阁楼上的秘密-译文驿站

我不得不承认这栋老房子并非太糟糕。我在靠窗的座椅上接连几个小时读书。我甚至到三楼，去勘察那个阁楼。

阁楼上的秘密
（美国）珍妮·哈格特 | 原文
孙宝成 | 编译
我不情愿地看着那栋古旧的三层房子，真不愿意住在这里。房子有角楼和凸窗，雕刻得如同神话中的城堡。在花园的一头放置着一个日晷，另一头有一个鱼塘。进了屋子，我们发现了剥落的油漆、发霉的墙壁，还有一个残缺的盥洗室。
“我喜欢这房子。”妈妈说。
“我不喜欢。”我立刻接了一句。
爸爸清了清嗓子。“房子几乎盖了有一百年，只要修补几处，还能再用一百年。”
我弟弟格雷戈从一个门口跑到另一个门口，边看边计算着个数。“多好的房子啊，要是把阁楼也算进去，共有十五间屋。莫莉，或许某个秘密挡板后面还有一间屋子呢，我敢说我会首先发现它！”
“这跟我没关系，别烦我。”我厉声说。真不明白，难道说只有我一个人为离开乡下那个整洁的家而感到遗憾吗？
可是搬进去之后，我不得不承认这栋老房子并不是太糟糕。我在靠窗的座椅上接连几个小时读书。在格雷戈不注意的情况下，我彻底检查了所有带雕刻的木板。我甚至跟他到三楼，去勘察那个阁楼。
格雷戈拿着一个手电，带头走上楼梯。但他推开阁楼门时，我们惊讶地站住脚：午后的阳光透过三扇窗户流淌进来。
“多好的阁楼啊，”格雷戈说，“如果把地板重新铺好，咱们就可以在这里玩轮滑了。注意点，别站在那些木梁上，搞不好你会掉进下面的屋子里。”他小心翼翼地迈动脚步，过去打开一扇窗子。“喔！咱们跟月亮一样高了。过来瞧瞧，从这里看那个日晷有多小。”
“我怕登高，你知道的。”我告诉他，“我不靠近窗户周戈楠。”
我没去窗口，却看到一块咯吱作响的地板通向烟囱。我踮起脚尖，从烟囱的出口看屋顶，没想到发现了一个大小如同玩具的箱子。箱子放在砖砌的墙垛上，一层层灰尘如同编织了一张毯子，均匀地堆积在上面。
“格雷戈，上这儿来——我发现了宝贝！”我说。我们两个把箱子拿进来。箱子从我们的手指间滑落，腾起一阵尘烟。等我们不再打喷嚏了，便蹲伏在烟囱旁查看从箱子里落出来的玩偶衣服。有上面刺着小花的丝绒上衣，有装饰着珍珠的黄色缎子裙，还有丝绸做的漂亮童帽。
箱子盖上也衬着丝绸。有人在织物上撕开一个口子，塞了一张小纸条。
我让格雷戈打开易碎的纸条。随后，我斜起眼睛查看已经褪色的字迹，把上面的字读了出来：
1921年9月5日，我，汉娜·福布斯，已经长大了。妈妈说在一个新地方生活有助于我们忘记烦恼。可是我不忍从这个家带走萨曼塔、安格奈特和辛西娅，这里也是我妈妈长大的地方。玩偶首先属于她，她同意了，我将留下它们……
歇息在木栏杆之下，
遮蔽呼啸的寒风，
躲藏在，
三点钟的阳光留下标记，
还有阴影逃避的地方。
我颤抖着声音，渐渐低沉下来。在那久远的过去，是什么烦恼驱走了汉娜？那时她有多大岁数呢？
格雷戈打断了我的沉思。“‘躲藏在，三点钟的阳光留下标记，还有阴影逃避的地方。’莫莉，再清楚不过了。它们埋藏在日晷附近。”
我们在车库找到铲子，跑到院子里去挖。挖了一个小时后毫无结果，我问：“什么是木栏杆呢？”
“那时候这里可能有一道木栅栏。这么多年过去了，谁知道有了多大的变化？继续挖吧！”
最后，我告诉格雷戈我需要休息一下。我想见一个人。
“图书馆的杰米森小姐什么事都知道，”我说，“只要我理清自己想提的问题，或许她能告诉咱们福布斯家的事情。”
格雷戈不满地说：“留下我独自干这累人的活儿？没门。我也去。”
尽管那天下午很热，杰米森小姐提供的资料却让我直发抖。汉娜的父亲曾经是当地银行的总裁，因为贪污数千美元而被判有罪。看一个人总是要随情形而定，他既可以是一个无耻的盗贼，也可以是一个接济穷人的好心人。汉娜改变住所的时候恰好十一岁，跟我一样。我们不是因为同样的原因而搬家，这让我感到欣慰。
“一定要找到那些玩偶，格雷戈。”回家的路上，我说。
“手上的五个水泡证明我试过了。”他抱怨着。
“这是现在最重要的事情。”我坚持着，“我帮你挖。我先把它们的衣服在箱子里放好再说。”
格雷戈同意了，跟我回到阁楼，关上窗子。我把小衣服叠好，然后捡起易碎的纸条。在明亮的阳光下，我看到以前忽视的两道墨水痕迹。
“格雷戈，”我尖声说，“纸条上说的是‘歇息在木制的小径（trails）’下，不是‘栏杆（rails）’。这些木板就是汉娜说的木制小径。玩偶就在这里！”
我立刻激动起来，不顾灰尘呛鼻子，马上就要查看地板下面。可是，格雷戈却在窗边无动于衷。
我问：“你不想帮着看看吗？”
他指着窗子附近地板上的一块阳光。“我在等待。”他说，“我告诉过你，其中肯定有日晷的事儿。汉娜从这个窗户看到日晷，要不她怎么知道太阳在三点钟能到这个位置呢？”
到了下午三点，我们抬起日照处的一块松动的木板，对我来说是谁找到下面的包裹都无所谓了，只要能找到就是成功。
玩偶瓷质的面部仍然是玫瑰红色。我轻轻地触摸那一个个微笑着的面容。哪个是萨曼塔？哪个是安格纳尔？哪个是辛西娅？这都无所谓。
我敢肯定，在某一个地方，汉娜也在微笑。

The Mystery in the Attic
Jeanne B. Hargett
Staring at the ancient three-story house, I’d have changed places with just about anybody. It had turrets and bay windows and carvings as fancy as those on a fairy-tale castle. It had a sundial at one end of the garden and a fish pond at the other. Inside, we discovered that it also had peeling paint, mildew-stained walls, and a shortage of bathrooms.
“I love it,” Mom said.
“I hate it,” I said at the same instant.
Dad cleared his throat. “It was built almost a century ago. It’ll be good for another hundred years when a few repairs are made.”
My older brother, Greg, counted as he darted from doorway to doorway. “What a house—fifteen rooms if you include the attic. And maybe an extra room behind a secret panel, Molly. Bet I find it first!”
“Disappear this minute for all I care,” I snapped. Was I the only one to regret leaving our snug home in the country?
But after moving in, I had to admit the old house wasn’t so bad. I spent hours reading on its cushioned window seats. When Greg wasn’t looking, I inspected every inch of carved wood. I even agreed to go to the third floor with him to explore the attic.
Greg led the way up the stairs, carrying a flashlight. But when he pushed open the attic door, we stood blinking at early afternoon sunlight streaming through three windows.
“Some attic,” Greg said. “If it had a floor everywhere we could roller skate up here. Be careful to stay on those wooden beams, or you could crash into the rooms below.” Stepping carefully, he went to raise a window. “Wow! We’re as high as the moon. Come see how small the sundial looks from here.”
“High places scare me, and you know it,” I told him. “I’m not coming near a window.” Instead I followed a bridge of creaky flooring till it ended at a chimney. I was standing on tiptoe to trace the chimney’s exit through the roof when I saw the doll-sized trunk. It sat on a brick ledge. Layers of dust had woven a blanket over its rounded top.
“Greg, come here—I’ve found something!” I said. Both of us reached for it. The trunk slipped from our fingers, and dust swirled around us. After our sneezing stopped, we crouched by the chimney to examine the doll clothes that had tumbled from the trunk. There were velvet jackets with tiny embroidered flowers, dresses of yellowed satin trimmed with pearls, and beautifully made silk bonnets.
The trunk’s lid had been lined with silk, too. Someone had cut a slit in the fabric and tucked in a thin sheet of notepaper.
I let Greg unfold the brittle paper. Then, squinting at the faded ink, I read aloud these words:
September 5, 1921. I, Hannah Forbes, must grow up. Mama says life in a new place will help us forget our trouble. But I cannot bear taking Samantha,许黎丹 Angenetta, and Cynthia from this home where my mother also grew up. The dolls belonged first to her, and she agrees. I shall leave them…
resting under wooden rails,
sheltered when the cold wind wails,
hidden where the shadows flee
and sunbeams mark their place at three.”
My voice trembled and trailed off. What long-ago trouble had driven Hannah away? And how old was she then?
Greg interrupted my trance. “ ‘Hidden where the shadows flee and sunbeams mark their place at three.’ Molly, it’s clear as anything. They’re buried near the sundial!”
We found shovels in the garage and raced out to the yard. After an hour of digging produced no results, I asked, “But what about the wooden rails?”
“There probably was a fence here then. Who knows what changes have been made in so many years? Keep digging!”
Finally I told Greg I needed to take a break. There was someone I wanted to see. “Miss Jamison at the library knows everything,” I said. “As soon as I clean up I’m going to ask if she can tell us about the Forbes family.”
Greg snorted. “And leave me with the dirty work? Nothing doing. I’m coming, too.”
Miss Jamison’s information set me shivering in spite of the afternoon heat. Hannah’s father had been the president of a local bank and had been convicted of embezzling thousands of dollars. Depending on which person you believed, he was either a shameless thief or a kind man too softhearted when folks needed money. Like me, Hannah was eleven when she had had to change homes. I was glad we didn’t share the same reason.
“Those dolls simply have to be found, Greg,” I said as we walked back to the house.
“Five blisters prove I’ve been trying,” he grumbled.
“It’s more important now,” I insisted. “I’ll help dig. Just give me time to put their clothes away in the trunk.”
Greg agreed and came back to the attic with me to shut the window. I finished folding the clothes, then picked up the fragile note. In the bright sunlight I saw two faded ink strokes I’d missed before.
“Greg,” I yelped, “it says, ‘resting under wooden TRAILS.’ These walkways are Hannah’s wooden trails. The dolls are here!” I soon got hot and dusty again trying to look under the boards, but Greg sat quietly by a window. “Aren’t you going to help look?” I asked.
“Greg,” I yelped, “it says, ‘resting under wooden TRAILS.’ These walkways are Hannah’s wooden trails. The dolls are here!” I soon got hot and dusty again trying to look under the boards, but Greg sat quietly by a window. “Aren’t you going to help look?” I asked.
“Greg,” I yelped, “it says, ‘resting under wooden TRAILS.’ These walkways are Hannah’s wooden trails. The dolls are here!” I soon got hot and dusty again trying to look under the boards, but Greg sat quietly by a window. “Aren’t you going to help look?” I asked.
He pointed to a patch of sunlight on the floor near the window. “I’ve been waiting,” he said. “I told you the sundial had to be involved. Hannah looked at it out this window. How else did she know the sun touches here at three o’clock?”
we lifted a loose plank in the sunlit spot, I didn’t care who got credit for finding the bundle below.
we lifted a loose plank in the sunlit spot, I didn’t care who got credit for finding the bundle below.
The dolls’ china faces w As ere still rosy. Gently I touched one painted smile after another. Which was Samantha? Which Angenetta? Which Cynthia? It didn’t matter. Somewhere, I was sure of it, Hannah was smiling, too.
The dolls’ china faces w As ere still rosy. Gently I touched one painted smile after another. Which was Samantha? Which Angenetta? Which Cynthia? It didn’t matter. Somewhere, I was sure of it, Hannah was smiling, too.
The dolls’ china faces w As ere still rosy. Gently I touched one painted smile after another. Which was Samantha? Which Angenetta? Which Cynthia? It didn’t matter. Somewhere, I was sure of it, Hannah was smiling, too.