HIDDEN MICKEY ADVENTURES 2

by Nancy Temple Rodrigue

  Lance looked up and again was startled to see a wolf’s face and not his friend Wolf. “Sorry. I’m still trying to get used to all of this.”

  “Even after all this time, so am I,” Wolf admitted as he sat on the ground next to his friend. “I’m waiting for my brother to show up. If he knows I need help, he’s probably hiding from our father.”

  Lance gave a sudden grin. Mato was as large a man as Wolf. It was difficult picturing him afraid of anything.

  “I figure we should spread out to look for Peter. Mato, hopefully, can go to Rainbow Ridge and search there. I’m sure the miners will be glad to help….”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Lance broke in. “Rainbow Ridge? Miners? Like our Rainbow Ridge at Big Thunder?”

  Wolf nodded, irritated at the interruption. “Yeah. Nice town. Maybe next time you’ll have time to go there. It’s too far in the wrong direction. Anyway, I’ll take you into New Orleans. You’ll have to go into town by yourself, obviously. Any wolf—and especially a talking wolf—would cause too much trouble. I’d probably get shot on sight. Had that problem with Daniel at Fort Wilderness….”

  “Wait, Disneyland’s Fort Wilderness? That’s where you took him? There’s one here, too?”

  “Listen, if you keep interrupting, we’ll never get anything done. Yes, like our Fort Wilderness, only a real, working fort. It was closed by the pirates after they took over, just like at Disneyland. If we have time, I’m sure Peter would like to see it, too.”

  Lance was about to ask another question, but the narrowed blue eyes and a warning growl stopped him. “Sorry. Go ahead.”

  “Oh, before I forget, what item did you bring with you from the other time? I haven’t seen any sign of it yet, but you might start to forget your other life.”

  Patting his chest, Lance answered, “I pinned your Disneyland nametag on the inside of my shirt. It’s the only thing I could think of. Mine was at home. It’s always touching my skin.”

  Wolf nodded appreciatively. “Good thinking. I just hope Peter had something in his pockets like most boys do.”

  Mato suddenly appeared next to them and silently sat next to Lance. Wolf gave a short laugh. “I see you came out of the forest. Avoiding Dad?”

  Mato ignored his brother. “Théhaŋ waŋčhíŋyaŋke šni,” he said in greeting to Lance.

  Lance fought down his impulse to raise his hand in a Vulcan salute and say, ‘Live long and prosper.’ He wasn’t sure how to respond. “Right back at ya, buddy.”

  Mato grinned and, after seeing that his father wasn’t in earshot, translated in heavily-accented English, “Long time, no see, Lance. How’s your family?”

  “Other than Peter following Wolf here though the…storm thingy...we’re fine. We’re hoping you can help us find him.”

  A worried look passed over Mato’s dark eyes. He had gone through that storm more than once. It wasn’t something for children. Speaking in Lakota, he had something to ask Wolf. “Do you think the boy would survive that?”

  “Slol wa yea šni,” Wolf honestly replied. (“I don’t know.”)

  Looking from one brother to the other, Lance had seen the strained look that passed between them. “Something you’d like to share with the class?”

  Mato turned back to him, his eyes instantly clearing. “I’ll help you any way I can. Peter’s a fine boy. He was learning much of our words.”

  “Thank you.” Lance knew he wouldn’t be told what they had said. “Wolf said you’ll go to Rainbow Ridge?”

  That surprised Mato and he turned to his brother. “You think he would end up that far north?”

  One of Wolf’s shoulders raised in a shrug. “I have no way of knowing where he came out. The thief and I came out here. It’s now obvious he didn’t. But, it has to be some place along the river. It’s always been that way.”

  Mato grunted. “You’d know better than I. I came out under the white paddleboat.”

  “The Mark Twain?” Lance grinned at him.

  Mato raised a shoulder in a shrug identical to Wolf’s. “You call it that. We call it Big White Boat that Belches Black Smoke,” he kidded.

  Before Lance could launch into a Lakota language lesson, Wolf stood. “Mato, will you go alone?”

  “I think Igmutaka could go with me. My oldest son,” he explained for Lance’s benefit. “He’s a lot like his mountain lion namesake. Travels very fast and is sure-footed.”

  “You won’t take the mustangs?” At Mato’s negative shake of his head, Wolf continued, “Then it will probably take you two days for the trip there and back. We’ll meet again here at that time,” the wolf decreed as he turned to head back into the forest.

  Mato looked after the retreating form of his brother. “Hmph.” He chuckled to Lance as he shook his head. “Anyone would think he was the eldest. You have any brothers?”

  “Nope.”

  “Good.”

  Lance still held the wooden plate in his hands and looked around for some place to put it. It seemed rude to just leave it on the edge of the trees. Seeing his problem, Mato teased him as he took the dish. “I thought you could eat anything.” He ate the untouched meal and returned the plate to the Cooking Woman. As they looked back in Lance’s direction, the gray-haired woman said something to the brave and they both laughed. Giving a sigh, Lance figured he’d better get used to that as well. This was far out of his expertise. He had to break into a trot and dodge low-hanging branches to catch up with the quick-moving wolf.

  Willing it to buzz, Kimberly Brentwood stared at the walkie-talkie as it sat on her desk in the War Room. As a Guardian of Walt, she had proven herself worthy of the title and had promised to keep his legacy alive as she carried on her father’s work. Their house had been a gift from Walt many years before she was born. The War Room, a locked, secret room on the third floor of this house, was the central hub for Wolf, Lance and herself. In this room any changes to Disneyland that might affect the hidden treasures and legacy were either authorized or they were denied. The remaining clues and quests within the Park and around the world were monitored on a wall of screens. There was a lot of power in this room—power that needed to be closely guarded and used wisely.

  Now though, Kimberly, Peter’s mother, didn’t feel very powerful. She felt helpless.

  Fully aware of Wolf’s strange ability, she was glad to have him on her side as a fellow Guardian. Since Wolf had been a Guardian many decades before she was born and had proven his own loyalty, she trusted him and loved him as a true friend. She would do anything he told her to do, and, in turn, she knew he would do the same for her. He had protected her and her family on more than one occasion. She would allow him to do anything—up to one point: She would never allow any of her family members go with him when he traveled through his strange portals. That was an absolute No. Wolf knew that. Lance knew that. And Peter knew that.

  And now, Peter was gone. He had followed Wolf.

  “How could Lance have allowed….” Kimberly started to blame her husband and then stopped herself. She knew better than that. Lance would not have allowed it. Peter had to have taken the opportunity when he saw it. It wasn’t Lance’s fault. She had to keep telling herself that.

  As Wolf had requested, Kimberly made the call to Disneyland using the voice-altering telephone. Her role as a Guardian was still secret—as was Lance’s and Wolf’s. No one could ever know who was at the end of the mysterious phone. She had shut down the river and Critter Country. It would stay closed until she opened it up again. There was that much power behind that direct phone line.

  As a wave of helplessness washed over her, she wanted to do something, anything to get her son back. She even considered going straight to Disneyland to wait by the canoe dock. However long it took to get Peter, she would wait. At the touch of a lever in front of her, the image on the monitor changed to show one of the bedrooms in their house. In her anxiety, she hadn’t brought up Peter’s empty room like she had intended. Instead,
it was the room of his youngest brother, Andrew. Peacefully asleep in his bed, a small stuffed Mickey Mouse had dropped to the floor under his outstretched hand. At age seven, he knew nothing about Guardians or the Key to Disneyland Peter had just found. He didn’t even know about the secret room upstairs. He just knew the love of his family and he loved going to Disneyland.

  With a soft sigh, Kimberly flipped another switch and looked in on their other son, nine-year-old Michael. With a slight frown, she leaned closer to the monitor and had the hidden camera zoom in on his bed. Either Michael had gained about twenty pounds or he had snuck their Golden Retriever puppy, Dug, up the stairs again.

  A loving smile crossed her face and erased the worry lines that had been etched between her brows. She wasn’t going anywhere. She realized that she was needed here just as much as she would be needed on that canoe dock.

  Settling back in her leather chair, she put the walkie-talkie in her lap just so it would be that much closer when her husband and Wolf called to say that they were back with Peter.

  New Orleans Square – 1850

  Sunlight streamed in through lacy curtains that blew gently in the open window and made intricate designs on the dark-carpeted floor. Peter’s eyes slowly opened as the patterns moved to and fro over the floor. “Mom?” His call was weak as he struggled to sit up. His bed seemed a lot softer than he remembered it should be and he had trouble getting up. Frowning at the ache in his head, he looked down at his hands to see what the problem was. He vaguely wondered when and why he had been given a flower-embossed, pale yellow bedspread. His mattress seemed to be made of feathers as his hands sank down and he couldn’t get enough leverage to push himself into an upright position.

  When all the events that had happened since yesterday suddenly flooded his mind, Peter became frantic. He had to roll to the edge of the bed-trap to finally be able to get his feet on the floor. Breathing heavily, he looked around the room and guessed he was inside the large white house. But what he didn’t know was how he had gotten there. “The Bride in the Attic! It had to have been Constance that brought me in here!” Worried, he felt around his neck for any signs of axe marks, even rushing over to a small side table and mirror to see if he was still in one piece. “Okay, okay,” he muttered to the white-faced image who stared back in the mirror. “That was stupid. Of course she didn’t chop my head off. Well, she hasn’t yet.” For some reason his mind added at the last part and caused his mouth to go dry.

  As he tried to figure out what to do next, he jumped when the clear doorknob suddenly rattled and began to turn all by itself. The hinges squeaked as the door began to slowly open into the room. Quickly looking around for something to use for protection, Peter ran over to the cold fireplace and tried to grab one of the iron pokers. Instead of pulling free, it caught in the elaborate brass stand and the whole set toppled over with a loud crash.

  The door swung completely open and the same blonde woman from the yard rushed over to the bed to see what was wrong with her guest. “Are you all right, lad? I thought I heard you cry out. Then the fireplace set tumbled. Oh, there you are.” Relieved, her hand went to her throat when she finally located him. “Whatever is the matter? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Peter was still too confused to find that as funny as he normally would have. “You…you’re Constance.” He made an instant decision that it was probably best not to call her the Bride in the Attic.

  Taken aback by his forwardness, she smiled and gave him a soft reprimanded. “You may call me Mistress Gracey. You are a little too young to call me by my Christian name. What may I call you? I’m afraid you fainted this morning before we could properly introduce ourselves.”

  Figuring Mistress Gracey was the female version of Master Gracey, he ignored the implication of the other meaning of the word. “Yes, ma’am.” He took another step back and bumped into the marble fireplace. “I…I’m…uhm…Peter. Peter Brentwood.”

  Hoping to calm his unusual case of nerves, Constance calmly sat on an upholstered chair near the door, done in the same soft yellow as the bed. Folding her hands into her lap, she gave a slight nod of her head. “I’m glad to meet you, Master Brentwood. I’m afraid I don’t know any Brentwoods in the area. Is your family new to New Orleans?” With her soft accent, it sounded like ‘Narlans.’

  Not sure how much he should explain to a woman who knew how to use an axe, Peter decided to go with a close version of the truth. “I…well, I, uh, got separated from my family in the river. I don’t know where they are, ma’am.”

  As she sprang to her feet to take him in her arms to comfort him, she had to stop when he tried to shrink back away from her. Already backed against the cold fireplace, he had nowhere else to go. Baffled, she had no idea why he seemed so afraid of her. “You poor thing! I must tell my husband you’re awake. Perhaps he knows what we should do.” She held out an elegant hand toward him. “Would you like to come with me? Perhaps you are hungry by now. You’ve slept through the morning. It’s almost time for tea.”

  Peter somehow managed to keep his face from screwing up at the mention of tea. His mother had dragged him to a lady’s tea last year. He wasn’t keen to repeat the experience. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” Glad to see the hand held out to him didn’t still hold the axe, he clasped his hands behind his back. This movement silently conveyed the fact that he wasn’t going to touch her.

  With a kind smile on her face, Constance decided to ignore the boy’s puzzling actions and dropped her hand. She figured he would come to accept her once he got to know her better. “Shall we?” She turned on her heel and walked out of the guest room.

  The bedroom Peter had been using was on the second floor. Constance led the way past a maze of seemingly endless corridors. Eyes wide and curious, he tried to take in every stick of furniture—like the round table and four chairs in a small, dark side room. He wanted to ask her about Madame Leota but thought that might not be a good idea. He wasn’t sure how just her head came to be inside the crystal ball.

  As they walked down a hallway lined with family portraits, Peter found his pace slowing as he stared at the gold-framed pictures. Again he was struck by the familiarity. The first portrait he saw was a beautiful woman dressed all in black. Leisurely reclined on a red velvet divan, she held a blood-red rose and a red jewel hung from her neck. Next he saw an angry-looking knight dressed in armor with a red cape flowing out from his shoulders. Holding his sword aloft, he was mounted on a rearing horse. I know what’s next, Peter thought to himself. It came as no surprise when he saw an elegantly-dressed, black-haired man who wore a velvet-collared jacket, his blue eyes matching the cravat at his neck. The painting of the three-masted schooner at sea was followed by the red-headed woman. Dressed in brown and posing in front of a curtained, blue-glassed window, she smiled complacently from the canvas. On the other side of the hallway, the floor-to-ceiling windows were covered with heavy burgundy drapes topped by cornices of royal blue and edged with gold tassels. Sheer lace panels screened off the outer view—just as they had done in his bedroom. As Constance led him to the end of the hallway, there were two stark white marble busts of frowning men that were set into carved nooks high above them. To test his theory that he was in the same Haunted Mansion as the one at Disneyland, Peter stopped and leaned side to side to see if the eyes of the busts followed his every move.

  “Whatever are you doing, lad?” Constance realized he was no longer behind her. Confused by his actions, she looked from Peter up to the busts.

  “Um, they look so lifelike.” His explanation was hurried since he was embarrassed at being caught. “I wanted to see if the eyes moved.”

  Giving a soft laugh at the imagination of boys, she told him in a loud whisper, “I never liked those horrible marble things! They give me the creeps!”

  “Just like the wallpaper, huh?”

  “What? Why, this paper comes all the way from Italy. It was very expensive.” She ran a fond hand over the purp
le flocking on the wall. Then, remembering where they were going, she gathered the edge of her white gown with one hand. “Now, come with me. Master Gracey is probably in the Conservatory.”

  Peter gave one last look at the wallpaper before following her. To him, part of the black-on-purple design looked like angry faces with white eyes staring out of bony bodies, and the other images looked like frowning owls. Keeping his thoughts to himself, he hurried after his hostess. He didn’t want to make her angry.

  When they reached the end of the hallway, Constance put her hand on the brass handle. The door was made out of beautiful dark oak and done in a herringbone pattern that matched the paneling around them. “Here we are. The Conservatory.”

  “Any dead bodies in the coffin?” Peter caught himself saying as he strained to see around Constance, momentarily forgetting to be afraid of being near her. That had always been his favorite scene in the ride at Disneyland.

  Without missing a beat, his hostess pushed the door opened and led the way inside. “Not yet, but the day is young.” She turned her head to see the expression on his face and was surprised he had gone pale. “It was only a joke, lad! I was only teasing you.”

  Forcing a strained laugh, Peter tried to still the erratic beating of his heart. “Ha ha. Funny.” He grimaced and pulled at the collar of his shirt. I’ve got to quit saying these things, he told himself as he followed her into the room.

  Again he found himself staring at the furnishings of the grand room. Right next to the door was the familiar suit of armor with its long spear and red-plumed helmet. A large overstuffed chair sat by itself next to a wall. Its red upholstery had been nipped and tucked into a face-like pattern that covered the high back and it had white tassels hanging down like creepy fingers. Set amid a scattering of small family portraits was the grandfather clock. The design around the face, if he squinted hard enough, looked like teeth. “Hey, only twelve numbers on the face!”