Chapter 7: The Hunt Begins

It was an emotion that Mist didn’t expect.  As he lay in his bed that night with the old journal clutched to his chest, a tear rolled down his cheek.  It was so strange.  His body coursed with adrenaline and his mind spun thinking about the possibilities of finding a real treasure.  And not just any treasure, but Meriwether Lewis’!  Mist’s father had always dreamed with Mist about becoming a treasure hunter.  There was always a plan rolling in the back of his mind that he was eager to share with Mist.  This was especially true at night when they would lay in bed and dream up escapades beyond Detroit, beyond the Midwest, beyond the world.  Mist could almost hear his dad’s voice say, “Go for it!”

            Mist sat straight up in bed, his teary remembrance of his father fading into the dark and a new resolve on his face.  He was going to do it!  As quickly and quietly as he could, he slipped into his black jacket and grabbed his bag of animals and the Tiger’s Eye.  He knew where he was going; the cave up the mountain to the East of town.  Mist had heard Stu talking about his dad, Hugh, guarding the cave because that was wehre he thought the treasure was.  Boy, was Hugh mistaken.  As Mist had read over the next few pages of Lewis’ journal, he made a discovery.  He had learned that Lewis did not want to share the treasure with Clark.  In fact he was working a plan in order to hide the secret location of the treasure from the eyes of the rest of the Corps of Discovery. 

            The iron theodolite that Lewis had traded was actually the key to finding the hidden treasure.  There were drawings in the journal of the sight.  It had three beautifully hammered bronze legs that locked together to be the base and a compass rose etched onto a circular brass plate.  Fitted above the compass was a telescope on a bracket that could adjust the angle.  The drawings in the journal were beautiful.  Not only did they let Mist know what he was looking for, but also explained just how to use it. 

December 3, 1805

I have sent the others in the party up the mountain to search for elk.  I need time to break down the theodolite and hide it.  With such an outstanding treasure available I need fewer eyes watching me.  I will return after this mission is complete and retrieve the treasure.

            Mist read and reread the next section of journal that described and diagrammed the directions to the pieces.  He couldn’t believe he was really looking at a treasure map.  As quietly as possible, Mist slipped up the stairs.  He would need to sneak out without Agnes finding out, or he would be in deep trouble.  Each step creaked the stairs just a bit.  And with each step Mist held his breath.  He looked down and carefully placed his foot.  Step by step he inched his way out of his basement.  About four steps from the top, Mist heard a swishing sound and lifted his eyes.  In the darkness he could tell that he was face to face with ChaiTea.  A guttural growl me from the cat with nearly glowing evil eyes.  Mist tried to hush her and slip to the side, but as Mist scooted to the right, so did ChaiTea.  Mist tried the left side, but no luck.  Mist hated this cat.  He backed down a couple of stairs and slipped off his jacket.  No stupid housecat was going  to foil his plan at the top of the stairs.  Mist lifted his jacket and in one swift move threw it right on top of the hissing, clawing, ball of fury and leapt over the cat headed for the door.  Mist sprinted down the road headed for the river.  It wasn’t far to the first cave.  And he knew he would find trouble there; Hugh, Stu and his thugs.

            There was a well-worn trail leading to the cave.  Mist was familiar with it as he had tried to check out the cave on the warm spring afternoons.  But every time he got close, he could hear the voices of the loggers sitting around, keeping an eye on the opening.  Mist would flip around, slip into the ferns and disappear in fear.  Not this time.  He could almost feel his father urging his on, and with his animals in his pocket, he had a surprise that the loggers would never forget.

            There was a sliver of moonlight as Mist neared the cave.  He could hear the crackle of a fire and the muffled voices of the loggers as they sat around keeping an eye on the “treasure”.  Mist stepped off the trail and quietly snuck around below the entrance of the cave.  He could see the shadows of the massive loggers dancing on the trees and across the entrance to the cave.  Mist lay quietly, trying to come up with a plan.

            “I don’t figure there’s even any treasure up here.  That Hugh’s just a crazy old man.  Figure he’s been hit on the head a few too many times,” said a hulking figure leanind on his knees near the fire.  Mist leaned up to see who it was, in the firelight he could see the man’s shiny bald head and a deep scar across his left cheek.  Gunner.  Stu had talked about this guy at school.  He could apparently straighten a horseshoe with his bare hands.  Stu had seen him do it.

            There were two other men with him, but Mist couldn’t make out their faces.  Just inside the cave, hung an oil lantern that flickered a pale light down into the darkness of the cave.  Mist crawled through the bushes toward the cave.  Every time the men would talk Mist would move.  He crawled up as far as he could get, but there was still 20 feet from the edge of the bushes to the cave.  Mist laid on his back waiting for inspiration.  That is when inspiration poked him in the back!  There was a pointy rock sticking into Mist’s back.  He quietly loosened the rock, sat up on his knees and threw the rock into the bushes on the far side of the campfire.  The rock crashing through made all three of the men about fall off of their stumps.  As the men stood up, checking out the noise, Mist darted into the cave, running as quickly and quietly as he could until he could hide in the shadows.  Mist had intended on grabbing the lantern as he went by, but he heard the men yelling behind him, “Go grab the light.”

            Mist could hear the heavy boots of Gunner as he stomped up to the lantern.  It was at that moment that Mist made a change of plans.  Gunner lifted the lantern, and Mist watched as the light reflected off of its brass hanger.  It was a lantern hanger at all.  It was the leg to the theodolite!  The men thought they were guarding a treasure hidden in the cave and instead they were using the treasure to hold their light!

            As Gunner turned carrying the light back to the bushes, Mist slipped up and began to wiggle the leg free from the rock that it was wedged into.  The leg wobbled more and more and all of a sudden it popped loose, slipping from Mist’s hand and clanging on the rocky floor of the cave.  Quick as a flash all three men spun on their heels and can charging toward the cave.

“Who’s in there,” yelled a gruff voice.

            Mist grabbed the leg and thought about sprinting out of the cave, but it was too late.  The passage was blocked by three giant men, one of which who had just pulled out a pistol.  Mist crept back into the shadows, clutching the metal leg and starting to shake with fear.  There was no way out.  Mist reached into his pocket and pulled out the little black bag.  He reached inside as he could hear the men inching toward him.  Mist dug through the animals, trying to devise an escape, when he saw the bat.  He laid the bat in his palm and took out the Tiger’s Eye. 

“This had better work,” thought Mist.

            There was a little burst of light and all of a sudden the tiny bat grew.  It grew and grew and grew!  Soon the bat’s body was bigger than Mist’s and its wings nearly spread across the entire cave.  Mist’s mind spun.  It was as though Mist could hear everything!  There was water dripping in the cave, there were men rustling a few feet away, there was a moth fluttering around the lantern.  Mist grabbed the brass leg and jumped onto the back of the bat.  With a high pitched squeal, the bat fluttered to life, the boy clinging to the back.  Mist commanded the bat to fly and fly it did.  With a screech it turned the corner near the opening. 

            With a sudden burst of confidence Mist yelled, “Outta my way!”  The men yelled and started retreating on their heels.  Mist and the bat burst right over their heads with a squeal the bat reached out with its hind feet and grabbed one of the logger’s hats.  The bat flapped up through the trees, Mist could hear clicks coming from the bat and it was almost as though Mist could see the trees as the sounds echoes off of them.  Mist pulled the bat back toward the fire and there stood Gunner with his gun pointing in all different directions trying to anticipate where the beast would reemerge.  The bat blasted past Gunners back and in the instant that the bat’s wing brushed Gunner’s neck, Mist smelled a horrible smell and saw a great sight.  On the back of Gunner’s pants was a growing soggy brown spot.  Gunner was so scared he had pooped his pants!

            Mist laughed and yelled, “Nice pants Gunner!”

            A shot rang out.  Mist held his breath as he could feel the bullet rip through the bat’s right wing.  Mist pointed the bat toward home.  In the cool of the night air, Mist could “hear” all the sights of Astoria.  The bat swooped over the town circling with its leathery wings clawing at the air.  It was in that moment that Mist wished his father could see him.  Not only was he riding a giant bat that he controlled, but also he was holding in his hand the first leg of a theodolite that would point him to an amazing treasure.  Finally, there was a treasure hunter in the Terry family.

Chapter 6: The First Hint

            Lunch time at school revolved around Mist trying to avoid Stu and his followers, all the while trying to finish off his lunch before one of the bigger kids snagged it.  But today, Stu had gathered a larger than usual crowd.  Without making too much eye contact, Mist moved from his place beside the back wall over a little closer to the crowd. 

            “My dad said that he doesn’t even know how much treasure there is,” bragged Stu, “ he figures it’s got to be worth millions.  He just has to finish finding it.  He already knows where the cave is at.”

            Mist’s ears perked to the talk of treasure.  He always thought he could find some.  Mist’s dad had lain in bed telling wild imaginary stories of treasure hunting with Mist, as soon as he had enough money to quit the factory.  Mist would stare at the darkened ceiling, not seeing old weathered boards, but caves, blimps, explosions, and booby traps.  Mist had always dreamed that he and his father would find the treasure together.  But now that dream had changed.  Mist breathed a deep sigh and listened to Stu while nibbling half-heartedly on his sandwich.

            “The old man even has one of his boys up there keeping an eye on the cave.  Don’t want nobody else come creepin’ around up there.  Not with this much treasure just waitin’…” Stu was cut short as Mist, who had been mindlessly creeping closer, bumped into the beautiful Natalie Sellers, dumping her sandwich onto Stu’s shoe.

            “Hey, watch it pip squeak!  What are you trying to do here, anyway?”, shouted Stu.  He picked up Mist by the front of his jacket as Mist mumbled a confused apology.  Staring eye to eye, and with Mist’s feet dangling Stu felt his mustache with his lower lip and warned, “If I ever see you so much as breathe near Miss Natalie, I will tan your Michigan hide.”

            Mist reached into his back pocket, with his feet still a foot off the ground, and felt for his black leather pouch.  Reaching inside he quickly felt around until he could feel the points of the lion’s mane.  The coin was in his front pocket.  If he could only reach it. . .

            Miss Barndt stepped out the the door and rang her bell.

            “Time for class children.”

            Her voice was like music to Mist’s ears.  He released the lion and the coin as he felt his feet coming back to solid ground.

            “Remember what I said, boy.  You even breathe on her and,“ Stu made a slashing motion with his thumb across his neck.  Mist got the point.  But he wasn’t even thinking about the warning.  His mind was on the treasure.

            Miss Barndt sat the students down on their benches and began to ask each one what they would be doing after this, the last day of school.  Some were going to work with their parents.  Some were taking care of the brothers and sisters. 

            “And Stu, what about you?”, asked Miss Barndt.

            “Well, I figure my I’ll be loggin’ with my old man, that’s if he don’t find the treasure first.”  He glanced around to make sure that everyone knew he was special.

            “And you, Natalie?”

            “I’m going to explore the library and read as many books as I can.”

            This answer shocked Mist in more ways than one.  First, he didn’t think Natalie would like reading all that much.  She seemed to be more interested in her hair and gaining Stu’s attention than reading.  And second, he was going to be working at the library all summer!

            “And what about you, Mist, do you know what you will be doing this summer.”

            Mist’s mind spun!  How was he supposed to answer this question without getting beat up?

            “Uh, well, I guess I’ll be helping Agnes.  If I can,” stumbled Mist, hoping this would be satisfactory.

            “Oh really?” replied Miss Barndt.  “I guess you and Natalie will really get to know one another then, seeing as how Agnes runs the library.”

            Mist couldn’t even breathe, yet alone answer Miss Barndt.  He glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Stu’s eyes glaring his way as he slid his thumb across his throat.  Dead meat.

            The school day came to a close and Mist bolted out of the schoolhouse, shooting a brief thanks to Miss Barndt and racing away from Stu.  Mist headed straight to the library, which was where Agnes had told him to meet her.  She had a project for him to finish today.

            The wooden steps to the library were old and creaked as Mist walked up them.  The front door was heavy with rusty hinges from sitting too long in the ocean air.  Mist entered the library and immediately saw Agnes at her desk, slowly checking library cards.  Her eyes didn’t even look up. 

            “I need you to get down stairs and sort out some of the boxes of books in the far corner.  You know I can’t get down that hole.”

            Mist obeyed and headed for the back room.  In the corner was a trap door that looked more like the entrance to a cellar than a library basement.  Mist grabbed a lantern and twisted down the rickety ladder into the cold, damp air.  Agnes had showed Mist the place a few days prior, and somehow it felt safe.  There was a dampness that reminded Mist of his root cellar back home.  The smell was different, though, as the scents of mildew and leather bound books mingled.  Mist knew what he was supposed to do.

            In the far corner was a stack of ancient crates that held old books as well as a lot of paper scraps and garbage.  It was his job to sort through the boxes and bring up the books that could be filed in the library.  Mist enjoyed digging through the crates.  They were so old, that it felt like a treasure hunt every time he pulled out another book.  Mist reached into the crate that he had started working on a few days prior and pulled out the rest of the books.  A cloud of dust swirled around his head and he coughed as moved the stack.  Mist’s foot tripped on the floor and quick as a flash, he was falling to the hard, dirt floor.  The books landed with a crash and papers flew everywhere. 

            “Take care down there,” scolded Agnes from the trap door, “those books are old and fragile.”

            Mist rolled his eyes.  He could think of at least one other thing that was “old and fragile” too.  He smirked as he started picking up the books and loose papers.  Mist stopped part way through the stack.  The flickering light landed on a hand written note sticking out of one of the books.  The paper looked old.  He slid out the note and found that it was actually a few pages folded together.  The paper was yellowed and dry.  The writing was done in cursive, but was jerky and a little uneven.  There was a date written on the top of the paper; December 2, 1805.  Wow, it really was old!  Mist continued to read the note, now realizing that it was a journal.

December 2, 1805

The rain continued today.  We have traveled up the river at least two miles.  A bunch of 8 Indians came by the spit of sand we were hunting from. They desired to trade for my rifle but I was concerned that they might not have anything of value.  They laid out a theodolite.  I was surprised by the craftsmanship.  They also showed me a coin of which I had never seen before.  They said that they could give me the location of many of these coins.  These were gold on one side and silver on the reverse.  Inscribed on the gold side is the eye of a tiger. On the silver is a tiger hiding in bushes.  I traded one of my rifles for the theodolite and the coin.  I will call it a Tiger’s Eye.

                                                                                    Meriwether Lewis

Chapter 5: The Discovery

          Mist hardly remembered the walk home.  His mind was too busy mulling over what had just happened at the toy store.  He wondered if there even was a toy store.  Mist walked up the steps to Agnes’ house and listened to the now familiar creaking of the front stoop.  Agnes was sitting in her living room reading as Mist walked into the door.  She barely lifted her eyes from her book as Mist walked straight for his room. 

            “The soup will be ready in a couple minutes,” said Agnes.

            “Not hungry tonight.” Replied Mist, in an unusually crabby tone.

            Mist didn’t even hear what Agnes mumbled as he charged down the stairs.  He was in no mood to eat bland soup again for dinner.  He plopped down on his bed and stared at the ceiling.  Mist pulled out the little black bag that held his new treasures; the carved animals.  He wondered if the eyes of the animals looked just as alive here at home as they did in the neat little box in the toy store.  He put his hand into the bag and pulled out the animals, laying them on the bed spread next to him. 

            The animals were amazing.  The carved details of each one were perfect.  Mist pushed them around looking at each one.  What a find they had been!  Mist rested his head on his pillow and stared off with sleepy eyes.

            The next thing Mist knew, there was a crazed hiss right behind his head!  He had fallen asleep, but now ChaiTea was standing at the top of the little cat stairs leading up to the bed.  ChaiTea’s eyes were locked onto the toys that were spread across the bed.  Her claws dug into the bed, her giant fluffy tail was puffed out and looked like a snow-covered Christmas tree.  Mist couldn’t move.  He feared that each muscle twitch might lead ChaiTea into a fit of rage.  In one swift move, Mist rolled over his toys and put his back against the wall.  As he rolled, he saw his Tiger’s Eye coin fall out of his pocket.  It was almost as if he could see the coin flipping in the air in slow motion.  The coin spun in the air, landed right next to the carved giraffe and tipped over on top of it.

            All of a sudden there was a burst of light from the gold side of the coin that was leaning against the giraffe.  Mist plastered his back against the wall with his eyes locked on to the coin.  The legs of the giraffe began to move!  They burst out from under the coin and grew and grew.  The now-giant hooves on the bottom of the spotted legs tipped the nightstand.  ChaiTea spun around and tried to escape from the growing giraffe, but the neck started to grow.  The long neck arced up to the ceiling, and was forced to bend as it grew toward the stairway.  The knobby horns on the giraffe bumped ChaiTea away from the stairs and back toward the bed.  Her voice was choked and she wasn’t even able to hiss at the African giant that was now essentially filling the entire basement.

            Mist couldn’t believe what his eyes were seeing.  He didn’t know whether to run away or to try to shrink into the wall.  The giraffe spun its head around and looked straight into Mist’s eyes.  All of a sudden, Mist’s eyes were forced shut and in his heart leapt in his chest.  When he opened his eyes, his mind spun with a feeling he had never felt before.  He felt cramped and scared.  It was as though he could feel the roof pressing on the back of his neck.  Mist was feeling exactly what the giraffe felt!  Mist suddenly felt adventurous.  He focused his mind on the giraffe’s head and mentally forced it to look to the left.  The giraffe did just that.  He thought about lifting up the hind left leg.  The leg obeyed!  Mist caused the giraffe’s long neck to come back around toward ChaiTea.  With a mischievious smile on his face, Mist made the giraffe lean over, grab ChaiTea’s tail with its mouth and lift her up to the ceiling.  The cat yowled and thrashed around trying to escape.  The giraffe swung the furious cat over to the bed, where Mist looked straight at the evil cat and said, “Leave me alone,” and then he added, “or else.”

            “What is going on down there?”  It was Agnes and she sounded mad.  Mist’s mind spun.  How was he going to hide a giraffe?  He thought back to the flash of light that had come from the coin.

            Mist heard Agnes start coming down the stairs.

            The old man in the toy store had said that the gold side of the coin had the inscription that meant “Time to grow.”

            The stairs creaked as Agnes slowly leaned on the rail.  “If you are breaking something down there, so help me…”

            The old man had something about the inscription on the silver side too.  But what was it?  Mist thought and thought.  “Smaller is better!”  Mist could see Agnes’ shoes on the steps as she came down the stairs.  Quick as a flash, Mist grabbed the coin, flipped it to the silver side, caused the giraffe’s head to spin around and drop ChaiTea to the floor.  Mist placed the coin right on the forehead of the giraffe.  If this didn’t work, Mist was in so much trouble.  Mist could feel the heat of the head of the nervous giraffe, and smell its animal breath.  He closed his eyes and hoped.

            Instantly the giraffe shrunk all the way back to one inch tall.  The nightstand rocked back and forth and the light nearly fell just as Agnes peeked down the stairs. 

            “What is going on down here?” shouted Agnes as ChaiTea bolted up the stairs with her head down and giraffe drool coating her tail. 

            “Oh, uh, nothing.  ChaiTea just startled me and I bumped the table,” lied Mist. 

            Agnes’ sharp eyes looked around the room for trouble.  Seeing none, she spun on her heel and started back up the stairs.  “And ChaiTea doesn’t come down stairs anyway.”

            Mist smiled.  He was sure that she never would again.

Chapter 4: The Deal

Mist’s heart pounded in his ears and his eyes darted around the room.  The figure in the storeroom stepped from behind the curtain.  It was an elderly man with great white bushy hair and spectacles riding low on his nose.

“Just what exactly is going on out here?”

“Sorry Mister, I was just coming in to see what you had… I guess I bumped the shelf.  I’ll pay for anything I broke, I promise.”  Mist was worried as he hurriedly picked up the tin clown and monkey and set them back on the shelf.

“And what about your buddies outside, aren’t they going to come in,” asked the old man stepping toward the door to let them in.

“No,” shouted Mist, “I mean, I think they were heading somewhere else.” Mist glanced out the window and saw something very strange.  Stu was standing right in front of the door with the window, but never seemed to look inside.  In fact, Mist could see that Stu was dumbfounded looking around at the empty crates, with no little kid hiding in them.  Stu rolled up his lower lip to feel his mustache whiskers, glanced with an empty look at the window and slammed a stick right against the glass.  The sound was loud in the shop, but after Mist had blinked, he looked at the window which he was sure was broken, and there was not a crack in it!  Stu and his gang walked off down the alley and out of sight. 

“I guess your buddies didn’t find what they were looking for,” said the old man looking over the top of his glasses right at Mist with a knowing look.  Mist didn’t particularly respond, but his heart rate slowed down and he actually started to look around in the tiny crowded room.  There were all sorts of toys covering every shelf and hanging from the ceiling. 

“It’s a lot to take in, isn’t boy,” said the old man in the red apron with a much more gentle tone in his voice.  “Do you want to see my favorites?”

“Sure,” mumbled Mist as he moved to follow the old man who had swung around on his heel and headed back toward the glass counter in the back.  The man opened the back of the glass cabinet and pulled out a square black box and set it on the counter.  His wrinkled and gnarled fingers worked quickly to pop open the brass clasp.  Mist moved closer as the lid opened to reveal a black velvet interior.  In the middle of the box was a group of tiny carved animals.  Mist bent down to look more closely.  The animals were amazing.  They were carved with such precision that no matter how close Mist got; he couldn’t see the chisel marks.  There was a giraffe and a zebra that looked as though they were being stalked by the crouching lion.  Mist looked at the perfectly painted figures.  It was almost as if he could see their tiny eyes peering back at him.

“Did you make them,” asked Mist.

“Oh, no.  I could never make something so beautiful.  My hands are old and my eyes don’t see as well as they should.”

Mist smiled up at the old man who wriggled his glasses up his nose without touching them.  That’s odd.  I just saw the ticket master do that just a few days ago.

            “Are you interested in buying them?”

            “Oh yes, they are amazing.  But I don’t have any money.  All I have is this coin that was given to me.  It’s not real money.”  Mist held out his muddy hand to show the old man his prize. 

            The old man gasped and stood up straight, “Why I haven’t seen anyone else with one those in years.  It’s a Tiger’s Eye gold piece.”  Anyone “else” thought Mist. 

            “You mean that you have one these,” inquired Mist, turning his attention away from the animals, “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

            “It’s true they are pretty rare.  Except in this drawer.”  The old man hit the key on his tall, brass register and pulled the drawer open.  He lifted the money tray out, and there below laid a whole compartment full of Tiger’s Eyes!

            Mist was so excited to find out there were more coins like his and with someone who might know something about them too.  “What does the writing on them mean?”

“Oh, I can tell you what the writing says.  But to find out what it means, that is up to you.”

            Confused about the toy store owner’s answer, but still wanting more information, Mist reworded his question, “Well, what does the inscription say?”

            “On the one side, it says ‘Tempore Cresere’ which reads ‘Time to Grow’.  And on the silver side it says ‘Minor Est Milius’ which is interpreted as ‘Smaller is Better.”

            Even hearing what the phrases “said” didn’t help Mist know what they “meant”.  Mist retrained his eyes on the animals.  A curious thing seemed to have happened.  The giraffe, which had been in front of the lion, was all the way at the other side of the box.  Mist was pretty sure that the zebra had been in a standing pose.  But now it was carved to perfection in an all out run from the lion.  Mist moved his head closer.  This can’t be.  I must have remembered wrong. 

            “Well, boy, do you want the animals or not?”

            “Yes, of course I want them, but I already told you I don’t have any money.”

            The old man stood up and scratched the white stubble on his chin, obviously lost in thought.  “I will make you a deal, son.  You take these animals, treat them right and always appreciate them, and if you ever find another Tiger’s Eye lying around, you come and give it to me.  Does that sound like a deal?”

            Of course it was a great deal.  Mist’s heart leaped with joy as he watched the man grab all of the animals from the box and slide them into a little black leather pouch and pull the drawstrings closed. 

            “I don’t know what to say, but thanks so much!  I promise I will always appreciate them.”  Mist kept thanking the man as he carried his new prizes toward the door. 

            “What’s your name, boy?  I need to know who owes me a Tiger’s Eye,” said the old man with a sternness in his voice.  The likes that Mist hadn’t heard sine his father was getting ready to speak of something serious.

            “My name is Mist.  Mist Terry.  I’m very glad to meet you.”  Mist turned and walked out the door.  The bells above the door jingled and beautiful note as Mist walked into the alley with a light heart and a bag full of treasures.  Mist walked around some empty crates and went to pull his black and red hat back over his ears.  But his hat was gone!  He had left his hat, his last gift from his mother, in the toy store.  He whipped around and ran back past the crates and stopped suddenly in his tracks.

            Mist couldn’t breathe at the sight he saw before him.  The door to the toy store, the sign above the door, and even the old man standing in the window were depicted in a painting on the brick wall of the cannery.  Mist’s mind whirled.  He took a step toward the brick wall.  He slowly reached out and touched the bricks expecting them to give way to the glass door that had just been there seconds before.  The paint on them was old and fading.  The colors muted.  But I was just in there!  I know it!  This can’t be real!  Mist looked down and in his hand was the black leather pouch that had just been given to him by the real man in the painting.  Even over the rough surface of the bricks, the painting of the toy store was amazing.  The old man looked so alive.  His white bushy hair and gray stubble looked just the same.  Even the spectacles riding low on his nose were just like the old man.  And that is when Mist stepped back to see something even more fantastic.

          Reaching up to open the door of the painting was the figure of a boy. He had on a long wool coat, just like Mist’s. The boy in the painting was wearing a black and red hat, just like Mist’s. Mist leaned in and looked at the boy’s right hand. There on a painting that must be at least 50 years old was a boy going into a toy store with a muddy right hand. And in that hand was gold coin. Mist couldn’t bear to look any more as his head was spinning and he felt sick. The coin in the picture had a tiger’s eye on it. The painting was of Mist.

Chapter 3: Trouble

      The first day of school for any ten year-old is tough. But Mist was facing something altogether different. Agnes had woken him up with just enough time to throw on his clothes and run to school. ChaiTea doesn’t like waking up before 8:00 am. But Mist had to be to school by then, so Agnes risked the wrath of ChaiTea and got Mist out the door anyway. Agnes didn’t have time to put ChaiTea in her carrier, so instead she gave rough directions on how to get to school. Wind down the hill. Pass the library and go all the way to River Street. Walk past the butcher and turn back up the hill. The school will be on the right.

Mist threw his wool coat on and pulled his hat over his ears as he ran out of the house.  Not only was he the new kid at the end of the school year, but he was late too.  Mists boots banged down the road as his mind spun with the thoughts of his new school.  Would he find any friends?  Would they like him at all?  What was the teacher like? 

Following Agnes’ instructions Mist arrived at the school.  It was a single room school with a tall square façade on the front.  The outside was painted white with red lettering over the door; The Astoria School.  Mist could hear the teacher’s voice inside.  It was a woman’s voice and it sounded almost melodic as she gave instructions.  Mist took a deep breath and opened the door.  Simultaneously, 20 heads spun around to see who was coming in.  Mist stepped through the door and mumbled, “Excuse me… I’m Mist Terry.  I’m new here.”

The older boys in the back row seemed to be sizing up the new kid.  He didn’t look too tough.  Mist glanced around nervously as the teacher approached.

“Hi there.  I’m Miss Barndt .  I’ll be your teacher.”

Her face was kind and gentle.  Her red hair fell in looping curls over her shoulders.  Somehow, there was an air of comfort that flowed from Miss Barndt.  The teacher led Mist to his desk.  He passed the older boys who were sitting in the back row.  He could hear them murmuring about his pants, his coat, his hair, his walk.  Every step was under scrutiny. 

The first school day became a blur of new names, faces, assignments and reading.  There was one name that stuck in Mist’s head; Stu.  Stu was the oldest kid in the class.  At 14, Stu already sported a wispy mustache, a dim wit, and sour attitude.  Stu was the self-proclaimed leader of the schoolyard.  If you wanted anything to happen at recess, the orders went through Stu.   And Stu had been glaring a hole into the back of Mist’s head since he entered the classroom.  Mist’s seat was right next to Natalie Sellers.  She was the most beautiful girl in the school.  She was 13 years old and her hair was pulled back high and tight on her head and then formed perfect blonde curls.  Her pouty lips never seemed to crack a smile as she barely acknowledged that Mist had moved in next to her.

Mist’s hands were sweaty with the nerves that come from being the new kid.  Finally, Miss Barndt released the students and Mist was out the door.  Before he could reach the bottom of the steps leading out of the school, he heard a booming voice, “Hey new kid, got any money?  I’m hungry for candy, but I ain’t got no money.  I figure you should buy some for me.”

Mist patted his pockets and without making much eye contact said, “Sorry, I don’t have any money.”  In his pocket he could feel the gold and silver coin that had been given to him on the train.  But that wasn’t real money, it was more like a token.  “I do have this cool token that I found on the train, would you like to see it?”

Stu’s eyes narrowed a bit as he stepped closer to the much smaller Mist.

“Show me what you got.  Seems like it might be money to me.”

Mist pulled out the coin.  Maybe showing Stu the coin would earn him the start of a friendship.  Maybe then he could get other friends.  Maybe they could run around and have adventures together.  Maybe.  Mist slipped it out of his pocket and held it out on his palm.

“That is so money, give it to me.”  And with one swipe, Stu nabbed the coin from right off of Mist’s hand.  He held it up close to his eyes, checking it out.

“Hey give that back!  That is my coin!  It was given to me!”

“I thought you said it wasn’t no coin.  And I thought you said you found it.  Now you’re telling me it was given to you.  What next, you going to tell me it’s magic or something?”

Mist had no idea whether it was magic or not, he suspected that it was not.  But he could feel his temper rising.  And all of a sudden, Mist looked Stu in the eye and the hauled back and kicked him right in the shin!  Stu doubled over grabbing his leg and dropped the coin into the mud.  Quick as a flash, Mist swooped down, grabbed the coin in a handful of mud and took off running.  Stu finished hopping around on one leg, looked to his pack of three friends and yelled “Get him!” 

So much for being friends.

Mist ran like he had never run before!  The problem was, he had no idea where to go.  He barreled down toward River Street and took a hard left beside the butcher shop.  He couldn’t help but think of the dead meat hanging in the store as he heard the boots and shouts of the boys closing in behind him.  His eyes searched frantically for some place to go.  Just as he decided to turn up the alley, he heard the boys turn the corner.  They had probably seen him.  He darted up the alley anyway.  Maybe there would be some place to hide.  Boxes and crates lined the alley and Mist frantically tried to size each one up.  Would he be able to fit in one of those?  The voices of Stu and his buddies were getting louder.  As Mist darted around a stack of crates, his worst nightmare came true; a dead end.  There has nowhere to go.  And judging from the smell of the place, he was just behind the fish cannery.  The smell of the rotting fish made his eyes water.  Just as he slowed down, he came around one final chimney stack.  There on the right, was  a door.  And above the door was a sign reading “Toys etc.”  A toy store in the alley?  That is odd.  But the voices behind him sounded angry and close.  He opened the door and stepped into the dark room.

Mist blinked, trying to help his eyes adjust to the dim lighting.  It was a tiny room.  There was a single glass counter along the back wall with a narrow doorway leading into the back.  A dark blue curtain covered the door with dust collecting all along the top.  Should I run through there?  Just as the thought entered his mind, the curtain moved and a figure filled the doorway.  Mist spun around as he heard Stu’s voice, “He couldn’t have gone far.”

Mist backed up against the wall, bumping into a shelf full of wind-up tin toys.  Many of the toys tipped over, sending a clatter of noise as clowns and monkeys with cymbals crashed to the floor.  Mist held his breath as he saw Stu’s shadow move over the window to the store.

“What’s going on out here?” boomed the voice of the shop owner.

Mist closed his eyes.  He was trapped.

Chapter 2: The Arrival

        The hours riding through the wild west were twisted up in wonder for Mist.  He held in his hand the mysterious coin given him by the ticket master.  What had appeared to be a strange silver coin was actually much more than that.  As Mist flipped the coin over in his hand and to his surprise the opposite side of the coin was gold!  What a find.  He had never seen anything like it.  As he continued to study the coin he saw a Latin inscription on each side of the coin.  On the golden side, which had a picture of a cat’s eye very close, were the words “Tempore Cresere”.  And on the silver side where there was a tiny tiger peeking from behind some tall grass were the words “Minor Est Milius.”  If only Mist had paid more attention during his Latin lessons!

            Time slipped by and soon enough the train was preparing to pull into the station in Astoria, Oregon.  Mist had only met his great aunt Agnes that one time.  And now he was going to be living with her!  So many worries coursed through Mist’s mind.  Mist fiddled with his wool jacket and his hat.  His feet tapped an uneven rhythm on the floorboard of the train. 

            As then engine of the train slowed and he began to feel the brakes grabbing hold, Mist’s eyes darted to the people waiting on the deck and the train station.  He would remember what his great aunt Agnes looked like, with all her wrinkles, and surely her cat in tow.  But as the train stopped and people began filing off and hugging each other, Mist saw no familiar faces. 

“I’m sure she is there, I just missed her,” he thought out loud.  And so Mist picked up his carpet bag luggage and waddled toward the exit of the train.  Once on the landing, he made his way quickly over to the small covered area near the ticket counter, as the Oregon rain had started to fall.  She will get here, she is just a little late.  His mind continued to whirl as the people slowly filed off the landing and out into the dirt streets of Astoria.  The smell in the air was different here.  There was a hint of sea air from ocean that was just out of sight along with the fragrant smell of pine logs that had been cut from the towering forests and floated to the town to be milled.

Drip.  Drip.  Drip.  The rain dripped off the roof as Mist pulled up the collar on his coat and his hat down to fight off the chill that was penetrating his bones.  Mist slowly slumped down against the wall with his eyes low and his bags blocking the April breeze blowing off the Pacific.

Mist’s thoughts began to turn sour.  What if she forgot about me?  What if this isn’t the right place after all?  What if she didn’t really want me?  Shaking him from from the confines of Mist’s darkening heart came the sweetest words that he had ever hear.

“Well don’t just sit there feeling sorry for yourself, let’s get moving.  Me and ChaiTea are getting cold and damp out here.”

Mist’s eyes snapped up to the figure of a woman in a long black coat with her hair pulled back under a head scarf to keep the rain off of her curls.  The scent of mothballs wafted over Mist as he heard a cat complaining from the inside her carrier.  And there were deep wrinkles of years of sour attitudes.  Yep, this was Aunt Agnes.

“I guess I’m late.  Seeing as I don’t see anybody else here, “grumbled Agnes, “but I told the men from the factory that ChaiTea doesn’t like to leave the house too abruptly after dinner.  It upsets her delicate demeanor.  And she always eats at 6:30.”

Agnes shuffled off the landing and down into the street that was now becoming pock marked with puddles.  Grumbling something about the weather, Agnes would occasionally glance over her shoulder as she shuffled toward home.

“And that is my library.  I practically built it with my own hands.  This summer you can work for me sorting out the basement.  It will be lots of fun.”

And so the comments continued as the old lady wove her way among the squared off homes and businesses.  She wound her way up on to the hill and there sitting on a little stone outcropping was Agnes’ ancient house.  The wood was all grayed from countless years of Oregon rain, the roof sagged a bit here and there.  The fence, that had at one time been whitewashed, was leaning in many places and was totally gone near the edge of the rocks.  Agnes stepped up onto the porch and adeptly swung the cat carrier through the creaking door.  She plopped it down on a small table with a set of tiny stairs leading to the floor.  The house was a model of perfection.  Every little trinket and picture had its spot.  Nothing seemed out of place or tilted.

Agnes unlatched the cat carrier and out strolled ChaiTea. The cat’s face resembled a Siamese cat with darker ears and slightly crossed eyes.  But ChaiTea’s fur was long and luxurious.  It appeared to have been brushed every day as she swooshed across the floor and climbed another little let of stairs that led to the floral high backed sofa.  Once on the sofa, ChaiTea twirled around, trying to ready herself for a nap.  She spun to the right, then back to left, and shot an angry glance toward Agnes. 

“See, she doesn’t even know what to do with herself.  Leaving after dinner time.  What a time for a train to arrive. “

Mist watched in silence as the spoiled cat swung her tail around and finally figured out just how to arrange herself on the couch.

“Your room will be down the stairs.  It used to be an old cellar, but I had it made into a room for ChaiTea.  But she never took to climbing up and down the stairs, so I had to make her room up here.”

Mist shot a wondering glance toward the old woman,.  Who actually builds a room for their cat?  He picked up his bags and headed in the direction that Agnes had nodded toward the stairs.  As he passed the couch he nearly dropped his bags and jumped out of his skin as the cat exploded into a ball of claws and hissing. 

“Oh, be careful!  ChaiTea doesn’t like people walking too close to her at nap time.” Agnes warned.

Collecting his wits, Mist made his way down the creaking stairs and into his room.  It was painted white and there was a bed with a pink quilt laid on top.  And again, the tiny cat stairs leading up to the bed. 

“You don’t have to use the little stairs if you don’t want to.  ChaiTea goes to bed at 7:30.  That will be your bed time too so as not to bother her.  You can put your bags in the closet over there, just don’t mess up the cat carriers.”

Mist made his way across the room, pulled open the closet door to find all but the smallest corner filled with carriers of various colors and lace edges.  Mist nodded his approval and Agnes spun on her heel and went back up the stairs.  No “Good night” no “Welcome to your new home”.  No hugs.  Mist felt very lonely already as he flopped down on the pink bed and stared at the ceiling.  He could hear the old lady scooting across the creaky floor heading to bed, because ChaiTea said so.

Chapter 1: On the Train

            Tap. Tap. Tap.  The boy sat with his chin resting on one hand while his nervous fingers tapped out a rhythm with a stubby pencil.  Tap.  Tap.  Tap.  His eyes were blurred and distant as the sagebrush zipped by outside his window.  He hadn’t moved much in the past hour, clutching a little leatherbound notebook and tapping his pencil. 

“Why so sour, boy,” came a startling question from the barrel-chested man with the red striped tie who had been minding his own business since boarding in Helena. 

“I’m not sour.” Came the short reply, “just tired.” 

“Where’s your folks?”

            A thousand thoughts shot through his mind.  He remembered the sound of his mother humming as she laid him in bed, the heavy banging of his father’s boots as he stoked the fire in the early morning, so many memories of their little family.  But in answer to the man’s question, he could only muster, “The people said they bought the farm.”

            “Oh, sorry to hear that.”  Replied the man, now a little more uncomfortable.  The man pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose a bit.

            The boy knew what it meant that his parents had “bought the farm.”  There was no farm.  They hadn’t bought anything.  They were dead.  The men from factory hadn’t given many details, the only thing that mattered to the boy, was that his parents were gone.  An accident, the men had explained.  But the sound of their voices had swirled together with the terror that his parents were gone.  What was he going to do!  Just as he asked himself that question, it was answered.

            “We were able to send a telegraph to your father’s aunt.  Do you know Agnes Terry?  She lives out in Astoria, Oregon.”

            The boy had shook his head, as he did remember meeting the stuffy old lady at a funeral.  She was the only person to bring a cat to the funeral.  The cat had traveled in the train in a little black and red box, that looked more like a ladies handbag, with lace and sparkles stitched to the outside.  The cat seemed to be sadder at the service than the old lady.  The lady’s wrinkled face neither stretched into a smile or broke into tears.  Rather, the wrinkles on her face had scrunched together in a web that never changed.  The cat, however, had meowed nervously throughout the service, causing the family and friends to shoot angry glances over the pews in the church.

            “So, I never got your name, boy.”   It was the man on the train, again. 

            The boy ran his fingers over a pencil-drawn picture in his notebook before lifting his eyes and looking directly at the man.  “My name is Mist.  Mist Terry.”

            “Can’t say as I ever met anyone with a name like that.  You know your name is a noun?  Mist.”

            Mist hadn’t ever met anyone named Mist either.  He supposed that there never was another kid that had to explain his name so much as he did.

            “My folks couldn’t decide on a name for me.  Mom wanted to name me Delwin after her dad.  My dad liked Tarlton.  They neither one would back down.  So my dad sat staring out the window.  Sure enough, he couldn’t see the end of the driveway ‘cause of the fog.  So here I am.  Mist.”  The boy was surprised at his sudden burst of words, but supposed that he liked hearing his own voice talking about his parents.  He missed them already.  It had only taken a few days for the factory men to get Mist a train ticket and to take over the house to collect for his parents’ debts.  He knew that money had been tight, and that the family owed a lot of people.  But couldn’t they have waited for him to be out the door, before coming in to haul off the grandfather clock.  The clock had always stood by the door and clicked out its cadence of time passing by.  Mist had lay next to that clock and listened to the beat of the pendulum swinging on cold afternoons after school.

            “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Mist.  Where you headin?”

            Mist shuddered and looked back to the sagebrush.  “My great-aunt Agnes lives in Astoria.  She said she would take me in.”  His mind flashed back to her wrinkles and the smell of mothballs that lingered on her black dress that day at the funeral.

            Mist’s thoughts were interrupted as the ticket master, in his funny looking hat came tripping into the train car.  He made his way down the aisle, reading tickets over the top of his glasses, and then punching them with his hole punch.  Mist had already had his ticket checked a few times since leaving Detroit.  He had seen the flats of the Midwest give way to the stunning mountains of Montana.  Each train stop, his car had emptied and it felt as though he was the only one to get back on.

            The ticket master pulled up beside Mist’s seat. 

            “Still going, eh?”  The ticket master read Mist’s ticket over the top of his glasses.  The man’s eyes were intense blue and seemed more alive than the rest of his aging body.  His bushy gray eyebrows danced up and down as he wriggled his glasses up his nose without touching them with his hand.  He punched the ticket and handed it back to Mist.  He quickly punched the red tie man’s ticket and just as he was about to walk away, he swooped down to the ground and picked something up off the floor.

            “You must have dropped this,” the ticket master held out his hand toward Mist.    A silver coin sat in the middle of his grooved hand. 

            “Oh no, that’s not mine.  I don’t have any coins like that.  Must be his,” Mist nodded toward the big man sitting across from him. 

            “No, I’m pretty sure this is yours,” said the ticket master with a new strength in his voice.  Mist looked again at the coin, and then back to the ticket masters eyes.  There was a flash of strength and urgency that Mist had not seen since the last time his dad was getting serious about something.  Mist looked back to the coin and reached out his hand and scooped it up. 

            “Thanks, mister.”

            Mist held it tightly in his hand, as he felt a strange attraction for his new found prize.  He quietly looked down at the coin.  It was like nothing he had ever seen.  This coin was different.  This coin was special.