“I’m glad you said that,” declared Judy. “I think the truth would solve most of our problems. Don’t you, Mrs. Riker?”
“Nothing,” she replied, “will solve my problems now. I wish I had never come back. At least I could have kept the memory of the place the way it used to be.”
“Was it such a pleasant memory?”
“Well, no,” she admitted. “It was anything but pleasant except for one happy summer. That summer stood out so clearly in my memory that it made me forget all the dreary hours that followed. It all comes back to me now. The house was filled with heavy, carved furniture. There was one chair with snakes curling over the back. You couldn’t sit in it. A statue sat there. You had to be quiet when you went near it. There were so many statues! But I think I remember the quiet most of all. I wasn’t allowed to interrupt if anyone spoke, but nobody ever said anything much except, ‘Don’t touch!’ And there were so many beautiful things I wanted to touch. Now where are they?”
“At least they didn’t go up in smoke when the house burned,” Horace pointed out.
“It is a strange thing,” agreed Judy. “The thieves didn’t know they were saving them. Your uncle should be grateful.”
Mrs. Riker smiled, as if the thought of his gratitude amused her. Then she said, “What really distresses me is the condition of the caretaker’s cottage. You wouldn’t think it to look at it now, but that kitchen was once almost as pleasant as yours, Judy, if I may call you that. Do call me Helen.”
Honey turned around and smiled at Judy, remembering a secret between them. She had been called Helen for a little while before Judy found out that her real name was Grace Dobbs and that she was Peter’s sister.
“You like that name, don’t you?” Honey asked.
“Yes, and I like Helen Riker,” Judy declared warmly. “I think we are going to be good friends.”