Journey Between Worlds

Table of Contents

 

 

 

 

 

NEWS

When we got into the airlock, we could see through its inner window that another man was waiting with the lock attendant; as soon as the pressure equalized and we got the doors open, he came forward. It was Paul.

I knew something was wrong just from his voice—it was his minister's voice, not that of the friend I'd laughed and joked with so often. He took my arm and led me into the crowded little Ground Control office. “Melinda,” Paul said, “I don't know any way to tell you this except directly. There's been an accident. . . .”

Western Star
by Stephen Vincent Benét, Holt, Rinehart and Winston, Inc. Copyright © 1943 by Rosemary Carr Benet. . “Desert Places” from
Complete Poems of Robert Frost.
Copyright © 1936 by Robert Frost. Copyright © 1964 by Lesley Frost Ballantine. .“Wanderin' Star” copyright © 1952 by Alan Jay Lerner. .

 

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Text copyright © Sylvia Louise Engdahl, 1970, 2006

All rights reserved
THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS HAS CATALOGED THE G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS EDITION AS FOLLOWS:
Engdahl, Sylvia Louise. Journey between worlds / Sylvia Louise Engdahl ;
decorations by James and Ruth McCrea.—1st G.P. Putnam's Sons ed. p. cm.
Summary: To prove her independence to her boyfriend, Melinda decides to go to Mars
on a pleasure trip—an impromptu decision that changes her entire way of life.

eISBN : 978-1-440-68432-6

PZ7.E6985Jo 2006 [Fic]—dc22 2005030932

 

eISBN : 978-1-440-68432-6

 

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any
responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

I never wanted to go to Mars. So many girls plan to be flight attendants, or ship's technicians, or if they're going to get a degree, they hope to land a position in the Colonies just as soon as they can qualify; and not only because of the fabulous salaries. I was never like that. In our senior year, we used to talk about college and jobs, and all the things we wanted to do with our lives—though of course we knew that for most of us, Europe or Africa or maybe Tahiti would be the extent of our travels. Even then, what I wanted was to live in a house overlooking the bay, with the sparkling blue water in front and dark trees behind, near the town where my mother's folks had always lived. And since teaching was a career that would let me do that, I did not intend to let anything stand in the way of getting my Oregon teaching credentials as soon as I possibly could.

Yet here I am in New Terra. There are times when I still can't believe it.

Sometimes I dream about the water lapping on the rocks below Gran's beach house. Or the sand, white instead of red and damp where the tide has left it, and the breeze smelling of salt and seaweed and free oxygen. And the firs, ragged green against a pale blue sky, and white clouds billowing up behind the mountains . . . or fog. Fog, soft and wet against my face, and indoors, the comforting fragrance of a crackling wood fire.

Then when I wake up and first remember how far away those things are, I don't see how I can bear it. And I lie there thinking about all that's happened, and wondering whether making a trip to Mars was very foolish of me or very mature. You can't ever plan everything out in advance, I guess. But I used to think I could. I don't think I wanted too much; the trouble was, I didn't want enough.

Mostly, I wanted to marry Ross. We had been dating for over two years by the time of my graduation from high school, and for most of that time we had considered ourselves in love. Ross's parents liked me; I had been to their home for dinner frequently, and I had spent several school vacations with them. Ross's dad was an attorney, as Ross was to be, and very successful; but I never pictured myself as the same sort of wife as Ross's mother. I was terribly shy, and the thought of giving all those parties and entertaining important clients appalled me. Ross laughed at me, but he didn't really care. He said he would be happy to live in the homey old Maple Beach house, which was Gran's and would someday be mine, especially since it was less than a hundred miles commuting distance to Portland.

We'd discussed getting married after our freshman year of college, though I hadn't mentioned that either to Gran or to Dad. They knew I was dating Ross, but families—especially parents whom one doesn't see often—don't quite take in the fact that boys and girls in school can be seriously in love. Several of my friends made the mistake of insisting that their folks acknowledge their love as real and lasting; all it got them was quarrels and unhappiness. Not that the girls in my crowd wanted to quit school for the sake of marriage, or anything like that. It's simply that you seem more like an adult if other adults agree that you are old enough to make final decisions about things. Nobody knows this better than parents, and parents don't want to think of their kids as adults. This is less because they distrust you than because they distrust themselves; it's a matter not of your age, but of theirs. They hate to believe that they are old enough to have grown children. So if you love your folks, why make it tough for them? I adored Dad; when I wrote to him I told him only that Ross was fun to date and that we liked each other a lot. If there was more in our relationship, well, it was nothing that wasn't perfectly decent and natural. I never felt that I was hiding anything.

So Dad thought that I would be thrilled at the prospect of taking time out for a long trip before I started college.

I'd better explain about Dad. First of all let me say that he was a wonderful person, the nicest father any girl was ever lucky enough to have. Really. The only trouble was, I never saw enough of him. When my mother died I was only nine and Dad was doing on-site engineering for a firm under government contract, which meant a transfer halfway around the world every six months or so; of course he couldn't take me along. I was sent to live with my great-grandmother, Mother's grandmother, and that was when I got to love Maple Beach so much. I had always lived in city apartments before and this was like a whole new world for me, even if Gran was somewhat strict and old-fashioned. But I missed Dad. I used to count the hours when I knew he'd be coming for a visit. The visits were all too rare; he was in Melbourne that year.

Later, when I went away to school, I was lonesome not only for Dad but for the beach house, and my collies, and most of all, for Gran herself. I hope I haven't given the impression that I didn't love my great-grandmother. She was—well, reserved, I suppose you'd call it, but she was kind, too. And she gave me roots. Western Oregon had been home to Gran's people for generations, ever since the pioneer days. (Gran had a gold locket, very worn, that one of her ancestors—Melinda Stillwell, the one I'm named after—had been given the day she set out to cross the plains in a covered wagon. I can remember sitting on a corner of the stair landing with Gran's green leather jewel box between my knees, swinging that locket by its dull chain and wondering what it would be like to come to a place that was just wilderness.) The Maple Beach house had been built by that first Melinda's great-grandson about the time of the World Wars, I'm never sure which one. It was a terribly old-fashioned house, built mostly of wood with obsolete glass windows, but Gran loved it. It was her home, and in my imagination it was mine, too, though it wasn't really, for I lived there only three years.

To get back to Dad. He'd always promised that once I was through school we'd spend some time together, a whole summer, maybe. He was going to show me all of Europe if he could arrange a transfer there at the right moment; or failing that, we would visit some of the most historic spots on weekends. At any rate, we'd really get to know each other, the way we hadn't when I was a child. “Before it's too late,” he used to tell me. “Before you're grown up and on your own.” Though I didn't want to leave Maple Beach or Ross for very long, I was happy about it. I expected to major in history at college, so seeing Europe would be useful; yet it wasn't so much that as the idea of being with Dad at last.