Chapter 3: The Deal of a Lifetime
It was dark and stormy by nighttime. Milo and Emily both walked home from the museum feeling depressed and hopeless, because of today. First of all, Milo's proposal was rejected by the board, and Emily was called "a useless woman with that disability of yours" by their boss.
It serves me right for saying 'fat man' to Mr. Harcourt, Emily signed, feeling ashamed of herself. The brother and sister arrived at the entrance of their apartment, ready to call it a night. I don't know, Milo. He might be right. No matter how hard I work or how smart I am, I can't seem to persuade people to see how capable I am. Looks like I'm not cut out for anything, and I never will be.
"Don't be hard on yourself Em," Milo said, signing with his hands. "Never mind what Mr. Harcourt and the others said. I see you as a smart and enduring young woman. I think you express your sign language with your hands beautifully. They just don't see you the way I see you. I believe there are people out there who'll treat you as an ordinary human being."
The dirty blonde watched her brother's signs and gave a small nod. Watching the comfort and talk from Milo gave her relief and helped her to trudge on.
Thanks bro, I hope they'll do the same for you too, she signed, and embraced with her brother.
Milo took out a key from his pocket and unlocked the front door. He held it open for his sister as she walked in. The siblings walked through a hallway, went up the stairs, and reached the floor to where their home was. Milo and Emily decided that they would go to bed early and hopefully find a better day tomorrow.
Milo opened the door, and the room was pitch black with darkness.
"We're home," Milo called, dejectedly. "Fluffy? Here, kitty."
The young man and young woman walked to the center of the room. Milo turned on the switch to a ceiling lamp, but no power came on.
That's strange, Emily thought. Did our landlord shut our power off?
Thunder roared and lightning flashed, illuminating the whole room. Next to the window was a young mysterious woman in her early to mid-thirties. The woman was tall and had a slim figure, light skin, green eyes, a beauty mark on her left cheek, red lips, and long blonde hair.
She wore a sleek black dress with a long slit revealing her right leg, a fur hat, white earrings, a fur coat, black gloves, and black high heels.
"Milo James Thatch and Emily Beatrice Thatch?" the woman said.
The sight of her startled and alarmed the Thatch siblings.
"Who… who are you?" asked Milo. "How did you get in here?"
"I came down the chimney. Ho, ho, ho," the woman answered slyly, she sat down on a chair, crossed her leg, and lowered her coat in a seductive manner. "My name is Helga Sinclair. I'm acting on behalf of my employer, who has a most intriguing proposition for you two. Are you both interested?"
What kind of proposition? Emily signed, skeptically.
"Your… your employer?" Milo asked, scoffing. "Who's your employer?"
Several minutes later, thunder rumbled and rain began to pour harder on the earth. Milo and Emily were riding in Helga's car. The woman drove them towards the gate that leads to a grand mansion. The siblings looked over to their right to see a golden sign etched with black letters that read Whitmore.
The car drove up the cobblestone driveway and passed between two lion statues and soon enough, they arrived at the front doors of the mansion.
After entering the mansion, a butler took Emily's chocolate brown coat and Helga's hat and coat, while Milo removed his coat and glanced at a statue.
"This way, please," Helga informed them. Emily followed the woman, and Milo threw his coat on the floor.
"And don't drip on the Caravaggio," the blonde added. "Step lively, Mr. Whitmore does not like to be kept waiting."
The two siblings entered an elevator and Helga closed the door behind her. The elevator descended downwards, and Helga turned to Milo and Emily.
"You both will address him as 'Mr. Whitmore' or 'Sir,'", Helga began as she straightened Milo's glasses and clothes to make him presentable. Emily followed suit and straightened her dress. She looked up at Helga to read her lips.
"You will both stand unless asked to be seated," Helga added. "Keep your sentences short and to the point. Are we clear?"
Yes, Emily signed, balling her right fist and nodded it. But deep down, she was incredibly nervous to meet this Mr. Whitmore.
Milo also nodded and gulped nervously.
Soon, the elevator stopped at the lowest floor of the mansion. The room was massive with a dark atmosphere filled with pictures, weapons, and relics. There was a large aquarium filled with aquatic life on the right, and a large fireplace towards the center wall.
Milo and Emily stepped off the elevator and observed the room. They looked back at the blonde woman with hesitation.
"And relax," Helga said, before closing the gates to the elevator. "He doesn't bite… often." The elevator went back to the upper floors, leaving the Thatch siblings by themselves.
Milo and Emily each took a deep breath and held hands. They walked further into the room and observed all of the ancient relics and artifacts. The siblings were in front of the fireplace and glanced above at a portrait.
The portrait showed two elderly men, the man on the left was unrecognizable, but the other one on the right surprised the siblings.
"Grandpa?" Milo asked, himself.
"Finest explorer I ever met."
Milo and Emily turned around to see an old man with a silver beard, wearing a blue bathrobe as he twisted his leg while sitting on a mat.
"Preston Whitmore," the old man said, holding out his foot to the siblings. "Pleasure to meet you Milo and Emily."
Milo shook Mr. Whitmore's foot and Emily followed suit. Her nose wrinkled at the smell of his feet. The brother and sister watched as the old man used his other leg to snap his neck into position.
"Join me in a little yoga?" Mr. Whitmore asked, relieving tension from his shoulders and rib cage.
"Uh, no, no," Milo said, "Thank you. Did you really know our grandfather?"
How long have you known him? Emily asked.
"Oh, yeah," Preston said, before stretching himself, placing his feet on his shoulders. "Met old Thaddeus back in Georgetown." He grunted. "Class of '66. We stayed close friends till the end of his days." Whitmore cracked his metatarsals and phalanges. "Even dragged me along on some of his danged fool expeditions. Thatch was crazy as a fruit bat, he was. He spoke of you two often."
"Funny," Milo said, with an awkward smile. "He, he never mentioned you."
Then, why he didn't tell us about you? Emily signed.
"Oh, he wouldn't," Mr. Whitmore said, positioning himself in a headstand. "He knew how much I liked my privacy."
While in his headstand, Whitmore's robe fell down and exposed his lower body. Emily gasped and covered her eyes.
"I keep a low profile!"
Milo touched Emily's shoulder, making the dirty blonde uncover her eyes and instructed her to look down at the old man's face. The siblings knelt down until they were face-to-face with Preston.
"Mr. Whitmore, should I be wondering why Emily and I are here?" he asked.
"Look on that table," Preston said, pointing over. The siblings looked over to a small ornate wooden round table to find two goblets and a package.
"It's for you," Whitmore added, as he stretched his legs in a Thai Chi pose.
The package was wrapped in yellow paper and tied with a thin brown rope. On the paper was handwriting and it read, For Milo and Emily. With Love, Thaddeus Thatch.
"It's…" Milo read the message and looked back at the man. "It's from my grandfather."
"He brought that package to me years ago," Whitmore said, forming another pose. "He said if anything were to happen to him, I should give it to you and your sister when you were both ready. Whatever that means."
Milo unwrapped the paper and gasped. It was a book. The book had a brown leather cover, gray metal edges on the corners, and at the center was a golden Atlantean symbol.
This wasn't an ordinary book.
It was the JOURNAL!
I don't believe it! Emily signed, her brown eyes widening.
"It… It can't be," Milo said, in disbelief, removing his glasses. "It's The Shepherd's Journal."
All this time, Grandpa had it! Emily added.
The siblings turned to Preston as he was downing his two glasses of water.
"Mr. Whitmore, this journal is the key to finding the lost continent of Atlantis!" the young man said.
"Ha! Atlantis!" Whitmore said, laughing. He went behind his dressing screen to change back into his regular clothes. "I wasn't born yesterday, son."
"No, no, no," Milo insisted, putting his glasses back on and opened the Journal, scanning a few pages. "Look. Look at this. Coordinates. Clues. It's all right here."
Mr. Whitmore poked his head out from behind the dressing screen.
"Yeah, looks like gibberish to me," he scoffed, before going back behind the screen and threw over his bathrobe.
"That's because it's been written in a dialect that no longer exists," Milo said.
"So it's useless," Preston said, wearing a white shirt and went back to getting dressed.
"No, no, just difficult," Milo said. "I've spend my whole life studying dead languages. It's not gibberish to me."
Mr. Whitmore exited from behind his dressing screen. He was dressed in an evening suit, consisting of a white dress shirt, red necktie, ivory jacket and trousers, black dress shoes, and a brown cane.
"Ah, it's probably a fake," he said.
"Mr. Whitmore, our grandfather would have known if this were a fake," Milo argued. "I would know. I will stake everything I own, everything that I believe in, that this is the genuine Shephard's Journal."
That's right! Our grandfather would never always come up with make-believe or lies, he would always follow his heart and mind to prove it! Emily insisted.
"All right, all right," Mr. Whitmore said, they made their way to a table by the aquarium and he took a seat. "So, what do you kids want to do with it?"
"Well, I'll…" Milo stammered, wanting to find a way to get funding. "I'll get funding. I mean, I'll… The museum…"
"They'll never believe you," Preston said.
"I'll show them! I will make them believe," the young man insisted with determination.
"Like you did today?" Whitmore asked, having heard about what happened at the muesuem today.
"Yes! Well, no." Milo palmed himself on his head and muddled his words. Then, he shot at the old man. "How did you… forget about them, okay? Never mind! I will find Atlantis on my own. I mean, if I have to rent a rowboat!"
I'll go with you. No matter what anyone says, I will always believe in you and stick with you, Milo, Emily added.
Expecting to hear a comment of sarcasm, Mr. Whitmore smiled in contemplation.
"Congratulations, Milo and Emily," he said. "This is exactly what I wanted to hear. But, forget the rowboat, kids. We'll travel in style!" Whitmore reached over the table to press a red button. Then a platform rose up in the middle. It revealed models of a grand submarine, trucks, diggers, dirigibles, transport vehicles, and planes. "It's all been arranged, the whole ball of wax," Mr. Whitmore continued.
Milo and Emily looked at the model set with curiosity. The young man picked up a model of a dirigible and spun the little propeller at the bottom with his finger.
"Why?" he whispered.
How did this happen? Emily asked.
Whitmore placed his hand on Milo's right shoulder and told the siblings, "For years, your granddad bent my ear with stories about that old book, I didn't buy it for a minute. So, finally, I got fed up and made a bet with the old coot. I said, 'Thatch, if you ever actually find that so-called journal, not only will I finance the expedition, but I'll kiss you full on the mouth.'"
He picked up a framed photograph. "Imagine my embarrassment when he found the darn thing," he smirked, showing Milo and Emily the photo of himself wiping his lips and Thaddeus holding the book and spitting after their bet.
Eww! Gross! Emily signed, sticking out her tongue in disgust.
"Now, I know your grandfather's gone, Milo and Emily," Whitmore said, placing the photograph down and walked over to the fireplace. "God rest his soul, but Preston Whitmore is a man who keeps his word. You hear that, Thatch?" He pointed his cane to Thaddeus in the painting in excitement. "I'm going to the afterlife with a clear conscience, by thunder!"
He chuckled for a bit and sighed in sadness. Milo and Emily glanced at Whitmore. Milo began to sign for Emily when Whitmore spoke up.
"Your grandpa was a great man," Preston said, with sadness in his voice. "You probably don't realize how great. Those buffoons at the museum dragged him down, made a laughing stock of him. He died a broken man. If I could bring back just one shred of proof, that'd be enough for me. Ah, Thatch."
He turned around to change the subject, "What are we standing around for? We got work to do."
Preston made his way to the table, and used the hook of his cane to drag Milo back. Emily followed behind, her heart hardly believing that her and her brother's dream was becoming a reality.
"But, Mr. Whitmore, you know, in order to do what you're proposing, you're gonna need a crew," Milo said.
"Taken care of." Whitmore released his cane, making Milo fall backwards.
"You'll need engineers and… and geologists," he added.
How are we going to find them at such short notice? Emily asked.
"Got 'em all," Whitmore added, showing files and pictures of each crew member. "The best of the best. Gaetan Moliere: geology and excavation. The man has a nose for dirt. Vincenzo Santorini: demolitions. Busted him out of a Turkish prison. Audrey Ramirez: Don't let her age fool you. She's forgotten more about engines than you and I will ever know. They're the same crew that brought the Journal back."
"Where was it?" Milo asked.
"Iceland," Preston answered. He pulled out another photograph, showing Thaddeus and the crew members in Iceland, posing with the Shepherd's Journal to the siblings.
"I knew it! I knew it!" Milo cheered in excitement.
You were right Milo! It really was in Iceland! Emily signed with joy, and hugged her brother from behind.
"All we need now is an expert in gibberish," Whitmore continued. "So, it's decision time. You two can build on the foundation your grandfather left you, or you can go back to your boiler room and janitor job."
Milo and Emily continued to look at the photograph and thought very long and hard about their choice. For all of their lives, they wanted to prove to everyone around them that they can be capable of doing something grand.
"This is for real," Milo said, sitting down in a chair across from Whitmore and Emily sat in another chair.
"Now, you're catching on," the old man said, smiling and pointing his cane towards the young man.
"All right. Okay," Milo said, placing down the papers. "Emily and I will have to quit our jobs."
"It's done. You both resigned this afternoon," Whitmore said.
"We did?" Milo asked.
"Yep. Don't like to leave loose ends." The old man pulled out a handheld mirror.
"Um, my apartment," Milo said, remembering his and Emily's home. "I have to give notice."
"Taken care of." Preston used a pair of scissors to trim his beard.
"Our clothes?"
"Packed."
"Our books?"
"In storage." Mr. Whitmore sprayed air freshener in his mouth.
"Our cat?" Milo added. Then, a familiar white cat appeared on his left shoulder and gave a soft meow.
Emily gasped with surprise and relief and petted Fluffy. Their cat was at the manor all along.
"My gosh," Milo whispered.
Fluffy hopped off of Milo's lap and wandered around the room. Whitmore stood up from his chair and looked at the Thatch siblings.
"Your granddad had a saying. 'Our lives are remembered, by the gifts we leave our children.'" Whitmore said. He picked up the journal and handed it to the young man. "This journal is his gift to you, Milo and Emily." He held up the sibling's coats.
"Atlantis is waiting," Whitmore added, holding up the sibling's coats. "What do you say?"
"I'm your man Mr. Whitmore!" Milo said, grinning. He took his coat and accidentally put it on backwards. "You will not regret this! Boy, I am so excited! I can't even hold it in!" he stammered.
Emily beamed enthusiastically. Let's do this! she signed.