HIDDEN MICKEY ADVENTURES 2

by Nancy Temple Rodrigue

Not sure what he meant, Lance thanked him for his time and went around to the front door of the house. He had to take a minute to stare up at the four tall white columns. Just like at home. The second-story roof reached out over the plant-filled porch and shaded the front door. Going up the brick stairs, Lance looked around for a doorbell. With a mental kick, he realized there wouldn’t be an electric bell in that time period. A brass knocker was attached to the door and he lightly rapped.

  The door was opened by a butler who took one look at Lance and told him to go around to the servant’s entrance if he was hungry. As he tried to slam the door, Lance managed to wedge his foot in the jamb.

  “I need to talk to the lady of the house.” He pushed against the door the butler was still trying to force shut—foot or not.

  “Remove your foot, sir, or I will call the hounds!”

  “I already met the hounds. We’re good friends. Will you just ask the lady if she will see me?”

  “Timothy! Whatever is going on? Who is this?”

  Lance heard the feminine voice and hoped she wasn’t a maid to help close the door. “I’m trying to find my son!” he called out, still straining against the door. The butler was stronger than he looked.

  “Timothy, release the door!”

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  The butler must have complied immediately. Because there was no back pressure and Lance still pushed on his side, the door now flew open. Lance fell headlong into the marbled entry and landed face first. In his current line of vision, he could only see a pair of dainty white slippers covered with pearls. With a groan, he went up on one sore elbow and looked higher to see a lovely woman dressed in a wedding dress. “I seem to be interrupting your special day.” Lance rubbed his nose as he got to his feet. It didn’t appear to be broken.

  The look that came and went over the woman’s face was anything but bride-like. “I am Mistress Gracey. You mentioned your son? What is your name?”

  As her hands were clasped in front of her and not held out for a friendly shake, Lance gave a brief nod of his head. “Lance Brentwood.” Is this Constance?Did she always dress like that?

  “Brentwood!” Her face instantly brightened at hearing his name. “Peter’s father?”

  “Yes, I am. Have you seen him? We’ve been so worried.”

  Constance glanced at the butler who still hovered nearby, eager to throw out this intruder. “You may go, Timothy. Please tell the cook to send some tea to the parlor.”

  Hesitating for just an instant, Timothy had no recourse but to obey. “As you wish, Mistress.”

  Constance turned to Lance and gave him a lovely smile. “Master Brentwood, please come with me. We have a lot to discuss.”

  Eager to hear about Peter, Lance forgot he was inside the Mansion and paid no attention to what would have been familiar items. “Did you really see Peter?” They were finally seated in a heavily-draped room, a round table and four chairs pushed into a corner. Different musical instruments were scattered around the room as if a small band would come later to play for a gathering.

  Constance looked down at her dress and thought she should explain her appearance. “Yes, but let me just tell you this first.” She picked at the pearls covering her full skirt. “Today is Master Gracey’s and my wedding anniversary.” She held up a restraining hand when she saw Lance was about to congratulate her. “Please, don’t. We are hosting a fancy dress tonight and Master Gracey insist…asked that I wear my wedding outfit as my costume.”

  Her explanation that the wedding dress was a costume answered Lance’s next question as to what a fancy dress was. He also could tell she wasn’t very happy about the party tonight.

  “Now, let me tell you about your son!” Her face was transformed by a warm smile and she became quite beautiful. “He was such a fine boy! I had thought it odd when he called me by my Christian name of Constance as we hadn’t even been introduced.” She broke off with a fond chuckle. “But, we straightened that out and he was so polite. I must say, Master Brentwood, that I am both happy and sad to see you.”

  As he eyed the five strands of fine pearls around her neck remembering the legend, he missed the fact that she was speaking of Peter in the past tense—as if he was no longer there. “And why is that, Mistress Gracey?”

  A small blush tinted her cheeks. “Well, it was so lovely having a young one in the house. And your son was such a nice boy. If it came about that he was alone in the world—and I am so glad you are still with us, sir,” she hurriedly added, “I was hoping he would be able to stay with us here.” Her bright look dimmed as she recalled her husband’s words, but that didn’t matter any longer.

  An alarmed look came over Lance’s face. “You just said Peter was such a nice boy. Isn’t he still here?” Lance sprung to his feet as if he was going to search the house himself.

  Constance looked stricken. “I…I don’t know what happened to him, Master Brentwood. I honestly don’t. One moment he was here in the house, playing a strange melody on the organ….”

  “In the ballroom?” Lance couldn’t stop himself.

  “Why, yes, it is in the ballroom.” She answered slowly as she wondered how he would know that. Organs were usually found in the parlor for entertaining family. “As I was saying, he seemed to be having a wonderful time until the Master went after…I mean, went to see what he was doing. Before my husband could get there, the music had stopped and he found the ballroom empty. Edward searched the whole house but couldn’t find Peter. We are afraid he has run off.” She looked as miserable as she felt to have to tell the boy’s father such a thing.

  Lance knew his son well enough to know how excited Peter would be in a living, breathing model of the Haunted Mansion. He knew Peter wouldn’t just run off—unless he had a good reason. Looking back at his hostess, Lance thought she was very different than he would have imagined her to be. She seemed genuinely worried about Peter. “Let me ask you something.” Lance held himself back from pacing the room. “Was Peter worried about anything? Afraid? It isn’t like him to run away from anything.”

  “Well, when he first saw me he fainted dead away.” She gave an amused chuckle. “I was just about to ask why he was soaking wet and he collapsed at my feet.”

  “Peter has never fainted that I know of.”

  “I thought it odd, as well.”

  “What was he doing at the time? What were you doing?”

  Constance gave a slight shrug. “He was standing by our pet graveyard, dripping like a drowned kitten. He spun around when I questioned him, took one look at the bloody axe in my hand, and that’s when he fainted dead away!”

  “A bloody axe?!” Lance had to put a hand over his mouth to hide the grin that threatened to take over his face. “Why were you holding an axe?” Other than the reason we all know about….

  “The cook had been out killing chickens for our dinner, had to chase one of the silly things, and left the axe there on the lawn. Perhaps the boy is squeamish?”

  Lance got his face under control and nodded seriously. “Yes, that must be it. But, that isn’t the reason you think he ran away.” He didn’t ask it as a question since he hoped she would confide what was really on her mind.

  Looking nervously at the clock on the side table, Constance didn’t know how much she should or should not say to this stranger—even though he was Peter’s father. Her guests would arrive at any minute. “No, we got along fine once he came to. I don’t think Master Gracey was as enthralled with the boy as I. He…he can be…difficult at times,” she admitted in a small voice. “He did tell the lad not to touch anything and seemed…upset when Peter began playing the organ.”

  “You think he threw Peter out of the house?”

  “No.” Her words came out slowly as she thought. “I don’t believe that is what happened. I believe that Peter was already gone before Edward could get to the ballroom. I am so sorry. Really I am.”

  Lance gave her face a searching look and
thought she was being sincere. “The caretaker said that Mister…I mean, Master Gracey had ridden into town. Will he be back soon? Should I wait?”

  Constance lowered her eyes, embarrassed. “It would be best if you did not. Perhaps you should go into town yourself and search for your Peter. Hopefully a few inquiries will be all that is needed.” She put a gloved hand on his arm. “I do wish I could invite you, but Edward’s family can be…unpleasant to strangers. I do hope you understand.”

  “Not really, but I’ll have to take your word.” Wishing he could say something like ‘call me if you hear from Peter again,’ Lance didn’t know what to do. He’d have to talk it over with Wolf. “Since I’m new around here, can you tell me where I might begin my search?”

  Constance gave a frown as she thought. “I don’t get into town as often as I would wish.” He could see the disappointment in her eyes. It faded when she recalled one of the shops. “There is one lovely perfumery on Orleans Street. Oh, no, that’s not right. Mademoiselle Antoinette moved her establishment over to Royal Street. Lovely lady. She might have some news. You know how some women chatter.” She gave him a smile. “There also used to be a wonderful one-of-a-kind shop—I can’t seem to remember its name—also on Royal Street that would have been helpful. I am sad to say that the invading pirates ran them out a few years ago and took over the building.”

  Lance felt like he was listening to the history of New Orleans Square. Then he realized she had quit talking. “Pirates, huh? Did they bother you here at home?”

  “No, we were never assaulted.” An amused chuckle was hidden behind her hand. “You see, they were afraid of a curse from one of Edward’s relatives.”

  Not wanting to stick his foot in his mouth by mentioning something different than what she might mean, Lance let her continue to talk.

  Encouraged by the questioning look on his face and happy to have someone to talk to, she continued. “What the pirates did not know is that there was no curse.” She leaned toward him and lowered her voice as if someone else might hear. “Lottie really isn’t like that. However, sometimes a rumor can be as threatening as a reality.”

  “Very true.” Lance nodded as he wondered who Lottie was. “I really must get to town. I understand it’s further away than I thought…. Never mind…. I appreciate your help. Would it be all right if I came back and talked to Edward if I don’t find him in town?”

  She gave him a small, regretful smile. “I don’t think he would like that. Oh, and Master Brentwood? If you do find him, you really mustn’t call him Edward to his face. He prefers Master Gracey by all but his closest of friends.”

  “Understood.” Lance knew quite a few men who thought more of themselves than they ought. “If you’ll show me the way out, I’ll be on my way. I do thank you for the kindness you showed Peter. I know he appreciated it, too.”

  “My pleasure, I assure you, Master Brentwood,” she replied over her shoulder as she led the way to the entry. “I do hope you find your boy.”

  Wolf was waiting for Lance behind the crypt and immediately questioned him. “Was he here? What did you find out?”

  Frustrated, Lance ran a hand through his brown hair. “Well, Peter was here and apparently ran off.”

  “Ran off? That’s not like Peter.”

  “I thought you weren’t supposed to talk.” Lance gave him a half-smile.

  Wolf answered with a low growl. “There’s no one around.”

  “Constance was trying hard not to say it, but I think her husband, Master Gracey, scared Peter off. It sounded like she wanted to adopt him.”

  “Smart woman. From what I could tell nosing around, Peter came from the direction of the Mark Twain dock, stood over by the graveyard, and then his scent vanished. If he did leave the house, he didn’t do it on foot.”

  “I was told Peter fainted when he saw Constance holding a bloody axe. Maybe she had someone carry him into the house.”

  Wolf looked over at the huge house. “Was she sure Peter wasn’t hiding somewhere inside?”

  “Yes. She said Gracey searched the entire thing and couldn’t find him. You think Peter left on horseback?”

  The wolf’s eyes narrowed as he thought. “It would be pretty difficult for a stranger—a boy at that—to get a horse out of the stable unnoticed. I doubt it.”

  “Then where is Peter?”

  “I don’t know, Lance. I just don’t know.” The wolf was frustrated because he couldn’t take matters in his own hands. “I think you need to go into New Orleans like we first discussed and see if you can talk to Gracey yourself. I can’t go into town with you, of course, but I think I know where he’ll be.”

  Lance was relieved. “Really? That’s good because Constance directed me to her favorite perfume shop. Where do you think he’ll be?”

  “The Golden Horseshoe.”

  Flashback to Disneyland – 1955

  “Frontierland is a tribute to the faith, courage and ingenuity of the pioneers who blazed the trails across America. We find ourselves back in the exciting days when the story of our country’s past was being lived. We will ride in a covered wagon to a roaring river town, pay a visit to Slue-Foot Sue’s Golden Horseshoe, and then catch the paddlewheel steamer Mark Twain for a trip down the Rivers of America.”

  Walt set the speech he had read on the top of his desk and looked at each of the men in the room. “So, how does that sound, boys? I’ll be standing near the flagpole in the entrance of Frontierland probably an hour or two after the Opening Day ceremonies back on Main Street. Does that sound like a good introduction for my Golden Lady of Frontierland?”

  “That sounds good, Walt. I noticed you said Slue-Foot Sue. So let me ask, is the name ‘Pecos Bill’s Golden Horseshoe Saloon’ out? I thought we were running with that.” One of the men was making notes as his boss talked.

  Nodding, Walt settled back in his chair. “Well,” he started to explain, a far-away look coming into his eyes as he thought about the fascination he always had with the West. “You all know I always wanted a Wild West Saloon with a live show. Say, we could even have gunfights in the street and stagecoach robberies. Make a note of that…. When Harper showed me his set designs from the movie Calamity Jane, I knew we had our saloon. It was perfect. It gave me everything I wanted: an orchestra pit, a wide stage, and my mile-long-bar, which, unfortunately, we had to cut back to a 5/8th scale.”

  “You had also mentioned you liked the fancy opera houses from the turn of the century.” Harper turned back a few pages in his own notes.

  “Right. The wallpaper, the red-globed light fixtures—wish we could use real candles—and all the carved wood accents fit right in with that. Then, after getting Wally and Dick in on writing the actual show, I thought it would be more dignified having the beautiful Slue-Foot Sue as the owner. We already have some wonderful costumes designed for her.” Walt spread out some design sheets and looked appreciatively at them. “I think we have a great show in mind.” He smiled and tapped the designs with his pencil. “Now let’s just see if it’ll last the whole two weeks that I hired the performers for!”

  New Orleans Square – 1850

  “I’m confused about something.”

  “Only one thing?” Wolf kidded as he led the way through the dense trees, glad he was low enough to the ground to avoid the hanging moss.

  Lance would have stopped to give Wolf a cocky smile but knew he would be left behind. “I really think you should go back home this way. You’re a regular comedian.”

  “What’s your confusion about this time?”

  “This time?” Lance gave an unbelieving shake of his head. “You might be used to all these…odd things happening, but I’m still new at it. Bear with me. Or should I say, wolf with me?” His attempt at being funny elicited no response. “Fine. Have it your way. What I was going to say is that the Golden Horseshoe in Disneyland is in Frontierland. All along you’ve said we’re heading to New Orleans Square. While that of itself will b
e fascinating, the Horseshoe isn’t part of New Orleans.”

  Not wanting to slacken his steady pace, Wolf just turned his head slightly to answer. “As you look around, Lance, you’ll see that this isn’t an exact copy. It’s close, but there are always differences. It’s been this way all along. Considering this is a real place as compared to Disneyland’s fantasy, it has to be that way. That’s why the buildings you will see aren’t façades, for example; they are real buildings with real businesses. The saloon is actually quite a ways outside of New Orleans. I’ve overheard the proper folk in town wish it wasn’t there at all.”

  Lance silently let that information soak in as they continued. When the trees started to thin, he noticed the wolf slowed his pace, apparently more cautious as they approached civilization. “Nervous?”

  “I don’t relish being shot again.” Wolf sank down behind a large, dense clump of bottlebrush.

  Looking through the leaves, the sight that greeted Lance caused his mouth to fall open. “If that was painted gold and just a bit smaller, it would look just like Disneyland’s Golden Horseshoe.”

  Wolf again ignored him. When he did speak, his voice was lowered to a whisper. “The saloon owner, I have heard, is now a Miss Lily. And you should be aware that Todd Raven works behind the bar.”

  Lance’s head snapped around. “What? Todd is here? How will I get any information about Peter if he knows me and where I’m really from?”

  “Even though Todd just got here, he already thinks he’s lived here his whole life.” Wolf tried to explain it the way their friend Wals had described it. “His memory of the other time and world is gone. The Island works even faster on the simple-minded. As long as he doesn’t have or touch anything from the other time period, he probably won’t recognize you. He might think he remembers you from somewhere, but he won’t know where.”

  As Wolf explained this strange phenomenon, Lance found himself touching the oval plastic nametag that pressed against his chest. As he did, he was slightly reassured of his own safety. He had too much to live for back home and he wanted to make sure he got back there—with his son. “Great.” He gave a sigh. “You’re sure Gracey is there?”