That coincidence was odd, but this wasn’t the time to reminisce. “We need to call for help.” I reached around Roscoe’s belly and found the radio. I pressed the buttons, which thankfully were clean, at random. “This is the plane Serendipity. We’ve crashed. I mean, crash-landed. Or emergency-landed. Whatever it’s called—the pilot is sick. Send an ambulance, please!” The staticky sounds suggested the radio was on, but I had no idea if anyone had heard our call, or if they would know where we were. “I’m going to get out and run for help.” If we were on a road—it had to lead to people somewhere.
Pidge nodded. “Good girl. Hurry.” Her voice was soft and tired.
I opened the door and tumbled out of the plane. I didn’t know whether to go left or right, so I took off in the direction of the setting sun. My legs and arms ached from all the bumps and shaking, but as I looked at them, I saw no cuts or scrapes. How in the world had we survived that rough landing unharmed? How in the world had Pidge gotten the plane down? It’s like Meelie really was looking out for us . . . My head spun with anxiety, relief, and disbelief.
“Hey! You there!” I whirled around, unsure of where the voice was coming from. A boy in overalls stood on the gravel, shading his eyes and staring at me. “Are you from that airplane?”
“Yes! And we need help!” Suddenly exhausted, I dropped to my knees. He took another look at me, then turned and ran in the other direction.
I couldn’t move another inch. The whirling in my head was getting worse. I lay down in the dirt, and I closed my eyes.
• • •
I opened them to see a kind-faced woman staring down at me. “You poor, poor thing.” As I started to sit up, she put out her hand to stop me. “Shh. Take it easy, all right? Go slowly. You had a real shock.” She held out a cup of water and helped me grasp it to take a sip.
“My grandmother is in the plane. The pilot is sick. They need help, badly.”
“Help is already there, sweet pea. They’re bringing them back to the house. Take a deep breath. When you’re ready, let’s help you up.”
I did as she said. When I sat up, the world spun. I had to remind myself that I was safe on the ground.
With her arm around my waist to support me, we slowly walked down the road to a ramshackle farmhouse. A few men in overalls and caps—farmers, I guessed—stood talking to a couple of uniformed police officers. A stretcher was being loaded into an ambulance with Roscoe strapped onto it. But I could tell he was alive.
“Where’s my grandmother?”
The man standing nearest to me pointed to the open door. “Helen, take her on inside.” The woman, who must have been Helen, gave my shoulders a squeeze as she led me through the doorway. In the living room, I saw Pidge, lying on the couch with an ice pack on her temple.
“Pidge!” Ignoring my own wooziness, I ran to her side.
Her eyelids fluttered open. “Oh, Meelie.” She smiled at me, reaching for my hand. Her clasp was reassuringly strong. But why was she calling me that? “I’m so happy you’re back.”
“No, Pidge. It’s Beatrice. Your granddaughter.” Did she really think I was her sister? Now this was the second time she’d gotten us confused.
“What?” She squinted at me for a minute. “Oh, I suppose you are. I’m just . . . a little shaken up. I . . . Yes. You’re Beatrice.” Her eyes showed she recognized me, and she pulled me toward her for a hug. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starting to feel the slightest bit cursed.”
I laughed, hugging her tighter. “Thank you,” I whispered into her blouse. I didn’t want to elaborate. I didn’t want to think about what would’ve happened to us if she hadn’t helped bring us out of the sky. I didn’t want to give words to it.
“Who would’ve thought,” she murmured, “that Meelie wouldn’t be the only capable Earhart sister to fly.”
NINETEEN
Sisterly Practice
Nobody knew quite what to do with us: the old woman and the young girl, covered in dirt (and, in Pidge’s unfortunate case, a bit of Roscoe’s throw-up), marooned on a farmstead. Of all the things one might expect to crawl out of a Kansas cornfield, I don’t think anybody expected the likes of us. After the ambulance left with Roscoe, a doctor made a house call to check on Pidge and me. To the surprise of the assembled farmers and police, we were both fine—other than the whopping goose-egg bruise on the edge of Pidge’s hairline.
“Is there any family we can take you ladies home to?” one of the officers asked.
Pidge started to shake her head, stopped when she remembered the ice pack and bruise, and cleared her throat. “I’m afraid we have no family in these parts. We were flying to Atchison.” We had landed slightly east of Manhattan—Kansas, not New York.
“Atchison’s less than two hours away,” Helen offered. She’d come into the room bearing glasses of lemonade and some angel food cake. I’d already drunk two cups and eaten a slice. “Is there someone there who can drive here to fetch y’all?”
“No,” Pidge said. “We were to stay in a hotel.” Truthfully, we had no idea where we would stay once we got there—especially with fewer than ten dollars to our names. Maybe Amelia would have some money. Pidge and I hadn’t thought that far ahead—the goal this whole time had been to get to their front yard and figure out the rest later. I suppose if we got there tonight we’d have to sleep under the stars.
“My sister was going to meet us. But she’s traveling, and unreachable . . .”
I caught Pidge’s worried glance. We’d survived being kicked off a train and crash-landing a plane, and we were so close, but everything kept unraveling. We did seem the slightest bit cursed. Pidge readjusted the ice pack to her temple and sighed with something like resignation. I couldn’t stand it. Not after we came this whole way. We had to make it in time.
“Maybe someone could give us a lift there?” All the adults in the room stared at me, and the boldness that had allowed me pipe up faded. I shrank back into the sofa and readjusted our luggage in front of me, which someone had helpfully retrieved from the Serendipity. “We’ve been through so much,” I said, bowing my head in a manner intended to create sympathy. That was a move I could picture Pidge doing.
Eventually, one of the police officers cleared his throat. “Well. I could give you a ride—but not until the morning. My wife’s a nurse, and she works the night shift. I can’t leave the kids.” He looked up at the older officer, like he was seeking permission, and waited for his nod. “I suppose you could stay with us for the night.”
Pidge perked up at that. “We would appreciate that ever so much.” If we left early, we would still make it to Atchison in the morning. There was hope.
• • •
That was how we found ourselves sitting on Officer Wendell’s back porch, full plates of roast chicken and potatoes in front of us. Meanwhile, his two towheaded daughters, Suzie and Sara, sat next to me, peppering us with questions.
“Why were you in the plane?”
“What was it like to crash?!”
“Where are you from?”
“Why are your ankles so dirty?”
I hunched over from a sudden wave of embarrassment—and to inspect my ankles. The skin above my no-longer-white Keds was incredibly dirty, but that paled in comparison to my days-unwashed hair and sweat-stained, grimy clothes. I hated to think of how I smelled.
“We have the dust of an adventure on us,” Pidge said. She started telling the girls our whole story. Hearing Pidge describe everything we’d done, I curled up from my slouch.
Yes, I had crossed the desert and plains, in rocking trains and rolling stones and glinting silver buses and a sputtering plane. I’d seen mountains and forests and red rocks and golden fields, and I’d even passed through the clouds. I’d stood outside in the dark desert night and stared at stars brighter than the lit-up Hollywood sign. I’d been on a true adventure.
And I was proud.
We watched the sisters run around the yard, catching fireflies, while we fini
shed eating. They twirled in bare feet, holding hands—looking like the sticky pipe cleaner figures of us that Sally had made me. They alternately whispered and filled the air with their peals of laughter. The scene reminded me of one of Meelie’s letters, when she talked about hot summer days in Atchison when she and Pidge were kids: the happiest time of their lives. I glanced over at my grandmother and saw the mistiness in her eyes, and I knew she was making the same connection. But Pidge was smiling. Despite all the sadness she’d felt without Meelie, being a sister still made her happy.
What memories would I have, years from now, of Sally and me? Ever since my father met Julie, I’d hated how Sally kept trying to worm her way into my life. But I had been the one to give her no other way of being a part of it than by force. Maybe I’d been wrong about seeing our family as something that couldn’t come together. Maybe I should’ve seen the addition of a younger sister to my life as a gift—not a trial.
Whenever we got home to California, it wouldn’t be too late to change that. I set down my plate, took off my shoes, and ran barefoot into the yard, where I started dancing around with the sisters. Practice, I told myself. I simply needed a little sisterly practice.
• • •
After baths and before we went to sleep, I reached into my knapsack to take out my adventure journal. If there was ever an adventure to write down, I think my grandmother landing a plane in the middle of a cornfield was it. But before I found the journal in the jumble of things at the bottom of my bag, my hand passed over a thin envelope. I yanked it out and waved it in the air for Pidge to see.
“Look what I found! Meelie’s last letter—I must’ve shoved it in my knapsack when we were on the bus.”
Pidge sat up in our bed—we were sharing one in the guest room, but it no longer felt weird. Not after everything we’d been through together. “Good girl! Bring it here.” I handed the envelope to her, and while I wrote down in my journal everything that had happened, Pidge read and reread Meelie’s letter. In fact, she fell asleep hugging it to her chest.
In the morning, I woke up to the scent and sizzle of bacon. Pidge was fastening a belt around her waist before I’d even pulled back the sheets. I ached all over, but especially my right shoulder. I must’ve bumped it during the landing. As I massaged it tentatively, Pidge looked at me with sympathy. The bump on her forehead had gone down, but the bruise was a deeper shade of purple.
“I wish I could let you sleep off some of the aches. But I’m afraid we need to get on the road.”
Because I was so groggy, it took a minute before I remembered what day it was. Monday, July 24. We were supposed to be in Atchison already.
The anxious and hopeful look on Pidge’s face—and the way her hands shook, maybe from nerves—gave me the push to get out of bed and hurriedly dress. I couldn’t bear to go back to the stained outfit I’d worn on the train and in New Mexico, and my blue jeans were a mess. So I threw on the only other clothing I had packed, a mismatched striped skirt and top. I wrapped Neta’s scarf around my neck to symbolically keep her with us for this last leg. I changed even with Pidge in the room—I wasn’t so modest anymore around my grandmother. While I laced my shoes, she made the bed. Then I grabbed our bags to lug downstairs. Pidge eased her suitcase from my grip. “I know you think I’m an old lady, and it’s very nice of you to try to manage all our things, but you need to watch that shoulder.” She shook her head. “I shudder to think of what I’ve put you through the past few days.”
“But it’s worth it,” I insisted.
The sheriff was finishing his coffee in the kitchen. His wife, Louise, was standing at the counter. She clucked at us as we shuffled into the room. “Let me fill a couple of plates. When I got home from my shift, I heard all about what happened to you two.” She started heaping food onto a dish. Even though we’d eaten well the night before, I was still starving. Residual hunger, I guessed.
“That is so kind of you, but—” Pidge hesitated, and I hoped she wouldn’t be rude. “I’m worried about my sister waiting for us in Atchison, without word. I’m afraid that’s affected my appetite.”
Louise frowned. “There’s no way to give her a ring? Let her know you’ll be delayed?”
Pidge shook her head. “I’m afraid not. It’s my older sister,” she added, probably hoping that they would picture hair even grayer than Pidge’s and maybe a cane.
“Well, I can’t let you out of my house without a proper meal.” Louise guided me, with a loving forcefulness, into a chair at the kitchen table. “I won’t take no for an answer.” She set another plate down across from mine, but let Pidge grudgingly seat herself. “And let me take another peek at your head.” She examined Pidge’s goose egg and eyes. I held my breath until she pronounced her still okay.
Pidge practically inhaled her food. I could barely keep up with her pace of eating. As soon as I got down to two glistening strips of bacon, Louise came back with the pan. More eggs and bacon piled on my plate. She topped off Pidge’s coffee.
“Oh, honey.” Louise turned to Officer Wendell, who was reading the paper. “Before you head out, I need you to look at the washing machine—it’s on the fritz. And I have loads to do.”
I thought Pidge’s eyes were going to bulge out of her head. The yellow clock above the refrigerator ticked us past eight thirty. We’d already missed arriving first thing. If it took almost two hours to get to Atchison—and Officer Wendell had not been a fast driver the night before—then we were barely going to make it there while it was still morning, when Meelie’s letter had said to meet. But Meelie would wait for us, right? After making Pidge wait for thirty years?
Officer Wendell wiped his mouth, stood up, and headed for the laundry room. While the washing machine got its repairs, we waited on a bench in the Wendells’ front yard. Pidge practically vibrated with nerves. Suzie came running out of the house, and I joined her on the plush grass for a demonstration on how to make dandelion chains.
“You’re lucky that you get to travel around with your grandmother. I never get to go anywhere alone.” As if on cue, Sara bounded out the side door. Suzie sighed. “Sara’s like my shadow.”
I knew that feeling. But I also had learned what it was like to miss someone. “If you didn’t have your shadow any longer, you’d be really blue. Believe me.”
Suzie plucked another dandelion from the grass. “Do you have a little sister?”
“I do.” I twisted the chain I was almost done with. “And I kind of wish she were here right now.” I wrapped the chain around my wrist, next to my elephant bracelet. My words surprised me. Especially because I meant them. “It’s something my grandmother taught me—I can think of few things more important than my one and only sister.”
Suzie nodded. When Sara plopped down next to her, she took her wrist and fastened a bracelet around it. There were dandelions in our yard at home. When I got back, I’d make sure Sally knew how to make jewelry out of them.
Despite our predicament, Pidge smiled as she watched us play. I was wearing a crown, two wristlets, a necklace, and Sara had applied dandelion “blush” to my cheeks. Pidge took a picture of us with my Brownie camera. I had only a few shots left.
Finally, Officer Wendell emerged from the side of the house. “I suppose we better get a move on.” My wristwatch said it was almost ten. But when he smiled at us, showing no annoyance about carting an old lady and a kid almost two hours away, on his day off, it was hard to be mad about the time. How could he know that this morning was the culmination of thirty years of worrying and waiting?
We thanked Louise, who had wrapped up some sandwiches for us in case we got hungry later on, and said good-bye to the girls. Sara grinned and waved in an exuberant way that reminded me of how Sally had made a big show of saying good-bye when my family left me at Pidge’s. I found myself imagining how excited Sally would be when they came back to Sun City to pick me up—and for once, I looked forward to her clinging to my waist in a hug.
I settled into the backseat
. Pidge climbed in next to me. It seemed oddly fitting that we’d gone from trainhopping to hitchhiking to bussing it to flying—and now we were riding in a squad car. Officer Wendell turned on the radio, which played Johnny Cash. He hummed along from the front seat. I bounced around with excitement. We’re really going to make it to Atchison. And we just might make by noon. All my doubts about Meelie had faded when we’d survived the flight. If an arthritic, sleep-deprived, sometimes forgetful, dehydrated grandmother could prevent a plane from crashing—the impossible really could happen.
“So where’s your sister coming from?” the officer called back to Pidge. That was the question we all wanted answered.
Pidge turned her head to stare out at the azure sky. “Well, I guess you could say she’s been round the world. And now she’s finally back.”
TWENTY
Atchison
The drive was a blur, and when we saw the sign welcoming us to Atchison, Kansas, it felt like a mirage. Or perhaps a dream come true. The sun, in the process of getting blocked by a few thick, ominous clouds, was high in the summer sky—it wasn’t morning by any measure. Any dew that had been on the lawn would’ve been baked away. Pidge moved to the edge of her seat, nose pressed to the glass like a child. Like Sally, actually—she always sits that way when we’re driving in my dad’s Cadillac, and although I hate finding her gross nose smudges on the glass afterward, I have to respect the way she’s intent on absorbing everything around her.
It’s funny, but on this journey, I felt like finally my nose wasn’t up against the glass, looking at the world outside—but like I was really a part of the world around me.
The Last Grand Adventure Page 17