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Award-Winning Finalist in the Children's Fiction category of the 2011 International Book Awards
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Chapter One: The Begonia House
Fairday Morrow couldn't help but agree with Dorothy. She was definitely not in Kansas anymore. She stared out the car window at the passing trees and fields, not quite seeing all the “endless possibilities” her parents talked so cheerfully about. It wasn’t fair, moving to stupid Ashpot. The Morrow family cruiser bumped and jerked down the road and her two-year-old sister, Margo, giggled noisily, bouncing up and down in her seat. Fairday turned her attention back to the aged, brown leather book resting on her lap. It was one of her most prized possessions, and just the sight of it improved her mood. A hint of a smile caught her lips as she heard her grandma’s voice in her head reading The Wizard of Oz. Fairday began to lose herself in the sway and motion of the ride and relaxed into the story.
The car made a sharp right turn and began to ascend the narrow, winding road that led up to the Begonia House, or, as of today, the Morrow House. Fairday glanced up, and other than the rough road that tossed them about, she could see nothing but a tangled mesh of woods that seemed to spread out over the entire hill. Margo had fallen asleep, and her parents had stopped talking. It was very quiet in the car as they trundled up and up. Finally, as the road began to level out, they reached the front gate. It was enormous and made of iron. Twisted vines were wrapped tightly around its pointed, black bars, making it look like the entrance to some kind of morbid secret garden. Across the top of the gate, in large letters it read:
BEGONIA HOUSE
FEAR NOT THE UNEXPECTED
“Weird,” Fairday said. “It should say, ‘fear not living a thousand miles from civilization.’”
“Oh, now, Fairday, no eleven-year-old as clever as you ever died of ennui. That’s another word for boredom,” Mr. Morrow said cheerfully. He was an avid English teacher and was constantly throwing out new and exciting, as he called them, words to improve Fairday’s vocabulary. “I’m sure you will find lots to do here. Incidentally, this house has a pretty interesting history, very mysterious. Right up your alley with your little club and all, the Detective Mystery Squad, right?”
“That’s right!” Mrs. Morrow piped in. “You can invite Lizzy for a sleepover once we’re settled in, and you guys can investigate. I’m sure the town library has all sorts of information on the history of this house. It’s very famous in these parts. After you girls have conducted a thorough investigation, you can fill me in on all the juicy details about the scandals and mysteries that took place in the home.”
“Hmph,” sulked Fairday at the mention of her best friend’s name. She had met Lizzy Mackerville in the second grade and, from that day on, they were inseparable. Everything about Lizzy was jolly. She had bouncy, blonde curls that framed a pink, heart-shaped face, and a cheerful, bubbly disposition. Fairday was the exact opposite of Lizzy. She was tall and lean, with long, black, shiny hair that she usually had pulled in a ponytail, which hung right down to the small of her back. She was always very pale and never had the usual amount of cute baby fat most people cooed over and pinched cheeks about.
One feature Fairday liked about herself was her eyes. They were a very unusual charcoal gray and the reason she had such an uncommon name. Her mother always said that Fairday’s eyes reminded her fondly of the swirling tides of blue-gray waters that swelled up onto the sandy shores of Nantucket, which was where she grew up. When the weather was less than pleasant on the island, the fishermen would inform the tourists who came eagerly to charter their boats, “Jus’ waiting on the fair day t’morrow.” And so, Fairday was named, Fairday Theresa Morrow, or Fairday T. Morrow. She had to field some annoying criticism in school about it, which went something like, “Fairday? What kind of a name is that?” or, “Fairday, more like bad hair day.” But, she didn’t care. She liked the story, and she liked her name.
***
Mr. Morrow exuberantly found the key to the gate, which was as black and bizarre looking as the gate itself, and held it up for everyone to see. It had sharp, skeletal teeth and the handle was shaped into what looked like some sort of grim flower. He made a drum roll sound and then exclaimed emphatically, “Here we go! I am now going to open the gateway to our future!” Mr. Morrow climbed out of the car and walked over to the creepy gate. The key slid easily into the lock, which resembled a wide, gaping mouth, and it clicked loudly as he gave it a turn. He pushed the heavy double gates, and they slowly swung open.
The family was quiet as the car passed through the iron barricade. Even Margo, who had just woken up, was wide-eyed and straining against her car seat to check out the new scenery. The woods began to thin out as they continued on towards the house. The drive was now less bumpy and thankfully, thought Fairday, they were no longer going up. Mr. Morrow turned the car around a corner, and the outline of an enormous house came into view. He pulled around the circular drive and put the car into park.
“Here we are!” he said excitedly, and turned in his seat to face Fairday. “Is it as big as you remember?”
“Uh, yeah,” Fairday mumbled in response. She looked up at the great, old house apprehensively and added, “and just as creepy,” under her breath.
“Well, let’s get a move on,” Mr. Morrow said eagerly and banged open the car door.
Mrs. Morrow pulled Margo out of the car seat and lifted her up over her shoulder. Margo cooed and squealed, pointing at the house, “Uggy, Mommy!”
“See, even Margo thinks it stinks,” Fairday said triumphantly.
Mrs. Morrow laughed and replied, “Yes, it’s not as beautiful as it once was, I’m sure.”
“But,” Mr. Morrow interrupted loudly, “it will be!” He gave Mrs. Morrow a kiss, made a silly face at Margo, and patted Fairday on the head. “Let’s leave our trunks here for now and come back for them after we’ve had a chance to investigate our new abode. Abode is another word for dwelling, Fairday,” Mr. Morrow said. He located the right key and, once again, held it up dramatically.
Fairday rolled her eyes. Her father loved to over-emphasize everything. Enough with the key drama, she thought. “We get it, Dad. New house, key to the future,” she quipped. “Can we just go inside now?” Mr. Morrow looked a little hurt and unlocked the door without saying anything else. Fairday instantly felt terrible. “I’m sorry. I’m just missing home and it was a long drive,” she said apologetically and hugged her father.
“I know sweetie, it’s a big move. It will take some time to adjust, but I promise you, this is going to be a real adventure for all of us,” Mr. Morrow said lovingly and squeezed Fairday tight.
Chapter Two: Lost in Time
The Morrows gave each other a nervous look, and then walked through the wide double door entrance into the Begonia House. Whoa, thought Fairday, living here was definitely going to be different from life at the happy, little townhouse in Manhattan. She glanced around at her surroundings; it all seemed impossibly huge and frighteningly old. They were standing in a gigantic main foyer with a very high ceiling and a grand staircase that spiraled down from the upper level. The cracked black and white checkered floor was coated with a thick layer of filth. Hanging down from the ceiling was a massive crystal chandelier, which was so covered with dust it seemed only to be a tinkling, dull gray blob floating ominously above them.
Time seemed to have stopped as they stood in the entrance to the house. Fairday couldn’t believe the size of the place. On both sides of her there were doors. Through the foyer there was a hallway that had more doors on each side and seemed to travel back with no end insight. The wallpaper was crumbling and there were cobwebs hanging from every corner. The light fixtures were ancient. They reminded Fairday of those fake candles people put out at Halloween. Even the air in the house had a stale, funny smell that she couldn’t quite make out; something like burnt popcorn. A cold breeze blew through the doorway and sent a chill down her spine. The hair stood up on the back of her neck and Fairday shivered.
Margo began to wail loudly, snapping everyone out of the trance they were in, and time sped back up to normal. “Okay! Lots to do, lots to do,” said Mr. Morrow loudly, clapping his hands together. His voice cracked a bit and Fairday thought she heard a certain uneasiness underlining the enthusiasm in his words.
“Fairday, why don’t you go and pick out your bedroom while I change Margo. There are quite a few of them to choose from,” said Mrs. Morrow. She smiled warmly at Fairday and then turned to head back out to the car. “Someone needs a fresh diapy, don’t they? My smelly little oogles,” she said, rubbing Margo’s nose with her own, then disappearing through the doorway. Margo made a gurgling noise; her tears had already dried on her fat, little face.
Each step on the large staircase creaked loudly as Fairday slowly climbed up to the second floor. She thought it sounded like every step was shouting out a warning to her that it was about to give way. The hallway at the top of the stairs went off to the left. It was lit by eerily flickering wall sconces, which illuminated numerous oil paintings that were hanging crookedly in gaudy frames on either side of her. They were mostly portraits of people dressed in fancy, old-time clothes and, as she walked past them, their painted, staring eyes seemed to watch her surreptitiously. It made Fairday feel a little uneasy to be under such bizarre scrutiny.
As it turned out, Mrs. Morrow was right, there were “quite a few” rooms to choose from. Fairday counted a total of eight doors. There were four on the right, three on the left, and one at the very end of the hall facing her. Weird, she thought, walking down to the door at the end. It looked the same as all the other doors, except for the steel padlock hanging from it.
“Hmm,” said Fairday, “interesting.” She pulled down on the padlock to see if it would open, but no such luck. She abandoned that door for the moment and began opening some of the others. One door led to a long, extravagant bathroom that was decorated with shiny, striped silver and gold wallpaper, and another opened to a broom closet that housed the world’s oldest looking mop and bucket. The remaining five rooms were clearly bedrooms. All of them were very big, and they each had massive windows that were draped in long velvet curtains of various colors.
The drapes in the room Fairday chose were a deep maroon color with thin silver stripes. A frayed circular carpet with a picture of a lion and a unicorn engaged in battle covered the dark hardwood floor. There was a dismal gray stone fireplace on one side of the room and a giant wooden poster bed frame on the other. Fairday thought it was the least gaudy of all the bedrooms and kind of liked the intricately woven carpet. The view from her window overlooked the backyard, which was covered with dead, yellow grass and one extremely old weeping willow tree. “Well, this is it, I guess,” she said to herself, looking down at the depressing yard.
Fairday left the room and was heading back down the hall to help her parents unload the car, when suddenly she heard the strangest sound. It was very faint, and it was coming from behind the padlocked door. She walked over and put her ear up against it. There was something that sounded like music coming from behind the door, but really odd music. It was high-pitched and whiny. This is so spooky, she thought. Was she imagining it? She listened for a minute, thinking about what could possibly make sounds like that, and then she knew. A few years back, her father had taken her to a Scottish festival in the city. She remembered the men on stage were all dressed in kilts and playing bagpipes. The sound they made was unforgettable. It was beautiful, but melancholy at the same time. Fairday remembered her father laughing about how he hoped it wasn’t going to be a windy day. He had explained to her that it was an old joke that Scottish men didn’t wear anything under their kilts, and if a strong wind were to blow, they would all get to see more than they had paid for. Fairday couldn’t believe there were people that didn’t wear any underwear. Luckily, she recalled, it had been a calm day and the men on stage all kept their skirts on.
From out of nowhere, there was one long, ear-piercing note that burst out from behind the locked door. Fairday jumped back. She definitely was not imagining the strange sounds. Someone was behind that door playing the bagpipes!
She turned and ran, her feet flying fast down the stairs. In her haste, Fairday bumped right into her father, who was standing in the foyer looking down in frustration at a pile of boxes. “Whoa there missy! Where’s the fire?” Mr. Morrow said, catching Fairday by her shoulders.
“Dad! Dad!” she said, breathing hard. “There’s someone else in the house!”
“What! Where?” said Mr. Morrow, sounding very concerned and bending down so that his face was even with hers. He looked at her seriously, still holding onto her shoulders.
“Upstairs! There’s a door up there and I heard music, or bagpipes, or something like that coming from behind it!” Fairday exclaimed.
“Okay, okay! Nobody panic. Let’s go up and see,” proclaimed Mr. Morrow calmly, standing up and running his fingers through his unruly, black hair.
“What’s going on?” Mrs. Morrow questioned brightly. She had just come in through the front door and was toting a rosy-cheeked, clean-diapered Margo.
“Fairday heard something upstairs, honey. I’m going up to check it out, you two stay down here,” he motioned for Mrs. Morrow and Margo to stay put. “Come on Fairday, let’s go and see what it was.” Mr. Morrow took Fairday by the hand and turned to head up the stairs.
“Wait, Dad,” she stopped him, pulling back. “The door has a padlock on it,” she said anxiously.
“Hmm, locked, eh?” Mr. Morrow reached into his pocket and pulled out the large key ring. He began looking closely at each key and then shouted, “Ah, ha! This one looks like it could possibly fit a padlock.” Fairday squeezed his hand, and they walked up the stairs.
Chapter Three: Behind the Locked Door
Mr. Morrow and Fairday stood with their ears pressed against the door. “I don’t hear anything anymore,” she said after a few moments of listening, feeling a little disappointed and a little relieved at the same time. “I swear I heard bagpipe music, or something coming from behind there, Dad,” Fairday added.
“I believe you, but I don’t hear anything either, let’s open it up and find out,” Mr. Morrow said. The key he had did fit the padlock. Fairday stood nervously next to her father, unsure of what or who would be behind the door. She didn’t even realize that she was holding her breath. At the same time, they both peered into the room. It was empty. There was no weird hobo piping away on the bagpipes and no ghostly specter floating angrily about the room. It was a small circular area with a cracked stained glass window and a narrow spiral staircase that went up.
Fairday felt a little let down and shrugged her shoulders, saying mildly, “Uh, I guess it was just the wind coming through the crack in the window or some...”
But Mr. Morrow interrupted her. “Oh! That’s right, I forgot! These are the stairs to the third floor,” he said excitedly.
“Third floor?” Fairday questioned, looking up at the odd staircase. “What’s up there? An attic?”
“The real estate agent told me there was a third floor to this house. He said that no one has actually been up there for over forty years. I imagine that’s why a padlock was put on the door, for safety precautions,” Mr. Morrow looked down at her, smiling. “Looks like there’s more to this house than meets the eye, eh?” He chuckled and started to climb up the spiral staircase. “Fear not the unexpected!” He announced dramatically, holding a poignant finger in the air. “Well, come on then, and be careful. Some of these steps look pretty rickety,” he added, motioning for Fairday to follow him.
Fairday climbed up with her father, who had to stoop down a bit to fit around the winding staircase. It led up to an archway that opened to a short, narrow hallway, which had two doors on either side. Directly in front of them was something that was just as tall as Mr. Morrow and covered with a dirty, yellowish brown sheet. Fairday watched apprehensively as her father walked over and pulled it off. Dust flew in all directions, clouding the air around them. When the dirty particles settled, Fairday jumped with a fright. She was looking right at herself, and, for one infinitesimal second, she thought she saw two brilliant red, glimmering shoes hastily stepping backwards through a slamming door. Fairday quickly turned to see what it was, but there was nothing there except for the open archway and the spiral staircase. Spinning back around, she saw that Mr. Morrow had unveiled a tall, oval mirror standing in an ornate wooden frame decorated with carved vines that wrapped around it. How did that door appear? And, who was behind it wearing sparkling red shoes? Did she really just see all those things or was it her imagination running wild?
Fairday’s fleeting thoughts on the strange vision were broken short as Mr. Morrow yelled, “Ah!” and pointed dramatically at the mirror. “Well, at least it isn’t a crazy, bagpipe playing burglar,” he paused, chuckling lightly, then added, “or, then again, maybe (Mr. Morrow scratched his head quizzically)…hmm…I don’t know, do you play the bagpipes young lady?” He nodded at the tall, thin figure of Fairday’s shocked reflection, which was standing in the mirror looking back at them dumbfounded.
“Ha, ha,” she said, “not funny, Dad.” Her voice was shaking as she recovered from the sight of her reflection popping out of nowhere and the vision of strange red shoes disappearing behind a non-existent door.
Mr. Morrow walked up to the ancient looking mirror and examined it closely. “What a weird, old mirror,” he said, gazing into its foggy glass. “It’s kind of pretty, don’t you think? I could clean it up for you, Fairday, if you wanted to have it for your bedroom,” Mr. Morrow said, adding, “Whoever made this, put a lot of work into it. The edges are perfectly smooth.”
“No thanks,” Fairday said, brushing off the dust and fear that had settled on her. “I’m not into possessed, old mirrors. Thanks anyway,” she added with a hint of sarcasm, though feeling that there may be some truth in those words.
“Maybe it’s possessed by someone cool,” Mr. Morrow laughed and patted her head affectionately as he turned to open the door on the right side of the hallway. Fairday thought, Ugh! Dad, the eternal comedian, rolled her eyes, and followed him into the room.
“Would you look at all this stuff!” exclaimed Mr. Morrow. The room was as large as the bedrooms on the second floor of the house, but completely packed with boxes, covered furniture, and odds and ends. Across from them, there were two half-circle stained glass windows, which were using what little daylight remained to cast prisms of rainbow colors all along the grayish walls. Etched into the glass were bright red flowers and sparkling green leaves. Fairday couldn’t help but feel intrigued by this new turn of events. The room did seem very mysterious, after all. She thought about what her father had said, that no one had been up here for forty years or so. Mr. Morrow began moving aside boxes, and they both began to climb through the clutter.
“This is really bizarre,” Fairday said, picking up an old doll with a cracked head and one glassy, staring eye. “Whose stuff is this anyway?” she questioned, tossing the creepy doll back into its box.
Mr. Morrow was bent over investigating the contents of one of the other numerous boxes. He popped up with a tattered, old book in one hand and a dirty, silk clothes hanger in the other. He looked up at Fairday and said, “I don’t know for sure. The previous owners, I presume.” He dropped the book and hanger into the box and stumbled his way back through the open door. “Well now, young lady, let’s see what fabulous prizes we have for you behind door number two,” Mr. Morrow said in a comical voice. “You can come back up here later to check out all this stuff. I need to get back to unpacking or your mother will kill me,” he said resolutely, and Fairday followed him out of the room.
“Whoa!” Mr. Morrow exclaimed, as he opened the door on the left side of the hallway. It shockingly opened right up to the outside and onto a small semi-circle balcony. A crisp, cool breeze blew in through the door, freshening up the stale third floor air. Mr. Morrow gingerly stepped one foot out onto the dangerous looking wood boards, which creaked loudly and bowed under his weight. Jumping back inside, he placed a protective hand on Fairday’s shoulder and said seriously, “I don’t want you out there, Fairday. It doesn’t look safe. I will have to seal this door the minute I get a chance. Until then, just picture a sign on it with bold writing that states, in an intimidating way, “STAY OUT”, okay?” Then he added brightly, “You know what intimidating means, right? Intimidating is someone or something that fills you with fear.”
“Sure, Dad, I get it,” Fairday said earnestly. She had no future plans to plummet down the backside of the house and break her neck. Incidentally, Fairday did know what the word intimidating meant. What she couldn’t possibly know was just how familiar with its definition she was soon to become.
Chapter Four: Lost and Found
Fairday did not sleep well her first night in the Begonia House. She had tossed and turned in the giant, wooden bed for a long time with her eyes wide open, listening to the amplified sounds of her new surroundings. The old house clanged and groaned restlessly, as the howling wind wrestled the old willow tree in the bright moonlight outside her bedroom window. Its twisted limbs banged into one another, casting monstrous shadows all along the walls. At one point, she thought she had heard the mysterious bagpipe music again and sat straight up in bed, anxiously grabbing the high-powered flashlight, which she had strategically positioned under her pillow. Fairday shined the luminescent high beam all around her room and over the long maroon drapes, which did give the appearance that someone or something terrifying was hiding behind them. But, Fairday had sneaked over, forcefully yanked them back, and shoved the flashlight into the empty space behind them so many times that she had to convince herself to stop obsessing over it. Each time she invoked the power of the flashlight and illuminated the room, it proved to be completely void of all intruders, except, of course, for herself.
Exhausted from pointlessly trying to sleep, Fairday was up early the next morning. She knew her imagination had probably just been running wild after yesterday’s events. It all seemed so silly in the light of day. Walking sleepily over to the window, she peered out rubbing her strained, tired eyes. The sun was struggling to peek out through gray skies, which looked as if they were seriously threatening rain.
Fairday went downstairs and found her father up and about. He was sorting through some marked boxes that were stacked up on the kitchen counter and was grumbling under his breath. “Where is that stupid toaster, this is ridiculous, hmmm, maybe in…AH!” Mr. Morrow jumped and shouted when he noticed Fairday standing in the kitchen doorway watching him. “Fairday! Ha, ha,” he laughed nervously. “You scared your old man half to death!”
“Sorry, Dad.” Fairday pulled the toaster out of a box that was near the door and handed it to her father. “Are you looking for this?”
“Ah-ha, thank you so much!” Mr. Morrow said happily and began searching for an outlet. “You’re up early on this dreary Sunday,” he added, smiling brightly.
“Yeah, I didn’t sleep very well last night.” Fairday yawned and began untwisting the tie on the bread bag. “Bizarre new house and all,” she said melodramatically, handing her father a couple slices of bread. Mr. Morrow popped them into the toaster and pushed down on the knob.
“There! One feat accomplished!” he declared, and pretended to wipe sweat off of his brow, adding, “Whew!”
“So, what’s happening today?’ she asked, smiling at her father’s funny antics, as she pulled herself up onto the countertop and crossed her ankles.
“Well, Margo will be bouncing most of the day in her bouncy swing, your mother will be picking out wall colors, and I am in charge of unpacking everything and putting things in their appropriate places,” Mr. Morrow paused, chuckling heartily, as he added, “and we both know how that will go.”
Fairday laughed too, she did know how that would go. Her mother could spot disorder from a mile away and her father couldn’t care less about where things were placed.
“I would say you should go and explore the grounds, but unfortunately it looks like it’s going to pour any minute. Why don’t you check out that room on the third floor? I bet there’s some really neat stuff up there,” he said in an upbeat tone. Catching the toast that popped up out of the toaster, he gave Fairday a hard look, adding sternly, “Remember, Fairday, do not go out onto that balcony no matter what, I mean it.”
“Don’t worry, Dad, I won’t go out there,” Fairday nodded sincerely. She smirked at her father teasingly, adding in a blasé tone of voice, “I guess sifting through all that junk could turn out to be mildly interesting.”
Mr. Morrow winked at her, and Fairday launched herself off the counter. In the exuberant manner of her father, she exclaimed, “Here I go! Off to reveal the mysteries of the Begonia House! I shall uncover all of the dark skeletons hidden in its many closets!” Fairday grabbed a piece of toast, stuffed it into her mouth, and dashed out of the kitchen.
Mr. Morrow laughed garishly, adding in a deep, theatrical voice, “There goes Fairday T. Morrow! The world’s greatest detective!”
***
Fairday stopped off in her bedroom and walked over to her trunk, which was haphazardly thrown in the middle of the room and still completely packed. She clicked open the trunk and quickly removed the top layer of poorly folded clothes. Underneath the clothing was a black backpack with the initials DMS sewn in gold thread across the front pocket. Hanging off the zipper was an important looking badge that announced in bold, black letters:
Fairday T. Morrow, Senior Investigator
Detective Mystery Squad
Fairday set the backpack on the floor and unzipped all the pockets to check that the tools in her Detective Mystery Squad pack were all in order. She expertly reviewed its contents, running her fingers lightly over each item while taking inventory. Fairday’s DMS pack contained: one slightly scratched magnifying glass, three well used artist brushes, two ink pads, a half-filled jar of fingerprinting powder, a small black leather flip-up notebook with a pen, one blacklight bulb, and one small flashlight. Some of the tools that the DMS used on a regular basis were in Lizzy’s pack, such as: a strap-on headlamp, brand new binoculars, an older, but fairly good digital camera, and Lizzy’s older brother Mark’s multi-tool keychain, which Fairday recalled, had come in handy more than once.
She zipped up her DMS pack, slung it over her shoulders, and exited the bedroom. Certain that the she had everything she needed, Fairday wound her way up the spiral staircase that led to the third floor. When she reached the top step, she suddenly jumped back in fright, blurting out, “Ah!” Mirror Fairday was still there staring back, but there was no sign of the mysterious slamming door behind her. “Jeez!” she said out loud, and, just for an instant, the memory of a quick flash of red shoes materialized in her mind’s eye. Not wanting her imagination to get the better of her, she brushed away the strange vision.
Fairday opened the door on the right and slowly began to climb into the cluttered room. She noticed a large object in the corner. It was covered with a sheet, but she thought she knew what it was and stumbled her way over to it. “Bingo,” she said, as she pulled the sheet off. Gently dropping her DMS pack onto the floor, she sunk deep into the flattened cushion of a fancy chintz armchair.
Sitting there quietly for a few moments, she curiously observed the fascinating, but messy room around her. It was not sparkling with prism light from the stained glass windows; the room had a much gloomier feeling about it this morning. The walls were dull and stained with age. It was dusty and stale, smelling unpleasantly of mold, but Fairday was definitely intrigued by a place that was filled with someone else’s life; someone else’s secrets. In one corner, there was an enormous, toppling stack of yellowing newspapers and scattered throughout the room, mixed in with the many cardboard boxes, were ghostly sheet figures of what looked like pieces of hidden furniture. She struggled a bit to pull herself up from the cushion and sat crossed legged on the floor, setting up the DMS pack next to her. Fairday quickly glanced at her tools and took out the black notebook and pen. She flipped through a couple of pages until she came to a blank one. At the top of the page, in bold letters, she wrote:
Begonia House Inventory- The Third Floor Room
Fairday then began pulling out the contents of the nearest box. The first item she found was a small, tarnished silver hairbrush. She held it up and examined it closely. It was delicate and pretty. The brush had small flowers and twisted vines, which were etched into the silver and wrapped all around the brush. Fairday spun it around by the handle several times. On the back of the brush, just near the base of the handle, were the initials RB. They were very small but elegantly engraved in fancy looped letters. She set down the hairbrush and jotted a description of it into her notebook:
1) Silver hairbrush with the initials “RB” engraved on the back
She thought for a moment about the initials “RB” and deduced that the “B” was most likely for Begonia, as that was the name of the house, but what did the “R” stand for? Fairday figured that whoever it was had to be a girl, as there weren’t too many boys that would have a pretty, silver hairbrush with flowers on it.
She continued to dig through the box, looking for something else that had “RB” stamped on it. The next object of interest she pulled out was a photo in a black oval frame. It was in color, though the glass was grimy and smudged, but Fairday could see that the picture underneath was of a person. She wiped off the filth with the sleeve of her shirt and saw that it was a striking young lady with fiery red hair, curled in perfect ringlets. Even though the picture was somewhat faded, the woman’s hair was still very red. She had a pale, elegant face and large, green eyes that seemed to pop out of the washed-out photo paper. The lady was sitting in a chair, which was mostly covered up by the long, deep blue dress that she wore. Her hands were folded properly in her lap, and her thin lips were curled up slightly at the corners into a small, secret smile. Fairday thought that she looked as though she knew something cryptic or classified that no one else could possibly know. And, in a creepy, but captivating way, the woman’s piercing green eyes, though looking directly forward in the picture, gave Fairday the bizarre impression that they were following her every move.
“Hmm, I wonder who she was,” Fairday said, breaking the spell that seemed to have fallen over her. She turned over the frame, slid the photo out, and then grabbed the magnifying glass to get a better look. The lady’s thin index finger on her left hand was not folded; it was slightly raised and seemed to be pointing to something off in the distance that was not in the picture. Fairday flipped the photo over and examined the back of it. There was writing scribbled at the bottom of the picture, but even with the magnifying glass she couldn’t make out what it said. She would have to talk to Lizzy about this. Her best friend was amazing on the computer and could possibly digitally enhance a photo of the writing so that they could read it. Fairday carefully slid it back into the frame and set it down. She then logged the photo into the notebook below the silver hairbrush, and starred a quick note to herself underneath the description of the picture:
2) Small black oval frame with picture of red-haired lady
*Note to self: What is she pointing at?
Talk to L about writing on back
The silver hairbrush could have belonged to her, Fairday thought curiously and glanced over at it. She continued eagerly sifting through the rest of the box looking for something that could provide more information about the mysterious red-haired lady in the picture. Unfortunately, she found only odds and ends that she felt were not significant enough to log into her notebook. She discarded that box and shoved it aside.
Fairday decided the time had come to unveil everything in the room that was under a sheet and raced wildly around the clutter, tiptoeing in-between the scattered boxes. She pulled the old sheets off in a fast swishing motion, which created thick puffs of dust that whirled about the room like mini-tornados.
Once the clouds of dust had settled and all the sheets lay in wrinkled heaps on the floor, Fairday spun around on her heels to look at everything she had just uncovered. Suddenly, she froze. She couldn’t believe it! This was just too weird to be a coincidence. In the far corner of the room, stuffed underneath an oval glass table, was an ancient looking bagpipe. Fairday went over to examine it, then bent down to get a closer look.
The instrument had clearly not been played for ages. It was completely covered in sticky cobwebs and the mouthpiece was grossly brown and cracked. How was this possible? She was sure that she had heard the sound of bagpipes playing the previous day, but this instrument looked as if it hadn’t been touched for years and years. And, how odd was it that there actually was a bagpipe in the house? Could the house really be haunted?
Fairday was pondering all these questions when a glint of gold caught her attention. On top of a wooden wardrobe there was a shiny brass key hanging slightly over its edge. She walked over and reached up on tiptoes to pull it down. Fairday held the key in her hand, feeling the cold brass on her skin. It looked exactly like the one that opened the formidable front gate of the Begonia House, having the same long, skeletal teeth and grim flower engraved on the handle, except this key was shiny gold instead of iron black.
“Fairday! Time for lunch, honey,” Mrs. Morrow’s cheery voice rang out from below.
“Okay, Mom,” Fairday answered, thinking how fast the time had flown by. She grabbed the silver hairbrush and the small black oval frame off of the chair, and then shoved them into her DMS pack along with the brass key. Quickly whipping her pack over her shoulder, she exited the third floor room, banging the door closed behind her.
Chapter Five: Food for Thought
Renovations of the Begonia House began promptly at eight o’clock Monday morning. Fairday was awake, listening to the banging of tools and sloshing of paint buckets all getting ready to battle the ancient, crumbling walls of the house. She could hear rushed footsteps in the hallway outside her bedroom. She knew that there were going to be herds and herds of people clattering about in the house this morning and felt almost happy to be going to school, almost.
“Fairday! Time to get up, you need to get ready for school,” Mr. Morrow yelled up from the downstairs.
“All right, Dad!” she responded, but continued to lie in her bed and stare at the cracked ceiling. There was so much noise in the house, Fairday couldn’t hear herself think, and unfortunately, she felt as though she had tons of things to think about. School had started a month ago. This was another one of her huge objections regarding the sudden uprooting of her family. Not only did she not know anyone in the school, she could already picture herself fumbling around, totally lost, and looking like a jerk, whereas, all the other kids had had some time to get to know the routine.
Worst-case scenarios, which were impossible to control, raced wildly through her head. What if, while the teacher was introducing her to the class, she sneezed and blew boogers all over their horrified faces? Or, if she went to the bathroom and unknowingly picked up a long strip of toilet paper that stuck to her shoe? Or, the ultimate nightmare of farting loudly in class on the first day and being dubbed “Fairday-Farts-a-Lot” or something even worse. She shivered at the thought. Something like that could really determine what type of year you were going to have in school. Pulling herself out of bed, she tried to reel in the anxious thoughts that continued to whiz and whirr around in her brain, and started getting ready.
Fairday sighed as she pulled every shirt and sweater out of her trunk, tossing them all onto the bed. Finally deciding on a blue long sleeved shirt, her favorite pair of faded jeans, and her purple Converse, she felt confident that she wouldn’t stand out from the rest of the kids. Luckily, her parents had always allowed her to dress pretty much how she wanted to for school, as long as it wasn’t too outrageous.
The other issue that she couldn’t get out of her head was the picture of the red-haired lady. It seemed to be haunting her imagination. She had taken it out of the DMS pack and placed it on her nightstand next to the brass key. Every few hours or so she would turn over in bed, whip out the flashlight from under her pillow, and shine the light on the strange objects. Fairday couldn’t stop thinking about the woman’s staring, green eyes and cryptic, secret smile. And, what was it that she was pointing to in the photo? Did the hairbrush and the bagpipes belong to her? What did the writing on the back of the picture say? What did the key open? These questions, along with the anxiety she felt about going to a new school, rattled around in her mind like run-away marbles. One thing was for certain, thought Fairday, she definitely wanted to talk to Lizzy as soon as possible.
***
Thirty minutes later, she was dressed and ready for her first day of school. Closing the door of her new room, she sighed deeply. Hurrying down the stairs, she brushed past the numerous construction workers, who all smiled hastily and nodded as she passed by them.
Mrs. Morrow peeked out of a room at the bottom of the stairs and, in a rushed voice, said, "Morning hon, quick, quick, okay?” With a sweeping glance, she smiled approvingly, adding, “Oh, you look nice! Don’t forget, we have to be at the school by nine thirty sharp.” Tapping the watch on her wrist, she disappeared back into the room as Fairday nodded in acknowledgment, mouthing, ‘Okay, Mom’.
Mr. Morrow was in the kitchen sporting his "Got Food?" apron and dancing charismatically in front of the stove with his back to her. He was waving a spatula about and talking with a French accent, "Vhat would you like for breakfaaast mademoiselle?" he said with a flourish.
Knowing that she had a big day ahead of her she wanted to be full enough so that her stomach wouldn't growl, but not so full that she had to worry about becoming Fairday-Farts-a-Lot. "I'll have blueberry pancakes," she replied with a grin. Can't hurt to start off the day with my favorite breakfast, she thought. Just then Fairday noticed that the laptop had been set up and was sitting on the kitchen counter. "Dad, can I send off a quick email to Lizzy while you're making breakfast?" she asked.
"Oui, Oui!" he said, turning to face her, "But your breakfaaast vill be vhipped up in ten minutes!" Her dad motioned to the frying pan with the spatula and added, "I vas already started with mademoiselle’s pancakes." He winked at her as he got back to work.
Fairday quickly logged on and went straight to her email account. She glanced at the clock and was stressed about the time. Sadly, she knew she didn't have much of it before her mother had to drive her to school. Once she pulled up a new message, she began typing away furiously, her fingers flying over the keys.
L- no time to write- on my way to my first day at my new school. ugh. Ask your mom if you can come over this weekend - idk what is going on at this house- it seems like something out of a tim burton movie- big iron gate with fear not the unexpected written on it and it’s such a crooked old house- the first day we were here i swear i heard bagpipe music coming from behind a locked door- so bizarre! when my dad unlocked it there was no one there but... later i went searching the third floor and i found a silver brush with the initials RB on it and an old picture of a red-haired lady whose eyes seem to follow you (it has smudged writing on the back that I can't quite make out). i also found a weird gold key. and get this- i found a really ancient looking bagpipe and there's no way it’s been played- totally covered in dust- so, can't be what i heard. could it? barely had time to make a dent in that strange room - we have to explore and find out more about these items- i already started logging them in my notebook. don’t forget your DMS pack when you come over- i am dying to know more about all this stuff! what do you think? gotta go ~ F
She logged off and spun around just as her dad bowed toward her with three perfect pancakes, oozing with blueberries, and dripping with maple syrup. They smelled heavenly and having her favorite breakfast always made her feel cozy, like a warm blanket was being wrapped around her. Fairday began gobbling up her scrumptious breakfast, barely noticing the warm, sweet, tart, chewy flavors bursting in her mouth because she was busy thinking about what Lizzy's response would be. Her friend was so clever and could always connect–the-dots in even the most complex puzzles. The corners of her mouth slowly turned up because no matter what the day had in store for her, Fairday knew that she would have an email waiting for her when she got home.
Chapter Six: Brocket the Rocket
Ashpot Elementary stood squarely against a bright cyan sky, showing its wear and tear with faded and worn brownish, red brick. As Mrs. Morrow turned the car into the short driveway that led to the visitors' lot, Fairday could see a sprawling playground lined with a mix of thick evergreens and a brilliant display of fall foliage; burnt orange, fiery red, and golden yellow leaves that rustled gently in the breeze. A sturdy wooden playscape with a long silver slide, monkey bars, and a variety of moving passages were situated directly behind the school. Further back, two basketball hoops stood guard on the blacktop, along with a bright white FourSquare box and a large field with soccer goals at each end. This place gives a whole new meaning to the word recess, Fairday thought, as she grabbed her backpack and hopped out of the car. The playground at her old school had been a blacktop with a basketball hoop and a faded FourSquare box. Kids had stood around in clusters talking and laughing, but there was never much to do. After being buzzed in through the bright red front door, they walked into the office directly on their right. Here we go, thought Fairday, giving her fingers a quick cross that today would be a good one.
The school secretary had short, black hair cropped close to her head and a lime green dress, which made her seem friendly and cheerful. “Good morning! Hello,” she welcomed them, standing up from her desk. “I’m Mrs. Pascoe, and you must be Fairday Morrow,” she said looking down at Fairday with a warm, rushed smile. Mrs. Pascoe turned to address Mrs. Morrow, adding, “After I buzzed you in I contacted Fairday’s teacher and she will be coming right down. Mr. Bannwell, our principal, is in a meeting right now, but I can take your paperwork and look it over. Please have a seat, it will just be a moment.” Mrs. Pascoe causally gestured over to the worn out tan chairs, whose cushions looked like they had seen better days.
Fairday noticed the colorful bulletin board hung up on the wall, just above the chairs. The caption read: What’s Black and White and Read All Over? Glancing at the bottom of the board she saw: Us! In the News! Newspaper clippings, backed in black paper, were neatly arranged covering the large space. Always having loved riddles, Fairday was intrigued and began looking at the articles. Silently scanning over them, she felt mesmerized by all the smiling faces that she was soon to know.
Her scrutiny landed on a funny photograph of a bearded man with huge gobs of whipped cream dripping off his beard and down the front of his shirt. Even though the picture was in black and white, she could see that there was laughter in his eyes and that he was sporting a wide, though somewhat sheepish, grin. Fairday, now curious about just who this whipped-creamed, bearded man was, squinted at the writing at the bottom. Nudging her mother, she said in a hushed, though excited tone, “Look at that. It’s the principal, Mr. Bannwell. It says that the students at Ashpot Elementary read over 100,000 pages as part of a reading challenge and he agreed to have pie thrown in his face by the student who had read the most books, Hannah Gaggas. That looks hilarious!” Fairday giggled. “It makes me want to read!"
Before they could examine anything else on the board, the secretary was calling them back over to the counter. “Well, it appears that everything is in order. Oh! Look! Here’s Miss Mason now!” proclaimed Mrs. Pascoe, as a pretty brown-haired woman pushed the office doors open.
“You must be Fairday,” she brimmed, shaking Fairday’s hand, followed by Mrs. Morrow’s. “I’m Miss Mason and I am going to be one of your fifth grade teachers. Now, the kids in class are at Art and will be arriving back in the classroom momentarily with our classroom aide. How would you like to enter the room? Do you want me to introduce you? Do you want to say a few words to the class? I want you to feel comfortable, so whatever you think is best.” Her new teacher was practically beaming as she fired off question after question.
Fairday didn’t have to think twice before answering, “You can introduce me when we walk in, but I really don’t want to say anything about myself if that’s okay.”
"No problem!" Miss Mason replied. "We should get going so that we get back to the class when Art ends." She turned towards Mrs. Morrow, "It was a pleasure to meet you. And don’t worry! Fairday is in good hands.”
"Nice to meet you, too," Mrs. Morrow answered and turned to face Fairday. She leaned down and added in a quiet voice, “Have a great first day honey, I am sure you will make some really special friends, and I just know you are going to love it here. Your future awaits!"
“Bye, Mom,” Fairday answered quickly, and gave a little wave. She wanted to get out of the office before the scene got any more emotional. Fairday knew that her mom could get very sentimental, especially when it came to this, so called, “new beginning” they were forging ahead with.
***
Large windows lined one side of the hallway, allowing natural light to spotlight the student artwork that hung on the opposite wall. Although the school was fairly old, it had freshly painted walls and clean surfaces, making it seem friendly and welcoming. After a short walk, Miss Mason slowed down and gave Fairday a small smile before turning left into room 208. Directly behind her, Fairday could see colorful posters neatly displayed both below the windows and surrounding the blackboard and SmartBoard in front of the room. Groups of four or five desks were placed throughout the middle of the classroom. A short blond woman stood in the front of the class monitoring the students as they munched on snacks, chatted happily, and took out their books. You could hear a pin drop as Miss Mason cleared her throat, and all eyes focused immediately on the front of the room.
"Class, this is Fairday Morrow. She just moved here from Manhattan. Let's all try to help her learn about our school and our procedures," Miss Mason explained in a sunny, but no nonsense tone.
Fairday looked up at the class with a faint smile and mumbled, "Hi," which was followed by a variety of greetings from the students, along with a couple of chuckles and whispers. Miss Mason escorted her over to a group of four desks in the back of the room.
As she slid into her seat, her heart was racing. She was trying to appear outwardly calm and hoped she was pulling it off. The girl and two boys in her group smiled tentatively at her, and then looked down at their books. Before Fairday could even consider the stack of new books on her desk, Miss Mason was beginning the science lesson. Quickly she glanced down, wondering which one of them to open. Fairday raced to find her place in the lesson, overhearing the kids in her group whispering about an incident that had happened in Art class, (apparently someone named Olivia had spilled paint on another girl named Macy, and everyone thought it had been done on purpose). She couldn’t add anything to this conversation, so she didn't look up. Secretly though, she wished they would change the topic and give her an easy opening to join in. Fairday snapped her head up when she heard Miss Mason say sternly, "Marcus, I am talking now. Please go give yourself a check."
Murmurs of "Brocket the Rocket" could be heard coming from the back of the classroom. What kind of nickname is that? Fairday thought to herself. She turned to look at the boy next to her. With his dark skin and short haircut she couldn't figure out why his nickname had anything to do with rockets, and didn't Miss Mason say Marcus? From the panicked expression on the boy’s face and the way the teacher had glared at him, Fairday concluded that he had to be one and the same.
Instinctively, her hand shot into the air. Before she knew what she was saying, she blurted out, "I'm sorry. He was telling me what page to turn to in our science book. I wasn't sure," she shrugged her shoulders and smiled shyly. Marcus's eyes grew wide for a split second, and he put on a straight face as he stared back at the teacher.
Miss Mason looked surprised and tilted her head to the side as if trying to decide whether or not to believe Fairday. After a short pause, she cleared her throat, and exclaimed, "Okay, then. Sorry Marcus, thank you for helping. No check. If you could, please help Fairday throughout the day.” She turned towards the SmartBoard and started the mini-lesson on invisible light.
Marcus grinned at Fairday and moved his head lightly up and down, gesturing thank you. It was hard to put into words what had made her raise her hand, she hadn’t even been sure if a check was a bad thing, but Fairday smiled back, thinking she may have just made her first friend from her impulsive statement.
She opened her science book, breathing an inward sigh of relief that she had already studied some of this information at her old school. When she had left, they were just starting a unit on sound. At least I won't look like an idiot, she thought as Miss Mason questioned the kids about how invisible light might be used by doctors, scientists, and other professions.
Marcus immediately put his hand up and replied, "Well, because invisible light can show things we can't see. It’s used by cops, detectives, and FBI agents, like my dad, all the time. My dad let me try on his night vision goggles, which use infrared light. It was so cool to see animals at night walking around in the woods near my house. Also, he told me that the FBI uses black lights to reveal chemicals and liquids that might not be able to be seen otherwise. His department uses them all the time." He looked proud of his dad, and Fairday couldn't blame him. She would be over the top excited if her dad was an FBI agent. Imagine all the amazing resources she would have at her fingertips to solve mysteries! Night vision goggles, computer programs, listening devices… wait a minute, she thought suddenly, as she realized that this Marcus Brocket kid did have access to all kinds of fancy detective equipment. Could he be the next Detective Mystery Squad candidate?
Chapter Seven: A Good Lead
Fairday was squeezed awkwardly into a window seat in the middle section of the school bus; her stuffed backpack propped up in-between her and another girl with light blonde hair. The chatty girl sharing her seat was deep in conversation with two girls sitting across the aisle from her. Fairday knew this had to be Olivia, as it appeared that the Art room scandal was still the hot topic. She could hear whispers of, “Macy said what?” and, “I heard she was really upset”.
As Fairday gazed out of the window at the blurs of gold, red, orange, and yellow zooming by, she thought about how different this place was from the city. It was colorful and open; the kids seemed nice, and mostly normal. She liked her teacher, and school looked as though it was going to be okay. But, she missed Lizzy, and every time she thought about the distance between them it made her miserable. Fairday couldn't wait to get home and see what her best friend had written back to her, and she hoped that Lizzy would be able stay over for the weekend.
The bus slowed to a stop and one of the boys sitting in the back stood up. As he left his seat, he lightly punched another boy on the shoulder, announcing loudly, “Later, Dif. Don’t cry. We all know Brocket's going to wreck you tomorrow at recess.” Snickers burst out from the back of the bus, followed by statements of, “Way to go Banner,” and, “Brocket’s gonna win!”
Fairday watched the boy they were calling Banner climb down the steps and get off the bus. He was somewhat scruffy, with dirty blond hair that was just a little bit too long, and a friendly, but mischievous, looking face. He stopped at the bottom of his driveway, turned around, and dramatically wagged his back end to and fro at the bus. The boys he had been sitting with were cracking up and pointing at him out the window, yelling, “Banner, Banner.” All were laughing except the boy Dif, who Fairday noticed, was scowling miserably. She thought for a moment about what Banner had said, “Brocket’s going to wreck you.” What did that mean? Marcus Brocket seemed all right in class, but was he some kind of bully that went around beating kids up? Fairday was suddenly unsure of her first impression of this Brocket kid. Just what was going to happen at recess tomorrow?
***
The bus maneuvered around a curve in the road and she was relieved to see the Morrow family cruiser parked at the corner of the long, steep drive that led up to the front gate. Fairday was thankful that she was not going to have to walk all the way up to the house. That would be a form of torture, she thought, as she grabbed her backpack and climbed out of the seat, trying not to knock into anything. She flashed a friendly smile at Olivia, who hesitantly returned the gesture.
Fairday was at the front of the bus, just about to climb off, when she heard a voice yell out, "Hey, Fairday!" She quickly turned around to see who had shouted out to her. It was the boy called Dif. He was looking at her from the back of the bus with a nasty smile plastered across his face; his beady black eyes glinted. A perfectly buzzed haircut and his camouflage army jacket, which had various skull and crossbone patches sewn onto it, made him look severe. Fairday stared back calmly, as he added, "How's the haunted Begonia shack? Seen any dead people yet?"
Everyone was silent for just a moment, and then whispers of, “She lives in that place?” and, “Ugh, that place is freaky,” could be heard all throughout the bus.
Fairday looked directly at Dif and replied in an upbeat tone, "Oh, I know, right! That place is so weird! No dead people yet, thankfully. Though, I did find some really cool, old stuff in a secret room of the house. Anyway, see you later!” She gave him a wide smile and turned to get off the bus. For whatever reason this kid Dif had tried to embarrass her in front of the other kids, and it had totally backfired on him. Every person on the bus was now sitting there thinking about what she had found and how cool it was that there was a secret room in her house.
Fairday waved to her mother as she climbed down the steps and jogged over to the car. She could picture a scornful Dif staring out the window at her, and her smile widened even further. Hopping into the car, she saw her mother’s beaming face. “So, how was it today? Tell me everything!” she gushed, looking expectantly at Fairday.
"It was a pretty great first day, Mom,” Fairday replied cheerfully, tilting her head to the side and shrugging her left shoulder, relieved that it was actually over and she had survived.
“Oh honey, I knew it would be. Did you make any new friends?” her mother asked, as the car started slowly up the winding drive.
“Well, it's hard to say right now, but most of the kids are okay. I sit near this boy, Marcus Brocket, and he seems interesting. Though, I’m not entirely sure about him yet. No one here is like Lizzy,” she added with a hint of despair. Not wanting to get depressed after such a good day, she turned to her mother and smiled complacently, adding, “But I guess there's only one of her.”
“You might be surprised and really click with someone here. Of course, you’ll still see Lizzy. We promised that we would plan a get together for you girls at least once a month,” Mrs. Morrow said with a knowing look in her eye.
“I guess,” Fairday replied, and then changed the subject. “Miss Mason seems really kind and treats everyone fairly,” she paused, thinking about the incident with Marcus and how her teacher had contemplated the situation for a moment before making a decision. Fairday decided to keep that part of the day to herself, but added, “She made science really entertaining and I liked going up to the SmartBoard when she called on me. Wait until you see it; it’s like an enchanted chalkboard.” Fairday had warmth in her voice as she reflected on the day, which had gone far better than she could have imagined. She also left out the part about Dif on the bus, but as far as she was concerned, she had won that small battle, and privately felt elated at her own cleverness. No matter what kind of a jerk this kid Dif may be, she had set him in his place by not reacting in a defensive way and giving him the upper hand.
Fairday eyed the words Fear Not the Unexpected as the car passed under them. She couldn’t help but agree, remembering how fearful she had been about today and it turned out there had been nothing to worry about.
"Your father is going to be thrilled that your first day was so successful. He's cooking your favorite dinner tonight to celebrate. Get ready for some out of this world chicken cordon bleu,” her mother announced, doing her best to sound like Mr. Morrow. Fairday was ecstatic that they were having chicken cordon bleu for dinner. And, at the mention of food, she realized just how hungry she was and decided right then and there that she wouldn't check the laptop to see if Lizzy had written back until after she had eaten.
Fairday walked into the house and dropped her backpack by the front door. The clattering, banging, and sloshing of paint buckets from earlier in the morning still hadn't ceased. She was expecting to see some progress, but the toolboxes, drop cloths, and assortment of various building materials only made the space look more decrepit. Whirring drills, scraping sounds, and deep, busy voices ringing throughout the house made the chaos seem even more overwhelming. This is not going to be a fast process, Fairday thought, as she stepped over a ladder that was haphazardly placed in the middle of the foyer and headed off towards the kitchen.
Margo was sitting in her high chair eating a snack of Cheerios, while her father sat at the square, wooden table next to her with his nose in a book. The afternoon sun streamed into the room, cloaking Margo’s soft brown hair in a halo of light. Ha! Thought Fairday, thinking how deceivingly angelic her little sister could look. Margo was such a curious and sneaky child, always getting herself into all sorts of trouble. She wasn't exactly an angel, but everyone agreed that she sure was cute. Fairday gave her sister a quick peck on the head and grabbed a couple of her Cheerios. “Mine,” Margo gurgled, pointing at the stolen cereal. Mr. Morrow looked up from his book and motioned for Fairday to come closer for a hug.
She leaned into her father and smiled warmly at Margo. “Thanks, Margo,” she said, hoping to appease her baby sister so that she wouldn’t explode into one of her famously furious tantrums.
“Are you famished, my dear?” her father asked, raising his eyebrows to see if she understood the vocabulary word.
"Yeah, I could go for a snack,” she answered, grinning back at him. He made his way to the refrigerator and took out some cheese and crackers. As he sliced the cheese, she filled him in on her first day. However, the whole time she was rattling off the main events, she was wondering if she had the willpower to wait a couple more hours to check her email. At least the mountain of homework and her dad's delectable dinner would keep her occupied for most of the evening.
***
Wiping her wet hands on her jeans, Fairday hung the dishtowel over the handle of the old-fashioned stove. Looking at it, she never would have guessed that is still worked. It was white with two electric burners on each side and a burnt griddle in-between them. To the right of the towel bar, there was a foggy looking clock, whose old hands were pointing exhaustively at three o’clock, which was definitely not the correct time. Fairday figured that her dad would probably have a field day trying to figure out how to reset the antique timepiece. Mrs. Morrow had let everyone know that since all the important appliances were still functioning, it would be awhile before the kitchen would be updated. Fairday looked forward to having a dishwasher so that she no longer had to add that to her list of chores. At least tonight, all the scrubbing and drying had been worth it. Dinner had been delicious and waiting a little longer to check her email had given her more hope that Lizzy's response would definitely be there.
Fairday logged onto the computer and quickly went to her account. The connection was a bit slow, and she tapped her foot expectantly while she waited for the inbox to pop up. Finally, one new mail displayed on the screen and she clicked it open.
F- so happy to get your email. hope the day was great. missed you at school. mr. barkley gave a pop quiz in math today and everyone was freaking out. my mom said yes about this weekend. : ) she will drive me up when i get home from school on friday. thought a lot about what you have found so far- v.mysterious. can’t wait to explore your new place. googled begonia house- nothing that seemed to fit came up. we’ll have to go to the library to find out more information on who used to live there- i may have a start b/c i put the name begonia into google images and i found 1 picture. it's of a guy and a lady standing in front of a tall, unique looking house. pretty sure it's your house. the picture has the caption ‘thurston begonia unveils magnificent new home after years of construction’. I attached it for you to look at- the house looks cool! i think there’s something behind the willow tree. i'll work on enhancing the picture. already have my dms pack ready to go. can’t wait to see you in a few days. gotta run- still have homework to do. ugh. Ttyl ~ L
Fairday drummed her fingers against her chin and bit gently down on her lower lip. Her heart was beating quickly as her eyes reread the email. She clicked on the attachment and waited as the photo downloaded and came into focus. Wow, she thought, as it popped up on the screen. She had not expected to see the Begonia House looking so proud and regal. In the image, the house was not crooked or crumbling. On the contrary, pretty curtains hung neatly behind clear, clean windows and perfectly aligned shingles covered the sturdy looking rooftops. Well-manicured flowering vines draped elegantly over the entryway and the withering old weeping willow that Fairday could see out of her bedroom window was blooming in all its glory. The man in the picture looked very happy, wearing a broad smile on his face, his left arm wrapped protectively around the shoulder of a pretty young woman. Fairday realized at once that this was not the red-haired lady in the photo she had found and couldn't help feeling somewhat deflated. The man was facing the camera with his other arm extended back towards the grandiose house. The woman was smiling lovingly up at the man, her long hair falling gracefully around her slim figure.
It was a sweet picture, thought Fairday, as she took note of the large, fluffy clouds floating lazily above the pointed rooftops. Suddenly, she remembered that Lizzy had said there was something strange hidden behind the willow tree. Quickly focusing her eyes, she bent in to get a closer look and scanned the right side of the picture; her nose almost touching the screen. She couldn’t see very clearly, but there was definitely something there. Maybe it was an animal, or a large bush in the background? Fairday couldn’t tell. It could be nothing. But as she squinted even harder and narrowed her gaze in on it, a shiver ran down her spine. It looked to her like a face peering out, though it blended seamlessly with the dark shadows around the trunk of the tree.
She stared at the picture for quite some time, but it was impossible to tell for certain what it was. Weird, she thought and leaned back in her chair, rubbing her eyes. Was someone secretly spying on this happy couple? And why? What, if anything, did this picture have to do with the red-haired lady or the initials RB?
〜
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