I, Emma Freke (12 page)

“Emma?” cried Mrs. Snug as she scurried over to me.

“Yah?”

“Good news! We've been able to verify Wanda's story. You're free to go, pumpkin.”

“I am?”

“Have a lovely weekend at the reunion!” she cried as she scurried back to the desk and took the next person in line.

I watched as the official adults headed off in different directions. My mind was twirling as Wanda strolled over. She picked up my sleeping bag and swung my heavy backpack over her shoulder.

“Ready, kid?”

I couldn't move. I had been so positive that this would end badly that I had convinced myself I would be flying immediately back to Boston. Now everything was so upside down. And the day was only half over.

Wanda sunk into the chair next to me.

“These obstacles in life,” she said slowly, “they're all good.”

I turned my head and stared at her.

“They are?”

“Sure they are.”

Silence.

“Um. How are they good?”

“Well, just think about all the knots you dealt with today,” she replied as she nodded her head. “Now the next time you have a problem, it will be easier to figure out and solve.”

I guess that was one way of looking at it.

Wanda stood up, and I followed her toward the glass doors heading outside. From behind she resembled a skinny scarecrow in her old jeans with that messy gray hair sticking straight out. I think she even had a couple pieces of hay tucked behind her ear. I felt a little anxious wondering who this person was exactly. And was this what all the Frekes were like?

“So, are you like a cousin or a close relative?” I asked.

“Pretty much,” she mumbled, “but not exactly in a relating way.”

What was that supposed to mean? Was she the kind of relative who was actually a family friend but seemed as close as a cousin?

“I'm a cousin too, but I guess I'm related.”

Wanda cracked a thin smile. “I can see that.”

As we passed an island of pay phones, I realized I should try calling home one more time. Wanda waited by the windows as I turned on my emergency cell phone and dialed. Again, no one answered. I waited for the gong.

“Hi, it's me. I tried calling earlier because everything, as usual with my life, was the opposite of what it should be. Anyway, I'm here but someone else is driving me to the reunion. Her name is Wanda, and she's some kind of cousin. I remembered to call you, Donatella, so remember to pick me up on Monday.”

We climbed into Wanda's run-down pickup truck, which was parked on the top floor of the airport garage. The dark vinyl seat was blazing hot from the sun. I had never met a real farmer before, but I was pretty sure that was what Wanda did for a living. Aside from the way she was dressed, there were shovels and boards and wiring in the bed of the truck. And stacked between us on the front seat were a bunch of tattered magazines called
The Corn and Cob
.

After Wanda shoved the gear stick into reverse, we didn't say a word for at least an hour. For one thing, the truck engine was loud. And on top of that, the windows were open since it was such a hot day. Not to mention, Wanda had the radio tuned to some fiddling, square-dancing music, which made it kind of hard to talk at all or even think. I decided to gaze out the window and take in everything I could absorb. After all, it was my first true adventure . . . even if it seemed doomed from the start.

The state of Wisconsin was wide open compared to the East Coast. I liked how everything seemed to be precisely built and organized from the neat rows of houses to the parking lots and malls. Even the trees seemed to be perfectly spaced. Back home nothing matched, and roads wound up and down and all over the place making them hard to follow.

As the city highway faded away and the landscape changed to rolling hills, I realized I had not eaten anything all day other than stale bags of airplane granola. My stomach was growling, but you couldn't hear it over all the truck noise. I reached down and opened my backpack just as Wanda swerved off the road.

“Gotta stop for diesel,” she said. “Wanna pop, kid?”

“Wanna what?”

She pulled up to the fuel tanks under the dirty old sign that read, Gas 'n' Gulp. When she turned off the truck, it seemed so silent.

“A root beer or something?”

I shrugged my shoulders and replied, “Not really, thank you,” which actually meant,
yes, but don't worry about me
.

Wanda climbed out and stretched her arms before picking up the nozzle on the gas tank. I slid out on my side and unwrapped a package of peanut butter crackers from my stash of emergency supplies. I took a bite and glanced around. Across the street was a green field with spotted cows. The sky was bright blue, and the sun was summertime hot, not a cloud around. That's when I figured out what felt so different. The air was still. No wind. And it all smelled like warm, freshly cut grass instead of a damp, salty ocean breeze.

Wanda squinted at me as I munched as quietly as I could. Then she leaned against the truck as she waited for it to fill up.

“You're a real tall sapling,” she said. “Just like the rest of them.”

That seemed like a strange comment coming from her. Didn't Wanda notice that she was mega-vertical too? In fact, she kind of looked like she could be my grandmother which was weird to think about. I even detected some light red hair framing the edge of her forehead. I started to wonder if she was a real cousin. But if that was the case, then why wouldn't she be related?

“Would you like a cracker?” I asked her.

“A cracker?” she grunted. “That's not food.”

The hose clicked off, and Wanda returned the nozzle to the tank. Then she disappeared inside the store to pay for the gas. A few minutes later, she exited holding a cardboard carton with two sodas, two fat sausages covered in melted cheese, and steaming hot curly fries. It all smelled delicious.

With the truck running again and the radio blaring, I gazed back out the window and ate my lunch slowly, savoring every smoky bite. I guess I was hungrier than I thought. Outside the open, hilly landscape grew more wooded as the road changed from two lanes to one.

Silently I played the alphabet game, which I used to do with Nonno when I was younger on the long car rides into Boston to see the Salvonis. The idea is to find something along the highway that starts with each letter of the alphabet. For example,
A
for “ambulance,”
B
for “building.” (Nonno usually got confused and either skipped randomly through the letters or slipped into Italian.)

The game was much more challenging on a forested, narrow highway winding toward northern Wisconsin. I had just found
R
for “rock” when Wanda switched on the blinker. Up ahead, a wooden sign with carved letters read:

 

Welcome to
NEW THULE
Paradise of the North

Wanda shifted down a gear.

“One more turn, and we're there,” she said.

The reunion—

Somehow I had sort of forgotten about it between the alphabet game and daydreaming. I may have even fallen asleep for a while. All at once, I didn't want the car ride to end. This had been enough of an adventure. I picked up the sleeping bag and hugged it for support as if I were a little kid getting dropped off at some horrible summer camp.

We made our way slowly down a dirt road that barely seemed wide enough for just one car. Wanda had to carefully maneuver around the deep muddy puddles. Just ahead, a sign made from tree logs arched between two enormous pine trees. It read:

 

PAUL BUNYAN STATE PARK AND CAMPGROUND

My heart began pounding as my stomach clenched with the thought of meeting so many strange people all at once. I had to keep reminding myself that it was just for a few days. I could survive for
just a few days
.

Wanda jammed the truck into park but left the engine running. She peered over at me.

“Have a nice time.”

What was she talking about?

“Aren't you staying for the reunion?”

“Nope.”

Now I was really anxious. At least there would have been one semifamiliar face.

“But I thought you said you were a cousin?”

“That's right, but I'm not staying.”

I focused on the sleeping bag and hugged it harder.

“Can't you visit for a little bit?”

Wanda frowned and stared forward through the windshield. For a family reunion, the place seemed awfully quiet. Not a person in sight. Not even a squirrel.

“Gotta get back and help with chores,” she said glancing up at the sun which was below the treetops. “It's gonna be dark in a few hours.”

All of a sudden I worried that this was the wrong place. What if she dropped me off in the middle of nowhere at a different Paul Bunyan Campground? How would I last the night all by myself in the woods without a tent?

“Are you sure this is where they're having it?”

I was hoping Wanda would realize that she had made a huge mistake and that the only thing to do was to drive me back to the airport. I no longer felt brave or interested in adventures one tiny bit.

But instead, Wanda opened the ashtray and pulled out a stick of gum.

“They've been having this shindig for over fifty years right here in New Thule.” She popped the gum in her mouth and began to chew real slowly, like her teeth might fall out. “Most of the family lives in these parts.”

I drooped against my sleeping bag. It had been such a long day already. I couldn't find the strength to get out of the truck. What had I been thinking, doing this all by myself? And how could Donatella let me fly off alone to a bunch of strange relatives she had never even met?

Wanda offered me the shiny silver package. “Want one?”

I took a piece for later and stuck it in my pocket where the gold bead was tucked away. The good luck bead. Again, I was reminded of Penelope. Brave, spirited, try-anything Penelope. She would be so disappointed if I returned to Homeport having chickened out on the reunion.

It was
just for a few days, just for a few days . . .

I opened the door and stepped out before I changed my mind.

“Thank you for the ride.”

Wanda leaned across the seat and cranked the window all the way open.

“These are your folks, kid. Don't fret. They'll take good care of you.”

“Then why don't you stay?”

For some reason, I was really beginning to like (or was it trust?) Wanda.

She leaned back in and crunched the gears into reverse.

“'Cause I don't fit the mold.”

“What mold?”

“Any mold,” she muttered.

“Huh?”

“Just remember this, Emma—not every Jell-O salad turns out perfect. But it can still taste real good.”

As she backed the truck slowly down the banged up road, I wondered what Jell-O salad and molds had to do with anything when, suddenly, Wanda braked in the middle of the road and hung her head out the door.

“I'll pick you up Monday in time for your plane. Meet me here!” she hollered, then slammed the door and continued in reverse.

I had never met anyone like Wanda, but I was already missing her and couldn't wait to see her again in three days. Because that would mean I had survived. I gazed wistfully at the truck as it disappeared around the bend . . . and the clatter of the old engine faded away.

About a quarter mile past the huge arching sign, I saw my first hint of life, a freckled little boy with light orange hair dragging a branch. But before I could ask him anything, he dropped the stick and raced away from me like I'd shouted
boo!
I wondered if I seemed that scary. At least I knew there had to be other people somewhere back there.

As I turned the last corner, tired and hot from lugging my stuff, a log cabin with a bright red roof appeared up ahead through the trees. I could see a crowd of young children gathering and chatting on the front porch. There had to have been at least twenty little kids. Maybe this
was
some horrible summer camp. I didn't know what to do, so I stopped cold. I dreaded these social situations so much. Would I have to tell them my name and hear them all laugh?

Then I remembered—maybe they all had the same awful last name as I did!

I moved forward staring down at the ground. Hopefully they wouldn't notice me. I practically tiptoed the rest of the way until I passed the cabin. All at once, it was quiet. I peered up. Every pale, young face was staring back at me. The shy little boy I had seen earlier stepped forward.

“Are you Emma?”

I was so relieved. They knew who I was so they
had
to be related. I tried my hardest to smile nice and wide as I announced my name to a bunch of kids who wouldn't laugh for once.

“Yep, I'm Emma
Freke
!”

At first it felt great to say that out loud. But their faces dropped like I had said something wrong. Then a few kids actually began to giggle. More and more joined in until they were all laughing so hard they tumbled down the porch steps and ran off into the woods clutching their sides.