Afterward, Miss Dale pointed the way to her house. They wound through the back streets of New Royal, under a canopy of trees just beginning to turn color, and arrived at a white cottage with blue shutters and yellow window boxes, which were overflowing with pink flowers. A white picket fence bordered the yard and a brick sidewalk led to a quaint front porch.
“Here we are,” Miss Dale said.
When they got out of the truck, Trina’s dad grabbed the box of tin cans. But when he set it down and opened the screen door for Miss Dale, the door came off its hinges. Trina cringed, embarrassed for her dad, who turned a million shades of red.
“I usually go in the back,” Miss Dale said. Her cheeks were turning pink too.
He leaned the door against a window box. “Lucky for you, I know how to fix it,” he said in his know-it-all voice, which made Trina feel even more embarrassed.
“Where do you want these?” he asked, pointing at the box of cans.
“In the garage, if it isn’t too much trouble.”
“See you later, Poppo,” Trina said.
“Give us about two hours,” Miss Dale said.
Trina followed Miss Dale into her cozy house, through the living room and dining room and into a tiny sewing room. Rolls and rolls of material leaned against the walls—crunchy fabrics and shiny gold ones and silky blues. Ribbons hung on a wire suspended from the ceiling and a glass bowl of many-colored buttons looked like it was full of candy. The sewing machine sat on a table, which was piled high with pillow stuffing. The mess reminded her of Mr. Hank’s hardware store. And just like Mr. Hank, Miss Dale knew where everything was.
“Halloween is my favorite holiday,” Miss Dale said, opening a closet in the room, “so I have a lot of costumes.” The closet was jammed full of costumes. “Maybe we’ll find something for you here.” Miss Dale pulled out what looked like a big red balloon. “It’s a tomato,” she said.
“But we’re supposed to dress as a character from a book. Or a movie,” Trina said, trying to be polite.
“I know,” Miss Dale said. “No tomatoes.” She pushed some more costumes aside. “Ah, here it is. Sleeping Beauty.” She pulled from the closet a blue gown with puffy sleeves and a layer of silky fabric over layers and layers of crunchy fabric. “Maybe we can take this in to fit you.”
The dress was perfect for Briar Rose. But as much as Trina wanted to try wearing a dress, the frills and ruffles were too much. And it would be impossible to sit down in. Trina shook her head. “It’s a little too fancy for me. Maybe I should go as someone else.”
Miss Dale pulled out a Snow White dress followed by a Pinocchio costume, but Trina shook her head again. For all the fairy tales she had read to Augustine, she couldn’t think of a single fairy-tale character she wanted to be. Snow White was too nice. Cinderella was too prissy. She didn’t want to wear something that made her feel silly.
The next costume Miss Dale selected was a pioneer dress, something Laura Ingalls Wilder would wear. Another one looked like a Pilgrim dress, and a green tunic was perfect for Robin Hood, but Trina kept shaking her head.
Then Trina spotted something black and had a whole new idea. “How about that one?” she said.
Miss Dale pulled it from the closet and held it up. It was a cape, just as she had hoped, but it was way too long. Maybe Miss Dale would help her shorten it.
“This is a witch’s cloak,” said Miss Dale, looking a little puzzled. “Are you sure you don’t want something more cheerful?”
“Nope,” Trina said. “I want to be Hermione Granger from Harry Potter.”
Miss Dale nodded instant approval. “She’s the perfect heroine. She works magic to make things better. And she’s brave. All you need is a white shirt and tie—can you borrow those from your dad?”
“My dad?” Trina had never seen her dad wear anything but blue jeans and work boots. She shook her head, pretty sure he didn’t even own a tie.
Miss Dale didn’t miss a beat. “That’s no problem. I’ll lend you a shirt and a skirt too, and we’ll make a tie. How about that? And then we’ll raise the hem on this cape about six inches. And you can make a wand when you get home.”
Miss Dale opened a cabinet full of spools of thread and selected a black one. Then she picked up a small wicker basket and sat Trina at her dining room table. “This is really my favorite place to sew,” she said. “The light is better.”
The basket held rulers and scissors and needles and pins. Miss Dale showed Trina how to fold the hem up six inches and pin it in place. “I’m still a little clumsy,” she said, wiggling the fingers of her bandaged arm. “Maybe you can thread the needle.” Trina made several stabs at the tiny eye and finally succeeded. Then, leaning over Trina, Miss Dale showed her how to catch just a few threads of fabric to make invisible stitches.
Miss Dale sat down and measured one long section of gold fabric and another one of maroon fabric for Hermione’s tie. Then she measured again. “Measure twice, cut once,” she said. While Trina watched, she cut, folded, ironed, and pinned, and then she disappeared into her sewing room for a few minutes. When the hum of the sewing machine stopped, Miss Dale emerged with a perfectly knotted striped tie complete with an elastic band to go around Trina’s neck and a snap to hold it tight. Together they sat at the dining room table, chatting, while Trina hemmed her cloak.
“Maybe now I can make curtains for the dollhouse,” Trina said.
Miss Dale looked up, bright-eyed. “That’s right.” She held her good hand out to Trina, ready to shake hands. “I tell you what,” Miss Dale said. “I’ll send you home with some fabric scraps for curtains if you show me the dollhouse sometime.”
“It’s a deal,” Trina said, shaking her hand.
Trina stood up and put on the cloak. Then Miss Dale popped a pointy witch’s hat on her head, and together they snapped Trina’s tie in place. “Go take a look in the mirror by the front door,” Miss Dale said. “I’ll clean up.”
The front door was wide open, and Trina forgot all about looking at herself in the mirror when she spotted her dad’s truck still sitting in front of Miss Dale’s house. She opened the screen door, which didn’t fall off its hinges, as her dad came around the corner.
“Poppo! What are you still doing here?”
He gave her a funny look and then he waved his screwdriver in the air. “Well, Miss Hermione Granger, so far I’ve fixed the screen door, the back railing, and the garage door—with my own two hands, mind you, not magic. By the way, have you seen my daughter anywhere?”
Miss Dale came up behind Trina and opened and shut the screen door. “It’s perfect. And it doesn’t even squeak anymore,” she said. “Now I can use my front door again. Thank you.”
“Still got a fence to look into out back. Already got the wood for it from Hank’s.”
“Thank you again,” Miss Dale said. “It went down in the storm last night. I didn’t think it was fixable.”
Trina waited for her dad to say something in his know-it-all voice, but fortunately all he said was, “I’m happy to help.”
The sun was so low, it had to be late afternoon. No wonder Trina was starving. “Oh, Poppo, what about the pizzas and the ice cream?”
His face fell as he remembered. “I suppose the ice cream’s all melted by now.”
“Nothing to worry about,” Miss Dale said, heading down the sidewalk to the truck. “We’ll bake the pizzas for dinner and make raspberry smoothies out of the ice cream for dessert. You can stay, can’t you?”
“Yes!” said Trina and her dad at the same time.
After dinner, Trina helped Miss Dale pick raspberries from her garden. Soon Trina was slurping her second raspberry-chocolate smoothie while she and Miss Dale watched her dad repair the fence.
When it was starting to get dark out and time to go home, Miss Dale gave Trina two grocery bags. One held her Hermione Granger costume and the other bag was full of fabric scraps, ribbons, and lace. “I’m sure you’ll find what you need for your dollhouse curta
ins in there. Needles and thread, too.”
Trina wanted to hug Miss Dale but didn’t know if fifth graders hugged their teachers. Instead she said thank you as heartily as she could. As she and her dad got into the truck, all three waved good-bye. But Trina turned in her seat and she and Miss Dale continued to wave until they couldn’t see each other anymore.
With the truck windows wide open, Trina and her dad sang along to a golden-oldies tune that faded in and out until the radio turned to the usual static and her dad shut it off. In the distance, Trina could see a few dots of light like oversized lightning bugs. It had to be Goldenrod. “Look, Poppo, I didn’t know you could see her from here.”
“I didn’t either. I must have left some lights on.”
Despite all the comings and goings lately, Trina thought Goldenrod still looked forlorn sitting all by herself in the field. “What if no one comes to our party? I think Goldenrod’s feelings will be hurt,” Trina said.
“You really think a house would have its feelings hurt?”
Trina didn’t think—she knew. But she figured her dad would laugh at her if she said so, so she said the one thing that would keep him from asking any more questions. “It’s a girl thing, Poppo.”
Her dad was quiet until they slowed at the red barn to turn right onto the muddy road that led to Goldenrod. “I know of at least two people who will be coming to your party.”
Trina sighed. “Yeah. You and me.”
“What about your friends?”
“That won’t be much of a party,” Trina said.
“What about Miss Dale? She says she’s coming and she has the perfect costume for me. How does that sound?”
As they bounced over first one big rut and then the other, Trina imagined her dad dressed as a big red tomato and started to giggle. “Depends on the costume,” she said. She was still laughing at her own joke when they pulled through the gate and parked next to the huge pile of wood her dad had chopped and stacked—and he still had the enormous trunk left to go.
“I sure miss the tree,” she said.
“I do too,” he said. “But I’m thinking, before we go, I’ll make a big table or a bookcase from it. That way we’ll always have a souvenir of our time at Goldenrod.”
Trina loved the idea of making furniture from the big old oak tree. And it made sense to have a really big souvenir from the biggest place they ever lived. Of course, the only souvenir Trina really wanted was Augustine, but she knew that Augustine belonged to Goldenrod.
Augustine! She had so much to tell her and so little time before the sun would set. She grabbed the grocery bags and ran up the steps to the porch, nearly tripping over another special delivery of stolen goods. This time, a tall pink vase with a swirl of raised yellow flowers and a copper lamp with a stained glass shade sat right by the front door. “Can you get these, Poppo? I’m in a hurry,” she called, and then she ran up the stairs to her room.
“Augustine,” she said, putting the bags down and peering into Augustine’s bedroom. Augustine wasn’t there. For a second, Trina was scared the little doll had wandered off on her own adventure after all, but then she spotted her sitting on her pony. “I’m glad you’re still up.”
“Citrine, where have you been? I have waited and waited for you to come home and put me to bed. I cannot climb down from this pony by myself and I am quite stiff from sitting so very long in one position. I dread the long walk up the staircase and I have grown weary of doing everything myself.”
“I’m sorry, Augustine, I didn’t know we’d be home so late. But I had the best day ever.” Trina knew she was responsible for all of Augustine’s woes, but she also knew how to cheer her up. “And I have a surprise for you.”
Augustine smiled. “A surprise?”
Trina pulled a lacy fabric from the bag and waved it in the air. “Look. Now I can make new curtains for your house.” She spotted a little sewing ruler in the bag and immediately pulled it out and measured the windows in Augustine’s bedroom, and then she measured the mother and father dolls’ windows, too. “All exactly two inches by five inches. And guess what? My father said Miss Dale is definitely coming to the party. And I’m sure Edward and Charlotte will come too, and maybe Miss Kitty, even though she says she won’t. So that makes six people!” As she spoke, she lifted the little doll from her pony and helped her change into her nightgown.
Augustine climbed awkwardly into bed and leaned back against her pillow. “Tell me again, when is the party?”
“Two weeks from today,” Trina said, pulling the quilt to Augustine’s chin.
“I cannot wait to hear all the stories of this grand party.”
Grand party. Trina hoped it would be a grand party. She hoped everyone in town would come. Most of all, she hoped her mother would come. And then she understood what Augustine had just said. “Augustine, don’t be so silly. I’ll bring you to the party with me. You can wear a costume and pretend to be someone from one of your favorite stories.”
“Tell me, Citrine. Who should I pretend to be?”
Trina glanced into the bag of scraps at a piece of shimmering, silky blue fabric and gave Augustine a wink. “I have the perfect costume in mind for you.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Ever since Trina, Edward, and Charlotte made the posters, Trina felt like she belonged in New Royal, which meant almost a whole week of belonging. The occasional people on the street recognized her dad’s truck and waved to them on their way to school. And when Trina raised her hand in class and answered questions, no one whispered or made funny faces. Prissy Missy even picked Trina to be her partner on a geography project.
Miss Lincoln was as cantankerous as ever, and Miss Kitty was pretty much her same old self, but Charlotte was almost nice. And the townspeople seemed to know at least two things about Trina that were kind of like secrets: her mom and dad were divorced, and she liked softball.
It was Edward’s idea to combine forces with the fourth and sixth grade classes and create a league of two coed softball teams. Miss Dale said she would help with a fundraiser to buy team T-shirts and caps, so Trina, Charlotte, and Edward headed to the diner Friday after school for a milkshake meeting to come up with names for the teams.
“I’ve got one,” Edward said as they squeezed into a booth. “The Goldenrod Ghosts.”
“Ooo,” Charlotte said excitedly. Trina had the same reaction and wrote it down.
“I don’t know about that,” Miss Kitty said, carrying three chocolate milkshakes to their table. “If I’m going to sponsor a team, I think I should have a say in the name. ‘Cat’s Meow something’ sounds good to me.”
They were quiet for a moment until Edward said, “How about the Diner Dogs for the other team? Get it? Dogs chase cats.”
Trina and Charlotte just looked at each other until they burst out laughing.
“How about the Corn Cats?” Charlotte said.
“Definite possibilities,” Trina said. She was thinking back to naming Augustine. “But I think Miss Kitty is right. The team names should have meaning.”
“The New Royal Raiders versus the Ferocious Felines,” Edward said.
“Now we’re onto something,” Trina said, nodding approval and writing down the names. Edward bobbed his head smugly. They brainstormed, laughing and sipping milkshakes, until it was time to go home.
The next day was Saturday. Exactly one week until the party. Trina had stayed up late and had hoped to sleep in, but instead she was awakened when it was still dark by the sound of engines groaning through the cornfields. She figured they were more combines harvesting more corn, but the engines got closer and closer until she knew they had come through the gate. She got out of bed, opened her window, and leaned far enough into the cool morning air to glimpse the star of a county sheriff’s car as it rounded the side of the house. She pulled on a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and her Minnesota Twins baseball cap and ran downstairs into the dining room to see what was happening.
The French doors were open,
swinging slightly in a breeze, and Poppo was outside sipping coffee from one of the blue cups, nodding seriously while a stout bald man in a suit waved his hands in the air as he talked. Wisps of breath visible in the chilly air swirled between them.
The sheriff’s car had stopped behind a large truck and a black hearse, which were already parked in the East Garden, motors running, headlights aimed toward the apple orchard in the morning mist. Two men, hulking shadows in the gray light, got out of the truck and walked up to the sheriff’s car. Then they walked back to the truck and grabbed two shovels.
They had come for Annie Roy.
When the workmen drove their shovels into the dirt, Trina shivered and rubbed her arms.
“Sorry it’s so early,” her dad said, stepping inside. “Turns out we needed a permit. I couldn’t reschedule the septic company, so I had to lean on Mr. Shegstad for emergency help to get it done on schedule.” He sipped his coffee and looked toward the garden. “Mr. Shegstad arrived with the burial permit and signatures in the nick of time.”
Trina sat down on the stoop and watched the men shovel the earth into two piles as they dug up the graves: Annie Roy’s and her beloved dog Toby’s. Poppo, Mr. Shegstad, and the sheriff watched, too. Nobody said a word. The soft thud of a shovel striking wood broke the silence and the workers put down their shovels. One of the workmen climbed into the shallow hole and handed up a small, plain wooden box the size of her dad’s toolbox. It had to be Toby. The other workman slid it into the hearse.
The men worked side by side on the other hole and eventually put down their shovels. Together they lifted out a casket—a white casket not much bigger than Toby’s. Annie, who had been Augustine’s little girl a hundred years ago, was still a little girl.
Trina could feel Goldenrod’s relief that Annie would be safe now, but she also felt her deep grief at letting Annie go. Goldenrod had watched over Annie for more than a century. Saying good-bye to her, even if it meant Annie would be reunited with her parents, was breaking her heart. Annie wouldn’t be lonely anymore, but what would Goldenrod do without her?
The Secret of Goldenrod Page 23
