The Forgotten Door

by Alexander Key

  “No,” Thomas said firmly. “This is too important. Jon’s got to recover his memory. His best chance is to start over there on the mountain where he first found himself. We can’t have anyone along.”

  “It’s way past bedtime,” Mary reminded them, “and it’s been a day. Everybody scoot.”

  Little Jon awoke to a misty morning, with a threat of rain over the ridges. The rain notwithstanding, he and Thomas set out on foot at daybreak, taking the short cut through the gap that led to the other valley. This time Rascal went with them. To Thomas’ amazement the big dog behaved himself, and kept quiet even when deer were sighted.

  It started to pour when they reached the cave, but neither cared. There was something to be learned here if they could find it. While Thomas crawled about in the dim interior, chipping experimentally with his hammer, Little Jon sat down and tried to think.

  Thomas, glancing at him once, said, “Maybe you’d better not try to remember. Sort of let your mind go blank. It might come to you easier.”

  He did as Thomas suggested. Even being here was exciting. Shadows of thoughts seemed to be crowding into the background of his mind. While he waited for them to take form, he drew out his knife and idly began to carve a twisted piece of root that lay near the cave entrance.

  The thought shadows refused to take form that morning, but the piece of root did. When Thomas Bean saw it, the rain had stopped, and the root had become the striking head of a man — a man with a curious cap over his long hair, and one hand clenched under his chin as if he were lost in deep thought.

  Little Ton was surprised that Thomas should make such a fuss over it. “But doesn’t everybody do things like this?” he asked.

  “Hardly. It would take a genius like Rodin to produce such a head. Here, look what I found. It was under that fall of rock.”

  Thomas held out a woven cap much like the one in the carving. Little Jon put it on. It fitted him.

  “The cap,” said Thomas, “proves — at least to me — that you landed here in the cave. It was probably knocked off when you fell, and covered up. It’s a wonder you weren’t killed. Anyway, the cap also proves that Mary’s idea of the door is correct. You see, something had to happen in here to make that rock fall on your cap. It isn’t the kind of rock that ever splits and breaks into fragments like this — unless a force as strong as a lightning bolt hits it. Now, there’s no mechanism in here, or anything that moves. That means that the door, and whatever it is that makes it work, is on the other side — I mean the distant place where your people are.”

  He was sure Thomas was right. He wondered, with a longing he could not express, if he had a father and mother beyond the door, and if he would ever see them again.

  Thomas said, “Let’s get back. I want to show Mary these things.”

  Mary Bean’s blue-green eyes were stormy when they returned.

  “It’s started,” she snapped, before they could show her the cap and the carving. “The phone’s been ringing all day. Thomas, did you know we’ve been hiding a wild boy that spits fire, jumps a hundred feet, and eats live rattlesnakes? That’s how the tale has grown. I’d like to choke Gilby — and stuff Anderson Bush down his throat!”

  She paused for breath. “That’s only the half of it. There was a reporter here about an hour ago. I told him he’d been hearing a lot of nonsense, and that we only had the young son of a friend of ours visiting us. I don’t think he believed me, and I’m sure he’ll be back, because he wants pictures. He had hardly left when this came.”

  Angrily she thrust out a stiff, folded paper.

  “What is it?” Thomas asked.

  “A summons! To the juvenile court. Monday morning at ten o’clock.”

  Thomas whistled. “Bush has found out that the O’Connors didn’t have any children. He’s sure worked fast! I’ll bet he got on the phone first thing and called the Marine personnel office in Washington.” He shook his head. “All we can do is keep Jon out of sight— and pray that his memory comes back.”

  “Did you make any progress today?” she asked.

  “Some.” Thomas opened the knapsack and took out the cap. He explained about it. “It proves you’re right about the door idea — and it tells us some other things.” He paused and looked around. “Where are Brooks and Sally?”

  “I sent them out to pick wild strawberries, where nobody can see them. That reporter caught Sally in the yard and tried to question her.”

  “Well, we mustn’t let Brooks, Sally, or anyone — even Miss Josie — know about the cave. If it’s ever so much as mentioned, the news of it will spread and there’ll be a thousand people hunting for it. It’ll be torn apart and blasted and the pieces probably sold for souvenirs. But if it’s never mentioned, it’ll never be discovered. You can walk right by it and not know it’s there. We’ve got to keep it that way. It’s Jon’s only means of getting back where he came from.”

  “But how —”

  “How does it work? Mary, only Jon’s memory can tell us that. We’re just guessing, but we figure it’s a sort of threshold — a place where you land when you step through from the other side. My compass goes haywire in there, so maybe the earth’s magnetism has something to do with it. From the looks of it, it hasn’t been used for ages.”

  Thomas paused, then added, “When you think about it, there’s no reason why it should ever be used again — except to get Jon back.”

  Little Jon asked, “Why do you say that, Mr. Bean?”

  “Just this: If your people are as advanced as we believe they are, what have we to offer that they’d be the least bit interested in?” Thomas laughed. “I’ll bet they took one look at us, and decided we were best forgotten. They probably thought more of our wild creatures — wouldn’t be surprised if they carried some young ones home with them, before we finished killing them all off.”

  Thomas took the carving from the knapsack.

  “Have a look at this, Mary. Jon made it while I was poking around.”

  Mary Bean studied the carving. She said nothing for a minute, but Little Jon was aware of her amazement, the quick turning of her thoughts, her sudden conviction.

  “You — you think it looks like me!” he exclaimed. “That it could be my — father.”

  “Yes, Jon, I do. It would almost have to be. And being what he is, I’m almost sure I know what he’s doing this very minute — he’s moving heaven and earth to get that door thing repaired so he can find you.”

  Thomas snapped his fingers. “Of course! Jon’s here by accident — and if the door were usable, he’d have been found before he left the cave. There’s been no change in the place, so it means the thing hasn’t been repaired yet.”

  Suddenly Mary asked, “Jon, can you write in your language?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t tried.”

  “Try it now. It’s important. If your people came looking for you, they wouldn’t know what had become of you — unless you left a message in the cave.”

  “But if they are like I am,” he told her, “they would only have to call — and I’m sure I would hear them, even miles away. Still, if I were asleep …”

  He sat down at the table with paper and pencil and tried to remember symbols that might stand for thoughts. He doodled and made marks on the paper, but they were not marks with meaning.

  “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten how,” he said.

  “But you must know your language,” Mary insisted. “Remember the little song you sang the other day?”

  “I remember that — but I can’t put it on paper. Do you suppose if I learned to write your language, that it would help bring back the other? Brooks was showing me the alphabet the other night, and I can print that already. Maybe, if you’ll show me how to make words with it …”

  The writing lesson was interrupted by the telephone, and later by the return of the reporter.

  Little Jon hid in the front bedroom while Thomas spoke to the man. The reporter was not easily turned away this time.

&
nbsp; “Mr. Bean,” he said stubbornly, “you ought to be glad to get a little free publicity. It’ll help your business. You’d be surprised at the people who’ll come out to your Rock Shop to —”

  “I’m quite aware of it,” said Thomas, “and I don’t want it. Mrs. Bean has already told you about the boy. I can’t help these crazy tales that are going around, but I’d advise you to be very careful what you print.”

  “But at least you can let me take a picture of him, Mr. Bean. I know there’s nothing in the tales, and I’d soft-pedal all that. But he’s news, and I could do a nice little human-interest story that would help you a lot here.”

  “Sorry,” said Thomas, showing him the door. “No pictures, please.”

  “O.K. But there’ll be plenty of pictures taken when Monday comes.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Mr. Bean, it’s already common knowledge that the boy’s a juvenile delinquency case. Of course, we’re not allowed to print anything like that — but the wild boy angle is something else. You can’t stop news, Mr. Bean — and that boy is news. I’ll see you Monday, Mr. Bean.”

  He Goes to Court

  IT WAS FIVE DAYS till Monday, and Little Jon dreaded it more each day. The phone rang almost constantly at first. Cars filled with curious people began to creep along the road. To escape prying neighbors, and the probability of more reporters, he and Thomas spent long hours at the cave.

  None of this helped his memory.

  When Monday finally came, Thomas and Mary took him to the courthouse in the center of town, and tried unsuccessfully to slip through the rear entrance without being noticed. A lurking photographer spotted them. Suddenly two cameras were flashing, and they were surrounded by a small crowd of ogling townspeople. Thomas thrust through into the hall, where they were rescued by a policeman.

  “In yonder, Mr. Bean,” said the policeman, pointing to a door. “Back, everybody! You know these hearings are private.”

  “Hey, Mr. Bean,” a man called, “can that kid really jump a hundred feet?”

  The door closed behind them, shutting out the racket. Thomas, Little Jon saw, had timed their arrival carefully. The others were all present, sitting in a semicircle of newly varnished chairs facing a desk. The small room seemed overflowing with eight other people besides himself and the Beans. As he sat down on one side between Thomas and Mary, he could feel every eye upon him.

  Angus Macklin and his two boys were sitting over on his left. Angus was smiling, and Tip and Lenny looked stubbornly defiant. Gilby and Emma Pitts were behind them. Anderson Bush, his hands full of papers, was talking in a low voice to a large, square-faced woman in the corner. With the woman was a long-nosed man in glasses. The man seemed aloof and officious.

  Little Jon glanced uneasily at the square-faced woman. She kept staring at him as if he were something unpleasant. Mary whispered, “That’s Mrs. Groome. She’s in charge of Welfare. The man with her is Mr. McFee, the probation officer.”

  The door on the other side of the desk opened, and a respectful hush fell over the room. Miss Josie entered. Miss Josie was small, gray, and precise. There was no nonsense about her, but behind her quiet, thoughtful eyes Little Jon sensed all the qualities of a friend.

  As she took her seat she smiled quickly at Thomas and Mary. “I’ve been wanting to visit the Rock Shop again, Thomas, but I haven’t had time lately.”

  Thomas was already on his feet. “Miss Josie,” he said, thrusting a folded sheet of paper across her desk, “before this thing gets any more out of hand, there are some points that I feel you — and you alone — should know about. I’ve jotted them down here.”

  “Thank you, Thomas.” Miss Josie smoothed the paper out on her desk and quietly surveyed the room. “Why are you here, Gilby?”

  Gilby Pitts gave a nervous twitch of his high shoulder. “Me an’ Emma are witnesses, Miss Josie. I got charge of Dr. Holliday’s place where all them things was stolen. An’ we seen that wild boy when he —”

  “That’s enough, Gilby!” Miss Josie’s voice had the sting of a whip. “You’ll not use that expression in this room. If you are called upon to say anything, you’ll stick to facts, and facts only — and you’ll not repeat them when you leave here.”

  She turned to Anderson Bush. “Mr. Bush, I’ve been back in town for three hours, and I’ve heard nothing but preposterous gossip about this case. Juvenile cases of this nature are not for the public. When children get in trouble, they need help, not foolish gossip and publicity. Yet I find our town full of talk, and the courthouse full of curious people. It’s disgraceful and disgusting.”

  The deputy’s face had darkened, but he said smoothly, “I’m sorry, Miss Josie, but the talk had already started before I entered the case. Naturally, when someone catches a strangely dressed boy trespassing under the, er, most unusual circumstances — and then discovers that there’s been a robbery …”

  “Let’s not waste time, Mr. Bush,” she interrupted. “You were ordered to investigate a simple matter of breaking and entering, and theft — obviously committed by one or more boys. Stick to that, and tell me exactly what you learned about it.”

  Anderson Bush began. He told of Gilby Pitts’s discovery of the forced window in the Holliday house, the small footprints inside, the missing articles and their high value. Then he related what Gilby had told him about catching a strangely dressed boy in the field. The deputy paused, and said, “Dr. Holliday’s place is only three hundred yards from the spot where Mr. Pitts caught this boy Saturday morning. It was Monday morning before the theft was discovered, and naturally our suspicions centered on this strange boy. I’d like to read you a description of that boy as I got it from Mr. and Mrs. Pitts, and tell you a few facts about him I’ve uncovered. He —”

  “That’s unnecessary at the moment,” Miss Josie said. “Confine yourself to the theft.”

  The deputy shrugged. “Yes, ma’am. As I was saying, this strange boy seemed the logical suspect. All the same, I investigated three possible suspects in Mr. Pitts’s area, and checked them out. That left only the boys living in Mr. Bean’s valley. Now, there’s a gap behind the Holliday place, which makes it an easy hike from one valley to the other, if you know the way.”

  “I know about the gap,” said Miss Josie. “I’ve lived in this country sixty-four years. Proceed.”

  “Well, on Mr. Bean’s side there’s only Mr. Bean’s boy — and this, er, strange boy he has with him — and the two Macklin boys up the road. I checked out the two Macklin boys. Witnesses prove they were away all Saturday and Sunday, which is the only period the theft could have happened. I also checked —”

  “Pardon me,” said Thomas. “You are leaving out something, Mr. Bush. I told you Tuesday night what Mr. Macklin told Mrs. Bean and me at the shop— that his boys had been out all Sunday afternoon looking for that strange boy.”

  Angus burst out, “I never said no such a thing! We were at Blue Lake! We —”

  “Quiet, both of you,” Miss Josie ordered. “Mr. Bush, did you check a second time at Blue Lake and get the names of those witnesses?”

  “I did, ma’am. Mr. Macklin and his family were visiting a Mr. and Mrs. Hinkley all Sunday afternoon. The Hinkleys swear to it.”

  “Mr. Bush,” said Miss Josie, “did you know that Joe Hinkley and Angus Macklin were half brothers?”

  Anderson Bush stiffened. “No, ma’am.”

  “It takes time to learn all these local relationships, and you’ve been here only five years. Proceed with your story.”

  “Well, ma’am, as I was saying, I checked out Mr. Bean’s boy, Brooks. That left only Mr. Bean’s visitor, this boy he calls Jon O’Connor. When I questioned him about Jon O’Connor, Mr. Bean was very evasive. He told me that Jon O’Connor was the orphaned son of Captain James O’Connor of the Marines, who was killed recently in North Africa. He said further that the Marines had brought Jon O’Connor to his house Saturday evening, and that the boy could have had nothing to do with the thef
t. Yet Tuesday evening Mr. Pitts saw this Jon O’Connor, and positively identified him as the strange boy he had caught in his field. Later Mrs. Pitts identified him as the same boy — the Beans had changed his clothes and cut his hair to make him look more normal —”

  “But he’s the same sneaky boy!” Emma Pitts exclaimed. “I’d know ’im anywhere. He ain’t natural!”

  “Quiet, Emma!” Miss Josie snapped. “Be careful what you say in here. Mr. Bush, this is all very interesting about Jon O’Connor, but at the moment we are concerned only with the theft. I understand that the stolen articles were recovered that very evening when you took Mr. Bean over to the Macklins’. Tell us about that.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The deputy pointed to a table in the corner. On it were two fishing rods, a tackle box, and a rifle. “Those are the articles, ma’am. When we got to the Macklins’, Mr. Bean insisted he’d seen the Macklin boys crossing their pasture, carrying what appeared to be the stolen things. He also insisted that Tip and Lenny were going to hide the things over in Johnson’s woods, so they wouldn’t be found on their own place.” The deputy paused.

  “Well?” said Miss Josie.

  “It was a pretty dark night,” said Anderson Bush. “I’ve got good vision, but I didn’t see Tip and Lenny crossing the pasture. However, Mr. Bean insisted that we immediately search the edge of the woods. We started across the pasture, and met Tip and Lenny returning. That struck me as rather odd, and I didn’t get an explanation out of them till later. Anyway, I searched the edge of the woods very carefully, and found nothing.”

  The deputy stopped again, and glanced at Little Jon.

  “Go on,” said Miss Josie. “Who found the things?”

  “Mr. Bean and that boy yonder did. They found them in less than five minutes. The articles were hidden far back under a cedar clump where they couldn’t have been seen even in daylight. It would have been almost impossible to find them at night unless you knew exactly where they were.”

  “Were there fingerprints on them, Mr. Bush?”