Marsh Island (4 page)

“Ha!” Jake laughed a fake laugh. “You didn't scare us, not really. We were only fooling. Right, Tommy?”

Tommy didn't say anything.

“Right, Tommy?” Jake gave him a nudge.

“Oh. Yeah,” said Tommy, his voice almost a whisper. “Only fooling.” He took a step away from the stranger, moving closer to his father.

Chris Mumford smiled. “Well, I'm glad to hear that. I just wanted to make sure you got back okay.”

Jake nodded. He felt about as dumb as a slug with a head cold. Alfred Marsh! What had he been thinking?

“We're grateful for your concern,” said Dad, putting an arm around Tommy. “They're fine. Nothing a bath and a few Band-Aids won't cure.”

“Good, good.” Chris Mumford smiled at Jake again and his eyes twinkled. “Oh, and by the way...”
He took off his backpack and rummaged around inside. “I believe this belongs to you.”

Jake stared at the dirty wooden box. He remembered the cold, clammy feel of it in his hands, and their race through the woods. He swallowed.

“Uh, yeah, sort of.” He looked at Tommy. “We dug it up down by the stream.”
It must have been Chris Mumford we heard in the bushes
, he thought.
He was probably trying to stop us from digging up the box
. “Um—I'm sorry about your head.” He gestured toward the lump on Chris Mumford's forehead. “And about digging up the box. We didn't know about the Historical Society. We'll put it back, just like it was.”

“Oh no you won't,” said Chris Mumford.

Jake looked up. The man was smiling!

“We've been looking for Marsh's treasure for years. In fact, there's a reward for its recovery.”

Jake couldn't believe his ears. “A reward?”

“Yep, five hundred dollars. And if this box contains what I think it does, that reward is all yours.”

Jake grinned.
I could be a hero
, he thought. Discoverer of the lost treasure of Alfred Marsh. I'll be famous.

Chris Mumford set the box on the ground and knelt in front of it.

“I've been waiting thirty years to see what's in this box. Let's have a look, shall we?”

Carefully, he pried the lid off the box with his pocketknife, taking care not to damage the wood. Jake held his breath as they all leaned forward to see what was inside.

At first he couldn't see anything. Chris Mumford reached his hand in and drew out a folded piece of paper and a wad of dirty cloth. Unwrapping the cloth, he pulled out a small stone. He whistled softly.

“Do you know what this is?” he said, holding it up.

Jake squinted at it. The stone was about the size of a golf ball, dull and gray, with little red patches all over it. His shoulders drooped. He'd been imagining gold or diamonds or stacks of money or something. Not a hunk of stone that looked as if it belonged in Tommy's rock collection.

Jake shrugged. “It's just a rock,” he said.

Chris Mumford shook his head. “If I'm not mistaken, this is no ordinary rock.” He unfolded the paper. “Yes, just as I thought.”

“What?” said Jake. “What is it?”

Chris Mumford held the stone up high. As the sunlight struck it, the red patches seemed to glow with an inner light. “This,” he said, “is the famous Marsh Ruby.”

“Marsh Ruby?” said Jake. “As in Alfred Marsh?”

“It is the same family, yes,” said Chris Mumford. “Alfred's great-great-great-grandfather, Charles Marsh, discovered this stone in 1754. It was a major
discovery of the time. But the stone disappeared a year later and was never seen again. Everyone thought it had been stolen. The family must have been hiding it all this time.” He shook his head. “There was a rumor Alfred Marsh brought a family treasure out here to the island. To protect it from the debt collectors. I never imagined it was the Marsh Ruby.”

Jake looked at the stone more closely. “What's so special about it? It doesn't look like it's worth very much.”

“It just needs some polishing,” said Chris Mumford, wrapping it in the cloth and putting it back in the box. “Believe me, this stone is worth plenty. And this letter proves it's genuine.” He gestured to the yellowed paper in his hand before placing it carefully next to the stone.

Closing the lid of the box, he tucked it under his arm and slung his pack over his shoulder.
“This is a major find for the Historical Society. Thank you, boys. I'll come back with your reward check tomorrow, and you can show me where the site is.” He shook hands with Jake's dad again and turned to go.

“Wait!” Jake called. “You don't need us to show you where we dug up the box. You saw us at the stream...didn't you?”

Chris Mumford looked at him in confusion.

“We heard someone in the bushes. That was you, right?” Jake said.

Chris Mumford shook his head. “No, I've been up at the hut all morning. It was probably just a bird.”

“Yeah, a bird,” said Jake, glancing at Tommy. He remembered the dark shadow behind the tree and the chill on his neck. Whatever it was, it definitely hadn't been a bird.

Chris Mumford winked at him. “Don't worry, you're not the first person to think they've seen Alfred Marsh on this island. But I've been
working for the Historical Society for a long time. There's nothing spookier here than a few bats in Smuggler's Cave.”

“Smuggler's Cave?” said Jake. “What's that?”

The man smiled and scratched his beard. “Well, that's a story for another day,” he said. He raised a hand in salute and disappeared into the trees.

“Sounds like you two have had quite a morning,” said Dad, clamping a hand on Jake's shoulder. “Do you still think camping is dull?”

Jake peered down the trail after Chris Mumford. The woods were quiet. The man had left as silently as he'd come.

“No, this island is definitely
not
dull,” Jake said. He looked over at Tommy and winked. “But, if you don't mind, I think we'll hang out around camp for a while.”

Tommy's face broke into a grin. He tried to wink back, but he looked like an orangutan with a toothache.

Jake laughed. Brothers could be such a pain. He threw his arm around Tommy and ruffled his hair. “How about we roast some marshmallows?” he said.

Sonya Spreen Bates
is a Canadian writer living in Australia. As a child, when she wasn't riding horses, she loved to read and daydream and scribble down short stories that she never dared to show anyone. As well as being a writer and a mom, Sonya also works with children with communication disorders.
Marsh Island
is her first book with Orca.