Granddad Danny

Granddad Danny

A short story By Amanda Bonesteel

Part One

The young man walked quietly into his grandfather’s room, stepping lightly as not to disturb the sleeping figure in the sterile-looking hospital bed. Connected to a myriad of wires and tubes, James’s granddad looked even older than his 90 years, if that were possible. The simple fact that the man had made it this long was a testament to the willful, stubborn man that Daniel had been during his long life. He should have rightfully died at any point during one of his wild adventures gallivanting around the world and always coming back with tales of near-misses and risky encounters told in his off-hand and calm way, like he was discussing what he did at the office that day, or what he had for lunch.

Well, Granddad wouldn’t ever be going on any adventures again, but he might last long enough to see then end of one of the greatest mysteries of the latest century. The cancer might kill him sooner rather than later, so he had to speak with his youngest grandson sooner as well. As James stepped past the bed to reach out and close the curtains, Daniel mumbled and reached his hand out to him.

“Granddad, I thought you were asleep- you should be. You need your rest and it’s late,” James said quietly when he noticed his grandfather’s entreaty. “It’s past ten already.”

Daniel hushed James quietly, patting his hand towards the floor in a keep-it-down sort of motion, then waving James closer to the bed. James sighed and pulled the chair that never left the bedside up close and sat, thankful to be off his feet for a moment.

“How you doin’ Granddad? Do you need anything?” James loved the old man, and during these last few months was never to be found far from Daniel’s side. He’d even given up his rather cushy job in Seattle to come be with his granddad out here in Montana, close to the middle of nowhere.

“I’m as well as can be expected,” Daniel rasped out, making a gesture for the cup of water on the bedside table. “I have something for you, and something for you to do for me.” James nodded, assuming Daniel meant to give him some old trinket he’d found in South America or India on one of his travels. He’d frequently given his grandkids little treasures- foreign money, semi-precious stones, hand-painted pottery, and other presents that were usually not terribly expensive but unique enough to entertain them. That the presents came from him was really what counted. Granddad Danny wasn’t a big man, he was quiet, reserved, and patient.

He’d lived out here in Condon, Montana, for as long as James could remember and James’s mother said that he’d moved out here just before she was born, as she heard it. She’d grown up in between the two mountain ranges that made the Swan River Valley, and as soon as she was 18 she’d run like hell for the city. There’s not much in Condon now except for a gas station which doubles as a grocery store and a bar. In 1989 when Lucy was 18 there was even less than that. The nearest town was Seeley Lake, still tiny back then, and Missoula was two hours away in good weather, to say nothing of Montana’s winter road conditions. So Lucy, being almost as adventurous as her father at that age, fled for Seattle where she’d met a nice young college man by the name of Jack, and the rest as they say is history. Currently Lucy was asleep upstairs and Jack was in Seattle making money so that his wife could stay at her father’s side while he died.

Daniel took the cup of water from James’s hand and sipped lightly, hands shaking. After James put the cup back to its resting spot on the table his grandfather said to him, “I need you to do something for me,” again. James just nodded and mumbled an affirmative. “No James, I need you to do something and it’s important.” His grandson perked up at this since his granddad rarely was ever forceful unless it really was important.

“James. Go up into the attic and take this with you.” As he said these words, Daniel pointed to his wallet sitting on the dresser across the room. “Bring it here first.”

James raised an eyebrow at his grandfather but did as he was asked, handing it to the old man without saying a word- Daniel would tell him when he wanted to tell him. His granddad opened up the ancient and dry-rotted wallet and shook open a small, inner side pocket. Something small and dark fell out onto Daniel’s lap, and he picked it up gently and held it out for James to take. It was a small key.

“You know that space in the attic where you kids liked to play so much? In the back?” James nodded. “Go up there, and lift up the rug that’s under the trunk. That trunk is heavy, so maybe just pull it out of the way on the rug. One of the floorboards under there is loose, and there’s something under it for you. Be quiet- don’t wake your mother.” Daniel sat back, a little out of breath, and waved James out the door.

His granddad wasn’t usually this cryptic. Private yes, Daniel had always been private about parts of his life, but never cryptic or sly. So James was intrigued as he made his way silently up the stairs, past the closed bedroom door where his mother was lightly snoring, and as quietly as he could pulled the cord to the drop steps of the attic. The wooden steps unfolded with a little rattle and squeak but nothing that would wake his mother down the hall. As he climbed the rickety old thing into the dusty space above, childhood memories flooded him. He and his sister would practically live up here when they came to visit Granddad as children, especially when they visited in the wintertime when Condon was snowed in and the heat rising from the rest of the cabin made the attic the warmest place to be. He smiled to himself with those memories. His mother would pack them a lunch and a thermos of hot chocolate and they would play with the treasures that Granddad Daniel had brought home over the years.

Toward the back, in the Northwest corner of the attic, still stood the old chest that had housed books and figurines and other things of interest that James and Katherine had played with during those between years- not quite little and not yet teenagers. Old enough to be left alone but young enough to have plenty of imagination left. That trunk had sat in that corner ever since James could remember, and it had sat on the same rug all that time as well. A faded, matted old thing so old that the pattern wasn’t even apparent anymore. As kids they had never even considered moving the trunk- it was far too heavy, and the items inside it were interesting anyway. Even now, as James grabbed a couple of handfuls of the musty old rug and tried to pull the trunk out of the corner it took more effort than he had thought it would. It was heavy. He chuckled to himself as he imagined Granddad quietly playing a trick on him and having had someone fill the trunk with bricks. Then he became melancholy because he knew that his beloved grandfather wouldn’t be playing quiet little tricks on anyone soon.

With that somber thought he gave a heave and finally got the trunk and its rug out of the way. Underneath were the same floorboards that covered the test of the attic. As he crouched down for a closer look, he could see that one board had a couple of tiny notches on one end, where he imagined his grandfather must have used a tool or knife to lift the board from its home in the floor. James took out his own pocket knife and wedged the tip into one of those notches, easing up the end of the wooden plank carefully, lest it fall back and clatter back to the floor, waking up his mother beneath. The small piece of oak came away, and in the hole was a small what seemed to be a box or chest. It wasn’t very big- less than a foot long and slightly less wide than that, and about 3 inches tall. And it had a latch that was locked shut.

As James slowly sat down on the dusty attic floor, he wondered what would be in the plain little box. It wasn’t anything special- maybe an old military box? It was steel and painted green, and obviously older than he was. Money? Coins from some faraway place, maybe illegally gotten? Curiosity and imagination getting the better of him, he pulled the little key out of his pocket and carefully twisted it in the lock. It turned smoothly, and the latch popped up. As he lifted the lid, imagination still trying to run a little wild, he was almost disappointed to see a little, plain, black book inside. Small, maybe six inches by four, it was weather-worn, leather, and a little torn up on the corners. The bottom edges of the pages looked perhaps water-stained as he thumbed through the first few pages.

As James started reading the first couple of age yellowed sheets inside the small black book, he started to realize that it seemed to be directions on how to get somewhere. The writing was obviously his grandfather’s, but hastily scratched, unlike his usual neat and tidy handwriting. Some of the writing was a mystery to him it was so ill-done, and eventually he closed up the journal, replaced the trunk and its rug, and headed back down to his granddad’s room.

Daniel was sleeping lightly when James opened the door but appeared to wake up quickly and his eyes brightened when he saw the little black book in his grandson’s hand. “You found it. Good. Now come sit down- I something I need you to do for me.”

Part Two

James hadn’t done much hiking in several years. Ever since his promotion at the firm, he’d simply been too busy to think about such things. The last time he could remember going on any sort of real hike or backpacking trip was his summer after college, before grad school. Having just turned 30 and pursuing his career with full force, a morning run or an evening at the gym was about all he had time for lately. So while he wasn’t necessarily out of shape, he WAS out of practice.

Out of practice or not, James was starting to remember just how much he loved the wilderness of the Pacific Northwest. It was vast and varied, and right now he was in a place called the Silver Star Scenic Area, a place where he had never ventured. Just outside of Portland, Oregon, the Silver Star area is a rocky, mountainous area in the Gifford Pinchot National Forest with abundant hiking trails and vast vistas. Silver Star Mountain is its crowning glory- once on its peak one can view Mounts Rainier, St. Helens, and Hood and even downtown Vancouver on a clear day. However, he was not headed for the mountain peak and its panorama scenery today.

According to his granddad’s tattered old journal, Daniel had made a trek through these mountains many years ago. The beginning of the adventure was unclear to James- the first 4-5 pages in the little black book were missing, and the story began with his grandfather stopping at some undisclosed location and picking up supplies. From what James could decipher Daniel had planned an expedition into the mountains and instead of carrying everything in at once he had stashed some equipment somewhere to help his adventure along, perhaps in a cabin or cairn in the area, perhaps in the tiny town of Dole. Where ever his grandfather had stashed his stuff, the diary entries seemed hastily scribbled at first, and becoming neater and more coherent as time passed.

James’s granddad had been very clear- follow the route he himself had taken in the book. The area, while beautiful, was easy to get lost in, rugged, and remote. Daniel had told him that it would take several days to reach his destination, and when James had balked because of his grandfather’s current health, Daniel had insisted- forcefully- that James do this for him. He had told James that he wouldn’t kick it that quickly, and he promised with some humor not to die before his grandson returned. So here James was, decked out in long unused backpacking and camping gear and loaded down with a week’s worth of food, a topo map, compass, and a little black book. He had to admit he liked this adventure.

Some four days into his expedition, James found his stride and was easily making over 20 miles a day headway. While still curious about what could possibly be out here that his grandfather wanted him so badly to retrieve, he had immersed himself in the feeling of being outdoors again, away from the city. A profound calmness had come over him, and he could not remember the last time he’d felt so at peace. The world out here was a much simpler place.

On day seven his map, compass, and journal lead him to a side canyon, following a small tributary of the Lewis River. The canyon was dark and narrow, but fairly dry at this time of year. One could see where the floodwaters would tear at the sides of it during the spring melt, and just how high up those waters could be. As he entered the canyon, crossing and re-crossing the stream several times, he had a sense that he was at the end of his journey. This was a place for hiding, whether it was a person or something else less alive. A couple of miles in, another short canyon split off of the first and dead-ended among some slot canyon pools and boulders. It was apparent that this place was saved from the majority of the floods that would normally rage through the canyon proper, as this place didn’t have a stream running through it to pick up water and speed for miles. No, it held a couple gentle pools and the sides of its walls were hung with ferns, mosses, and some flowering plants and vines that James could not identify.

This was the place.

The little black book described this wild nook in all its beauty and serenity. James was profoundly moved by this place, knowing that his grandfather had stood in this same spot 50 years ago and it remained mostly unchanged. He imagined that his granddad must have held the same sense of wonder and peace that he was feeling now, and for a few moments he simply stood there and took in the sights, smells, and sounds of the little grotto.

But then he got to work. The journal was not so specific that it pinpointed where the supposed item or items were to be found, but simply that Daniel had “left it in the cove, where it would never be disturbed until I wanted it to be”. That was OK with James- he was enjoying exploring the area around the pools almost as much as he was looking for whatever it was that the old man had hidden here.

As the sun was setting and the canyon was quickly becoming shadow-filled, James decided to make camp here and continue searching in the morning. As he looked for a flat space to put up his tent, he noticed something. In the area where he was about to start pounding his tent stakes into the ground, there were three large boulders, spaced just far enough apart and with a lovely flat piece of earth between them just big enough for a person to sleep comfortably. The boulders were described in the little black book just as they stood today, as protecting that little area from the onslaught of the elements. Protecting it...

James scrambled to his pack and found the small folding shovel and immediately began digging in the area between the rocks. His gut told him that this was the location, and he worked with a fervor. About a foot down, he ran into what looked to be carefully placed smaller rocks, laid over the top of more earth and set like rip-rap, like bricks in an old road, fitted together to form a protective surface. It took him no small amount of effort to dig to the edges of these stones and begin prying them out one at a time. The light had faded by the time James removed the last of them, and he made himself stop and put on his small headlamp to continue. He wasn’t about to wait until morning at this point.

His work went quickly once the layer of stones was out of the way, and within the hour he had dug down yet another several inches when his spade hit something that did not feel like rock or hard dirt. Scraping away at the spot he could tell whatever it was was flat, and sounded like metal when he tapped it with the tip of the shovel. A few more minutes of scraping away revealed the top of what appeared to be a small metal box, military by the look of it.

Prying the container out of the hole in his once-perfect campsite, James dusted it off and inspected it critically. It was maybe the size of a pad of paper, 8”x11”ish, and about 4 inched deep. It had some weight to it, and James marveled a bit at how and why his grandfather would have hiked so far carrying it to this place.

It was also locked tight and he did not have a key.

For a moment James thought about simply busting it open with a rock, but his granddad had asked him to fetch it, and said nothing about opening it nor given him any type of key. He hadn’t told him not to open it, either, but being a man of integrity James held his curiosity in check and refrained from damaging the container. Besides, it was now fully dark, he was dirty and exhausted, and the prospect of carting this box out of the wilderness was a little daunting. Putting it in his backpack to be tomorrow's problem, he rinsed off in one of the pools, laid out his sleeping pad and bag without bothering with a tent, and quickly drifted off.

Morning had James looking at his maps in order to ascertain the fastest way to a main road or a town, since now he desired to get back to his grandfather as quickly as possible. Surprisingly, he saw that he really was only a day’s hike out to a highway. He would never have found the canyon where the box was hidden had he attempted to take any other route than the one laid out by his grandfather, but he sighed a little to himself at how much easier it would have been to start from that end! He packed his things, settling the metal box in the bottom of his backpack under his tent and sleeping bag. It would not have fit at the beginning of his journey, with all the food he’d stuffed in his bag.

That same evening he heard the sound of a car in the distance, a sound now almost unfamiliar to him and almost intrusive. Shortly he found the road where the car sound had originated and started walking along the shoulder, waiting for another vehicle to pass so he could attempt to flag down a ride. Part of him was saddened that the journey was over, but he was excited for a real shower, hot food, and to see his grandfather again. He’d been worrying that he would get back only to find that the old man had passed away, and he hadn’t been there. Before too long a truck came over the hill, and James waved and stuck his thumb out. By a stroke of luck the truck slowed down and pulled over- hitchhiking was never this easy, he thought as he climbed in. The middle-aged man driving the truck asked James where he was headed and made some small talk, but after a few short minutes James dozed off, exhausted and glad to sit on something soft once again.

James pulled into his grandfather’s driveway less than two days later, several pounds lighter and his face a little hairier. His mother made a remark about needing a shave and a decent meal, but he wanted to see Daniel right away. His grandfather seemed frailer than when he’d left, but he was still holding on and for that James was thankful. He peeked in and saw that his grandfather was awake, and he entered the room quietly and sat down next to the bed.

“You look like hell,” Daniel chuckled, and then coughed, trying to catch his breath.

“I imagine I do,” James smiled at him, trying not to allow his worry and heartache for his granddad show. He waited.

After a minute or two, Daniel asked him if he’d found anything.

“Oh yes. And luckily for me the hike out while carrying it wasn’t as long as it was to get to it!” he laughed. “Do you want it?” he teased.

“Bring it here,” Daniel said quietly, now quite serious.

James went to his ratty backpack and dug out the box that was still nestled under his gear and brought it to his grandfather. Daniel inspected it, seeing the still-intact lock, and eyed his grandson, who shook his head, smiling. “I didn’t open it.” Nodding his grandfather directed James to the dresser and one of the top drawers, which looked for all the world like a common “junk” drawer filled with mostly useless things that people tend to collect. Daniel told him to find the chain with the dog tags.

Dog tags? James thought to himself.

Curiosity to the point of bursting, but knowing that his grandfather wouldn’t be rushed, he dug around until, towards the back of the drawer he finally found the chain with the dog tags, and something else, on it. The something else was a key.

Handing the chain quickly to his grandfather he watched him take it and insert the small key into the still dusty lock on the box. Mesmerized and having no idea what was in there, James didn’t take his eyes off Daniel’s hands as he popped the lid open, sighed, and then grinned at James like a little boy. He turned the open tin towards James, and revealed several stacks of bills, all as neat as if they’d been packed in there yesterday.

“Granddad, where did it come from?! Don’t tell me you robbed a bank when you were younger or something,” James laughed a little. There looked to be about twenty thousand dollars in the box, give or take.

“Well, not exactly. And this money is worth a lot more than just the price of the bills,” Daniel said, now looking sly and keeping his voice down. “I don’t have much longer for this world, you know, and it is time that a certain story is laid to rest when I am. James, when I am gone, you’re going to call the FBI and tell them something.” James was shocked at this turn in the conversation. “You might get some reward for the information you give them, but more than that I know how much you love to write stories, even though you haven’t had time lately.” James had loved writing and reading fiction when he was younger, even winning a high school short story contest, and he loved old unsolved mysteries. He was especially fond of listening to PodCasts on his commute to and from work in Seattle, the ones about mysteries like Dyatlov Pass, missing flights like Amelia Earhart, lost treasure, and the like. He and Daniel had had many a conversation about various mysteries whenever he would visit.

“Well, what I’m about to tell you will give you a nice story and solve a mystery. Are you ready for a story like that?” Daniel whispered, grinning.

James could only nod. And when his grandfather picked up the dog tags and held them out to his grandson, the story became perfectly clear.

The dog tags had a name on them, one that anyone who loves a good real-life mystery would recognize…

D.B. Cooper.