by H. R. Hobbs
“Good job!” his dad said as he climbed in and put the truck in gear.
Mitch smiled. Coming with Dad to check the cows may have some perks after all.
“Now, tell me what you found out.”
“According to what George wrote in the journal, he was on leave in a place called The Hague and bought the spyglass at an antiques shop. Well, I assume he did. He didn’t actually say he bought it.”
“The ‘Hag You’? Never heard of it. Spell it for me.”
“H-a-g-u-e. The Hag You.”
“It’s pronounced ‘The Hayg.’ ”
“Oh. The Hague. Anyway, that’s what the journal said.”
“Did you find out anything else?”
Mitch held on to the door handle as the truck rolled slowly down a steep hill to where the cows had gathered in the buck brush.
“Not yet. But I haven’t got to the end. When I read where he got the spyglass, I just had to tell somebody.”
“It is pretty exciting.” His dad drove up to a group of cows.
“Where are they going?”
“To the spring over the next hill. That’s where the rest of them are.”
His dad steered the truck around the cows and up the hill. Mitch shifted nervously when his dad drove close enough to one of the cows that Mitch could have reached out and touched it. He didn’t, though.
“Aren’t you afraid of running into one of them?” he asked.
“Haven’t you seen the dents in the side of the truck?”
“Those are from cows?”
Mitch had assumed Pops was a really bad driver who’d gotten in a lot of accidents. Apparently he was—it was just accidents with cows.
“Yeah, sometimes they aren’t too happy with how fast they get fed or going where you want them to go and they take it out on Pops’s truck.”
His dad chuckled at the memory as they coasted down the hill to the spring. Mitch kept an eye open for any cows that looked like they might take a run at the truck. He wasn’t sure it could take much more. His dad parked the truck and they sat watching the cows.
“I know this move hasn’t been easy.” Mitch was surprised by his dad’s observation. His dad had been so busy since moving to the farm, he didn’t think he’d had time to notice if it had been easy for Mitch or not. “Your mom and I both knew that it was going to be a big adjustment for both you and your sister. But it’s always been my dream to come back and farm the land that’s been in my family for over a hundred years.”
Mitch followed his dad’s gaze. This land had been in his family for a long time. He could see how his dad, Pops, and his great-grandpa had fallen in love with the farm. The ball of resentment that had been lodged in his chest since they moved here started to ease a little.
“I’m not sure you’re going to find any answers to the mystery of the spyglass. But I hope that you learn a little about your family and why they love this place so much.”
The love his dad had for the land came through in his voice. Mitch hoped to do both: find out how the spyglass worked and find out more about his family . . . namely, why his great-grandpa disappeared mysteriously.
His dad put the truck in gear and steered the trunk back onto the path.
Mitch looked out over the pasture and whispered, “I hope so too.”
Chapter 7
Mitch spent the rest of Sunday with his dad working around the farm. They cleaned out a stall in the barn because his dad thought he might be interested in getting some pigs. Mitch didn’t answer, but in his head he thought: No way! They talked and laughed as they mucked out the stall. As they worked side by side, Mitch realized how much he had missed doing things with his dad. When his dad had worked as a mechanic, they always had weekends and evenings to spend time together. They hadn’t done any of that since moving to the farm.
“You know, there may be someone who can tell us something about that spyglass,” his dad said, throwing another forkful of manure into the wheelbarrow.
“Who?”
“Hank Elliot. He’s an old friend of Pops. A real history buff.”
“A history what?”
“A history buff. Someone who loves history. He was especially interested in World War I history. I remember him and your grandpa having long discussions about it when I was a kid. He was forever trying to get Grandpa George to tell him about his experiences during the war.”
“Where does he live?”
“Last I heard he was still living at the seniors home. I’m not sure if he still lives there or not.”
Mitch lifted the wheelbarrow and started out the door of the barn. “Do you think we could go talk to him?”
“Sure. I’ll check around and see if he’s still there.”
Mitch had been excited ever since. The next morning, he waited impatiently for the bus to come down the lane.
“What’s wrong with you?” Alyssa gave him a disgusted look. “Do you have to go to the bathroom or something?”
Mitch hadn’t realized he’d been bouncing from foot to foot in anticipation of telling Brock everything he’d learned.
“No.” He made a conscious effort to plant both feet on the ground.
“Then why are you acting like that?”
“I don’t know.” There was no way he was going to tell Alyssa the real reason. “Just excited to go to school.”
“You’re weird.” She turned her back to him and looked down the road.
His fingers tapped against his leg. When the roar of the diesel engine reached his ears, he had to stop himself from running out into the road. He was so excited to tell Brock his news, he forgot to greet the bus driver as he ran to Brock’s seat.
“You’ll never guess what I found out!”
Brock gave him his ear-to-ear grin. “What?”
“Well, first of all, it’s my great-grandpa, George, who wrote the journal, not Pops. And he bought the spyglass while he was in the Navy.”
“Really? Where did he get it?”
“He bought it at an antique store in Holland. And I think we might have a way to find out about his mysterious disappearances and whether or not they’re tied to the spyglass.”
“How? Everything you’re talking about happened over a hundred years ago.”
“My dad remembered that Pops had a friend who was really into war history. His name is Hank Elliot. Dad thinks he may have some information about George and the spyglass.”
“Hank Elliot? I’ve never heard of him. But maybe my parents have. I’ll ask them tonight.”
“What? I thought everyone knew everybody in a small town.” He nudged Brock. When Brock didn’t respond, he continued. “My dad was going to do some checking around too, but he’s so busy with the farm, who knows when he’ll get around to it.”
“Do you think this Hank guy can help? He’s probably really old and doesn’t remember much.”
“We won’t know if we don’t try.”
“What are you two weirdos whispering about?” Eric’s voice came from the back of the bus.
“None of your bee’s wax,” Brock called back.
“You telling him all about your girlfriend Emily?”
Brock twisted in his seat. “She’s not my girlfriend!”
“Sure she’s not. That’s why you’re always talking about her.”
“I only talk about her when she’s bugging me, which is all the time.”
“Boys!” the bus driver hollered from the front of the bus. Mitch could see his disapproving stare in the mirror above his head. “Settle down.”
Brock turned to the front, crossing his arms over his chest. Eric chuckled from the last row. It seemed to make Eric’s day to wind Brock up about something.
The boys rode the rest of the way to school in silence.
Mitch burst through the door. His backpack went one direction and his hat the other. Neither of them landed where they were supposed to, but Mitch didn’t care. Seeing his dad�
��s truck parked next to the house, Mitch had sprinted from the bus stop. He grabbed the door frame into the kitchen and frantically looked for his dad.
“Where’s Dad?”
Before his mom could answer, the door banged shut behind him. He turned, hoping it was his dad. But it was just his sister shrugging off her backpack. Alyssa hung her backpack on one of the hooks that ran around the walls of the porch, kicking Mitch’s out of her way. She took out her lunch kit and brushed past him into the kitchen, knocking his hand off the frame as she went by.
“Put your backpack away, Mitch.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” Mitch replied.
“Mitch,” his mother warned, “hang up your stuff and bring me your lunch.”
Mitch glared at his sister and retrieved his backpack from the floor. He put his lunch kit on the counter and then turned to his mom.
“Now will you tell me where Dad is?”
“He took my car to town.”
“What for?”
“None of your business,” Alyssa taunted from where she sat at the kitchen table eating an apple and scrolling through her phone. She was probably texting all of her new friends. Or Eric.
“Alyssa! Honestly, you two! Do you think you could leave each other alone for one minute?” Mitch’s mom looked back and forth between them. When they said nothing, she continued. “Your dad went to town to talk to Hank.”
His feelings of frustration where quickly replaced with surprise. He hadn’t expected his dad to do it right away. I wonder when he left . . .
“He left about an hour ago,” his mom said.
Okay, that was freaky. Did parents have some sixth sense that told them what their kids were thinking?
“He had some errands to do, so he thought he’d stop by the seniors complex and see if Hank could tell us anything about the journal or the spyglass.”
“Journal? What journal?” Alyssa looked up at Mitch. “You’re writing a journal?” She snorted and looked back at her phone.
“None of your—”
“It was your great-grandfather’s, actually.”
Mitch shot his mother a look. He didn’t want Alyssa knowing about the mystery.
“What?” his mom asked, confused. “It’s not like it’s a big secret, Mitch.”
“It’s none of her business,” Mitch said, throwing her comment from earlier back at her. He knew it was childish, but she started it.
“You know,” his mom said over her shoulder as she put glasses from the dishwasher in the cupboard, “ever since you found that journal and spyglass, you haven’t been yourself.”
Ever since you moved us to Fairview, you mean, Mitch thought bitterly.
Alyssa put down her phone and leaned forward in her chair. “Will someone please tell me what you’re talking about?”
Mitch deliberately sealed his lips together. His mom could tell Alyssa. He wasn’t going to. She couldn’t keep anything to herself. It’d be all over the school tomorrow. The last thing he needed was for Eric to find out about it.
“Oh, Mitch just found a journal we think belonged to your great-grandfather. Up in the attic. Along with an old spyglass that doesn’t work.”
“What’s a spyglass?”
Mitch got up from the table and went into the living room. He figured it would take his mom ten minutes to explain it to Alyssa. Rather than sit and listen, he thought he’d play a video game to pass the time until his dad got home. He could hear the murmur of his mom and sister’s voices coming from the kitchen. Cranking up the volume of the game, Mitch settled in and waited for his dad.
A half hour later, his dad appeared in the doorway to the living room. Mitch hadn’t heard him come in, but when he saw him standing there, he shut off the television and jumped to his feet, his game forgotten.
“Dad! What did Hank say?”
His father pushed off the door and sat in his recliner. Mitch bounced with excitement in front of him.
“Your mother can’t keep a secret, can she?” His dad smiled but said nothing more.
“Nope. Tell me what you found out!” Mitch waved his hands for his dad to hurry up and tell him.
“Okay, okay. Have a seat.”
Mitch flopped on the couch and crossed his arms. His dad chuckled at his impatience.
“I dropped in to see Hank today—”
“I know that! Get to the good stuff.”
“Well, I told Hank about finding the journal and the spyglass. And I’ve got to say, he was pretty interested.”
Mitch leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah. When I arrived, he was slouched over in his chair. But when I mentioned what we’d found, he sat straight up.”
“What did he tell you?”
“At first, he started talking about how his dad and your great-grandfather had enlisted together. How they were lucky enough to be in the same company.”
“Company?” Mitch asked, confused. He thought his great-grandpa had joined the Navy.
“That’s the name they gave to groups of men in the military.”
Mitch nodded in understanding.
“Anyway, Hank went on to say that his father told him some pretty crazy stories about their time in the Navy. Especially about your Great-Grandpa George.”
“Like what? About the spyglass?”
“He didn’t tell me anything specific. But he’d like to see the journal and the spyglass. So, I told him we’d come back on Saturday and bring them with us. He told me he’d tell us what he knew then.”
Mitch slouched back into the couch. Saturday? That was five days away. He didn’t think he could wait that long.
“I know you’re disappointed.” His dad patted his knee before getting up. “But you just have to be patient. Up until a few days ago, we didn’t even know the spyglass existed. Five days won’t make that much difference. Besides, if we go on a weekday, we won’t get much time to talk to Hank. This way we can talk to him for at least a couple hours if necessary. But don’t get your hopes up. He’s ninety-one years old. I’m not sure how much he’ll remember.”
Mitch didn’t answer.
“Come on. It’s time for supper.” His dad rose and went into the kitchen.
Mitch continued to sit on the couch. Why did they have to wait? Why couldn’t they go see Hank tonight? Tomorrow? If his dad picked him up right after school, they’d have lots of time to talk to him. His dad didn’t understand how important this was to Mitch. That was no surprise. He didn’t seem to understand why Mitch hadn’t wanted to move here. He stewed about that for a minute and then remembered that his dad had talked to Hank and he was going to take time away from the farm to go visit him again this weekend.
“Mitch?” his mom’s voice came from the kitchen.
Slapping his hands on the couch, Mitch got up and joined his family for dinner.
Chapter 8
“Hurry up, Dad,” Mitch said as they drove into Fairview.
Mitch could barely contain his excitement at finally getting to meet Hank. Waiting five days was the closest to torture that Mitch had ever been. Now that the day was finally here, his dad was driving like he was ninety-one.
“I’m going the speed limit, son. We’ll be there in a minute.”
Mitch put his hand on the box that sat on the seat beside him to make sure it was still there. He hadn’t let the spyglass or journal out of his sight over the last five days. Even when Alyssa wanted to look at them, he’d stood guard and fidgeted until she got bored and walked away. Once she was gone, he took them back upstairs and hid them in one of the unpacked boxes at the end of his bed. He’d checked them every day since. It took all his will power to not clean the spyglass before the meeting with Hank, but he’d decided he didn’t want to risk harming it. His hands had trembled as he’d taken it and the journal from their hiding spot this afternoon.
Mitch was jolted out of his thoughts when his dad said
, “Here we are.”
His dad put the truck in park and Mitch looked at the building they sat in front of. It almost looked like Mitch’s school. The one-storey brick building looked as though it had been built a while ago. It had a flat roof and windows every few feet. Out front, the patio was lined with chairs and planters. It was deserted at the moment. It may be spring, but the weather was too cool to sit outside for very long. Especially for old people.
Mitch walked beside his dad up to the front doors. He was surprised when his dad rang a doorbell instead of going right in.
Noticing Mitch’s confused look, his dad explained: “They keep the doors locked for the safety of the residents.”
Mitch nodded. When the door buzzed, they walked through.
The first thing Mitch noticed was the smell. It was a mixture of cleaner and something that smelled a lot like the moth balls in their attic. There was no one around. His dad started down the hallway to their right.
“Down this way.”
Mitch clutched the diary and box with the spyglass a little tighter as he followed closely behind his dad. It felt strange to be in a building full of people that was quiet.
Where is everybody?
He didn’t look into to any of the rooms they passed. He kept his eyes focused on his dad’s back. Looking at a withered body lying in a bed seemed creepy. Like they were being made into mummies.
As they got near the end of the hallway, his dad made another right and entered a room.
Sitting in a wheelchair next to the window was an elderly man. While his dad went over and greeted the man, shaking his hand, Mitch held back and studied Hank. He knew he was the around the same age as his grandpa had been, but this man looked much older. He had a fringe of grey hair around his head that matched the colour of his skin. He wore a plaid button-up shirt and green pants that were held up by suspenders. A multi-coloured quilt lay across his lap. A pair of brown slippers poked out from under the blanket.
“How are you today, Hank?” his dad asked, taking a seat in the chair opposite Hank.
“Not too bad,” Hank replied in a quiet voice. “They tell me every day’s a good day when you wake up on the right side of the grass.”