by Dixon, Jeff
“The historical marker gives you part of the history,” Rales began. “In 1898, James Gamble bought this property and built the cracker cottage on it. He owned it for thirty-four years and then left it to his two daughters, Olivia and Maude when he passed away. Maude was married to Alfred Nippert until she died unexpectedly five years later. All of this property became his. Nippert was devastated by his wife’s death and was having trouble coping with his life without her. One day he took their kids to see the first full-length animated film, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. The cartoon enchanted him in that darkened theatre, and he found a way to move on with his life.”
“He was able to move on with his life because of Snow White?” Hawk asked.
“Yep, he hired a carpenter to watch the movie ten times so he could learn every detail about the cottage from the movie. Look around. He got the fireplace right, the stairway is made of split logs, and there are even headboards for each of the seven dwarfs on the bed in the bedroom.”
“So all he was missing was the seven dwarfs.”
“But he did not stop with the house. He took an old tree and fashioned a witch’s hut and then built the seven dwarfs’ mine shaft. This whole enchanted playland is surrounded by elaborate rock gardens and paths. There is even a well that connects to the creek. Isn’t it amazing how people will cope with unexpected loss or grief?”
Hawk cut his eyes directly toward Rales, who was staring intensely at him. He wondered whether there was hidden meaning in what Rales had just said or if it was accidental. The two always managed to skirt revealing certain details of their lives. Rales did know that Hawk was not married, but had surmised that at some point he had been. He also had surmised that Hawk had children but something had happened to them. It was a moment that Hawk did not discuss and had never spoken to Rales about. He wondered if Rales had somehow heard about what happened.
Hawk, after pausing longer than he had intended, replied, “People have to cope in many ways when life takes the unexpected turn.”
“Of course, you already know that,” Rales offered back and then slowly measured his next sentence. “I am sure you deal with that every single day . . . as you minister to other people.”
Rales’s expression was difficult to read by the light of the lantern. The moment became agonizing. Hawk’s past, although a mystery to most who knew him, had shaped and defined his life forever. His friend was moving uncomfortably close to an area of his life that he had no intention of discussing or sharing. The silence in the room was smothering.
Suddenly Rales’s face burst in an ear-to-ear grin that Hawk had seen many times before. Shifting into a more upbeat tone, Rales once again turned the conversation.
“That is the power of a good story. It can encourage, it can make you laugh, it can bring you joy. It will make you think, it will tap into your hidden emotions, and it can make you cry. The power of a story can also bring about healing, give you peace, and change your life!”
In the dimly lit room the storyteller’s words were dramatic and powerful. Hawk allowed them to sink in and continued to struggle with just how personal Rales had intended them to be.
“Hawk, you want to change the world. You are a storyteller, just like me. You think the story you tell as a preacher is one that is real and powerful enough to accomplish the impossible. I believe it can, but you have to tell it right. You have to share it so it connects with people where they are, where they live, in ways they can embrace it and make it their own. If you do, your listeners’ lives will change forever.”
Hawk smiled. Rales had done it once again. Hawk had constantly probed for ways to communicate the story of Jesus in more compelling ways. Now Rales had immersed Hawk in a story, a saga, about a man who learned to cope and move on with his life because of the power of a story. By bringing Hawk here Rales had placed him in a larger-than-life example of the way a good story can change others. He wondered if he would ever cease being surprised at the drama and flair this master story weaver used to teach him.
Hawk saw a way to please his friend. “I understand why you brought me here. Thank you.”
“You understand?” Rales quizzed, “What do you understand?”
“I understand that a great story, told well, can change people.” Yet he felt as if he had been sent hurtling back through time into a classroom where a teacher was testing him. He wasn’t sure he had passed the test.
“Hawk, I’ve told you all those things about telling a great story before. I didn’t bring you all the way out here this late at night just for dramatic effect.” Rales wryly grinned. “I brought you out here so the story would impact you!”
“Impact me? Okay, all of the sudden I guess I don’t understand.”
“A minute ago you understood, now you don’t,” Rales playfully chided.
“I suppose I’m just a bit overwhelmed,” offered Hawk halfheartedly. “After all, I’ve broken into a state park in the middle of the night for a mysterious meeting with an ancient storyteller, and I’m talking to him in the middle of a cartoon cottage. You must admit, it is a bit much.”
“Point well taken,” Rales acknowledged. “Let me tell you why I really asked you to come here.” He walked toward the front door of the cottage and looked out the window. Hawk could see his reflection as he began to unpack his chronicle.
“In 1993 this land was finally listed on the National Register of Historic Places. It took nearly fifteen years before the state of Florida finally got the property ready to open for the general public. Before ’93 the property was private and what was on it was relatively unknown, except to those who might have had the chance to visit.”
“When did you visit this place for the first time?”
“I’ll tell you in a minute. But let me tell you what happened after Alfred Nippert finished the work on this cottage. He contacted Walt Disney and invited him to come and take a look at what he had built. When Walt got the invitation he was riding a wave of popularity and had gotten an Academy Award for Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. Then unexpectedly in 1939 Nippert was contacted and told that Walt would love to visit.” Rales turned from the window and slightly shrugged his shoulders. “Within the month Walt himself showed up and Nippert gave him a tour. Walt Disney and Alfred Nippert stood right here in this cottage, just like we are now, and talked for hours.”
“So Walt Disney actually stood right here?” Hawk mused nostalgically.
“No, he stood about a foot and a half to your left,” Rales joked.
Quiet settled across the cottage as Rales allowed Hawk to enjoy this bit of trivia. Rales now pressed into the next chapter of the tale.
“Something happened to Walt while he was here.”
“Happened? What?”
“The Oscar was his. He was developing new projects. Fans were writing from all over the world, but this was different. This was a fan that some would suggest had taken his love—or need—for the story to an extreme. But Walt understood for the first time in his life, in a tangible way, that if you tell a story with enough heart, people will do whatever they can to become a part of that story. That is what Nippert did. Nippert may have been Walt’s biggest fan ever. He made the story come to life so he and his children could become a part of the story.”
“This is not a story that shows up in the Disney history books.”
“Of course not, but that makes sense when you realize that Walt was a new celebrity. It was still only 1939. The Walt Disney we all know and love from history was still emerging. Still, what happened here was important. Walt told me the story about this place . . . once.”
Rales now walked toward the staircase and studied the dwarfs looking into the room. Hawk had a lot of questions but did not ask them because he didn’t want to derail the train of thought that Rales had him riding on. Rales casually leaned against the staircase banister and it creaked as he continued.
“We were building Disney World. I rode over here on my day off and conned the caretaker into letting me walk around and lo
ok. I gave him a family pass to the Preview Center that was open while we were still building the Magic Kingdom. He even opened up this cottage and let me in to see. That is when I knew.”
Not willing to wait, Hawk asked, “Knew what?”
“This is where Disneyland and Disney World were born.”
“I thought the idea for Disneyland was born when Walt was at an amusement park with his girls. He started dreaming about a place the entire family could enjoy together.”
“That’s true,” Rales agreed. “But you know, as Walt started developing that idea his mind came back here, to this place, to the moment he stood here for the first time. Realize that this is the first place he ever stood where his imagination and story had become something real. He could touch it, smell it, and see it. His ideas before he came here had been confined to the theatre screen. Here in this cottage his dream surrounded him for the very first time.”
“Did Walt talk about this place a lot?”
“I don’t think so. He mentioned it to me only one time. He lived in California and didn’t spend a whole lot of time here in Florida until he started purchasing the property for the resort. But you know enough about Walt from his biographies, the legends, the stories, the websites, even the podcasts that he was a genius. You and I both know that he went back to the studio, sat behind his desk, and let the memories that this place created in him spark his imagination, his ability to really understand a story, and eventually how he would touch the world. This place, in the moments he was here, impacted his life and he was never the same. I have always believed that Walt would return here in his mind, and that helped him remember how important his dreams and imagination were to others. It inspired him. It sparked his creativity. History proves that Walt’s stories continue to live.”
Farren rose up off the banister and slowly walked back to the mantel. Taking the lantern, he moved toward the front door and gestured for Hawk to follow. He opened the door and closed it without a sound after they were outside. Motioning with a tilt of his head, he led the way behind the cottage along a very old rock walkway. Without speaking they walked toward an artesian well just below the cottage. Rales glanced in the direction of the water for a moment and then he spoke.
“Grayson Hawkes, I have thought about this for a long time. I have something for you.” Rales now brought his face back to look directly at Hawk. “It is something I believe has great worth. At least it does to me. I’m giving it to you because I think you’ll discover it to be just as valuable.”
Hawk watched as Rales reached into his trouser pocket and brought out a small piece of wrapped cloth that easily fit into the palm of his hand. Rales slowly opened his palm and studied the package that lay there. He raised his eyes and looked into Hawk’s face. He had the pastor’s complete attention.
“If you will take this and do the same thing Walt did when he left this place, your imagination . . . your ability to understand a story . . . and how you touch the world . . . even your life will never be the same. And the stories you communicate will become timeless.”
Almost reverently Rales handed the package to Hawk. The cloth was soft and aged. Hawk took it, studied it, and began to unwrap it. Once, twice, three times, and then the fourth layer of cloth revealed what was nestled inside. Taking it between his index finger and thumb, he lifted it out of the soft material and held it up in front of him.
“It’s a key.” Hawk inspected the key held between his fingertips. It was a skeleton key. Golden, heavy, and catching light given off by the lantern, it was obvious that this key was old but had been respectfully cared for. As Hawk looked toward Rales he saw him beaming with pride.
“Not just any key, my friend. It is a very special key. There is not another one in the entire world that does what this one will do. You are holding in your hand the key to the kingdom.”
The importance of the key to Rales was obvious and therefore the importance of the key to Hawk was never in doubt. Rales’s eyes brimmed with tears in the dim light and Hawk was touched by the old man’s sincerity and the love, respect, and trust that this heirloom represented.
“Thank you, Farren. I will treasure it always.”
“Don’t just treasure it, Hawk.” Rales clutched his hand. “Use it.”
Rales let loose of the preacher’s hand and turned to pick up the lantern. He flicked the switch. The light was extinguished and both men were plunged into darkness.
Blinking away the residue of where the light had been, Hawk heard footsteps on the rock walkway. Finally after a dozen rapid blinks his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Rales was no longer there.
“Farren?” Hawk whispered.
Hearing nothing, he knew Farren’s exit had been planned and he had no intention of answering the preacher’s calls. Hawk carefully placed the skeleton key back into its swaddling wrap and slid it into his pocket. Angling back toward the Seven Dwarfs’ cottage, he knew he was going to have to retrace his steps through the darkness toward the parking lot. He wondered how Farren had gotten to this place. He hadn’t seen another car in the lot and hadn’t seen any other entrance into Gamble Place. However, Hawk was going to have enough trouble navigating the darkness back to his car without worrying how Rales had gotten in or out of this place. Rounding the corner of the cottage, he stumbled over a raised stone on the rock-covered walk and quickly corrected his misstep.
A voice from the darkness spoke loudly with authority.
“Hold it right there!”
He heard the sound of a gun being cocked.
Hawk turned on his heel and exploded into a full run in the direction from which he had just come. Again the voice cried out behind him.
“I said stop!”
Hawk had no intention of stopping. The sound of footsteps followed him on the rocky path. When he arrived back at the well he had expended his knowledge of the layout of the property. Trusting that the owner of the voice was still chasing him, he decided he would simply loop around the house. Any lead he had could be quickly lost; Hawk cut to his left and raced along the back side of the cottage. The footsteps that pursued him were still trailing and he had no idea how far behind they were. Rounding the house he glanced back over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of any motion behind him. His momentum came to an abrupt halt as he thundered into a large obstruction on his path. The sudden impact drove him backward and sent him sprawling on the ground.
Grogginess began to cloud his brain but his survival instincts forced him back on his wobbly legs as he compelled his body to keep moving. Hands in front of him, he felt rough bark. He’d hurtled headlong into a thick tree set off to the side of the cottage. His pursuer’s footsteps gained ground. Stumbling around the tree, he found an opening cut into it. He reached his arm into the darkness and found nothing but empty space. This tree had to be the Witch’s Hut that Nippert had built in his enchanted playground. Unable to gather his wits to surge beyond this point, Hawk plunged forward into the void of the hut. He gasped for breath and then held it so he would make no sound in the blackness. The footsteps raced past the opening of the hut. He listened as they headed in the direction of the cracker house near the parking lot.
Hawk’s mind began to emerge from the crash-induced fog and he knew that his pursuer could simply wait for him to return to his car. Deciding that whoever was chasing him had not had time to get to the parking lot yet, Hawk commanded his legs to again start churning. He struggled to keep his bearings as he navigated the darkness and purposely tried to make as much noise as possible as he ran out of the Witch’s Hut. He hoped he was heading through the trees toward Spruce Creek. It only took a moment and he again heard the pursuit turn back toward his direction. Stumbling across the leafy carpet covering the ground, he blindly reached down, grabbing sticks and branches as he ran. Believing his pursuer could not see him and was chasing as blindly as he was running, he held onto the heaviest of the branches he’d picked up off the ground. A few seconds later Hawk threw the branch sideways in the direction of t
he water. After a moment of silence he heard the sound he was hoping for. The branch splashed along the shoreline of the creek. At the same moment he heard the pursuer angle away from him toward the edge of the water. Knowing he only had a moment to use to his advantage, he changed direction at the same time and headed toward what he hoped was the parking lot. The footsteps of his pursuer slowed and then stopped. This was the moment he had been banking on. The chaser in the dark was trying to decide which sound to follow.
Indecisiveness ended and the footsteps again headed in the direction Hawk was running. It was then that Hawk’s eyes began to see the shape of his car emerging into clarity out of the inkiness of the night. In one motion his car key was out and Hawk pressed a button on the key ring to unlock the car.
The horn blared and the lights flashed. His pulse rocketed and his heart was trying to hammer out of his chest. He’d inadvertently hit the alarm button instead.
Gulping air, Hawk pressed the correct button. The horn silenced and the lights fell dark as he pulled open the door. He crashed in the seat and inserted the key into the ignition. The lights of the car destroyed the darkness anew and Hawk saw his pursuer about to reach the car. He shoved the car into gear and glanced into the rearview mirror. Sand flew and his pursuer disappeared in the billowing cloud created by his exit.
Hawk exhaled loudly and felt his heart still thundering in his chest. He veered to the left and bounced back down the pathway toward Taylor Road. As he reached the end of the dirt trail headlights appeared directly in front of him, blinding him. Not slowing, he shifted the wheel to the right and then back left, sliding past the car and turning onto the main road. He punched the accelerator and the tires churned over the asphalt as he looked in the rearview mirror. He saw nothing but darkness and he put distance between himself and Gamble Place as fast as possible.
CHAPTER THREE
* * *
Day Two
Morning