Small as an Elephant (21 page)

“She has two trainers who take care of her,” said Gram. “I met them while I was waiting for you. Victor and Belinda.”

“But they’re not other elephants,” said Jack.

“No, they’re not,” said Gram. “They’re certainly not.”

Lydia rolled the plastic bucket closer to Jack and Gram. Jack stretched out his hand, desperate to touch her.

“Would you like to ride her?”

Jack turned. A woman had walked up next to them. She wore a brown uniform. Belinda, he guessed.

Jack thought for a moment. Thought about sitting on top of this awesome creature. How he would feel so small and so tall at the same time. It would be cool to feel her back; to hug her, or try to hug her, around her neck.

Then he thought about his mother. She would never approve of his riding Lydia. And he realized something just then. He wasn’t just Jack, the boy who had traveled all this way to be with an elephant. He was, and would always be, his mother’s son.

“No, thanks,” he said.

“You sure?” asked Gram.

Jack nodded. He was sure.

Gram smiled at him. She reached out and ruffled his hair.

Lydia walked closer, close enough for him to reach over the wire and touch her. Running his hand down her bumpy trunk gave him a shiver. He remembered what he’d heard about blowing into an elephant’s trunk — how the elephant would never forget you.

What about his mother? Would she —?

Nah. Somewhere in his heart, he knew — knew that for her, forgetting would be impossible. His mother might not be able to care for him always, but she would never forget him.

Jack craned his neck to look into Lydia’s eye.

“You’ve traveled a long way to see her,” Belinda said. “Stand up on the platform there, and I’ll bring her over to you. You don’t have to get on. Just get a closer look.”

Jack’s heart pounded as he climbed the steps. Slowly, led by Belinda, Lydia met him on the other side. Jack was high enough that he could bend over to pat her on the top of her head, but instead, he lay down on his belly, so that the two of them were face-to-face. He looked into one of her huge, dark eyes, fringed by a bouquet of soft wrinkles. He reached out and was about to pat her when she raised her trunk and ran it ever so gently along his forehead and down to his ear, like a trail of gentle kisses.

Jack giggled but tried not to move. Lydia’s touch was magical.

Playfully, she tapped him on the back. Her face was so close that Jack momentarily rested his cheek against her skin.

Time stood still.

I made it, Mom,
he thought.
I made it all the way to Lydia. For both of us.

Jack thought about all the people who had helped him get to this point: Aiden and his family, Big Jack, Sylvie, Wyatt. Even Mrs. Olson, who had given him vegetables, and the man at the food pantry, and the librarian in Bar Harbor, who had let him use the Internet — they’d helped him without knowing they were helping. And then there was his grandmother, camping out in an animal park, just waiting for Jack to come find her. And Nina, who had been brave enough to tell his grandmother that he needed help.

All along the way, Jack realized, he had never
really
been alone. He had been a part of a makeshift herd, one that had spread out over miles. They had communicated with heart sounds that were sometimes so soft, they weren’t always discernible to the ear. But they had found one another, and they had helped one another. Just like a true herd.

“Jack, sweetie,” his grandmother called, and he knew it was time to go. It didn’t feel like an ending; nor did it feel like a beginning. It felt like the middle of a journey, one that had started long ago. It was time for the next leg.

Lydia seemed to sense it, too. She ran her trunk along his face one last time.

Jack smiled, cupped his hands gently around the tip of her trunk, and let out a gentle puff of air.

I want to express my sincerest gratitude for those who supported my journey as I wrote about Jack’s. I received invaluable feedback from my trusted readers: Holly Jacobson, Jacqueline Davies, Dana Walrath, Mary Atkinson, Jane Kurtz, Nancy Werlin, Joanne Stanbridge, Jacqueline Briggs Martin, Franny Billingsley, Toni Buzzeo, and the insightful Barry Goldblatt, who also happens to be my agent. I received technical information from Erik Jacobson, John Jacobson, Mae Corrion from Jesup Memorial Library, and Lindsay McGuire of Left Bank Books. Thank you all!

Special thanks, too, to the folks that housed me (and answered all my questions) as I re-created Jack’s journey along the coast of Maine: Liz Laverack and John, Sam, and Peter Jacobson, and Nancy and Don Buckingham.

Finally, I want to thank the extraordinary people at Candlewick Press: Liz Bicknell, Katharine Gehron, Maggie Deslaurier, Emily Crehan, Hannah Mahoney, Teri Keough, Kate Cunningham (who designed the gorgeous cover), Sharon Hancock, and Susan Batcheller, but most important, with unabashed adoration, my editor, Kaylan Adair, whose incredible knowledge of story and mindful attention to detail helped guide every word on these pages. Kaylan simultaneously supports and challenges her authors — a talent every writer admires, and one for which this writer will forever be grateful.

JENNIFER RICHARD JACOBSON
is a writer, teacher, educational consultant, editor, and speaker. She writes in many genres, from children’s fiction to adult nonfiction. Among her books for younger readers are the Andy Shane early chapter books, illustrated by Abby Carter, and the young adult novels
Stained
and
The Complete History of Why I Hate Her
. About
Small as an Elephant,
she says, “I struggled to figure out how Jack, an abandoned boy, would survive — not in the wilderness, but in civilization. I physically traced Jack’s route (every place he visited actually exists) and tried to imagine what the journey would be like for an eleven-year-old, entirely on his own, and with a big secret to keep.” Jennifer Richard Jacobson lives in Cumberland, Maine.