Mandie Collection, The: 4 (65 page)

“You girls had better not let that Miss Prudence, or whatever her name is at your school in Asheville, find out you’ve done all this writing,” Jonathan teased. “She’ll be having you read it to your class.”

“Never!” Mandie said, scribbling away in her book. “No one is ever going to read what I write in this diary.”

“Nor mine,” Celia added.

“No one?” Jonathan questioned Mandie with a grin. “Not even that Joe fellow who wants to marry you when the two of you grow up?”

Mandie frowned and gave him a stern look. “Not even him. No one.”

“About ten years from now I’ll ask you again about that diary,” Jonathan said, still grinning.

“I doubt that I’ll see you around ten years from now. You’ll be grown and married,” Mandie said, without looking up from her writing.

“And where will you be in 1911? Probably married to that Joe back home,” Jonathan teased.

“Jonathan Guyer—” Mandie began loudly.

“Amanda,” Mrs. Taft interrupted. “What are you arguing about?”

Mandie looked at her grandmother’s stern face and replied, “Nothing really, Grandmother. I’m sorry if I disturbed you. I was just writing in my journal.”

“I apologize, Mrs. Taft,” Jonathan said. “I was only teasing Mandie, and I suppose we were talking too loud.”

“We’ll soon be to the house where we’ll be staying,” Mrs. Taft told them. “Then you can go outside and argue to your hearts’ content.”

“Yes, Grandmother,” Mandie said. She put her journal and the pencil back into the bag, and straightened up to watch the scenery through the carriage window. Turning back to her friends, she sighed and said, “I wonder who those people were that we saw leave the parade. They were acting mysteriously.”

“Oh, Mandie, you always see a mystery in everything,” Celia said. “I didn’t see anything mysterious about those people.”

“Well, I can imagine, can’t I? Besides, Uncle Ned told us we would find another mystery in Holland,” Mandie said.

“I think he said that because he knows you always find an adventure everywhere you go,” Jonathan said.

“And you always join in,” Mandie reminded him as she moved her feet from where Snowball was sleeping. She suddenly straightened up and exclaimed, “Look! Real windmills!” She pointed to two large windmills standing in a distant field full of blooming purple flowers.

Jonathan and Celia crowded close to the window to look. “The blades are set for celebration,” Jonathan said.

“What do you mean?” Mandie asked.

“The people in this country use windmill blades for signals,” he explained. “When the blades are stationary and set with the top blade just before what would be twelve o’clock, like those out there, that means a celebration is going on—probably the rose parade we just saw.”

“Are there other signals?” Celia asked.

“When the top blade is stopped right past the twelve o’clock mark, that is an indication of mourning. And when the blades are set at three, six, nine, and twelve o’clock positions, the miller is resting for a short period. When set at one-thirty, four-thirty, seven-thirty, and ten-thirty, the miller is resting for a longer period of time,” the boy replied.

“That’s interesting. Are there more?” Mandie asked.

“That’s all I know,” Jonathan said. “Besides, I don’t see how there could be more positions. The four blades move together, you know.”

“Do the people here really wear wooden shoes?” Mandie asked.

“Sometimes,” Jonathan said. “Most of the time they wear shoes like everybody else, but the wooden shoes are part of their history. I had a pair once, but my feet got too big for them.” He laughed.

“I want to buy a pair to take home,” Mandie said, and then with a grin she added, “I might even wear them to school.”

“Mandie! You wouldn’t!” Celia exclaimed.

“Why not?” Mandie asked.

“Because I don’t think they would be comfortable. And besides, they’d probably be awfully noisy, and Miss Prudence wouldn’t stand for that,” Celia told her.

“Well, I wouldn’t wear them all the time,” Mandie said.

The young people had been talking and not paying any attention to the scenery. As a small house came into view, Mrs. Taft drew their attention to it. “That is the house,” she said, pointing to it.

The three anxiously looked through the carriage window. It was a small house—quaint, and different from any they’d seen in the other countries. It was surrounded with flowers and willow trees. There didn’t seem to be any other structures nearby.

“It’s built so low to the ground it looks like it has grown tired and just hunkered down,” Mandie said with a laugh as Snowball jumped into her lap.

The others laughed with her, and the adults smiled.

The driver pulled up in front of the house and jumped down to open the door of the carriage.

“This is it, madam,” the man said as he offered Mrs. Taft his hand to assist her from the vehicle.

Senator Morton followed and the young people sprang out behind him.

Mrs. Taft stood still, looking puzzled. “I don’t see anyone. Surely the servants will come out and get our bags,” she said.

They all remained where they were for a moment, and finally Senator Morton said, “I’ll just go to the door.” He quickly walked up the short pathway.

Everyone watched while he knocked on the door. No one came outside.

“Jonathan,” the senator called to him. “I know you are fluent in Dutch. Would you come here and call out that we have arrived—just in case the people don’t speak English.”

“Yes, sir,” the boy replied as he hurried to join the senator. Mandie and Celia watched with Mrs. Taft as Jonathan knocked heavily on the door and called out in Dutch.

Between the knocks and the calling there was complete silence. The sun was rapidly going down, and Mandie realized it must be near suppertime. Snowball stretched at the end of his red leash. The driver stood, waiting for someone to unload the baggage.

Mrs. Taft quickly walked up the pathway, followed by the girls. “Don’t tell me there’s no one here,” she said crossly.

“I’ll check the back, Mrs. Taft,” Jonathan offered.

“You go around that way and I’ll go around this side,” Senator Morton told him. “We’ll meet at the back door.”

As they disappeared around each side of the house, Mrs. Taft spoke to the girls, “I do hope this is the right house.”

The driver overheard her and said, “Yes, madam, this is the house. I know the fellow who drives for these people. Their name is van Courtland, isn’t that correct? And they have gone on holiday.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Mrs. Taft agreed. “When the real estate agency engaged the house for us and arranged for you to bring us here, I had no idea you knew the family. Then tell me, where are the servants?”

“They would be with the family, except for the cook, one maid, and the manservant,” the driver explained.

“Well, it doesn’t look like anyone is here at all,” Mrs. Taft said as she looked around again. “Thank goodness we have engaged you and your carriage for our stay here.”

“Maybe we came on the wrong date,” Mandie suggested.

“No, dear, the real estate agency confirmed our reservation for the house,” Mrs. Taft said.

“Then maybe the servants got the date mixed up and went off somewhere,” Mandie guessed.

“That’s possible,” her grandmother replied.

“But highly unlikely that all the servants would leave the house at the same time,” the driver said, standing by the horses that were becoming restless.

Celia spoke to the driver. “Mr.... er... uh, I’m afraid I don’t know your name...”

“William, miss,” the driver told her.

Celia smiled at him and said, “Mr. William, are there other people living around here? I don’t see any other houses.”

“Certainly, miss,” William said. “Just a stone’s throw to the east there is a lovely widow and her son, and to the west there is the miller and his family. You would have to go around back in order to see the windmill.”

“A windmill! Come on, Celia, we have to go look!” Mandie said excitedly, picking up Snowball.

“Wait, not so fast,” Mrs. Taft told her. “I am going with you to see what is keeping the senator and Jonathan so long.” Turning back to the driver, she said, “William, wait here, please. We’ll be right back.”

“Yes, madam,” he said.

The girls and Mrs. Taft went around the side of the house where Senator Morton had gone. The pathway was covered with cobblestones, and the sweet scent of red roses growing along the way floated around them as their long skirts swished the air. The house did seem to be “hunkering down,” as Mandie had said. The windows opened almost to the ground and the roof hung low. Evidently its stone walls were old but well-kept. And it was much larger than it had looked from the front.

“Senator Morton,” Mrs. Taft called as they rounded the corner to the back yard. “Jonathan.”

No one answered. Mandie ran ahead when they finally spotted the back door, but the senator and Jonathan were nowhere to be seen.

Mandie paused before the door and waited for her grandmother and Celia. “I don’t see them anywhere,” Mandie said.

Mrs. Taft quickly looked around. “Perhaps they went inside.”

She started toward the closed door and then paused as Mandie said, “No, Grandmother. I see them coming through the yard there.”

The three of them waited as Senator Morton and Jonathan came toward them from the direction of a barn that was set a great distance back in the yard.

“Sorry, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone around,” Senator Morton told them.

“Not even in the barn,” Jonathan added.

“Oh, goodness, what will we do?” Mrs. Taft exclaimed. “Something has obviously gone wrong with our plans.”

“Well, did you try the door to see if it’s locked?” Mandie asked, turning back.

“No, we didn’t,” Senator Morton said. “No one came when we knocked.”

Mandie reached for the door handle, and at her touch the door slowly swung inward. The smell of freshly baked bread reached her nostrils. There was a sudden rattling of iron pans as she tried to see inside the dark room. Then a large cat came hurtling out, growling as he passed Snowball on his leash. A loud bang seemed to shake the house. Mandie jumped back in fright and stumbled over Celia, who was directly behind her.

Mandie steadied herself and said in a hoarse whisper, “There’s somebody in there!”

CHAPTER TWO

SHE CAN’T HEAR, AND HE CAN’T SPEAK

Even the adults froze as the racket in the room continued. Mrs. Taft reached for the senator’s arm, and he held her hand. When Mandie stepped backward, Celia grasped her by the skirt, and Jonathan put an arm around both the girls to steady them when they collided.

Suddenly there was complete silence in the room, and the young people cautiously moved forward to peek inside. They heard a woman’s voice humming a song, softly at first, then building to high-pitched, off-key notes.

Mandie whispered to her friends, “Let’s see who’s in there.” She stepped through the doorway. Jonathan and Celia followed. Once inside, Mandie could see that it was a large kitchen illuminated only by the failing light of day through several windows. In the far corner she spied an old woman busily stirring something in a large bowl on a table.

“Pardon me, ma’am, but we couldn’t get anyone to the door,” Mandie said, slowly approaching the woman. She was wearing an old mobcap and a flowing white apron over a severe black dress. There was no response. Mandie moved nearer and spoke again, “Ma’am, we are the people who have rented this place—” she began.

Mrs. Taft interrupted as she hurried toward the old woman. “Amanda,

I’ll take care of it.” As she finally stood in front of the woman, she was able to get her attention. The servant looked up, smiled at Mrs. Taft, and went on with her work.

“I am Mrs. Taft. We’ve rented this place while the owners are on vacation,” Mandie’s grandmother tried to explain to the woman. But she continued stirring the contents of the bowl and ignored her.

Mrs. Taft looked up at Senator Morton. “What do you think is wrong?” Mrs. Taft asked him in a low voice.

“I believe the woman must be deaf. That would explain all the noise. She can’t hear what she’s doing,” Senator Morton said. Then walking nearer to the woman he stopped in front of her, touched her on the shoulder, and began making signs with his hands and his face. He tried to explain who they were.

The woman watched intently and then suddenly reached for a heavy rope hanging near the stove. She pulled on it, and a loud bell rang outside.

The young people listened and watched. Suddenly a tall, husky man rushed through the doorway and looked around the room. When he saw Mrs. Taft and the others, he stopped and stared.

Senator Morton spoke up. “We are the Americans who have rented this place while the owners are on vacation. I assume you work here. We haven’t been able to get anyone to the door, and the lady here evidently can’t hear us,” he said.

The man smiled and nodded his head. He pointed to her ears and nodded in the affirmative. Then he pointed to his own mouth and shook his head.

“I think I understand what you mean. You can hear, but you can’t speak, is that correct?” the senator asked.

The man smiled again and nodded in the affirmative. Then he made signs to the senator that he was going out for their luggage. Senator Morton went with him.

As they left the room, Mandie said, “The lady can’t hear and the man can’t talk. Well, I suppose they fill in for each other, but how are we going to communicate with them?”

“I will take care of that, miss,” a woman’s voice said behind her, and she turned to see another woman, younger than the first, coming into the kitchen. She had her arms full of bundles, which she dumped
onto the large table at the end of the long room. Evidently, she had been shopping.

“Thank goodness for someone who can speak,” Mrs. Taft said.

“Madam, I am Gretchen, the maid. I will show you to your rooms,” the girl said, straightening her black uniform and adjusting the tiny white cap on top of her thick blond hair. “And anything that you and your party need, just ask me. I know how to communicate with Anna, the cook.” She turned, touched the old woman on the shoulder, and began using sign language and mouthing words. The woman responded in the same way and then smiled at Mrs. Taft.