Henry Jack leads the way. I try to be silent, and I guess Queenie Grace is being as quiet as possible for such a gigantic creature. She moves fast, swinging her trunk back and forth, a little grin on her lips. If you could call them lips, that is. Her breathing snuffles loud in the night; her weight moves the earth. It looks like she swivels her hips, as if she’s doing an elephant tango. We actually managed to get the howdah on her back, with the help of one of Grandpa’s old stepladders.
“She looks sassy,” I say. “Happy.”
“She is happy,” Henry Jack responds. “Aren’t you?”
“Not exactly. There’s got to be a better way to save Queenie Grace.”
“Well, when you come up with it,” says Henry Jack, “you just let me know.”
We pass trailers all lit up with Christmas lights, and others dark and quiet. I catch a glimpse of a lady wearing a long white nightgown in a lit-up window, and another in a robe. It smells like summertime. We pass by the abandoned Ferris wheel, silhouetted against the nighttime sky, and there’s the spooky sound of old-fashioned carousel music coming from out of nowhere.
“That old carousel actually works?” I whisper to Henry Jack.
“Sometimes,” says Henry Jack, “it just starts up all by itself.”
I shiver.
“That’s creepy,” I say. “Maybe it’s haunted.”
“Well, ghosts aren’t what we need to be afraid of,” says Henry Jack. “It’s some of the living people who are the scariest. Like Charlie and Mike.”
“Okay,” I say, “you’re freaking me out. Let’s change the subject now.”
“Okay. We’ll chat about running away.”
“Or not.”
We walk and walk, Queenie Grace lumbering between us, out of Gibtown, until there’s hard highway beneath our feet.
“Jeez,” I say. “That was easy.”
“Nothing’s easy,” says Henry Jack. “It’s not like it’s over yet. Not over till the fat lady sings, Mom always says.”
Queenie Grace makes a little sound, as if she’s laughing.
“She has a great sense of humor,” I say.
“That’s what my mom always says, too,” replies Henry Jack. “She says Queenie Grace is the most human elephant she ever met.”
“It’s true,” I say. “She’s more human than some people I know.”
Henry Jack snickers.
“True,” he says.
“So, where are we going, anyway?” I ask.
“You’re too full of questions,” Henry Jack says. “Sometimes it’s better to just follow the stars without talking so much, like the Wise Men. Especially when you’re with somebody who knows what he’s doing and knows where he’s going.”
“You’re awfully sure of yourself,” I say.
“Hey,” says Henry Jack, “when you’re born with alligator skin, you learn how to be strong.”
We trudge on and on, off the highway and onto a dark fairy-tale trail through woods. Briars scratch my arms; limbs snap at my face. I’m tired, I’m hungry, I’m thirsty, I’m scared, I’m hot.
I’m wheezing; breathing sure isn’t easy. I might die.
Queenie Grace looks at me, as if she’s reading my mind. I feel the nuzzle of her trunk against my leg. She reminds me of Donna on the airplane: just giving me a little touch to let me know that everything will be okay. Queenie Grace is starting to feel almost like a lady to me, an old, quiet, and kind lady, maybe a spiritual adviser like Miss Donna.
Maybe Queenie Grace is a human communicator: she figures out the souls of people.