“I don’t know exactly where it is,” replied Florence. “I’ll have to hunt for it, but if you’re that anxious to see it, we’ll get it.”
With flashlights blinking, the three pajama-clad figures crept across the hall and into the parlor, a room that was seldom used. After searching among several other old relics in a cabinet, Florence finally unearthed the huge key, tarnished and black from disuse.
“Here you are,” she said, handing it to Jo Ann. “You can look at it the rest of the night if you want to, but I’m going to bed. Come on, put it under your pillow or anywhere you wish.”
She led the way back to their room, and she and Peggy quickly crawled into bed. But Jo Ann sat under the light, turning the key over and over in her hand, musing. “What a key! Who ever heard of a key so large you needed a servant to carry it—but how typical of the time when this house was built. Everything—the walls, the windows, the doors—practically impenetrable. What a place of refuge in times of war and strife!”
“Turn out that light,” growled Peggy, startling Jo Ann out of her reverie. “Can’t you dream as well in the dark? We want to go to sleep, if you don’t.”
“Oh, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Jo Ann answered, and, turning out the light, crawled into bed.
It seemed to Jo Ann that she had scarcely closed her eyes before there was a knock on the door, and she heard Florence talking to someone. “What is it this time?” she thought drowsily. “Such a night—just one thing after another.”
She turned over and dozed off again, but again a voice broke into her slumbers: “Jo, come on.”
“Why couldn’t they leave her alone—or was she dreaming?”
“It’s time to get up, Jo,” the voice urged. “Hurry! Juana’s not coming today, and we’ve got to do the cooking.”