Fascinated, Lance and Kimberly watched open-mouthed as the pink cloud hovered over the emptiness until, suddenly, it broke away and headed straight at them.
With a scream that could have come from either of them, Lance threw his arms around his wife and pushed with his legs, trying to leap out of the way of the rapidly nearing fireball. Five months pregnant, Kimberly instinctively wrapped her arms around her stomach as she turned in Lance’s arms, allowing him to absorb the brunt of the fall.
In less than a heartbeat, its job accomplished, the pink fizzled and went out. The waiting hole in the River filled with placid green water and the fierce winds died. As the mysterious fog finally cleared, the small wooden dock with the missing canoe was again shrouded in the night’s darkness.
Disneyland — 1956
“Disneyland has become a Southern California institution and an international attraction. To keep our promise that Disneyland will continue to expand, there will be new attractions and new enjoyment so people will continue to find happiness and knowledge.”
With this statement, Walt Disney began the second year of his theme park. The guests were thrilled that there were so many new additions in that second, pivotal year. Main Street U.S.A. got a new motorized Fire Wagon and a bright red Horseless Carriage that carried guests to the iconic Castle. The new Skyway opened to give people a birds-eye view of Fantasyland and Tomorrowland—and a rest for their tired feet. In Tomorrowland, the bright, individually controlled AstroJets provided a thrilling spin through space in the area once occupied by the flag-filled Court of Honor. If the speed of that new ride was too much for junior astronauts, the Junior Autopia was now open near Fantasyland. Frontierland would expand to include another train ride—the Rainbow Caverns Mine Train through the charming mining town of Rainbow Ridge, the Rainbow Desert and the beautifully-colored and, aptly-named, Rainbow Caverns.
Just past Swift’s Chicken Plantation House, the Indian Village had been expanded and moved farther out along the Rivers of America, as the Frontierland River was more commonly called. The lonely Settler’s Cabin over on the sparsely decorated Tom Sawyer’s Island was now ablaze in fire as the alleged perpetrators watched from the opposite shore. The Indian War Canoes, with an authentic Native American as the front bowman and back sternman, allowed guest to experience an exciting adventure along the churning rapids of forest waterways. These first canoes were thirty feet long and made out of varnished wood. The warlike risings that were added to the front and back, and then covered with canvas, gave the canoes a textured birch bark appearance.
The Native American village was a grouping of tan and white decorated teepees with sawed-off logs spaced around the painted dance area on which the dancers sat waiting for their turn. These tribal performers led the watching audience—and any children who wanted to help participate—through six different dances: The War Dance, The Shield and Spear, The Eagle, The Zuni-Comanche, The Mountain Spirit, and The Friendship Dance. The dancers wore beautiful beaded costumes and feathered headdresses that swayed and fluttered in the breeze, while the silver bells attached to their ankles sounded out the stirring beat. Displays and practice rituals that had been passed down from generation to generation were also demonstrated throughout the village, all watched over by a huge stuffed buffalo penned at the entrance.
Even with the opening day having had so many problems—so many that it was dubbed “Black Sunday”—guests continued to pour into the Park. By the summer of 1956, the Park welcomed its four-millionth guest.
The Island — 1817
The Shaman looked up from the four braves who were seated on the rocky ground in front of him. He had been telling them the time-honored story of how the flute had come to their people when a sudden, familiar blast of wind nearly pushed the wolf headdress he wore off his head. Clutching the worn skin closer to his body as the air suddenly turned cold, he quickly dismissed three of the curious men and called the fourth, his son, to his side. Mato stayed behind. He had to hold tight to his blanket—painted with his guide The Bear—when it threatened to fly into the nearby River. As they stood a little closer to the back of the rocky overhang, they were somewhat protected from the elements while they waited for what they knew was about to happen.
“Misukala ki.” My brother. Mato smiled as an empty canoe floated by on its side. The turbulent weather had abated as quickly as it came and now they were anxiously watching its aftereffects.
The Shaman merely grunted as he watched the canoe flounder on the far bank of the River. It wasn’t the same one in which he had sent his son and friends through the storm. He had really liked that canoe…. He gave a toss of his chin to indicate the small boat which had sunk almost out of sight. “You’d better go find him. These passings are taking more of a toll on him each time.” As Mato turned to go, his father called after him, “He might not remember who he is. Beware of the teeth.”
Mato didn’t need the reminder. His brother Wolf occasionally lost some of his identity when he was transformed into a wolf in the swirling storm. Wolf had turned on him more than once.
The Cooking Woman looked up from the lesson she was giving one of her daughters as Mato ran by at a steady pace. Wolf has been gone too long, she thought with a smile. It will be good to have Tahca’s son back again. She instructed the girl to add more vegetables to the ever-bubbling pot over the fire.
When he stopped every now and then to listen, Mato couldn’t hear any movement in the forest that shouldn’t be there. Sumanitu Taka, or Wolf, was usually groaning by now as he struggled to regained consciousness. Plus, Mato could normally locate his brother simply by the smell of his wet fur. Chuckling to himself, he passed the log that jutted out over the flowing, green River. A fishing line was always attached to that log. He and his brother—and now his own son, Igmutaka, or Otter—used to come out and squat down to peer into the water to see if any fish took their bait, the village dog alert next to them.
Across the wide River, a lone cabin stood. It was empty now that the wiya Rose had left with Wolf and his friend Wals. Her brown mare, Sukawaka, still patiently stood in the small paddock next to the two-room cabin, waiting for his mistress who would never return.
As he got closer to civilization and the huge, empty, white mansion next to the River, Mato slowed his pace and stopped again to listen. Now he could hear the low, expected groan, and he sincerely hoped he wouldn’t have to swim across the wide River to help Wolf. His smile faded when he saw a figure dressed in mustard yellow who clung to a low-hanging bush in the water. Recognizing the odd costume, Mato waded out to help someone he had figured he would never see again.
“Hau kola,” he greeted Wals as he slipped a strong arm around the man’s back and pulled him to shore.
“Hello, friend.” Wals was actually surprised he could remember any of Mato’s language after what he had been through—again.
After quickly determining that Wals wasn’t hurt and in no immediate danger, the brave dropped him and went back to the water’s edge to look both ways. There was nothing to be seen, not even any ripples. He turned back to the water-logged man. “Sumanitu Taka?”
Wals grimaced as he sat up and ran those words around his mouth. He looked at Mato and frowned, shaking his head that he didn’t understand. Great, he sighed to himself. Just like I thought it would go.
Mato looked away and rolled his eyes. Great, just like it usually was with this one. He pointed to himself and said slowly, “Mato.’ Pointing at Wals, he said, “Wellz.” Pointing at the River he repeated, “Sumanitu Taka,” and held out his empty hands.
Both of them were visibly relieved when Wals finally understood and nodded. “Wolf.” His companion held back from happily slapping him on the back. He didn’t think Wals could take the force right now.
“Oh, gosh, how do I tell him?” Wals mumbled out loud. He simply shook his head and indicated that they should go by pointing in the direction of the village. “Can we go see the Shaman?”
Mato understood the
word for his father and cast one last, worried glance at the River with the hope he would see his brother swimming to shore.
When he saw Mato obviously search the riverbank, Wals reached out to touch his arm, getting the brave’s divided attention. “No Wolf.” Wals looked as miserable as he felt.
Mato felt his heart clench as he turned and silently led the way back to his village.
“What did you drag out of the River, Mato?” The Shaman was surprised when the dripping Wals was led into camp and handed over to the women by the fire. “Where’s my son?”
His face a reflection his worry, Mato told the Shaman the extent of their conversation as far as he understood it. The portion of his father’s face that was visible under the wolf headdress noticeably paled.
Looking over at the equally miserable Wals, the older man’s words could barely be heard. “This is what I always feared would happen. That one day he wouldn’t come back.”
“But how did this one get here? Only my brother can call the osiceca.”
With only a grunt as a reply, the older man looked out over the wide River toward the barely-seen clearing where the small log cabin stood. He knew it wasn’t fair, but he blamed the woman, the wiya, for whatever trouble his son was in. Things had been fairly normal around the village until the blond had been found lying face down on the River’s edge, obviously blown in by mistake in the same osiceca that his son had used. The village had clothed her and nursed her back to health. Just before she regained consciousness, they placed her in the small cabin. She—and Wolf—had never even known she had been in one of their tipi for days. The Shaman had later told Wolf to watch over her, to guard her. Wolf had immediately taken the duty to heart and practically never left her side whenever she had to deal with the akicita, the soldiers, at the nearby Fort Wilderness. It had been a dangerous time back then.
The Shaman turned back to his waiting son. “How much of our language does this one,” indicating Wals with a tilt of his head, “remember? He hadn’t learned much last time he was here. He was too busy with the golden-haired wiya.”
Mato gave a small, disgusted snort. “Either he was still shaken by the storm or he forgot almost all of it. It won’t be easy finding out what happened to Wolf.”
His father gave him a shrewd, sideways glance. “You’ve been back to the small mining town a few times. You must’ve learned more of their words by now.”
Knowing not to meet the sharp black eyes, Mato gave a one-shoulder shrug. “A little,” he admitted.
The Shaman gave a small smile that went unseen by the brave. He knew better. “Well, let’s go see what, if anything, we can learn. At least he dried off.”
As the two men approached, Wals looked up from the wooden bowl of stew he had been handed by the Cooking Woman. He never could properly read the expression on the leader’s face. He couldn’t tell if the Shaman was glad to see him or ready to toss him back into the River.
“Taŋyáŋ yahí,” Welcome, I am glad to see you. The older man greeted Wals and held a hand up.
Thanking the gray-haired woman, he handed back the empty bowl and murmured to her, “Philámayaye,” and, with the sincere hope that he received a greeting, again said, “Hau, kola.”
Mato gave a small groan. That only goes so far, Wals.
The Shaman gave a small cough to cover the amused look on his face. I should go into a long speech just to see if his face can get any more white. Instead, he imperially motioned for his son to try and take over the floundering conversation.
Mato pointed to the sheltered overhang. Wals knew from his past experiences in the camp that this was the place used for important occasions or ceremonies. Favoring a bruised leg, Wals took a seat on the hard ground and looked expectantly at the two natives. As he waited for the men to begin, he noticed more of a family resemblance than when he had been here before. At that time, he had been more concerned with Rose, her comfort, and their budding relationship. He noticed both men use the familiar one-shoulder shrug Wolf often used and the subtle twinkle in their eye when they were vastly amused at something while their faces showed no emotion at all. Mato was a larger man than Wolf, wider in the shoulders and at least half a head taller. Wolf had told him Mato’s name meant Bear, and he believed it was a good match for the brave. Even though Wals didn’t consider himself much of a judge when it came to a man’s look being considered handsome or not, he could see that Mato had the same chiseled, sharp features as his younger brother. He knew Wolf caused quite a stir amongst the female population at Disneyland and had no doubt that his brother would do equally as well.
As he watched the two men, he felt a familiar feeling begin to pass through him—a contented feeling of belonging and familiarity. He glanced at the nearby green water running past the encampment and thought about the canoe runs he used to make on the River. His mind drifted to the nearby town of New Orleans and the supplies he would need to take to the settlement. Looking up at the sky, he tried to estimate how much daylight he still had and if he could make the run today….
With a sudden gasp, he knew what was happening. The Island had begun to take over his memories again. He had to think of…what was it he had to think of? His room at Fort Wilderness. No, the Fort was closed now. His horse. No, he didn’t have a horse. Rose did. No, it was his car…. Breathing quickly, Wals reached up to his chest where his plastic nametag was pinned. As his fingers ran over the engraved word Wals, he could feel his mind begin to shift again, to settle. I don’t belong here. I belong in the future, at Disneyland. I am here to help Wolf. I can’t let my mind drift again. He unpinned the badge and held it tightly in his hand. Before, it had served as his touchstone to keep him grounded in reality and now he could see he would need it again. Wals decided he had better just hold onto it until they were ready to leave. Whenever that would be, considering how difficult it had been to converse so far—and he had been able to say was hello.
One memory did return to him, the reason for his trip back with Wolf in the first place—the coming of the pirates to Tom Sawyer’s Island. Once the pirates had been installed at Disneyland in Wals’ time, they had shown up here, as well. As a matter of fact, the inhabitants of this village had been engaged in a heated battle with the pirates when Wolf had called the storm to take Rose, the doctor, and himself back to safety in Disneyland of their time.
Glancing sharply over at the Island, he wondered if they would be attacked any time soon. In order to ask Mato about the invaders, he had to interrupt the on-going conversation between father and son. He still had some of the pirate gold hidden at home and it wouldn’t go well for him if the pirates discovered the thief had returned.
With a series of gestures, Mato seemed to know what he was talking about, which relieved both of them greatly. In a mixture of English, Lakota, and sign language that Wals had trouble following, Mato told him with an amused chuckle, “Pirates? Yes, they were a superstitious lot. Once they saw your canoe disappear in the storm and they saw their friend, the idiot, try to follow, they lost some of their zeal for fighting. Then, when they saw my brother bring back the dead idiot, they’ve never returned to this part of the River.”
As Wals tried to absorb what he could understand, Mato described to his father what he had just related. “That was my favorite canoe.” The Shaman had wanted to let Wolf know about that canoe, but, it didn’t look like it would happen at this time. Wals’ contemplation was cut short when the son and father ended their resumed private discussion and turned to face him. It was obvious they wanted to get down to business and determine what happened to Wolf.
“And, here we go,” Wals mumbled to himself as he ran a finger continually over the name tag held in his hand.
Mato noticed the tight grip on the oval plastic. Wolf had explained Wals’ confusion before, so he knew what was going on in their visitor’s mind. Also realizing his brother somehow worked at the same place as Wals, he pointed at the badge. “Wolf there?”
Wals frowned as he looked his
name tag. He knew Mato was asking if that was where his brother was. He shook his head. “No.” He then pointed in the direction of the Fort and around the village. “No.” Next he waved a hand as if over the tops of the trees and hoped to indicate something far away. “In the past. Back in time.”
In low voices, Mato and the Shaman discussed what Wals might have just said and the implications. “Apparently Wolf isn’t where they go in the future. I think his arm waving means that Wolf isn’t around here, either, which is kind of apparent. Where else is there? Wolf never said anything about traveling further.”
The Shaman turned away from Wals to ask a specific question as if he didn’t want Wals to overhear it. “Do you think this one is smart enough to understand a timeline?”
They both turned to closely observe Wals. He had the distinct impression that he was being evaluated—and came up short.
The Shaman shook his head slowly and gave a deep sigh. “Give it a shot, Mato.”
Glancing around, Mato picked up a short twig. After he squatted down next to Wals, he drew a long, straight line in the soft dirt. In the middle of the line, he drew a tipi. Pointing at it, he said, “Mato,” and looked to see if Wals understood so far.
“Okay, that’s where you live.” To see if he was correct, he pointed at one of the nearby conical tents.
Mato nodded and returned to his line. About a foot to the right of the tipi, he drew a shaky representation of the castle on Wals’ nametag. Now he indicated Wals. “Wellz and Wolf’s house.”
Wals again nodded. “Yeah, that’s where we live.” He showed Mato his nametag and pointed at himself.
Mato jabbed the stick in both locations, one after the other. “Wolf?”
He finally understood what the brave was doing, what the line meant. Wals shook head and took the stick from Mato. Far to the left of the tipi, at the start of the line, Wals drew another, bigger castle. “Wolf and Rose. Wiya,” he remembered the word they used for the woman. Again he pointed at the larger drawing and waved over the tops of the trees. “Way back.”
Wolf! Happily Ever After? Page 14