The Last Grand Adventure

by Rebecca Behrens

  Later on, I brought a plate to Pidge, but she wouldn’t sit up to eat it. I sat on the edge of her bed and held her hand. I didn’t know what to say. The lines on her face looked deeper than this morning, like she’d aged years instead of hours. The letters had brought her decades of hope. They’d buoyed her the whole time, and now she was sinking, into a sadness and old-person-ness that she’d somehow avoided until this moment. Pidge said nothing, and didn’t touch her food, but she did squeeze back as I held her hand.

  After I heard Viola and Walter head up the stairs and into their room to sleep, I left Pidge. I washed my face, marveling at how tanned it had gotten in only four days. Frankly, I’d thought the suntan was just a lot of stubborn dirt whenever I’d glimpsed my face in a bathroom mirror or a window while on the road. I looked wiser, too—like every freckle was the mark of a new experience or thought I’d had on our way to this point.

  The room I was sleeping in had a window with a grand view but was furnished simply, holding only a twin bed, a desk and chair, some bookshelves, and a woven rug. A few landscape paintings hung on the walls and they reminded me of the views from the Super Chief. A toy chest sat underneath the window, and a few stray blocks and wooden animals and trucks lay on top of the desk—for the grandchildren in Kansas City, I assumed.

  I sat on the bed, overcome with a sudden tiredness. The hope and anticipation that had been fueling our desperate journey had run out. I couldn’t believe that we’d made it all this way—for nothing. It was so unfair. I flopped flat on my back and closed my eyes. I couldn’t stop thinking about the defeated look on Pidge’s face. It haunted me.

  There was a thunderclap in the distance, accompanied by the scent of impending summer rain, so I rose to close the window and pull down the shade. It was when I was pushing the gauzy curtains to the side that I saw it, sitting just inside the windowsill: another small toy. A worn wooden donkey, with joints that let it walk and move. As I picked it up, my bracelet shifted and the elephant charm tapped against my wrist. Ellie. Pidge’s childhood elephant toy. Donk. Amelia had kept Donk in her flight bag for the fateful final leg of her last grand adventure. This one on the sill looked just like Donk.

  Just like Donk. Unless—unless it was Donk.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Flight Paths

  Realizing what that would mean was like being hit by the far-off lightning. She was here! Meelie left Donk in the house for Pidge, as a sign.

  Meelie could still be out there.

  I ran, as quietly as I could, to Pidge’s room. I couldn’t wait to watch the color, and the hope, return to her face. I pushed open the door. “Pidge,” I hissed.

  But Pidge wasn’t there. The bed was neatly made, her suitcase and pocketbook were sitting in the corner, but she was gone. She’s flying. I raced down the stairs, not caring anymore what kind of racket I was making, and burst outside, still clutching the toy donkey. The streetlamps offered a faint bit of light, but storm clouds had hidden the moon and stars. “Pidge!” I didn’t see her in the yard, so I ran across the street, toward the river. It was starting to rain, giant warm drops. Hurrying down the bank, I lost my footing and slid, tumbling over the grass and narrowly avoiding a tree. “Pidge!” I pushed myself up from the ground, scanning the dark for a sign of my grandmother. I kept running. Down by the water, thanks to a flash of distant lightning, I saw a figure. I ran faster.

  She didn’t move when I halted next to her, gasping and heaving. But she finally spoke again. Her voice was low and weary. “All those years—all those letters. I just wanted, so badly, for it all to be real. Oh, Beatrice, how desperately I wanted that.” She was holding the remaining letter in her hands. “Meelie was determined, strong . . . to the point of being bullheaded. If anyone could ever find her way home against such incredible odds, it would have been my sister.” Thunder interrupted her. It was pouring rain by then, and quickly we were both soaking wet.

  “Meelie, I believed, had always been living proof that the impossible was, indeed, possible.” The ink on the envelope was starting to run and darken Pidge’s hands. “You and I beat the odds to make it back here, and I believed that was further proof. But, Beatrice, as much as I wish it were different, some things are impossible.” I shook my head no, but Pidge continued. “I have to accept reality—nobody, not even Meelie, could have beaten those odds against her. For years, I’ve been a foolish old woman, for hoping otherwise.” She brought one hand to her face, covering her mouth. “I just miss her so much. I’ve missed her so long. My one and only sister.” Her voice caught in a sob. She looked down at the wet letter clutched in her other, ink-stained hand, the words streaming from the paper like her hopes being erased. Watching her, I felt my heart crack.

  She waved the envelope in the air. “I could never suitably explain these letters, even to myself. But I had to make myself believe, Beatrice. You see, for people like Meelie, adventure keeps them alive. For me, it was hope that did.” She shook her head, in sadness and shame. “And look what I’ve done. I took you along with me on this foolhardy journey, and I put you—my one and only granddaughter—in danger. Something awful could have happened to you. I’d never forgive myself. What was I thinking?” Pidge’s voice lowered to a whisper. “I haven’t been brave. I’ve been terribly, terribly selfish.” Lightning flashed again, closer. “I’m sorry I dragged you all this way, and shared my false hope with you, too.”

  “Pidge,” I urged. “It wasn’t false. Look.” Finally, I held out the donkey, my hand shaking.

  She squinted at it. “What is that?” I moved next to her, so she could better see. “Donk?” Her voice barely crept above a whisper. She reached out and stroked the toy. “This notch, on her hind. It’s from when I dropped her from a rafter in the barn.” I let her take it. “It’s really Donk. But—where did you find her?”

  “In Meelie’s old room, on the windowsill, as I was going to bed.” I didn’t mention that there were other, similar wooden animal toys in the room. I trusted her recognition. Pidge would know Donk, or Ellie, if she saw them.

  “Meelie took Donk with her on the last flight,” she whispered.

  I nodded. “Yes, I remember that from her letters.” And even if the letters were mysterious, that was real, solid proof. None of the “cranks” that had contacted Pidge over the years knew of details like Donk. The memories that only sisters shared.

  Pidge cradled the wooden animal in her arms, like it was a baby. “I don’t know what this means.” Her eyes were pleading. “Because Meelie’s not here.”

  “I don’t know what it means, either.” Another bolt of lightning lit the sky across the river. I took a deep breath. “But maybe it’s a sign. To show you—us—that we weren’t wrong. Donk came home. Everything that’s happened since we left California, all the people we’ve met along the way . . . it has to be more than serendipity. Maybe there’s always a reason to hope, Pidge.” I stood straighter as I said that. “The world is uncertain, but hope’s one thing we always have.”

  Pidge looked at me with admiration. “You inherited my sister’s wisdom, you know. After watching your courage all the way here, I think maybe you have some of her adventurous spirit, too.” She reached for my hand. “I’m not alone anymore. I have another Earhart girl in my life. And I’m so thankful for that.”

  My eyes brimmed with tears. “I am too.” Even if Pidge felt bad for taking me with her to Kansas, I didn’t feel bad. Everything I’d seen and everyone I’d met along the way had opened up my world, and our mishaps had made me find bravery deep inside myself. I had learned about being a sister. This trip was the best thing that had ever happened to me.

  Pidge hugged the donkey to her chest, protecting it from the rain. “We may never know exactly what all this means, or whatever happened to Meelie. If she’s somewhere out there and if our flight paths still haven’t intersected. But I know it’s time to make peace with all that. It’s taken thirty years. I suppose I am ready.” She tucked Donk into the waistband of her pants. She let h
er wet hair fall loose, past her shoulders. Then she straightened and spread her arms wide into the air, like she had outside of the bus station on that desert night. They were like wings. “Come fly with us, Beatrice. One last time.” In one hand, she clutched the letter. “Help me say good-bye.”

  I stood next to her, raising my arms into the air. We leaned back our heads and stared up at the sky. The wind teased our hair and the rain pelted our faces, washing away the tears. Thunder rumbled softly in the distance. The storm was moving on. So were we.

  “I love you, Meelie. Wherever you are. It’s been fun having you as a sister.” Then Pidge released her grip on the letter, and it floated out of her hand. The wind twirled it around like it was a paper plane. The letter danced in the air, making loop-the-loops until it dropped into the churning river. We watched it float downstream, until it was gone. The look on Pidge’s face wasn’t sad anymore. It was one of relief.

  On the rain-cleansed banks of the Missouri, back where it all had started, it felt like their flight paths finally crossed.

  TWENTY-THREE

  The First Grand Adventure

  On Thursday, a rental car pulled up to the house. Pidge and I were rocking on the porch again—but no longer in anxious silence. That afternoon she was regaling me with stories about when she and Meelie were kids, including the exact process by which they built that roller coaster in their yard. Viola sat with us for part of the afternoon, drinking up everything Pidge had to say about the house when she lived in it. “I might have to bring back some of the flowers you’re describing—heliotrope would look divine this time of year.”

  That morning, Pidge had untied the donkey bracelet from her wrist. “I love this bracelet, Beatrice, and the special memory of getting it with you. But I think it would be nice if you had something to share with your sister.” I liked the idea of our generation having our own Donk and Ellie. I put the bracelet safely in my pocket.

  When the car arrived I jumped up from the rocker, my heart fluttering. On Monday night, I hadn’t gotten into much trouble on the phone—my parents were too relieved to hear we were safe and sound. Apparently, after our last call from the diner had cut out on my dad, Julie had gotten suspicious, especially once she’d repeatedly confirmed with the management office that the phone lines were in perfect working order. The next morning, Sally had tearfully confessed to Julie that I was calling from a pay phone. (The tears were because she didn’t want to get me in trouble.) Julie didn’t believe her at first, but Sally insisted—she sensed something was wrong. It was because of her that Julie drove them out to Sun City to check on us and ended up discovering we were gone. I was touched that Sally, and Julie, had been the first to worry about me. But it was also kind of funny that Sally had already carried on the tradition of searching for a lost, adventuring sister.

  On Tuesday night my family had boarded the train to Kansas. Now that my dad and Julie had plenty of time to absorb what Pidge and I had done, and had seen how far we’d traveled—would they be furious? We hadn’t even told them about our flight on the Serendipity yet.

  I walked to the edge of the porch, watching the car and trying to think of the right words to tell them how sorry I was for sneaking away and lying about it. I didn’t want to put all the blame on Pidge. It had been my choice to go on our adventure. Meelie had written that she had no regrets from the ones she’d taken. The only regret I had was making my family worry. Well, and not packing different shoes. Mine were filthy and my feet were dotted with blisters.

  First out of the car was Sally, who raced across the yard toward me. “Be-ah!” Her hug almost knocked me off my feet. I clutched her right back, breathing in the scent of my special coconut shampoo that she must’ve sneaked and, to my surprise, feeling grateful for it. I can think of few things more important than my one and only sister. I was so glad Meelie and Pidge had taught me that.

  “Thanks for helping find me, Sally,” I said, as she beamed up at me.

  My father and Julie got out next, and then a woman wearing jeans and a paisley shirt and sunglasses, with her hair long and loose. Mom! My whole entire family had come to get us. I gave Sally another squeeze, then raced across the yard to greet them.

  My mother wrapped me in a hug. “I missed you, Mom,” I choked.

  “Oh, Bea, I missed you too.” She pulled back to study my face. “Look at my voyager, off on her own adventures.”

  “I can’t wait to tell you all about them.”

  “I can’t wait to hear!” She moved aside to make room for Julie and my dad.

  He looked peeved but still held me in the longest hug. “You have no idea how concerned I was about my little girl. Well”—he cleared his throat—“my independent girl, I suppose.” His voice cracked slightly. “Thank goodness you’re okay. What would we do without you?” A stern talking-to was definitely in my future, but I was okay with that. I liked knowing that even if I wasn’t little anymore, I was still an important part of his—our—mixed-up family. Because on this trip, I hadn’t only proven I could be brave when everything around me was uncertain, and found my own appetite for adventure. I’d also learned what my family meant to me. Even if sometimes things weren’t perfect, or I felt out of place, I didn’t want to fly away from the people I loved. At least not for too long.

  “So this is where my mother grew up, huh?” My dad scratched at his beard and stepped back to study the house and the view of the river. Julie stood to his side, looking unsure of herself now that my mom was there. I put my arms around her waist and embraced her.

  “Thank you for worrying about us,” I said, resting my head on her shoulder.

  She laughed with surprise. “Of course I was worried! You gave me quite a scare,” she said, hugging me back. “Because I care about you.” When she said it, I realized I cared about her too.

  Viola insisted on making us all something to eat before we left for the hotel. “It’s a belated birthday party,” Pidge said, as we helped carry trays of food out from the kitchen. “For my sister’s seventieth. Oh, I remember the summer birthday parties our family used to celebrate here. Those memories have been my home.” I gave her a strange look. Those words were familiar. I’d definitely heard her say them before. Or someone had . . .

  We shared a fried-chicken picnic on the riverbank, everyone sitting in the shade of Baucis and Philemon and enjoying the food and the river view and one another’s company. I sat next to my mother, telling her everything that had happened between Sun City and that spot on the banks of the Missouri. I pulled out my adventure journal to read parts aloud to her. “I can’t wait to show you the pictures after they’re developed. I’ll do that as soon as we’re home.” I had one last exposure to use, though.

  “Bea, I’m not going back to California right away,” my mother said. “I got an opportunity to go to New York, to interview with a new magazine I’d love to write for. But as soon as I get back, I want to know every detail . . .”

  It stung a little, that she wouldn’t be going back with me. But thanks to Meelie’s letters, and my long and winding trip to Atchison, I understood better why my mother needed to go. Her adventures were important. She had been given eyes to see, as Pidge’s grandfather would say. And she was using them. Even if I missed the way things used to be with her at home, I was proud of what my mom was doing.

  “Here,” I said, handing her my adventure journal. “It’s full, anyway. I can’t add more to it.”

  “I’m going to savor every word,” my mom said, hugging it to her chest. “But wait,” she reached into her bag and dug out a new notebook. “You need a fresh one, for the way back.”

  Before we finished our food, Viola did the honors of snapping the last picture with my Brownie—my whole family, together, picnicking in Pidge and Meelie’s front yard.

  When it was time to go, I ran upstairs to grab my bags. Walking into Meelie’s old room, I found Pidge standing at the window, an unopened envelope in her hand. It read on the front: ALWAYS MY SISTER. I recognize
d the handwriting, and my chest swelled with joy.

  Before I could beg her to open it, Pidge turned to me. “I wrote her back. Just in case.” My shoulders dropped. Pidge propped the envelope on the sill, right where I’d found Donk waiting for us. I kept staring at the handwriting, which was so familiar. I wished I still had one of Meelie’s letters to compare it to. Was the script exactly the same? I wasn’t sure, although it would make much more sense if Meelie’s and Pidge’s handwriting simply had a sisterly resemblance, like their eyes and height and hair color. Maybe they also shared a way of speaking. That would explain why Pidge sometimes said things that gave me déjà vu, like I’d heard her use those exact phrases before . . . or I’d read those words already. In a letter.

  Those letters had been real. I’d held each one in my hands. Someone had written them. But questions about them kept nagging at me. If Meelie wrote them, then why wasn’t she there? And if they hadn’t been written by Meelie, then who could’ve known all those personal things, about both her and Pidge? Only one person, like she said. When I found Pidge “flying” outside in the desert, she said she had conversations with Meelie under the night sky. She’d called them “my letters” when we left them on the bus in Salina . . . and she’d said the only writing she ever did was “correspondence.” The night of the storm, out at the river, what had she told me? I just wanted, so badly, for it all to be real. I thought about how I wrote in my journals when I needed to sort feelings out. Pidge sometimes got confused, and once or twice mistook me for Meelie. Could Pidge have somehow written the letters . . . and forgotten where they came from?

  I shook the thought out of my head. The letters had been sent over decades, long before Pidge wound up in Sun City.