
Again, Trina was so flustered she forgot to whisper. “It’s not a story, it’s a story problem.”
“It’s a story about a dead-beet farmer,” Edward said. “Get it?”
The class laughed at Edward’s joke, but Trina wanted to crawl under her desk and disappear. Augustine wasn’t making things better; she was making them worse. Trina coughed once. Then she coughed again. Pretending she couldn’t stop coughing, she raised her hand. “May I get a drink, Miss Dale?”
As soon as they were alone in the hallway, Trina pulled Augustine from her pocket. “Augustine, I told you. You have to be quiet.”
“But I feel put away in your pocket and time is fleeting, and I do not like these stories of farmers and numbers and vegetables. Furthermore, I want to see the witch.”
“The witch sits behind me. She has a pink angel clipped in her hair and her name is Charlotte. Now can you please be patient?”
“I will try, Citrine, but do tell me. Is Miss Dale the Queen or Snow White? For she is very beautiful.”
“She is the queen of the classroom. But she’s young, so she’s more like a princess than a queen.”
“Ah, then she is Snow White. She is the fairest in all the land. She, too, is waiting for her prince.”
Trina rolled her eyes. “We have to go back to the classroom, Augustine. Promise me you’ll be as quiet as a mouse.”
“All right,” sighed the little doll. “But mice are not very quiet.”
Augustine behaved through the rest of Math. Geography, too. She was even a little sleepy when Miss Dale read to them about the famous art masterpiece, the Mona Lisa, painted by Leonardo Da Vinci. It was on display in the Louvre in Paris, France. Trina’s mind wandered, wondering if her mother had been to the Louvre when she lived in Paris. And then her stomach clenched when Miss Dale said it was time for “One-Minute Me.”
“Please move forward and fill in the empty desks so you can hear better,” Miss Dale said. She looked at her list as everyone shuffled forward and took a different seat. “We’re down to Charlotte, Edward, and . . . Citrine. Who’d like to go first?”
Edward waved his hand in the air.
“Great, Edward. We’ll start with you.”
Edward retrieved a small aquarium from under his desk and carried it to the front of the room. He removed its screened lid and took out a warty bullfrog about the size of a softball.
“You brought a stupid frog?”
Charlotte had barely uttered the word “frog” when Augustine peeked out from Trina’s pocket and shouted excitedly, “A frog?”
“Shh!” Trina said loudly, putting her finger to her lips.
“I can talk if I want to,” Charlotte said.
Great. Charlotte thought Trina was telling her to be quiet.
But Charlotte wasn’t quiet, of course. “I want to know what’s so special about a frog anyway. The world has millions of them.”
“Charlotte,” Miss Dale said. “Consider this your first warning.”
Meanwhile Augustine had her hands on the top edge of Trina’s pocket, trying to climb out, so Trina had to pinch her pocket shut.
“Go on, Edward,” Miss Dale said.
“I found this frog near the creek that runs through our farm. He’s an amphibian and he’s special because Miss Dale said he gets to be our class mascot. If we take good care of him, he should live for seven to nine years.” Edward rocked from one foot to the other. “And he’s important to me because . . . because me and my dad caught him when we went fishing. He’s a very special frog.”
“My dad and I,” Miss Dale corrected. “And what else?”
“Oh, yeah. Miss Dale said we get to name him.”
“How about Fred?” Ben said.
“Or Buddy?” Charlotte said.
“Is that frog my prince?” Augustine asked in a muffled voice.
“Your prince?” Trina exclaimed, shaking her head at Augustine in amusement before she realized that everyone was looking at her and she had forgotten to whisper. “Prince,” she said again, feigning a look of love. “I just love that name, Prince.”
“All those in favor of naming the frog Prince, raise your hands.” Trina watched as Miss Dale counted the hands in the air. Every hand but Charlotte’s. “We have a majority. Our new class mascot is Prince, the frog.”
“Prince!” Augustine shouted as she leaped from Trina’s pocket and clattered onto her desktop.
“Oh, no!” Trina shouted.
Everyone stared at Trina.
“Never mind,” Trina said, her heart thumping. She glanced at her desk. The doll was face down, motionless, with one arm sticking up in the air.
Before Trina had a chance to hide Augustine, Miss Dale stepped close to Trina’s desk. “Is that what you brought to share, Citrine?” Miss Dale asked, leaning toward Trina for a better look at the doll.
Trina thought fast. “Um, yes. It’s a doll I found in the playroom at Goldenrod. A doll left behind by the Roy family.”
The classroom was instantly silent, frightened by the mere mention of Goldenrod.
“I’m sure everyone would like to hear about her. Why don’t you go next,” Miss Dale said.
Trina scooped up Augustine and took her place in front of the class next to Miss Dale’s desk. She had planned to tell about her mother’s adventures and hot-air balloons and penguins, not a talking doll. She took a deep breath. Please be quiet, Augustine, she wished, slowly opening her trembling fingers. Augustine lay perfectly still and then her eyes opened. Trina jumped, but the doll didn’t make a sound. She just winked her little eye once, which made Trina’s stage fright disappear. Besides, she knew Augustine would love being the center of attention.
&
nbsp; Trina hooked her fingers under the doll’s arms and held her up for the class to see. “She has a dollhouse, too. It’s an exact replica of the carriage house that used to be on the grounds of Goldenrod.”
“May we all see her?” Miss Dale asked.
Trina nodded and handed Augustine to Miss Dale. “Don’t worry,” Trina said, noticing that Miss Dale’s good hand was shaking nervously. “She’s an antique, but she’s pretty sturdy.”
Miss Dale examined Augustine as if she were a fine diamond. “She’s a French doll, isn’t she?” she said, passing the doll to Missy, who tried to hand it to Edward, but he was still holding the wriggly frog, so Missy quickly gave Augustine to Ben.
“She’s from Paris, France,” Trina said, smiling proudly until she saw Augustine land in Charlotte’s big hands.
Charlotte made a snooty face. “She’s French, all right. Look.” Charlotte lifted up Augustine’s dress and sang, “I see London, I see France . . .”
Everyone laughed except for Trina, who closed her eyes, embarrassed for Augustine.
“Charlotte,” Miss Dale said sternly. “This is your second warning. Please be respectful.”
“It’s a stupid doll,” Charlotte sneered.
“That’s enough,” Miss Dale said. “And your last chance. Please see me after school.” She took the doll from Charlotte and handed her back to Trina.
Trina was relieved to have the doll back in her hands and gently smoothed Augustine’s ruffled hair and crumpled dress.
“Can you tell us why the doll is important in your life, Citrine?” asked Miss Dale.
Trina’s mind went numb. She couldn’t tell the class the doll could talk. And she couldn’t tell them Augustine was the only friend she had in the whole world, or about how scared she was when she nearly lost her in the garden—and then again in the attic. And no way could she tell them how she tucked Augustine into bed at night and read her fairy tales.
Her minute had to be up. She looked at the clock, hoping she could sit down, when Miss Dale said, “Or maybe you’d just like to tell us a little more about living at Goldenrod.”
Talking about Goldenrod wasn’t any easier. “Daisies and chrysanthemums still come up in the yard,” Trina said without thinking. “The same ones your great-grandparents planted, Miss Dale.”
“Yeah, right,” Charlotte said. “Like flowers live for a hundred years.”
The whole class giggled, but Miss Dale said seriously, “Sometimes they do, Charlotte. Many species reseed themselves. It’s quite amazing how such small things can take root and survive.” Her tone made the class stop laughing, although Trina heard Charlotte give a little snort under her breath. “Is there anything else you want to say, Citrine?”
Yes, there was. Trina wanted to say something to put Charlotte in her place. In fact, Augustine’s idea of revenge was sounding better and better. If only she could tell Charlotte she and Augustine had a plan . . . whatever it was. And then she had an idea. “There is an old legend, but I’m sure everyone knows it.”
A hush fell over the entire classroom until Edward spoke up. “Nuh-uh. Tell it.”
Trina leaned against the edge of Miss Dale’s desk and spoke in a deep and scary whisper. “A hundred years ago, a little girl named Annie Roy lived at Goldenrod. She was the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Harlan M. Roy, who built the mansion. She played with this doll.” Trina held up Augustine so everyone could see her again, and Augustine could see her classmates, and then she put her back in her pocket for safekeeping. “But she died in the great Iowa diphtheria epidemic.”
“So what?” Charlotte said. “Who cares about someone who died a hundred years ago?”
“Charlotte. One more outburst and you’ll be meeting with Miss Lincoln,” Miss Dale said.
Trina ignored Charlotte’s glare and kept going with her story. “Mr. Kinghorn says that some kids started the Dare Club when Mr. Roy died. They broke into the house and tried to steal things. And everyone who went into the house uninvited had a spell cast upon them and was showered with bad luck.” Trina paused, thinking about that word uninvited. Maybe that was the difference. She and her dad had been invited. Maybe that was why Goldenrod was trying to tell her something instead of trying to scare her away.
“And?” Ben said, urging her on.
“And the ones who actually stole something have had the worst luck of all.”
“What kinds of things?” Missy asked with a quiver in her voice.
“Everything,” Trina said. “Mr. Hank had the old dining room table. He didn’t even steal it—his brother did. And then his business went downhill. He brought the table back the night of the big storm.”
“I grew up with a lot of these stories,” said Miss Dale. “You can’t believe everything you hear.”
Edward waved his hand in the air. “But Mith Dale, ith true. My dad thays Mither Hank hath had bad luck for yearth.”
Miss Dale walked across the room, picked up the wastebasket, and held it out to Edward. “Edward. Gum.”
“I’ll thwallow it in-thead.” Edward swallowed with an exaggerated gulp and swished his tongue from side to side to prove his mouth was empty. “See?”
“Hey, Citrine, why don’t you tell us something we don’t know,” Charlotte said.
“Charlotte,” Miss Dale said. “That’s it. You’ll be talking to Miss Lincoln after school.”
“Well,” Trina began again, fighting a grin as Charlotte’s face contorted. “Very mysterious things happen in the house. Lights turn on and off by themselves. Strange noises fill the air. And steam comes out of the radiators like heavy breaths.” She lowered her voice again. “Sometimes, at night, it sounds as if someone walks the halls.”
“It’s a ghost,” said Ben. “I knew it.”
Missy and the other kids gasped, but Charlotte held her eyes on Trina and didn’t show an ounce of emotion. “Like a house would know if you took something.”
“What if Annie Roy knew you took something?” Ben said.
“So what?” Charlotte said. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”
“Your grandma does,” Edward said.
“Doesn’t mean I do,” Charlotte shot back. “It’s all hogwash.”
It was all hogwash unless you’d been in the house, Trina was thinking. And then she had another idea. She stared into Charlotte’s mean, unblinking green eyes. “Have you ever been in the house?”
“Of course not,” Charlotte said. “That would be trespassing.”
Trina’s trap had worked. “Then how would you know?” Trina said. “Only the people who are brave enough to enter Goldenrod know for sure.”
“Good one,” Edward said. Most of the kids dared to laugh, which made Trina feel as if the bases had been loaded against her and she’d just forced out the runner at home plate.
Charlotte made a mean face at Trina first, and then at Edward.
“Thank you, Citrine,” Miss Dale said. “Charlotte, you’re next.”
“I saved the best for last, as usual,” Charlotte said, carrying a large bakery box to the front of the room. She lifted the top to reveal squares of chocolate topped with gooey caramel. “Monster brownies from my grandmother’s diner!” When the whole class oohed and ahhed, Charlotte reveled in the attention.
“And why are monster brownies important in your life?” Miss Dale asked.
“They are important because I helped my grandmother make them. And my grandmother is special because I have lived with her ever since my mother died.”
As much as Trina didn’t like Charlotte, she felt sorry for her. It didn’t matter if Miss Kitty made delicious brownies if she was the meanest grandmother in the world.
“Can we eat them now?” Edward asked, climbing on top of his desk with Prince in his hands for an aerial view of the brownies.
Miss Dale frowned as she shook her head. “No, you may not. But you may take them to lunch with you. Edward, please get down. And put Prince away.”
Edward jumped down from his desk as Charlot
te picked up a stack of white paper napkins and handed out brownies as big as hands. “I get two,” Edward announced. “One for me,” he said, sneaking a big bite of brownie, “and one for Prinsh.” And then he plunged the frog nose-first into the bakery box.
“Ee-ew!” Charlotte screamed, pushing Edward out of the way. Edward lost his balance and the frog flew from his hands and landed on Missy’s shoulder. Missy screamed and ran across the room. The frog fell to the floor. Edward hollered. Missy screamed again. Everyone scrambled, first in one direction and then in another, as the frog leaped, landed, and leaped again.
“Dohn shep on Prinsh!” Edward yelled with his mouth full of brownie, and everyone stopped in their places.
Except for the frog.
In a grand leap, Prince landed at Trina’s feet.
“Grab him!” Edward yelled.
Trina lunged to pick up the frog and nearly bumped heads with Charlotte, whose long fingers were closing in on Prince like claws. “I’ve got him!” Charlotte shouted, grasping one loose frog leg, but Trina already had the bulk of the frog in her hands. She was all set to stand up and announce her victory when Augustine slipped from her pocket and landed on Charlotte’s foot.
Trina stood stock still with Prince in her hands. She knew she had to pick up Augustine so no one would step on her, but she didn’t want Charlotte to end up with the frog.
“On second thought,” Charlotte whispered with a gleam in her eye, “I’d rather have this.” Before Trina could react, Charlotte bent toward the floor and clamped her hand around the fragile doll. Trina gulped.
Miss Dale blew her whistle. “Please get your lunches and line up at the door. And Citrine,” Miss Dale called to her from the doorway, “would you please help Edward put Prince back where he belongs?”
Trina didn’t know what to do. She wished she could tell Miss Dale what was really happening, but she knew better than to tattle on Charlotte. Her only choice was to leave Augustine behind and carry the frog to his aquarium. As soon as Trina had placed Prince on a pile of leaves and grass, Edward set the screen on top. When Trina turned around, Charlotte was at her desk, zipping up her backpack. She had her lunch in hand, but there was no sign of Augustine.
The Secret of Goldenrod Page 15
