The Last Grand Adventure

by Rebecca Behrens

  “After dinner, we’ll take a peek at the lounge car,” Pidge said, “and the Pleasure Dome.”

  “The what?”

  “Haven’t you read ‘Kubla Khan’ in school?” I shook my head no. “What are they teaching you these days?” Pidge cleared her throat and recited, “In Xanadu did Kubla Khan a stately pleasure-dome decree.” She smiled. “Well, that part of my memory hasn’t failed me yet—some words I’ll never forget. Anyway, that’s famous old poem. Coleridge. I’m not quite sure why they used his words to name these fancy lounge cars, other than their domed windows.”

  “It must be pleasurable to see the view?”

  “Very true. Did you know that Meelie was also a poet?” Hadn’t Pidge already told me that? Sometimes she repeated herself. Pidge cocked her head like she was about to recite another poem, maybe one of her sister’s, but we were interrupted by our food. The red-and-white china plates had Southwestern designs on them—mine had a turtle, Pidge’s a deer. First out was an eclectic spread of olives, shrimp cocktail, and consommé—and, of course, two slender flutes of champagne. The way the waiters carried the trays of food and drink to the tables without spilling a drop, while the train shifted as it rolled along, was impressive. As soon as the waiter said, “Bon appétit” and slipped away, Pidge took a long sip of the champagne. “I don’t know that this is really the finest, but it’ll do.”

  I stared at my glass for a few seconds, watching the bubbles dance up the sides. Then I grabbed the thin stem and shakily raised it to my lips. I took a sip—and the taste was familiar. Ginger ale. “I don’t think I got champagne.”

  “That’s because I asked for a substitution,” Pidge said, matter of fact. “You might be my traveling companion, darling, but you’re not of champagne age.” Watching my face, she frowned sympathetically. “I suppose that’s not very fun, though. And I didn’t mean to trick you. Let’s get you something special.” She signaled to the waiter before I could respond. “A Shirley Temple, please?”

  I was disappointed, until the bubbly pink drink appeared in a fancy etched glass, topped with a bright red cherry. “Now, cheers to us!” Pidge said, clinking her flute against my glass.

  While we were eating our steaks—with fried onion rings, in my case, and mushroom caps, in Pidge’s—I noticed an attendant enter the dining car and stare at us for a few minutes. Were they on to us? I swallowed too hard, coughing on my steak. Pidge looked up at me, alarmed. “Have another sip, darling. Wash it down.”

  I gulped my Shirley Temple. When I looked up again, the attendant had left the dining car.

  Pidge wiped at her thin lips with her napkin. “I’m about done—are you?”

  I took a few more sips of my drink. I was getting full, but there was the matter of dessert: a strawberry shortcake with fresh whipped cream was awaiting me, whenever the waiter cleared my plate. “No dessert?” I loved strawberries. And I loved being in that beautiful dining room, eating such a grown-up meal while the train powered across the country.

  Pidge glanced in the direction of the waitstaff. “Only if you don’t dilly-dally.”

  I’d barely taken my last bite of shortcake when Pidge pushed back from her chair. “Let’s go, Beatrice. Others are waiting to eat.” She reached for my elbow and practically dragged me to my feet, with more strength than I knew she had. My napkin fell from my lap onto the carpet.

  I took one last longing look at the melted whipped cream and strawberry sauce waiting to be licked off my plate. I snatched the cherry from my drink, popped it into my mouth, and followed Pidge out of the dining room. I noticed that the maître d’ had stepped away. Was that why we were dashing out of there?

  Pidge led me to the adjacent lounge car. It was mostly empty, which surprised me except for the fact that it was nighttime by then and the incredible vistas passengers were promised to see along the rails were hidden by the velvety dark. Ruth is right about this being the best time to visit. A few couples sat in cushy chairs, playing cards or making use of the complimentary Super Chief stationery at the writing desk. Pidge and I made our way up the stairs to the Pleasure Dome on the upper level. There we reclined in two side-by-side chairs to look up at the stars. It made me dizzy—although maybe that was the fault of the Shirley Temple fizz that lingered in my pleasantly full stomach—to watch the night sky from a whizzing train. But it was so beautiful. The night was clear, and Pidge tried to point out constellations.

  “I’ve never looked at the sky the same way, ever since she left.” Pidge paused, interrupted by a yawn. “Now I always see the sky and wonder where Meelie is watching it from. Or if it’s even nighttime, wherever she is.” She leaned back and stared through the glass, her hand resting over her heart. I started to say something, punctuated with a hiccup, and Pidge made a soft shushing sound. “Let’s just drink in the night, shall we?”

  I curled up in my seat, staring overhead. Now that I was full, I felt warm and content and somewhat calmer than I had in a long time. Which didn’t make much sense, as I was on a secret trip with my grandmother, and we were stowaways on a train, headed to Kansas to see my famous great-aunt who the world had assumed was dead for the past thirty years. But all that aside—right then, at that moment, I was enjoying myself. I was enjoying the uncertainty, even. I smiled up at the heavens.

  Meelie. Could she be out there? Was she also on a train—or in a plane—somewhere, making her way to Atchison? I wasn’t yet sure I totally believed that.

  “Do you really think she’s coming back?” I whispered to Pidge. But in the seat next to me, she snored lightly. Her mouth was open, face slack, and she looked much softer and kinder than when she was awake. I shifted in my seat in time with a shake of the train car. The valise was by Pidge’s feet. It felt like the right place to pull out the next letter from Meelie.

  May 20, 1952

  My Dear Pidge,

  Today I’ve been remembering the flights that changed everything: my Atlantic crossings. Right now I feel the way I did in the days leading up to them—like something big is about to happen.

  When George asked me to be the first girl to fly across the “pond,” how could I refuse such a shining adventure? But I hesitated to divulge my plans, and so you and Mother found out about the Friendship’s flight from the press! That was rotten of me, and I’m sure it hurt you both to not know what I was up to.

  So as the pilots and I waited for the right conditions, I wrote a good-bye letter, just in case. “Hooray for the last grand adventure! I wish I had won but it was worthwhile anyway . . .” I truly didn’t know if I’d make it back. As I’ve said, the first hour we climbed up into the air was hands-down the most dangerous of my life. I barely moved until we reached altitude. Then Friendship sailed high over the sea, while I huddled in a fur-lined suit in between the fuel tanks, stealing their warmth. It was inky dark outside. I waited for dawn, with my nose pressed against the glass. Gliding over the ocean, from day to night and day again, felt like magic. I’ll never forget the sense of wonder.

  Or the fear. The clouds became thick as divinity candy, blocking the ocean view below. Then we realized the radio no longer worked. I stared so hard, searching for land, that my eyes kept tricking me. The Atlantic was an almost unimaginable amount of ocean. According to our calculations, we should’ve crossed it already. Fuel was desperately low.

  When we spotted an ocean liner, I dropped oranges tied up with a hastily scribbled note, begging for the ship to signal our location. I missed my target and hope sank along with the oranges. I thought about the letter I’d written before taking off. There were so many more things I wished I’d said to my sister before a final good-bye.

  But then, we saw tiny fishing boats. Ones so small they couldn’t be far from land! I rejoiced. Soon we touched down in a field in Wales—you know the rest of the story.

  I was proud of my Friendship flight. But I didn’t like that my entire career had been built around being a passenger, so years later I took on a new adventure to justify all that attenti
on. “Merely for the fun of it” is what I’d say, when asked why I was going to cross the Atlantic all on my own. But it was about more than fun; I had something to prove. And all I wished to do in the world was to be a vagabond—in the air.

  For good luck, I took along an elephant-toe bracelet, because elephants always remind me of Ellie and you. I should’ve brought old Donk, too, to tuck under my arm at tense moments. The flight was dangerous, and it required courage. The first few hours were uneventful, but at 12,000 feet and with moonlight dancing across the sea below, the altimeter failed me. I felt not horror, but awe at being alone with the stars.

  Then fear became my companion. A lightning storm—dazzling but terrifying—lit up the sky. Next, a seam of the plane parted due to a bad weld. I started to feel the slightest bit cursed. The plane began vibrating, but I flew on . . . into clouds that built up ice on the windscreen and sent me into a spin, toward the midnight-blue waters. When I righted the plane, I could see the foam of whitecaps. Pidge, disaster was that close.

  Despite all the dramatics, I still had to rely on smelling salts to stay alert as the hours stretched. I flew low because I decided I’d rather drown than burn, if it came to that. Oh, how I hoped it wouldn’t. Just when it seemed all might be lost, I spotted green. Ireland! Truly it was pure luck and divine providence that saved me that day—along with my own skill.

  Lacking an airfield, I landed in a large pasture. Fortunately I didn’t run over any innocent cows. I exited the plane with circles under my eyes and records freshly broken. Once the news hit stateside, I was flooded by telegrams: from the president, the Lindberghs, the British prime minister. Lady Astor’s thankfully said I could borrow her nightgown (I’d packed very light). The only telegram I kept, though, was yours. WE KNEW YOU COULD DO IT AND NOW YOU HAVE STOP CHEERS CONGRATULATIONS MUCH LOVE MOTHER AND MURIEL. I never told you how much having my sister’s support meant to me, Pidge—it meant the world. Truly.

  Those two record-breaking flights were the most important, surely, of my career. One started my adventures, the other proved they were my own. I went up in the air because I love life and all it has to offer, every opportunity and adventure it can give. But that pursuit has kept me away, and alone, for far too long. When I return, I hope for some shared adventures. After all, I can think of few things more important than my one and only sister.

  Yet you won’t be a “little sister” anymore. I’ll need to learn from you how things are nowadays. Pidge, please share your eyes with me. (I wish I’d spent more ink sharing mine with you, because in the air and on the ground wherever I landed, I saw wondrous things. But a typical big sister, I’d mostly nag you in whatever missives I sent during my flying days.) I truly look forward to seeing how you’ve piloted your own life, where your “flight path” has led you, and all the tricks you can teach me.

  My love,

  Meelie

  I placed the letter on my lap. How funny that Meelie had hidden her travel plans from her family, just like Pidge and I were doing. Would my family be hurt when they found out? And I hadn’t expected Meelie to describe being scared on her trips. I always kind of thought that brave people didn’t feel afraid when they were doing their daring things. It made me feel better about my own nerves.

  The train rattled and Pidge shifted in her seat. I folded the letter back into thirds and slipped it into its envelope. I reached for the valise next to Pidge’s left foot, accidentally bumping her heel in the process. She let out a startled snort and sat up in her seat, groggy. “Playing footsie with me?”

  “No, that was the valise. The train moved.”

  She rubbed at her eyes, which still held the haze of sleep. Pidge bent down and lifted the valise into her lap, toying with the latch. “Have you been reading them?”

  I nodded. “Two more.”

  “Tomorrow you should finish the rest. It’s hard for me to reread them all now, with my elderly eyes. And it’s hard on my soul. If I didn’t know that I’d be giving Meelie a hug again on Monday—I don’t think I could bear to remember all those moments from our past. I can think of few things more important than my one and only sister.” Didn’t Meelie write the same thing? It was sweet that they felt the same way about each other—maybe bittersweet, considering how long they’d been apart.

  Pidge reached over and patted my hand. “Use the letters to get to know Meelie. Before you have the pleasure of meeting her yourself.” She smiled at me. “Also, I’m very pleased that you’re a curious girl.”

  I smiled back, although hearing her praise also made a lump rise in my throat. I swallowed hard and looked skyward, thinking about Amelia’s words. A pale moon shone down on whatever terrain was outside the Pleasure Dome. I could still hear the chatter from the dining car and hushed conversations of people in the lounge below us, but stargazing through the glass I felt like Amelia might have on the Friendship. In a way, I could see why she liked feeling alone with the stars. I felt a sense of wonder too. But I was also kind of happy that Pidge was next to me.

  She yawned and nudged me. “Beatrice, I think we should probably find our bed.”

  “I suppose we should.” Which would be its own adventure, considering our situation.

  SEVEN

  Hide-and-Seek

  Pidge stood at the door to a sleeper car, pressing her fingertips into her temples while trying to remember if it was the right one. “Yes—the ‘Palm Leaf.’ I think this is ours.” I hadn’t even noticed that the different sleeper cars had names. Maybe Julie was wrong about Pidge’s forgetfulness problem.

  The Palm Leaf’s hallway was empty, so nobody saw us huddled outside our hideaway. It took Pidge a few tries to pry the door open and at first, I was worried that an attendant had locked us out. But it was simply that Pidge couldn’t work the handle. I shifted on my feet, remembering when she’d swatted away my help earlier. Finally, she got it open on her own. “These aging hands,” she clucked.

  The roomette looked the same as we’d left it—our luggage piled on the rack, the curtains open to the moonlight, the chairs facing each other like we’d interrupted a conversation. Hopefully that meant the porters still thought the room was empty.

  “Should we make up the bed?” I yawned. Sleepiness had hit me all of a sudden, traveling through my body fast. My eyelids drooped and my feet ached to be off the floor.

  “Yes, but I don’t suppose we know how.” Pidge rubbed again at the pale skin of her forehead.

  “I’ll figure it out.”

  Pidge smiled. “Good girl. We Earhart girls have always been the capable type.” That sounded familiar—had Pidge told me that before? Or was that in a letter? She leaned back against the door, closing her eyes as she waited.

  Right then, I really wished our adventure were a little more ordinary and we had someone to make up the bed for us. I took a deep breath and inched over to start fiddling with the chairs. It took some poking and prodding and indelicate yanking, but eventually I got them to slide into a bed shape. Pidge came up behind me with an armful of sheets and blankets she’d found in the closet cupboard by the door.

  “Let’s not be fussy, just arrange these good enough for us to sleep on,” she said, spreading a sheet over the chair-bed and dropping a blanket at the foot of it.

  “Are we going to fit all right?” The sleeping space was even narrower than I had expected.

  She twitched her mouth from side to side in a long hmm. “It’ll be cozy, that’s for sure.”

  I reached into my knapsack for my toothbrush and paste, then pivoted to the tiny sink to brush the sugar off my teeth. I didn’t even change into my nightgown first—I felt modest about undressing with Pidge in the room, and I didn’t have the energy to hunt for it in my suitcase. Pidge didn’t tell me I had to change out of my dress. Before she slipped out of her slacks and blouse and into a faded pair of women’s dotted pajamas, I stepped into the toilet compartment and shut the door. There was barely enough room to stand inside, and it had a weird antiseptic smell, like at the
doctor’s office. After I came out and washed my hands in the fold-down sink, I climbed onto the far side of the bed, closest to the cold edge of the window. Pidge checked again that the door was latched, then crawled onto the bed next to me. We were so close that the tip of my nose pressed onto her bony shoulder blade. I scooted closer to the window, tugging more of the blanket to cover me.

  Pidge fell asleep almost instantly. Her light snores punctuated the clack of the rails. What if someone checks on the room and catches us while we are sleeping? I lay awake, turned on my side so I could stare out the window. I wondered what kind of landscape we were hurtling past. I wondered what the people out there were like, what they did for a living. If they were happy. If they, too, looked up at the stars and missed people. Reading the letters and listening to Pidge talk about Meelie unlocked a feeling I tried not to acknowledge most of the time—I missed my mom.

  The rocking of the train made the bed feel like a cradle. It should have soothed me, but instead I missed her more. I squeezed my eyes shut and imagined being little again, with my mom sitting next to me while I fell asleep. She would have read with me for a while—as many chapters as I could beg of Harriett the Spy or The Cricket in Times Square. Or an old favorite, like The Runaway Bunny. Mom would smooth my hair and give me a kiss before turning out the light. How embarrassing is it that I still feel like I’m not ready to sleep without her tucking me in? Every now and then, Sally knocks on my door. When I open it, usually rolling my eyes, she says she wants to say good night. I thought about that for a few minutes. Maybe Sally feels as unsettled as I do with our hastily stitched-together family. Maybe Julie used to snuggle with her more at bedtime before they moved in with us.

  In her letters, Meelie seemed to miss her sister so terribly. Part of me wished I were close enough to miss my stepsister like that.