<< Go Back

Saving Mount Rushmore: Saint Michael the Archangel Academy-Mission 1

By Andrea Jo Rodgers

Order Now!

CHAPTER 1

“There’s been a change in our summer plans. We’re going to Africa.”

Upon hearing his father’s words, John Jenkins’s jaw dropped, and he nearly tipped backward off his kitchen stool. Struggling to regain his balance, he lurched forward and grabbed onto the edge of the granite countertop. “Really? Africa?” He’d be the envy of all his classmates.

“I’ve been offered a terrific opportunity to spend the summer at a dig site called Olduvai Gorge in Tanzania,” John’s father, an archeology professor, explained as he pushed his glasses farther up onto the bridge of his nose.

John’s mother, an emergency room physician, placed her hand on her husband’s
shoulder. “And I’ve decided to go with him. There are many people in Tanzania who need medical help. The hospital has agreed to let me take a leave of absence, and they’ve donated a bunch of medical supplies for the cause.”

“Awesome. I want to help, too,” John said. “I know CPR, and I took a basic first aid course at school a few months ago.”

John’s mom gave him an “isn’t-that-so-sweet-of-you-to-offer” smile as she pulled
her long, dark hair back into a ponytail. “Actually, I’m bringing Kaycee to help.”

Kaycee was sixteen but acted like she was already eighteen. She flashed him a
superior look. “You’re way too little to go on a mission trip. Mom and Dad are sending you to stay with Great-Aunt Martha in South Dakota.”

Kaycee was a big-time eavesdropper. She didn’t seem surprised by their parents’
announcement, so John figured she must have previously overheard them discussing it. He glared at her. “No, I’m not. I’m only three years younger than you. I haven’t even seen Aunt Martha in ten years,” John protested. “Why send me there?”

Kaycee shrugged. “They’re sending Wyatt to spend the summer at Grandma and
Grandpop’s house in Maryland.”

At the sound of his name, Wyatt paused from playing with his toy trucks. “Hurray! Grandma and Grandpop’s house.”

“Why does he get to go to Grandma and Grandpop’s?” John frowned as he sprung
to his feet. It didn’t seem fair that his four-year-old brother would get to visit his grandparents, while he was being sent to a state more than halfway across the country.

“Now Kaycee, that’s enough. John, you know Wyatt still wets his bed. I’ll have to remember to senda mattress protector with him.”

“Why can’t I go with him?”

“Your aunt really wants to see you. She said she has big plans for you.”

John eyed his mother suspiciously. “What kind of plans?”
“Oh, you know, this and that,” his mother replied vaguely as she began unloading
the dishwasher and putting dishes away.

“You’re going to fly to South Dakota with me, right?” John had never traveled by
himself before.

“I’m really sorry, but your father and I are busy with work, so we don’t have time to fly all the way to South Dakota and back. We need to tie up a bunch of loose ends before we can travel.”

“I’m only thirteen. I can’t go on a plane by myself.”

“You’ll be what’s called an unaccompanied minor. It’s a special program for kids
ages five to fifteen. We’ll drive you to the airport and get you safely on the plane. A flight attendant will help you with whatever you need.”

“So, he’ll have a babysitter,” Kaycee said, obviously relishing the discussion.

John ignored her. “If you take me with you, I promise I won’t get in the way,” he said, clinging to the hope that he could somehow change their minds.

“I’m sorry, but it’s all settled. Like I said, your aunt needs you.”

John highly doubted this statement. Why on earth would Aunt Martha need me? John
loved his parents. He really did. However, because of their careers, they were always busy. As the middle child, sometimes he felt downright invisible.

“Can Ranger go with me to Aunt Martha’s?” John asked. Ranger, a jet-black Belgian Shepherd (one of the smartest dogs to ever live, in John’s opinion), went with him everywhere.

“I’m sorry, but no,” Mr. Jenkins replied. “It’s too hard to put a dog on a plane.We’re sending him with Wyatt to your grandparents.”

“And anyway, dogs aren’t allowed to travel with unaccompanied minors,” Mrs.
Jenkins added.

On the morning that they were supposed to drive him to the airport, his mother
was called in to work at the hospital. “I’m really sorry, but it’s an emergency. Your father is going to bring you to the airport. He’ll take you all the way to the gate.” She kissed him on the forehead and hugged him goodbye. John’s stomach sank to his toes as he watched her disappear out the door.

He plopped down onto the kitchen floor next to Ranger and scratched him behind
his ears. John felt queasy at the thought of spending the summer at his Great-Aunt Martha’s ranch in Middle-of-Nowhere, South Dakota. What would he do without his buddies, Chloe Armstrong and Jackson Miller? The three had had big plans to go surfing at the New Jersey beaches and visit the boardwalk amusements parks, just like they did last summer.

“I’ll miss you,” Wyatt said, interrupting John’s thoughts.

“I’ll miss you too, buddy,” John replied, patting his brother’s head. He found a
small lollipop stuck in one of Wyatt’s red curls and pulled it out with a gentle tug.

“Time to go,” Mr. Jenkins said, but then took a work-related phone call just as they were about to depart. That made them leave twenty minutes later than they planned, so then it was rush, rush, rush. John hated every second of the ride. No Mom. No Chloe or Jackson. No Ranger. Just the prospect of what promised to be a long, boring summer with nothing to do on an out-of-the-way cattle ranch.

His dad seemed pre-occupied with whatever he’d talked about on the phone call
and with the heavy traffic. As they got closer to the airport, he turned down the radio and said, “Don’t worry. We’ll get you there on time.”

John wasn’t worried. He wouldn’t mind missing his flight. Maybe then his parents
would change their mind and take him to Africa after all. But no such luck.

Mr. Jenkins, tall and lean, used to run track in high school. Now, as they rushed through the airport, John had to practically run to keep up with his father’s long, effortless strides.

They passed through airport security, and before John knew it, they were standing at the departure gate. His dad waited until it was time to board the plane, and then gave him a rib-cracking kind of hug. “I love you, and I’ll miss you. Be good for your Aunt Martha.”

John nodded, too choked up to speak. He watched as his father’s narrow shoulders
disappeared from view as he melted into the crowd.

A kindly flight attendant escorted John to his seat, which was next to a window.
After listening to various safety instructions, they flew high up in the sky. He enjoyed gazing out into the clouds and watching as the buildings and cars grew smaller and smaller until they were just distant specks. He passed the time by watching a movie until the pilot said it was time to land. As the plane approached Rapid City Regional Airport, John felt like his stomach was flipping and flopping. What if I get lost? What if Aunt Martha forgets to pick me up today?

* * * *

As it turned out, John didn’t need to worry after all. Aunt Martha’s ranch foreman was standing at the airport arrival gate, holding a sign that read, “Welcome, John Jenkins.” Dusty Furman was a true-blue cowboy from his wide-brimmed Stetson to his dusty leather boots. He tipped his cowboy hat, firmly shook John’s hand, and simply said, “I’m Mr. Dusty. Welcome to South Dakota.”

“Thanks,” he replied. The airport was bustling with people walking in many
different directions. Dusty led him through the crowd to the luggage terminal and effortlessly grabbed hold of John’s new gray suitcase and duffel bag. He couldn’t help but notice it would take about four or five of his arms to equal one of Dusty’s.

As soon as they climbed into Dusty’s big brown truck, John texted his parents.
Landed safely. Love you. After a half-hour drive from the airport, Dusty pulled into a long tree-lined driveway. A wooden sign with the name “Winding River Ranch” hung near the entrance.

Now, John found himself gazing up at his aunt’s large, sprawling white farmhouse. It had a big, wide front porch with a neat looking wooden swing on the right side. There were large green fern plants hanging from the porch ceiling and lots of flower pots with colorful flowers lining each side of the porch steps. Just to the right of the bottom step was a large bronze statue of St. Michael the Archangel. An American flag,anchored on one of the porch columns, waved proudly in the breeze. There were several outbuildings, too, like a white garage with black shutters, which matched the ones on the house. Just a short distance away was a red barn with white trim work. Next to the barn was a chicken coop with a bunch of brown chickens strutting around and pecking at the ground. Overall, the ranch seemed warm and inviting.

Martha Jenkins rushed down the walkway toward John, reminding him of a
battleship moving swiftly through ocean waters. “Why, just look at you, John Jenkins. Aren’t you a scrawny little thing,” she exclaimed, engulfing her great-nephew in a giant bear hug until he gulped for air. “The last time I saw you, you were only knee-high.” She flashed a brilliant smile, her white teeth contrasting sharply with her very tan, extremely wrinkled face. Ever since her husband died a few years ago, Martha ran their small South Dakota cattle ranch on her own, with help from Mr. Furman.

John hated to admit it, but he was rather scrawny. At his home in New Jersey, he
was the skinniest boy in his class and the second shortest, too. He figured he probably wasn’t any taller by South Dakota standards. Other than his underwhelming stature, he was an average kid. He had short brown hair, brown eyes, and a bunch of freckles on his nose, which he hated. Last year, in what he liked to describe as a “science experiment,” he’d tried to scrub them off with bleach spray. It hadn’t worked, he wrecked his favorite T-shirt trying, and his mother had an absolute fit when she found out. She’d taken him straight to his pediatrician, Dr. Hornsby, who’d made him wear a Band-Aid on his nose for an entire week.

Four horses from a nearby corral came to the split-rail fence and nickered. “Always looking for a hand-out.” Aunt Martha laughed, pulling a few carrot pieces out of her floral apron pocket. She handed one to John, and he promptly fed it to a brown and white horse that nuzzled his forearm. “Cosmo’s a paint horse,” Aunt Martha said. “I think he likes you. Of course, the carrots might have something to do with it.”

John tentatively reached out and rubbed his neck. Although he’d taken a few riding lessons, he was more used to surfing waves than being around horses.

“Okay, I’ll see you two around supper time,” Foreman Dusty said, swinging John’s
suitcase, duffel bag, and navy-blue backpack out of the rear of the pick-up truck. “There’s a fence that needs mending in the far pasture,” he explained, waving one of his big, burly arms in the general direction he was heading. “We sure are pleased to have you visit, John.”

“Thanks,” John managed to say as he took hold of his bags. Suddenly, it hit him
how very far away he was from home. He knew he could text his parents with his cell phone. They had even bought him a laptop so they could have video chats, but it wasn’t nearly the same as being with them in person.

“Let me show you to your room and you can settle in,” Aunt Martha said kindly,
apparently sensing that he was fighting off a sudden wave of homesickness. “Then
we’ll have a nice afternoon snack.” It just so happened that the word snack was one of John’s very favorites.

After eating a delicious slice of warm, homemade apple pie topped with vanilla ice cream, John wandered along the brick path which connected the ranch house to the garage. Aunt Martha’s longhaired miniature dachshund, Custer, “velcroed” himself to John’s heels. Custer was small and skinny, just like John. Aunt Martha had adopted him a few years ago, after someone had abandoned him in nearby Custer State Park, in the Black Hills of South Dakota. Petting Custer made John think of Ranger, and he hoped his buddy was faring okay at his grandparents’ house.

“Wow,” John murmured as he pushed the barn door open. It was chock-full of just
about anything you could imagine: a horse carriage, a tractor, knick-knacks and bric-abrac,and a whole bunch of dusty antique furniture. He was magnetically drawn to a six-foot tall, wood-framed antique mirror. He glanced into the mirror and, for a second, he saw the reflection of someone else! He stared briefly at a young girl with shoulder length pigtails and a bright smile. Custer barked twice, and then the girl vanished. Now, all he could see was a skinny kid with a bunch of freckles. It’s just me.

He tapped the mirror and ran his fingers slowly along its frame. He didn’t notice anything unusual, except it wasn’t dusty like the other furniture in the garage. In fact, the mirror appeared amazingly spotless, like someone had recently cleaned it. Puzzled, he stepped back and looked at it from a distance. It appeared to be a normal mirror—the kind you might see in a big dressing room or walk-in closet.

He spent the next hour investigating some of his great-aunt’s antiques. He checked all the nooks and crannies in an old roll-top oak desk, hoping to find a secret compartment. He climbed up into the horse carriage to see what it might have been like to travel back in the 1800s. When he heard his aunt calling him, he jumped down from the carriage and headed back along the brick path toward the house. Custer, taking his lead, followed close behind. He found Aunt Martha in the kitchen, placing a pot roast, mashed potatoes, and corn on the table. The delicious aromas wafted into his nostrils, and his stomach growled loudly in anticipation.

“Did you find anything interesting out there?” she asked, gazing inquisitively at him.

John almost asked about the mirror but thought better of it. After all, he didn’t want her to think he was totally crazy by asking, “Aunt Martha, when you look into the mirror in your barn, do you see your own reflection or someone else’s?” Instead, he decided to play it safe and said, “You sure have a lot of antiques.”

“Oh yes, your Uncle Geoff was a big collector. I don’t have the heart to get rid of them. A few of them are quite special…” Again, Aunt Martha paused and looked him straight in the eye. He got the strangest feeling she wanted to ask him about the mirror, but he was determined not to take the bait.

Mr. Dusty entered through the back door, hung his hat on a hook, and joined them
at the kitchen table. “John, since it’s your first day here, why don’t you lead us in grace?”

John bowed his head and murmured a short prayer of thanks. When he finished,
they dug in. “Remind me where your parents are off to this time,” Aunt Martha said, dishing him out a helping of mashed potatoes. He used his fork to dig out a hole in the center and then poured in so much gravy that it spilled over and ran down the sides of his “potato-volcano.”

“They’re at a dig site in Tanzania, excavating fossils. I’m sorry they sort of dumped me on you,” John added, trying not to sound full of self-pity, like the poor kid whose parents didn’t want him around.

“Is that what you think, child?” Aunt Martha asked, wide-eyed. “Why, I told your
parents I needed you here with me this summer. Otherwise, they would have sent you with Wyatt to spend the summer with your grandparents.”

John was astounded. Why on earth would Aunt Martha need me? He’d honestly
thought his mother made that up just to make him feel better. He glanced at Mr. Dusty, hoping he might cast some light on the subject. However, Mr. Dusty was too busy chomping on a large mouthful of pot roast to add to the conversation. John’s mouth flapped open and closed like a freshly caught flounder, but no words came out.

“Didn’t they tell you about St. Michael the Archangel Academy?” Aunt Martha
asked, a frown crossing her face and giving her even more wrinkles.

“St. Michael the Archangel Academy?” John echoed, now thoroughly confused.
Custer nudged his shin under the table. Without thinking, he reached down and gave him a small piece of pot roast.

“Yes, St. Michael the Archangel Academy. We call it St. Michael’s for short,” she explained patiently. “It’s a top-secret school that helps authorities fight crime. Since you’ve turned thirteen, the academy has invited you to participate in your first mission.”

“Aunt Martha, I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” John said,
flabbergasted. Mission? What kind of mission?

“Haven’t you ever noticed there’s something special about you?” Aunt Martha
asked. “You know, a special gift? A God-given talent?”

John gave her a blank, confused stare. “Aunt Martha, I hate to break this to you, but look at me. I’m just a regular, average kid. There’s nothing really special about me.” He sneaked another look at Mr. Dusty. He was still chewing away, seeming to find nothing unusual about their conversation.

“Nonsense,” She clucked. “You wouldn’t have been selected for St. Michael’s if you didn’t have some sort of extraordinary God-given talent. I suppose it’s just hidden really well.” She seemed to emphasize the word really. “No worries, we’ll figure it out, by and by. And now, you must be exhausted from the long trip. Time for bed. We have to get up early tomorrow so I can take you to the academy.”

Before he went to bed, John texted his parents to say goodnight. He decided not to mention St. Michael’s yet. I wonder why they didn’t tell me anything about the school.

John climbed into his cozy bed, which had a cool stars-and-moon quilt. He went to sleep that night with his head spinning. He couldn’t imagine why he had been chosen by St. Michael’s. Is it possible there’s something truly special about me?

Order Now!

<< Go Back