Amelia’s Legacy
by CS Norwood
© 1992, 2026 CS Norwood. All rights Reserved
The sun had long ago reached its apex and was beginning a slow descent behind a line of billowing silver-tipped clouds. There it produced a fiery mix of evening orange and deep purple that mellowed to grey where it blended into the far line of the oceanic horizon. Possibly it was the changing light that finally woke her. She did not move immediately, however. Not only was she exhausted, sore and disheveled, but she thought she was probably suffering from a bad case of sunburn as well.
She lay still for several minutes until she could no longer tolerate her awkward position. Slowly, in spite of the pain, she sat up. Pulling her leather jacket from the sand near her feet, she used it as a cushion to rest her sore back on the trunk of a palm. Though extremely weary and still a little dazed, she began to assess her situation. Looking behind her, she took in the island upon whose shores she rested. From what she could see, which wasn’t a great deal, it consisted of a dense tangle of vines, coconut palms, and mangos, all of which starkly contrasted with the shimmering blueness that encircled it.
Georgiana was still reeling from the crash. For someone usually as verbal as herself, “endless” was the only word she could come up with to describe her Pacific view. “Lush” was the only word she could use to describe the jungle behind her. Ironically, that was also the only word she could come up with to describe the man who was responsible for her being here, utterly alone, for all she knew. Matthew Youngblood. What if he really was killed in the crash? The plane went down, where? Out there, in the gentle surf? It was so beautiful. What right had they to crash headlong into such beauty? She wrapped her arms across her chests the temperature had begun to drop fast with the setting sun, and her teeth began to chatter. She put the jacket on and would have left the beach, the jungle might be warmer, but she needed time to think and, out here, things might be a little clearer, less tangled.
Matt had enticed her on this journey, this odyssey, this catastrophe, she thought, her anger rising. Why had she let him talk her into this?
She let her mind wander back to a few days ago. She had been comfortable, resting in the hotel on Papua after the long shoot. It seemed the older she got, the quicker she tired of the 12 and 14-hour days on location, and she had decided to stay over for an extra weekend after the rest of the crew had flown back to L.A. She had not realized that Matt Youngblood, a freelance photographer, had been staying in the same hotel until she ran into him in the Melbourne Room bar.
“Georgiana Hyatt…!”
She lifted her eyes in the dim, smoke-filled room and saw him making hi way through the packed bar toward her. She did not know how she had missed seeing him the moment she walked in. Matt was, as always, breathtakingly handsome. Tall, rakish, yet with boyish charm, he had an adventurer’s look about him. He wore his brown fedora “Indiana Jones” style, although he was a little taller and darker than the movie hero. Each time she saw him again, and the absences usually spanned several years, she wondered anew why they had never slept together. He was as close to an Adonis as anyone she had ever seen. Maybe that was it. Maybe he was a little too perfect, too magnificent.
“…Georgie!” He swept her into his arms as they came together, their lips met and she felt the fire of his intense passion as he kissed her long and hard. Suddenly, time and place no longer mattered, and any resistance she may had felt left her. She submitted to his will. Matt was the center of the universe, all she had ever longed for. Then, suddenly, he released his iron grip on her limp body, the moment passing. Awkwardly she returned to reality.
“Where’s the hubby?” he said, still holding her, smiling mischievously.
“Ah…Matt…it is so good to see you again. I’m not married,” she mumbled, still locked in his spell. She wondered, idiotically, if she should perhaps shake his hand now. Instead she stood, catching her breath, studying those boyish features, drowning his deep, dark eyes.
“In that case, may I join you?” he already held a Scotch whiskey in his hand. She hadn’t noticed it when he crossed the room. Before she could reply, he pulled out her chair and another for himself.
“What’er you doing on Papua, Georgie?” He listened intently as she told him of the new line of South Pacific swimwear Intaglio Design was promoting, and how she was now their top model. He downed his Scotch, ordered another for himself and a vodka Collins for her. By the time the waiter brought their drinks, he had explained that he had just finished a World Environs assignment on New Guinea and just flown over to Papua for some change of scenery.
“I discovered this great old twin-engine Lockheed Electra. Bought it on the spot. Completely restored. I’ve been flying myself all over the islands, paying my way by shipping off photos at each stop. It’s been terrific, Georgie. I wish you could take some more time off and come with me. I’m flying off to the Marshal’s tomorrow. I need to stop on Guam…”
Similar backgrounds and mutual acquaintances allowed the conversation to flow easily between the supermodel, just passing her prime, and the world-class photographer. The two sat together long into the evening, sipping their drinks, talking of the people they knew and the places they had been, the near misses, and the times they had connected. Later, walking the beach barefoot, both speaking of other things, but telling of the thousand reasons they were each still alone, he held her again, and he whispered again, softly, so enticing, “…come with me Georgie.”
That night, perhaps because of the magic of the South Pacific, perhaps because of their long unrequited desire, they did not remain apart. Their lovemaking was as Georgie had always imagined, made so much more by passionate by the longing, the sea air, and the faraway island that held them close.
In the morning, Matt took her to see the Electra. It was beautiful, sleek and shining, a silver aluminum masterpiece. It belonged in the sky, she thought.
“Come and fly with me, Georgie. It’ll great up there together, you’ll see! Fly with me.” Matt would not be denied.
“It’s so old…is it safe to fly?”
“Perfectly. It’s been completely and meticulously restored,” he said, patting the fuselage. “I updated the radio and added a few bells and whistles, of course. But this beauty will take us anywhere we want to go in these islands.”
Standing back, Georgie frowned, her hands shoved deep in the pockets of her leather jacket. “Something … something seems so familiar about this plane,” she said.
“Maybe you remember seeing photos of one just like it. It’s the same model Earhart and Noonan were flying when they disappeared out here.”
“Oh, God!”
“Hold on, Georgie! It’s not the same plane. It’s one like it. Anyway, they probably went down because of navigational problems, off course, out of gas, you know. There weren’t any malfunctions of the aircraft.”
“How do you know?” she demanded.
“Relax, Georgie. This baby’s sound as a 747,” he said reassuringly. Then her folded her in his powerful arms and kissed her long and deep, and she forgot everything else, even her apprehensions.
“Okay, so where’re we going?” she asked as she fastened her seat belt.
“Well, we’re headed for Howland. I’ve got to get some natural-habitat photos…”
“Did you say Howland?” Georgie screamed above the roar of the engine as the aircraft lifted into flight.
“Yeah! There’s a small strip there. Marine biologists use it all the time. Won’t be any problem landing there.”
“Isn’t that the same damn field Earhart landed on just before she vanished?!” This was all a little beyond coincidental; Georgie began to worry.
“You’re not superstitious, are you Georgie?”
Sitting here now, darkness closing in around her, she damn well wished she had been superstitious. She wished she had demanded that Matt turn the plane around that very instant and take her back. But that was yesterday.
A full moon hung directly above now, playing its flickering yellow-white light across the waves in a phantom, iridescent glow. A canopy of stars, hanging just above her head, adorned the indigo sky. Waves washed onto the beach in a steady, low roar, moving ever closer with the rising tide. They licked at the sand near her feet, hissed softly, then receded into the smooth, wet sand. Georgie huddled beneath the palm, wrapped against the night breeze, lonelier than she had ever been in her life. She needed water and food. Tomorrow could not come soon enough.
Thirst and hunger gnawed at her. The mindless bliss of sleep eluded her. The sandwiches and thermos of strong coffee they had shared to clear their heads from the liquor of the previous night had long since disappeared…drinks together a few nights ago…an age ago, she thought. The rest of the food on board certainly went down with the Electra. Her head dropped to her hands, her elbows on her bent knees.
She couldn’t remember much about the actual plane crash, she realized. Did they land in the ocean or on this island? She couldn’t see any debris around her. She did remember that they somehow got off course and were running low on fuel. Of course, the radio had gone out and the radar wasn’t working right either. It was like something straight out of a very bad movie. She laughed out loud at the irony of it all, while steady streams of silent tears coursed the smudges on her face.
Suddenly she remembered watching in horror as Matt fought for control of the airplane. Her last words came back to her now. “We’re dead, aren’t we, Matt!” She couldn’t remember his reply or even if he did reply. Overwhelmed, Georgie abandoned herself to her tears and the lonely, starry night.
Finally, she slept, although fitfully tossing from side to side. She was never able to find a comfortable position, and she was not used to the incessant roar of the ocean. By morning, she was famished, and her tongue was swollen from thirst. She was cramped so badly that she was not certain she would be able to walk, but she knew she had to try; she had to pee. Every movement seemed a monumental effort, hardly worth it. First her swollen tongue, then her stiff neck, arms, back, and finally, she stretched her cramped legs, groaning with every new effort. All systems go! If nothing else worked, she would bully her body into compliance. With all the strength she could muster, she pushed to her feet and walked into the dense underbrush to relieve herself. Modesty first.
“I don’t know why I’m being so damned modest,” she said aloud, astonished at the loudness of her own voice.
“Well, you damned well ought to be in a tropical paradise like this; you never know who the hell’s going to be combing these beaches,” a masculine voice replied to her own.
Georgie’s heart skipped several beats. When she came out of the cover of the vines, her heart was still pounding crazily from her sudden fright.
She struggled with the thought of killing him on the spot — if she wasn’t certain she wasn’t already dead, she might consider it — an instantaneous thought. Instead, she rushed into his arms in gratitude for being alive, here with her. She wasn’t alone after all.
“Matthew” My God, what happened to you? Where in hell were you? I looked all up and down this beach for you yesterday. I didn’t see a trace.…”
He drew her reluctant body to him and held her close to his chest. “When the plane hit the water, it flipped. You must have been thrown clear almost instantly. I stayed with it as long as I could … get out as much gear as I could. I got a few supplies before she went down, flashlight, batteries, some of our food and some drinking water, not much really. The tide carried you in before I could get to you. The plane rested on the edge of the reef for a while, and I had to keep diving as long as I could. When the tide changed. It pulled the plane off the ledge, and it went down into deep water.”
“Did you get a chance…”
“No,” he said softly. “the plane was too old. It didn’t have a transponder. There was no way to send an emergency signal. Com’on, come with me. I hauled everything around to the north side of the island. I got a chance to spot a little lagoon surrounded by some cliffs. We can probably find some shelter there, and you need some water and something to eat. I’ve already laid in a supply of really fresh coconuts this morning,” he said with his old characteristic smile.
Georgie looked into his sunburned face, already polished to a shine by the Pacific wind. A stubble of beard adorned his angular jaw.
“This isn’t a joke, Matt. It’s not a game or some…some wild adventure photo shoot of yours! We are lost out here, and no one knows where we are!”
“Com’on Georgie! It doesn’t help a damned thing for you to get hysterical over this! We’re here now and, by God, we’re gonna make the best of it! Now com’on.” He grabbed her arm and pulled. She winced, jerked her arm free, glared at him, and then followed stiffly when he turned his back and walked off. She looked back up her beach one last time. Perhaps she might need to come back — retrace her steps for some reason — but the tide had already washed their tracks away.
He led her in a short cut through the scraggly palms that adorned the eastern tip of the island. Presently, they emerged on the northern shore. It was as if they had entered a completely different world. The beach she had just left had been clean and white, but what little beach she could see here was littered with sharp lava, volcanic rock, and odd flotsam.
“I’ve just about got everything over here already,” he said, satisfied with his own efforts. He handed her a canteen of water and opened a watertight container that held the last of their sandwiches. “Easy on the water until we can locate some here,” he said. “Coconut water can keep us alive, but it’ll give ya the runs, too.”
She looked at him now with a growing realization of the real gravity of their plight.
“If worse comes to worse,” he held up a fistful of crumpled plastic wrap, “I can rig a little contraption to catch condensation.”
She knew he was doing his best to reassure her.
“Why did you wait so long to find me. You should have come looking for me right away, Matt,” she said, accusation rising in her voice. She was mad at herself the instant she said it. She needed Matt on her side more than ever now. It served little purpose to make him an enemy now. Still, she was finding it hard not to blame him for their situation.
“I did,” he said, unruffled by her accusing tone. “I found you last night. You were asleep. I didn’t want to wake you, so I just kept working till daylight. I kept an eye on you. You’re not saying you wanted to help me move everything last night, are you?”
“No…”
“Com’on. See that lagoon over there?” He pointed to a small horseshoe curve in the shoreline about a quarter of a mile away. “I waited for you to check it out.”
She followed him along the rocky shoreline and onto the little beach that surrounded the calm, crystal clear lagoon on three sides. The white sand stretched from the water’s edge about thirty yards back up the island where it suddenly rose sharply into a rocky cliff. He led her away from the water’s edge, back along the rock-strewn base of the cliff. The going was tricky and she was becoming tired, her thoughts wandering to what she would be doing today if she were back in L.A., working as usual, when suddenly, they were back on the sandy floor of a beach facing a hollow in the cliff’s wall.
“A cave!”
“You wait here…”
“Not on your life,” she said. “I’m not going to stay here while you wander in there and get lost forever!”
He studied her face for a moment, “You’re right. That was foolish. We should stick together now. Let’s go back and get the flashlight and the rope.”
He was headed back up the beach before she could protest.
“Alright, we’re tied off,” he said as he finished wedging the piece of driftwood between two rocks at the cave’s entrance. He tested it with a couple of full-body tugs, nodded to himself and stepped into the dark, gaping hole. Georgie followed; actually, she had little choice as they were tied together, “Just in case,” Matt had said.
“Do you think there are bats in here?”
“No. There are no bats on these islands. You’re safe, Georgie,” he said. “You’re only imagining bats because it’s a cave.
Georgie swallowed her rising fear. She had always been slightly claustrophobic, and her imagined bats certainly were not going to help this situation. She would still rather be with Matt, though, than outside, waiting and wondering, she rationalized.
They followed the opening about twenty more feet before the light beam revealed a narrow passage, turning sharply to the left. “Let’s go,” Matt said. So far, they had crouched through the cave, but as soon as they stepped through the passageway, they found themselves in a large, high-ceilinged chamber, they could stand upright now. Remarkably, the chamber was not completely black. Light filtered through a slice in the rocks on the sloping wall to their right, and in the stillness, they could hear the steady, echoing drip of water from a seep in the rocks onto the chamber floor.
Matt quickly located the water source beneath the chamber’s window. The water tasted slightly of minerals, but it was fresh. He set his canteen beneath the drip to collect the precious liquid.
“This solves our drinking-water problem,” he said.
Georgie rested beside the seep as Matt, freed from his tether, began to explore. She closed her eyes in the dim light, moved her hand back to brace her still-sore back and gave a startled cry. Matt rushed back toward her.
“What is it?”
“Something … there!” She pointed down.
He played the light on the ground surrounding them. There, just to the right of the seep, lay an old leather flight jacket, similar to the ones they now wore, only much, much older. Matt was reaching for the jacket when his light caught something else. About ten feet away were the remnants of an old fire pit, barely discernable in the layer of dust and debris that covered it.
“Someone’s been living here, Georgie,” he said.
He played the light beam around the perimeter of the little nook of the chamber at the water seep.
“Look!”
Both of them cautiously walked closer to the chalky gray mass.
“My God. It’s a human skeleton,” Georgie said in horror.
“Must be the owner of this jacket. By the looks of what’s left, whoever it was, was broken up pretty badly. Look,” Matt said, “the ribcage is busted all to pieces. The left leg is fractured, and the right arm is broken up pretty good, too.”
Matt stepped closer for a better look and kicked something loose with his foot.
“What is that?”
“Well,” he retrieved a round leather tube from beneath his foot. “It looks like some kind of document carrier. He took the handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped off a layer of dust.
“Here, hold the flashlight. Look, there are some initials embossed on it, an F and, I believe that’s an N.” He paused thoughtfully before repeating the initials. “F.N.”
“You don’t suppose…” Georgie said.
“Suppose what?”
“That that’s Fred Noonan’s case…that that’s Fred Noonan!” She pointed to the skeletal remains that leaned on the side of the chamber.
“What…no! You’re letting your imagination run wild now,” Matt said, yet there was a hint of uncertainty in his rebuke.
“What’s in there?”
He opened the case. “Nothing, it’s empty.”
“Damn!”
“What did you think? You’d solved the puzzle of Amelia Earhart?” He laughed. “You’re being sort of romantic, aren’t you?”
“Maybe. It would be exciting, though, wouldn’t it? To finally solve the mystery. Besides, there’s nothing that says that isn’t the body of Fred Noonan, is there? After all, isn’t this real close to where they were last heard from?”
“Well, I guess…” He shrugged his broad shoulders and grinned his boyish grin.
Suddenly he stopped short, frozen in place.
“What!?” Her eyes followed his to the gapping fissure, the window in the chamber wall. There was nothing.
“Nothing!” He appeared shaken, but regrouped quickly, drawing her attention back to himself. “Nothing … You were saying…?”
She eyed him suspiciously but continued, “I was saying that those are Fred Noonan’s remains, and Amelia Earhart’s remains must be somewhere close by, right on this very island!” She spoke almost triumphantly.
“Well let’s just go get our shovels and get busy and we can probably dig ‘em up real quick-like!” Matt was sarcastically mocking her now. His impatience was evident with his rising voice. The two faced off in the dim light.
“Let’s get out of here.” Matt broke the ice that had suddenly developed between them. “We shouldn’t use up all the juice in these flashlight batteries.”
As soon as they emerged into the strong light and fresh air of the lagoon, Georgie stopped him.
“What is wrong with you? Just because I think those are Fred Noonan’s remains, you’re angry with me? What gives here, Matt?”
“Not a damned thing gives here, Georgie!” He tore himself from her grasp and headed off down the beach toward their meager salvaged possessions.
He was becoming extremely short with her now, and she didn’t like it…not one bit. She ran after him.
“Look, Matt! Just because I’m a romantic, and it would be sort of neat to maybe be the ones to solve a real mystery that’s over fifty years old…”
“Alright! You solved it! Okay!?”
His words sent her reeling. “What?” she said to his once-again retreating form. And once again, she had to run to stop him.
“Where are you going in such a hurry. What do you mean, ‘I solved it?’ Stop!”
“No. I’ve got to check on our stuff, now.”
“Why the rush. We’re alone here, aren’t we?” She held him now by his jacket lapels. “What did you mean when you said I solved the mystery of Amelia Earhart? What’s going…”
She felt his body suddenly tense as he gasped, holding his breath. She turned and followed his gaze, transfixed on something behind her at the top of the cliff.
There, silhouetted along the top of the rocky ledge, stood a frightfully thin figure, leaning on a long staff. Although bent and aged, it was obvious, even from this distance, that the old woman had once been tall, lithe, even aristocratic. As Georgie stared in awe, the woman’s wispy short grey hair feathered in the trade winds from the sea.
“A…Amelia…” Georgie suddenly lunged in the direction of the lone figure. Matt grabbed her and held her.
“It’s her. I saw her looking at us through the rock crevice in the cavern. It is her, Georgie. She’s old, but it’d be hard to mistake those features.”
“Matt! We’ve found her! We’ve rescued Amelia Earhart! We’ve…”
“Stop it, Georgie!” He held her hard and shook her. Tears of joy and confusion streaked her beautiful face. “Stop!” His voice had softened now. “Think about this, Georgie. That’s Amelia Earhart up there! She’s been stranded on this island for over fifty years, Georgie!”
“What? What are you saying, Matt? We’ve found…”
“Georgie,” he stroked the soft tangle of her long hair, looked deeply into her tear-filled eyes, then drew her to him. He held her close, rocking her gently in his embrace.
“I suppose her final flight — her legend, this island, were her legacy, my darling … and now it’s ours. Fifty years,” he whispered, “and no one ever came to her rescue, Georgie…what makes you think anyone is coming to ours?”
