Dear Pen Pal

by Heather Vogel Frederick

  It’s been kind of tough, because the only person who knows the whole story is Emma. I haven’t wanted to talk to my mom or dad or Mrs. Crandall or anyone else about Darcy, so nobody else really understands what happened between Savannah and me. I know my other book club friends think it’s weird the way I went all hot and cold on her after that weekend at Half Moon Farm when she helped us rescue Pip, but then they also saw the worst side of Savannah with the taffy prank and her stuck-up attitude, so I’m hoping they’re just chalking things up to that.

  My mother, on the other hand, thinks I’m just being stubborn, because that last month of school she asked a couple of times if I wanted to have Savannah over again, and every time I said no. She told me I needed to continue to make an effort to be kind to her, but that was mostly because she feels sorry for Savannah, which I don’t. Not after what she did.

  Still, I did feel a little guilty when Savannah gave Emma that present for Pip. Especially since I shut her out completely from what was going on with him. I never asked her to come help us walk him or play with him, and I know that hurt her feelings. Maybe cutting her off like that was mean, but after the dance I just didn’t want to be around her any more than I had to.

  “Hey, there’s the sign for Gopher Hole!” shouts Cassidy from behind us. I turn around and see a huge grin on her face. She still gets a kick out of that name.

  Zoe Winchester’s mother stands up in the front of the bus. “Speaking in my official capacity as mayor, let me officially welcome you to our town!”

  A cheer goes up.

  “Population 2,326,” Cassidy reads the sign aloud. “Man, that’s like how many people go to our high school!”

  Winky punches her good-naturedly on the arm. “Shut up,” she says. “We may be small, but we’re mighty.” She points to a turnoff ahead. “There’s the entrance to our ranch.”

  The bus slows down and turns onto a gravel road, passing underneath a big wrought-iron arch with GOPHER CREEK GUEST RANCH spelled out on it in metal letters. Behind us, Winky starts to bounce up and down in her seat.

  “We’re here, because we’re here, because we’re here, because we’re here!” she sings exuberantly, and the rest of us join in, not caring if we’re acting like little kids. All except for Zoe and Becca, that is, who roll their eyes at each other and start putting on lip gloss.

  The bus lumbers down the long driveway. Split rail fences line either side of it, and beyond them are tall trees that Madison tells me are aspens.

  “Populus tremuloides,” she adds. “I looked it up for you, because I knew you’d want to know the Latin name.”

  We lurch up over a gentle rise, then a shallow valley spreads out below us. I spot the ranch in the middle. The main house is beautiful, a big log cabin with a creek running along one side of it. Dotting its banks are lots of smaller log cabins that extend partway around a big square of lawn, kind of like the dorms and classrooms do around the quad back at Colonial Academy. On the opposite side of the lawn is the barn, and beyond that, the corrals. Across the creek, open prairie stretches off toward the snowcapped peaks of the Medicine Bow Mountains.

  “This is it, ladies,” says Winky’s mother as we pull up in front of the largest of the cabins. “Welcome to the bunkhouse!”

  We tumble out of the bus. The late afternoon air smells fresh and cool, and it’s sharp with an unfamiliar scent.

  “Sage,” Madison tells me when I ask. “I guess you don’t have that back in Concord, do you?”

  “Not that I know of,” I reply, hefting my suitcase up the steps to the front porch.

  “The bunkhouse is where we put our large groups,” says Mrs. Parker, ushering us inside. “We figured you girls would want to stay together. It has its own living room where we can all gather in the evenings if we want, and your mothers will be close by in their own cabins.”

  The bunkhouse is awesome. The big living room has a tiny little kitchenette in the corner, and beyond that is a long bedroom lined with half a dozen bunk beds. Madison and I stake out one in a corner by a window overlooking the creek. Emma and Bailey plunk their suitcases down on the one right next to us.

  “Sweet, huh?” says Bailey.

  I nod. So far, I really like Gopher Creek Ranch.

  “Top or bottom?” Madison asks me. “Doesn’t make any difference to me.”

  “Top,” I reply instantly, hoping she really doesn’t mind. I don’t know why, but I love bunk beds. I always get dibs on the top when I sleep over at Emma’s. I climb up and give a little bounce on the mattress. I can’t help it; I’m excited to be here. Across the room, Zoe Winchester smirks at me.

  “Just ignore her,” Bailey whispers. “That’s what we all do.”

  As soon as we’re unpacked we head out to explore. Our moms are getting settled in their cabins next door. My mother and Mrs. Hawthorne are sharing a cabin with Mrs. Jacobs and Professor Daniels, and Mrs. Wong and Mrs. Chadwick are paired up with Summer’s mother and Mayor Winchester. Gigi and Eva Bergson have a cabin to themselves, and so do Mrs. Sloane-Kinkaid and Stanley and baby Chloe. Winky’s mother is going to stay across the lawn at the ranch house.

  “Gotta keep an eye on things this week,” she explains. “I’m still on duty here. But you’ll see plenty of me, don’t worry.”

  She glances at her watch. “Speaking of being on duty, dinner is in half an hour. Just enough time for you to give everyone a quick tour, Winky.”

  “We are going to have so much fun this week,” says Winky, as her mother hurries off. “We’ve planned some special trail rides, and my dad’s going to take us fishing at Echo Lake, and Pete said he’d give everybody lasso lessons. If you’re any good I can try and teach you to rope calves. The big finale is next Saturday night, when we have Ranch Idol and a square dance.”

  “What’s ‘Ranch Idol’?” Emma asks.

  “Our talent show,” Winky tells us. “It’s really awesome. Last week this family was here from Wisconsin who could yodel.”

  “Imagine that,” says Zoe, whipping out a tiny mirror from her pocket and checking her lip gloss again.

  Emma and I exchange a glance. Zoe is shaping up to be a real pain.

  “I’m so glad my mother gave her to Becca for a pen pal,” Emma whispers.

  “No kidding,” I whisper back.

  We follow Winky across the lawn—which I can’t stop thinking of as the quad—to the barn. “Tomorrow morning, Pete will pair everybody up with your horses for the week, but I figured you might want to meet them all tonight,” she says, her eyes bright with excitement. Winky is as bubbly in person as she is in her letters, and I like her already.

  The barn smells great, just like ours does back at Half Moon Farm. I could walk into a barn anywhere in the world and feel right at home. There’s something about the familiar scent of hay and old wood and harness leather mixed with the sweet smell of the livestock that I just love. Even the tang of manure doesn’t bother me. I breathe it all in deeply, smiling.

  My mother puts her arm around my shoulders. “Having fun?”

  I nod vigorously. “I love it here!”

  “Me too.”

  Winky introduces us to a bunch of the horses—there are over forty at the ranch—and Emma and I go nuts over their names: Tango and Dazzle and Sheba and Jasmine, Vegas and Jitterbug and Romeo and Anthem. Bingo, too, of course. The list is endless, and really creative. Everyone agrees, though, that it’s hard to beat Led and Zep.

  “Your dad named your horses after Led Zeppelin?” crows Madison. “How come you never told me that? That is so awesome!”

  She runs over and tells her mother, who laughs her deep, musical laugh.

  As we’re leaving the barn, an old truck putts past. The driver is wearing a cowboy hat, like just about everybody else at Gopher Creek except us. His face is deeply tanned and weather-beaten, and his hair is as white as Eva Bergson’s. He waves to us and we wave back.

  “That’s Pete,” says Winky. “He’s our ranch foreman.”

 
; “There’s a chicken in that truck,” says Mrs. Chadwick, blinking in surprise.

  We all turn and look. Sure enough, a small red-combed head is poking over the edge of the open passenger side window, watching us with bright little eyes.

  “He’s a rooster, actually,” says Winky. “His name is Lefty and he belongs to Pete. A coyote almost got him a couple of years ago. He lost one of his wings in the fight. Pete rescued him and nursed him back to health, and he’s followed him around like a little shadow ever since. You should hear the other cowboys rib Pete about him when they drive into town, but Pete doesn’t care. Lefty loves to ride with him in the truck.”

  I grin at my mother. “Maybe we can train one of our chickens to do that.”

  “Don’t even think about it,” she retorts.

  “So did the coyote get his right wing, then?” asks Emma, puzzling over Pete’s rooster’s name.

  “Nope,” Winky replies. “His left one.”

  We think about this for a minute, and then we all start to laugh.

  “I guess cowboys understand irony too,” Emma says.

  Across the green, Mrs. Parker appears in the doorway of the main ranch house and clangs vigorously on a metal triangle hanging from a nearby post.

  “That’s the dinner bell,” says Winky. “I’ll have to show you the rest later.”

  We stop at the bunkhouse to wash up, then head for the dining hall. Mr. Kinkaid is sitting in one of the half-dozen rocking chairs spaced along the front porch, holding Chloe.

  “Hi, honey!” calls Cassidy’s mom. “Having fun?”

  “Pure heaven,” he replies, as we all cluster around him to wait with the other guests until the dining room doors open.

  “Hey, Dad!” Winky calls out, leaning over the railing and waving at a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair who’s standing by the huge grill. He waves his barbecue fork back at her.

  “Welcome!”

  Mrs. Parker flings open the doors to the dining hall. “Come and get it!” she cries, and we all file eagerly inside.

  The dining hall is a big rectangular room attached at one end to the main ranch house, and there are tables for about fifty people. Windows line both sides, and beneath them are cozy-looking cushioned benches. At the far end is a stone fireplace that’s even bigger than the one in our bunkhouse living room, and there are bookshelves flanking it, along with comfortable leather armchairs and sofas to curl up in.

  “Nice,” I say to Madison, and she nods.

  “I know. I love it when our book club gets to meet here.”

  We grab plates and make our way through the buffet line, then on to our reserved table, where I finally figure out the reason for Zoe Winchester’s lip gloss fixation. Two reasons, actually. Owen and Sam Parker, Winky’s older brothers.

  “They are seriously cute,” Megan whispers to Becca.

  “No kidding!” she whispers back.

  Darcy or no Darcy, I have to agree. Owen and Sam are dressed like all the other men I’ve seen so far here at the ranch, in jeans and boots and crisp white shirts. They both have dark hair like Winky’s, sky blue eyes, sunburned faces, and big smiles.

  “Boys,” says Mrs. Parker. “Meet the Concord girls.”

  “Howdy,” they reply, and Megan and Becca just about swoon.

  I glance over at Bailey and Summer, who both seem a little extra giggly as well. Zoe, meanwhile, is all but drooling. Madison doesn’t seem to care, and of course Cassidy doesn’t either. Or is her face looking a little pinker than usual?

  Owen and Sam sit with us at dinner, asking questions about life “back East,” as they call it. I love the sound of that. It makes Concord seem exotic. They want to hear all about Half Moon Farm, and what it’s like to raise goats and make cheese, and they pepper Mrs. Sloane-Kinkaid about Cooking with Clementine, which Mrs. Parker recorded for the book club when we did the dim sum episode so they could all see what we looked like.

  “Those little pork things looked delicious, Mrs. Chen,” Owen tells Megan’s grandmother.

  “Call me Gigi,” she says. “And they are. Maybe I’ll have to teach you how to make them this week.”

  The boys are impressed when they learn that Mrs. Bergson was an Olympic gold medalist, and intrigued by the fact that Cassidy plays on an all-boys hockey team. Her face gets pink again as Stanley brags about how good she is.

  “She was team captain this year,” he says proudly, as Cassidy stares down at her barbecued chicken and corn on the cob. “And MVP for the second time.”

  “There’s a rink over in Laramie, but the only ice we get out here is on the creek, and that’s too shallow and rocky for skating,” says Sam. “But if you’re that handy with a hockey stick, I’ll bet you’ll pick up the lasso real quick.”

  Cassidy gives him a sidelong smile, and I see her mother wink at Stanley.

  Zoe seems to have staked out Owen as her territory, and she trails after him all evening, glaring at any other female who tries to talk to him.

  “She’s had a crush on Owen forever,” Madison tells me as we sit in the dark around a big bonfire, looking up at the sky. I spot Cygnus, the swan, and trace its tail with my eyes up to Deneb, the brightest star in that constellation and one of the corners of the Summer Triangle. “But Winky says he thinks she’s a pest.”

  “Sounds like Becca and Zach Norton,” I murmur, hunting for Altair and Vega, the other two stars that complete the triangle. I explain to Madison about Zach, and about how he kissed Cassidy, which she thinks is hilarious, especially the black-eye part.

  Bailey’s mother had originally planned a book club meeting for us tonight, but by eight o’clock we’re all yawning.

  “I guess it’s been kind of a long day for you, what with the flight and all, hasn’t it?” she says, looking disappointed.

  “We’ll have plenty of time for book talk later in the week,” Mrs. Parker consoles her. “Why don’t you all get to bed now and get a good night’s rest. The fun starts tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow? I wonder. How could anything be more fun than today? I climb up into my bunk and wriggle under the covers. If I lie on my side, I can look out the window at the moon, just like I can in my own bedroom back at Half Moon Farm. I close my eyes and drift off to sleep. I love it here at Gopher Creek already.

  The next morning I wake up early, at dawn, well before everybody else except Winky. That’s what happens when you live on a farm. The two of us get dressed quietly, so we don’t wake the others, and I pull on my riding boots and follow her down to the barn to help feed the horses. Pete and her brothers are already there, along with Lefty who, sure enough, follows his rescuer around like a little feathered dog.

  Owen watches me muck out one of the stalls, and nods approvingly when I’m done. “You’ve got grit for such a little thing,” he says, giving my braid a tug just like Darcy Hawthorne always does. “I’ll bet my dad would hire you on as a ranch hand in a heartbeat.”

  Pleased at the praise, I smile at him shyly.

  “Want to go for a ride?” Winky asks. “I could take you up to Lonesome Ridge. We’ve still got plenty of time until breakfast.”

  “Sure.”

  We saddle up Bingo and Anthem, a buckskin mare the color of molasses taffy.

  “She’s beautiful,” I tell Winky.

  “Sweet as the music she’s named for, too, and fast as the wind,” she replies. “Cassidy told me in one of her letters that you’ve been taking riding lessons this year, and Pete and I have had her in mind for you ever since we knew you all were coming.”

  It’s different riding Western than it is the English style I’m learning back at Colonial Academy. The saddles here at the ranch are deeper and higher than the flatter English saddles I’m used to, plus they have a knob that sticks up in the front, called a pommel. Winky shows me how to loop the reins around it once I’ve mounted, then she checks my riding boots to make sure they won’t slip out of the stirrups.

  “Fancier than cowboy boots, but they’ll do,” she says, nodd
ing in approval.

  Riding Anthem is a dream. She’s as eager as I am to get out and explore the morning, and I have no problem keeping up with Winky and Bingo as we trot out of the corral and splash across the shallow creek and on through a stand of trees toward the open range.

  “Aspens, right?” I call out, and Winky turns to me and nods.

  Populus tremuloides, Madison called them, and sure enough, just as the Latin name suggests, their leaves make a soft rustling sound, trembling in the early morning breeze as we ride past. When we reach the prairie and the trees fall away behind us, Winky urges Bingo into a canter. I follow suit and Anthem surges forward. Pretty soon the two of us are whooping it up. It feels like we could ride forever out here, all the way to the mountains. Winky points to the east, though, toward a high, rocky outcropping.

  “That’s Lonesome Ridge!” she shouts. “Race you!”

  She slaps her reins and Bingo gallops off, and Anthem needs no encouragement from me to take up the chase. Neck and neck our horses carry us up the steep slope to the top, where we rein them in to a trot and then pause, all four of us breathing hard as we take in the view.

  “Listen,” says Winky, closing her eyes.

  I close mine, too. The wind sighs in the distant pines, sounding like the ocean. I open my eyes. “It gives me the chills. But in a good way. Is that why they call it Lonesome Ridge?”

  “Yep,” says Winky. “My favorite place in the world. What’s yours?”

  “Half Moon Farm. I don’t ever want to live anywhere else.”

  “I know exactly what you mean. That’s the way I feel about the ranch. My daddy says some places just get under your skin.”

  We stay for a while, listening to the wind and feeling the sun on our faces, and then we turn our horses and head back. As we approach the barn, there’s a commotion overhead. I shade my eyes and look up, startled to see a helicopter appear above the trees. It hovers there for a minute, and people start running out of the cabins. My friends tumble onto the bunkhouse porch in their pajamas, and Mrs. Hawthorne and Mrs. Wong and Mrs. Chadwick emerge too, clutching their bathrobes.