Mandie Collection, The: 4 (26 page)

Mandie interrupted excitedly, “And what happened?”

Jonathan smiled mischievously and said, “I’m trying to tell you, if you’ll only give me time.” He paused to look at the girls.

“All right, all right, go on,” Mandie told him.

“Yes, please continue,” Celia said.

“The woman says the young maiden’s heart was broken and she tried to run away. Her parents caught her and locked her up in the tower. Soon after that, the girl jumped from a tower window and killed herself,” Jonathan explained.

Mandie and Celia both gasped as their eyes grew big. “That’s just what Uncle Ned told us!” said Mandie. The old woman stood watching them.

“Well, what makes people think it’s haunted? What is it that they see or hear, or what’s the rest of the story?” Mandie asked excitedly.

Jonathan asked the woman about the tower again. She replied, and he turned back to the girls and translated. “She says for years now there has been singing in the middle of the night, and people believe it is the spirit of the dead girl.”

“Singing!” Mandie and Celia both exclaimed.

“Probably what you girls heard,” Jonathan said with a big smile.

“Jonathan, ask her if the singing comes from the tower,” Mandie told him. “Has anyone ever investigated this tale?”

Jonathan asked the woman the questions in French and, after she had answered, explained to the girls, “Yes, different people have investigated over many years, but no one has ever been able to discover the source of the singing. The last owners had lived there for years and years and, as far as anyone knows, they never used the tower. And now that the Thalers own the place, the villagers are waiting to see if the tower’s secret will be solved.”

“Oh, Jonathan, please thank this lady for us,” Mandie said. “And tell her if we can find out where the singing is coming from we’ll let her know.”

Jonathan translated Mandie’s words to the woman and her face brightened with a smile. She reached to touch a stray wisp of blond hair escaping from under Mandie’s bonnet as she said something to Jonathan.

“She wishes us luck. For many, many years now no one has been able to solve the mystery,” Jonathan said.

“Mandie, we’d better go back to the church,” Celia reminded her.

The three smiled at the woman and turned to leave. Then Mandie stopped. “Jonathan, you’d better ask her the minister’s name and what time his service will be tomorrow. Grandmother will want to know.”

Jonathan asked her and as they left he said, “His name is Reverend Claude Saverne. The lady is his mother and the service is around eleven o’clock tomorrow, depending on how long it takes some of the people to come in from the country.”

“Remember to tell Grandmother that,” Mandie said, and then excitedly added, “I told you the singing was coming from the tower. I could tell by the sound.”

“Wait a minute,” Jonathan told her. “The lady didn’t say it was
coming from the tower for sure. She said some people
thought
it was coming from the tower. No one has ever proved anything.”

“We will,” Mandie told her friends. “We’ll solve this mystery for the villagers. Evidently they believe in ghosts and things like that, but I know better. There has to be some explanation for the singing, and I’m going to find out what it is.”

The young people hurried back into the church and found the adults sitting on one of the cold stone benches in front of the altar. When they turned and saw the three enter, they stood up.

Mandie rushed up to her grandmother and said, “The minister does live next door.” Snowball squirmed in her arms and she let him down to walk on his leash.

“And we spoke with his mother. He’s out visiting the sick,” the boy explained. “Service is tomorrow around eleven o’clock or as soon as the country people get in.”

“And his name is Reverend Claude Saverne,” Celia added.

“Then this is the right church,” Mrs. Taft said to the senator. He agreed.

“We’ll all come to the service here tomorrow,” Mrs. Taft told the young people. “And it’s cold in here because of all this stone, so I would suggest that you dress accordingly.”

“I’ll bring my shawl and sit on it,” Mandie whispered to Celia.

Jonathan, overhearing the remark, smiled mischievously at the girls. “I might just bring a pillow to sit on,” he teased.

Mrs. Taft touched Mandie on the shoulder and said, “Pick up that cat, dear. We’re going to walk around outside.”

Mandie tried to pick up Snowball, but he played with her and pulled on the leash. She gathered in the leash and caught him. “Snowball, maybe I’ll let you walk outside,” Mandie told him.

The adults went on ahead of them and Mandie whispered to Celia and Jonathan, “If we get a chance, let’s talk to somebody else here in this village about that tower.”

Her friends agreed.

The village only had one narrow street running through its entire length. Small alleyways crisscrossed here and there between the closely built cottages. Upon Senator Morton’s suggestion, they explored the byways. At the end of one lane they found a blacksmith at work.

As they approached the man and his shop, Mandie remarked, “I
know what he is. He’s the village blacksmith, just like the blacksmith we have back home.”

“Smart, aren’t you?” Jonathan teased. “That happens to be what the shingle over his shop says.”

“But it’s evidently in French, because I can’t read it,” Mandie said defensively. Then she stopped and looked at Jonathan. “Why, I doubt that you’ve ever seen a blacksmith, since you live in New York.”

“Oh, but I’ve traveled a lot, remember?” Jonathan replied. “I will have to admit I’ve never seen a blacksmith at work.”

Mandie immediately caught up with her grandmother and asked, “Grandmother, could we stop and watch the blacksmith work over there? Jonathan’s never seen one.”

Mrs. Taft agreed.

As they approached the shop they could feel the heat from the huge fire the blacksmith had going. The man looked up at them for an instant and silently went back to his work. The young people crowded close to watch as pieces of iron were heated in the fire and then hammered out into horseshoes on the anvil nearby. The blacksmith occasionally worked a large bellows to keep the fire hot. By opening the top of the bellows like a fan, air rushed inside, and when it was closed, the air came out of a nozzle at the bottom and blew the fire into flames.

Jonathan edged closer and asked the man a question in French. The man looked up at him and, having heard the group speaking, said, “I speak English.”

Mandie and Celia smiled and drew a breath of relief. Here at last was someone they could talk to. Mrs. Taft and Senator Morton had wandered over to a small shop nearby.

“I’m sorry. I’m so used to other people not understanding English,” Jonathan told the man. “I was just asking how many horses you normally shoe.”

“All the horses for all the people everywhere,” the man replied, waving his strong arms around. “I am the only smithy in this part of the country.” He looked at the young people. “You are Americans?”

“Yes. How did you know?” Mandie asked.

“Because you speak American English,” the man said, smiling at her.

Mandie quickly looked around to be sure her grandmother was not in hearing distance, then she asked the man, “Do you know anything
about the story of the tower at the Thalers’ house? We’re visiting there.”

“Story? And a story it be!” the man replied, wiping the sweat from his face. “Alas, the poor lass was not allowed to marry her love and her dear little heart was broken in twain. Now she tells the world about it with her song of sorrow.”

Mandie instantly detected an odd accent, but before she could say anything, Jonathan spoke up, “You are Irish, aren’t you? You have a lilt in your words like an Irishman.”

“Sure I am,” the man said proudly. “My mither did bring me to this country when I was a wee babe. This was my father’s country. And I make it mine. But one day I’ll cross the water again and see my mitherland before I give up this life on earth, the Lord willing.”

“Irish!” Mandie exclaimed. “We’re going to travel to Ireland before we return home if we have time. I am also part Irish—and the other part is Cherokee Indian.”

“Indian!” the man exclaimed. “You do not look like an Indian. But you do look Irish with those smiling blue eyes, lass.” He gave her a big grin.

“Amanda,” Mrs. Taft called from across the lane. “We should walk on now.”

“Yes, Grandmother,” Mandie replied. She quickly stepped forward and put out a small white hand to the man. “I’d like to shake the hand of a real Irishman, sir.”

The man grasped her dainty hand in his big strong one and said, “Now don’t you be atrying to solve the mystery in that tower. ’Tis bad luck to meddle in such things. And if the people who did meddle in it were alive to tell you, you’d be knowing that only harm came to them.”

“What!” Mandie asked in surprise. “Harm came to anyone trying to solve the mystery? But you know there’s got to be some reasonable explanation for it. There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“Ah, but there be, miss,” the man said. “You say Irish blood flows through your veins and you don’t believe in such things? When you get to Ireland, don’t let the people know that. They won’t claim you as a daughter of their land.”

“Amanda!” Mrs. Taft called again. “We have to go.”

“Yes, Grandmother,” Mandie replied, and quickly said to the man,

“I’m going to prove the story is just a tale. Wait and see. Thank you and good-bye.” She threw the man a kiss as she ran to catch up with her grandmother and the others.

Mandie didn’t know much about her Irish heritage, but she had never heard of anyone really believing in ghosts as the smithy did. And she didn’t believe harm would come to a person just for investigating the story of the tower. She’d prove him wrong.

CHAPTER NINE

TROUBLE IN THE NIGHT

Uncle Ned had not returned by supper time that night, and the Bagatelles still didn’t come to the table but had trays taken to their suite. The young people were hungry after their visit in the village, and they were also in a hurry to get away from the adults so they could discuss the afternoon’s events and their adventure for that night. Snowball had been left with a maid who would feed him and then put him in Mandie’s room.

“I think we should all retire early tonight,” Mrs. Taft remarked as she cut the piece of meat on her plate. “We’ve had an invigorating day and we should all sleep well.”

“Early, Grandmother?” Mandie asked across the table. “How early?”

“I’d say nine o’clock for you young people,” Mrs. Taft said. “We’ll have to be up early to get finished with the morning’s details and get to church on time.”

“Nine o’clock,” Mandie repeated, as she laid down her fork. “But Grandmother, Uncle Ned isn’t even back yet. Shouldn’t we wait up until he gets back?”

“Well, dear, it looks as though he is staying longer than he had planned,” Mrs. Taft replied. “However, he is a grown man and capable of taking care of himself. I don’t see any reason to wait up for him.”

Mandie looked at Celia and Jonathan. She knew what they were
thinking. Uncle Ned had to be home and in bed before they could try to get to the tower across the roof. Otherwise he might interfere with their plans.

“We could go to our rooms and write in our journals,” Celia suggested. “We haven’t been keeping up with them.”

“I suppose so,” said Mandie, “but I’ve decided that I’m not the kind of person who can set a routine of writing everything down. I always forget or it’s just not convenient when I want to record something.”

“Too disorganized,” Jonathan said.

“So what? I think being organized would take the fun out of everything,” Mandie replied. “I wouldn’t have time to solve all the mysteries we run into.”

“Amanda,” Mrs. Taft said, as her attention was drawn to this remark. “You are not planning any escapades I hope. You are getting old enough now that I expect you to act like the young lady you are. And speaking of writing, have you written to your mother lately? And you, too, Celia. I’m sure both of them are anxious to hear from y’all.”

“I sent my mother a letter when we first got to Europe, Grandmother, but I will write another one tonight,” Mandie said, picking up her fork to continue eating.

“And I will, too,” Celia promised. “I’ve already mailed her three letters since we left home.”

“What about you, Jonathan? Have you written to your father since we contacted him?” Mrs. Taft asked.

“No, ma’am, I haven’t,” Jonathan admitted reluctantly. “I don’t think I’ve ever written a letter to my father, and he is always too busy to write to me. He stays in touch with the schools where I live.”

“My boy, take some advice from an older man,” Senator Morton spoke up. “Sit down and write a few lines to your father. That could change the entire relationship between you two.”

“I wouldn’t know what to write because I hardly know my father,” Jonathan replied, fiddling with his silverware.

“That’s because neither one of you has made the first effort,” Senator Morton said. “If you don’t know what to write, just sit down and scribble a few lines about your experiences since you met up with us, what we’ve been doing and seeing. I’m sure he’d be interested in knowing that.”

Jonathan cleared his throat nervously and said, “I’ll try.”

“That’s all it takes to do anything, Jonathan—just trying,” Mandie
encouraged him. “You never know what the outcome of anything will be until you try.”

“I have an idea,” Celia spoke up. “Why don’t the three of us get together tonight and discuss our travels and help each other write our letters.”

“That is a good idea, Celia,” Mrs. Taft said. “The three of you may use the little parlor at the top of the stairs to write your letters. But I want all of you in your rooms by nine o’clock.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the three replied as they looked at each other. After the meal they all retired to the main parlor and discussed what they had done on their journey and what they planned to do.

“We’ll be leaving here to visit the Baroness Geissler in Germany,” Mrs. Taft reminded the young people.

The three young people looked alarmed.