Chapter 7 The Secret of Red Gate Farm by Carolyn Keene
Nature Cult
Nancy drove in to Red Gate Farm and parked. She consulted her watch and noted with dismay it was quarter to six. By now the farmhouse door had opened, and a gray-haired woman in a crisp gingham dress and white apron came hurrying out to meet them. Her blue eyes were bright as she welcomed Joanne warmly.
“My granddaughter told me how kind you all were to her in the city,” she said to Nancy and her friends. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“Gram!” Joanne exclaimed. “I can’t stand the suspense. Did you sell the farm to that man?”
Mrs. Byrd shook her head. “Mercy! I was so excited at your coming back I forgot to tell you. He phoned a little while ago and said that because of the storm he’d rather come here tomorrow—he could wait one more day.”
Not only Joanne, but her visitors, heaved sighs of relief. Further discussion of the subject was deferred when Mrs. Byrd insisted the girls freshen up for supper.
They entered the large, rambling house, and a little later everyone sat down in the plainly furnished but comfortable dining room. Mrs. Byrd appeared very happy as she bustled about, serving the delicious meal of hot biscuits, sizzling ham, sweet potatoes, and coffee. The girls had not realized how hungry they were.
“Nothing like driving through a storm to work up an appetite.” George grinned.
It was not until dessert—freshly baked lemon meringue pie—that Joanne mentioned again what was uppermost in her mind. “Gram,” she said gently, “please call up that man and tell him you don’t want to sell our farm. Please. We’ll find a way to stay here, somehow. I’m sure there’ll be answers to your ads for boarders.”
Nancy quickly spoke up. “Yes, Mrs. Byrd. It certainly would be a shame to give up Red Gate. And besides, George, Bess, and I would like to be paying guests for a while—if you’d like us to stay, that is.”
“Of course I want you all here as long as possible. But I really can’t accept any money,” Mrs. Byrd protested. “You have been so wonderful to Jo.”
“If you won’t let us pay our share, we’ll have to return home tomorrow,” Nancy insisted.
Mrs. Byrd finally relented and declared with a smile: “I believe I was just waiting to be dissuaded from taking that Mr. Kent’s offer. I’ll call him right now. He gave me his telephone number.”
The girls followed her into the kitchen, and sat down while Mrs. Byrd went to the phone there and put in the call.
“Mr. Kent? I’ve decided not to sell Red Gate Farm—at any price. . . . No. I . . . No. . . . Absolutely.” The woman winced and held the phone away from her ear.
Nancy and her friends exchanged glances. The man was evidently incensed and was speaking so loudly they could hear his voice easily. Finally Mrs. Byrd put down the receiver.
“Well, I’m glad that man isn’t going to own Red Gate,” she declared. “He certainly was unpleasant. He even said I might regret my decision.”
Joanne’s face was radiant and she hugged her grandmother. “I feel so much better now.” She turned to her new friends. “Somehow, I know you’re going to bring us luck, Nancy, Bess, and George.”
Suddenly Mrs. Byrd said, “Goodness! I’ve forgotten to look in our mailbox today.”
“I’ll go.” Joanne hurried outside and was back in a minute, several envelopes in her hand.
“Gram! One of these is from the Round Valley Gazette. Do you think—?” Excitedly she handed the mail to her grandmother.
The girls watched eagerly as Mrs. Byrd tore open a long, bulky envelope and took out a number of enclosed letters. She looked at them quickly. A smile spread over her face.
“Gram, are they answers to the ad for boarders?” Joanne asked excitedly.
Mrs. Byrd nodded. “I can hardly believe it! Two people are arriving the day after tomorrow. First, a Mrs. Salisbury, then a Mr. Abbott. Several others will come later this month.”
“Wonderful!” Nancy said, and immediately offered her assistance in getting rooms ready.
“Count Bess and me in too,” said George.
Joanne and her grandmother at first demurred, but were outvoted. “Very well.” Mrs. Byrd smiled. “Tomorrow afternoon will be time enough to get things ready.”
Later, as the guests bid her good night, Mrs. Byrd said:
“Jo was right. You three girls have brought us luck. Bless you!”
George and Bess were shown to the room in which they would sleep. Nancy was to share Joanne’s bedroom.
“Oh, how sweet it smells in here,” Joanne commented, as Nancy unpacked.
“That’s some of the Oriental perfume which splashed on my clothes in the train,” said Nancy. “It certainly is strong and lasting!”
When Nancy awoke the next morning, warm sunlight was streaming through the windows. Joanne had already gone downstairs. Nancy’s first thought was to phone Police Chief McGinnis and find out about the owner, or owners, of the cars driven by the suspicious man. After dressing hurriedly she went to the first floor and placed the call.
“Good morning, Nancy,” the officer said. “Here’s the information you wanted. Both cars were rented from drive-yourself agencies by a man named Philip Smith, a native of Dallas, Texas. They’ve been returned.”
Nancy thanked the chief and hung up. “That clue wasn’t any help,” she thought. “None of those suspicious men talked like a Texan. The name Philip Smith was probably phony, and made up on the spur of the moment. Also, a forged driver’s license might have been used.”
Presently Bess and George came down and the girls enjoyed a delicious breakfast of pancakes and sausages. Afterward, Joanne took the girls on a tour of the farm. She showed them the lovely gardens, a large chicken house, and her pet goat, Chester.
A turkey took a dislike to Bess and chased her to the farmhouse porch, much to the amusement of the onlookers! Joanne came to the rescue and chased the turkey away.
“Our farm isn’t very well stocked,” she admitted as she led the way to the barn. “We keep only one cow and one work horse. Poor old Michael should be retired on a pension, but we can’t afford to lose him yet!”
Joanne cheerfully hailed the hired man. Reuben Ames was about forty years old, red-haired, and rather quiet in manner. He acknowledged each introduction with a mumbled “Pleased to meet you, miss,” and extended a work-worn hand for each girl to shake. Reuben shifted uncomfortably and then returned to the barn.
“Reuben is as good as gold, even if he is bashful,” Joanne told the girls. “I don’t know what we’d do without him.”
“We’d better keep an eye on Bess,” George teased. “She’ll be breaking another heart.”
Bess made a good-natured retort as the girls started for the orchard. George demonstrated her agility by climbing the nearest apple tree. Once back at the farmhouse, Nancy asked curiously, “Jo, please tell us more about the cave that you spoke about yesterday. I’m bursting to know all about it.”
“Well, the cave is on a piece of land along the river which Gram rents out.”
“Oh, then I suppose it’ll be impossible for us to visit the cavern,” Nancy commented.
“I don’t see why we can’t. It’s still our land.” Joanne frowned. “A queer lot of people are renting it, though.”
“How do you mean?” Nancy questioned, recalling Joanne’s remark of the previous day.
“They’re some sort of sect—a nature cult, I think, and part of a large organization. At least that’s what it said in the letter Gram received from their leader. Anyway, this group calls itself the Black Snake Colony.”
“Pleasant name,” Bess observed cynically.
“I’m not sure what they do,” Joanne admitted. “We’ve never even spoken to any members. I suppose they believe in living an outdoor life.”
“You can live that way without joining a nature cult,” George said dryly. “I suppose they dance when the dew is on the grass and such nonsense!”
“Believe it or not they do dance!” Joanne laughed. “But only nights when the moon is out. I’ve seen them from here in the moonlight. It’s an eerie sight. They wear white robes and flit around waving their arms. They even wear masks!”
“Masks!” Nancy exclaimed. “Why?”
“I can’t imagine. It all sounds senseless. But the rent money is helpful.”
“Do they live in this cavern?” George asked in amazement.
“No, they live in shacks and tents near the river. I’ve never really had the nerve to visit the place. Of course if you girls went along—”
“When can we go?” Nancy asked excitedly.
“I’ll speak to Gram,” Joanne offered.
“It’s odd you’ve never spoken to any of the colony members,” Nancy remarked thoughtfully. “Who pays the rent?”
“It’s sent by mail. They even leased the land that way.”
“Didn’t it strike you as a peculiar way of doing business?” Nancy asked.
“Yes,” Joanne admitted, “but I suppose it’s part of their creed, or whatever you call it. They probably don’t believe in mingling with people outside the cult. That’s often the case.”
Directly after lunch the girls helped the Byrds straighten and clean the rooms for the expected boarders. They hung curtains, newly made by Mrs. Byrd, and put fresh flowers in each room.
At the end of the afternoon they were very pleased with the result.
“All you girls have worked hard enough,” Mrs. Byrd said. “You go rest while I fix supper.”
She was insistent, so Joanne led her friends to the porch. Bess stretched out in the hammock and picked up the day’s newspaper. The others chatted. Suddenly Bess gave an exclamation of surprise.
“Nancy,” she asked tensely, “what was the name of that girl who sold me the perfume?”
“Wong,” Nancy answered in amazement. “Yvonne Wong. Why?”
“Because there’s an article in the paper that mentions her name!” Bess thrust the newspaper into Nancy’s hands, indicating the paragraph. “Wow! This is something! Read it yourself!”