Up, Back, and Away

by K. Velk

  “WHAT’S HAPPENING!” Ada screamed.

  Miles didn’t answer. He was straining every muscle to keep the bike moving forward. He heard the big man breaking through the brush behind them, but he didn’t look back and he didn’t stop pedaling.

  “Stop, damn you!” the Giant yelled as he emerged from the undergrowth, just steps behind them. There was an odd, electric thrum in the air and the rocks continued pulsing. Miles was gaining speed. The strange noise confused the Giant and he hesitated. It was enough for Miles to pull a couple of lengths ahead.

  “Oh dear God!” Ada yelled as the ground under the oaks began to glow with the same odd light.

  “HOLD ON AND DUCK!” Miles shouted, bowing his head down low so that he would clear the fatal limb. He felt Ada’s head drop into the small of his back.

  The Giant, who loomed in Miles’ peripheral vision, recovered himself sufficiently to make a leap for the rear wheel of the bike just as the front wheel passed between the stump and the tree. Miles felt a backward tug but it coincided with a loud snap – as though great tension had just been released as from an overstretched cable. A flash of light accompanied the sound. Miles squeezed his eyes closed against the glare and found he was screaming at the top of his lungs, though no sound seemed to come out.

  All was silence then. Scenes from his English summer crowded Miles’ brain, like images flashed on a movie screen. He saw the suture needle in Dr. Slade’s hand, the gold-rimmed eye of Mabel the chicken, Susannah pinning laundry on the line behind the cottage, her skirt blowing round her knees, Quarter Sessions looming in the mist, Eubank asleep on his back and showing his pink stomach, the beams in the Chapel ceiling, the painting of the lost Fisher sons, then, unaccountably, their flesh and blood faces.

  He couldn’t hear them, but Andy and George were plainly shouting words of encouragement and waving him forward. Their presence filled him with gratitude, and with confidence. Then, in the next instance, a rush of air hit Miles’ face and blew it all away.

  He felt the bike topple onto its side, or at least felt the whole business turn sideways. It was as though, for a long moment, the law of gravity had been repealed, then, in a blink, restored. He heard the clatter of the fenders as he and Ada and the Sunbeam came skidding sideways to a stop in soft, green grass.

  71. A Place Where We Belong

  Miles’ head was spinning, like it used to when he was a little kid and had turned in circles until he couldn’t stand up straight. Where was he? The information seemed to be floating, just out of reach … Ada’s right leg was pinned beneath him and when she stirred and groaned he remembered it all in an instant.

  “Ada! Ada! Are you all right!” He twisted his neck to see behind him, dreading the possibility that the Giant might have been pulled through with them – but there was only Ada, looking as dazed as he felt.

  “Where are we?” she managed. She straightened her hat as she sat up and the gesture was so quaint and his relief so enormous that he laughed out loud.

  It was nearly dark, but not so dark he could not recognize the English Boy trail. The white birch trees on either side of them retained a phosphorescent glow in the twilight.

  “We’re through, Ada! We’re back! We’ve done it!” She was still dazed but he grabbed her and hugged her awkwardly then he stood and lifted her to her feet. The bike lay just beside them and was apparently undamaged. He patted himself down. Nothing broken. The haversack was still hanging around his middle. He was back, he was sure, but when was it?

  “My head’s spinnin’” Ada said, “that’s a case of arse over teapot, make no mistake.” She looked around the woods nervously. “Oh Miles. Can it be true? Have we done it?” She cowered next to him. “I’m afraid,” she breathed.

  He was too, but he could hardly say so to her.

  “It’s all right,” he said with all the confidence he could muster. “We did what we were supposed to do. It must be all right. Come on, let’s get up the hill. I left some things at the top of the trail. Maybe they’re still there.”

  He hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud. The thought had chased through his mind and out his mouth before he could stop it. After three months in the past, it seemed hardly likely that Miles’ bag of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and his helmet and iPhone would be waiting for him just where he had left them. But there was something about the day – the feel of the air was so like the day he had departed that he thought, just maybe…

  The same thought had obviously occurred to Ada. “Not bloody likely,” she said. “But I suppose we’re bound to go and look.” She clung to his arm as they walked up the hill pushing the bike. He could feel her shaking and covered her cold hand with his.

  They came to the top of the English Boy trail quickly, to the point where it diverged from the Queens Highway. There was no bag of sandwiches, smart phone, or water bottle there. So when was it? If time had passed here in the same way as it had passed for Miles while he was away, it would now be the middle of winter – January sometime. That clearly hadn’t happened. It was certainly still fall – although of course he had no way of knowing in which year. Nothing to do now but get off the mountain, and quickly. It was nearly dark.

  “We’ll have to get down to the Lodge. There’ll be people there,” he said, trying to sound assured. “It’s all downhill. It’s a little dangerous to ride double, but I think I can manage, if you’ll sit still, that is.”

  “I’ll try,” she said, climbing aboard while he braced the Sunbeam.

  The Queens Highway was steeper than he remembered and it demanded all his concentration to try to stay upright on the dirt tire tracks that ran down the center of it. There were muddy spots and biggish round stones that jolted the front tire. He kept up a steady pressure on the brakes. Miles was straining to peer out a steep, wet section just ahead when he heard a strange noise behind them. It was an engine – like a motorcycle. It startled him and he looked over his shoulder just as the bike hit the muddy patch. They took a spill. Ada yelped, but they weren’t going very fast. The bike went down but there was no damage to them or to it.

  The engine belonged to a four-wheeler. Before Miles and Ada had a chance to stand and straighten their clothes, it pulled up along side them. The rider dismounted. He was wearing a dark blue wind breaker. Even in the low light, Miles could make out the yellow star printed on his chest.

  “Are you Miles McTavish?”

  “I am.”

  “Are you all right?” The officer had pulled a flashlight from his belt and was shining it on Miles’ face. He focused the beam on the scrape and bruise left by the London pavement.”

  “I’m fine,” Miles said. “Now, at least, I’m fine.”

  The officer clicked a radio at his shoulder.

  “Reg, I’ve got him. He’s fine. He’s got a girl with him. What’s your name, hon?”

  Ada was staring at the four-wheeler and the little walkie talkie. “Uh… I’m Ada – Ada Ardilaun O’Shea.”

  “Well Miles and Ada, I’m Deputy Turner from the Cumberland County Sheriff’s Department. We’ve been lookin’ for you up here for the last three hours. Miles, your mom and dad have been worried sick.”

  Deputy Turner gave Ada a helmet and a spot on the back of the four-wheeler. She actually whooped with excitement when it went over a few rocks. Miles followed closely behind on the Sunbeam.

  The parking lot of the Ashburton Mountain Lodge looked like a disaster scene. Emergency vehicles of every sort sat with their lights turning. Uniformed men swarmed. Miles figured that Chuck and Clare McTavish had pulled strings galore to get a turnout like this. As the bike rolled off the trails, Miles saw his mother and father in the flickering lights and forgot himself. He hopped off the bike like a circus performer and ran to hug them both.

  His mother pulled back immediately from his embrace.

  “Miles?” She looked at him with horrified confusion.

  He grabbed her again. “I’m fine Mom.”

  She pushed bac
k again. “What in the world happened to you today?”

  She was still wearing her bike clothes. Her eyes were full of confusion as she took in her broad and tall son.

  “Champ – WHAT in God’s name were you thinking? Why did you go without telling us? You said you didn’t feel well,” his father said.

  Miles had almost forgotten about that.

  “Well, I got feeling better after you left and since we took the trouble to bring Professor Davies’ bike along and all, I thought I’d see a few of the sights myself. I tried to call, but you must have been out of cell service.”

  “I say again, what happened to you? You’re, you’re different. You got your haircut. You’ve grown. It’s not possible.” His mother reached up to the bruise on his cheek. “And where and when did you get this!?” At least she hadn’t noticed the scar, yet.

  He moved her hand away. “That? Oh I fell.” he said. “I hit a rock or something and – I’m fine– but I passed out for a while I guess because this girl found me and helped me. Ada, meet my parents.”

  Ada stepped into the light and reached her hand out to Clare McTavish. Clare looked her up and down.

  “Thank you so much for helping our son,” she managed. Clare was seldom at a loss for words but she was in a bewildering situation. “That’s a nice outfit…” she said finally.

  “Oh, thanks. I’m afraid it’s all I have left. The rest of my stuff went missing last night.”

  This was the cover story Ada and Miles had worked out on their train ride. When Ada met his parents, she was to say that she had been hiking the Long Trail, which went right over Ashburton. The story, at least for now, was that she was traveling in the U.S. following the death of her last living relative, on her way to Texas to claim what she had been told was the family fortune. She had decided to do some hiking and had her pack stolen.

  One of the Sheriff’s deputies who had been passing by the little group stopped in his tracks.

  “What did you say your name was, Miss?”

  “Ada, Ada Ardilaun O’Shea,” she said nervously.

  “How bout that. I think I have something that belongs to you.” He waved her in the direction of his cruiser. Miles followed.

  The deputy popped the trunk and pulled out a red back pack on an aluminum frame.

  “I was having lunch at the Ashburton Mountain Inn, down village today,” the Deputy said. “And Rick Adkins, he’s the owner, he tells me that some old lady found this backpack out by his dumpster. He keeps the lid locked on it or the locals who’re too cheap to pay their own dump fees come by with their household garbage. Anyway, this old lady seen this backpack and figured it must belong to someone and brought it to Rick. Bet you’re glad to see it.”

  Ada and Miles looked at each other. She opened the top flap. It was full of clothes, clean, folded clothes, Miles noticed. She found a wallet. There was no money in it, but there were pictures in the photo holders. They were old-fashioned pictures, but in a modern format – as though they had been reprinted from an archive. Ada looked at them in the flickering emergency lights. There was a formal photographic portrait of Lady Fisher. There were school pictures of Violet and Rhonda, along with a head-shot of a man Miles didn’t recognize. “Who’s that?” He asked. Tears were rolling down Ada’s cheeks. “That’s Mr. Brunel. The piano master at St. Hilds.” There was a picture of Miss Everett, and last of all, a portrait of Mrs. Grimwald – looking very stern and correct. Ada clasped the wallet to her chest and started crying for real. Miles put his arm around her shoulder.

  “I noticed the money was gone…” the Deputy said awkwardly. “You can make out a report. If the ones who took your stuff were hikers, we might find them down the trail, if you’ve got a good description at least.”

  Ada kept crying and just shook her head. “I never saw them. I left my pack at a shelter. It was stupid.”

  “Did this Rick say anything else about the old lady who turned in the pack?” Miles asked.

  “She didn’t leave a name’,” the Deputy said. “You could ask Rick about her if you want. He said he thought she was a hiker. Older lady, wearing a red bandana on her head. He thought she was pretty old for a hiker but that’s how some of them keep so long. Have you seen her?”

  Miles shook his head. “No. Just curious.”

  “Good news is, Miss,” the Deputy said, turning his attention back to Ada, they left your passports. I saw ‘em there in that outside pocket.”

  She unzipped the pocket and pulled out two passports, both showing a bit of wear. One was British, the other American. She opened the American one and found a picture of herself in the same traveling clothes that she wore now. She was identified as Ada Ardilaun O’Shea, born in Austin, Texas in 1994 to Jim O’Shea, of Castlerock, Ireland and Rose Magee of Dublin. The British passport had the same information and nearly the same photo, but with Ada’s hair longer.

  “Wow.” Miles said. “That’s amazing. It is going to make life a lot easier to have those.”

  Ada looked at him, plainly amazed. “This must be the place…”

  “Miles, we need to get you to a hospital. If you lost consciousness up there you’ve got to be examined,” his mother broke in.

  “No, Mom. I’m fine. I don’t need a hospital.”

  “Miles!”

  He put his hands on his mother’s shoulders and looked her straight in the eyes. He had a new view of her now that he had gained a couple of inches of leg. “I’m fine, Mom. Never better.”

  Clare McTavish squinted at her son. “There’s something really not right here. Something you’re not telling me…”

  “No. Mom. In case you missed it, this is a happy ending,” Miles said. “I’m fine, tired but fine. Can’t we just go back to the Inn now? Oh, and I promised Ada we’d take her along. She was on her way to Texas next anyway. Isn’t that incredible?”

  This put Clare on her back foot, which was where Miles wanted her. It would give her something to occupy her thoughts and energies and deflect further questions, at least for now. She could hardly say “no,” given that Ada was obviously penniless and had apparently saved her son’s life.

  “Well, OK, I guess,” Clare said tentatively.

  “Where are you going in Texas, Ada?” Chuck McTavish asked. She was still wiping her tears but Miles saw that Ada spark flash again.

  “Dallas,” she answered. “My Nan told me that there was a pile of money waiting at some bank there for the one in our family who had this.” Ada pulled out the padlock key and showed it to Chuck. His eyes widened.

  “May I see that?”

  She took the chain off her neck and handed the key to him.

  “What did you say your name was?” Chuck asked.

  Miles was thinking “BINGO” but what he really needed to know was how Professor Davies was doing. “Do you have my phone Dad? Or can I use yours?”

  “We found it up on that trail,” Chuck replied, taking a deep breath. “Miles, promise me you will never, ever do anything that stupid again. The kid at the Inn who drove you up here looked like he was gonna have heart failure when we got back and found out what had happened.”

  “I’m really, really sorry Dad,” Miles said choking up and giving his father a hug. “I’ll apologize to him as soon as we get back to the Inn, but you wouldn’t believe what I’ve been through since I saw you last.”

  Chuck McTavish studied his son quietly for a moment. “I know I am standing across from a different person than the one I saw at breakfast. I have a feeling you have a lot more to say and we are going to get through it all, but right now I’m calling the Inn to put that poor kid out of his misery and to let them know we’ll need another room for Ada. Here’s your phone. Go ahead and call Professor Davies.” He handed over the plastic bag with the phone and the sandwiches. Miles bit into a sandwich as he dialed.

  “Hello?”

  “Mrs. Davies!” he said, through a mouthful of peanut butter. “It’s Miles!”

  “Oh, Oh, Morgan – it’s M
iles! I’m handing him the phone. Hold on!”

  The Professor’s voice, sounding like his old voice, the one he had before the heart attack, came on the line. “Miles? How are you? Where are you?”

  “I’m in Vermont. At the foot of Ashburton Mountain. I just got back here. How are you?”

  “It was touch and go there for a bit. Much better now. Can you talk?”

  “Not really – I’ll fill you in on it all when we get home. I just wanted to see how you were doing, and to let you know that I had a very interesting trip on your bike. It worked just like you said it would.”

  “Thank God.”

  “I’m bringing you back a few things, and I have a new friend for you to meet. She’s also from England. She’s a singer and a songwriter. She’s brilliant. You’re going to love her. She may need a place to stay in Austin…”

  “I can’t wait to meet her. And tell her that your old professor friend and his wife have an empty nest ready for another fledgling if she needs a home. She’ll be very welcome for as long as she likes. But tell me, you marvelous, miraculous boy, how are you feeling?”

  Miles considered the question before answering. “Bruised. Battered. I had some real ups and real downs, but I’m OK. I’m glad to be back, that’s for sure.” He looked at Ada talking with his father excitedly.

  “But I am also really, really glad that I went.”

  About the Author

  Kim Velk lives in Vermont with her husband, two children, and a terrier. She works by day as a lawyer. Up, Back, and Away is her first novel. You can talk to her on Twitter as “@woolfoot” and read more about Miles McTavish, the places he goes, and the things that he sees at, “The World of Quarter Sessions” http://quartersessions.blogspot.com.