We need a new mystery,” Benny said. The four Alden children were sitting and talking in their boxcar, and Benny was feeling restless.
“We have to help Grandfather with the Winter Festival. We don’t have time to solve a mystery, too,” said Jessie.
She wrote something in a green binder. Knowing that Jessie was organized and responsible, Grandfather had asked her to keep track of preparations for the festival. As Grandfather’s assistant, Jessie kept notes in the festival notebook.
“Can’t we do both?” Benny said.
“Well, Benny, mysteries don’t just fall out of the sky,” Violet said.
“What about your picture?” asked Benny. “That’s a mystery.”
“Violet’s picture is just a weird mistake,” said Henry.
Jessie closed her notebook. “We promised to clean the statue today. Is everyone ready?”
“I have the lunch Mrs. McGregor packed us.” Violet held up a large wicker picnic basket. She slipped the strange photograph into her basket. Maybe Mr. Kirby had found the rightful owner.
“And I’ve got the cleaning stuff.” Jessie wheeled her bicycle out from the garage. The tote bag containing her notebook swung from her handlebars.
She handed Henry the bucket of cleaning supplies to hang from his handlebars.
Benny climbed on his bike. “Let’s go!”
The children pedaled quickly in the crisp morning air to the center of Greenfield.
They parked their bicycles in the lot on one side of the square. Shops and businesses lined two sides. The town hall, with its wide green lawn, occupied the fourth side. In the center of the brick-paved common area stood the statue of Josiah Wade.
Violet wished she had brought her camera. The square looked so pretty today. The copper spire of the town hall gleamed in the bright sunlight.
“What a great day,” Henry said.
“Maybe we’ll find a new mystery,” Benny said hopefully.
“Work first!” Jessie chided gently. Secretly, she also wished they had a new mystery to solve. Life was so much more exciting when they were searching for clues.
They unloaded the cleaning supplies at the base of the statue.
“He sure is dirty.” Jessie swiped a finger over one bronze sleeve. “Well, we’ll make him clean again.”
She handed the bucket to Henry. “Mrs. Turner in the drugstore should let you fill this.”
Henry returned a few minutes later with a bucketful of hot water. He squirted in detergent to make suds. Then they each grabbed a brush and began scrubbing.
After working for about a half hour, the children stopped to eat lunch.
After everyone washed their hands at Cooke’s Drugstore, Violet passed around turkey and cranberry sauce sandwiches on whole wheat bread. Henry poured them each a cup of hot chocolate from the thermos.
“And we have oatmeal cookies for dessert,” Violet said.
“Look how shiny Josiah’s boots are,” Benny said proudly, munching a carrot stick.
“You did a good job,” said Jessie. “That musket is tough, but I’ve almost got it cleaned.”
Across the square, a familiar figure emerged from a side door of the town hall.
“It’s Rick!” Benny said, waving excitedly. “Now he’ll tell us the secret.”
“Looking good,” Rick Bass said. “I bet old Josiah loves getting a bath.”
Violet offered him an oatmeal cookie. “You said you know something about the town.”
“So I did. Boy, these are good cookies. Please give my compliments to your Mrs. McGregor.” Rick’s brown eyes crinkled at the corners. He loved to tease.
“Rick!” Benny wailed. “Tell us!”
Rick laughed. “All right! I’ve kept you in suspense long enough.”
The children leaned forward eagerly.
“Josiah Wade,” Rick stated, “was not a Minuteman.”
“He wasn’t a soldier?” Henry asked. “Why is his statue dressed like one?”
“Good question,” said Rick. “I think it’s a joke the sculptor played on Greenfield.”
“What kind of a joke is that?” Violet wondered.
Looking at the children’s blank faces, Rick explained, “I’ve been reading about the history of Greenfield. This statue was created by Franklin Bond.”
“Here’s the marker,” said Jessie, pointing to a small brass plate at the base of the statue. “It says, ‘Sculpted by Franklin A. Bond, June 4, 1855.’ ”
“Now, think about these dates,” Rick told them. “Josiah Wade was born in 1763. The Revolutionary War took place between 1775 and 1783.”
Henry did the math quickly in his head. “Josiah was only twelve when the war began.”
“Exactly!” Rick was warming to his subject. “Josiah Wade was a teenage boy during the period. He probably remembered the war quite well, but I doubt he actually fought in it.”
Benny was confused. “Then why would Franklin Bond make Josiah a soldier if he wasn’t?”
“Franklin Bond grew up in Greenfield,” replied Rick. “When he was a young boy he knew Josiah Wade. By the time Franklin created the statue, Josiah was an old man. Franklin probably listened to Josiah’s stories about the war. Maybe Josiah told Franklin he fought with the patriots.”
Henry studied the bronze statue. “If Josiah really wasn’t a soldier, then that’s a good joke on us!”
“Josiah Wade helped form the town of Greenfield, so he deserved a statue in his honor,” Rick said. “A man looks more important in a uniform. But I doubt Josiah Wade ever wore one.”
Since it was lunchtime, the square was growing busy. Sylvia Pepper came out of her florist’s shop to inspect the Aldens’ cleaning job.
“Not bad,” she said critically. “I don’t suppose there’s anything you can do about that crumbly old base.”
“We’ve been trying,” Henry told her. “But little stones keep dropping off. It’ll be great when old Josiah gets a new base.”
“It would be even better if the statue were moved,” Sylvia said. She eyed Rick Bass. “You’re the town historian, aren’t you?”
“Actually,” he corrected, “I’m the curator for the new museum.”
“Well, don’t you agree the statue should be moved? It just clutters the square,” Sylvia said. “My building is the oldest on the square, so it should be in front of my shop.”
Rick shook his head. “If the town wants to move the statue, I believe it should be part of the museum.”
“Bury it in the basement of the town hall!” Sylvia said shrilly. “What a ridiculous idea!”
“I’ve got to go back to work,” Rick told the Aldens abruptly. “Thanks for the cookie.”
Violet could tell Rick didn’t like Sylvia. She didn’t blame him. Sylvia Pepper wasn’t very friendly.
Dawn Wellington joined the group. Today her blond ponytail was tied back with a blue ribbon that matched her eyes.
“The statue really sparkles!” she said.
“We were just talking about where it should be moved,” Sylvia said.
“But we don’t know if it will be moved,” Dawn pointed out. “The vote won’t be announced until Saturday. I put in my ballot!”
“Anyone with any sense will agree the statue should be moved.” Sylvia waved her arm, her silver bracelets jangling. “We want a nice, modern fountain there.”
“Not all of us,” Dawn said. “I like the square just the way it is.”
“What do you know?” Sylvia retorted. “You’ve just come here.” With that, she flounced across the square to her shop.
Dawn bit her lip. “I didn’t mean to make her mad.”
“She’s awfully touchy,” Jessie observed.
“I shouldn’t repeat gossip,” Dawn said, “but Mrs. Turner told me that Sylvia’s shop isn’t doing very well. I guess that’s why she’s a little testy.”
Just then Violet remembered the photograph in the picnic basket.
“I have a strange picture. Maybe you could tell us about it.” She pulled the mysterious photo out and handed it to Dawn.
“See? It’s got that funny blank spot near the top,” Benny pointed out.
Dawn squinted at the picture. “Hmmmm,” she said thoughtfully. “I’d like to try something in my studio. May I borrow your picture, Violet?”
“Sure. Can we come, too?” Violet asked.
“Of course.” Dawn led the way into her photography studio.
They walked past the front room, and through a door with a red light over the top.
The windowless room contained sinks and counters filled with strange-looking equipment. A single red bulb overhead provided the only light.
“It’s sure dark in here,” Benny remarked.
“This is my darkroom,” Dawn explained. “This is where I develop pictures. Bright light ruins unexposed film, so I work with little illumination.”
Dawn dipped the strange photo into a pan of liquid. Then she turned on a small lamp attached to her counter. Pushing the metal shade to one side, she held the photo over the bare lightbulb.
“Just as I thought,” she said. “Watch carefully.”
Slowly, words appeared in the blank space on the photograph.
|