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A Choice Of Roads

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I_are_sceptical

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Chapter 1

General Roger Fitzpatrick, Commanding Officer of Fort Chesterton, is pleased. As we walk along I keep turning my head, looking this way and that. He thinks I am taking an interest in the base and the troops. In reality I am trying to find some landmarks. Simm's creek. Checkerboard hill, where I used to fly kites. But everything I remember from those far-off days is gone, buried under the concrete of the Army base.

Of course, I can't ask about what happened to those landmarks, or if any still exist. No-one knows I used to live on a farm here. The personal history of Mrs. Rebecca Braithwaite Halvorson is ficticious. My entire life, everything I told my two families, the people who raised me and then my husband and children, as well as all the people I asked to vote for me throughout my political career, has been a lie. And I must protect that lie by remaining silent on subjects which are of great importance to me. Which makes any attempt to find links to my past difficult and frustrating.

This trip isn't curing my homesickness. It's only making it worse. It is with equal sadness that I note how beautiful the weather is. A clear blue sky stretches from horizon to horizon. Was I honestly expecting something else?

I had planned the trip to Fort Chesterton, Kansas, since before the Presidential election last November. I would go whether I won or not. The only explanation I gave the White House staff for my visit was "for sentimental reasons". I wasn't planning to make any speeches, I didn't want anyone to make a fuss over me.

When we arrived I was greeted by General Fitzpatrick. Next to him was an extremely old man in a wheelchair. "This is my grandfather, James." the General said. "He very much wanted to meet you." I shook James' hand. He said, in a weak, but clear, voice "I am honored to meet you, Madam." For some reason a tiny alarm bell rang in the back of my head.

We have only been here for a few minutes when the alert sounds. A storm has formed quickly, very near by, and a tornado is approaching. My mind is in a whirl. A tornado? Here? Today? Could it be...?

Our group has sought shelter in the nearest building. I'm watching out a second floor window when the funnel cloud veered and headed directly at me.

The military personnel assigned to escort me during my visit lead me to an interior room of the building. I manage to walk the entire way without stumbling, keeping an impassive expression on my face. I've been a public figure for many years, with the corporation and as a Congresswoman. I know how to keep my feelings to myself, so that no-one can gossip about me. But the moment we enter the room I lose every shred of my self-control. I'm lying on the floor, shaking, crying. It's a good thing all the reporters are in another room and can't see this. My husband and my brother speak soothing words to me, trying to calm me down. They think I'm afraid of what's happening outside. They can't imagine the truth.

I keep my jaw tightly clenched shut, so that I will not start begging to be allowed to go back to the window and watch that funnel cloud growing closer and closer. It's not them; I desperately try to convince myself. It's just a tornado, nothing more. There are lots of tornados here in Kansas. It's not them, simply because this is the anniversary of that other storm, the one that marked the beginning of the happiest part of my life. It's not them. It's NOT them, coming for me, after all these years. Coming to take me home.

I haven't cried this hard since...

since September eighth, 1939.

(to be continued)
 
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I_are_sceptical

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Chapter 2

If my story has a beginning it was the day I met the Braithwaites. Met them, you ask? You thought I WAS a Braithwaite. No, I was a foundling. When we arrived in New York City we had no documentation. No-one ever questioned what Dad and Mom told them about me.

Yes, that's what they are to me, despite the lack of any of the legal definitions of our relationship, because I was never formally adopted by them. I love them. George was "Dad", Amelia was "Mom", and Lincoln is my brother. End of story.

The part of our family biography that is true is that they were dirt poor in California and one day set out for New York to make their fortune. It's just that I was not with them at the beginning of their journey. Oh, and Lincoln's real name was Howard. Dad and Mom decided it would help their rise to wealth if he were named something with a classy ring to it. A bit of trivia, that's all. I may be biased, but as far as I am concerned Lincoln has plenty of class no matter what you call him.

Dad didn't stick to the main highways on that cross-country journey. He took a lot of detours. That is how they found me, on the afternoon of Friday, September eighth, lying on my face in a dirt road in a rural area of Kansas, crying my heart out. He told me later there were no streaks of tears in the dirt on my face. I replied that by the time they came along I had used up all my tears, but the pain had not subsided one bit.

I had made a decision that I had been a little girl long enough; it was time to grow up. It was not made lightly. I argued with myself for months about which road I should choose to walk. Growing up, becoming an adult, meant leaving the place I had lived for most of my life and saying goodbye to all of my friends. I knew it was going to hurt, but I had no conception of the actual amount of suffering I would go through. When the Braithwaites found me I was in agony. I was only moments away from changing my mind and running home, begging them to take me back (of course I wouldn't have had to beg, they would have been overjoyed at my return, but I wasn't thinking rationally at that time), when the Braithwaite's car came along and changed my life forever. I've never stopped being grateful for that.

They put me in their car and took me to the nearest town. They kept asking me, very gently, my name and where my family was. I couldn't say a word, I was too numb with grief. Good thing, too. If I had told them, they never would have believed it.

There was a movie that had just begun in theaters, a musical fantasy. Dad and Mom felt seeing it would do something to ease my troubles, whatever they were. I don't know if I didn't see the name of the film on the marquee, or if I did see it and it just didn't register. We parked the car and were walking across the street to the theater. I was clinging to Mom, barely able to walk by myself, but at least I was no longer sobbing uncontrollably. That's when I saw the movie poster. I jerked to a stop, staring at that picture in utter disbelief. For a couple of seconds I couldn't move, couldn't breathe. Then I collapsed to the sidewalk, screaming at the top of my lungs. For the second time in two hours Dad carried me to the car.

Back at the hotel they put me into bed and went into the other room. (A side note: they had originally planned to rent a single hotel room for themselves and Lincoln. Money was tight. It was a hardship for them to get two rooms, but they did, to try their best to make me comfortable, without a second thought.) Although the door was closed I could hear every word. They didn't once suggest putting me in an orphanage, or (chuckle) a mental asylum. They wanted to keep me. For their very own. It was that unconditional, overwhelming love offered to a stranger that shaped all the events of my life since. I had been loved like that before, by an entire nation, and I guess I had taken the love that had surrounded me for granted. Now that it was gone the lack of it was unendurable. I needed the Braithwaites, needed them like I needed food, or air. I got out of bed, opened the door, and said "My name is Rebecca". It was a lie, Rebecca was my mother's name, but after discovering that movie existed I knew I couldn't tell anyone who I really was. And then I took a chance, to see how they would react. "And from now on I'm Rebecca Braithwaite."

Lincoln crossed the room and put his arms around me. "I'm glad you're feeling better, sis" he said. Sis. Just like that. I was accepted into the family. I hugged him back and put my cheek against the top of his head. My parents had died when I had been a baby, and I lived for nine years with an uncle and aunt, before I went...elsewhere. I never had any brothers or sisters. This was an entirely new experience for me, and it felt good, very very good.

(to be continued)
 
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I_are_sceptical

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Chapter 3

The years went by, and I grew up, just like I had wanted. The memories, the hurt of what I had lost, began to fade. A little bit, anyway. At the first house we bought we had a small garden. I would sit at the edge of it drawing in the dirt with my finger. Mom saw me do it many times, but for some reason she never understood exactly what it was I kept drawing over and over. I have always wondered why she did not recognize it. I had described the symbol to a reporter who interviewed me when I got home after the first trip I took...uh...overseas, shall we say? I could tell you his name, but you would look at me funny. He wrote some books about it (mostly nonsense, he had a very vivid imagination), and that symbol was included in the illustrations. Hadn't Mom read any of those books?

A circle, then two horizontal lines across it. A diagonal line connected the right end of the top line with the left end of the bottom. The letter O, and the letter Z.

I would look at it until my eyes started stinging, rub it out, and later I would go back to the garden and draw it again. Eventually I gave it up. Maybe that, more than anything else, showed that I was growing accustomed to my new life and leaving the old one behind.

Dad and Mom started our first business within days of our arrival in New York City. It prospered, beyond any of our expectations. They had a real knack for it. I kept the financial accounts, because Dad and Mom never had had much of a formal education. They were a bit surprised at first that (what they thought was) a nine-year-old could handle accounting. I couldn't tell them my true age, let alone that, for a few years, I had taught mathematics (and several other subjects, to be honest) at the University level.

More trivia - I had originally tried teaching elementary school, thinking I would fit in better, but the kids were so excited at having a legendary hero in their classroom that they couldn't keep their minds on lessons. I'm a "legendary hero"? There are people who think that of me. They all live a long way from here.

Dad, Mom, Lincoln, and I worked hard, founding and building several businesses. Today, as everyone knows, what we began is Braithwaite International. Money came in, lots of it. We had all we wanted, all we could dream of. I thought I had experienced everything adulthood had to offer.

And then I met Geoff Halvorson.

It happened when I was - according to my official biography - twenty-two. I was on a business trip to Chicago. Geoff and I were staying at the same hotel, and saw each other in the lobby one day. Forgive the cliché, but our eyes locked across the room. We simply couldn't stop looking at each other. So he came over and introduced himself.

I had never had a boyfriend before. According to the calendar, I had been old enough for a long time. But until I met the Braithwaites, in my heart I was a child, and romance was of no interest to me. Geoff was my first love. My only one.

It isn't widely known, we have both kept quiet about it throughout our marriage, but when we met Geoff was a professional gambler. He went from city to city, getting into card games. He was attracted to me because I was stable. Because I was ORDINARY. That was the life he was looking for. He had had all the thrills he wanted, and it was starting to get stale. I, for my part, could hardly object that he was "too adventurous", given my background. It was a short courtship, because we both recognized how right we were for each other.

Did I tell him the truth about myself? I did, about two weeks before the wedding. The man I loved and trusted laughed in my face - literally. It did hurt, just a bit, but after all, I was trying to give that other life up. It made no sense to insist that he believe what I was saying. I never mentioned it again. I would imagine he has forgotten all about it.

My children. It's not like the media hasn't described everything about them already, but I want to brag about them. That's understandable, isn't it? My oldest is a senior official of the F.B.I., fighting evil. I have caught myself once or twice about to say that he is taking up the family business. It would confuse him. He wouldn't know I was not referring to what the Braithwaites do, but to the life I myself led once upon a time. My second child is a surgeon. What can I say? She saves lives on a daily basis. And my youngest is the one who has little money and can't seem to hold a steady job. Of the three, I'm proudest of him. He is a composer and concert pianist. Or would be, if he was interested in fame and fortune instead of spending much of his time giving free performances in hospitals all over the world. The rest of the family supports his work, both financially and emotionally.

Do they take after me? Nope. At one point some years back my husband wanted one more adventure and we eagerly followed along. The five of us chucked it all, bought a sailboat, and spent four-and-a-half years traveling to every foreign port we could reach. We sailed around the world twice before we went home. And I know perfectly well that all three of my children often long to do it again.

I have never breathed a word of my past to the three of them. After my husband's reaction, I guess I'm scared of being rejected again.

Eventually I got involved in politics. There were some local issues that I felt were not being addressed properly. Before I knew it I was a member of the United States House of Representatives, and after fifteen years of that quite a few people were encouraging me to seek the Presidency. My only qualms about it were that a Presidential candidate's life was scrutinized with a microscope. I was worried that my secret would finally come out in the open. But the mundane details - the fact that I had no birth certificate (well, yes, I do have one, but it is not for 1930, the year that everyone believes I was born.) and that I was not the Braithwaite's daughter by blood or court approval - were untraceable. As I said before, the Braithwaites had no documentation concerning me when we first came to New York. And of course if any reporter figured out the WHOLE story of my life, he or she would keep quiet about it or be placed in a straight-jacket. The sheer unbelievability of my situation protected me. So I ran, and I won, and three months ago I took the oath of office.

And here we are. April 14, 1997. It's been wonderful, all of it. Growing up turned out to be nothing like what I had anticipated. It's been much better. I'm as happy as I could be. So it may be hard for you to believe but through all these years when I wake up in the morning - even on my wedding day (something I will never let Geoff know) and my inauguration day - I wish, if only for the briefest of moments, that I had not left that other world, that other life. That's why I'm bawling my eyes out, because I'm in Kansas, one hundred years to the day later, on almost the exact spot where it all began --

and there is a tornado outside.

(to be continued)
 
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I_are_sceptical

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Chapter 4

It's happening. Right now. The two men I love best in all the world are learning the truth. Geoff keeps looking at me strangely and looking at the wall as if he is trying to see through it. He is realizing that there is a connection between the way I am acting and the tornado. "When we were engaged, she told me..." he mutters to himself. So he DOES remember.

"Told you what?" Lincoln asks.

I struggle to catch my breath, so that I can participate in the conversation that is about to occur.

"It's ridiculous." Geoff says. "She's your sister, which proves she can't be..."

Lincoln turns to me. "You never told him?"

"No, I didn't. But I did tell him my real name, which I never told you or Mom or Dad. Now, at long last, it's time for both of you to find out who I really am. So, brother dear, you're up."

And so it is that Lincoln Braithwaite reveals the secret our family has kept for so long. "She's not my sister. I mean, we adopted her."

"No." I correct him. "I wasn't adopted. You were too young to remember the details. You took me in - when I needed you. I thank you and Mom and Dad for that. But it was never recognized by any court. We simply didn't bother."

"So what is your name?" Lincoln asks me.

"I'll tell you in a moment. We have to take this slowly. First I have to convince Geoff. Do you remember the movie our parents took us to see, the day we first met?"

"Yes." Lincoln replies.

"We didn't actually see the movie, did we?" I ask.

"No. You threw a fit outside the theater."

"Yes, you're right, I did. What movie was showing that day?"

"It was...” He pauses, thinking. “The Wizard of Oz."

I turn and look into my husband's eyes, watching his face as he begins to believe.

"You're serious." Geoff says. "You're DOROTHY?!"

"I am."

"Hello, Dorothy." Lincoln says calmly. He turns to Geoff. "I don't understand why you are upset about her name."

"What Geoff means is that I am Dorothy Gale. That movie is about me."

"But...but..." Lincoln splutters. "When we found you, you were only a year or so older than me. The first book was published in 1900. You would be..."

"I was fifty-two years old when you found me. I didn't look my age because I learned of a way to stop my biological clock, and it stayed stopped for forty-three years, until I chose to start it again. I had realized that I wanted to grow up."

For a moment he can't get his thoughts organized, and I'm not sure I can persuade him. But then...

"That word you kept writing in the garden. We thought it was 'no, no, no'. But it wasn't an n and an o, it was an o and a..." He is too amazed to finish the sentence.

"Yes, Lincoln." I say softly. "That's what it was."

It was a day of surprises, a day of the unexpected - a day of magic. The General's grandfather speaks to me. He has heard every word, and is clearly skeptical. "You're Dorothy Gale, are you? Then tell me what happened at the Fourth of July picnic." This is puzzling. There have been many Independence Day observances in my life. But after a few seconds of hard thought I understand what he means. Not the Fourths as Rebecca, but as Dorothy. He is talking about July fourth, 1896. Remember when I said there were no links to my past? I had been looking in the wrong places.

"Jimmy Fitzpatrick?!" I can’t believe that he is still alive! My sadness vanishes. "You were seven and I was eight." My voice is barely above a whisper, and my eyes are as wide as saucers. "You picked a few scraggly flowers for me. And then you kissed me right here." I put two fingers on my left cheek. "It was my first kiss from a boy. I still have those flowers, too, pressed in a book."

His jaw drops. 'It's impossible' is written all over his face. But he knows he can't deny it. I go over and kiss him back. I hadn't thought about Jimmy in a very long time. Those flowers he gave me are in a place that is beyond my reach. But he remembered ME. If that tornado had not taken me away, would we someday have...? Even if I had been in that hotel in Chicago I would have been much too old for Geoff. This is the first time I have thought about such things.

Now that Geoff and Lincoln know, it is obvious what I have to do. Once before I made a choice of this kind. It had taken months. Today it took ten minutes. I go to the room with the reporters and make an earth-shaking announcement. "I am resigning as President, effective immediately." They shout a hundred questions at me but I leave the room without answering.

"Geoff, Lincoln, Jimmy, I'm going home. You are all invited to come with me."

They don't realize at first that by 'home' I do not mean the White House, or New York City. And when they do figure it out, they hasten to try to stop me as I head for the door - and the tornado. The Secret Service is assigned to protect me. They try to stand in my way.

There was a time, long ago, in another place, when I could expect to be in danger at any moment. A certain Wizard gave me some special gifts to help me out. Ever since I returned to the United States I have been very careful not to do anything that will cause comment - or fear. But now I take hold of the burliest agent and lift him with one hand. I simply stand there calmly, without the slightest evidence of strain, until it soaks into his mind what is happening to him. He looks at his feet, inches off the floor. He's too flabbergasted to say anything. I set him down and speak to everyone there. "I'm going outside, gentlemen. Don't waste your time trying to prevent me. I'm just a little bit stronger than I look." They have no idea how to react, and I take advantage of their confusion to step out the door.

It warms my heart that Geoff, Lincoln, and Jimmy are right behind me.

The wind is howling. I can't say anything to them, they wouldn't be able to hear me. The funnel cloud is standing in one spot, waiting. As I walk forward it reaches out for me.

(to be continued)
 
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I_are_sceptical

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Chapter 5

I'm sure everyone back in the United States believes that the four of us are dead. We land gently at the edge of a huge meadow. A short distance away a crowd is gathered. There is a banner -

ONE HUNDRED YEARS OF FREEDOM

"This is Freedom Park." I tell my three friends. "Over there is the farmhouse I came to Oz in. The real one, not a replica." In the Fairuza Balk movie it was depicted as an abandoned wreck. In truth it is well kept, as a museum and (blush) a shrine. There is a life-size statue of me in front of it, and a large plaque that reads

On this spot the evil one died.
When we see the flowers bloom in springtime
our crops ripe in the fields
or the snow gently falling,
when the sun rises in the morning
or the stars are twinkling at night,
we shall know that we are free.
Forevermore you have our gratitude and our love.
May Heaven bless you
our great hero
Dorothy of Kansas.

It's horribly embarrassing. I will try my best to keep the guys from seeing it.

Geoff, Lincoln, and Jimmy keep staring at me, at the evidence of the existence of magic. As soon as we crossed the magical border between Earth and Oz the potion that had maintained me as a nine year old went back into effect. When we began our tornado ride, I had been tall, silver haired, and wearing the expensive clothes of a co-owner of a multi-national corporation, as well as a pearl necklace and diamond earrings. Now I had long, dark hair in two braids and am dressed to be inconspicuous in the Kansas farm country, the same clothes I had when I left Oz so long, long ago. It might take me a minute to get used to having to look up, instead of across, at Geoff and Lincoln (giggle). But, of course, they will soon be able to adjust their age, if they want to.

We go over to the crowd. I don't say anything, I just mingle as if I am another celebrant, nobody special. Someone will recognize me any moment. The Wizard is giving a speech. Listening to him again after all these years away from Oz makes me a little choked up. Strange as it may sound I am still not certain this isn't all a dream, and that I'm about to wake up.

And then the Wizard says something that makes me doubt my ears. "I am very sorry to say that on this happy occasion the Princess Dorothy will not be joining us. We lost track of her many years ago, and despite our best efforts, have no idea where she is at this moment. But I am sure she is here in spirit."

It is my three companions who understand what has happened before I do. They are sick with fright. I had been wrong, the Land of Oz had not sent for me.

We had walked into a real tornado.

I am not frightened. Quite the opposite. The same accident has happened to me again! I'm the luckiest girl in the...in TWO worlds.

I consider various ways to break the news to the assembly. Having decided, I shout to the Wizard "Oh, do sit down, you pompous windbag. We don't want to listen to another of your tedious speeches."

There are angry murmurs from the crowd. A woman next to me loudly calls me a spoiled obnoxious brat and tells me to keep silent while my betters are speaking. The Wizard is displeased, judging by the expression on his face - people here don't EVER speak that way to him - but he tries to politely ignore me. Then he realizes where he has heard those words before. The day I had left Oz I had said to him, "After I'm gone, don't make any of your tedious speeches about me. You're such a pompous windbag." It was quite clear what I was really saying. He had started crying, and hugged me very hard. Just as I hoped - knew - he would.

Now he can't quite get my name out. "Dor...? Dorth...?"

"Hi, everybody. Miss me?" Not original, I know. Some of the people that I had known well confirm my identity, with gasps of astonishment. Everyone mobs me. I don't object. I have to kiss that woman five times to make her stop apologizing. I manage to get a few words in, above all the shouts of merriment. "I need three doses of rejuvenation potion." They are produced, and three old men become young.

Plans for the hundredth anniversary are quickly changed. I am told I will be whisked to Emerald City. But I decline. "Thank you, but what I really want to do is what I did one hundred years ago - walk down the Yellow Brick Road with my three favorite boys." Geoff, Lincoln, Jimmy, the Scarecrow, the Tin Woodman, and the Cowardly Lion all step forward. Then they turn and glare at each other. I grin from ear to ear. Guys fighting over me. Life is great! "And, of course, anyone who wishes may join us." There are plenty of volunteers.

Most parties remain in place. This one is on the move. As we cross Munchkinland I take in all the scenery as if it will go away the next day and I will never be able to see it again. That odd feeling that this isn't real just won't go away. I keep a happy face on, which isn't difficult surrounded by close friends I haven't seen in a very long time. Two days later we exit the forest and climb the hill. From the top you can see the City of Emeralds.

Some years back I was thinking about my life, all it's joys and triumphs, it's concerns and problems. Everything was oriented toward life as an adult. That life surrounded me, and stretched far into the distance. The thought crossed my mind "But if I stand on my tiptoes I'll bet I could see Emerald City from here." I don't need to stand on my tiptoes to see it now. I turn around and look back the way we have just come. Once again I have made a choice about which road to walk, and this one is paved with yellow bricks.

At that moment the final magic happens. One of my dearest friends has not been with us on our long walk. No-one has mentioned him at all, and I am scared to ask. I learn later that he had stayed home, not attending the festivities in Freedom Park, because he had been so depressed that I would not be there. And until now no-one had told him I had returned. He had not been encouraging visitors. Standing on the hilltop nearly a mile from the city, I shouldn't be able to see or hear him at this distance, but see and hear him I do. He comes bursting through the gateway in the wall surrounding the city, moving towards me like a bolt of lightning, running as fast as his four legs will carry him, shouting my name over and over. The lump in my throat is as hard as granite. I’m crying again, but this time it is because I am happy. There is no more doubt that I am truly back in Oz. More than one hundred years ago, when lessons were over at our country schoolhouse in Kansas, and I came trudging along the road to the farm, it was his face and voice that would welcome me home. I can remember thinking, many times, that he was the best friend I could ever wish for.

He is welcoming me home again. I respond as I did back then. I kick my shoes off, because they will slow me down, and run barefoot to meet him.

(the end)
 
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