The Roswell Legacy by Frances Statham (parable of the sower read online .TXT) 📗

the two boys left the depot and walked around to the side where the baggage wagon stood. They climbed up on it and stared down the tracks.

“What are we going to do now, Pinky?” a distressed Nathan asked. “We can’t wait until tomorrow. They might start looking for us before then.”

“It’s all right. We’ll just wait until the night stationmaster goes home. And when the day one comes on duty, we’ll walk in and exchange our tickets for today’s train.”

•    •    •

An hour later, with the tickets exchanged, Nathan and Pinky climbed aboard and left Holborne behind.

“I’m hungry again,” Pinky said.

“Just drink some water,” Nathan suggested. “We don’t have that much food left. And we have to make it last for the next three days.”

Pinky leaned over and took from his satchel a Mason jar filled with water. “This is my tadpole jar,” he said. “But I washed it real clean before I left.”

At Braxton School, Hansel Graves was awakened by a loud knock at the front door. He hurriedly got up and glanced out his window. There stood a man with his son, two hours before anyone was to arrive.

Disgruntled, he put his academic gown on over his nightshirt and rushed downstairs. But Annie had already let them in.

“I’m sorry to be so early,” the man apologized. “But it was either now or not at all. I’m Rupert Bragg and this is my son, Treadway.”

“Quite all right, Mr. Bragg. Hello, young Treadway. I’m Mr. Graves. We’ll be seeing quite a lot of each other this term.”

Treadway turned and hid his face in his father’s morning coat. “I want to go home,” he wailed.

Rupert pulled at his muttonchop whiskers in embarrassment.

“Have to make a man of him. You understand, Graves? This is the first time he’s been away from his mama.”

“Quite all right. I understand, Mr. Bragg. Annie,” he called to the motherly-looking woman still lingering in the hall. “Can you take young Treadway here with you to the kitchen? I already smell the sweet buns ready to come out of the oven.”

From the door, Annie smiled and held out her arms. “Come, Master Treadway. It’s into the kitchen for a nice glass of milk and a sweet bun with honey.”

He went with her immediately, to Rupert Bragg’s relief. “Annie looks a lot like our Nelle at home.”

“That’s why we have her here, Mr. Bragg. To mother the boys a bit when they get a little homesick.”

Within a few minutes, Rupert Bragg left and Mr. Graves hurried back upstairs to get dressed before anyone else arrived. He barely had enough time to wash and eat his breakfast. The arrival of the new boys was always a pain. Hectic, too, with all of the parents vying for private interviews to tell each dorm master what made the boys ill or scared or to give suggestions for their diets.

The day progressed, with no time for Hansel to relax. But as the last carriage drove away and the last boy had been settled in, he finally sat down at his desk to arrange the papers that had accumulated all day. As he began to sort them in alphabetical order, he came across the note from Nathan’s father.

With a frown, he stood and walked back to the small tea pantry, where Annie was busy, getting ready for the boys’ afternoon snack.

“Annie, did you see Dr. Forsyte when he came for Nathan today?”

“No, Mr. Graves.”

“That’s strange. Neither did I. But I found a note on my desk saying he’s taken him away for a few days, but assuring us he would have him back by the beginning of school.”

“Well, it’s not so strange, Mr. Graves. He could have come at a dozen or more times today and I wouldn’t have seen him. What with Treadway throwing up, and the two Roberts boys getting into a fight …”

“Well, I suppose no harm’s done. But tonight, after the boys are asleep, I’ll report it to the headmaster. We can’t be too careful, you know, where these boys are concerned.”

Hansel Graves had been a member of the Braxton staff for three years. He’d come at the same time the old school had been completely renovated. That night, with the proctor keeping tabs on the boys, Hansel set out for the headmaster’s house.

On the grounds plot, it was located to the left, with the various dorm cottages clustered around it in a spokelike fashion. The living plan for the students was unique. In a reproduction of a real home, the boys were grouped according to various ages and grades, with each dorm cottage a separate working unit: kitchen, dining room, housemother, and a dorm master, who was also one of the teachers.

For a moment, Hansel was content to stand on the steps of his own dorm cottage and gaze toward the lighted clock tower of the new administration building, shining like a beacon in the darkness. Situated in the center of the complex, the building was flanked by two ells containing the classrooms and chapel.

Far to the right were the playgrounds and ballfields. Beyond those were the vegetable gardens, stables, and dairy barn. And still farther away, completely covered by the darkness, was Braxton Woods.

With a feeling of pride, Hansel breathed in the healthy air and continued his journey down the walkway.

By the time he arrived with the note in his hand, another teacher, Hammond Riley, was already in the parlor with the headmaster.

“Come in, Graves,” the headmaster greeted him. “We’ve got a small problem here. Quincy Tallifero Boswell has vanished, leaving behind this note from his father. But Riley never saw the man, only the note left on his desk.”

“I have a note, too, Dr. Pemberton. And a missing boy, Nathan Forsyte.”

“Those two boys are good friends, are they not?” Pemberton asked.

“Inseparable,” Riley responded.

With a sinking feeling, Hansel laid his note beside Riley’s. The paper was identical. The Spencerian script was identical. And the signatures of the two names were of the same configuration.

Pemberton held up his