The ''Merlin'' Compass

By Frank Nightingale

Not the usual science fiction. Exploiting history and legends before WWII,
a prank, loving teen goes to Germany at a when neighbors struggled with
the English language and talked with foreign accents, but were proud to be
American citizens. Charles Lindbergh had crossed the Atlantic Ocean only
a few years earlier and an airplane would still be watched until it flew out
of sight. Telephones and radios were around, but these were the depression
years, so most everyone did without those extravagances. Times were tough
but, the people were tougher.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 27, 2010
• ISBN: 9781469101163

Book preview

Chapter 1

Stopping momentarily to catch her breath, lovely Lydia Spaulding brushed wisps of auburn hair from her blue eyes. Her small, slender body, cloaked in long coat, scarf, and high boots, appeared too frail to pull the sled that her husband David, or Dave was riding on. Ordinarily, the sled pulled easily, but today’s melting of the snow caused the runners to drag unexpectedly, and her muscles ached from the continuing struggle. Accompanying her dogged persistence of pulling the heavy sled, Lydia’s thoughts patiently labored with preserving her marriage. She had married David Spaulding, a cheerful, brave and brilliant but troubled scientist. Now, riding on the sled was a different David Spaulding,—a sulky, one room schoolteacher with a wooden leg and a bad drinking habit. A different man?—A different love?—Love? She had been content hiding away in this Adirondack wilderness but an accident had changed him. Abruptly, a protesting muscle shifted Lydia’s thoughts to one of thankfulness that it was only half of a mile from the school to their home. Knowing that some of the schoolchildren had to walk two or three miles, she felt lucky.

Possessed with self-reproach and a supposed loss of dignity and manliness, David slipped the bottle out of his coat pocket and gulped a big drink to quench the distressing pains of his inadequacy, humiliation, and embarrassment. Each drink unconsciously cursing the wood pile that had fallen, entrapping him, to lay suffering until a worried Lydia had searched and found him,—but too late to save his leg. The prompting amputation was relegating the role of caretaker and protector to Lydia. David took another hard swallow, dismally watching his wife doing the chores of a mule.

Lydia knew that Dave had taken another drink, but kept her eyes straight ahead as she pulled on the sled. The drinking had become customary, and she had no desire to start an argument that would sap her strength as surely as the heavy sled. Fleetingly, it crossed her mind that maybe he could walk on this ice and snow a little more if he didn’t drink so much. This thought was short lived for she understood the drinking: They lived in fear of being found and he felt helpless to protect her. They must overcome a nightmare! Lydia could see their house getting closer and was eager to help him inside and start supper, but as she mentally picked a can of tomatoes from the cellar shelf, the sled dug hard against the rutted road, stopping abruptly, and lurching Dave forward. Tugging with all her might to free the sled, it came loose as suddenly as it had stopped, throwing poor Dave completely over backward and into the snow, his wooden leg sticking straight up in the air and his precious bottle disintegrating on the ice by his side.

Oh darling! I’m so sorry! Lydia exclaimed, hurrying to help him back on the sled.

It’s okay Lydia. I’m OK, your OK, everything is OK. With a little laugh, Dave retreated to his withdrawn manner and was ready to ride.

She was married to a very unusual man thought Lydia as she started pulling the sled again. Pulling hard, she recalled the first time they had met: She had been planting violets in the flower garden when she was startled by a loud pop!—And an apparition!—Screaming, she tumbled from a squat to a sprawl into the pretty plants and the not so pretty, black, moist planting soil. A man had suddenly appeared about twenty feet in front of her, out of thin air, as though he had fallen from a tree. But—there was no tree!

The man got to his feet, uttering something and looking at an object in his hands, turning it, inspecting its condition. He then held up a hand and said, I’m sorry, Miss Brice, I didn’t mean to frighten you.

The peaceful manners and comprehension of her father’s work swiftly calmed Lydia’s fears and solved the puzzle. Positive of whom he was and how he had gotten there; she quickly recovered her composure, surprising David with a muddy smile and tear streaming welcome. Anxious to hear about her missing parents, she had kept David there in the yard, telling him about how she had welcomed the letters from her excited mother traveling through France and Germany, and of her fears and anxieties when the letters had stopped. Disdainfully, she told of querying the American and German governments with no results. Her parents had just disappeared! And everyone was of the opinion that Germany was a safe place to travel. But,—so little was really known about their new dictator,—Hitler!

David was able to tell her all about it.

Finally perceiving her lack of courtesy, Lydia proposed a move to the kitchen table, and over coffee, they were soon discussing her father’s research. Remembering the tireless efforts of her father defining time-space and quantum theories, she suddenly realized how brave David was, to have been voluntarily journeyed by her father’s incredible machine.

Lydia stopped the sled by the front door` and helped Dave into the house where a fire was burning low in the big round wood stove. Taking a poker, she stirred the hot coals and added another chunk of wood as Dave headed for the cellar door. Making all his own wine and whiskey, Lydia knew his intentions of replacing the broken bottle, and seized the opportunity to complain: David, remember, it’s getting near Christmas, and the superintendent may be making another visit. Imploringly, she added, Darling, please, don’t let him catch you drinking. What would we do if you were out of this job?

Oh, he won’t find out anything. He only comes by when the roads are very nice. It’s his job to visit all the district schools a couple of times a year, but the old Kraut probably won’t stay five minutes. Opening the door, David descended the stairs, inwardly cursing the slow-moving leg and crutches.

The next two days were very warm, melting more of the ice and snow, and with morning’s promise of the same, Dave decided he would give Lydia some relief by walking to school on his abhorrent crutches. She had wanted to help him, but he felt her holding to him would be more of an encumbrance. However, a shaded spot where the ice had not melted, suddenly found him wishing for her kind, stabilizing hands as he fell hard to a sitting position in the middle of the dirt road. Dave looked hatefully at the detested wooden leg. You deserve an unusually large portion of spiritual wrath,—and I know just where the spirits are! he said quietly. Reaching in his coat pocket, Dave removed the bottle and took several large swallows.

Walking fast, two teenage boys had almost caught up with their teacher when they spied his crutches zoom out to the sides, and Mr. Spaulding taking his hard, icy seat. Standing, staring, and laughing, they marveled at his next droll act of: taking a little snort, as they later described it. The two boys were Andrew Justice and Charles Henry. Both were eighth graders; the little school’s highest grade; therefore the leaders in all games or events and—mischief. They were about the same height and both red-faced from the cold, but there the similarities stopped. Unlike Andy’s blond hair and blue eyes, Charlie’s hair and eyes were brown. Andy wore high, laced, leather boots, red plaid lumber-jacket, and green ski cap. Charley in rubber boots, brown, heavy-knit sweater under bib overalls, and wearing an imitation, leather flying helmet. Charley had spent a rare night with Andy, and they had tried outdoing each other making up ghost stories, cackling and giggling quietly until after midnight. Watching their teacher, the giggling returned until Andy could catch his breath, and gripping Charlie’s arm, he said, Remember what we’ve been wantin’ to do? Maybe we’ll have the chance today! You gunna be ready?

Yeah,—yeah. gasped Charley between giggles.

Come on, Charley. Let’s go help him up.

Ten children were in this one room school; all of them from families of lumberjacks, living hand to mouth and accustomed to doing without. They thought it was the normal way of everyone’s life; so, they did not know that they were poor. They were used to most everyone drinking, but it did seem strange, seeing their teacher taking more than a little drink. More surprising, it appeared to have given Mr. Spaulding trouble with their lessons, and now, with both legs propped on his desk, he was snoring soundly.

Watching his snoring teacher, Andrew stood at his desk with his finger to his lips, signaling the other students to be quiet. Then he motioned Charley to go to the cloakroom.

Charley, taking his cue, and knowing exactly what to do, soon emerged from the cloakroom carrying Mr. Spaulding’s small carpenters tool tray. The tray was laden with hammer, nails, screws, hand saw, small square, tape measure, a small hand drill, and a variety of drill bits found necessary in decorating and building prop’s for school plays, building a tree stand, and general school maintenance problems.

The two puerile boys descended upon their prey, pausing only long enough to be sure that Mr. Spaulding was sound asleep.

Andy pulled Dave’s pant leg up higher. That wood’s too hard. It’s gunna split! We’ll have to use the hurdy-gurdy, he whispered.

Retrieving the hand-held drill and a bit from the carpenter’s tray, Charley started making the hole for the large nail Andy was clutching. The other children watched with quiet, bug-eyed apprehension.

Suddenly, a small voice said, I’m going to tell my mother on you, Andy. You’re going to get us in trouble!

Andy looked up to see second grader, Chubby Miller, standing by his desk with tears in his eyes. Swiftly towering over Chubby and looking down with the meanest face he could conjure, Andy whispered venomously, You will sit down and be quiet Chub, or I’ll throw you all the way into Bottomless Lake!

You can’t! It’s froze over! Chubby said with quiet defiance, but sitting down and clinging fearfully to the desktop.

Not at the far end, it ain’t! Raising a threatening fist, Andy whispered fiercely: Now shut up! He waited another moment, assuring himself the small crisis was over and returned to operate on the sleeping patient. Andy tapped the nail into the hole Charley had drilled, and satisfied it was started straight,—nailed Mr. Spaulding’s wooden leg to the desk!

The loud hammering, ultimately penetrated Dave’s drunken stupor, and as Andy and Charley ran out the front door, leaving the other children in a stunned silence, Dave was waking up. An alcoholic, sleep befuddled brain striving to solve the puzzle of an immovable wooden leg.

The two boys had just reached the dirt road that ran by the schoolyard, when they heard a car in the distance. They stopped, listening and looking, for automobiles were rare on this road, but they could hear the crushing of ice and snow beneath the tires, and the humming engine. They were quite surprised when Mr. Otto’s new, 1937 LaSalle came into view. They had seen it once before in September, and knew it belonged too—the school supervisor! They also knew that everyone was in big trouble if something was not done! Mr. Spaulding was well liked by everyone including Andy and Charley; so, responding to their basic kindhearted nature, they ran back into the school.

Mr. Spaulding could only sit and watch speechlessly as the two boys freed his leg, explaining: Mr. Otto is coming! He had no sooner become a part of a wooden desk than he was being liberated from it.

Chapter 2

Mr. Otto was a big, heavy-set man with a mean face, close-cropped gray hair, and spoke with a German accent. His heavy coat made him look even larger and meaner as he burst into the room, and stood looking down at Dave. Without any greeting or introduction, he said, Did I see two uf your students outside?

Oh yes, replied Mr. Spaulding. That was Andrew and Charles. I thought I heard a snow plow and sent them out to stop it, and plow out the schoolyard. I guess I heard something else,—your car, perhaps. The children giggled and snickered. Andy and Charley’s faces grew red, their eyes filled with tears trying to hold back the laughter. Mr. Otto was angered at the inference of his new baby Cadillac, sounding like a snow plow, but thinking this was the total of the bad joke, decided it was not worth pursuing. Giving Mr. Spaulding a scathing look, he turned his wrath at the cackling students.

Qviet! he barked. I hate deez vun horse schools, he grumbled, as he looked around at the windows, floor, ceiling, furnace, blackboards, and the Christmas tree with hand made decorations, and its one small string of lights contributed by Mrs. Spaulding. With a puffing sound, he then turned back to Mr. Spaulding. Are any of the students giffing any problems? He asked.

Oh no, no, Mr. Spaulding replied quickly. I have the best children in the district, he smiled ruefully as he glanced at Andrew and Charles.

Vell, das goot, Mr. Otto said with visible disbelief, and continued, I muss be going, I hate deez dirt roads in vinter time. Motioning Dave to follow, he slowly walked to the door. When Dave was in front of the door, Mr. Otto pulled it wide open, and asked, Haf you been drinking?

Dave could not answer. Dave could not breathe. He could only look at the man who was staring at him from inside Mr. Otto’s car.

Nefer mind, said Mr.Otto, stepping from the porch. Ve vill see you soon! he added, opening the car door. He got in, started the engine, and listening to its quiet, powerful purr, he inquired Vell?

Ja, it is him!

Dave closed the door, and leaned back against it, needing to feel its support. His leg began to shake, his mouth dry, and a sudden urge to vomit! He fought against the sick feeling, and before the wide eyes of all the students, he removed the bottle from his pocket, and took a very large drink. Keeping the bottle in hand with the crutches, Dave slowly made his way to his desk and sat down heavily, his face pale and drawn. He did not know how much time he had. Hours, days, or possibly even weeks, but they had found him; so, it was only a matter of time. He had to get to Lydia, and he had to do something about that stupid compass.—Compass?—Well, he hadn’t come up with a proper name for the damned thing, but he couldn’t let the Nazi’s get their filthy hands on it again. For an uncontrollable moment, David was reliving his last days at Princeton when he tried to demonstrate how his invention worked. He recalled the humility as his fellow classmates made honking sounds, flapping their arms like wings, laughing, honking, and laughing until he could take no more. He had only said: His device worked from the senses, like a snow goose or duck would know which way to travel, or a psychic’s ability to find a lost or hidden object. More accurately, it analyzed and amplified your sixth sense, to point in the direction of a desired objective. No! No!! Not now! There is no time to think like this, he scolded himself. I must do something!—Darned leg!—Darned Nazi’s!—Darned compass!

I’m sorry, Mr. Spaulding, said Andy, standing in front of his teacher; we didn’t mean to get you into any trouble.

Dave looked up into the remorseful eyes of Andrew Justice, who was thinking that all of his teacher’s problems were of his making. Andrew Justice was a strong, smart, young daredevil, but—, Dave considered, Andrew also had heart. Maybe, maybe—. Dave cleared his throat, and in a quiet voice he said, Andrew, I’d like to see you after school.

The remainder of the afternoon passed with the students singing Christmas carols, and chattering quietly among themselves discussing this exciting day. Though believing they must leave their hero, Andrew, to some terrible fate, they were impatient for Mr. Spaulding to ring the clapper bell setting on his desk. The time finally arrived and not forgetting they were starting Christmas vacation, they hurried jubilantly to the cloakroom and grabbing hats, coats, overshoes, and lunch-boxes, they ran out the door waving farewells, and shouting Merry Christmas!

Most of the children were going on home, but a couple had brought skates for an hour of fun, skating on Bottomless Lake. The original name, Tuttle Lake, was nearly forgotten or never heard of by anyone around, including those that skated, fished, or swam there. The very descriptive name of the lake started from the plain truth: it was very, very deep, with some depth numbers ranging from fifty to a thousand feet. Whatever the figure, everyone in the area knew that you had to be careful around it, especially at the upper end where a small stream flowed into it and never froze.

Of course, there just has to be some daredevils,—like Andy’s brother Jerry and his friend Lyle. Lyle had just purchased a 1930 Model A Ford (with help from his father) and was showing it to Jerry when they decided that Jerry should, try it out, and drive Andy home from school. The children were just leaving, as Jerry pulled into the schoolyard and stopped.

Jerry waved Charley to the car. Hey, Charley! Where’s that dumb-butt little brother of mine?

He’s in there, nodding toward the school, talking to the teacher. This your car? asked Charley, wanting to change the subject.

Got himself in trouble again, huh? Jerry asked, disregarding the question.

It’s mine, Lyle said proudly, from the right seat. Like it? he added.

Yeah. Wish I had one.

Ya gotta grow up first, Charley, Lyle said with a laugh.

What’s he done this time? Jerry probed determinedly.

Ugh,—I don’t know.—Hey, I gotta get home. I’ll see you guys. Charley said, turning to leave.

Hey Charley! Who drove down to the lake? Jerry asked, pointing to the tire tracks leading from the schoolyard to the nearby lake.

That’s ole man Farber. He goes down there and fishes through the ice. Drives his pick—up right out on it. Old man’s nuts!

As Charley turned to leave again, Jerry put the car in gear and headed down the tracks left by old man Farber, going to the lake. Charley watched the car for a few seconds, then shaking his head at the obvious stupidity,