Under the Apple Tree

by Janice

Author’s notes: This story is set at the same time as the beginning of Lover’s Knot. You don’t need to have read that one, but it could help to have read The Secret of the Rose, since it sets the scene for this whole universe. As usual, if you’ve read my other stories and need a quick brush-up on what’s going on, visit the Reminder Page first.

As always, thanks to my wonderful editor, Grey. Thank you for taking time out of your busy life to reassure me on every tiny, insignificant point!

October 1991

Trixie groaned as her telephone rang for the third time since she had started studying.

“Obviously I’m not supposed to do my background reading before tomorrow’s lecture,” she announced to the empty room. “Hello?”

“Oh, Trixie, am I bothering you?” asked a contrite voice. “It’s Celia Delanoy.”

Trixie was immediately sorry and said so. “The lecturer for the history class I’m taking expects that I do hours and hours of reading each week,” she explained. “His lecture is tomorrow and I’ve barely started.”

“I won’t keep you,” said Celia, sympathetically. “I’ve been trying to reach Jim but no one answers his phone. While I was gardening today I found a box buried in the orchard. I think he should have a look at it.”

Trixie was intrigued.

“What was in the box?” she asked.

“That’s the strange thing,” said Celia. “Inside the bigger box there was a funny little carved box, but we can’t get it open. It doesn’t even seem to have anywhere to open. We thought we should ask Jim what he wants to do with it.”

“I’ll talk to Jim,” Trixie replied. “One of us will let you know what he wants to do.”

After she had hung up, Trixie returned to her study.

I can’t think about it now, she decided reluctantly. At least, not until this reading is done.

Trixie’s history class was the last of the day. She strolled slowly back towards her room, thinking deeply about the mystery which Celia had presented her. Her attempts to telephone Jim had been just as unsuccessful as Celia’s.

“Were you planning on passing me by?” asked a familiar voice.

Trixie spun around to see Jim leaning casually against a wall.

“And where have you been hiding?” she asked him with a smile. “Celia and I have both been trying to talk to you.”

“Celia?” he asked.

Trixie quickly apprised him of the situation.

“I’m going home for the weekend, Moms’ orders,” she finished with a smile. “She called last night to tell me that Brian is bringing his new girlfriend home to meet everyone.”

“Could you pick it up for me?” he asked. “I can’t make it away this weekend.”

Her eyes shining with the thought of this new mystery, Trixie agreed.

Several days later, Trixie found herself at Rose Cottage.

It looks even more beautiful now than when we finished cleaning it up, she thought, looking around.

Celia’s cheerful greeting jolted her from her thoughts and she soon found herself in the comfortable sitting room. Eight-month-old Jenna sat quietly on Celia’s lap while older brother Alex, now three-and-a-half, played on the floor.

“The box is in the cupboard over there,” directed Celia. “You’ll have to either get it yourself, or hold Jenna while I get it. She wants to get her hands on everything,” she added with a laugh.

Trixie chose to retrieve the box. As she seated herself next to Celia, Jenna’s hands reached out to grasp it.

“Not for you,” Trixie told her with a laugh.

Undeterred, Jenna tried to launch herself at Trixie, grabbing handfuls of sandy curls.

“Ouch!” cried Trixie. “This baby is attacking me!”

Jenna squealed in delight, oblivious to all attempts to extricate her little fingers from Trixie’s hair. Finally she was free and, after Celia had set the baby on the floor, Trixie could look at the package which she had retrieved.

The outer ‘box,’ as Celia had called it, was made out of some sort of sheet metal. There were still traces of reddish paint on it and, Trixie noticed, a black substance around the joints. On opening, she saw that the entire inside surface was black. A dirty-looking cloth hid the contents.

“It’s beautiful,” she gasped after moving the cloth. “Why would someone bury something as exquisite as this?”

“That’s what we couldn’t understand,” said Celia while retrieving Jenna from under the coffee table.

Trixie gently shook the box, which emitted a faint swishing sound. “There’s something inside,” she said perplexed, “but there’s nowhere to open it.”

Alex let out a wail as Jenna’s mouth closed on his leg. “She bit me!” he cried. Startled, Jenna began to cry.

“I think I’ll leave you to it,” Trixie said quietly to Celia. She let herself out the front door, smiling gently as she heard Jenna being settled by her mother’s calm voice.

Stepping through the kitchen door at Crabapple Farm, Trixie found herself face to face with Ginnie. “I thought you were here to meet everyone,” said Trixie, laughing, on noting that Ginnie was alone.

“This is the second time I’ve ‘met’ you,” Ginnie countered.

Trixie laughed and deposited the box on the kitchen table.

“How are you at mysteries?” she asked.

“Terrible,” replied Ginnie.

“That must be why Brian likes you,” muttered Trixie to herself. Taking the carved box out of its metal case she told Ginnie, “There seems to be something inside, but I can’t work out how to open it.”

Ginnie’s fingers ran slowly over the carved surface of the box. Seeming to find what she was looking for, she made a quick movement and the box opened.

“How did you do that?” asked Trixie, amazed.

“It’s quite simple, really,” said Ginnie modestly. “My grandmother has one quite similar to this.”

Slowly and carefully, Ginnie demonstrated the secret catch to Trixie until she, too, could open the box easily. That mystery solved, Trixie turned her attention to the box’s contents.

“What are these things?” she asked. “A bundle of papers, tied with ribbon; a ring; some sort of medal; a newspaper clipping.”

“I think the ribbon might once have been red,” said Ginnie. “And that looks like an engagement ring. It all looks very old.”

Trixie drew out the newspaper clipping.

“A train crash,” she said, surprised. “Why keep a clipping about a train crash?”

“Maybe someone they knew died in it,” suggested Ginnie, pointing to the number of fatalities listed.

A shiver ran down Trixie’s spine. “I wouldn’t,” she said flatly.

“Where did the box come from?” asked Ginnie.

Trixie told her the story of Jim’s inheritance and the discovery of the box.

“That’s quite a mystery,” said Ginnie finally. “I can’t make head or tail of it.”

Later, in her room, Trixie began to list the things she could do to find out about the contents of the box. Her studies had already made her more methodical in an investigation and she used some of the things she had learned to further her knowledge more quickly.

I should be able to get a date on the train crash, she thought, even though there is no date in the article. I’ll check a reference book on medals, too, to get more information on it.

She gently touched the faded ribbon holding the papers together.

I won’t open these until Jim sees them, she decided. There may be more clues there, but I think I should wait for him.

Taking the ring out of the box, she tried it on her left ring finger. It was slightly tight and for a horrifying moment Trixie thought it would not come off, leaving her to explain to her brothers why she was wearing an engagement ring. She quickly replaced it in the box and shut the lid.

I’ll think about it again when I talk to Jim, she decided firmly.

Early the next morning, however, Trixie found herself contemplating the mysterious box once again. She began to wonder whether it might be some sort of time capsule.

“I’m going for a walk,” she called to whoever might hear her.

The crisp October air felt good on her skin as she wandered along the path towards the Manor House. The path was so familiar that she could let her mind wander without worrying where she might be going.

A few minutes later, she found herself standing at the door to the clubhouse and on a whim let herself in. A fine layer of dust had settled on the conference table and benches and Trixie’s hatred of dusting warred with her sense of pride in the little building.

Maybe it will help me think, she decided. She found some cleaning supplies and set to work.

If I was going to bury a time capsule, she wondered, where would I record its position? How would anyone know to dig it up again?

By the time the clubhouse was clean, Trixie had decided on a course of action. She turned her steps towards the Manor House to follow it.

Miss Trask greeted her at the door. “You’re certainly up early,” she said with a smile.

“I couldn’t sleep,” said Trixie, explaining what Celia had found. “I thought I’d pick up some other things to take to Jim while I was here. They may help us work out why the box was buried.”

Miss Trask smiled at Trixie’s enthusiasm and encouraged her to collect the items she wanted. Trixie quickly found what she was looking for and headed back to the farm for breakfast.

The scene she encountered after entering at the kitchen door made her smile. The rest of the family had gathered and were preparing a huge breakfast. Trixie arrived just in time to hear Brian insist that Ginnie did not need to help.

“Just in time to avoid all the work,” griped Mart the instant he noticed her. He added to Ginnie, “Beatrix has an unfortunate predilection towards avoidance of exertion in all its manifestations.”

“Thanks so much ‘twin,’” said Trixie. “I happened to be on an errand for Jim for your information.”

“Peace, children,” laughed Brian. “Don’t mind them, Ginnie. They haven’t gotten over sibling rivalry yet.”

“Perhaps they need professional help,” she replied, seemingly quite serious.

“You’re so right,” said Brian, considering. “I’ll call Dr Ferris after breakfast to see if there’s a secure facility he could recommend.”

For one terrible moment, Trixie thought that her brother was serious. Then, seeing the glint in Ginnie’s eye, she passed close to her and whispered, “You’ll fit right in here,” before leaving the room.

Once in her own room, Trixie opened the package she had brought from the Manor House. Inside, carefully wrapped, were Miss Henley’s journals and a small collection of documents pertaining to Rose Cottage.

I wonder, thought Trixie, whether there’s a clue in Miss Henley’s diary. I do remember reading a part that didn’t seem to make sense.

A quick search located the passage in question. Trixie read slowly and carefully, trying to imagine Miss Henley’s state of mind as she wrote each entry. She felt the sorrow Miss Henley shared when her sister Agatha’s fiancé was killed in a train accident, the confusion as Agatha struggled to deal with the tragedy.

Soon after that the style of the writing changed. The language became more guarded than in the bulk of the writings and Trixie remembered struggling with it when she read it years before.

Suddenly, she sat up straight with a jolt.

Of course, she thought, rather embarrassed. How could I have been so naive? ‘In trouble’ means ‘pregnant.’

In front of her, in Miss Henley’s rather old-fashioned writing was a piece of information which Trixie had completely overlooked: Miss Henley’s sister had had an illegitimate child.

The knowledge opened up a multitude of new possibilities in Trixie’s mind and for a moment she was overwhelmed by them.

I need to talk to Jim about this, she thought longingly.

Even after little more than a day she missed him terribly. She toyed for a moment with the idea of calling him straight away but decided to wait the eight or nine hours until she saw him. It seemed almost an eternity away to Trixie, impatient as she was to share all of her new ideas.

That evening arrived eventually and Trixie found herself impatiently tapping on Jim’s apartment door. The smile that he gave her on opening it almost made the wait worthwhile in Trixie’s mind.

“I missed you,” he said, pulling her inside and into his embrace. “Next time I’m going with you.”

Trixie laughed and they kissed.

“Just make sure that you do,” she said saucily. “I don’t think I can stand to be away from you either.”

Their rather soppy reunion was rudely interrupted by Jim’s roommate Vince, who began to make vomiting noises.

“Spare us,” he gasped, sliding off the couch onto the floor.

“Get a room,” added Ethan, the other roommate, who was sprawling in front of the television.

Jim frowned at both of them and pulled Trixie by the hand into his own room, closing the door firmly behind them.

“I’ve got so much to talk to you about,” Trixie began, dropping inelegantly onto Jim’s neatly made bed. “I don’t know where to start.”

“How about the beginning?” asked Jim, sitting next to her. “Did you see Celia?”

“Oh, yes,” laughed Trixie, “and here is the box.”

While Jim was examining it, Trixie told him how Ginnie had shown her how to open it and the steps she thought they could take to find out about the contents.

“At first I thought it might be some sort of time capsule,” she told him, “and I got Miss Henley’s diaries to look for a clue as to who buried it, but I remembered reading something I didn’t understand at the time.” She began to redden and Jim wondered if she would continue. “Why don’t you read it for yourself?”

Jim took the small book from her, regarding Trixie quizzically. He began to read where she indicated and carefully schooled his expression to be quite bland.

“I can see why you missed that,” he said with a small smile. “She wrote very discreetly, didn’t she?”

“I don’t think it had even occurred to me that people did that sort of thing in those days,” Trixie said, mildly embarrassed though she could not say why.

Jim laughed. “How did you think you got here, then?” he could not resist asking.

“I meant outside of marriage,” she replied, outraged. “Of course married people had sex, and lots of it probably. Otherwise how did they get so many children?”

Jim only laughed harder.

“Anyway, I think that makes it obvious that Agatha buried the box,” she continued, as if he had said nothing. “Her fiancé was killed and she was pregnant and she didn’t want to think about him or what had happened.”

“Some of that should be easy enough to check,” Jim replied, his laughter having subsided. “I suppose you could look up if he was ever awarded a medal.”

“And it will be easy enough to confirm that this train crash is the one he died in,” she added, pointing to the newspaper clipping. After a quiet moment she told him, “I haven’t looked at these other papers yet.”

Jim picked up the bundle and gently untied the ribbon. He dropped it onto the bed, where it bent back into the shape it had been. The papers were old, yellowed and - apparently - tearstained. Jim opened the first and found himself looking at a hand-written letter.

“It’s from someone called ‘Frederick,’” he told her, reading quickly. “A love letter.”

“That’s her fiancé’s name,” Trixie told him, “Frederick Hamilton.”

Together, they examined the letters. The ones at the top of the pile were from Frederick to Agatha, the ones at the bottom from Agatha to Frederick.

“She must have got her letters back after he died,” said Trixie. “This is so sad.”

“It gets worse,” Jim told her. “This must be the last letter - it’s got the latest date - and he says that he’s coming to see her by train. She must have asked him to come so that she could tell him about the baby.”

“Do you mean he died while going to see her?” asked Trixie, sickened by the thought. “She must have felt terrible!”

“And then to have to face being unmarried and pregnant in those days,” added Jim. “I wonder what became of them. She must be dead because Miss Henley didn’t have anyone to leave her house to,” he continued thoughtfully.

“She died a few years later,” said Trixie, searching through the diaries for the right one. “Here it is, in 1926. That’s about, um, seven years later, I think.”

“So, he died in 1919,” Jim mused, “she must have had the baby early in 1920 by these dates and another six years later she died. What did she die of? Do we know?”

“Tuberculosis,” said Trixie. She added with a giggle, “Though, when I first read the diaries I had a strange idea that she’d died of a broken heart.”

“Heart. Lung. Close enough,” replied Jim with a straight face.

A few days later Trixie had made good progress on the tasks she had set herself. She gave a self-satisfied sigh as she dropped a newly-written letter in the mailbox and continued outside on the way to her first class of the day.

“Have you found anything out yet?” asked Honey, who walked with her.

“Not as such,” replied Trixie. “That letter is to a friend of mine - her name is Ursula - who specialises in researching military records. I called her last night and she’s agreed to help me with that aspect of things.”

“Oh,” Honey sounded disappointed. “Is that all?”

Trixie laughed and continued. “Then, there’s the train crash. I’m still waiting to hear back from the Sleepyside Sun as to whether that was their article and I’ll be checking the New York papers next. And I’ve put the word out that I’m interested in Frederick Hamilton.”

Honey was intrigued. “How do you do that?”

“Well,” Trixie replied, “so far, I’ve just let my genealogy friends know and asked them to let their friends know. If I was more serious about finding his family I’d place an ad.”

The following evening, Trixie’s studies were once again interrupted by the ringing telephone.

“Hello,” she answered.

“Trixie,” a voice said. “It’s Ursula speaking. You won’t believe the coincidence I’ve come across.”

“To do with my research? Did you have something on the medal?” Trixie asked.

“I know his family,” she burst out with. “I’ve just checked it all out and it’s really the same person.”

“That’s wonderful,” Trixie told her. “Is there any chance I can talk to one of them? Maybe someone older who knew him?”

“I’m way ahead of you,” Ursula replied. “I’ve spoken to Mrs. Hamilton, who was his sister-in-law, and she wants to talk to you. She suggested a time and place, you tell me if they’re okay and I’ll arrange it for you.”

“That’s great, Ursula,” Trixie said. “Thanks so much!”

It was a few days later that Trixie found herself at the appointed meeting place several minutes earlier than the agreed time.

After a short wait Trixie spotted a small, elderly woman entering the cafe.

“Mrs. Hamilton?” she asked.

“Yes, dear,” the woman replied. “You must be Miss Belden. I’m pleased to meet you.”

“Thank you for meeting me, Mrs. Hamilton,” Trixie said politely. “Please call me Trixie.”

When they were comfortably established at a small table Trixie told the story of the box and the discoveries she had made since its unearthing. As she described the information from the diaries Mrs. Hamilton’s eyes widened and she gasped.

“A child, you say?” Mrs. Hamilton asked, setting down her teacup. “I never imagined- I mean, how could I-”

“I was rather surprised myself,” Trixie admitted.

“I wish she had told us,” Mrs. Hamilton said sadly. “We could have done something for the poor girl. I wonder what became of the baby?”

“I intend to find out,” Trixie told her. “I’d be happy to let you know if you like.”

“Thank you,” she replied. “I’d like that.” The old lady continued after a pause. “I seem to remember going to Rose Cottage once. Freddy and Agatha disappeared somewhere and we found them in the orchard, sitting under the apple tree.”

A light went on in Trixie’s brain.

I’ll have to check that with Celia, she thought.

She reached into her bag and brought out the box, which she had carefully wrapped.

“The other thing I’d like to know,” she said, removing the wrappings, “is whether you recognise this.”

“It’s been a long time since I saw this,” Mrs. Hamilton said softly. “We never knew what became of it.” It was as if she was talking to herself.

“Then it came from your husband’s family?” Trixie prompted.

“Oh, yes,” said the older woman. “It was an heirloom, his mother’s most prized possession. My husband and his brother searched everywhere for it after she passed away. They were very upset that they couldn’t find it. I wish now that they’d lived to see it again.” She spoke wistfully and Trixie was not surprised to see tears glistening in her eyes.

Trixie gently placed the box back in Mrs. Hamilton’s hands.

“When I told Jim that I’d found you he told me that if the box had belonged to your brother-in-law that I should give it to you. It’s yours now,” Trixie told her.

“Thank you, my dear. It means a lot to me.”

As soon as she got home, Trixie called Celia to check her hunch. “Where exactly did you find the box?” she asked as soon as she could without seeming impolite.

“In the orchard,” Celia told her. “There’s an ancient apple tree, terribly gnarled but it has the most delicious apples. We were clearing around it to make it easier to get them. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, just a hunch,” Trixie told her. “I’ll tell you the whole story when I’ve worked it out.”

A few days later, Trixie returned to her room to find several letters waiting for her. At last, she thought as she examined them. The reply from the Sleepyside Sun. They’ve certainly taken their time.

She quickly opened the envelope and scanned its contents. A broad smile settled on her face. The article from the box had not come from that newspaper, but the archivist had sent a copy of several related articles.

Jim will want to see these, she thought. One of the articles had a picture of Rose Cottage, covering the tragedy using a local angle. She determined to show them to him right away and called him to arrange a meeting.

“I’ll come and get you,” he told her.

While she waited, Trixie paced up and down. I’m at the end, she thought, but until I tell someone it doesn’t seem real.

Finally, Jim arrived to collect her. “Let’s get something to eat and you can tell me all about it,” he said, guiding her towards their favourite pizzeria.

Once inside, the delicious aroma surrounded them and Trixie forgot her impatience momentarily. “I’m starved,” she said. “Hurry up and order.”

Jim laughed indulgently. “So that’s what you hustled me in here for. And to think that I thought you wanted to talk to me.”

They placed their order and settled at their favourite table, tucked away between huge potted ferns.

“I got my response from the Sleepyside Sun,” she told him. “It wasn’t their article but they sent me copies of the ones they ran the issue after it happened and the issue after that. They took a few days to find out that someone with local connections had died.”

She spread the copies out in front of him and continued.

“There’s a good picture of Rose Cottage on this last page,” she pointed. “And if the story they have here is accurate, it looks like everything we worked out is right.”

“What do you mean, ‘we,’ Trixie?” he asked her. “You did it all yourself. I did exactly nothing.”

Trixie looked faintly embarrassed and Jim asked another question to ease her discomfort.

“I can hardly keep up with what you’ve found out, anyway,” he said. “Why don’t you set it straight for me.”

Trixie shuffled the papers a little while she gathered her thoughts.

“Well, first of all, we know that Agatha was engaged to Frederick. He’d been a war hero - we found his records from the medal. From the diary we know that she got pregnant. From the letters we know that he was going to see her when he died.”

“Okay,” Jim said. “That’s pretty straightforward.”

“I can only guess how she got the box,” Trixie continued. “I suppose that he must have given it to her as a present. We know that it belonged to his mother and was her most prized possession.”

“I didn’t know that part,” Jim said quietly.

“Mrs. Henderson told me,” she replied softly. “She was very grateful to have it back. I think she wanted to hand it down to her children and grandchildren.”

“What else do we know?” he prompted.

“When Frederick died, Agatha was in terrible trouble. She didn’t marry anyone else, so I guess she went to a home for unmarried mothers until the child was born.” Trixie paused, thinking carefully.

“I don’t know whether she buried the box before she went or after she returned,” she continued. “I guess it was probably before. She went to their special spot, under the apple tree. She took everything she had of him, wrapped it carefully and buried it.”

“And now you’ve unearthed it,” he said.

Trixie looked up at Jim and smiled.

“I’m glad we worked it out,” she said. “I think we owed it to her.”

Jim simply nodded. His thoughts seemed to be far away, perhaps with a frightened young woman in the distant past.

“Do you think we could find the baby?” she asked after a moment.

Jim laughed. “It wouldn’t be a baby, Trixie. They would be quite elderly by now.”

“You know what I meant,” she replied indignantly.

“I know,” he said quietly, “though, you’d know much better than I do whether it’s possible to track him or her down.”

“I’d like to try,” said Trixie wistfully. “I’d like to be able to tell someone this story.”

“Whatever you want to do, Trixie,” he said slowly, “do it. I’ll be right behind you.”

The End

Back to Janice’s The Long Way Home Page

Please note: Trixie Belden is a registered trademark of Random House Publishing. This site is in no way associated with Random House and no profit is being made from these pages.