The Marshland Mystery

Brian admitted and looked inquiringly at his father. But Mr. Belden shook his head.
    “It’s my fault,” Trixie said miserably. “I had to go out hunting for Gaye, and that’s what started all this.” A big tear started to roll down her cheek. Such weakness was so unusual for her that Mart scowled blackly and exclaimed, “Quit going crybaby on us, toots! I’m the one who made Trent sore, over at Wheelers’, so I’m as much to blame as you are. Now turn off the waterworks before I disown you!” He turned briskly to Brian. “Am I right?”
    “Check!” Brian said, nodding. Trixie dashed away the single tear and smiled gratefully at them both.
    “This may all blow over if you children are careful about what you say the next few days,” their father counseled soberly. “So let’s keep our fingers crossed and hope that there’ll be no more double-meaning stories in the Sun. ”
    “Yes, Dad,” Trixie said, very subdued and worried.
     

More Trouble ● 17
     
    TRIXIE BOUNCED out of bed the moment she heard the delivery boy whistle at the gate. It was just getting light, and she had trouble locating one of her slippers, but within a few minutes, she was hurrying quietly downstairs and out the front door to get the paper.
    She could hardly wait to get back to the house to look for a story under Paul Trent’s by-line, but she made herself wait and ran back inside before she opened the Sun.
    There was no story by him on the front page nor on any of the other pages. He was, she thought, with a load lifting off her heart, most happily absent. She was so relieved that she paid no attention to any other stories in the newspaper but folded it up neatly and left it at her father’s place at the maple dining table. Then she dashed upstairs to snatch a few minutes’ more sleep before it was time to wake Bobby and get him dressed.
    She was in high spirits as they all gathered around the breakfast table a little later. In a few days, she hoped, if there were no more stories about Miss Rachel in the Sun , Sleepyside would forget about the whole thing, just as her father had said.
    “There’s a council meeting scheduled for today,” her dad was saying as he skimmed the second page of the paper. “Special session, this says, to discuss draining Martin’s Marsh and starting to put that access road into work. I thought that had been postponed.”
    “I suppose the thing about Miss Rachel and Gaye was what reminded them of it,” Mrs. Belden sighed.
    “I’m afraid there’s no question about that,” her husband agreed with a frown.
    “Will Miss Rachel have to sell her cottage and move away? Can the city make her?” Trixie was shocked.
    “Actually, Miss Martin doesn’t own any of that property any longer. The bank does.”
    “But how can that be? It’s always belonged to her family!” Trixie argued indignantly.
    “Unfortunately, Miss Rachel had to sign over all her rights to the property several years ago, after the changes in the road had put an end to her rug and quilt business. For a while, she borrowed from the bank, but she found that she had no way to pay back her loan, so she insisted on signing over everything to the bank. The board planned to let her stay there as long as she lived, but now—” He shook his head gravely. “I only hope that this is just a flurry of talk in the council.”
    “But where will she move to if the council does start building that road?” Trixie asked unhappily. She still couldn’t help feeling that she would be to blame if that happened. “They know she has no money to buy another place—probably not even enough to rent one.”
    “There are places where she can go if she wishes to,” her father said, and he busied himself with breakfast.
    Trixie turned to her mother for help. Mrs. Belden looked uneasy and rose hastily to go and putter with something on the stove. “But where?” Trixie asked.
    “I guess Dad means the Home,” Brian said quietly.
    “It’s really quite a comfortable place,” Mr. Belden said hastily, “and she would find people near her own age to keep her company. Excellent doctors, too, if she needed them.”
    Mrs. Belden came back to the table, wearing the same stricken look that Trixie had. “But, Peter! A Martin in the Home!” she protested.
    Mr. Belden looked uncomfortable. “Oh, Helen!” he said with gentle reproof. “It isn’t like going to jail, dear. And you must realize how much better off Miss Rachel would be. At her age,