Hello, Vic here. So I have a mild obsession with young John Cusack, and over spring break I went on a kick, watching like all the movies he was in in the 80s. One was this Disney movie, The Journey of Natty Gann, which was made back when political correctness was not a thing and there could still be swearing in kids' movies. Nevertheless, it was a very cute film, and so I'm writing fanfiction for it. Don't judge.

For any of you who know the movie, this is a sequel of sorts. Basically I'm going to chronicle how Natty and Harry find each other again, and if I pull it off to my own satisfaction, they might gain OTP status.

Naturally I do not own these characters or their universe. Enjoy!

Dear Harry,

I'm leaving for Alaska today. Leaving almost this minute in fact, which is why I don't have time to write more. Don't forget about me. I'll make it out to California someday.

Natty

She wishes she had time. Time to tell how she begged her dad not to go, how she kept dropping hints of work and warmer weather down south. Time to tell how wretched she feels, because she feels like she's leaving him all over again. Time to tell him how she feels about him—but there will never be enough time for that. So she folds the letter, hands it to Marta and hopes it finds Harry somehow.

"Please send it as soon as possible," she begs, her grimy fingers clutching at the other woman's sleeve. The fabric is rough against Natty's cracked skin, but Marta's smile is soft.

"Don't worry—" There's a reason Marta is considered mother to all the camp followers— "I'll hand it to the postman myself when I go down the mountain."

She tucks the paper into her apron pocket and gives it a quick pat before wrapping Natty in her arms. Many of the wives and daughters and sisters and mothers are coming to Alaska with the logging camp, but Marta is eight months pregnant. She's going to stay with her sister in the town below the mountain, while her husband Neil follows the work up north. Natty's father has promised Marta time and again that he'll look after Neil and bring him home safe, but Natty can tell by the way that Marta squeezes her long and tight against the swell of her stomach that the worry is still there. Natty understands. She's carrying worries of her own.

"I'll miss you," she mumbles before pulling away, planting a small kiss on Marta's belly as she does so.

Marta smiles. "Get going. Your dad's waitin' on you."

"You promise you'll send that letter—"

"Yes," Marta laughs, giving her a push. "Now go!"

Natty stumbles slightly over her own feet—the hand-me-down boots from one of the logger's daughters are still too big for her—but she rights herself as she lopes to the truck, where her dad and the other men are waiting in the back. The truck will take them down the mountain to the train, the train will take them to the boat that's waiting in the harbor, and the boat will take them to Alaska. One of the men grabs her under her arms and swings her up into the back of the truck, where she sits beside her dad. He puts his arm around her and squeezes.

"Are you excited, Natty?" he asks, and there's a gleam of adventure in his tired eyes.

She nods, not trusting her voice, and draws her knees to her chest and hugs them tight. The truck grumbles to life as the last of the men jump aboard, and the now nearly abandoned camp begins to grow smaller, appearing to jolt away into the distance. Natty stares long and hard out the back of the truck; if she blinks, a tear might escape. She thinks she can hear a wolf howling in the distance, and suddenly it's all too much. She drops her head into her arms and lets the tears flow.

. . .

Dear Harry,

I don't like boats. I liked jumping trains better than being on this boat. My dad doesn't seem to mind but I'm sicker than a dog. We're on our way to Alaska and my dad keeps asking me if I'm excited, but I think excitement is a different kind of stomach ache. I can't wait to be on land again. I won't be able to send this letter until we get there, so if you're reading this, it means I made it. Only paper I have is this blank scrap from an old New Testament, so I gotta stop before I run out of room. I hope California is good and that you're still working. Don't forget about me.

Natty

She doesn't know why she always signs her letters "Don't forget about me." It seems important, somehow. Far away…and there are bound to be other girls in California, and they're bound to like him…Not that she cares. She would just hate to lose a friend. That's why she signs her letters that way. That's all. Anyway, she doesn't have any more time to fret over it, because she barely has time to make it above deck to throw up over the side. She hates boats.

. . .

Dear Harry,

We're in Alaska now, and I have a proper address, so you can write me back, if you like. It's cold here, but so beautiful. The land is practically untouched, it almost seems sad to cut down the trees. But it means Dad has work, so I can't complain. Are you still working? I hope so. I hope you're still in California, and getting my letters.

Dad and I live in a little shanty in town, he rides out to the forest with the men every morning before dawn. I get up and make him coffee and eggs. I never really knew how to cook before, but now I'm learning all sorts! Maybe I can show you one day. Hopefully by then I won't burn so much. I usually cook beans for supper. Remember when I tried to steal your beans and that's how we became friends? There's a little school in town and Dad wants me to start going. I told him I'd rather work, but he said there's not much work for a little girl and I should get some learning. I'm not so little, I'm 13 now, but I guess it would be nice to learn some stuff. Did you ever get much schooling? I'm supposed to start on Monday, so I wanted to write you before then. I'll be busy once I have school work and chores to do, but the days are so long here I'll probably have a lot of time anyways. Dad says the days'll get real short come fall and winter, on account of being so far north. I guess that's why we're having school in the summer here. I gotta go start supper now, but I'll write again soon. Don't forget about me.

Natty

One nice thing about living in town is that she can mail this letter almost as soon as she finishes it. She folds the paper and addresses it carefully, making sure she gets every number and word right. The beans are soaking, just waiting to be cooked; once she gets back, she'll put them on to boil. She slips on her coat, because even in June it's chilly up here, and then skips the few blocks to the little post office, where a plump woman with a pink blouse and flyaway hair is manning the desk. Natty places the envelope on the counter and jingles a handful of coins nervously in her pocket while she waits for the woman to examine her offering.

"California?" the lady asks.

Natty nods. "Yes ma'am."

"That's three cents, miss. Now who's in California?" She examines the name on the envelope and her eyes twinkle. "A sweetheart?"

Caught off guard, Natty puts down three pennies with rather more force than she intended. "No," she says emphatically.

The lady raises an eyebrow and smiles slightly.

"Not really," she amends, feeling suddenly confused. "I mean, he's just a friend—"

"All right." The lady laughs and waves away Natty's babbling. "Well I'm sure—Harry—will be pleased to get your letter anyway."

Natty blushes. "I hope so," she mumbles. "Thank you!"

She ducks outside and runs home. The sun is finally starting to set, which means her dad will be on his way home, and she wants to have hot food waiting when he gets back. She wonders briefly if Harry is having beans for dinner tonight too. She doesn't know why he would be, but the thought makes her feel closer to him, and there's a pleasant warmth in her stomach for the rest of the night that isn't just from dinner. Her dad looks up mid-meal and asks her what she's smiling about. She shrugs.

"Nothing," she says. "I just like beans."

. . .

Dear Harry,

I was so glad to finally get a letter from you! It must take a long time for mail to reach us here, so don't think I'm upset. It's just good to hear from you. I'm glad you have good work and comfortable living now. Dad is still working, but it's starting to get colder here and most of our money is going to buy fuel for the stove. I keep trying to get Dad to let me start working, but he still says no. But I guess school has been good so it's all right. I can do big sums now. Teacher says they're not all sums, they're also multiplication and division but it's easier to just say sums. I'm quite good at them. I'm also good at spelling, I have the highest marks in the class. Teacher says my grammar could do with work though. What do you think? I think my grammar's fine, but I guess teachers know.

Dad says we might be moving again, further inland. I don't know when. I hope there's still mail there. I'll let you know. Don't forget about me.

Natty

. . .

Dear Harry,

We're moving once the winter is over. My fingers are almost too cold to hold a pen. If you've written me recently, I'm sorry I haven't gotten it, we've all been snowed in. I don't know how long it will be until I can send this. I hope it's nice and warm in California. Don't forget about me.

Natty

. . .

Dear Harry,

I got two letters from you today, and I'm mailing you two in return. It's finally spring, which means we're moving again. I don't want to, but that's where there's money, so we have to. I'm worried about Dad. He had pneumonia in February, and he hasn't been the same since. He says he's fine but I wish he wouldn't go. I'm sorry to dump all this on you but I don't want to tell Dad I'm worried. He'll say I'm turning into my Ma, which makes us both kinda sad. I wish I had more to say, but winter was pretty boring. I'll try and write again when we move, but I can't promise anything. It'll just be the logging crew out in the woods, I feel like it'll get awful lonely. At least I'll have Dad. Even if I don't write for a while, don't forget about me!

Natty

Natty hands letters and a handful of pennies to the lady behind the counter one last time.

"I'm moving further inland," she says. "Do you know if there's mail there?"

The lady shakes her head in reply. "'Fraid I don't. Worried Harry will think you've forgotten him?"

Natty blushes, looking down at her dirty finger nails. "No. He knows I wouldn't. And anyway, I've told him I'm moving. He'll know I might not be able to write."

"Of course," the lady replies with a reassuring nod. "Have a safe trip. I'll miss seeing your bright young face!"

Natty nods brusquely, then turns to run from the building before the tears can escape. She cries into the beans as she cooks supper; she cries into her suitcase as she packs her few worldly possessions. She's not sure why she's crying. She guesses it's because part of her hoped that the next time they moved, it might be to California. She hears her dad step heavily through the front door and she dries her eyes; no need for him to find her sniffling over silly dreams.

The next morning, before the sun is even in the sky, they're all bundled up once more in the backs of trucks. Natty is tucked up next to her father and staring outside, wondering if she's looking towards California. Probably not. Her dad places a reassuring hand on her shoulder and pulls her against him. It's supposed to be a long drive, and he tells her she should get some sleep. Soon she can hear him snoring softly, but she remains awake a while longer, wondering if there's mail inland.