After spending more time in the place Anne Shirley called home than at any other stop on her long journey, Leona decided that it was time to head back to Maine, or maybe to fly back to Maine would be more appropriate. Upon returning to her home state, Leona’s attention was first drawn to Mount Katahdin, the Pine Tree State’s tallest mountain. A few years later its peak would become the final destination of the Appalachian Trail, a hiking trail that traversed the Appalachian Mountain range for over 2,000 miles. The trail would originate at Springer Mountain in Georgia and wind its way up the east coast until finally reaching its objective: Maine’s Baxter State Park, where Mount Katahdin majestically resided. Leona recalled hearing her father say that an old Indian once told him that Katahdin was taken from the Indian word Kette-Adene: or ‘greatest mountain’.
After viewing her state from afar, Leona zoomed in further and clearly saw the Penobscot River running from the center of Maine to the Atlantic Ocean. Just twenty miles southeast of the river’s end, and a similar distance to the east of the Penobscot Bay, was Mount Desert Island: the home of what only one year later would become the first national park east of the Mississippi. Although at first called Lafayette National Park, it would be renamed Acadia National Park in 1929. Although never having been there, Leona knew that Acadia’s major tourist attractions were the elegant estates belonging to the Rockefellers, Carnegies, Morgans, Fords, Vanderbilts, and Astors; the scenic carriage roads built by John D. Rockefeller, Jr.; and Cadillac Mountain: known for its magnificent view and as the first place in the United Stated to be warmed by the Sun’s early morning rays when the huge, brilliant star seemingly floats out of the cold north-Atlantic waters.
“It’s so peaceful here,” Leona couldn’t help but think.
Her gaze was inescapably drawn to the beauty of the pristine Acadia landscape.
“Nothing can match this,” she thought; and indeed, no one could question her judgment.
From the majestic rock-bound coast where ocean tides ferociously pounded its shores, sending massive sprays of white, foamy saltwater high into the air; to the luscious green forest with countless varieties of inhabitants, including two eerie sounding loons that began swimming gracefully like underwater darts in scenic little Jordan Pond; the awe-inspiring scenery and wildlife was, if nothing else, diverse and unforgettable. But it was snowy-white seagulls—with bright-orange beaks and feet—and majestic bald eagles circling high overhead that most inspired Leona. She could have lingered there for hours inhaling the refreshing smell of the ocean and taking in the beauty of Acadia, but instead her thoughts turned to something else.
“I wonder what my home looks like from up here?”
In response to her own question she followed the Penobscot River back to Bangor. Then she zoomed in on the little house on Palm Street where she was born. Her old home and surrounding neighborhood, including Chapin Park, looked just as they had when she left. But of course they should, since the Haleys had moved from there only six months earlier.
—1—
Having satisfied her curiosity about her old neighborhood, Leona decided to seek out her family’s new home. She easily located Ohio Street and followed it northward to Glenburn, almost instantaneously reaching her new abode. From the aerial view above the Haley property she saw her mother’s once magnificent, but now lifeless flower garden, which would have looked much like a beautiful multicolored bulls-eye had it still been summer, not November. Surrounding it were the familiar fields that also surrounded her peaceful home, and bordering the west field was the woodland filled with the long, winding trails that her father had fashioned. Then out of the blue a thought jumped into Leona’s mind.
“I think I’ll see what Aunt Mae is up to.”
Almost instantly she was looking at the home of her mother’s oldest sister. Mary Ann ‘Mae’ Carver was now 44, five years older than Margaret. Mae, her husband Frank, and their four children lived next-door to younger sister Maude, her husband Charles, and their two children. Maude was now thirty-four, five years younger than Margaret. Their homes were on the same side of Broadway, a mile south of the Winter Fun Road and about two miles by road from the Haleys’ home on Ohio Street. The first thing she saw was Mae and her husband scurrying toward their clothesline.
“Hurry, Frank!” Mae yelled. “I think it’s gonna rain.”
“Naw,” he answered. “I don’t feel anythin’ in my bones, so there ain’t nawthin’ to worry ‘bout.”
“But it sure looks like it’s gonna rain to me. Come on, help me get these clothes off the line.”
“Okay, but I’m tellin’ ya: tain’t gonna do nawthin’.”
“Tell it to that cloud!” she said while pointing overhead. Just then the skies emptied.
“Darn if you’re not right again, Frank,” Mae said somewhat sarcastically. “It’s probably not gonna do anything after all.”
A soaked, red-faced Frank laughed as he rushed to help his wife take the wash off the clothesline.
“Need some help?” Maude yelled out the window of her house, where she had been watching her sister and brother-in-law interact.
“I think we’re all set, sis,” Mae answered. “Even though it sure appears to be raining cats and dogs, according to Frank this rain has’ta be a mirage. Either that, or he’s just gotten too damn old; or maybe he’s come down with the same malady that little Leona is cursed with: an imagination bigger than the Grand Canyon.”
Leona laughed out loud at her aunt’s sarcasm.
“It’s too bad Aunt Mae’s gonna move away. I really get a kick outta her,” she thought. Then she watched her aunt and uncle hurry into the house, each with a basket of soaked clothes.
“Let’s hang ‘em up on the porch,” Mae said. “You know, Frank, I’m not complaining, ‘cause I like Maine’s weather, most of the time anyway, but I’ll sure be glad when we finally move out west. I know I’ll miss havin’ a White Christmas, but I darn sure won’t miss the long, cold winters. When do you think we’ll be heading to California?”
“My boss says it’ll be at least a year.”
“Well, I can’t wait. Tell him to hurry it up, will you?”
“I’ll be sure to do that, sweetheart. I’m sure he’ll listen to me.”
—2—
When finished at Aunt Mae’s, Leona returned to her home by way of the Winter Fun Road. On the way she decided to turn left onto the Six Mile Falls Road to visit her Uncle Bill, who lived with his wife Jennie and their adopted son in a small cabin about 600 feet south of the Winter Fun Road. She had intended to visit him a long time ago but never got around to it. Leona liked her uncle a lot, since the very first time she remembered him visiting their home on Palm Street in Bangor when she was 5 years old. He was funny, always telling jokes and amusing stories about the people he met. The last time she saw her Uncle Bill was when he helped her father make some repairs on their new home in Glenburn and then helped him build his stable, chicken pen, and workshop. She also liked Aunt Jennie, who cooked tons of food for the Haleys the first couple of weeks. Thanks to her kindness, Margaret was freed of cooking duties and was able to get her new house in order much quicker than she otherwise would have. When Leona stopped by Uncle Bill’s log cabin, she saw her uncle splitting firewood, and her nose told her that Aunt Jennie was inside cooking an apple pie, so she decided to head home.
Upon arriving home she used her power to zoom in, causing the Haley property to become larger and larger before her eyes, until she clearly saw her mother and father playing horseshoes in the backyard. Nearby she could see Lillian playing on the familiar tire swing. Then she zoomed in on the house and through her parent’s bedroom window where she spied 3-and-a-half-year-old Wally fast asleep in his large crib, the same one she slept so peacefully in as a baby. Peering unseen from her perch in the sky, Leona was astonished to see herself playing marbles on the living room floor with Arlene.
“It’s my turn now,” she heard her sister say.
Leona then heard herself say: “I’m bored, Arlene. I’ve had enough of playing marbles; I’m gonna go outside to play on the porch swing.”
Then, from her seat on the comet, Leona watched herself go out the back door and call to her parents.
“Mama! Papa! Can you swing with me?”
“We sure can, Leona,” her mother answered. “Besides, playing horseshoes against your father is no challenge anyway. I might as well be playing against little Wally.”
Murdock laughed and said: “Don’t you believe your Mama. I can beat her with one hand tied behind my back.”
Leona giggled and ran to her parents, taking their hands and leading them back to the porch. Just as she was about to sit on the swing, she heard Arlene calling to her.
“Now what does she want?” Leona asked.
“I can’t read minds, dear,” Margaret shrugged. “You’d bes’ go find out.”
Leona turned and ran into the house. After Murdock sat down beside Margaret and she started to swing, he looked at her and began to softly whistle Beautiful Dreamer.
“Murdy, when are you going to teach Leona the words to that song?”
“Funny you should ask; I just happen to have the lyrics right here in my shirt pocket. While running an errand for Mr. Fogg in Bangor yesterday I stopped at the library and found an old songbook. I jotted down the lyrics for Leona. Slipped my mind until now.”
Margaret took the paper from her husband and looked over the lyrics. Leona magically watched with interest from her comet, curiously peering over her unsuspecting mother’s shoulder as she softly read the words to Beautiful Dreamer.
“As usual, Stephen Foster’s lyrics are really beautiful, Murdy,” Margaret said after she finished.
“That they are, dear, that they are. I can’t wait to hear Leona singing them. In the meantime, why don’t you try your hand at it?”
“Okay, Murdy, you asked for it.”
And then, as Murdock started whistling again, Margaret began singing the words. Although her voice was not quite as nice as Leona’s, it was nice enough from Murdock’s point of view. And Leona’s too. About halfway through the song the unseen 8-year-old joined in. She enjoyed hearing her voice in harmony with her mother’s.
“I wish Papa could hear the both of us,” she said to herself.
When Margaret was finished singing she laid the paper on her lap and talked with Murdock about his work. While the two talked, Leona spent the next few minutes melodically singing the words over and over to herself, to the tune she had stored away in her memory. After humming it so many times over the last two years, the melody was there for her to retrieve anytime she wanted to. And now she wanted the lyrics to be stored there too. It wasn’t long before they were.
“I can’t wait until Mama and Papa can hear me sing it,” she thought.
And then Leona awoke completely refreshed from her extraordinary dream, feeling more exhilarated and more at ease than she had ever felt before.