Part 1

Even after all this time, it's hard for me to adjust to the quiet. Birds, squirrels, deer, and pheasants just don't make the same sort of noise that school children do, or did. The old man comes still from time to time, but he's quieter than some of the animals.

The sounds generated by a room full of students were a source of joy from the beginning of my existence. The teachers made their own unique noise. The clang of the school bell to signal the start of school or the end of lunch, and the voices of teachers and students instructing and reciting were steady, predictable noises. The whispering between students when they should have been quiet, their talks during lunch or a rainy recess, the groans when they received a poor test grade, and of course the shouts of jubilation at certain announcements, they were all noises that became comforting and familiar. It got to the point that I could even tell when it was time for a new piece of chalk. My old wood logs hold a lot of memories from those times.

There were students who were sweet on each other. Everyone knew that Olav and Willemina were crazy about each other, even when they weren’t speaking to each other as the result of some ridiculous misunderstanding. More than one teacher had been courted during their tenure, and I overheard more than one proposal during those years. Being stationary, sitting in the same spot, year after year after year—it was easy to learn a few things. Reciting the American Presidents from Washington to Roosevelt, key dates in history, the traitors from the revolution up to the great depression—everything the students were being taught I learned right along with them. Arithmetic and sums, the multiplication tables, long division—and those rousing spelling bees—those were best of times. But the best and most enjoyable time was reading time. All the teachers who taught within my walls would read a story after lunch. That quiet respite in the middle of the day, listening to the teacher's voice reading classics, or the children reading from their primers, struggling over unfamiliar words … oh, yes, those were the best times. Life was good, until everything started to shift for me.

Things started leaving and didn’t come back. Books, paper, pencils, chalk, even the furniture disappeared bit by bit. They left the old wood burning stove and the bell, but not much else. Finally it happened. One day they didn't show up. It was confusing at first; I thought at first perhaps it was a holiday or the start of another war. But the empty days continued and it became apparent that it wasn’t a holiday. They should've been there. The bell should have clanged sharply at 8:00 a.m. The sun was shining and the air was crisp, but they didn't come. After a while, people started stopping by to take a look at me, and that’s when I learned there was a new school. One built in town that would hold more students and have different rooms for each grade. I heard discussions about the value of an empty building, and one horrid man even mentioned tearing me down. Don’t misunderstand, I was well-maintained and from time-to-time a few people would wander inside before it became obvious that I just wasn't needed. My primary purpose shifted to storage and a feeling of uselessness invaded my old logs. Making the transitioning from a facility designed for education to a storage shed was almost unbearable.

Occasionally, the old man everyone called Mr. Maypenny would come in to store things. I remember when he had gone to school here. Most of the kids called him George, his buddies called him G.W. He was a memorable student, and I remember some of the others that were attending before him. Their names came easily to me … Brom Vanderheidenbeck, Willemina Knutson, Earl Crimper, Ava Belden, and Olav Vanderpoel. Most of them were as smart as whips; they found school and the assignments easy. A few of them struggled and gazed out the window when they should have been listening to the teacher. George Washington Maypenny was a good egg, even if he was a window gazer who had little use for schooling. He did enjoy the reading, though. They all did.

But good old G.W. would still show up with a load of bird-seed or some other type of feed for the wildlife around. That always brought a scurry of mice inside to explore, but they were quiet as well. They took their share of the seed and left again, presumably to feed their families.

Things got interesting a time or two. Once was in the middle of a blizzard. The fury of the storm drove a girl, two boys, and a dog inside and the wind slammed my door with mighty force.

“Just in time!” the girl panted, clearly exhausted.

A flashlight danced around the room. It took in the three old benches along the wall, piled high with heavy feed sacks.

“Mr. Maypenny must use this for a place to store provisions for the animals and birds,” one of the boys said.

“Sure thing, it’s an old schoolhouse. Mr. Maypenny used to go to school here himself. Jeepers, it’s cold!” The other boy's flashlight was seeking out corners, too. “There’s a stove!” he cried. “Looks like a wood burner!”

“No wood for it, though,” the first boy said. “None that I can see. Do you see any, Trixie?”

Aha! The girl was named Trixie. She looked to be the same age as some of my former students.

“Not yet,” Trixie said, her own flashlight seeking anything they could use. “There’s a lantern!” She picked it up. “And a folder of matches right by it!” she said as she snapped the flashlight off and lit the lantern. She swung its yellow light around into corners, hunting stored wood. There were only two or three logs near the stove.

Listening to their banter and discussion was interesting, and it was easy to see they might need some help. I did everything I could to help them. There was the rope, the bell, the stove—all things they could use.

“I heard old Brom telling Bobby a story the other day about a storm,” Trixie said.

I knew exactly who old Brom was. He'd spent some time within my walls. He was a dreamer, always staring out the window and never paying the least bit of attention unless it was story time.

The girl continued. “Let me think— what did he say they did? Oh, yes, he told about getting wood from outside. Let me see … one man would stand just outside the house, and the other man tied the end of a rope around his waist. If the first man got lost before he could find the wood, he would pull on the rope to let the other one know, and he’d pull him back to safety.”

“We can try it!” the red-haired boy exclaimed. “Only where will we find a rope?”

It took them a few minutes, but I finally got through to them.

“The school bell!” Trixie exclaimed. “It must have a rope! Right over there in the corner, Jim, back of you, in that little closet. Open the door!”

Aha! So the boy she fancied was named Jim. Oh, yes I knew she fancied him from the start. It was obvious the boy and the girl had something between them, definitely a mutual admiration and perhaps, a bit more. Time would tell what they became. They reminded me of Olav and Willemina, they were sweet on each other at that age too. They finally started courting and they were married a few years after they left the school. I overheard a teacher talking about the new Mr. and Mrs. Vanderpoel to one of the older students. She really liked Willemina's wedding dress. It made me wish that I could have seen her in it.

But that night, they all worked together and came up with a good plan. Jim went out in the worst of the blizzard to find the wood. I did my best to tell him where it could be found. Those kids were smart, maybe some of the smartest I’d encountered in my time. The weather wasn’t cooperating, the rope broke, but they still managed to find a way. I’m not saying I didn’t help—I did all I could do—but you have to give them credit, they were a resourceful bunch. Even their dog, Reddy they called him, was no dummy. Much later in the evening, I learned the third person, the other boy, was named Brian. It was obvious he and Trixie were siblings. That one was also smart, probably one of the best students in his school. Trust me, I can tell these things. They had family to worry about them, but I wasn’t too concerned. The weather would break by morning and that trio could have found their way home even without the help of their friends who showed up. They were three smart kids, each bringing something a little different to the group, each adding and contributing in their own way. There was nothing to be concerned about.

Still, it felt good to be needed again and to learn that I could still pick up on things.

Not long after that, a young man showed up with G.W. They were poking around, moving sacks of seed, talking about wildlife, the preserve and trails. Daniel was the young man’s name. He came back from time to time, sometimes with G.W., sometimes alone. There was a definite bond between the young man and the old, and I'm still wondering if Daniel knew that Mr. Maypenny thought of him as a son. A few more years of quiet passed with an occasional visit from the redheaded boy, Jim Frayne. He liked to hunt and once or twice he came with his father.

Both of them would occasionally stop by and check out my old logs, look for leaks, rot and such stuff. The old logs were built to last and little work was needed to keep me snug and tight. The years passed and except for Jim and his father, G.W. Maypenny and Daniel very few people darkened my door.

Then one summer it happened. G.W. stopped coming. A couple of younger boys stopped by and surveyed the feed, even counted the sacks, and then I realized what was going on. G.W. wouldn’t be coming again. He was gone. One of my old students had died, and from conversations I overheard, it became apparent he'd left his property to the boy he thought of as his son. Daniel had a job elsewhere and the old man's death hurt him enough that he postponed making any decisions about the nearby cabin. Certainly no decision would be made about me, not without considering what would happen with G.W.’s home.

As fall approached, no one stopped by except Jim. Of course, anyone besides Jim or his father would have no business being in the preserve during hunting season, and Jim was the type who would challenge anyone he encountered on his father’s land.

But Jim was acting oddly. The first time he stopped by, I felt certain he was looking for something, perhaps a dog. He observed quietly, but I never doubted for a moment he was taking his own inventory, monitoring what was going on within my walls.

He came again, and it seemed he was even more careful than before. He looked out the windows, as if he suspected he was being watched. The only time he left the window was to shift the heavy bags of seed. Eventually someone would need to stock the various feeding stations, but it was still early enough in the season that there wasn't any real concern. Once he had arranged things like he wanted, he walked back to the door to check his work and nodded in satisfaction. It was obvious to me that he was creating a hiding place. You would have to come in and look carefully to realize there was a narrow space between the bags of seed and the wall. He cleaned the stove, making sure the stove pipe and chimney were clear of nests. He stacked a good supply of wood next to the stove, and checked that old lantern to make sure it worked. He even left fresh matches. Finally, he returned to the window and shortly before noon, he left. Something was up.

Then the old man showed up. He’d never been a student, but I recognized him. He’d stopped by a few times over the years, just looking around the place. Mostly, he was curious, a sort of nosy parker, the type who’d always be sniffing around other people’s business. Like those other times, he was on horseback, but this time it was obvious he had a mission. He checked all around the outside before he finally came inside. He had a shotgun with him, that was a first, and he stood for a long time at the window, studying the scenery. He left the window a few times, and noticed the narrow space. Before he left, he carefully stowed something away inside an empty seed bag. I could only identify it as something soft but one thing was for certain—something was going on. He made one more visit and left another box that felt like it might hold some kind of provisions, but that was only a guess.

A few more days passed before it really became interesting. The girl returned.

Trixie slipped carefully inside the building and then she looked down and spoke to a small dog.

“We made it,” she said quietly. Taking nothing for granted, and just like Jim and the old man, she watched from my windows. She set up a makeshift alarm on the doors and then pulled out the soft package. It was a sleeping bag. She unrolled it and snuggled inside. I heard her sigh before she fell asleep. “Now this is a safe house!”

The dog slept quietly next to her.

 

 

 

Part 2

Early the next morning, the dog woke her up and they both went out to take care of business. Trixie returned quickly to the building, but the little dog kept going. It was obvious that Trixie was frustrated about the dog leaving, but at the same time she seemed to have faith in that little mutt.

“It has to be here somewhere,” she muttered as she poked around the bags of bird seed. Of course, she discovered the box right away. She always was a smart one. I was right about the provisions, and she eagerly tore open a wrapper and ate some kind of crunchy bar in less than a minute. She sighed as if she’d devoured a feast. “Now that beats bird seed soup any day.”

Instead of eating more, she crawled back into the sleeping bag and fell asleep again. I could sense that she had traveled a long way and was tired. She certainly could’ve been dressed more warmly for the weather. It was cold and she was dressed like she’d come from somewhere much warmer.

Then it happened. The dog returned, this time with Jim. I recognized him immediately in his hunting gear, complete with rifle, as soon as he entered the building.

“Okay, Max,” he said to the dog. “I’m still not sure what’s going on, but I’m here. Now what’s so important about this place?”

The dog whimpered and the girl peered around the narrow tunnel, her jaw dropped in surprise.

“Jim?” Her disbelief was obvious.

“Trixie?” He seemed as surprised as she did.

Surprisingly, the dog didn't bark. With a wag of his tail, he seemed to take credit for their reunion. I couldn’t help but feel smug about being proven right.

“What are you doing here? I thought … we all thought …” He couldn’t finish the sentence. In fact, the choked emotion in his voice told me everything.

“You thought what?” she asked scrambling to her feet.

“I thought you were dead,” he said quietly.

“Not yet,” she replied dryly. “Although it would solve more than one person’s problem if I were.”

“Ohmigod, Trixie … it’s you. It’s really you.” That seemed to be all that mattered to him, and he enveloped her in his arms pretty quick, holding her tightly. “I thought I’d never see you again. In fact …” he released her and held her at arm's length, studying her frame from top to bottom. “You’re nothing but skin and bones. What’s wrong? What’s going on? How did you find Max?”

“It’s a long story,” she answered. “Who knows where you are?”

“No one,” he replied. “Only Max. He found me out hunting and wouldn’t leave me alone until I followed him here.”

“This is your dog?” she asked. It was strange about the dog. It was as if she was both surprised and not surprised that the dog knew Jim.

“Yes. Max … he uh, well he’s been gone for a while. Something happened, and I was supposed to be finding another home for him, but while that was going on, he disappeared. I thought … well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. You’re here and Max is here and ... oh gosh, Trix! You have no idea how good it is to see you.” He grabbed her hands and squeezed them, kissing her again.

There was definitely more between them than respect and admiration, much more. The heat they created was sufficient to take the early morning chill out of the room. Watching was more interesting than anything I'd seen before. Not even Willemina and Olav had gone quite that far. Things got interesting. I probably watched longer than I should have as he pushed her back against the log wall. Don't get me wrong, she was fully invested in him and what they were doing, but eventually it hit me, this was a private reunion. It was time for me to look outward, not inward.

That was also a problem, because then I realized as I watched the woods, that the little dog, Max, was watching the woods as well. The couple—Trixie and Jim—may have been destined for each other, but at the same time they were attracting elements of evil. The girl was a magnet for danger and even I could tell she and Jim still had things to resolve between them.

Then it happened. At the same time I sensed it, Max whimpered. Trixie and Jim couldn’t hear me, but I was screaming at them to hide.

They both tensed, and Jim put a finger on his lips and pushed her toward the sacks of feed. It was a miracle they still had their clothes on. Jim moved to the window, his rifle ready. The door was pushed open.

“Jim!” It was the old man who'd left the supplies. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before.”

“I could say the same thing about you, Mr. Lytell,” Jim replied. There was a forced courtesy in his tone and I noticed his hand tightened on the rifle. “This is a good place to stop when I’m out hunting. Especially now that Mr. Maypenny …” His voice drifted off and he didn’t finish the sentence.

It was obvious what he meant. Now that G.W.'s cabin was empty, Jim couldn’t stop in and visit with him.

“Of course,” Mr. Lytell fussed as he glanced around the walls. “Isn’t that your dog that went missing last summer?”

“Yes,” Jim replied. “This is Max.”

“Where did you find him?”

“I didn’t,” Jim answered truthfully. “He found me. He just turned up in the woods.”

Mr. Lytell chuckled. “That’s been known to happen. I didn’t mean to intrude on your hunting, Jim. I’ll be getting out of your way.” He turned as if to leave and then stopped. Once again it felt as if my old logs groaned when I saw what he’d fixated on. He was staring at a shoe. Her shoe.

It took Jim only a couple of seconds longer than it did me, but he brought the rifle up and pointed it right at him.

“You were maybe expecting someone else to be here?” he asked, his voice menacing.

Mr. Lytell ignored the tone. “Have you seen someone else?” he asked looking back at Jim, unbothered by the rifle pointed at him.

“I’ve seen you,” Jim replied. “And I’m beginning to think that’s one person too many.”

“Jim, no!” Trixie cried as she scrambled from behind the sacks of feed. “You don’t understand.”

“So you made it.” Mr. Lytell nodded his head in satisfaction. It surprised me that he seemed happy to find her there with Jim. Genuinely happy, not happy like he could finally do away with her. And that evil that I sensed outside, it was still outside.

“I made it,” she confirmed. “Thanks for the supplies. Do you think anyone was watching you?”

“No.” Mr. Lytell shook his head. “I was careful. What about you, Jim? Did anyone see you?”

Jim slowly lowered the rifle, staring. “I ... uh, no. I mean I didn't bring any supplies. I just shifted the bags of seed like Dad asked me. He never really explained why, but ...”

“There was no way I could move all those sacks of feed,” Mr. Lytell explained. “I needed some brawn. It was only natural that I asked your father for help.”

“But why?” Jim pushed a hand through his hair.

“Because someone is trying to kill me,” Trixie explained. “Mr. Lytell was the only person I knew who could get supplies here without anyone questioning him. He owns a store and it would be natural for him to leave with a box of provisions.”

Jim lowered the rifle and looked back and forth between them. “You trust Mr. Lytell?”

Trixie nodded. “Yes. He got the message to me, and I assume …” She paused and looked at Max. “You sent Max?”

Mr. Lytell nodded. “Did they follow you?”

“I’m sure they tried, but the pictures gave me a head start. You accounted for everyone except two people. Are you sure it’s them?”

Mr. Lytell once again nodded. “I’m certain of it. Matthew isn’t convinced, but then, they do work for him.”

“Okay … “ Jim held up a hand. “You lost me. Matthew, my father, you’re telling me he’s part of this as well?”

“Yes, he has been for some time. Now you’re part of it too.”

“Part of what?” Jim looked back and forth between the two most unlikely partners he’d ever encountered.

“Sleepyside’s spy ring,” Trixie replied. “Otherwise known as the Sleepyside Secret Six.”