Applewhites Coast to Coast Page 4

  Nobody noticed, as they all voted yes, including Melody, who shouldn’t have had a vote at all, that E.D. hadn’t participated. That she wasn’t smiling, she wasn’t cheering and predicting a win like her father, or jumping up and down like Destiny about this so-called adventure. Nobody even noticed that E.D. didn’t want to go. She didn’t want to go!

  She loved Wit’s End. She loved watching the seasons change. She loved planning her curriculum for the year and then working through it one step at a time, handling every detail, completing every project, pushing herself to do better and better, genuinely earning the A’s she gave herself. Most of all, she loved having everything under control. Now she was supposed to throw all that away? Drive across the whole country? How was she supposed to control the whole country? She couldn’t create a curriculum without knowing exactly where they were going, what they would see, who they would meet, or what they were supposed to do on the way!

  No. It was impossible. So she was going to sit this one out. If the family was going, she’d have to go, too. And she would take care of her own education. She’d make her own plans—somehow. But she wasn’t going to lift a finger to get this Expedition on the road, or to do anything for anybody else. They could just figure it out without her.

  To her horror, over the days that followed, they began to do just that.

  Jake had been assigned to bus research, and he found them a gigantic modern bus for very little money at a nearby private school that had gone out of business. Archie and Zedediah set about fixing it up, and now, just a week later, it was starting to look like an RV that people could actually live in. On its outside, Cordelia and Hal were adding paintings and designs, and Archie had gotten in on the act with a big stripe made of beautiful wood siding. Even Destiny had been allowed to paint an enormous purple possum on part of one side.

  Then Randolph had driven up in a smoking, shuddering, rusted-out old disaster of a bus he’d seen in a churchyard with a For Sale sign under its windshield wiper, and announced—just announced, like nobody else even had a say!—that he was going to mount a stage on the side and turn it into a traveling theater. “It’s a pageant wagon!” he shouted. “Like in medieval times. They would roll giant wagons from town to town doing plays—the wagons were their stages! Theater was absolutely central to everyone’s lives, and on this Expedition we’re going to bring that back!”

  As far-fetched as that sounded, nobody raised any objection. Randolph told Jake and Archie to build stage platforms, and two days later, there they were, sitting alongside Randolph’s “Pageant Wagon.” To E.D.’s growing horror, little by little, with no lists and no charts and no calendar, the Applewhites were getting ready to hit the road.

  E.D. Applewhite was determinedly on strike, and the worst thing was, nobody even seemed to notice.

  After a while, she started to feel seriously left out. Even worse, the “school year” ought to have started by now, and though she’d done her best to begin creating her own curriculum, just as she would have done if she were going to follow it right there at Wit’s End, she couldn’t keep her mind focused on it. She’d ended up reading novels instead, just to keep herself occupied. Probably everybody else was learning more than she was, just by having to get the buses ready. Except Melody, of course, who was mostly swimming and sunbathing and watching people work (especially Jake, it seemed to E.D., who, she was pretty sure, was watching Melody right back). The only person E.D. was hurting with her strike seemed to be herself.

  Finally, she holed up in the classroom and got out the huge box of materials and supplies from the Rutherford Foundation that Jeremy had left behind when he drove off in the Art Bus—leaving Melody as well. She opened it and found it packed full of papers, booklets, and equipment. She felt her heart begin beating faster. It’s not like it’s a treasure chest, she told herself sternly, it’s just a box of supplies, and I don’t find it at all exciting.

  First there were the maps. A full set of beautifully detailed paper maps, one for every state. She unfolded North Carolina and found Traybridge. Her finger slid across the smooth paper toward the ocean. There had been no specific instructions so far from the Rutherfords, and Randolph had announced—announced!—that the Applewhite Expedition was to be literally coast to coast. Their first stop would be a small town on the Outer Banks of North Carolina called Haddock Point, where an actor friend of his had just finished doing summer theater and where Randolph was going to debut a new production he was planning to produce on the stage of their Pageant Wagon. He had named this production Randolph Applewhite’s Theatrical Portrait of America, and as far as E.D. could tell it had nothing to do with education. If she wasn’t on strike, she would have said something.

  At the top of the map a big gray area caught her eye. It extended up into Virginia, and it was huge. It had the most amazing name: the Great Dismal Swamp. E.D. was irritated. How could there be this huge place with a name like that just a few inches on a map from where they lived and she’d never even heard of it? She went to the computer and tapped in the words Great Dismal Swamp.

  Half an hour later, her head was swimming. This was educational! There was so much to know! A young George Washington, before the Revolutionary War, had joined a survey crew as they explored and mapped the swamp. A colony of runaway slaves had hidden there for years during the Civil War! Not to mention all the plants and animals there were to study. All of it just map-inches away!

  She couldn’t help it. E.D. was hooked. After all, just because she was on strike from her family didn’t mean her own education had to suffer. The lists, the outlines, the summaries, the projects about the Great Dismal Swamp started forming in her head. Maybe, just maybe, since she had no choice but to go along, she could get something out of this Expedition after all.

  She dug back into the box of supplies. At the bottom was a big padded case with a dozen tiny video cameras, and some basic guidelines for creating video logs. That’s how the Rutherfords wanted the groups to keep track of the Expedition—in videos. Fascinated, E.D. poked at the button on the top of one, and a little red light came on, winking at her. She turned it back off. Then she set it on the desk across from her, ran her fingers through her hair, and pressed the button again.

  “Hi, uh,” she said into the camera, and immediately felt ridiculous. “Hi,” she started again, trying to sound more confident. “E.D. Applewhite here, video log number, um . . . number one. I guess.” Smooth, she thought. “So, my first proposed stop on the Expedition will be the Great Dismal Swamp. It’s interesting to note,” she added, trying to smile into the camera, “that the water there is the color of iced tea, and you can drink it right out of the lake, because it has so much tannic acid in it that no bacteria can grow there. So,” she ended, fizzling out somewhat, “I just thought that was interesting. Okay, let’s see how the buses are coming along, I guess.”

  She paused the recording and headed out across the compound. She filmed the Pageant Wagon, where power saws and drills sat among mounds of sawdust piled up like snowdrifts. She filmed Aunt Lucille stitching rainbow-colored fabric into curtains, to cover the opening to the back of that bus where she and Uncle Archie would share a bed. E.D. filmed the narrow bunks, one mounted above the other, where Zedediah and Jake were to sleep.

  Uncle Archie grinned into the camera. “Just like on a submarine,” he said, and then went back to screwing the bunks to the wall.

  E.D. paused the recording and walked over to the big bus, which everyone had for some reason started calling Brunhilda. Inside Brunhilda she found Zedediah installing a tiny refrigerator. She started filming him.

  “Check out the bathroom!” cried her grandfather, pointing to a tiny room that had a small sink bowl and a showerhead directly above the toilet. E.D. panned the camera down to show the drain in the middle of the linoleum-lined floor. “The whole bathroom is waterproof,” Zedediah told her happily, “and doubles as the shower stall. Clever, huh? I’m stringing up a hammock for Destiny. I told him he can sleep
like a real pirate; he loved that. Hal put a platform on the roof, says he’s going to pitch a tent up there. And check out your space! The dining table folds down and becomes part of a regular double-sized bed. At night you and Melody just fold it down, flip the cushions, and it becomes the bunk you two will share.”

  E.D. snapped the camera off and, her heart beating a mile a minute, headed back to the schoolroom. She would not—would not!—share a bed with that girl. Cordelia, maybe. Even Destiny. But absolutely and certainly not with Melody!

  Three days later, E.D. had begun to think she was going to be saved from the Expedition after all. One thing after another was going wrong.

  The work wasn’t finished. The Pageant Wagon, it turned out, wouldn’t go more than fifty miles per hour, and even at that speed sounded like someone was murdering a barrel full of cats. Jake tried to explain to Randolph that there were two kinds of school buses, one for city driving and one for highway driving, but Randolph just shouted “Details!” and went into his room to sulk. Nobody could figure out how to mount the stage on the Pageant Wagon, either—with just two platforms bolted to it, the whole bus leaned over like it was going to capsize. Neither bus had air-conditioning, and they got so hot in the sun that work had to stop each afternoon. “It’s like an oven!” Archie shouted, swiping at his forehead with an already-soaked handkerchief.

  Worst of all, one morning Destiny came out of Brunhilda holding his nose and looking green. “Poopy!” he declared. Sure enough, the RV toilet they had installed, and had been using while they worked, to save time, was making the whole bus smell like an overheated porta potty.

  Zedediah, his face dark and cloudy, announced they’d have to postpone the beginning of the Expedition. Their intended departure day came and went, and the Applewhites were still at Wit’s End.

  But then, just as it seemed certain the whole Expedition would end before it even started, the postponement turned out to save the day. Because the very next morning, Bill Bones came into their lives.

  Govindaswami’s yoga retreat had been scheduled to start that morning, since the Applewhites thought they’d be gone already. When E.D. woke up, the grass parking lot next to their barn theater already had a scattering of cars. She went out to where Destiny was moving among the vehicles, most of them old and funky and covered in political or spiritual bumper stickers. “Visualize Whirled Peas,” read one. “Something Wonderful Is About to Happen,” read another. Destiny was standing by a rusty orange VW van staring at the biggest, ugliest motorcycle E.D. had ever seen. It had spikes on it, and long tailpipes that looked likely to drag on the ground. The handlebars stuck way up in the air and had long leather tassels. Startlingly realistic flames were painted on the side of the gas tank. At the end of each handgrip was a chrome skull with rubies for eyes.

  “Whoa,” said Destiny quietly. “Is there pirates at Govindaswami’s retreat?”

  Just then E.D. saw Lucille’s guru bustle out onto the porch of the main house. She hurried over to him, Destiny tagging behind. “Govindaswami,” she said, “where are all the people for your retreat going to stay? We aren’t out of the cottages yet!”

  Govindaswami beamed at her. “It is a complication to be sure, but when you trust in the Universe, the Universe will provide. Last year the retreat center I had used before burned to the ground—an accident with the incense—and my meditation retreat had to take place at a campground. You see? The Universe has already ensured that I am well provided with tents.” He waved toward the far side of the parking lot, where a dozen or so people, clad mostly in homespun shirts and yoga pants, were bustling around setting up tents.

  “They look like they’re taking it in stride,” E.D. said.

  Govindaswami took a long, slow breath. “Most are skilled at the practice of acceptance, and are, as you say, taking it in their stride. But not all.” A look passed over his round face that E.D. had never seen there before—a look that on anyone else might be irritation.

  From inside there was the sound of large boots pounding slowly across the floor, and the screen door banged open. A gigantic man with a thick mane of white hair and a drooping silver mustache that reached down past his chin strode onto the porch. Rings shone from each knuckle, and tattoos reached up his neck from the collar of his dirty white T-shirt. He had black leather pants and a heavy chain that ran from his belt to his back pocket. Destiny stared at him with eyes like pie plates, and E.D. found herself taking an involuntary step back.

  “Swami!” he bellowed. “All the bedrooms are occupied! I signed up for an air-conditioned room, not a tent!” He noticed E.D. and Destiny and pulled up short. “Why, you must be some of the Applewhites!” he cried. He strode toward E.D., and it took all her concentration not to turn and run.

  The man stuck out a hand the size of a large steak, but his handshake was surprisingly gentle. “Heard lots about the famous artistic clan; it’s a pleasure to meet you. My name’s Bill Bones. Thought I wasn’t going to get the chance to meet you in person—Swami said you’d be on your way by now.”

  “Yes,” said E.D., “we’ve had some delays—”

  The giant man roared with laughter. “Swami told me! Bus trouble, is it? Well, I happen to know a little bit about that. Let’s get a look at your rigs.” And without a backward glance, he stomped off across the yard toward where the Pageant Wagon and Brunhilda were already starting to bake in the morning sun.

  “Let me guess,” E.D. said quietly to Govindaswami. “He belongs to the motorcycle out there in the parking lot.”

  “Your guess is indeed correct.” Govindaswami sighed. “Sometimes we have to accept a good deal of spice before the sweet.”

  By the time everyone, family and retreat participants alike, had gathered that night for dinner in the dining tent, now strung with colorful Tibetan prayer flags, Bill Bones had met the rest of the Applewhites and Jake and Melody, had been invited to share Zedediah’s air-conditioned cottage, and had begun sketching out fixes for the buses with Archie and Zedediah.

  Govindaswami blessed the food and reminded the assembled members of his retreat group that the meal was to be eaten in silence. Bill Bones—who had seated himself among the Applewhites—immediately began talking in a loud stage whisper. “Spent many a year living out of an old diesel Blue Bird bus back in the sixties. Converted the thing myself—and did a couple later for some other folk. I can probably get yours fixed up within the week. If Govindaswami will let us borrow some of the fine folks from his retreat to help with the work . . .”

  “You, too, are on the meditation retreat, Bill Bones,” said Govindaswami quietly.

  “Why, that I am! And what better way to grow spiritually than through the mindfulness of manual labor?”

  Chapter Six

  Four days after the arrival of Bill Bones, the work crew, which included a few recruits from the meditation retreat, had the buses shipshape. A new vent was in Brunhilda’s bathroom. “No more poopy smell!” cried Destiny, who had taken to following the big man around all day and whose arms and legs were now decked with tattoos of his own Magic Marker design. A pair of army surplus generators were wired into the electrical systems of Brunhilda and the Pageant Wagon, and a pair of RV air-conditioning units Bones had salvaged from a junkyard nearby were humming away, cooling them nicely. Along with everything else he could do, Bill Bones turned out to be an experienced welder and had managed to fashion a metal-framed fold-down stage for the Pageant Wagon that tucked up against the side when it was time to get on the road. When that project was finished Randolph looked, Jake thought, ready to weep with joy.

  On the fifth morning, Jake woke up to the sound of the Pageant Wagon roaring to life just before dawn, as Bill Bones drove it away without any explanation. Randolph had a meltdown when he got up a few hours later, thinking the man might have stolen his beloved rolling theater. Sybil managed to keep him from calling the police, and by midafternoon Bones and the Pageant Wagon were back. “Swapped out the rear end—” he began to explain when ev
eryone came to see what he’d been doing.

  Destiny giggled. “The bus has a rear end?”

  “Indeed it does, little man—but not like a butt,” Bones added, and Destiny choked with laughter. “It’s the big thing on the axle between the wheels in the back; it’s got a set of gears in it that turn the wheels. It needed one with different-sized gears, which my guy at the junkyard found for me. You can run that beauty on the highway any time now.” Jake had told Randolph that some school buses were made for city streets and some were for highways, but this was the first time he’d really understood how that worked.

  “Bill Bones,” said Govindaswami, “you have achieved wonderful things. But I must ask that you and your helpers return to our meditation and spiritual practice before any more time has passed from our retreat.”

  “Swami,” said Bill, “I’ve known a number of gurus in my day, and you’re among the best. But I believe these buses have put the old travel itch back in me, and sitting around breathing slow just won’t cut it anymore. I’m getting back on my bike and heading west.”

  An hour later Bill Bones had packed up his bags. “Where’re you headed when this Expedition of yours starts?” he asked the family, who had gathered to say good-bye.

  “To the Outer Banks, then west as well,” said Randolph. “Destination: California.”

  “Maybe I’ll catch you all somewhere out there.” He went over to Govindaswami and pressed his hands together for a solemn little bow. “Namaste, guru.”

  “Namaste, Bill Bones.”

  “What’s nah mahz tay?” asked Destiny, putting his hands together and bowing.

  Melody, who was standing next to him filming Bill’s departure with one of the Expedition video cameras, turned it off. “It means the spirit in me bows to the spirit in you,” she said.

  Govindaswami looked in amazement from Destiny to Melody, to the driveway where the dust Bill Bones had kicked up drifted in the air. “Let this be a lesson to me,” Jake heard him say softly. “Human people have always the capacity to surprise you.”