CHAPTER 10 At the Cannery

AFTER Juan had disappeared among the trees, the land owner turned to speak to the Brownies. By this time all the girls had waded out of the water.

“I didn’t mean you,” he said. “You may stay here as long as you wish.”

“But why did you send Juan away?” asked Veve. She did not like the way he had treated her little friend.

“Oh, he’s a Mexican. The pickers have a camp not far from here.”

“But Juan is nice.”

“He’s a Mexican, and they aren’t allowed to use the beaches hereabouts,” the man repeated. “Juan, as you call him, may be all right, but if I let him swim here, all the camp would show up. The pickers are a shiftless lot.”

The Brownies without saying any more began to put on their shoes and stockings.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you girls away,” the land owner tried to reassure them. “Wade here whenever you like.”

“I don’t want to stay if Juan can’t,” Veve said.

Until now, Miss Gordon had taken no part in the conversation.

“I really think it is time that we leave,” she said. “Bill Flint soon will be returning in the truck.”

The girls quickly put on their shoes and stockings and started up the trail to the road. Once beyond hearing of the beach owner they were very outspoken.

“It was mean of him to send Juan away,” Veve declared. “Why, he wasn’t making any trouble or doing anything he shouldn’t.”

“The man just doesn’t like Mexican pickers!” added Connie. “I wonder why?”

“I wonder myself,” said Miss Gordon. “So many persons seem to have that attitude. As far as I’ve observed, the pickers appear to be a group of quiet, well-behaved people.”

The Brownies had reached the roadway. Bill Flint was not yet in sight with the truck.

“Did you hear that threat Juan made as he ran off?” Connie recalled. “Do you suppose he meant it?”

“He was annoyed because the land owner had ordered him off the property,” Miss Gordon said. “I’m sure Juan didn’t mean his threat seriously.”

As the Brownie leader spoke, the girls were startled to hear a yell of dismay. The cry had come from Eileen, who had walked a short distance ahead of the others down the road.

In attempting to leap a tiny ditch from the roadside to the pavement, she had slipped and fallen. Now as she slowly picked herself up, her shirt and jeans were plastered with mud. So were her hands and face.

“Just look at me,” Eileen wailed. She began to cry.

Miss Gordon tried to comfort her. “We’ll go to a filling station rest room and clean you up,” she said brightly. “Don’t cry, Eileen.”

“But the truck is coming!” exclaimed Sunny, who had spied it far down the road. “There won’t be time.”

“It will take Bill Flint a little while to unload the cherries,” Miss Gordon said. “I’ll take Eileen to the filling station. The others go on to the factory loading dock and meet Bill.”

The Brownies followed their leader’s instructions. This time, however, Bill had driven to the factory without a full load.

In a short while all the lugs had been removed from the truck, and he was ready to start back to the orchard.

Veve ran to the filling station to tell Miss Gordon and Eileen that the driver was waiting.

In the wash room, Eileen had removed her jeans so that the Brownie leader could scrape off some of the mud.

“Dear me, I didn’t expect him to be ready so soon,” Miss Gordon said. “I’m afraid Eileen and I will have to catch him on his next trip.”

Veve took the word back to Bill Flint. “I could wait a few minutes,” he said, looking at his watch. “But it won’t be necessary. Joe Evans hauls for the Wingate Orchard. His truck is coming in now.”

“Then he should be ready to leave in about twenty minutes.”

“Right-o. Miss Gordon could ride back with him.”

The arrangement suited everyone except Eileen. She had wanted to ride back with the other girls. Of course, she realized it would be better to wait until the worst of the mud had been cleaned from her clothes.

Leaving Miss Gordon and Eileen behind, the other Brownies rode back to the Hooper orchard.

“We will have to pick fast now,” Connie urged her companions. “We’ve lost so much time.”

“But our mothers have been working while we were away,” declared Sunny cheerfully. “That will help.”

Veve picked a full bucket of cherries and took it to the shed for weighing. While she was there Connie came in with her brimming pail.

“Oh, there’s that old trunk!” Veve exclaimed as her gaze fell upon it. “I was going to look through it and forgot!”

“Why don’t we do it now?” proposed Connie. “That is, if Mr. Hooper doesn’t mind.”

“I don’t,” the orchard owner replied. “Not if you don’t take too long at the job. I want to get those cherries picked.”

“It won’t take us hardly a jiffy,” Veve declared. “Not with two of us to work.”

The trunk was an old-fashioned affair with a rounding top. An old rug had been thrown over the cover to protect it from dust.

Veve pulled off the covering and unfastened the rusty clasps which held down the lid. Cap, deeply interested, trotted over to watch.

“You won’t find much,” said Mr. Hooper. “I wish—”

“You wish what, Mr. Hooper?” Connie inquired curiously.

“Oh, I was only thinking I wish you’d stumble onto some of my sister’s handwriting.”

“Maybe we will.”

“Not in that trunk, I’m afraid.”

“We may find a letter tucked away somewhere,” Connie insisted hopefully. “Would it mean a lot to you to have one?”

“I’d give a hundred dollars for a sample of my sister’s handwriting,” Mr. Hooper said. More talkative than usual, he went on: “You see, Ella made a will leaving this orchard to me. It was a typed document drawn by a lawyer.

“Ella signed it, of course, in the presence of witnesses. All well and good. I thought she had left me her entire property, including this orchard. But a short while ago, a cousin, Carl Wingate, appears with another will.”

“Had your sister made two of them?” Connie asked in surprise.

“That’s what Carl claims. The will he produced is only three lines long, and the signature doesn’t look exactly like Ella’s. But the will is of later date than the one which left the orchard to me.”

“The second will gives this land to Carl Wingate?” questioned Connie, reaching down to pat Cap.

“Yes, and cuts me off with only her personal possessions.” Mr. Hooper laughed without mirth. “Her personal possessions! All that is left, is in that trunk and the bureau which was saved from the fire.”

“Why would it help to have a letter from your sister?” inquired Veve.

“Because it would give us other writing of hers and another signature to compare with Carl Wingate’s will.”

“You said the writing on the second will doesn’t look the same as on the first one?” Connie pursued the subject.

“No, it looks like a copy to me. I’ve been thinking of taking the matter to court, but so far I’ve no evidence.”

“Maybe we can find some evidence,” Veve declared confidently.

She began to burrow in the top layer of the trunk. As she lifted out an old brown wool skirt, three moth balls rolled onto the floor. Cap, thinking they were meant for play, began to chase them.

Besides the skirt, other clothing had been neatly folded away. Connie and Veve found a black silk dress, two pairs of shoes, and a silly looking hat with a blue feather.

The girls wanted to try it on, but did not take the time. Instead, they carefully examined each garment for pockets. In one, Veve came upon a piece of paper.

For a moment, she thought she had made an important discovery. However, the paper proved to be only a recipe for gingerbread, torn from a newspaper.

Finding nothing in the top shelf of the trunk, the girls removed the tray.

The lower section proved even more disappointing. It was only half filled with old books, yellowed linen and a box of woolen underwear.

Veve and Connie examined the pages of the books, hoping that something had been written in them. But nothing had been. It was most discouraging.

“You see,” remarked Mr. Hooper. “Nothing of value.”

“We might try the bureau,” suggested Veve half-heartedly.

“You’ll find it practically empty,” the orchard man told her. “But go ahead.”

The girls opened the drawers of the battered oak dresser. The top one was entirely empty. In the second they came upon a stack of old newspapers and magazines.

More old clothing had been folded into the lower drawer.

“It’s quite useless,” Mr. Hooper told the girls. “Ella had beautiful things, but they were all destroyed in the fire.”

“I suppose we may as well get back to our picking,” Connie said, closing the bureau drawers.

She picked up her pail, intending to leave the shed.

Before either she or Veve could do so, Eileen came rushing up. Only a moment before the little girl had arrived on a Wingate truck with Miss Gordon.

“Well, I see you’re back!” laughed Connie before Eileen could speak. “Your jeans don’t look so very bad now that they’re dry.”

Eileen was too excited to hear the remark.

“Listen!” she exclaimed. “I’ve got important news! What do you think I saw on the ride back from the canning factory?”

Neither Veve nor Connie could guess, but they were very much interested.

“What did you see?” Connie demanded.

“Our quilt!”

“Not the Brownie crazy quilt?” Connie asked, scarcely believing the astonishing news.

“I’m sure it was! Miss Gordon saw it too, but she wouldn’t say for certain that it was our missing quilt. She thought there might be a mistake. But I’m sure it was the same one!”

The news had caused both Veve and Connie to become rather excited. Since the disappearance of the crazy quilt they had asked many persons if they ever had seen the coverlet. No one had noticed it. So the Brownies were convinced that they never would find the quilt again.

“You found our quilt!” Veve said, clutching Eileen’s arm. “Where?”

“This will really slay you,” Eileen declared. “Of all places—”

“Well, tell us!” Veve broke in impatiently.

“I’m trying to if you’ll give me time.” Eileen paused for dramatic effect, and then said impressively: “It was at the Mexican camp. Veve, I guess your little friend, Juan, isn’t so honest after all!”