The necessary Assay Office was neighbor to the Clarion, its windows covered with fancy lettering proclaiming “Chemical Analysis of Every Description Made With Accuracy and Dispatch.” If you had a mining claim, here you could record it, buy it, or sell it.
Perched up in the hills behind the main street were more buildings, most showing signs of neglect or abandonment. Here and there were signs of habitation, like a clothesline with faded shirts that hung limp in the still air.
Near the far end of the street was another dilapidated, empty building. It had been a pristine white at one time. The three double entry doors to the Opera House, beneath the arched balcony, were still painted blue. Faded posters of the last leading lady hung drunkenly on two of the balcony’s posts. A faded red, white and blue bunting had been draped over the blue balcony many years ago; behind the bunting, a wooden chair had fallen beside a small round table.
Not to be outdone by the Big Thunder Saloon, Pat Casey’s Last Chance Saloon was painted a bright pink, its white swinging batwing doors still moved from the last patron who entered. The sound of a glass breaking and a hearty yell could be heard inside as Wals approached.
Wals was about to look over the swinging doors to see if the doctor might be inside when he heard the familiar high pitched “Toot Toot” whistle of the mine train. It seemed to be coming from the direction of the Opera House, but there were no tracks. The ground beneath them shook as a large dust cloud suddenly formed and swept down the center of the dirt street, blowing past them and disappearing just after the Big Thunder Saloon.
The ground stilled as suddenly as it had started. “What was that?” Wals asked Mato, who was now staring at the Opera House. They now could barely hear the strains of a singer practicing her scales coming from that direction.
Mato raised a hand to finger the medicine bag tied around his neck. “Wana gi hemani.” Ghost train.
Standing still a moment, the two men waited. However, when the phenomenon didn’t repeat itself, they looked at each other and motioned that they needed to keep moving. Wals decided to go to the next building. Before they could check out the two-story El Dorado Hotel that offered “nice beds $1.00” and “sheets 50 cents extra,” Wals spotted something on the second story of the saloon. He stopped so abruptly that Mato slammed into his back. As Wals pointed upward, Mato could see a huge gold-colored tooth hanging from a metal pipe protruding out of the only window. Mato didn’t know what the word “Dentist” stenciled on the window meant. Wals pulled the Zippo lighter out of his pocket and showed it to the confused brave and smiled as he pointed upstairs. “Doctor Houser!” He headed for the stairs on the side of the pink building.
Curious, Mato followed Wals up the stairs. He had never been this far into this town before, so he figured he might as well take advantage of every opportunity to explore how these people lived.
His hand raised to knock, Wals saw a small sign leaning inside the glass of the door that read: “No Appointment Necessary. Come On In.”
A small bell over the door tinkled brightly as the two men entered the small room. A padded metal chair stood near the only window, more than likely to help the doctor see in the darkness of the room. Various vicious-looking medical instruments—none of which Wals would have wanted in his mouth—were near at hand on a small table. Boxes of powders and tins of ointments, a modern-looking stethoscope, and a lot of cotton batting sat on top of a crude pine bookcase.
Before Wals could examine the few books piled on a wobbly bookcase, the door to the only other room opened and Doctor Houser emerged, wiping a knife off onto a white piece of linen. He was dressed almost exactly like the owner of the store, even with a red handkerchief tied around his neck. “Can I help.… Well, well, well, if it isn’t Wals!” as he recognized the supply man from the Fort. He seemed very pleased and extended his hand while casting a curious glance at the silent Mato who still stood near the door. “It’s good to see a familiar face, let me tell you! How long has it been?” He broke off as if confused by his own question, his eyes getting a worried slant. He shook it off. “Too long, I’m sure. And, who’s your friend?”
Wals stepped back and motioned for Mato to come forward. He chose not to. “This is Mato, from the Pinewood Village.”
Claude Houser smiled at the silent brave. “Hmm, long ways from home. Nice to meet you, Mato. My, this is a pleasant surprise. What brings you two all the way to Rainbow Ridge? With the mine closing, there isn’t too much left here. What’s the news from the Fort?”
Now it was Wals’ turn to be surprised. “You didn’t hear? I thought maybe that is why you left.”
Claude looked from one man to the other. He turned back to Wals. “Hear what?”
“The Fort closed. The Island has been taken over by a band of pirates and some of the soldiers apparently were pressed into service.”
Shocked, Claude sank into the exam chair. “Oh, my, that’s awful. What of the ladies? And, what about that lovely young woman who was in the Burning Cabin, as we all still called it? The one with the pet wolf?”
“I can only answer for the gal in the cabin, Rose Stephens, and she’s safe in Mato’s village.” Wals had to shrug. “I’m not sure about the women from the Fort. I suppose some of them might have been taken by the pirates.… I can only hope the others got over to New Orleans in time.”
“Which has its own inherent dangers,” the doctor mumbled more to himself than to Wals. “Well, what brings you two here? Looking to relocate?” He gave a little laugh.
Wals let out a breath. “Well, I am hoping to relocate, but it might not be what you think.”
At the curious look on the doctor’s face, Wals reached into his pocket and brought out the lighter. “Doc, does this mean anything to you?”
Dr. Houser took the lighter, and with practiced ease, flipped it open and flicked the wheel to make it ignite. “Hmm, must be out of lighter fluid.” Apparently realizing what he had just done and said, his eyes grew wide and flew back to Wals’ face. Snapping the Zippo shut, he flipped the lighter over, turning it in the dim light so he could read the words engraved on the face. “1962…1962….” He seemed frozen as his mind wrapped around the date and compared it to everything around him at that moment. “This is my lighter. It was a gift from the Medical Society for some charity work I did. There was a huge banquet…in the ballroom of the Regency Hotel…in…,” he broke off, unwilling to voice the rest of the scene that had suddenly flooded back into his memory. “My word! Where am I? Really?” His eyes shot back to Wals. “How did you get this?”
Wals took the only other chair in the room, a wooden ladder back with a small woven seat. Mato, busy examining one of the medical books on the shelving, was ignored the other two men. From what his brother had told him, he knew exactly what was being discussed. And, from the doctor’s response right now, he knew just about where they were in that discussion. “I know what you’re going through, Doc,” Wals was saying. “I went through the exact same process…with this.” He brought his name badge out of the same pocket and held it out to the confused doctor.
Taking the oval piece of plastic, Claude read the words “Where Dreams Come True” and, more importantly, the dark blue word above Wals’ name. “Disneyland!” he exclaimed in recognition. “Walt! I was with Walt that last night. Were you there, too? I don’t remember you being there.”
Wals sat back in the chair and took a deep breath. “Well, here’s where it gets really tricky.” He paused, not exactly sure how to word this. “Walt had passed away before I came along.”
The doctor’s face fell. “The last time I saw him was in 1966. I knew he was getting sicker.” He shook his head sadly side to side. “Even when you know it is coming, it’s still hard to hear. How long has he been gone?”
Wals looked perplexed. “Well, gosh, I need to think about that. Hmm, Walt was gone in December of 1966, and the last date I remember is 2007, so, what does that make it? I guess, at the time I left, he had been gone around forty-one
years.”
The expected stunned silence greeted his reply. Doing the math himself, his eyes wide, Claude gasped. “Did you just say 2007? How can that be? They just cleaned up from the War of 1812 here!”
Wals knew the doctor had to work this all out for himself and remained silent.
“If what you say is true,” Claude continued, “if it is 2007, then, according to your calculations, I should be sixty-nine years old. I…I’m not… Am I?” as he reached up to touch his unlined face.
Ignoring that for now, Wals wanted to know, “How did you get here? What’s the last thing you remember?”
The doctor thought back, still clutching the lighter and the nametag. “I was living in New Orleans, at Madam Annette’s.… No, that’s where I moved in. Where was I.… Gosh, why is this so hard to remember?”
“I think it is the Island,” Wals told him, still trying to work it out himself. “It seems to drain us of our memories…our real memories. How long do you think you’ve been here?”
“Hmm…maybe just three or four years. I lived in New Orleans for a while, and then I moved to Fort Wilderness during the Battle for New Orleans. The soldiers needed a doctor and I liked it there, so I stayed on. You came along not too long after the hostilities ceased. I remember you had a nasty bump on your head and you were talking oddly…like you didn’t know where you were. Like you didn’t belong.” Looking out at the growing darkness falling over the town, he went on softly, “Much like I felt. I remember seeing the Mark Twain tied up at the dock and I thought…I thought I hadn’t made it through, that I was still in Disneyland.”
Wals nodded. It all sounded familiar. “Who brought you?”
“There were two men on the dock.… No, that isn’t right. They just took me into New Orleans. It was a man, though. I remember I didn’t know him, but Walt did and asked me to trust him. This man had some wild tale about needing to protect me.”
This part of the story wasn’t familiar to Wals. “Protect you from what?”
Before he could answer, Mato, bored, indicated he was going to find them something to eat and left before either man could reply. “Hope he comes back,” Wals muttered, “We’re a long ways from home.”
Dr. Houser wasn’t concerned about Mato right now. All the strange feelings he had had over the years—the sense of not belonging but fitting in just fine, medical knowledge he had but shouldn’t at this period of time—all flooded through his mind. He looked at the lighter one more time. Not being able to read in the darkness, he got up to light the glass-chimney oil lamp on the pine desk in the corner. Returning to the more comfortable exam chair, he tried to pick up the threads of his memories again. “Protection. That’s what it was. There was a man who stole something from Walt and then threatened to kill me. Because of a…a project I was working on with Walt, they felt I needed to go somewhere safe. What about you? Why did you come here?”
Wals remembered his friend Wolf had asked him for help. “A friend asked me to help rescue two people on an Island.” He spoke slowly as Wolf’s words came back to him. He hadn’t recalled that before and looked up sharply at the doctor. “He asked me to help him bring back someone named Rose and someone named Doctor Houser.”
“And who was it who asked for your help if Walt was gone?”
“A good friend of mine. He’s one of the main Security Guards at Disneyland. His name is Mani Wolford. But we just call him….”
“Wolf,” the doctor finished for him, stunned, as memories kept flowing into him like the returning sensations after his foot had fallen asleep. “How old is this friend of yours? He was, oh, maybe about thirty when he brought me here.”
Wals just nodded his head slowly. “Yes,” was all he could say.
“How could I be forgotten for over forty years? How could…but I couldn’t have been here that long…I think it has been only about three years or so…hasn’t it?” He rubbed at the ache growing behind his forehead.
Wals saw the gesture and nodded in understanding. “Yeah, that’s what it does to me, too, when I try to figure it out.”
“I think we both need to talk to this Mister Wolf. The sooner, the better.” The animosity toward this mysterious man had returned with his memories.
Wals pursed his lips and reached out for his nametag. He still felt the need to keep it close. “Well, that’s where it gets tricky again. I haven’t seen Wolf since I got here…however long that’s been.”
“Do you remember thunder and lightning and a bright pink light?”
Wals continued to nod. He started to feel like one of those toy bobbleheads in the back window of a car and made a conscious effort to still his head. “That was the last time I saw Wolf. Either he didn’t make it through whatever it was, or he drowned in the River…or we did.” It was said as a joke, but neither of them laughed.
“What about that young lady you told me about? Rose Stephens? What does she remember?”
“That’s the odd part…. Well, one of the odd parts,” he gave a small smile as the doctor agreed. “She doesn’t seem to remember Disneyland at all—like you and I both do. I showed Rose my nametag, but that didn’t mean anything to her. Just the castle seemed familiar. She remembers a moat and banners flying over some castle.”
“I’d still like to talk to her. Where is she? She’s safe, you said?”
“She’s waiting for me back at Mato’s village. I have to ask.… Now that you remember your real place, do any of these surroundings look familiar to you? Like you’ve seen them before, but not quite as…real?”
Dr. Houser chuckled, but it was a dry, humorless sound. “I should be able to say that I have no idea what you mean. But…I do.” He looked out the darkened glass again, the noise of the saloon drifting in through the open window. When he began talking again, his voice was quiet. “When I was first pulled out of the River, I thought I was still in Disneyland. But, the Mark Twain I saw was a real paddlewheeler. It made real trips with real customers. I didn’t live in New Orleans Square, but in New Orleans, the French Quarter. Fort Wilderness. Your supply rafts. I had seen them all before, but they weren’t real.” He looked over at Wals for verification when he finished talking.
“Yeah, that’s what I saw. Only, I could see it one step further than you,” Wals explained. “Since it looks like I am from a later period in time than you…somehow…a lot had changed at Disneyland over the years. Lately, more specifically, to Tom Sawyer’s Island. And, each of those changes at Disneyland appears to have happened here as well—after the fact. That’s why Wolf and I…at least I thought it was going to be Wolf and I…anyway, he wanted me to bring you and Rose back to the current time. I remember him telling me it wasn’t safe here any longer. And now that I see the pirates taking over the Island, I think he was absolutely right.”
“So, how do we get back? How do we pick up our former lives? You never did say how long you’ve been here.”
Wals opened his mouth to answer, and then shut it. “I was going to say I’ve been here years and years, but, honestly? I don’t know. It’s too confusing. It feels like I’ve lived all my life, and this is where I belong.”
Dr. Houser nodded in agreement. “Do we wait here for this man Wolf to show up?” He didn’t look like he favored that prospect. The animosity toward Wolf that had begun so long ago now seemed to have been founded on fact.
“Well, since Rose is waiting at the Pinewood village, I think we should go back there,” Wals suggested and then added, “Since the three of us are somehow linked together in all of this…whatever it is…I think we should stay together and wait for Wolf in the village. Mato’s family is there…well, at least, I think they’re his family. I haven’t learned enough Lakota to figure it all out.” He gave a charming half-smile in his self-deprecating way. “It’s too late tonight, so what say we get an early start in the morning?”
The doctor looked around his small office. He felt at home here, settled. He felt needed. If this preposterous story was true…and he felt, deep down
, somehow, that it was…then he was way out of touch with his former life. If Walt was gone, had any of their far-reaching plans been set in motion? Was all that research and preparation done for nothing? What about my true field of cryogenics? Was that still feasible?
With a small sigh, he pushed himself out of the chair and looked at the lighter one more time. “Well,” he said quietly, “Like Walt always said: ‘The way to get started is to quit talking and begin doing’…. I need to pack.”
Understanding what the doctor was feeling, Wals stood. “We’ll come back for you at first light. Don’t let go of the lighter.”
When Wals left the doctor’s office, he stopped by the Rainbow Ridge Clarion and bought a newspaper, curious to see if there was any news of Fort Wilderness or whatever else might be newsworthy in the area. He settled into a chair in a relatively quiet corner of the Big Thunder Saloon and ordered a whiskey from the hovering serving girl, Louise. Soon realizing she was being ignored, she flounced off to get his drink.
Squinting to see the small print of the newspaper, Wals wondered if it was the printing or if he needed glasses. He read much lamenting over the closing of different mines, naming each one of them as they closed, the possibility of the Opera House reopening if everyone chipped in to help, and advertisements from the General Store. Smiling to himself, Wals decided small-town newspapers were the same—no matter where or when you were. He was about to set the paper aside when a headline caught his eye: “Confessions of a Gold Miner.” Recognizing the byline from a small town in Northern California, his interest peaked.
“The weather is turning colder now. Fall has always been my favorite time of the year with the trees changing colors and all. But when my stream starts showing a little ice around its banks —well, fall isn’t fall any more. It’s quickly becoming winter. I don’t like winter so much. I can’t work my claim because of the freezing water and the difficulty getting through the snow. Oh, I still mine gold during the winter, but it’s a different kind of mining. And I have always had two ways of mining.
Wolf! The Legend of Tom Sawyer's Island Page 25
