The Secret at Jefferson's Mansion

  This book is dedicated to parents and grandparents

  who read to their young children—R.R.

  Contents

  1. The Hidden Cupboard

  2. Marshall’s Secret

  3. The Key to the Case

  4. Spike Takes a Hike

  5. The Stranger’s Face

  6. The Figure in the Fog

  7. The Secret in the Cemetery

  8. Spike the Hero

  1

  The Hidden Cupboard

  “Marsh, I can’t see anything in here!” KC said. “Hand me the flashlight.”

  Marshall Li grinned. “It doesn’t work,” he fibbed. “The batteries must be dead. Better watch out for spiders. They love to hide in dark places.”

  KC backed out of her bedroom closet. “I just changed those batteries last week,” she told him. She took the flashlight from Marshall and switched it on.

  “Don’t try to scare me,” she said. “Spiders are gross, but I’m not afraid of them.”

  “Spiders aren’t gross!” Marshall said. “They’re smart and shy and wouldn’t hurt a fly … well, maybe they would.”

  Marshall loved all creatures, but especially those with eight legs. He had a pet tarantula and hoped to work in the insect zoo at the Smithsonian someday.

  KC Corcoran was President Zachary Thornton’s stepdaughter. KC had moved into the White House when her mother and the president got married. Marshall Li, who lived nearby, was KC’s best friend.

  KC had decided to paint the inside of her closet, and Marshall was helping her. They piled all her clothes on KC’s bed.

  KC had brought cleaning rags and a stepladder from the kitchen.

  “Come on, let’s get started,” she said to Marshall. They each grabbed a dustcloth and crowded into the closet. KC set the flashlight on top of the stepladder.

  “Why isn’t there a light in your closet?” Marshall asked. “Mine at home has one.”

  “This is one of the oldest bedrooms in the White House,” KC said. She wiped dust and cobwebs from the wall in front of her. “There was no electricity when it was built. I guess they just forgot about the closet when electricity was added to the White House.”

  Marshall climbed up the stepladder and aimed the flashlight around the space. He paused when it shone on one corner.

  “Hey, what’s that thing on the wall?” Marshall pointed to a small lump under the paint. It was perfectly round and the size of a half-dollar.

  Marshall tapped the bump with the end of the flashlight. Some of the old paint flaked off. He looked at the bump more closely. “I think it’s a ring,” he said. He wiggled a finger under the paint and tugged. Suddenly a square piece of wall came away in his hand. He jumped off the stepladder as paint flakes fell onto his hair.

  “Let me see!” KC took his place on the ladder. She shone her flashlight into a square hole in the closet wall. “It’s a secret cubbyhole!” she said.

  “Is there anything inside?” Marshall asked, wiping dust and paint off his shirt.

  “Cobwebs,” KC said. “And a couple of shelves.” She stood on the top step and reached into the hole. The shelves were deep, so she had to shove her whole arm in.

  KC felt a sharp edge. “I think there’s something in here! It feels like some kind of box,” she said.

  “Maybe it’s a pirate’s chest filled with treasure,” Marshall cracked.

  “Here, take the light.” KC handed the flashlight to Marshall so she’d have both hands free. She slid the thing forward and pulled it into the closet. It was a chest, but not a pirate’s. About the size of a pizza box, it was made of wood and stood only six inches high.

  KC set the box on top of the stepladder next to her. She wiped dust and grime off the wood.

  “I wonder what’s in it,” Marshall whispered. He tried to lift the lid. “It won’t open.”

  KC noticed a small round hole. “Maybe this is a lock,” she said.

  She thrust the chest into Marshall’s arms and reached all the way into the corners of the hole. She ran her fingers across the rough wood.

  “Found something,” KC muttered. She brought her hand out, holding a small key.

  KC’s heart was beating wildly. She put the key into the small hole of the box and turned it. When he heard a click, Marshall lifted the lid.

  Inside were twelve small horses. Each was about six inches long. They were different colors. Some were wooden. Some were made of clay. One was made of cardboard and twigs tied together with string. Each horse lay in its own pocket, like chocolates in a box. They looked old.

  “Cool!” Marshall said.

  KC wiped the inside of the box lid. “Someone wrote something here,” she said.

  Marshall ran his fingers over the words. “The letters are carved,” he said.

  THESE HORSES WERE CREATED AND GIVEN TO ME BY MY DEAR GRANDCHILDREN.

  OF ALL MY WORLDLY GOODS, THESE I TREASURE THE MOST.

  Beneath the message were a signature and a date:

  THOMAS JEFFERSON, 1808

  “Oh my gosh!” KC said. “These horses belonged to Thomas Jefferson!”

  “How’d they get stuck in this closet?” Marshall wondered out loud.

  “Maybe his grandchildren put them there,” KC suggested.

  She gently picked up one of the clay horses. “Just think, some little kid made this about two hundred years ago,” she said. “Come on, we have to show these to my mom and the president!”

  KC placed the horse back in its spot, and the kids raced down the hallway. They found the president and KC’s mom in the private library, playing Scrabble. The three White House cats were each curled in a ball on the sofa.

  “I don’t think ‘pid’ is a word, dear,” Lois said to KC’s stepfather, the president.

  “Yes, it is,” President Thornton said confidently.

  “Then use it in a sentence,” the First Lady said. She winked at KC and Marshall.

  “‘Pid’ is short for ‘pigeon,’” the president said. “The pid flew into its nest.”

  “Oh, pooh,” KC’s mom said. “You lose a turn for trying to cheat!”

  The president grinned. “Busted,” he said. “What have you got there, KC?”

  “Can you move the Scrabble board?” KC said.

  The president slid the board to one side, and KC set the box on the table.

  “We found it in KC’s closet!” Marshall said. “It was hidden inside a wall.”

  KC opened the box, revealing the twelve little horses.

  “Oh, how charming!” Lois said.

  “Look what’s written here!” KC said. She showed them the words Jefferson had carved into the wood.

  The president read the words softly. “Amazing,” he said.

  Lois lifted one of the horses from its pocket. “How do you suppose these got in that closet?” she asked.

  “Thomas Jefferson left the White House in 1809,” President Thornton said. “I’m sure that ending his presidency and moving out was a confusing time. Imagine the servants loading all Jefferson’s boxes and furniture into horse-drawn carriages. Maybe that closet just got overlooked.”

  KC stroked a little gray horse. “What should we do with them?” she asked.

  Lois replaced the horse she’d been holding. She looked at the president. “Any ideas?”

  “Yes,” the president said. “These horses belong to Thomas Jefferson. They should go to his home, Monticello.”

  “I thought he lived in the White House,” Marshall said.

  “He did, for the eight years that he was president,” President Thornton said. “But Monticello was his home before he became our third president. After he left the White House, he went back there to live
.”

  “Cool,” Marshall said.

  “Can we take them there?” KC asked.

  “I have meetings all next week,” said the president. “But you kids can go with Lois.”

  KC’s mom opened a table drawer and pulled out her calendar. She flipped over a few pages. “We can go on Wednesday,” she said. “It’ll be a great opportunity for you to see Monticello.”

  “Where is it?” Marshall asked.

  “Monticello is in Virginia,” the president said. “A little more than a hundred miles from here.”

  “I’ll work it out with your parents, Marshall,” Lois said. “We’ll stay overnight near Monticello. It’ll be a wonderful adventure. But first you have to get that closet painted!”

  2

  Marshall’s Secret

  On Wednesday morning, Marshall showed up at the White House with a bulging backpack. He set it gently on a chair in the president’s kitchen. KC was finishing breakfast.

  “What’s in there?” KC asked Marshall. “We’re only staying one night.”

  “I brought Spike,” Marshall said.

  KC almost choked on her orange juice. “You’re bringing your tarantula to Monticello?”

  “He likes fresh food every day,” said Marshall. “And my folks won’t feed him for me, so I had to bring him.”

  KC looked sideways at the backpack. “Well, we can’t let my mom find out,” she said. “She’ll freak!”

  Marshall grinned and peeled a banana. “Don’t worry. Tarantulas are shy,” he said. “He’ll just sleep the whole time.”

  An hour later, the kids climbed into the backseat of one of the White House cars.

  The car left the city and sped past meadows, forests, and horse pastures. KC opened her book of presidents to read about Thomas Jefferson.

  Marshall pulled out two jars from his pack. He had poked holes in the lids. In the larger jar, Spike the tarantula lay on a nest of wood shavings. The second jar was half filled with black crickets. They jumped around on a layer of grass that Marshall had put inside.

  Before KC could say a word, Marshall had unscrewed both jar lids. He plucked out a fat cricket and dropped it into Spike’s jar. Spike grabbed the cricket with his two front legs.

  “Is he eating it?” KC cried before she could stop herself.

  “What have you got back there, kids?” Lois asked over her shoulder.

  “Um, Marshall brought some snacks,” KC said.

  “Oh, goody,” Lois said. “How about some for me?”

  Marshall started to laugh.

  “Mom, you wouldn’t like them, trust me,” KC said, poking Marshall.

  “Arnold, have you noticed how selfish some children are?” Lois asked the driver in a loud voice. “Imagine, my own daughter won’t share snacks.”

  Their usual driver was on vacation, so Arnold, a White House marine guard, was filling in.

  “It is shocking,” Arnold said, shaking his head. “Kids today.”

  Now KC was laughing.

  “And I really could use a nice snack,” KC’s mom went on.

  “Me too,” Arnold said. “My stomach is growling.”

  KC and Marshall hooted with laughter as Marshall slid the jars back into his pack.

  KC went back to her president book. “Marsh, there’s a cemetery at Monticello!” she said. “See, here’s a picture.”

  It was an old black-and-white photo. A high iron fence surrounded crumbling tombstones and tall trees.

  “Who’s buried there?” Marshall asked.

  “Thomas Jefferson and a lot of his relatives,” KC said. “We have to go see it!”

  Marshall pointed out a sign that said THOMAS JEFFERSON’S HOME, TEN MILES. An arrow directed them onto a narrower road.

  “I think I see Monticello!” KC cried after a few minutes. She leaned between her mother and Arnold.

  At the top of a hill sat a brick mansion with white painted trim. Fields and gardens spread out on all sides. In the front was a wide lawn shaded by tall trees.

  “We’re right on time,” Lois said. “I told the curator to expect us around eleven.”

  Arnold drove up a curving driveway. He stopped at the top and parked near a brick path. Even before they got out of the car, KC noticed a thin, gangly man hurrying toward them. He was pulling on his suit jacket as he loped over to the car.

  “That must be Dr. Spender, the curator,” Lois said. They all climbed out.

  “Mrs. Thornton, how lovely to see you!” the man gushed. “I’m Devon Spender. We are all thrilled! The horses will make a wonderful addition to our collection. I can’t wait to get my hands on them!”

  KC looked at Dr. Spender. His brown eyes blinked as he spoke. Half-glasses sat on his nose. His black hair was combed straight back and he wore a blue suit that looked odd with white socks and sneakers.

  KC and Marshall followed Dr. Spender and Lois up the long brick walk. Arnold came last, carrying the box of horses.

  While she walked, KC took the chance to glance around. She saw a lot of big trees and gardens separated by neat white fences. Signs pointed the way to the pond, the orchard, and the cemetery.

  Three people were waiting in front of the Jefferson home. “Let me introduce everyone,” Dr. Spender said. “This is Mrs. Pearl Peeps, my assistant. Pearl knows all the secrets about Thomas Jefferson’s years here in Monticello.”

  Pearl Peeps was a tiny woman with neat gray hair and very pale blue eyes. She smiled, showing small white teeth.

  “And this is Mrs. Lorna Cross, our head guide,” Dr. Spender went on. “Lorna is a Jefferson expert.”

  Lorna Cross was the opposite of Pearl Peeps. She was tall, with big hands and a thick chin. “Glad to meet you,” the woman said in a deep voice.

  “Finally, the man who keeps the building and its treasures safe,” Dr. Spender said. “This is Mr. Gilford Tea, our security guard.”

  Mr. Tea had a wide face, a squashed nose, and floppy lips. KC thought he looked like a sad bulldog.

  “We’re happy to meet you all,” KC’s mom said. “This is my daughter, KC, and her friend Marshall. And this is Arnold, our driver.”

  “Please follow me inside,” Pearl Peeps said. She led the way, and they all followed like ducklings. They walked up some steps and through a tall door.

  “Welcome to Monticello’s entrance hall,” Dr. Spender said. “Thomas Jefferson would have greeted his guests here.”

  KC looked around the large room. Every wall held something from Jefferson’s life. One was covered with Native American tools, clothing, and cooking utensils.

  Dr. Spender smiled at Arnold. “And are those the Jefferson horses?”

  “Yes, sir,” Arnold said.

  Dr. Spender led them to a glass case on tall legs. “The case will be kept locked at all times,” he said.

  “May we see them?” Pearl Peeps asked. She nodded at the box.

  Arnold carefully set the box on a table. Lois unlocked it with the key KC had found in her closet, then raised the lid.

  The twelve miniature horses lay in their pockets. KC thought they looked happy to be home in Thomas Jefferson’s house.

  “Perfectly wonderful,” Dr. Spender said, blinking. He read the words Thomas Jefferson had carved on the box. “Thank you, Mrs. Thornton.”

  “Thank KC and Marshall,” Lois said. “They are the little detectives who found the horses in a dusty closet.”

  KC and Marshall blushed.

  “Well, now we must put them away for the day,” Dr. Spender said. “Would you open the case, Pearl?” She did, and Dr. Spender set the box inside, leaving the lid propped up.

  Dr. Spender locked the case with one of the keys on his key ring. He dropped the ring into his jacket pocket.

  Mrs. Cross covered the glass case with a cloth.

  “The horses will be safe here,” Dr. Spender said.

  3

  The Key to the Case

  “Would you like a short tour?” Pearl Peeps asked. “Mrs. Cross will take you a
round,” she said. “She is a terrific guide.”

  “That would be lovely,” Lois said.

  Mrs. Peeps and Dr. Spender exited through a door on one side of the room. The sign on it said CURATOR’S OFFICE.

  “Let’s start in the dining room,” Mrs. Cross said. She checked her watch, then led KC, Marshall, and Lois into the hallway. As they walked, a shadow on the floor under a window caught KC’s eye. Outside the window, a dark figure moved quickly away.

  Mrs. Cross took them to the fireplace. “Notice the narrow door on the side of the fireplace,” she said. “That’s a wine elevator. President Jefferson had it built so his servants could send bottles of wine from his cellar up here to the dining room.”

  She opened the door, and everyone peeked inside. It was a dark cupboard with one shelf big enough for several bottles of wine. “The servants raised or lowered the shelf by pulling on those ropes,” Mrs. Cross explained.

  “Cool!” Marshall said. “I want one in my house so my mom can send me food.”

  “The bedrooms are on the second floor,” Mrs. Cross went on. “Normally I don’t take visitors up there, but I’m breaking my rule for you!”

  Upstairs, they peeked inside several open doors. Red velvet cords stretched across the doorways. Small signs said PRIVATE—PLEASE DO NOT ENTER. The bedrooms were large and had fancy drapes over the windows.

  “Which one did President Jefferson sleep in?” KC asked.

  “His private rooms are downstairs, just beneath these rooms,” Mrs. Cross said. “I usually save those for last.”

  The little group kept walking. They came to a room with children’s toys in it. “His grandchildren used this as their playroom,” Mrs. Cross said.

  “I wonder if they made any of those horses here,” KC said.

  “Why, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised!” Mrs. Cross said. “They also had their school lessons here. President Jefferson hired tutors for all of his grandchildren. He wrote in his diary that education was the finest gift he could ever give them.”

  Mrs. Cross looked at her watch again. “Now let’s go back down and I’ll show you President Jefferson’s bedroom.”

  When they got to the bedroom door, everyone crowded behind the velvet rope. “The president spent most of his time in these rooms,” Mrs. Cross told them. “He slept in this one, and through the arch you can see his study and book room.”