“It’s a directory of people who lived in Stoneybrook back then,” I said. “Arranged by name.”
“Look up Thomas,” urged David Michael. “Maybe we have some famous ancestors.”
I turned some pages, looking for the T’s. When I found them, I ran my finger down the list. Then suddenly, my finger stopped. “Whoa!” I said, looking at one of the entries.
“That’s spooky,” said David Michael, who had seen it, too.
“Her name’s almost like yours,” said Karen, who was leaning over to read along with us.
All three of us were staring at this entry: “Christina Thomas. Born September 7, 1845. Date of death unknown. Daughter of Rachel and John Thomas (both d. 1861) of Squirelot. Disappeared January 1863, under mysterious circumstances.”
“Oooh,” said Karen, drawing in a breath. “She disappeared?”
“I wonder if she’s our ancestor,” said David Michael.
Christina Thomas. Her name really was a lot like mine. A chill ran down my spine, and suddenly I had this wonderful feeling. Cabin fever? Forget about it. I had a mystery to solve.
“Any other new business?” I asked, hoping very much that there wasn’t. I gazed around Claudia’s room at my friends. It was Friday, at five-forty-five, and we were in the middle of a BSC meeting. I couldn’t wait to tell my friends about the mystery I’d come across the day before, but I had to. Wait, that is. Why? Well, because I sort of have this rule for BSC meetings: Club business always comes first. If members have other things they want to talk about after we’ve taken care of club business, that’s fine. But they have to wait.
It’s a good rule. It really is. But this one time I hated the fact that, as president, I absolutely had to follow it. I was dying to spill my news. I hadn’t even told Mary Anne yet. I was waiting until I could tell everybody at once. Waiting, and waiting, and waiting. I was starting to wish I’d never made up that stupid rule about BSC business.
Usually there isn’t much business to take care of, but wouldn’t you know it? At this meeting, there was a ton. It seemed as though everybody had a client they needed advice about, or a problem with scheduling, or a report to make. Like Jessi’s.
“I wanted to report on my plant-sitting job,” she said. (This was after we’d gone through all the other club business, answered three phone calls, and assigned the jobs. I was dying.)
“I think I must have whatever the opposite of a green thumb is,” Jessi was saying. “I’ve only been taking care of Mrs. Dodson’s plants for a few days, and already some of them are beginning to droop. A couple of them look wilted, too. And I keep having to pick yellow leaves off one of them.”
“Maybe they always look like that,” Stacey suggested.
Jessi shook her head. “I wish,” she said. “Unfortunately, they don’t. Mrs. Dodson is really, really good with plants. When she first showed me around, I couldn’t believe how healthy they all looked. The plants in our house only look that good on the first day we bring them home!”
“Same here,” Mal put in, laughing. She gave Jessi a sympathetic look.
“Did Mrs. Dodson leave you instructions?” Mary Anne asked Jessi.
“Three pages worth. She has all these routines for each plant. She puts a lot of energy into caring for those things. It’s like they were pets or children, or something.”
“Well, is there anything in the instructions that might help?” Claudia asked.
Shaking her head, Jessi said, “I’ve read them over and over again until I’ve practically memorized them. And I’m following them to the letter. But nothing seems to help.”
I was still eager to talk about my mystery, but I have to admit I was a little distracted by Jessi’s problem. “If Mrs. Dodson comes home and finds her plants dead, that’s not going to look too good for the BSC,” I said. I was imagining Mrs. Dodson telling everybody she knows that the BSC members are plant-killers. I hate the thought of anybody spreading negative information about us. We could start losing clients.
“We should find somebody who knows about plants, so we can ask him,” Dawn said. “But who?”
We were quiet for a minute. Then Mal sat up straight. “I know!” she said. “What about the arboretum? There must be somebody there who could help.”
“Arboretum?” I asked. “Isn’t that one of those places where they keep plant specimens? I didn’t know there even was one around here.”
“I didn’t know, either,” said Mal, “but my sister’s class just went there on a field trip. It’s right on the outskirts of town. It’s a small place, but Vanessa said the woman who runs it is really friendly. I bet she’ll help.”
“Great!” said Jessi. She looked relieved. “I’ll try to go there this weekend.”
“Okay,” I said. “That’s all taken care of. Any other new business?” By that time our meeting was almost over, and I still hadn’t had a chance to tell everybody about Christina Thomas.
My friends shook their heads. “Good,” I said. “There’s something I want —”
“Ooh, ooh, I forgot,” said Claudia, waving her hand. “I do have some new business.” She dug around under her pillow (one of her favorite junk food hiding places) and pulled out a cellophane bag. “These are new,” she said, holding the bag up. “Cocoa Blinkens. Has anybody tried them yet? They’re terrific.”
“Um, Claud, I don’t exactly think a new kind of candy is club business,” I pointed out.
She looked deflated. “Does that mean you don’t want to try one?” she asked, holding out the bag hopefully.
“Well …” I said. “Just this once.” I grinned as I stuck my hand into the bag and pulled out a couple of candies. Claud passed the bag to the others, and everyone except Dawn and Stacey took a few.
“You’re right, Claud. These are great,” I said. “And now, I have something I want to discuss.”
“But, Kristy,” Mary Anne began.
“But nothing,” I snapped. “I’ve waited patiently all this time, and now it’s my turn.”
I was ready to go on, but Mary Anne looked so hurt I gave in.
“Okay, Mary Anne, what is it?” I asked.
She didn’t say anything. Instead, she just pointed to the clock on Claud’s nightstand. It was six o’clock. Our meeting was over.
“I can’t believe it!” I said. “Now I’ll never have the chance to tell you guys about the mystery I stumbled across.”
“Mystery?” Mal asked, looking interested.
“Really? A mystery?” asked Dawn. “We don’t mind staying a few minutes later. Do we, guys?”
“Mind? Are you kidding? Tell us everything,” said Claudia, leaning forward to listen.
Everybody in the BSC loves mysteries.
“Well, okay. But first, there’s one thing I have to do,” I said, teasing them a little. It’s always fun to have an audience in the palm of your hand.
“What?” Stacey asked impatiently.
“Adjourn the meeting!” I said, giggling.
Claudia threw a pillow at me. “So adjourn it, already.”
“Okay, this meeting is hereby adjourned,” I said in a rush. “Now, on to the important stuff —”
* * *
The next day, I began my research. Telling my friends about Christina had only made me more excited about exploring the mystery of who she was, why she had disappeared, and whether she was related to me. Together, we’d decided that the next step would be to do some fact-finding at the Stoneybrook Public Library.
As it turned out, I was the only BSC member who didn’t have a sitting job that Saturday morning. (Actually, Stacey didn’t have a job, either. She had plans to spend the day with Robert.) I was at the library all by myself. I missed my friends, especially Claud, who is great at using microfilm.
Mrs. Kishi (Claudia’s mom, who is head librarian) wasn’t at work that morning, but there was a really helpful assistant librarian on duty, and he set me up with the microfilm for old issues of the Stoneybrook News, which was where my frie
nds and I had decided I should start my research. The library has the newspaper on microfilm going back all the way to 1820, so I knew that if I looked carefully, I should be able to find some information about the Thomas family.
My friends thought my find in the Stoneybrooke Town Record was a great one. They were as curious as I was about Christina, and they promised to help me look into the mystery as soon as they had some time. But not that morning.
It took me a while to figure out how to use the index of the newspaper. Then, when I started looking through the actual articles, I kept getting distracted by interesting stuff about historical Stoneybrook. For example, I never knew there used to be a movie theatre where the supermarket is now. Or that there was once a bakery next door to Bellair’s department store.
Finally, I realized that if I kept browsing aimlessly I wasn’t going to find any information about the Thomases. I started to concentrate on scanning for articles about that family.
It wasn’t long before I hit pay dirt. The first article I found was about Christina’s parents, John and Rachel Thomas. And what the article said was so, so sad. In 1861, they died together in a freak carriage accident.
I checked the scrap of paper on which I’d written down the information I already knew about Christina. According to her birthdate, she would have been only sixteen when that happened. Poor Christina.
The accident made her rich, though. Her parents’ estate, according to the next article I found, was divided among Christina (the oldest child), and her brothers Devon and Edward.
But the last article I found about Christina was the most interesting. It was about her disappearance in January 1863. There wasn’t any real information about where she might have gone, or why, but one sentence in the story caught my eye: “Authorities report that, according to her brother Edward (the last Stoneybrook resident to see her), a small fortune in gold, as well as documents representing a share of the Thomas family holdings, disappeared with Miss Thomas.”
I turned my face away from the microfilm reader and gazed up at the ceiling, to give my eyes — and my brain — a rest. Then I looked back and read it again. I could hardly believe what I was seeing.
If Christina was a relative of mine, that missing fortune might make more than just a good story and a fun mystery. It might make me rich.
Jessi’s entry in the BSC notebook was a little mysterious, but it didn’t take long for the rest of us to find out what she was talking about. And when we did, we were just as enthusiastic as she was about the new project.
It started on Saturday morning, the same Saturday morning I was spending at the library. Jessi had a sitting job with Charlotte Johanssen, who’s one of the BSC’s favorite charges. (She’s a special favorite of Stacey’s — they consider each other “almost sisters.”) Charlotte is eight years old and pretty, with chestnut brown hair, big, dark eyes, and this dimple that only shows up when she smiles. She’s very smart — she skipped into third grade not long ago — and very sweet, and just a little bit shy.
Jessi’s always had a special liking for Charlotte, because she was the first kid in Stoneybrook to make friends with Jessi’s sister, Becca. See, when the Ramseys first moved here from New Jersey, they went through a tough time. There aren’t all that many African American families in Stoneybrook, and at first people didn’t seem to know how to act around the Ramseys. (Well, some people thought they knew how to act: mean and horrible. But most people just held back and weren’t overly friendly.)
But Charlotte didn’t see any reason not to make friends with Becca. After all, they were the same age. They both loved to read. And Becca is just the littlest bit shy herself. So Charlotte stepped forward and made friends with Becca, and ever since then they’ve been very close.
Which was one of the reasons Jessi had invited Charlotte over to her house that Saturday morning, instead of sitting for her at the Johanssens’. Becca had been moping around the Ramsey house, and Jessi recognized cabin fever when she saw it. She knew it was a good bet that Charlotte had a touch of the fever, too.
Sure enough, as soon as Charlotte arrived, the girls began moping together. “There’s nothing to do,” said Becca.
“I’m bored,” said Charlotte.
“Maybe Squirt will let us dress him up like a clown again,” said Becca halfheartedly. The girls had resorted to playing dress-up with Squirt the last time they were together.
“I don’t think so,” Jessi said quickly. As she remembered it, Squirt hadn’t had quite as much fun as the girls had during that particular game.
“Well, what can we do, then?” asked Becca.
Jessi looked out the window. The sky wasn’t exactly blue, but it wasn’t totally gray, either. And it wasn’t sleeting, for a change. “You know, it’s not that cold out today,” she said. “We could play outside.”
“But there’s hardly any snow left,” said Becca. “We can’t go sledding.”
Jessi was beginning to feel exasperated. But just then, Charlotte said something that gave her an idea.
“I wish spring would come,” said Charlotte. “I can’t wait to see everything turn green.”
“Green!” said Jessi, snapping her fingers. “That’s it!”
“What?” chorused the girls.
“I just figured out what we can do. Hold on for a second while I ask Dad if he’ll drive us somewhere.” Jessi ran to find her father, and a few minutes later she was calling to Becca and Charlotte, “Put your jackets on. We’re going to the arboretum.”
“Arbor-what?” asked Charlotte.
“What’s that?” asked Becca.
“Arboretum. It’s a place where they have all kinds of plants,” said Jessi. “I was planning to go there sometime this weekend, and this seems like the perfect time. I think you two will like it there.” She crossed her fingers as she said this. As she told me later, she had no idea what to expect at the arboretum, and she didn’t know if the girls would like it or not. But she couldn’t think of anything else to do, and she figured a field trip just might cure their winter blues.
* * *
Half an hour later, Jessi and the girls stood on a tree-lined, semicircular gravel driveway, looking up at a gigantic old redbrick house. It was three stories high, with lots of huge windows trimmed in white. There was a very formal-looking front entrance, with broad steps leading to a small porch with an arched roof and wide white columns on either side.
Mr. Ramsey hadn’t wanted to drop them off without waiting to see them go in, but Jessi told him they’d be fine. “The sign on the front gate said they’re open,” she’d pointed out. “And there’s a gas station right down the street. We can call you from there when we need a ride home.”
As Jessi and the girls walked closer to the house, they could see that there was an old-fashioned greenhouse built onto the left wing. Through the steamed-up glass they saw glimpses of bright red and pink.
“Ooh, pretty,” said Charlotte. “Do we get to go in there?”
“Probably,” said Jessi. “Let’s go inside and find out about this place, okay?” Suddenly, she felt a little shy. She’d never walked into a house as fancy as this one. (Watson’s mansion is big, but nowhere near as grand.) But she screwed up her courage and, with the girls following behind her, climbed the steps to the entrance. There was no doorbell and no knocker. Jessi reached out tentatively to try the doorknob, and the door swung open, surprising her. She stepped back, but Becca and Charlotte walked right in.
“Why, hello, girls!” A gray-haired woman wearing a bright pink smock over jeans and a white shirt smiled up at them. She was crouched on the black-and-white-tiled floor of the entryway, clipping dead leaves from a huge plant that was really more like a small tree. “Welcome to the arboretum.”
“Um, thanks,” said Jessi. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of this woman. Was she the owner? Or a custodian, or what?
The woman straightened up. “I’m Mrs. Goldsmith, the curator,” she explained, as if she’d read Jessi’s mind. “
I look after the place, or at least, I try to! It’s a big job.” She laughed and wiped her forehead with a gloved hand, leaving a dirty smudge across her face. “Did you want a tour? Or would you just like to look around on your own?”
“We’d love a tour,” said Jessi. “Right, girls?” The girls nodded, looking a little shy. Jessi still felt a bit overwhelmed herself. In fact, she’d almost forgotten the purpose of her visit. Suddenly, she remembered that she had come to ask about Mrs. Dodson’s plants. But, she admitted to me later, she didn’t feel comfortable asking for help right away. Instead, she decided to ask after the tour.
So Jessi and the girls followed Mrs. Goldsmith as she led them through a huge but basically empty living room and toward the greenhouse.
“Who lives here?” asked Becca. “Do you?”
“My goodness, no!” said Mrs. Goldsmith. “Little old me in this gigantic place?” She laughed. “No, nobody lives here. In fact, we have the upstairs pretty much closed off these days. There’s no point in paying to heat this whole house.” Just then, she reached the greenhouse door. She pulled it open, and, as Jessi told me later, a cloud of sweet-smelling, warm air seemed to draw all four of them into the steamy, bright room.
“Wow!” said Charlotte, looking around in awe. “This is so, so cool.”
Mrs. Goldsmith smiled. “I’m glad you like it,” she said. “I spend most of my days in here. It is wonderful, isn’t it?”
They stood there, gazing happily at the sight of all those green, growing things and drinking in the feeling of warmth. The room was full of plants: plants on shelves, plants on the floor, plants climbing up trellises along the glass walls. Their leaves were all shades of green, and many of them were blooming. Jessi spotted the red and pink flowers they’d seen from outside and asked what they were.
“Geraniums,” said Mrs. Goldsmith, leading them to the flowers for a closer look. She leaned over and sniffed a red one. “Don’t you love the way they smell? Kind of musty and spicy. I adore it.”
After everyone had sniffed the geraniums, Mrs. Goldsmith led them around and showed them the other plants. Then they headed back inside. As they walked through the living room, Jessi glanced out of a large window and saw the property in back of the house. She saw a tangle of shrubs and vines, and what once must have been formal gardens — with statues, a gazebo, and a fountain — that looked as if they hadn’t been tended in quite some time. She asked Mrs. Goldsmith about it.