HIDDEN MICKEY ADVENTURES 5

by Nancy Temple Rodrigue

  Fullerton

  Homework finished, the orange brick sat on top of it like a paperweight. Lost in thought, Peter idly pushed a pen around the top of his desk. It had been difficult for him to turn off the adrenaline and excitement and come back down to earth and normality. After chattering all the way home telling his mom every detail again, he had been sent to his room to do his ignored homework. Then he could start on the next clue if he so wanted. But after the History and the Calculus were labored through, his energy was spent.

  Michael, Andrew, and the hopeful Dug had come in to clamor for his attention. The heavy brick was uninteresting to the younger boys. After an exploratory lick, Dug, too, was sent away disappointed. At this point, Peter just wanted a little solitude.

  Now that he was alone, though, he didn’t know what to do with himself. Used to a large extended family that included the Michaels and Wolf and Omah, the lack of noise wasn’t as welcome as he thought it would be.

  Pushing up from his chair, he wandered over to his oak bookcase which contained more souvenirs than books. With no definite plan in mind, he fingered some favorite Disney figurines. When he found himself poking the nose of a stuffed Stitch for no apparent reason, he sighed and looked around his large bedroom. He didn’t want to listen to his music. He didn’t want to watch a video or a movie. Dinner was over. There was no one he wanted to call or text. At a loss, he slowly wandered over to the window.

  The sky overhead had darkened from dusk into night. The first evening star blinked into sight. Peter, head tilted, watched the far-away ball of gas get brighter and brighter, finally joined by a myriad of other twinkles.

  “When you wish…”

  “Darn it, Wolf!” he angrily thought to himself. “Stop it. I’m not wishing on a star. I’m just…I’m just…” He broke off and leaned back from the window, the glass now becoming a mirror. He stared into his own eyes as he completed his rant. “I’m just missing…someone.”

  The eyes in the window narrowed back at him, the anger spent. “Say it. It’s all right. I’m wishing Catie was well again.”

  As he looked away from his reflection, his gaze stopped on his closed closet door. It was a large closet, a walk-in with floor-to-ceiling shelves, clothing rods, and cubby holes for shoes and packs. Much like the bookcase, the contents the closet were more treasures than clothes. Personal treasures he had already collected for years before the Hidden Mickey searches from Walt had begun. And, after the quests had started, the treasures became more special, more valuable.

  Pulling open the paneled oak door, he flipped on the light and stepped into his closet. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that he was still alone. The door was clicked shut behind him. The thought of how great the costumes he had seen hanging in that huge room at Disneyland would look in here briefly came and went through his mind. There was something else more important as he reached the cluttered back wall of shelves. Third shelf up from the bottom, stashed under ski goggles, masks and gloves was a smallish box. Unadorned and unlocked, it had been moved to this spot after he felt his under-the-bed hiding place had been compromised. Peter slowly pulled the metal box out from underneath the pile.

  His back to the shelves, he sank into a sitting position on the carpeted floor as he stared at the gray box. Already knowing what was inside—mostly treasures from past Hidden Mickey quests—he delayed the simple action of lifting the lid. Did he want to acknowledge what two of those hidden items would mean? Was he ready to do that? Of themselves and by themselves, they were just two of the treats Walt had left to be found. But, if he went through with what he was thinking, they would become something much more personal and lasting.

  “I’m only fourteen.” His words were whispered as he attempted to work it out internally. “Does that matter? But, when would I know? How old would I have to be?”

  His mind returned to all the things he had gone through during the past year. All the anguish, all the uncertainty after what Nimue had done to him. Then, finally, the slow process of healing, of getting his joy back. He knew what this last quest of Walt’s had done for him. It was exactly what Walt and Wolf had intended. He was excited for the next clue. He was interested to see what the future would bring.

  Except for that one huge, overpowering thing: Catie was hurt and they weren’t sure when, or if, she would ever be the same again.

  Peter could now acknowledge how deeply her accident had affected him. They had been friends since birth. The families went on vacations together, out to dinner together, to the Parks together. He couldn’t imagine the Michaels—or Catie—not being in his life.

  As he lifted the lid of the box, Peter stared at the contents that he had kept hidden away from his family’s prying eyes. Most of the handwritten notes from Walt were mixed in with various keys that had come with some of the clues. One of the smaller gray capsules was there. The Gold Pass that everyone else had forgotten about. These and other items were gently pushed aside so Peter could reach what he knew was on the very bottom of the box. One of them had been hidden inside the mermaid that he and Catie had found in the attic of the Haunted Mansion. Peter had figured out the combination of the Chinese puzzle-like mechanics to open the mermaid and reach his next clue—and this small item had fallen out. The other one had been in a small box secured under an awning on the old Motor Boat dock.

  He didn’t touch either of the items or bring them out of the box. He just stared at them, reassuring himself of what he wanted to do, what he needed to do in the near future.

  With a soft click, the box was closed and once again stashed under the ski gear. They were safe and secure.

  They would be there when he came to get them.

  “Mind Thy Head – 1787. Look out bellows!”

  Eyes scrunched, Peter stared at the new clue as his head slowly swung back and forth. “Why does that sounds so familiar? Where have I heard that before? I know I’ve seen it somewhere.” He looked over at his computer, the cursor blinking on and off, waiting for its next command. With a disgusted snort, he shook his head. “Why can’t I just look at a clue and know what it means? Why do I have to do so much research? Gosh, I’ll bet Dad and Uncle Adam never had to do this much searching for answers back in the old days.”

  Falling back to his tried-and-true method, he brought up his favorite search engine and typed in ‘mind thy head Disneyland.’ “Great. Only 144,000 results. Piece of cake.”

  It didn’t take Peter long to realize that almost all of the search results pointed to the same place: Tarzan’s Treehouse. Still, he hesitated. “Okay, I’ve see that sign a couple of times on the stairs, but…that can’t be right. It wasn’t called that in Walt’s time. It was the Swiss Family Treehouse. Which is in Florida now.”

  A year ago he would have immediately bounded down the stairs and announce to the family that they needed to go to Walt Disney World. Now, he wasn’t so sure. Of course Walt wouldn’t know that his treehouse, opened only four years before his death, would be replaced with a different theme. Unless Wolf told him. From what had been said, Peter assumed they worked together on this quest for him.

  “No, Wolf wouldn’t tell Walt the future. It has to mean something else. What does ‘look out below’ mean?” A laugh sounded in the still room as he gaped at his computer screen. “That’s nice. Only eighty-two million search results.” Frustrated, stifling a groan, he ran a hand over his face. “If I go with the obvious, it means something is being dropped from above and the ones down below have to be careful. Okay, that could apply to the Treehouse. What’s below the Treehouse? The Jungle Cruise and Indiana Jones and Adventureland and part of New Orleans Square and…” Peter rubbed the bridge of his nose. “There’s too many ‘ands’ here. And why does it say 1787? Great, another and. Was that the year the Robinsons landed on their island?”

  Back on the computer, Peter went to one of his favorite sites that was filled with pictures of extinct Disneyland attractions. “If it can be found, the answer will be here.” After a v
irtual tour of the old Treehouse, and a mental promise to go through it again next time they go to Florida, Peter found his answer. According to a plaque at the beginning of the walkways, the Robinsons waded ashore in 1805. “Shoot. That doesn’t match at all. So it isn’t the old Treehouse. How can it be the new one? Wolf wouldn’t tell Walt the future. Would he? So, when was Tarzan supposed to have taken place?”

  As Peter followed one cold lead after another, his enthusiasm for the thrill of the chase began to wane. “Gosh, how hard is it to find out the time period of Tarzan?”

  Finding nothing in the Disney-based categories, he switched to the original story of Tarzan as written by Edgar Rice Burroughs. An hour later, Peter found himself leaning into the computer screen as he strained to find his answer. “Somebody has to know when Tarzan was set, don’t they?” For a break, he saw a link to a theory that linked two unrelated Disney movies together. There, at the very bottom of the article, was the date he wanted. Only it wasn’t the date he really wanted. It said ‘the 1880’s,’ not 1787. “Great. Now what? It’s obviously not the Treehouse. What else could it be?”

  Returning to his search engine, Peter typed in ‘1787 Disneyland’ and was rewarded with a surprising answer. “The ColumbiaSailing Ship? Really?” Already knowing the Columbia was the first American ship to circumnavigate the world, Peter bypassed the fascinating history lesson and concentrated on the rest of the clue. “There is a museum downstairs. Wonder if it refers to something down there? Or, maybe I get to climb a mast again! Ooh, is there a crow’s nest?” Peter pulled up a different Disneyland-based picture-filled website and got back to work.

  In the open doorway, Lance leaned against the frame as he silently watched his son. Peter had been quiet for so long that Lance wondered if he was even awake. As Peter continued to scroll and read and mutter to himself, a fond smile of remembrance flickered over his dad’s face. He and Adam had gone through the same frustrating, puzzling, exciting experience when they had started their first Hidden Mickey search. He almost hated to interrupt, but when he heard ‘climb a mast,’ he had to. “So, how’s it going, Pete? Find anything? Can I come in?”

  Startled, Peter’s head jerked around at the sudden noise. He had been tuned out for a long time. “Dad? Uh, sure, come in. Uh, don’t look at the mess…”

  Lance picked up the brick. He had already seen it when Kimberly and Peter had gotten home, but he wanted to look at the writing again. It didn’t appear to be in Walt’s hand. When he had mentioned the possibility to Kimberly, she said it might have been her dad’s printing. If it was done late in Walt’s life, perhaps he had needed help in getting this quest ready for Peter. “How far have you gotten?”

  Peter heaved a dramatic sigh and threw himself back in the chair. “Well, I found out it doesn’t refer to the Swiss Family Treehouse or Tarzan’s Treehouse. That’s where I had seen the ‘Mind Thy Head’ sign. But, just now I found out that it also is engraved on something called a lintel on the Columbia at Disneyland.”

  “That’s a horizontal block that spans the opening between two vertical supports.”

  “What?”

  Lance smiled at the confused look in front of him. “You just asked what a lintel was.”

  “Oh. Whatever. It’s on some board over the stairway that leads down into the museum. What I don’t get is why it says to look out below. That doesn’t make any sense. Did something fall from the crow’s nest?”

  Turning the brick over, Lance reread the clue. “Well, for one thing, it doesn’t say to look out below. It says ‘Look out bellows.’”

  Peter repeated the word and frowned. “Did Walt spell it wrong?”

  Lance handed the hunk of orange plaster back to his son. “Walt never spelled anything wrong, especially something important. He meant it just as it was written.”

  Already typing the new word into his computer, Peter didn’t reply. “Is that what a bellows is? That wooden pump thing? Where would something like that be on the Columbia? Do they use it for the engines?”

  “Keep looking. You’ll figure it out.”

  “What?” Peter glanced up from the screen. “You’re leaving? You aren’t going to help?”

  Already in the hallway, Lance leaned back into the room. “You’re almost there. And, Pete? You’d better get all those clothes off the floor before your mom sees them.”

  Eyeing the mess, there was an audible groan. “But I’m doing something important.”

  Lance threw up his hands. “Hey, just saying. Remember that you’re going to want to go to Disneyland again soon.”

  Peter realized he was being given a fair warning. “Okay, Dad. I’ll take care of it,” as he turned back to his desk.

  Lance knew his son. “Pete?” He waited until he had the boy’s full attention. “Shoving them under the bed doesn’t count.”

  “Oh. Rats.”

  Flashback – Disneyland – 1957

  Sipping his coffee, Dick worked on the weekly cast member schedule as he sat at one of the outside tables at the Chicken Plantation restaurant. A busy Sunday morning, Disneyland’s myriads of sounds had receded into pleasant background noise as he continued his work.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  Recognizing the voice, the manager of Frontierland quickly made one last notation before he looked up. The work schedule would have to wait. “Morning.” A welcoming look on his face, he made a motion with his hand. “Pull up a chair, Walt.”

  Walt signaled for a coffee before they began to discuss what was going on in the Park. He paused when the Mark Twain sailed past their secluded corner nook, its steam whistle sounding a salute. A satisfied smile on his face, Walt watched until the pristine white boat rounded the first bend of Tom Sawyer’s Island. Getting up from his chair, he walked over to the railing of the restaurant, the business of the day forgotten for now. One of the keel boats, the Bertha Mae, full of smiling guests, slowly followed in the Mark Twain’s wake. Over to the right, the Gullywhumper could be seen unloading at the nearby keel boat dock. Three Indian War Canoes overtook the keel boat as they raced past the restaurant to see who would first reach their landing. The sound of laughter drifted over the choppy water to reach his ears before they were out of sight. In the distance Walt could hear the rumble from the engines of the wooden rafts that took guests to and from the Island. Walt did a quick count. Eight different craft were on the River at that moment. Turning back to Dick, he gestured at the River, eyes shining and his voice enthusiastic. “Will you look at that? Now that is a busy River!”

  Dick took a sip of his coffee and picked up his pencil to continue with the scheduling. He gave a perfunctory nod to his boss, silently wondering when the other shoe would drop. But, instead of a raised eyebrow or a complaint on how congested the River was, Walt’s next words made him lower his pencil.

  “You know what we need? We need another big boat!”

  Before the amazed Dick could respond, Walt began to tell him what he had recently learned from the Admiral. Joe had already been sent on a mission to find a sailing ship for the River. “Now, it won’t be another stern-wheeler.” Walt waved in the direction the now-unseen Mark Twain had gone. “We’ve already done that. What I think we should have is a full-scale replica of the Columbia. Did you know she was the first American ship to sail around the world? She was also a merchant ship in the Pacific Northwest.” Walt then proceeded to fill him in on all the facts and figures of the historical ship and that the Columbia would be the first windjammer to be built in America in over a century.

  At 110 feet long with the tallest mast reaching 76 feet, the Columbia set sail on June 14, 1958. According to maritime tradition, Walt himself had placed a silver dollar under each of the three masts while it was being built.

  A few years later, Walt saw a need and wanted to make the show better or ‘plus the set,’ as he saw the sailing ship. With the assistance of his chief art director from the Studio, they came up with the idea to put an authentic museum below deck. Complete with Galle
y (kitchen), crew’s quarters, and an elaborate Captain’s cabin at the stern, it was all lavishly decorated with authentic maritime equipment and details. It showed what life would have been like on a ship in that time period. This museum was opened to the public in 1964 and, for a time, was accessible even when the ship was docked in Fowler’s Harbor.

  Disneyland

  “Hey, she’s not running again today. Man, Alex, this is the third time we’ve tried to ride her.”

  Peter and Alex, hands on their hips, stood inside Fowler’s Harbor and stared up at the docked Columbia. The carved masthead towered above them as the ship sat motionless in her mooring.

  “How are you supposed to look for the next clue if you can’t get into the museum?”

  “I don’t know, Alex. This is getting old. Why have the ride if they never bring it out?”

  Quickly losing interest, Alex tried to see the latest screamers when they hurtled down the slope of the nearby Splash Mountain. The Harbour Galley restaurant blocked his view. With a side glance at Peter, he started to slowly back to the walkway. A question from his friend stopped him in his tracks. “Uh, what’d you say?”

  Head tilted to the side, eyes narrowed, Peter stared at the twin. He knew Alex’s main interest had always been the thrill rides, not his clue searches. But, Alex had volunteered to go with Peter this time. Peter now wondered why. “I asked if you had any ideas.” Besides riding Splash Mountain or Big Thunder.