The Last Grand Adventure

by Rebecca Behrens

  I flipped over, without disturbing Pidge, and imagined what it would be like after our journey, when she and I were back in California—maybe even with Amelia. If we found her, which seemed like less of an if than it had this morning, before we left Sun City. Anyway, once my mom got past the whole leaving-without-telling-anyone part, and the stowaway stuff, I knew she’d be enthralled by our adventure. I’d sit down with her at the kitchen table, and I’d show her the pictures I’d taken on the trip. I’d let her read my adventure journal. We could work together on the exclusive she’d write about how Amelia was found again after thirty years. Then, the next time my mom wanted to whisk away to somewhere exotic or interesting or important, maybe I’d come along. I could picture it so clearly: The two of us, wearing matching blue jeans and jackets and dark sunglasses, deplaning in Washington, DC, or Saigon or Moscow. We’d both be clutching reporter’s notebooks, and I’d have my camera.

  Somehow, despite Pidge snuffling and snoring very close to me, I finally fell asleep. Deeply, although I was not fully rested when I woke up to nudges on my upper back. I peeked my eyes open—it was still dim outside, but you could tell that dawn was approaching. The edges of the sky were eager to turn to light. Why is Pidge already up?

  “What is it?” I mumbled. I pulled the thin blanket over my shoulders and up to hit my chin, but then my feet poked out at the bottom. I tucked my knees to my chest, now that I was the only person lying on the bed and had the space to do so without sending my grandmother catapulting to the floor.

  “Let’s go watch the sunrise,” Pidge said. “From the Pleasure Dome.”

  “We’ve barely slept.” I pulled the blanket over my head at the expense of my bare legs.

  “Beatrice, get up.” The urgency in her voice told me watching the sunrise wasn’t a lark.

  I considered plugging my ears and trying to ignore her, but Pidge nudged my back again. She yanked on the blanket, and I shivered as it swept over my shoulders and arms.

  That’s when I heard a knock on the door. Perhaps it wasn’t the first one—I had been sound asleep. Panic flashed across Pidge’s face as she stood, ramrod straight. “Don’t say anything,” she whispered to me. I sat up, pulling my knees into my chest and my feet onto the bed.

  Whoever it was knocked again. Did the handle jiggle? “Aren’t you going to answer it?” I whispered.

  Pidge raised a finger to her lips. Her jaw clenched. We waited for another knock, but it didn’t come. Maybe it hadn’t been a knock at all—maybe we’d only heard a noise from the tracks. The jiggle was the shaking of the train. If someone were going to come confront us for hiding in the roomette, I doubted that he would stop after two or three raps on the door. Perhaps the knocking was like the beneath-the-floorboards thumping in the story “The Tell-Tale Heart,” a manifestation of our own guilt for trespassing.

  I grabbed the blanket and tugged it around me like a shawl. “Can I go back to sleep?”

  “We should stay alert,” she said. “You can doze, and I’ll sit and watch the sun come up.”

  Pidge leaned against the window, and I curled up next to her, rolling myself into a cocoon of bedding. But the knocking had unnerved me. I drifted in and out of sleep, catching glimpses of the fiery morning sun popping up over the hills outside. The landscape had changed overnight: gone were California’s mountains and citrus groves now that we were in Arizona. I’d expected to see only desert: reddish dirt and those tall sand hills Pidge had told me about. Maybe cacti dotting the otherwise bare landscape. But this part of Arizona was rich with forests. Evergreen trees blanketed the hills in green. Pidge said they were ponderosa pines. Mountains in the distance were capped with snow. The sky was an impossible blue.

  The trained stopped in Williams Junction. “This is where the Grand Canyon is. Have you seen it?” Pidge asked.

  I shook my head no.

  She clucked her tongue. “Wish we had time to hop off and take a look. It’s one of the wonders of the world. There’s another train that connects here, takes you right to it.”

  By then the sun was all the way up, and the view was so nice that I was done with sleep. Still wrapped up in my cozy blanket cocoon, I hopped to the luggage rack and unzipped my knapsack. I took out my journals and my Brownie camera. I hopped back to my spot on the bed and stared through the viewfinder for a few minutes, waiting for the perfect shot. When I depressed the button, the light was hitting the train window in such a way that it cast halos on the edges. It made the thick forest outside look ablaze. The crisp sky was only dotted with cotton-puff clouds, a real change from the shroud of haze in Southern California that we call June gloom.

  I was getting hungry, but I was enjoying the view too much to go in search of breakfast. So instead, I wrote. For once, I had more for my adventure journal.

  Last night, I stargazed through the glass ceiling of the Pleasure Dome. I had my first champagne (well, Shirley Temple) dinner, too. My grandmother told me I was a “capable Earhart girl.” Just now I watched the sun rise over the mountains as we passed by the Grand Canyon. This part of the country is beautiful.

  I can’t wait to see what’s next.

  In my worry journal, I focused on whether my parents would ground me forever once we got back to California. It’s funny, but grounding seemed like a much worse punishment now that I knew that being far from home could be kind of exhilarating.

  By the time the train departed Winslow, Arizona, I could hear the slam of other roomette doors and the thumps of people walking down the hallway, probably on their way to the dining car. My stomach growled. “Pidge, is it time for breakfast?”

  “It’ll be too busy right now,” she said. “Why don’t I give you a snack instead?” She slowly stood up and hobbled over to her suitcase—maybe the cold air in our compartment last night had stiffened her limbs. I had a few aches from sleeping curled up against the window. Pidge rooted through her pocketbook to produce a package of partially crushed crackers and a brown banana. “Will one of these tide you over? Oh!” She turned to me, a worried look on her face. “You know, digging through here I just realized I forgot to pack my pills. Well, nothing we can do about that.”

  “Are you going to be okay?” Julie had said to make sure she took her medicine. “What are they for?” Her arthritis, or something else?

  Pidge waved her hand dismissively. “Eh, I don’t really need them anyway.” She reached back in her pocketbook and swiped around. “I also have this,” she said, holding up a slightly squished Twinkie.

  “Twinkies before breakfast?”

  “She of the marshmallow sandwiches dares to judge?”

  She has a point. I shrugged and took it from her. Although I was starting to crave a healthful meal, even the overspiced black bean stews my mother dreams up or the spaghetti Julie undercooks. Other than the steak dinner last night, I hadn’t had a real solid meal since the one I’d eaten at Disneyland.

  I finished the Twinkie and wanted to ask if she had another, but I decided I should wait. If I was starving at some later point in the trip, I’d rather not rely on the saltine crackers or the battered banana.

  The train rattled along. I itched to change my clothes into something fresh—and into pants. Pidge hadn’t worn a skirt since I met her, so I knew she’d approve. But I didn’t want to change in front of her and I was afraid if I went into the toilet area to switch outfits, one of my limbs would wind up in the bowl. It was hard to maneuver in there. So I stayed in my wrinkled dress and stared out the window, watching the majestic landscape but from within a thick pane of glass. It looked hot outside, but the air-conditioning kept us an artificial and stale cool. My skin wouldn’t stop getting goose-bumpy. I threw Neta’s scarf over my shoulders. We had crossed over from Arizona into New Mexico, and now the landscape had the stereotypical desert look I’d expected. Red, dusty sand and clear blue sky as far as I could see. The sun bleached everything. I took out my Brownie camera and took more pictures, trying to figure out how to best frame it so the sky loo
ked as wide and endless as it did in reality.

  “You like taking pictures, don’t you?”

  I nodded. “They can tell stories, sometimes just as well as words.” I was thinking of the magazine photos tacked all over my walls at home.

  She nodded appreciatively. “My grandfather would like you saying that. He used to tell Meelie and me, ‘Your eyes were given to you to see things and I want you to see and remember.’ Meelie did a better job than I did of seeing the world. Wondrous things.” That reminded me of Meelie’s letter, and the idea of sharing your eyes. “I hope her memory’s held up better too.” Pidge laughed.

  “I thought I’d take lots of pictures on this trip—to help me remember it. But I’m almost through a dozen exposures. I should slow down.”

  “Never!” Pidge shook her head. “We’ll just have to stop and buy you more film.”

  My stomach made a growl so loud Pidge startled. “Maybe I’ll go out and get a sandwich and a soda pop,” I said, standing up. “I’d like to stretch my legs.”

  Pidge yawned. “Isn’t it nice to relax here, though?”

  Perhaps her hesitancy to leave the roomette had something to do with the knocks earlier. But were we really safer from getting caught while we hid inside? Normally, the uncertainty of our situation would make me want to burrow into our space too. But some of Meelie’s gumption was rubbing off on me. I didn’t want to stay trapped in our compartment. I wanted real food, and a chance to explore the train on my own. “You can stay here,” I said slowly. “I am perfectly fine going out by myself to get something to eat.”

  Pidge studied me for a few seconds. “Pick up lunch for both of us, while you’re at it.” She fished around in her pocketbook and handed me some money. “I’ll eat anything but baloney.” I took the money, grabbed my Brownie, and scooted out the door. Pidge peeked her head out, whispering after me, “When you come back, knock three times so I know it’s you!”

  In the hall, I stopped to smooth down my matted hair and brush at the wrinkles in my dress. I looked a mess—like Sally when she woke up in the morning. Somehow she’s able to get her hair standing up every which way, and she always manages to lose a sock in her bed. It makes me laugh to see her stumble out of her room, sleepy and silly, like she got caught up in a Beatlemania mob. I felt an odd pang, like I missed her. If I ever wrote her long letters like Meelie’s, that would be a memory I’d include.

  I gave up on fixing my hair and wobbled down the car. It felt weird to walk after being cooped up in the cold roomette for so long. I didn’t want to go back to the dining room—I wasn’t even sure I’d be allowed in without Pidge, and the way the waiter and maître d’ stared at us last night was worrisome. I decided to head over to the El Capitan half of the train, where I could grab a couple of sandwiches from the lunch counter.

  As the train rocked, I swayed into the sides of the hallway. I thought of Ruth’s training wheels comment and smiled. Maybe I’d find her again. At the door to the transition car in between the two trains, I stopped. Through the narrow window, I could see where the gap was between the pieces that connected the cars. Below that, the slats of the track whipped by. I knew it was safe to cross over—people did it all the time. Ruth had said she walked the whole length of the train. I’d crossed between cars when we boarded and when we went for dinner the night before. It hadn’t bothered me then, when I was walking double-time to keep up with Pidge’s determined stride. But now that I was alone, I pictured myself slipping and falling to the track below.

  Think of Meelie up in the air. Flying all the way across the Atlantic. Being scared never stopped her, did it? I took a deep breath and grabbed the handle. I took another breath, then yanked the door. It was heavy, and I struggled to slide it far enough open to squeeze myself through. My heart pounded as I leapt from one car to the next. The door into the next car was easier to open, thank goodness—I didn’t have to wait precariously in the in-between. Once on the other side, I grinned, glancing back through the glass at the car I’d left. The big yellow sign reminded me: RESERVED FOR SLEEPING CAR PASSENGERS ONLY. I wondered why they didn’t lock the door if they didn’t want people crossing. Then, slightly breathless and strangely proud of myself, I skipped forward.

  Moving through the other cars of the El Capitan was easier. I took my time walking through the upper level. Didn’t Pidge say it was good to be curious? She wouldn’t mind if it took me a while to get back. I scanned the car, looking for Ruth’s braids. All the seats were full of travelers: men in business suits, college-age kids with long hair and love beads, a few soldiers in their military uniforms. I wondered if they were coming or going from war. I tried to act grown-up as I sauntered down the aisle, or at least like I had Ruth’s confidence. People dozed, read newspapers, and stared out the windows while listening to the radio program playing. A few also stared at me, making me tug at my dress and try again to smooth my unruly hair. The train shook, and I bumped into a sleeping woman’s seat. “Sorry!” I exclaimed, turning back.

  “Bea!” I turned again to see Ruth a few rows ahead, waving at me from a seat near the window. I scurried up to her. She was sitting next to her dad, who was busily writing on a notepad. I wondered if he was working on a sermon or a speech. Ruth had paper out and a pencil in her hand too. “So you did go exploring—good for you!”

  I grinned. “Yes—and I took your other advice. Looking at the stars through the observation car last night was wonderful.” Ruth beamed. “I’m on my way to pick up lunch. Would you like to join me?”

  “Absolutely, I could stretch my legs. Can I get you anything, Dad?”

  “A cola would be divine.” He reached into his wallet and handed Ruth a few bills. “Nice to see you again, Bea,” he said as she stood up to join me.

  It was easier crossing into the lounge car with Ruth in front of me, clearing the gap not in a tentative step but with an experienced hop. In the lounge car, we patiently waited at the lunch counter to order our food while I told her about my dinner the night before.

  “I didn’t realize you’re on the Super Chief. That’s fancy,” she said.

  My face flushed, knowing the secret of how Pidge and I were on board that train. I grabbed for the cardboard box holding my two turkey sandwiches and two root beers. I didn’t know if Pidge would like the soda, but coffee would be treacherous to carry back. “It’s nice, sure.” I nervously twisted open one of the bottles, thinking of how to change the subject.

  “Did you forget? You shouldn’t walk around with an open bottle full of soda if you don’t want to spill.”

  “Oh. Well, in that case—do you want to grab a seat for a minute? I don’t think my grandmother would mind if I ate with you instead of back in our roomette.”

  “Sure!” Ruth gestured to an empty table, and we raced over. We both slid right next to the window on opposite sides. I hastily unwrapped my sandwich—I was starving.

  “So if you’re traveling with your grandmother, where’s the rest of your family?”

  I swallowed the huge bite I’d taken. “My dad and stepmom and stepsister are back in Los Angeles. My mom’s out in New Jersey, I think.”

  Ruth’s eyes widened. “You don’t know where she is?”

  “It’s not like that,” I said quickly. “She’s reporting for a magazine, and they sent her out there for a story.”

  “Oh, okay.” Ruth looked relieved. “It’s funny that both our parents write, but in different ways.”

  “Yeah, but you’re lucky that you get to go along with your dad on his trips,” I said.

  “Can’t you travel along with your mom? At least in the summertime?”

  “I haven’t really been much a traveler before this, but . . . maybe sometime I will.”

  “You seem like a natural, honestly.” Her compliment brought a blush to my cheeks. “Anyway, you’re lucky you have a sister,” Ruth said wistfully. “I only have older brothers. But I do have my cousins—I just wish I got to see them more.”

  “Yeah. It’s
hard being far away from family,” I said. The words surprised me a little. I didn’t mean Sally, though. I meant my mom.

  I popped the last bite of my sandwich into my mouth. Ruth still had half of hers left. “I guess you were hungry,” she laughed. “They don’t feed you over on the Super Chief   ? I find that hard to believe.”

  Well, not so much if you’re a stowaway, I thought. The train shifted and my Brownie, which was still slung over my shoulder, knocked against the table. I pulled it off and set it down in front of me for safekeeping, and that gave me an idea. “I wonder if we could get a picture of us together.”

  Ruth brightened. “I’d love that!” Two women were leaving the table next to ours, and I shyly waved at them.

  “Excuse me, would you mind taking our picture?”

  “Not at all,” one said. I handed her my camera and explained where to press.

  “On the count of three: One, two, three—cheese!”

  “Cheese!” Ruth and I grinned as the lady pressed the button and the flash popped.

  “It’s nice to make friends on the train,” the lady said, handing the camera back to me.

  “It certainly is,” I agreed, smiling at Ruth. She grinned back at me.

  I hated to leave, but Pidge might be wondering where I was. “I should probably head back before my grandmother gets worried.”

  Ruth nodded, crumpling up her sandwich’s wrapper. “Say, I have an idea too: Since we both like to write, could I have your address? I thought we might exchange letters, let each other know how the rest of our travels go. I’ve become pen pals with other kids I’ve met on the train.”

  It would be like sharing our eyes with each other, as Meelie would say. “That’s a swell idea! And maybe I could get a reprint of our picture and send it to you.”

  Ruth’s face lit up in a way that reminded me of how Sally looks when I let her into my room to listen to records.

  Before we said good-bye at the end of Ruth’s car, I pulled out my worry notebook again and ripped out blank pages for us to write our addresses on. It seemed hopeful, to think I wouldn’t need that paper to document my worries. We exchanged a quick hug and wished each other well, and then I started the long way back to the Super Chief. But when I got to the final door, there was a problem. With that cumbersome box of Pidge’s food and what was left of my drink, I wasn’t sure how I could pull the heavy handle and keep myself steady as I crossed over to the other side. It was one thing to bravely forge ahead when my hands were free to grip the sides of the streamliner—and another to do it while juggling a box of food and soda bottles, like a tightrope walker at the circus.