A Forgotten Secret
NANCY screamed for help, hoping to attract the farmer's attention. She expected momentarily to be bitten by the angry dog, but to her great relief the animal did not harm her.
The young sleuth's sudden fall had caused the puppy to fly from her arms. With a leap its mother was at the pup's side. She grabbed her baby by the back of its neck and trotted off toward the bam.
"O-o, that was a narrow escape." Nancy took a deep breath as she got to her feet, brushed herself off, and ruefully surveyed a tear in her sweater.
By this time the man on the tractor, having changed direction, saw the fracas and came running. He apologized for the dog's actions, but Nancy said quickly:
"It was my fault. I should have set the pup down. Its mother probably thought I was trying to dognap her baby!"
Nancy explained why she had picked up the little animal and the farmer said he would look at the cut later.
"I'm glad you weren't hurt," he added. "Thanks for being such a good scout about it. Did you come to see me or my brother?" he asked. "I'm Fred Mathews."
Nancy gave her name, and added that she was acquainted with the Turner sisters and others who had been told they would benefit under Josiah Crowley's will.
"My dad—the lawyer Carson Drew—and I are working on the case. We believe there might have been a later will than the one presented by Mr. Topham, and we'd like to find it."
"And you came to see if William and I could give you a clue?" Fred's bright blue eyes sparkled boyishly.
"That's right, Mr. Mathews. Also, did Mr. Crowley ever tell you he was going to leave you some money?"
"Indeed he did."
At this moment another man came from the house and Fred introduced him as his brother William. Both were tall, spare, and strong-muscled. Though their hair was gray, the men's faces were youthful and unwrinkled.
"Let's sit down under the tree here and discuss this," Fred suggested, leading the way to a group of rustic chairs. He told William of Nancy's request, then asked him, "Did Cousin Josiah ever give you any idea he'd made a will in which we were not beneficiaries?"
"No. I thought one would come to light when he died. To tell the truth, Miss Drew, Fred and I were thunderstruck at the will which left everything to the Tophams. That wasn't what Cousin Josiah led us to believe."
"It certainly wasn't," Fred spoke up. "But I guess William and I counted our chickens before they were hatched. We just about make ends meet here with our small fruit farm. Help and equipment cost such a lot. One thing we've always wanted to do, but couldn't afford, was to travel. We thought we'd use the money from Cousin Josiah to do that."
"But our dream bubble burst," said William. "No trips for us."
Nancy smiled. "Don't give up hope yet. Dad and I haven't."
She was disappointed that the brothers could offer her no clues about a place to look for another will. A little while later she left the farm and returned home.
"No new evidence," she told her father. "Let's hope Mrs. Abby Rowen has some!"
Early the next morning she set off for the elderly woman's home, and reached her destination by asking directions of people living along West Lake Road.
"This must be Abby Rowen's house," Nancy told herself. "It fits the description."
She climbed out of her car and stood before the one-story frame building which was badly in need of paint and repair. The yard around it was overgrown with weeds, and the picket fence enclosing the cottage sagged dejectedly.
"The place looks deserted," Nancy mused. "But I'll see if Mrs. Rowen is at home."
Nancy made her way up the scraggly path to the house and rapped on the front door. There was no response. After a moment, she knocked again.
This tune a muffled voice called, "Who's there? If you're a peddler, I don't want anything."
"I'm not selling anything," Nancy called out reassuringly. "Won't you let me in, please?"
There was a long silence, then the quavering voice replied, "I can't open the door. I've hurt myself and can't walk."
Nancy hesitated an instant before pushing open the door. As she stepped into the dreary living room, she saw a frail figure on the couch. Abby Rowen lay huddled under an old shawl, her withered face drawn with pain.
"I am Nancy Drew and I've come to help you, Mrs. Rowen."
The old lady turned her head and regarded Nancy with a stare of wonder.
"You've come to help me?" she repeated unbelievingly. "I didn't think anyone would ever bother about old Abby again."
"Here, let me arrange the pillows for you." Gently Nancy moved the old woman into a more comfortable position.
"Yesterday I fell down the cellar stairs," Mrs. Rowen explained. "I hurt my hip and sprained my ankle."
"Haven't you had a doctor?" Nancy asked in astonishment.
"No." Abby Rowen sighed. "Not a soul has been here and I couldn't get in touch with anybody. I have no telephone."
"Can you walk at all?" Nancy asked.
"Then your hip isn't broken," Nancy said in relief. "Let me see your ankle. Oh my, it is swollen! I'll bandage it for you."
"There's a clean cloth in the closet in the kitchen," Abby told her. "I haven't any regular bandage."
"You really should have a doctor," Nancy remarked. "Let me drive you to one."
"I can't afford it," the old woman murmured. "My pension check hasn't come, and it's too small, anyway."
"Let me pay the doctor," Nancy offered.
Abby Rowen shook her head stubbornly. "I'll not take charity. I'd rather die first."
"Well, if you insist upon not having a doctor, I'm going to the nearest drugstore and get some bandaging and a few other things," Nancy told her. "But before I go, I'll make you a cup of tea."
"There's no tea in the house."