Secrets at Sparhawk Point: A Bonus Chapter by Anna Rose Johnson Holiday House / New York
Bonus Chapter copyright © 2026 by Anna Rose Johnson. All rights reserved. All rights reserved. HOLIDAY HOUSE is registered in the U. S. Patent and Trademark Office www.holidayhouse.com Issuu edition August 2026
Alex and Jack were sitting on the dock near their house, as they so often did on Sunday afternoons. Also as usual, they were discussing the imaginary monster Martha and all the ramifications of her supposed existence. “It sure is fun, knowing that tourists are coming here to see her,” said Jack with great contentment, drawing a picture of Martha in his sketchbook. “It’s getting exciting,” Alex agreed as he finished rearranging his tackle box. He was pleased that he had caught two fish already. In the distance, they heard their front door open, and Mother called out, “Boys, you need to be in by three o’clock, because we’re having company again!” Alex felt his stomach sink. Why must they be inundated with more visiting relatives? He glanced over at Jack, whose glum expression suggested that he was feeling much the same way. “It isn’t Uncle Ansel and Aunt Ilene again, is it?” Jack asked loudly, as they left the dock behind and walked back to the house. “Don’t say that so loudly,” said Alex automatically. “What, you think they can hear us six hours away?” Jack teased. By the time they reached Mother, she was smiling. “Actually, I think you’ll be pleased to hear that it’s Aunt Lucy and Uncle Will who are visiting. And they’re bringing their new baby.” Well! This was an improvement. Aunt Lucy was their most interesting aunt. She had been orphaned as a young girl and adopted into Mother’s family, and she had supposedly found a ruby necklace from a shipwreck when she was eleven. Plus, she had become an actress and had acted onstage at grand theaters all over the Upper Peninsula before she had finally settled down with Uncle Will. They had three children: an eight-year-old girl named Sara, a boy of six called Archie, and the new baby, Pearl. “That’s great!” said Alex, brightening at the prospect. “We’ll have a lot of fun.” “Maybe Aunt Lucy will bring us some stuff,” Jack hinted. Mother gave an indulgent laugh. “She always brings things. How useful they are is debatable, but it’s always a surprise.” Alex and Jack hurried off to tell the girls about Aunt Lucy’s arrival.
“I’ve never met an actress before,” said Ingrid eagerly. “I’d love to meet her. Can we come with you now?” Alex nodded. “We’ll have to hurry, because Mother said they’ll be here at three o’clock.” Although she would never admit it, Beatrice did not think that a visiting aunt would be overly fascinating, especially because Aunt Lucy was not young like her own Aunt Ebba. The boys’ Aunt Lucy was the same age as Alex and Jack’s mother—Mrs. Robicheaux had said so. This aunt was settled down and raising a family, no longer acting on stage. Ingrid was getting her hopes too high. Nevertheless, Beatrice’s curiosity led her to join Ingrid and the boys at the Robicheaux house. As they waited in the driveway, Alex was amused to notice that even Mother was excited, and kept popping her head out the door every few minutes to see if her sister had graced the yard with her presence. “I wonder if they’ll be delayed,” she murmured. “Will’s such a slow driver. So particular and careful.” “Not like Aunt Lucy at all,” Jack laughed. “Aunt Lucy is more particular than you would think,” said Mother, as if she had years of experience learning this fact about her sister. At last, they arrived. The Airneths drove a lovely automobile, a dark blue Packard that looked as if it belonged on Park Avenue in New York City rather than on the dusty backroads of Sparhawk Point. Uncle Will got out first; he looked a little tired, but happy. He shook the boys’ hands, as usual, but said very little, just “Yes, quite nice to see you—happy to be here.” He had a hint of an accent, a trace leftover from childhood. He had been born in Cornwall, England, and his family had come to the Upper Peninsula mining community when he was young. Ingrid was immediately impressed by -Lucy Airneth. Her hair was styled in a marvelously modern way, and her eyes were a deep, dazzling brown. She wore pink lipstick and a maroon dress with a fur wrap. “Oh, it’s so beautiful to see all of you,” cried Lucy, throwing her arms wide to hug the boys and Mrs. Robicheaux. “Isn’t it splendid, being back together like this? And I have the most wonderful baby to show you. She is the queen of all babies. Her name is Pearl.” The baby was removed from her basket in the back of the car and cooed over. Aunt Lucy’s face shone as bright as one of those brand-new steel pennies. “I think she looks like Will’s mother. Don’t you think? Those eyes . . .”
Alex and Jack, not much interested in who baby Pearl looked like, went around to the other side of the car to greet the other children, Sara and Archie. “Hope you had a nice trip,” said Alex, not sure exactly what to say to Sara. “It was an excruciatingly long trip,” Sara replied, as she dug a small painter’s easel from the back of the car. “But we’re here now. I want to paint the lake. Maybe I will use the lake water to dip my paintbrush in.” Alex was struck by how businesslike she seemed for an eight-year-old. He turned his attention to Archie. “Do you like Lake Superior?” he asked. “Uh-huh,” said Archie, nodding. “I want to see Martha.” “Martha?” Alex repeated, wondering if he had forgotten a cousin or something, but Jack exclaimed, “You mean you’ve heard of Martha? The monster?” “Sure. Hasn’t everybody? The monster that eats people and swims around,” Archie continued knowledgeably, before sprinting over to his mother to tug on her skirt. “They didn’t know about the monster, Mama. They never heard of it.” Aunt Lucy interrupted her own story midstream. “Never heard of the monster! That’s mostly why we came.” She let out a laugh, one that Ingrid liked very much. “Once the children read the story in the paper, they clamored to come. I’ve been wanting to come visit anyway. Hazel, I feel terrible that I didn’t answer your letter you sent in February, because it was just what I needed—it cheered me up. The winter was so dark and the baby was so fussy, and I liked picturing you and the boys here, waiting out the winter storms in your cozy house.” “I’m glad you liked it,” said Mother. An expression of mingled amusement and affection always came to Mother’s face when she was around Aunt Lucy. “You really should come for Christmas sometime. I know it would be difficult with the weather, but . . .” They settled themselves in the living room, where the air was filled with compliments and catching-up, along with the clatter and clink of cups. “Now about this monster,” began Aunt Lucy, getting comfortable on the sofa. “I find it hard to believe that you boys haven’t heard of it. Surely you’ve tried to catch a glimpse of it yourselves.” “We have,” Alex admitted. “Sort of.” Jack could hardly keep himself from laughing, while Beatrice and Ingrid managed to look completely innocent. Mother smiled as she poured a cup of tea for Uncle Will. “The boys have been reading all about the monster, and trying to get a look at it, too. The trouble is, I happen to believe it’s just people’s imaginations running wild with them.”
“There are many secrets in Lake Superior,” said Aunt Lucy, all the playacting dropping away from her. She was completely serious, and there was a softness to her face, as if this subject meant something special to her. “I used to think I knew most of them. I don’t. And how glad I am there is plenty left in the world to wonder about.” Then the actress in her came out again—just a little bit—as she began to speak with great drama, as if trying to project her voice across a theater stage: “Don’t think for one minute, children, that you know all the mysteries of the natural world.” Alex leaned back against his chair, mulling over her words. There probably was a great deal left to discover. What discoveries had Aunt Lucy once wanted to make? And was it just barely possible that there was something real about the Mishi-Biizhiw stories? As the Ahlstrom girls walked back home to the manse that evening, Beatrice found herself thinking over Aunt Lucy’s visit. It was strange to realize, but Lucy was just as vibrant as Aunt Ebba. Perhaps exciting personalities did not have to be dimmed with age. Perhaps some people grew even more exciting as time marched on. “But she doesn’t act anymore,” Beatrice said, stopping short on their walk. A breeze from the lake picked up, sending a few of last year’s leaves skittering across the ground. Ingrid halted, too. “What do you mean?” Beatrice tried to explain. “Their Aunt Lucy doesn’t act on stage anymore—she just stays home with her children.” “But she tells them stories,” Ingrid pointed out. “That’s just a different way of storytelling. Acting and—well, reciting, and writing—it’s all sort of the same thing. Just different ways of doing it.” She hugged her notebook to herself. “I will be a storyteller one day—as a journalist.” Beatrice pictured herself, perhaps fifteen years in the future. She had always thought of herself as a career woman, an interior designer perhaps. But now she thought of Lucy, surrounded by her children, telling stories. “Maybe I’ll tell stories to my children, too,” she declared.