HIDDEN MICKEY ADVENTURES 2

by Nancy Temple Rodrigue

  As the sounds of Heart and Soul poured out of the elegant organ for the first time in its existence, Peter heard a different noise above the racket he was making. It sounded like wood sliding over wood.

  A glance around the side of the organ showed a small opening in the wood paneling, just large enough for a boy to squeeze into. The hole was almost behind the organ so it would be practically invisible to anyone who didn’t stand right there. Before he could stick his head inside the opening to see where it went, he heard a more worrisome noise. Master Gracey’s angry voice was getting louder he stormed down the hallway toward the ballroom. “I thought I told you not to touch anything! Wait until I get my hands on you!”

  Not liking the sound of that, Peter made an instant decision and dove into the opening. As if it had waited for him, the wooden door immediately closed and left him in total darkness. Momentarily afraid to move, he heard the ballroom’s double doors bang open. “Where are you, boy? Constance isn’t here to protect you now. Boy?”

  After a brief search—probably under the banquet table as most of the room was exposed—Peter could hear Gracey rush up the same staircase he had wanted to explore. The door at the top of the stairs was opened and slammed shut and the ballroom fell silent again.

  Not able to find Peter anywhere, Gracey headed to his wife’s rooms and entered without even a polite knock. She sat at her dressing table, staring sadly at five strands of pearls in her hands. Widowed four times and now married to Edward, each strand of pearls had been a gift from one of her husbands. Her wedding dress was carefully laid out on the bed. At his irritated look, the maid helping Constance do her hair quickly backed out of the room and closed the door behind her.

  “What in the world was that song Peter was playing, Edward?” She hoped the question would distract him from the dark mood he seemed to be in. “Whatever it was, it sounded like he was enjoying himself. I wonder why it stopped so suddenly.”

  “I’m not sure.” His lie was smooth. “I went in to ask him about it and found the room empty.” He picked up one of her blonde ringlets and absentmindedly ran it through his fingers as if he didn’t realize what he was doing. “I actually searched the entire house but couldn’t find him anywhere. I hate to tell you this, but he may have run off, Constance. I didn’t check to see if anything was missing.”

  She spun to face him. “Run off! Oh, no, Edward! Where would he go? He hasn’t anyone. Shall I send someone to look for him?”

  When she was about to rise, he put a restraining hand on her shoulder. “We have guests coming, as you know. Cousin Al, Uncle Theodore, Rollo, Phineas and Ned all said they were coming. You must be dressed and ready to greet them and their wives when they arrive.” Pulling a gold watch out of his vest pocket, he flipped the lid open. “I have enough time to go to town and start some inquiries.”

  She knew not to argue. “Yes, Edward. And then you must get into your costume. Hurry back.”

  Peter remained quiet until he knew Master Gracey had left the room. Just when he was about to try and get the panel to reopen, he heard someone come back into the ballroom. By the sounds, he figured it must be someone to finish the room for the party. Rugs were rolled up out of the way and the cushioned chairs were scraped along the floor to the back wall to clear the room for dancing. When the sounds ceased, he figured out how to open the hidden panel and peeked out. There was no one in the room. Not keen to run into Master Gracey, he quietly came out, grabbed a newly-lit candlestick off of the banquet table and dove back into the hole before it could close again.

  Now that he could see, the area he was in turned out to be a dusty passageway that branched off in three directions with a set of circular stairs in the middle. Since he knew he was already on the second floor and wanted to explore the attic, he chose the stairs.

  Happy to have the candle even though it did little to dispel the gloomy blackness around him, he tiptoed up the stairs in an attempt to make the least sound possible. The candle held high over his head, he could see nothing but more darkness. With a smile, he thought of his friend Catie Michaels and their adventure in the secret passage in New Orleans Square’s Court of Angels. As he wondered if there was a treasure at the end of these stairs, he suddenly came to what had to be the ceiling. There was no opening, no walkway. The stairs just stopped.

  With his face up close to the blockage, he tried to use the flickering candle to figure it out. “Why have a staircase going up to the ceiling and just stopping? It doesn’t make sense.” The candle didn’t reveal any secrets, so his fingers felt along the wood.

  Not about to give up and go back, his fingers finally found a small crack, an indentation that went in a straight line. It continued a little beyond his reach. “Ah, that’s more like it.” He tried again on the other side and felt another crack. “Wonder if it’s a trapdoor? That would be cool!”

  The candle was set on the rung next to his feet as he tested his theory by pushing up with his hands. The wood gave a little, but he realized he didn’t have enough strength to push it open from that angle. He went up one more step until he was bent over at the waist. Now he used his back and shoulders to heave upward.

  The panel popped out of its hidden position and slid off of his back into the room above with a bang. As a cloud of dust descended on Peter, he vaguely wondered how far the sound would carry as he retrieved his candle and popped his head into this new opening.

  New Orleans Square — 1850

  After they left the village, Lance and the wolf traveled through the forest at a quick jog, the ever-present river on their left. Hearing the inquisitive neigh of a horse, Lance looked up to see a blanketed brave seated on a pinto. Perched on a huge flat rock overlooking the river, the brave raised a hand in salute to Wolf and then continued his watch.

  “What’s he doing?” Lance’s words came out in a breathless pant. “I know the story from Frontierland, but what’s your version?”

  “He watches over the cabin and Sukawaka. Now that the pirates are almost all gone, his watch is an easy one. Mato takes his turn, too.”

  “Suzuki what?”

  Wolf reluctantly stopped and pointed his nose toward the river. “Remember the Burning Settler’s Cabin? This was where Rose stayed when I came to take her back to her real time. Sukawaka is the brown mare behind the fence that still waits for her to return.” He let out a soft howl that floated over the river in the breeze. The mare’s ears turned toward him as she tossed her head and let out a joyful whinny. “If we have time, I need to go across and see my old friend. We’ve tried to get her to come to the village, but she’s content to wait by the cabin.”

  Just like she always waits in Frontierland, Lance thought to himself with a smile.

  The river was much wider than Lance figured it should be as he strained to see the small cabin set back from the water’s edge. It looked so forlorn and empty—just as it did in his time without the bright flames jumping out of the roof and old Uncle Jed lying in the yard with an arrow sticking out of his chest.

  “Come. We need to keep moving.” Wolf pulled him back from his memories. “You’ve rested enough.”

  “Hardly.” Lance rubbed his sore calf and groaned. “Couldn’t we have borrowed a canoe?”

  “And how would you have explained me when the Mark Twain went by?”

  “Yeah, well, there’s that.” He gave a resigned sigh as he stretched his back. “Okay, boy, lead the way.”

  The large head swung around and the sharp blue eyes glared at him. “Excuse me?”

  “What’d I say?”

  “I’m not a puppy, Lance. Oh, and by the way, if you whistle for me? I will bite you.”

  Lance’s throat constricted as he gulped. “Point taken.”

  There was another delay when Lance spotted Fort Wilderness, and another when he saw the rafts and a keelboat tied up at the dock.

  “Lance, you really need to concentrate on getting to New Orleans.”

  “But its
Fort Wilderness!” He happily pointed at the neglected structure. Overgrown pine trees almost completely obstructed the entrance gate. “Is this where Wals worked?”

  “Yes.” That was all Wolf would tell him. They would be there all day if the questions kept coming. Plus, there was the ever-present danger of someone coming downriver and seeing the black wolf. He had been hunted before and it didn’t take too much stretch of the imagination to figure it could happen again.

  Realizing he should head away from the river, Wolf pushed deeper into the welcome cover and security of the forest. Always able to hear the sound of the rushing water, he unerringly aimed for civilization and all the troubles and woes associated with it. He enjoyed the freedom being a wolf gave him—the ability to run as he wanted through the beauty of the trees and mountains. There were no time clocks here, no bills, and no responsibilities except for those with his family in the village. He sometimes wondered how his life would be if he just stayed and didn’t go back to the modern world. His father would love it. That much was for sure.

  Wolf gave a small chuckle and got an odd look from Lance, which he ignored. Both he and his brother Mato liked some of the luxuries to which he had grown accustomed. Here, Mato had his sturdy brown and white mustang. In Wolf’s other world, he too had a mustang—a red ’67 Mustang GT Fastback, a 427 with wide white racing stripes.

  Yes, there were some things that made civilization bearable.

  Lance and Wolf finally reached the edge of the forest. The wolf, completely revived after his ordeal in the vortex, was eager to continue. Lance, on the other hand, was winded and needed to sit.

  “Man, that’s a long hike from your village.” Lance tried to fan himself with a random leaf he had picked up.

  After a quick look around to make sure no one was near, Wolf felt the need to reprimand Lance. “As I told you earlier, it is imperative that you do not talk to me when we are near other people. I cannot be known as a talking wolf. Chances are good we won’t be seen together, but even you should see the importance of that.”

  Amused, Lance looked over at him. “Are you always this grumpy, or are you just having a bad day?”

  “Right now, it’s you. Didn’t have this much trouble with Wals…,” he muttered, turning his head toward their first destination. “Look, we’re on the edge of Gracey’s land. You might want to check out the mansion.”

  “Wait, wait, wait…. Did you just roll your eyes at me?”

  Wolf held himself back from growling.

  “Didn’t know you could do that. Hold on a minute. You said ‘Gracey’ and ‘mansion’ in the same breath. That sounds an awful lot like the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland.” Lance looked really pleased at the thought.

  As he looked around again, Wolf became nervous. He could smell someone nearby. “Quit interrupting.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Yes, just like the Mansion, only this is a real, lived-in house. Check to see if Peter landed here. Be careful, though. There are rumors floating around about the house.”

  “The bride in the attic?”

  “Why do you look so happy about that? Sheesh, Lance, this is no joke. We are looking for your lost son. It might not be a good thing if he was lost here.”

  When the meaning of what his friend just said sunk in, Lance sobered and gave a nod that he understood the seriousness. “I get it. I take it you’re not coming with me. Where will you be?”

  “Behind the crypt. No one goes back there.”

  “Not surprising.” Lance gave a grimace as he looked at the ornate, yet gloomy structure surrounded by Italian cypress and lush green grass. Designed to look stately, it was just too dark, too menacing to pull it off. “And I’m guessing that it is not the exit to a popular ride….”

  “Hardly.” Wolf put his nose to the air. “Someone just left on horseback. Can’t smell anything but the horse. Does Peter know how to ride?”

  Lance looked in the direction Wolf indicated, but couldn’t see or hear anything. “Ride? Yeah, we’ve been out to the Golden Oak Ranch a few times and we went to a dude ranch in Wyoming last summer. The boys took to riding like ducks to water. You think that might have been Peter?”

  “I need to get closer to tell. Follow me to the crypt. Now!” He saw it was clear and sprinted from their hiding place in the trees to the back of the crypt. In the front, ‘Gracey’ had been carved deep in the stone above the iron entry door.

  Lance crouched behind the cold building. He could see headstones and monuments in a small, fenced graveyard off to the side. “Is that a frog on that pedestal?”

  Ignoring him, Wolf checked the wind with his upturned nose. “Well, it wasn’t Peter on the horse. But, I can catch his scent. He has been here.”

  Lance felt the tight band that had been around his heart since Peter disappeared loosen a little. “Really? That’s the best news you’ve told me all day. Can you tell how long ago and if he was all right?”

  The huge black head swung around to face the eager Lance. “This isn’t forensic science, Lance.”

  “You know, that was almost funny.” Lance ignored the sarcasm and grinned. “You have a much better sense of humor as a wolf. Can we keep you like this when we go back?”

  “Doesn’t work that way. I only change into a wolf when I go back to the past. Shh, someone just came out of the back of the house.” With that warning, Wolf sunk low to the ground, his black coat blending into the shadows. “Go talk to whoever it is. Ask about Peter and try to keep them there as long as you can. I’m going to work my way through those bushes and see if I can tell which way Peter went. Meet me back here when you can.”

  Lance turned back from the noise in the yard, but Wolf was already out of sight. “Wow, he’s good at that.” As he stood, he brushed off his clothes as best he could. Nothing he did could disguise the fact that they had been soaked and had dried on his body. “Don’t suppose there’s a Brooks Brothers anywhere near.” With a resigned sigh, he walked toward the back of the mansion.

  As large as the grounds were, he had a ways to walk before rounding the corner to his destination. He found himself staring at the lacy iron scrollwork surrounding the house. It had the same soft green patina as back in Disneyland. Here, too, the lower porch and the upper balconies stretched the length of the house. The plantation windows had white lace on the inside and dark wooden shutters on the outside. Even the overhanging eaves were decorated with carved woodwork. Looking up, he could see the ship weathervane that adorned the cupola at the very top of the mansion.

  Putting a hand to his chest, Lance pushed the hidden nametag deeper into his skin to remind himself of his reality back home. This was a real house, bigger than what he was used to in Disneyland. But, it was so…so familiar, almost identical. Although he didn’t understand it completely, he took Wolf’s warning about forgetting where he belonged seriously. He knew their friend Wals had traveled back with Wolf to rescue two people and Wals had forgotten—for about two years in this time. It had taken a reminder of his real world to jolt Wals back to reality.

  Usually at ease in any situation, Lance felt a little apprehensive as he approached a tall man and his dog standing at the edge of a brick walkway. His back was to Lance and he held an odd-looking broom. It looked like it was made out of sticks and held together with twine. The thin hound dog heard Lance before the older man did and gave a low warning growl while vigorously wagging his tail. Lance wasn’t sure which end to believe.

  “Are you Master Gracey?” Lance came to a stop, wary of the dog. The hound still growled and wagged at him.

  The man gave a low chuckle and turned to see who had made such a ridiculous statement. He was a thin man with very white hair that stuck out from under his tall blue hat. A green woolen scarf was loose around his neck as it hung down the front of a long, shapeless brown coat. “You must be new ‘round here’n.” The thin man laughed to himself again. “Quiet there, Copper. Anyone can see he’s harmless.”

  Not sure why he fel
t insulted, Lance edged closer now that the dog quietly sat at his master’s feet. As he looked at the man’s cadaverous face, recognition hit him. “You’re the Caretaker! I didn’t recognize you without your lantern....” He broke off when he realized how odd that sounded.

  “Been called worse.” The broom made a cursory sweep as if he didn’t want to get caught just standing around doing nothing. “You come lookin’ for work?” He eyed Lance’s strange, rumpled clothing. This tall stranger didn’t look like a laborer, though. His face was too finely shaped and the air about him seemed a better fit for the drawing room than the stables—regardless of how shabbily he was dressed.

  “I’m actually looking for my son. He went…missing yesterday.”

  “Runaway, huh? That’s too bad.” The broom poked at some dried leaves.

  Lance put a frustrated hand on the back of his neck. How do I explain this? “No, not that we know of. We think he…uh, might have fallen in the river and possibly came out around here.” Gosh, that sounds stupid.

  “Don’t know nothin’ about any young’n in the river. Hope he didn’t drow….” The caretaker broke off at the stricken look that came across Lance’s face. “I’m sure he’s fine, Sir,” he hurriedly added. “I’d send you to the Master, but he just left for town.”

  “Will he be back soon?”

  The man gave an amused smile that he tried to cover with a cough. “I’m not privy to the Master’s comin’ and goin’. He just says, ‘Git my horse,’ and I go git his horse.”

  Lance figured he had learned just about all he was going to learn and hoped Wolf had enough time to do what he needed. He tried one last question. “Is anyone else at home who might have seen something yesterday?”

  “Yes, sir, the Mistress is home. Don’t know if’n she’s taking callers or not.”