Sophie's Secret - By Nancy N. Rue Page 0,2
at Jamestown to find, for instance, the remains of the fort,” he said, “because it was the center of their life, and this is where they set the precedents for our representative government and legal code.”
Sophie didn’t know what “precedents” were, but she was sure Fiona would. She stood on her tiptoes to see where Mr. Mouth was now pointing. There were several men wearing hard hats and very dirty clothes, down on their hands and knees, making tiny digs in the dirt with pointed instruments that looked like pens.
“You can see how precise the techniques are,” Mr. Mouth said. “But this is the way they discovered the rest of the palisade of the fort. It’s called a trenching technique. They’re following the white blocks in the ground where they think the palisades were.”
“Whatever,” Lacie mumbled. Aunt Bailey, of course, nodded. Sophie moved a few more inches away from them on top of the low wall and craned her neck to see the map Mr. Mouth was holding.
“We know where to dig for PHYSICAL evidence—such as building ruins and artifacts—by using the DOCUMENTARY evidence we find. This is a map left by one of the secretaries of the first General Assembly, giving the measurements!”
Mr. Mouth was so delighted with THAT piece of information, he sprayed the people who were standing directly in front of him with enthusiastic spit.
“Gross me out,” Lacie whispered to Aunt Bailey.
“We might need those plastic ponchos after all,” Aunt Bailey whispered back.
Mama turned and gave Lacie a don’t-be-disrespectful look. Sophie would have taken a minute to enjoy that if she hadn’t wanted to hear every word Mr. Mouth was saying. She decided to call him Mr. Messenger instead.
He’s like a messenger of knowledge from the past, she thought. She KNEW Fiona would be impressed with THAT.
“These archaeologists have uncovered over three hundred and fifty thousand artifacts dating to the first half of the seventeenth century,” Mr. Messenger said. “They have even excavated two large trash pits.”
“They dug through the garbage?” Lacie said.
This time it didn’t come out in a whisper, and Mr. Messenger turned to her with wide eyes, as if he were overjoyed that she’d asked that question.
“Yes, young lady!” he said. “You would be amazed what we can learn about a society from its refuse. In fact, well-preserved trash is a Jamestown treasure!”
Sophie made a mental note of that. Lacie turned to Aunt Bailey and wrinkled her nose.
“I don’t think I’d want to know THAT bad,” she murmured.
“As you can see,” Mr. Messenger said, “they are still working. Where I’m going to take you next, they are excavating what may have been a graveyard.”
“This just keeps getting better and better,” Aunt Bailey whispered. “First old garbage, now dead bodies.”
“And then we’ll watch the further excavation of a well,” Mr. Messenger continued. “They’ve already found a metal armor breastplate—”
“Now THAT’s a bra,” Aunt Bailey said behind her hand to Lacie. “Speaking of bras, we need to go shopping. I know you’re wearing the wrong size right now.”
Sophie could feel her face going crimson. She checked out her parents to see if they were hearing all this, but Mama was deep in conversation with one of the archaeologists, and Daddy was watching Mama, his arms folded and his head bent toward Uncle Preston.
“What do you want to bet Lynda is at this moment giving that guy directions to our home?” Sophie heard Daddy say, “The woman never meets a stranger.”
Mr. Messenger was winding up his explanation before they moved on, and Sophie was now having a harder time focusing on him with all those other conversations going on around her. She leaned out just a tiny bit more.
“When we go into the tent where the archaeologists are working on the well site,” Mr. Messenger said, “you will see them using very small trowels to scrape one eighth of an inch of earth at a time and then sweep it into five gallon buckets. All that dirt goes through a screen—”
“Uh-oh,” Daddy said to Uncle Preston. “There go all my buckets. Lynda will be down here tomorrow with ten of them and a half a dozen gardening shovels.”
Daddy! Sophie wanted to shout at him. I can’t concentrate!
She leaned out just a little more—and suddenly she was on the ground, tumbling down the incline toward the river.
She tried to grab onto something to stop herself, but she was tangled up in her cape, and half the hood was covering her face. Arms flailing, she knew she had to