Lunging forward, his sister caught it just in time. Inside was a small, lumpy black rock.
“You almost broke Dad’s meteorite,” she said.
“It’s a rock,” Will said, preparing to take another swing. “Only the glass would have been harmed.”
“You’re white as a ghost.”
He realized he was covered from head to toe with plaster dust and laughed. “You will be, too, if you stay.”
“Will, what are you doing?” Giselle said. “Put down the voormaaker.”
Realizing he had some explaining to do, he set it down and wiped his face clean. “I’ve had it with all this mystery. We’re going to find out what’s in there.”
Angelica winced. “What will Dad say?”
“I don’t care anymore. If he’s angry, I’ll say, ‘Dad, you shouldn’t have left us like that. What did you expect?’ Now step back.”
Again he swung the voormaaker. This time it made a resounding thud against a brick wall behind the plaster. Plugging their ears, the girls gave him space, and soon a clump of bricks fell into a space beyond.
Will peered through the hole. “There’s a room!”
Giselle stepped up to look.
“Open it more,” she urged, sneezing from the dust.
“Too many pipes in the way,” he said. “Over here.”
Moving to the left, they carefully took down an old painting of a 17th Century Dutch couple standing by a windmill. The man, who wore a floppy hat with a long feather, held a sword and a hammer. His pretty wife wore a white lace cap and cradled a baby in her arms.
“I’ve always wondered,” Giselle mused, reading the name painted on the bottom, “who ‘Rembrandt’ was.”
“Dad says those are Steemjammers,” Angelica told her, pointing at the painting’s subjects. “Great-great-times-whatever grandparents.”
Will swung the voormaaker. After several minutes of steady bludgeoning, he pounded a hole through the bricks that he could just squeeze through.
“Lantern, please,” he said, and Angelica passed one through the hole.
They followed him into a dark chamber the size of a small bedroom. It smelled musty, like an old book that had been left too long in a damp place. The bare brick walls were lined with cobweb-strewn pipes and control valves. Besides a small table, they could see little else. Will frowned. This wasn’t what he was expecting.
“Looks like a maintenance room,” Giselle said. “I don’t think there’s anything special here.”
“Verdoor,” Angelica sighed. “We’re in trouble!”
“But why hide it?” Will said. He spotted a brass knob. “Hey, that’s the backside of a hidden door. It must open into the dining room.”
“Let’s see,” his sister said.
She took a step toward the secret door, but Will grabbed her. “Stop!”
A hand-drawn sign on the floor read: “GEVOOR!”
“That means ‘DANGER!’ in Dutch,” Giselle said.
Will tossed a loose brick at the sign. A trap door opened, and the brick vanished into a dark pit.
“Begekkin!” Giselle cried as the spring-loaded trap door snapped shut. Crazy !
Angelica grabbed her brother. “This is totally wankenzink!” Insane !
“Yes, it is,” Will agreed. “So be careful.”
“Someone could have died!” Giselle said. “I wonder who put that sign.”
Will carefully pushed open the trap door with his foot. Peering down with the lantern, he saw a twelve-foot deep pit with smooth walls and a padded mattress at the bottom.
“Dad must have,” he said. “He didn’t want us getting hurt if we found this place and fell in. There must be something important here. Otherwise, why hide it so well, and why trap it?”
Giselle opened a drawer in the table. “Look! It’s from Uncle Henry.”
She held up a wax cylinder that had “H.S.” inscribed on one end and “Listen to this now!” on the other.
“A phonograph cylinder?” Angelica asked.
“This is the soft kind,” Giselle said excitedly, “that you can record on. You shout into a cone, and a needle makes a special groove. Maybe he
“You almost broke Dad’s meteorite,” she said.
“It’s a rock,” Will said, preparing to take another swing. “Only the glass would have been harmed.”
“You’re white as a ghost.”
He realized he was covered from head to toe with plaster dust and laughed. “You will be, too, if you stay.”
“Will, what are you doing?” Giselle said. “Put down the voormaaker.”
Realizing he had some explaining to do, he set it down and wiped his face clean. “I’ve had it with all this mystery. We’re going to find out what’s in there.”
Angelica winced. “What will Dad say?”
“I don’t care anymore. If he’s angry, I’ll say, ‘Dad, you shouldn’t have left us like that. What did you expect?’ Now step back.”
Again he swung the voormaaker. This time it made a resounding thud against a brick wall behind the plaster. Plugging their ears, the girls gave him space, and soon a clump of bricks fell into a space beyond.
Will peered through the hole. “There’s a room!”
Giselle stepped up to look.
“Open it more,” she urged, sneezing from the dust.
“Too many pipes in the way,” he said. “Over here.”
Moving to the left, they carefully took down an old painting of a 17th Century Dutch couple standing by a windmill. The man, who wore a floppy hat with a long feather, held a sword and a hammer. His pretty wife wore a white lace cap and cradled a baby in her arms.
“I’ve always wondered,” Giselle mused, reading the name painted on the bottom, “who ‘Rembrandt’ was.”
“Dad says those are Steemjammers,” Angelica told her, pointing at the painting’s subjects. “Great-great-times-whatever grandparents.”
Will swung the voormaaker. After several minutes of steady bludgeoning, he pounded a hole through the bricks that he could just squeeze through.
“Lantern, please,” he said, and Angelica passed one through the hole.
They followed him into a dark chamber the size of a small bedroom. It smelled musty, like an old book that had been left too long in a damp place. The bare brick walls were lined with cobweb-strewn pipes and control valves. Besides a small table, they could see little else. Will frowned. This wasn’t what he was expecting.
“Looks like a maintenance room,” Giselle said. “I don’t think there’s anything special here.”
“Verdoor,” Angelica sighed. “We’re in trouble!”
“But why hide it?” Will said. He spotted a brass knob. “Hey, that’s the backside of a hidden door. It must open into the dining room.”
“Let’s see,” his sister said.
She took a step toward the secret door, but Will grabbed her. “Stop!”
A hand-drawn sign on the floor read: “GEVOOR!”
“That means ‘DANGER!’ in Dutch,” Giselle said.
Will tossed a loose brick at the sign. A trap door opened, and the brick vanished into a dark pit.
“Begekkin!” Giselle cried as the spring-loaded trap door snapped shut. Crazy !
Angelica grabbed her brother. “This is totally wankenzink!” Insane !
“Yes, it is,” Will agreed. “So be careful.”
“Someone could have died!” Giselle said. “I wonder who put that sign.”
Will carefully pushed open the trap door with his foot. Peering down with the lantern, he saw a twelve-foot deep pit with smooth walls and a padded mattress at the bottom.
“Dad must have,” he said. “He didn’t want us getting hurt if we found this place and fell in. There must be something important here. Otherwise, why hide it so well, and why trap it?”
Giselle opened a drawer in the table. “Look! It’s from Uncle Henry.”
She held up a wax cylinder that had “H.S.” inscribed on one end and “Listen to this now!” on the other.
“A phonograph cylinder?” Angelica asked.
“This is the soft kind,” Giselle said excitedly, “that you can record on. You shout into a cone, and a needle makes a special groove. Maybe he
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