Andi Unexpected Read online

  Colin made notes in the green notebook. I hoped we’d be able to find the real casebook when we returned home.

  “The last time I heard the name Andora was in 1933, and I was twelve years old.” Miss Addy paused and slowly hoisted herself out of her chair, a tapestry-covered recliner with pieces of delicate lace pinned to the arms. She shuffled across the room to a roll top desk, lifted the wooden top, and removed something wrapped in brown paper. After she sat down again, she didn’t say anything for a few excruciating seconds. I sat on my hands to stop myself from leaping out of my chair and grabbing the item from her hands.

  On her lap she unwrapped a thin, red leather book with soft gray pages. She ran her wrinkled hands over it and said, “This is something very precious to me, which I will trust you to keep safe, Andi. Patrick tells me you are a bright and responsible young lady.” She gave me a keen look, assessing my brightness and responsibility.

  I felt my face burn, wondering what Miss Addy would think if she knew I’d just imagined ripping the book out of her frail arms. I hoped my most charming smile, which showed off my full set of braces, looked trustworthy.

  “I’m encouraged that young people like you and Colin,” she nodded toward him, “are interested in history. And your interest encouraged me to share this with you. I’m in my nineties, and it’s high time I stopped holding on to things and started sharing them. I won’t be around forever. Before long, my grandniece will pitch all of my belongings into boxes and send them off to the dump.”

  Mr. Finnigan shook his head. “Miss Addy, you have years ahead of you.”

  Miss Addy gave him a small smile. “That may be true, Patrick, but I no longer have decades ahead of me—nor do I want them. When it’s time to go home to my great reward, I’ll be ready.”

  She tapped the cover of the book with her fingernail. “When I was young, I fancied myself a writer. I wanted more than anything to write a great novel like Gone with the Wind or The Grapes of Wrath—both were bestsellers when I was a young woman. Lord knows nothing came of my desire. But at the advice of my English teacher, I kept a journal. I wrote in it quite a bit on the days that I couldn’t go to school because I had to stay home and help Mother with the younger children. I thought of my journal as my schoolwork for the day. I desperately loved school.”

  She paused a moment and patted the journal on her lap. Her eyes had a dreamy look to them, and her voice was high and wistful when she continued, “In this journal I recorded my day-to-day activities. I hadn’t read it in years. But after you-all stopped me after church on Sunday, I decided to dig it out and look for the answer as to why the name Andora startled me so much. And I found it.”

  CASE FILE NO. 20

  My breath caught as Miss Addy carefully turned the delicate pages of the journal and nodded with satisfaction when she found the page she sought. In a sure, clear voice she read:

  September 13, 1933

  Ma gave me some bottles to return to the factory today. She said that Old Michael Pike would give me a penny for forty bottles. We found them yesterday in the Mill Street junkyard. Hard times there on Mill Street, Ma said.

  I saw my friend Molly Fletcher picking through the junk heap with her family. Molly used to sit beside me in school, but she hasn’t been there in a while. Her family lost their home. The landlord kicked them out because they couldn’t pay their rent. I felt bad for taking the bottles from the junkyard—bottles that Molly could have collected and gotten a penny for. I knew she needed that penny more than I did. Maybe the money would help her come back to school. I dearly miss her on the playground. But Ma said we have to do everything we can to keep our family together now.

  When I got to the factory, there was a long line of men dressed in their best Sunday clothes. They were all hoping to catch the foreman’s eye. My Pa stood in that line many days, and then he came home with his head down low. Now he’s gone north to Akron; he heard there is some work in the rubber factories up there. He’ll send for us as soon as he can, Ma told me. But I’m not sure. I hear her crying at night.

  I went around to the back of the factory where I was supposed to drop off the bottles. I knocked on the back door. The rough metal hurt my knuckles. As I waited, steam rolled from the two chimneys that poked out of the top of the factory.

  The crate of bottles weighed heavy in my arms. So I set it down in front of the door and knocked again. I heard somebody yelling behind me. I thought maybe it was the foreman or one of the workers. I thought maybe this person could tell me where to put the bottles and retrieve my penny. So I followed the sound around the building. Just before I rounded the corner, I heard someone cry out in dismay, “I’ve changed my mind! This isn’t going to work.”

  “What do you mean? The deal’s done. You have your fancy education and your money. It’s been three years.”

  I peeked around the corner and saw Michael Pike III standing with a worker dressed in denim overalls. The man in the overalls was Mr. Boggs. I recognized him because he and his wife go to my church.

  “My wife,” Mr. Boggs began, dabbing the sweat from his forehead with a stained handkerchief, “she’s having trouble this time. If Emily could just see her, it would be such a comfort.”

  Mrs. Emily Boggs is pregnant with her second child. She lost her first baby a few winters back. I remember Ma telling me never to mention it because it was still a painful subject for them. The infant died suddenly, heartrendingly.

  “We’re all having a hard time now,” Mr. Pike said in a cold voice.

  But Mr. Boggs didn’t let it go. He tucked his handkerchief back inside his front pocket and folded his hands together, pleading. “Just for the afternoon, that’s all I ask. Emily is still mourning andora-”

  Mr. Pike towered above Mr. Boggs, his face red with fury. “Don’t mention that name!” Mr. Pike hissed. “Don’t ever mention that name!”

  Mr. Boggs stepped back and bowed his head. “I’m sorry, sir.”

  “Now get back on the line, or one of the hundreds of men lined up out front will do it for you.”

  Mr. Boggs nodded and turned away. I didn’t want the men to see me watching them, so I ran around the side of the building. Forgetting about my crate full of bottles, I ran all the way home. When I got there, Ma asked me for the penny. I told her I didn’t have it; I’d lost it on the way. She walloped me good for that.

  My head spun as Miss Addy closed her journal. My heart ached with the pain of a lost friend—a friend I thought of almost all the time now, even though I never knew her. Andora was dead.

  I shook my head and tried to sort out my thoughts. The proof was right there in Miss Addy’s journal. Great-Grandma Emily lost her first child. But then, why haven’t we found any mention of Andora’s death in the archives? Maybe the obituary is still there, but we didn’t search long enough for it. After I found Andora’s birth announcement, we stopped looking through the newspapers. We shouldn’t have stopped.

  I glanced at Mr. Finnigan and waited for permission to speak. He nodded. I swallowed. “Miss Addy, are you saying Andora died?” I needed to hear it spoken out loud, to know for certain.

  “I’m afraid that’s what happened, child.”

  Another person I’d grown to love, gone.

  I squeezed my eyes shut. Then I bit my lip and opened my eyes again. “So searching for her was a big waste of time?”

  I could feel Colin’s eyes on me. But I couldn’t look back at him, not yet. My voice broke as I said, “Why didn’t the newspaper mention her death?”

  Miss Addy shook her head.

  Mr. Finnigan jumped into the conversation. “Maybe the family asked the newspaper to leave it out. Everyone in town would have known already.”

  “It could still be there,” Colin piped up, echoing my thoughts. “We just need to keep looking. Do you know when Andora died, Miss Addy?”

  She opened her journal again and flipped through the pages. “Well, based on this entry, it sounds like it happened around the winter of 1930.”r />
  “She died as a baby.” My fingers balled into a tight fist. I tried to relax my hand, and my knuckles cracked.

  Miss Addy leaned toward me and took my hand in hers. “I’m starting to remember Mr. and Mrs. Boggs a little better. Andi, let me assure you that your Great-Grandfather Patterson was crushed when Andora died. Truly crushed. But his heartache was nothing compared to that of Emily’s. Mothers and daughters always have a special bond between them, and Emily lost her chance to have that bond with her baby girl.”

  I thought of my own mother. I pictured her chipped fingernails caked with mud from digging in the compost pile in our backyard, and her secret wink meant just for me. I pushed the memory of Mom away before she could overcome me, and I concentrated on Andora. Andora. Baby Andora. Dead.

  “Your great-grandmother fell into a state of denial. Everyone copes with death in a different way,” Miss Addy said, not knowing that she was repeating what I’d overheard Bergita saying to Bethany earlier that week. “Some people said she forgot the child ever existed or that the baby ever lived with her.” Miss Addy’s black eyes, now soft with compassion, made her look so different than that stern, tiny woman I’d met at church.

  “But,” I protested with a soft breath. “But …”

  “Patterson didn’t want to cause Emily more pain, so he asked the town not to speak of Andora anymore. To act as if the child had never lived.”

  Miss Addy’s voice was gentle and she lightly squeezed my hand, but her words still felt like a slap.

  “The whole town loved Emily, so they all agreed. That’s why in my journal I wrote that Ma asked me not to mention it to the Boggs. I imagine that’s why Patterson hid Andora’s things in that little cubby in your attic, Andi. He couldn’t bear to part with them, but he didn’t want Emily to be reminded of the daughter she never had an opportunity to know.”

  “And that explains why I couldn’t find an obituary,” Mr. Finnigan added.

  I looked at him. “You’ve been searching for it?”

  He nodded, looking sheepish. “I’ve searched ever since you kids asked me about her. I thought I could surprise you with a lead, but I came up with nothing.”

  “That solves the case then.” Colin sounded disappointed.

  I’d finished my mission. I now knew who Andora was and what had happened to her. Yet I felt no satisfaction. Andora’s mystery had helped me to regain a sense of control over my life—something I hadn’t felt since my parents died. I didn’t want to let it go. I didn’t want to let Andora go.

  “But after Emily died, why didn’t Patterson say anything?” I asked. “Why didn’t he tell my grandpa that he’d had a sister?”

  “Maybe he did but your grandfather decided not to tell anyone,” Colin said.

  “Why wouldn’t he tell anyone after his parents were gone?” I snapped.

  Colin winced, but I was too distraught to feel sorry about lashing out at him.

  “Maybe it was too painful for him too,” Miss Addy said.

  I stared down at my sneakers, thinking hard and trying harder not to cry. What did my great-grandfather fight about with Michael Pike III? What did it have to do with money? And why couldn’t Patterson mention the name Andora to Michael Pike III? Something didn’t fit.

  “Andora’s death doesn’t solve everything,” I said. “Miss Addy, do you know what Michael Pike III was referring to when he said, ‘You have your fancy education and your money’?”

  She shook her head. “No. Men argued over money quite a lot in those days. I suppose they still do. But during the Depression, everyone was so hard up that money literally equaled life or death to a family.”

  “I think it means Michael Pike III paid Patterson for something, and I think it was for something more than working in the factory,” Colin interjected.

  After some thought, Mr. Finnigan spoke up. “It almost sounds like Michael Pike paid for Patterson’s education at the university.”

  “But why would he do that? Miss Addy, would you please read that line again—the one about the money?”

  Quietly, she found the page. “Here it is. Mr. Pike said, ‘What do you mean? The deal’s done. You have your fancy education and your money. It’s been three years.’”

  I thought hard. Colin and Mr. Finnigan were right. It sounded like Michael Pike III had paid Patterson for something.

  Miss Addy sighed heavily, as if the memory of the Great Depression clung to her still.

  Mr. Finnigan glanced at the mantel clock above the fireplace. “It’s time for us to go, kids.”

  But I had more questions. Where was Andora buried? Did Miss Addy remember the funeral? I opened my mouth to ask, and then I saw how drawn and tired she looked. I held my tongue.

  “Can we come again?” Colin asked.

  She gave Colin a worn smile. “Of course you can. Thank you for coming to see me today. But I think I need to rest now.” She squeezed my hand with surprising strength. And then she wrapped the brown paper around her journal once again and placed it in my lap. “Honey, take this. It might help you find what you’re looking for.” She made a face. “Although, you’ll have to forgive me for the fragmented thoughts. They’re just childhood ramblings.”

  She released my hand at last, and I held the worn journal to my chest. “Thank you, Miss Addy.” I managed a smile.

  Mr. Finnigan watched me slip the journal into my backpack next to the substitute casebook. He chewed his lower lip but didn’t say anything. Maybe he was worried that I wouldn’t take good care of it.

  I now wished that I’d brought the little blue trunk, the china doll, and the wooden blocks along. Miss Addy would probably like to see them. Next time I visited her, I’d bring them.

  Miss Addy insisted on walking us to the door to say good-bye. I hugged my backpack to my chest.

  “I’ll take good care of it, I promise,” I told her.

  She patted my shoulder with her wrinkled hand. Her other hand had a firm grip on her cane.

  Mr. Finnigan said good-bye to us. Colin and I picked up our bikes from the plush green lawn, and Mr. Finnigan walked down the street to his car parked on the opposite side of Miss Addy’s house. Colin jumped on his bike, but I just stood beside mine and watched Mr. Finnigan for a moment.

  “Come on,” Colin said. “We have to get back to the garage sale now or Bergita will have a fit.”

  “Right.” I straddled my bike and watched Mr. Finnigan drive away.

  Colin waited in the middle of the street. “Are you coming?” he asked.

  I put my feet on the bike pedals. “We have to make a stop first.”

  CASE FILE NO. 21

  Colin rode his bike alongside mine. “Where are we going?”

  “The university library. If Number Three paid for my great-grandfather to go to college, then maybe they have a record of it in their archives.”

  “That’s a great idea, Andi!” Colin pedaled faster.

  The library was an enormous building with huge white pillars in front. Colin and I left our bikes at the side of the building and ran up the steps to the front door. Even though it was just an hour since we’d rode through campus, the place now seemed deserted. The Endless Summer Festival would begin at 6:00 p.m. that night.

  I yanked the door handle. It didn’t budge.

  “It’s closed.” Colin squinted at a nearby sign. “This sign says it closes at 4:30 p.m. on Fridays during the summer. We just missed it.” He frowned. “And because of the festival, it’s closed all weekend and won’t reopen again until Monday morning at 9 a.m.”

  My shoulders drooped. I was certain there’d be another clue about Andora in the library.

  “Maybe Amelie can talk to the librarian on Monday and find out about Patterson’s tuition?” Colin suggested.

  “That’s three days from now,” I said. My gaze wandered across the grounds. The university library stood across The Green from Whit Hall, where Dr. Girard’s office was located.

  Suddenly the door to Whit Hall opened, and D
r. Girard stepped outside. I grabbed Colin’s arm.

  “Get down!” I hissed, pulling him behind the library’s metal book drop.

  Colin tried to peek around the side of the container. “What is it?”

  “Dr. Girard. He just came out of Whit.” I slowly poked my head out. Not seeing anyone, I stood up. “I think he’s gone.”

  Colin followed me down the library steps. “Why did we hide from him?”

  “He’s still upset that Amelie wouldn’t sign that contract, and I don’t want him to try talking me into it right now.” I frowned. “He’s really set on writing that book. When I was in his office on Sunday, I heard him talking to his agent on the phone. He said he’d write a proposal for her by the end …” My mouth fell open.

  Colin stared at me. “What? What is it?”

  “The proposal. If we could see it, then we’d know what Dr. Girard is planning to do with Andora’s story.” My pulse quickened. “When Dr. Girard’s secretary showed up on Sunday, he asked her to finish working on the book proposal before she leaves on vacation—today. It has to be the same proposal. And maybe it’s sitting on her desk right now.”

  Colin adjusted his glass. “Are you suggesting what I think you are?”

  I nodded. “We have to get inside that office.”

  Colin was a few paces behind me as I crept around Whit Hall to the window of the workroom in the History Department.

  “Andi,” he whispered, “maybe we shouldn’t be doing this?”

  “Let’s just see if the window is still unlocked. If it’s locked, we’ll head straight home.”

  I removed the screen and pushed up on the window. It silently slid open.

  “Now what do we do?” Colin asked.

  I bit my lip. “I think that means we go in.”

  Colin hesitated. “That’s breaking and entering.”

  “Technically … but how else are we going to see the proposal?” I took off my backpack. “Hold this. You stay here and keep watch. I’m going in.”

  “Andi …”

  I hoisted myself onto the windowsill. I got only as far as my stomach and then dangled there. “Give me a boost.”