The Mystery of the Emeralds

glasses. She filled the glasses with water from the mossy bucket and invited the girls to sit down and relax.
    “Now, you were asking about this road,” Miss Sunderland said. She sat down in a comfortable wicker chair alongside the well, smoothed her neat print dress, and folded her hands in her lap. “Did you notice that it isn’t even paved? Well, it never has been. There aren’t many cars come through this way. It’s much too winding. It’s just the way it was years and years ago, and most of the houses go way back, too.”
    “Have you lived here long?” Trixie asked.
    “Oh, yes, my dear, I’ve lived here all my life, and I’ll be—let me see, how old will I be?” Miss Sunderland paused, her brows wrinkling as she tried to recall her age. “I guess I’ll be eighty-nine my next birthday —or is it ninety? My memory isn’t as good as it used to be.” She laughed. “Why, I even forgot where I put my gloves yesterday, but I finally found them, and do you know where? In the refrigerator, of all places!” She chuckled softly as she thought about it.
    “Do you live here all alone?” Honey’s question was solicitous. She couldn’t help feeling that Miss Sunderland’s advanced years and obvious absentmindedness made it a bit dangerous for her to be by herself.
    “Well, yes and no,” Miss Sunderland answered ambiguously. “You see, I have Neil to run errands for me and look after the place. He’s a nice boy, too,” she added, nodding her head to emphasize the point. “He just happened along one day, wanting work, and I took him in. He has a couple of rooms over the bam, where the hired man used to live, and he helps out on a farm down the road a piece. He just went down there to get some milk and eggs for me. He should be back pretty soon. And my neighbor stops by every day to check on me, as though I needed checking at my age.” She chuckled. “And the first of the month, I get the money from the bank. I am, as you might say, comfortably off.” Her blue eyes twinkled.
    “And you have no relatives?” Trixie pursued.
    “No, not a single one that I know of. My parents died when I was just a young thing. I wasn’t born until quite a while after my father came back from the Civil War. My only relative was an aunt, whom I never saw. Seems to me she went south. Yes, I’m sure she did. Ruth went south and got married. Never did come back home.”

“Here It Is!” • 4

    TRIXIE AND HONEY were spellbound. This must be the aunt who had written the letter from Virginia! Would Miss Julie have any more information about what happened to Ruth, whom she had never seen and who, so long ago, had gone away from home? Was this the end of the trail or just the beginning? The next few minutes would probably give the answer.
    With bated breath, Trixie asked, “Why do you think Ruth left such a lovely place as this, Miss Sunderland?”
    There was a long pause. The old lady twirled her thumbs as she looked off across the meadow, seeming to forget for the moment that the girls were there. Finally, with a little shake of her head, she said, I suppose it was what makes lots of young folks leave home. She probably fell in love with some young man— Yes, I remember Mother saying she married and went off to Virginia when she was little more than a girl.”
    “And then?” Trixie’s question was almost a whisper as she tried to encourage Miss Sunderland to reminisce further.
    “Well, let me see,” she said slowly. “Seems to me Ruth had a baby—she would be my cousin, wouldn’t she? Then later, Ruth died after her husband was killed in the war. My goodness, what a long time ago that was. I don’t see why you young folks are interested in all this. I’m afraid I’ve been talking too much again.” She laughed as she brought her attention back to the girls.
    Trixie glanced at Honey as if to ask her if she felt the time was right to mention the letter. When she saw Honey give an imperceptible nod, Trixie said, “As a matter of fact, we are very interested, Miss Sunderland, because yesterday I found a letter up in our attic. I think your Aunt Ruth wrote it.”
    “A letter in your attic? But how could that be?” Miss Sunderland asked, edging her chair up closer to Trixie.
    Very slowly, and as gently as possible, Trixie told about Rufus and the necklace. There was a long pause. Miss Sunderland was lost in thought again, trying to comprehend it all and fit the pieces together.
    “What a strange