Martin Mysteries

The next two days blurred together. Jude worked constantly on the salvaged machine parts despite his broken leg. Flynn served as his hands, following detailed instructions. Clara ran between them and Chamberlain, gathering supplies. “Mrs. Thornton?” she asked on July 5th. “No sign. We’ve searched everywhere. It’s as if she’s vanished.” “She hasn&#821...

July 4th, 1863, dawned clear and hot. Clara hadn’t slept. The asset—whoever Mrs. Thornton had recruited to deliver her documents to Lincoln—was still unknown. And the President would arrive within hours. “We watch everyone,” Clara told Chamberlain. “Every person who gets close to Lincoln. Every document that changes hands.” The ceremony was held in the town square, th...

The sun was setting as they approached the Thornton farm. It lay hidden in a hollow between two hills, a small white farmhouse with smoke rising from the chimney. Charlie, the Confederate drummer boy, had given them the name: Margaret Thornton. M. “She’s home,” Jude said quietly. They’d left Charlie at the prisoner camp with strict instructions to tell no one. General Chamb...

Jude woke to the smell of death—the bodies were still being collected from the fields, wagon after wagon heading to the makeshift graves being dug beyond the ridge. He tried to focus on the machine parts. Clara and Flynn had spread them across the hayloft floor in careful arrangement but the view was not encouraging: of the thirty-seven pieces they’d recovered, only eighteen seemed functiona...

July 3rd dawned hot and still. Clara woke to the Union Army stirring—the “decisive day” had arrived. Jude and Flynn were already hunched over their grandfather’s notes. “The note from ‘M,'” Jude said without preamble. “The handwriting is familiar. I’ve seen it before.” “Later,” Clara urged. “We have to find the machine parts before...

Jude was jolted awake by the barn door banging open, harsh sunlight flooding in and making him shield his eyes. A Union sergeant stood in the doorway, rifle at the ready, his face set in hard lines. “On your feet, Rebs! Roll call!” Tucker caught his eye as they shuffled into line. A tiny nod, barely perceptible. The message was away. The sergeant walked down the line and stopped as he...

Jude Martin woke in darkness, and for a moment he thought he was dead. Then the pain hit—a throbbing ache in his skull, a burning sensation across his ribs, the sharp protest of muscles that had been pushed far beyond their limits—and he decided that death probably wouldn’t hurt this much. He was lying on something scratchy. Straw, his brain supplied after a moment. He was lying on straw, in...

Clara Martin had always been the practical one. When Jude got lost in his books and Flynn got lost in his video games, Clara was the one who remembered to feed the dog, who set reminders for homework assignments, who made sure everyone had their lunch boxes before the bus came. Being the middle child didn’t mean being the least responsible—at least not in the Martin family. But nothing in tw...

Flynn Martin woke to the smell of smoke and the taste of dirt. His cheek pressed against something cold and wet—leaves, he realized, as his eyes fluttered open. Dead leaves, brown and rotting, carpeting a forest floor he didn’t recognize. His head throbbed like someone had stuffed a bass drum inside his skull and was pounding out a rhythm only pain could hear. Where am I? He pushed himself u...