Far Away Places
by Evan Shultz
Little Jane had only three memories of her mother—she knew this because she sat down once and counted them out. The first was sitting in a high chair being fed. The second was being carried through the woods to a tree so big it was too big to look at, so Little Jane hid her face in her mother’s shoulder and chewed her shirt collar. Those two were the easiest to remember when she first counted her memories, and she’d almost stopped there…but as she stood up, her third and favorite memory suddenly jumped up from the back of her mind. She remembered her mother telling her a story.
She couldn’t remember the story. Just that she was sitting on her mother’s lap, with a book open over a blanket pulled up to her chin. The book was open to a picture of a rainbow stretched between two mountains. The rainbow was glittery, and the mountains were a light, flat indigo. The illustrator had drawn fluffy white clouds around the peaks of the mountains, so that each one looked a little like Santa Claus’s hat. There was also a pop-up of the hero and his lady love flying up out of the book on a winged horse, but Jane didn’t like the way the two lovers were drawn and even at that age she didn’t particularly like horses. She liked the mountains. She tried to pull them up off the page.
“Oh, honey,” her mother laughed. “You can’t pull the mountains out of the page.”
“I want it,” said Jane. It was the first sentence she’d learned.
“But you can’t have them, dear,” said her mother. “They’re too far away.”
Jane looked back at the mountains, and saw that they were indeed too far away. And that was as far as the memory went.
Jane couldn’t remember her mother’s voice, just what she said with it. Nor could she remember her mother’s face, nor how old she was, nor which house they were in, nor any other circumstances. But it was still her favorite memory.
And three was her favorite number. Which was why she and her cousin Alex were currently fighting over a card game.
“I want to play the threes,” she said.
“You can’t play the threes,” said her cousin. “The threes are odd, and I’ve already picked the sevens. You have to pick something even.”
“No, you always pick the sevens. You pick something else so I can be the threes.”
“No!”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s my turn, and I want to be the sevens. You never let me pick one of the odd ones, and I want to try one out.”
“But I want to be the threes! It’s not fair!”
“Yes it is, Little Jane, because you picked first last time. It’s my turn to pick first.”
“So? You pick an even one first and then I’ll pick the threes.”
Alex sighed the frustrated sigh one only learns from having younger siblings. Then he got up.
“Fine,” he said, “I’m telling my mom.” And he made for the open garage door.
“You can’t tell on me! You’re the one who won’t let me be the threes!” Little Jane ran after him. He was running toward Aunt Beth, who was folding laundry out of the dryer and onto the hood of their pickup truck. She looked peaceful, but her lips tightened when she realized two complaining children were aimed at her.
“Mom!” Alex complained. “Little Jane won’t choose an even number and she always makes me be an even number so it’s her turn…”
“But I don’t want to be an even number! You always make me be an even number…”
“Do not!”
“Yes you do!”
“Hold on,” said Aunt Beth.
Alex and Little Jane fell silent.
Aunt Beth pulled the dress in her hands out of the dryer, then shook it out carefully across her standing lap. She folded one arm down into the chest, then the other, then folded it straight down the middle like a valentine’s card, and again the other way and then again to fit onto the stack. No one said a single word as she did this.
“Now,” she said as she set down the dress onto a folded shirt, “what game are you playing?”
“The math game,” they both said. “And I wanted to pick the threes but Alex wouldn’t let me,” Little Jane added.
“That’s not what happened!”
“Yes it is!”
“Well, actually, it is,” said Alex. “But I had good reason to, so there.”
“No you didn’t!”
“That’s not for you to decide,” said Alex.
“It’s not for you to decide either,” Aunt Beth pointed out. “It’s for me to decide. So…Alex, why can’t your cousin be the threes?”
“Because she’s always the threes. She always picks first, and this time it’s my turn to pick first.”
“And you want to be the threes?” asked Aunt Beth.
“No, I want to be the sevens. But one of us has to be odd and one of us has to be even.”
“Oh,” said Aunt Beth. She thought a moment.
“Little Jane,” she said, “I think you might like being the sixes. A six is actually two threes in disguise.”
“But I want to be the threes!” she said.
“Okay. Have you ever not been the threes?”
“No,” said Little Jane.
“Then Alex is right, it is his turn to pick first. You’ll either have to choose another number or find something else to play.”
“Something else to play,” said Little Jane.
Alex rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he said. “What do you want to play?”
“I wanna play dolls.”
“I don’t wanna play dolls,” said Alex.
“Why don’t you play with your robot blocks?” suggested Aunt Beth.
But Little Jane was already on her way inside to play. Marcy and Rainbow, her two dolls, were seated around their little tea table when she opened the door to her room. After Little Jane excused herself for being late the three of them had a tea party, talking about cousins and math games, later visiting Mr. Bear’s house to invite him to the party, which he finally accepted (even though he was very grumpy at first). Everyone agreed it was much grander with him there.
Aunt Beth came up a few hours into the party, looking for Little Jane.
“Little Jane?” she asked.
“Yes?” answered Little Jane.
“It’s dinner time. Uncle Joe is home and the whole family is waiting for you at the table.”
“Okay,” said Little Jane, and she excused herself from the tea party and ran down the stairs.
Dinner was mashed potatoes, green beans, and milk. Very healthy, very boring.
“Well, here’s the little lady of the house…we were wondering when you’d be down,” said Uncle Joe as she climbed into her chair. “How are you today?”
“I’m okay,” said Little Jane, and she stuck her fork in her mashed potatoes.
“Ah-ah, we say grace first around here, young lady,” said Uncle Joe. Little Jane put her fork back down and grabbed hands with Alex and Aunt Beth as Uncle Joe said grace.
The conversation at dinner danced and skipped over Little Jane’s head. Alex had found some new math puzzle he was convinced he was going to be the one to solve, and Big Jane had gotten into an argument with a mean customer at the shoe store she worked in.
After Big Jane was done describing the argument, Uncle Joe turned to Little Jane and asked, “So, little lady, how’d your day go?”
“She sat in her room and played dolls all day,” said Alex, “because she wouldn’t choose an even number to play the math game and then when Mom told her she had to she decided she’d rather do something else.”
“Yes,” said Little Jane.
“Alex, I didn’t ask you, I asked Little Jane. “Now, Little Jane, what did you do today?”
“Yes,” said Little Jane.
“Yes what?” asked Uncle Joe.
“Yes, that’s what I did today,” said Little Jane. Uncle Joe blinked.
“Did what?” he asked.
“What Alex said,” answered Little Jane.
“Oh,” said Uncle Joe. “And what else did you do today?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said. “I’m not hungry any more. Can I go back and play dolls?” she asked.
“Uh,” said Uncle Joe. He looked at Aunt Beth. She looked at him, and then he said, “Little Jane, you haven’t finished your dinner yet.”
“But I’m not hungry any more. I ate half of it,” she said.
There were more looks between Aunt Beth and Uncle Joe.
“Okay, little lady, you may be excused.”
Little Jane got up.
“What were you going to do, Little Jane?” asked Aunt Beth.
“Play dolls,” said Little Jane.
“Wouldn’t you like to do something else?” asked Aunt Beth.
“No,” she answered.
Little Jane bounded back up the stairs, then closed the door to her room and sat down again between Marcy and Rainbow. They had another tea party because Marcy was still thirsty.
“Little Jane,” said Aunt Beth’s voice from outside the door. It was halfway through the tea party. Little Jane had just asked Marcy about her new boyfriend, whether they might get married and have babies.
“Yes?” asked Little Jane.
“May I come in?”
“Okay,” she said.
Aunt Beth opened the door, saw they were seated around the table, then sat down on Little Jane’s bed.
“What are you doing, honey?” asked Aunt Beth.
“Playing dolls,” said Little Jane.
“It looks like you’re having a tea party,’ said Aunt Beth.
“Yes,” said Little Jane.
“Well… do you mind if I join you?”
“At the tea party?” asked Little Jane.
“Sure,” said Aunt Beth as she slid down to the floor.
Little Jane looked at her, sitting cross-legged with a knee sticking out each side.
“You can’t,” she said. “You don’t fit at the table.”
“We could pretend I do,” suggested Aunt Beth. When Little Jane just looked at her funny, she asked, “Would it be all right if I went and got you and your dolls a bigger table? That way we could all sit together.”
“My dolls wouldn’t be able to see over the edge of the table.”
“We could set their chairs up on the table.”
“They wouldn’t like that. Then they couldn’t reach their tea.”
Aunt Beth leaned in and smiled.
“C’mon,” she said. “I’ll bet we could find something they’d like.”
“They like it here,” said Little Jane.
“But can’t we at least try?” asked Aunt Beth.
“I don’t think my dolls would like that,” said Little Jane.
“Oh,” said Aunt Beth.
They sat in silence a moment. Finally, Little Jane’s aunt took a breath and asked, “Little Jane, why do you like playing with your dolls so much?”
“I don’t know,” said Little Jane.
“Is it because you don’t like playing with your cousins or with Uncle Joe and me?”
“No,” said Little Jane.
“No, that’s not the reason or, no, you don’t like playing with us?” asked Aunt Beth.
“No, I like playing with you,” said Little Jane. “But then my dolls would get lonely,” she added.
“Ah, I see,” said Aunt Beth. “Little Jane, do you ever get lonely?” she asked.
“No, I have my dolls,” said Little Jane.
“But do you ever get lonely when you’re not playing with your dolls, and you’re with your cousins and Uncle Joe and I? It’s all right if you do. I sometimes get lonely when your Uncle Joe isn’t around.”
“No,” said Little Jane.
“Oh,” said Aunt Beth. She looked down at her hands, one held in the other. It gave Little Jane the feeling that something heavy had wafted in through the door and now hung over them, like a blanket without the warmth…”Little Jane, do you,”—Aunt Beth chewed her lip—”do you sometimes miss your mother?”
“No,” said Little Jane.
Aunt Beth studied Little Jane. “Really, you don’t?” she asked. “Because I miss your mother a lot.”
Little Jane looked up at her with surprise. “Why?” she asked.
“Because your mother was my sister, silly! We were little girls together.”
“You were?”
“Yes,” said Aunt Beth. “We did everything together right up through high school. And then after high school I met your Uncle Joe, and your mother was my maid of honor at our wedding. After our wedding someone decided that they liked your mother’s artwork, her drawings and paintings, so they paid for her to go to schools in faraway places and learn how to paint and draw pictures even better. She was away a long time, and when she came back, she had you.”
“Mommy got me in a faraway place?” asked Little Jane.
“Yes, she did,” said Aunt Beth, reaching across to tickle her and make her laugh. “You came from someplace far, far away, across the ocean. And when your mother came back, she wanted me to promise that if she had to go someplace far away, where you couldn’t go yet, that I’d take care of you like I do your cousins. And then Uncle Joe wanted to make that promise, too. That’s why you came to live with us when your mother went up to heaven.”
Little Jane wrinkled up her face. “What’s heaven?” she asked.
“Oh, honey,” said Aunt Beth. “You really don’t know what heaven is?”
“No,” said Little Jane.
“Heaven is the most far away of faraway places,” said Aunt Beth. “It’s where God and the angels are, and it’s where people go to when they die.”
“Like up on the clouds?” asked Little Jane.
“Sort of like that,” said Aunt Beth, “only much better.”
“Better, how?” asked Little Jane.
“Oh, it’s the most wonderful place of all places,” began Aunt Beth, pulling Little Jane up snug onto her lap, “all the good and wonderful people that ever lived are there, and there are no bad guys or monsters. There are beautiful fields and forests and mountains…”
“And mountains?” asked Little Jane.
“Yes, mountains,” continued Aunt Beth, “big, tall, purple mountains. And the streets are paved with gold, and the houses are made from pretty jewels, and no one is ever hungry or tired or poor, and they can do whatever they please all the day long.”
“Wow,” said Little Jane.
“Wow indeed,” said Aunt Beth. “And that’s where your mommy is. But you know what?”
“What?” asked Little Jane.
“I’m sure that, even with all the wonderful things in heaven,”—here Aunt Beth wrapped her arms around Little Jane in a hug—”even with God and the angels flying around above and below her, she still misses you terribly.” Aunt Beth hugged Little Jane for what seemed like a full minute, as if her niece might be plucked up to heaven without her if so much as a finger slipped.
Finally, Little Jane pushed away from her and looked straight into her face.
“Why?” she asked.
“Why what?” asked Aunt Beth.
“Why does she miss me?” asked Little Jane.
Aunt Beth looked at the little girl in her hands, and her smile uncurled itself.
“Because she loves you, honey!” said Aunt Beth.
“Why?” Little Jane asked.
“Oh, honey,” said Aunt Beth, and she began to cry. “Oh, honey.” She hugged Little Jane close, until Little Jane felt uncomfortable and wished she could go back to playing with her dolls.
“Your mother loves you very, very much,” Aunt Beth continued. “I love you very, very much, and so does your Uncle Joe, and both your cousins. Don’t you ever forget that.”
“Okay,” said Little Jane.
Aunt Beth stopped crying. She held Little Jane out at arm’s length, and seemed to search her face for something…
After a strange silence, Little Jane asked:
“Can I go back to playing with my dolls?”
“Little Jane, don’t you…,” Aunt Beth began, then said, “Little Jane, I think it’s time for you to go to bed now.”
“But our tea party isn’t over yet,” said Little Jane.
“You still need to go to bed. Your dolls will still be there in the morning.”
“Do I have to?” asked Little Jane.
“Yes,” said Aunt Beth.
Little Jane looked down at Marcy and Rainbow, sitting uncomfortably in their seats. “Okay,” she finally said.
Aunt Beth stood up. “You… do you promise to go straight to bed?”
“Okay,” said Little Jane.
“All right,” said Aunt Beth. “Go get your pajamas on.”
Aunt Beth stayed long enough to watch her pull the only set of pajamas she would wear out of her dresser. Then Aunt Beth kissed her goodnight, and left. Little Jane finished putting on her pajamas, climbed up on her bed and pulled back the covers. But she didn’t go to bed.
She climbed down and sat between her two dolls.
“Marcy, Rainbow,” she said, “you’ll never guess where I’m from!” And she told them her tale…
The next morning found Little Jane up bright and early, talking over last night’s news with Marcy and Rainbow. Marcy was of the opinion that Little Jane might actually be a long-lost princess. Rainbow was still convinced she was making it all up.
The conversation stopped when Little Jane heard people talking outside her door.
“Janey, where do you think you’re going this early?” It was Aunt Beth’s voice.
“It’s Saturday. I’m going to be out all day with Darin.” That was Big Jane’s voice. Darin was her boyfriend.
“What were you two planning on doing all day?” asked Aunt Beth.
“Oh, just screwing around,” said Big Jane.
There was a long pause.
“Mom, you have got to learn to take a joke.”
“I didn’t think it was very funny,” said Aunt Beth’s voice. “And it didn’t answer my question. What were you and Darin planning on doing?”
“Well, I have some dresses at the dry cleaner’s I’ll need for next week, so we were going to pick those up first and grab some pizza at Alonzo’s while we’re over there.”
“And then?” asked Aunt Beth.
“And then we don’t know,” said Big Jane. “I wanted to go ice skating, but I don’t know if any of the rinks are open this late into summer. Darin said he knows this really cool trail with its own little stream back near his old house, so if the rinks are closed we’ll probably go exploring in the mountains all day.”
Little Jane’s breath caught in her throat. You can actually go to the mountains?
“If you’re going to go exploring in the mountains, I want you home before dark,” said Aunt Beth.
“Mom…” Big Jane began to complain. Little Jane didn’t give her a chance to finish; she threw her door open and ran out into the hallway.
“I want to go to the mountains, too! I want to go to the mountains, too!” she pleaded.
“Little Jane, use your inside voice,” Aunt Beth told her.
“But I want to go to the mountains, too! It’s no fair that Big Jane gets to go and I have to stay here.”
“Well, life’s tough,” said Big Jane.
“Hush. I’ll handle this,” said Aunt Beth. She turned to Little Jane.
“Did you want to go the mountains instead of playing with your dolls?”
Little Jane had to think about that one. “Yes,” she finally decided.
“Saints be praised,” said Aunt Beth. “Janey, sorry to break it to you, but Little Jane and I are coming along.”
“What?” said Big Jane. “You’re going to crash my date! I can’t believe it! This is so unfair!”
“Life’s tough,” said Little Jane.
Big Jane glared at her.
“Little Jane,” said Aunt Beth, “go put everything you want to take with you into your backpack. I’ll be in with you in just a second to help you pick out your clothes.”
“Okay!” said Little Jane. She raced back into her room and closed the door behind her, almost silencing the now heated discussion just outside her door. The first two things to go into her backpack were Marcy and Rainbow. As she was going through her dresses Aunt Beth came back in.
“Come here a second, Little Jane.” Little Jane trotted over. Aunt Beth squatted down and put a hand on each of her shoulders. “Now, Big Jane and Darin were only going to go to the mountains if none of the ice rinks were open, so if one of them is open the two of them will go skating and you and I will have to find something else to do…”
“But I want to go to the mountains!” said Little Jane.
“We’ll have to go to the mountains another day,” said Aunt Beth. “Today we can go get ice cream or go to the park, whatever you want that’s nearby. But that’s only if one of the rinks is open – if they’re both closed, and I think they will be, then Darin and Big Jane agreed to take us to the mountains. But only if we stay back a bit and let them be alone to talk to each other. So can I get a promise from you, that if we go to the mountains you’ll stay with me and not bother Big Jane and Darin?”
“I promise,” said Little Jane. She would have promised her legs away.
“Great. Now let’s get you some sturdier clothes.”
First they drove to the dry cleaner’s; Big Jane walked in with Darin, then walked out with Darin carrying dresses in billowy plastic.
“Is the skating rink closed?” asked Little Jane.
“Yes, Little Jane, the skating rink is closed,” said Big Jane. “They had an infestation of rabid clothing. You saw the three dresses attacking Darin when he came out.”
“You’re so mean,” said Darin, laughing.
Little Jane didn’t get it; she was just glad it was closed. She had been hoping with all her might that all the skating rinks would be closed—she would have been praying if she’d known how to. She held out her index finger, kept it out with her other fingers tight in her palm until Big Jane and Darin turned away from reading glass doors with discouraged looks and started back to the car, and she could add a second finger held out to keep the magic working. When they stopped again, went out and headed back again, and Little Jane was just about to add the third finger, she heard Darin say:
“Well, looks like we’re headed for the mountains.”
Little Jane was, for the first time in her life, overjoyed. She found herself being led away by Aunt Beth, discussions flying back and forth over her head. She laughed and jumped up and down, and was ignored, while she daydreamed of walking on indigo stone and cotton cloud. Before she knew it they were in the car and on their way out of town.
The feeling that life has for once kept up with your wildest dreams, if not surpassed them, is wonderful…but it cannot last. It is not native country for the human soul. Once they were a few miles outside of town Little Jane got bored. She reached into her backpack and pulled out Marcy and Rainbow (she had wanted to take Mr. Bear as well, but he would not fit…and then at the last minute he decided he didn’t want to go anyway). They had none of their usual service, so they used Marcy’s invisible teacups that she kept in her skirt pockets for just such an occasion. There was not much they could talk about with three sets of prying adult ears, but despite her enthusiasm Little Jane managed to keep her voice to a whisper; only Rainbow was occasionally too loud for her own good. They discussed the trip to the mountains, and how lovely the countryside was in this weather, and what they thought Little Jane’s mom would look like. Little Jane was sure she was a beautiful princess, and Marcy and Rainbow both agreed she could hardly be otherwise.
“Little Jane, why don’t you put your dolls away and look out the window?” asked Aunt Beth.
“I am looking out the window,” said Little Jane.
“No, you’re not; I’ve been watching you,” said Aunt Beth. “You’ve been playing with your dolls. I think you should put them away and look out the window for a while. You don’t want to get carsick.”
Little Jane didn’t get carsick, but Little Jane didn’t know she didn’t get carsick. She took her dolls and put them carefully in her backpack, and then turned and stared out the window.
After she’d counted to ten, she got her dolls back out and continued the tea party.
“Little Jane! What did I just tell you?” Aunt Beth asked.
“What?” said Little Jane.
“I told you to put your dolls away for now and look out the window.”
“I did.”
“But then you got them back out again,” said Aunt Beth. “Put them away, leave them there, and look out the window.”
“Why?” asked Little Jane.
“Because your Aunt Beth told you,” said Big Jane. “Trust me, it doesn’t need to make sense.” Aunt Beth gave Big Jane a dirty look.
“Because you’ve been playing entirely too much with your dolls,” said Aunt Beth. “Poor Marcy and Rainbow must be getting very tired…”
“No, they’re not,” said Little Jane.
“…and besides, you’re missing the beautiful world out there.” Aunt Beth pointed out the window.
Little Jane looked outside. She turned back to Aunt Beth.
“All I see is lumpy fields,” she said.
“Little Jane, I swear…” began Aunt Beth.
“Mom, why not just let her play with her dolls? She’s being quiet, and the mountains are only a few minutes away,” said Big Jane. Aunt Beth rolled her eyes.
“All right!” she said. “Go ahead and play with your dolls. Miss your whole life outside, for all I care.”
This gave Marcy, Rainbow, and Little Jane much to talk about.
About fifteen minutes later, halfway through a comment to Marcy, Little Jane looked up and realized she’d been seeing trees outside.
“Hm,” she commented to Marcy. “There must be forest on the way to the mountain.”
Aunt Beth looked out the window. “Little Jane, you’re missing the mountains,” she said.
Mountains? thought Little Jane.
Little Jane climbed up to look out the window. It was still forest…only not quite forest, she noticed. It was forest like the memory of seeing the big tree and hiding in her mother’s shirt. There was very little green; it was mostly red and brown. Sparse branches zigzagged across a blue-gray sky, with drab splotches replacing the verdant leaves out of a painting. And it was hilly, all up and down like the folds of a blanket thrown on the floor. They drove along a shelf cut into the hill.
There was no purple. And the clouds were not fluffy and tangible; they were white smudges on the sky.
“Where’s the mountains?” asked Little Jane.
“You’re on one, kiddo,” said Big Jane.
This was a mountain?
Little Jane sat back in her seat. She felt like a cruel trick was being played on her.
No, she told herself, it was just the wrong kind of mountain. She had seen pictures of mountains. They were big and rocky, with snow at the top and a sort of soft purple tone overlaying them. And there were more mountains nearby…maybe this was just a practice mountain.
“How many mountains are here?” she asked.
“Oh, gosh, I don’t know,” said Big Jane. “Darin, do you know how many mountains there are?”
Darin leaned back his head, seeming to read the answer on the ceiling.
“I read it on the sign over by the ranger station, what was it…fifteen, I think?” he answered.
“How many are we going to visit?” asked Little Jane.
“Just this one, Little Jane,” said Big Jane. “It’s too far to walk from one to another.”
“Can I see the others?” asked Little Jane.
“Some of them,” said Darin. “There’s that one vista on the trail where you can see five of the other peaks on a clear day.”
“But dear,” said Big Jane, “they’re not coming with us, remember?”
“Why not, honey?” asked Darin. “It’s a wide trail. They can walk it with us, and when they stop to look at the views we can wander off on some of the side trails.”
“I want to see the other mountains,” said Little Jane.
“I’d like that, too,” said Aunt Beth.
“Fine,” said Big Jane, with as much martyr-like exasperation as she could. “Whatever everyone else wants.”
Big Jane spotted the parking grounds and Darin pulled in. They got out, unloaded their backpacks and water bottles and Aunt Beth’s sunglasses. Aunt Beth pestered Little Jane until she put sunblock on, and then pestered Big Jane, gave up and pestered Little Jane again, this time about using the bathroom before the walk. All the while Little Jane’s impatience fizzed quietly. Then, finally, they were off up the mountain.
For the first half-hour the only excitement was the bridge across the little creek. It was a lovely, rustic-looking bridge – Aunt Beth said as much – but it was built during a dry spell, and the water was two inches deep on it at both shores. Only in the middle did it rise up out of the mud like the swell of a whale. Big Jane wound up carrying Little Jane over the swamps, much to the chagrin of both parties. Aunt Beth and Darin stopped on the bridge and looked over into the creek.
“Care to skip stones?” asked Darin. He grabbed a handful of smooth stones from a shallow point in the creek.
“Can we go up and see the mountains?” asked Little Jane. Darin dropped the stones. They made a chorus of plops as they hit the water.
“I’ll skip some with you on our way back down,” said Big Jane. They trekked on.
About forty-five minutes into their adventure Little Jane went into a panic when she discovered that Rainbow was missing. An extensive search of the area finally discovered Rainbow, under a sweater at the bottom of her backpack.
About five minutes later they reached the vista.
“It’s beautiful,” said Aunt Beth.
“Aren’t they, though,” said Big Jane.
“Almost close enough to touch,” said Darin.
“Those are the mountains?” asked Little Jane.
“Yes, honey, those are the mountains,” said Aunt Beth.
Little Jane began to cry.
They were lumps of grass, rock, and tree, with not a cloud between them. There was no purple to be seen, no clouds around the peaks…there were hardly any peaks. No heaven, no saints touching down to earth.
“Honey, why are you crying?” asked Aunt Beth.
“I thought they were different,” said Little Jane through her tears.
“What?” asked Aunt Beth.
“Great,” Big Jane sighed. “Now she’s crying.”
“Honey,” Aunt Beth walked over and put her hands on Little Jane’s’ shoulders. “What did you think they would be?”
“I thought”—but already the thought she had been thinking seemed so ridiculous, so childish, even to her—”I thought that they’d be purple,” was all she said.
The trip back home was miserable. Aunt Beth tried unsuccessfully to understand and console her, her cousin was disgusted with her, Darin just seemed mildly bamboozled by little girls in general. Marcy and Rainbow were speechless. It was dark when they got back. Little Jane took her backpack with Marcy and Rainbow inside upstairs to her room. She set the dolls at their table, then brought Mr. Bear over.
“So, how was your trip to the mountains? Not that I care,” said Mr. Bear.
Marcy and Rainbow looked at each other, then down at their tea. They said nothing.
Mr. Bear looked confused.
“Um…were the mountains pretty?” he asked.
“No,” said Rainbow, quietly.
Another silence followed. Mr. Bear cleared his throat uncomfortably.
“I’m… I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “What did they look like?”
“They were just…,” Marcy began, “They were just…ground…all bunched up,”
“Oh,” said Mr. Bear. “That’s, um…” he scratched his ear with his paw, “…it’s, disappointing, I guess.”
Marcy and Rainbow continued to stare at their teacups.
“Did you at least get to meet Princess Jane’s mommy?” Mr. Bear asked.
“No,” said Marcy. “Her mommy wasn’t there. Neither were the angels or God, or streets of gold or houses of pretty jewels. There weren’t even any clouds for them to be on. They were all still too far away.”
“It was so mean,” said Rainbow, suddenly. “They told Princess Jane all these wonderful things about her mommy and heaven, and then they took her to the wrong mountains! I could just…” Rainbow screwed up her hands into fists; she was shaking slightly.
“Poor Princess,” said Marcy, looking over at Little Jane, who sat by the window. The doll shook her head sadly. “She didn’t take it at all well.”
Little Jane stared across the deep, cave-indigo sky, searching the horizon for telltale flecks of color. Tomorrow, she thought, I’ll take my backpack and put Marcy and Rainbow inside, and a bunch of snacks and the biggest bottle of water. I’ll wear my prettiest outfit and put on my prettiest sweater, and I’ll run away. I’ll follow the road until I find where heaven reaches down to touch purple mountains, or until I run out of sky and have to come back.
