Dear Pen Pal

by Heather Vogel Frederick

  If Monday was a bust, Tuesday is even worse. Everybody seems irritated today, including our moms. We’re all still sore from yesterday’s trail ride, and it’s all we can do to haul ourselves back onto our horses for the ride to Echo Lake.

  And then of course there’s the actual fishing.

  “You do practice catch-and-release, don’t you?” my mother asks in a worried tone.

  Mr. Parker just laughs. “Now why would anyone want to go and throw good food back in the water, ma’am? This is dinner we’re talking about!”

  I don’t think he realizes that my mother is serious.

  Savannah, who complained loudly the whole way here about how much she hates to fish, goes and sulks under a tree, and Zoe gets her nose out of joint again, this time because Owen Parker and his brother are spending so much time coaching Cassidy, who’s a natural at trout fishing, of course. Meanwhile Senator Sinclair, who’s an even bigger windbag than Mayor Winchester, decides he knows more about fishing than either Mr. Parker or Stanley Kinkaid and gets into an argument about whether lake trout or river trout are better.

  The only ones having any fun at all, it seems, are Emma and Bailey, who were smart and stayed back at the ranch. They’re holed up in the bunkhouse—excuse me, “Lock Willow Farm,” as they’re calling it in honor of Jean Webster and Judy Abbot—writing a play together.

  The third time my mother brings up catch-and-release, I throw down my fishing rod.

  “Mom!” I say in disgust. “Can’t you ever just relax and have fun?”

  “I am having fun,” she replies.

  “Well, why don’t you tell it to your face?” Gigi gives me a reproachful look as I stomp off, but I don’t care. This whole vacation is making me grouchy.

  The only good thing that happens all day is that I overhear Senator Sinclair say something to his wife about calling for their chopper. Maybe they’re going to leave early.

  Wednesday morning gets off to a slightly better start, with everybody making an obvious effort to get along better. Even Savannah and Zoe seem a little more subdued.

  “I’ll bet their mothers talked to them last night,” says Jess, as she and Madison and Summer and I jog across the lawn to breakfast.

  “You’re probably right,” Madison agrees. “I know mine did.”

  Jess grins. “Mine too.”

  I raise a hand. “Ditto.”

  Summer laughs. “That makes four of us.”

  It’s cooler out today, and I zip my hoodie all the way up and stuff my hands in my pockets. The air has that crisp chill to it that says summer is on its way out and a new school year just around the corner. Alcott High! I hug myself, feeling a tingle of excitement. I can hardly wait.

  The food here just keeps getting better. Breakfast is a yummy casserole called a Western Scramble, plus the best cinnamon rolls I’ve ever had in my life.

  “Mom, you’ve got to get this recipe from Mrs. Parker,” I say, reaching for another one.

  My mother takes a sip of green tea and a bite of granola. “We’ll see,” she murmurs, which is what she always says when she has no intention of doing something.

  Beside me, Gigi leans forward and looks down the long table to the far end. “Ellen?”

  Mrs. Parker turns away from her conversation with Professor Daniels. “Yes?”

  “I’d love to have this recipe for the cinnamon rolls. They’re Megan’s favorite.”

  “Sure! Remind me after breakfast and I’ll write it down for you.”

  My mother shoots Gigi a look.

  When we’re finished eating, Mrs. Parker announces that it’s free choice day. She posts a list of the available activities, and we all crowd around to see what there is to do.

  A bunch of the other ranch guests decide they want to head into town and explore Laramie, and Mrs. Parker arranges for Sam to drive them in Gopher Creek’s big van. Mrs. Winchester asks if she can hitch a ride as far as Gopher Hole, because she wants to check on Zoe’s little sisters, who are staying with a babysitter during the day while Mr. Winchester is at the office, and also because she has an important city council meeting that she can’t miss. She makes sure Senator Sinclair hears this last part, but from what I can tell he’s not all that impressed. At least he doesn’t say anything, except to explain the real reason he called for his helicopter, which unfortunately isn’t to whisk his family back to Washington, as I’d hoped, but to take Winky’s father and Stanley on a special fishing trip to some remote part of the North Platte River. As a peace offering for yesterday’s “churlish behavior,” as he puts it.

  Great, I think. We’re stuck with Savannah. I give Jess a rueful smile.

  My mother and Mrs. Hawthorne and Professor Daniels and Mrs. Jacobs opt for a guided hike with a naturalist to learn more about the local flora and fauna—no big surprise there. Cassidy and Zoe and—big surprise here—Mrs. Chadwick, of all people, sign up for lariat lessons, although Summer points out that the only reason Zoe picked this activity is because Owen is the instructor. Emma and Bailey retreat back to “Lock Willow Farm” to work on their play some more; Madison and Becca and Eva Bergson and Summer’s mother and Savannah all decide to hike to the hot springs for a soak; and Jess and Winky and Gigi and Pete head out for another trail ride.

  There’s no way I’m getting back on a horse so soon, so I decide to give quilting a try. Summer has offered to teach a little mini-workshop to any of us who want to learn, and Mrs. Sloane-Kinkaid signs up, along with Poppy Sinclair and Mrs. Delaney and Mrs. Parker, who has to stay behind anyway to keep an eye on things.

  Even though it’s still cool outside, Mrs. Parker assures us it will warm up, so we bring her sewing machine out onto the dining room porch while Summer goes to get her supplies. I still can’t believe she actually brought quilting squares in her suitcase. I guess you never know when the urge to quilt will strike.

  “I’ve always wanted to learn how to do this,” says Jess’s mom. “I’ve just never had the time, what with the farm and everything.”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” agrees Mrs. Sinclair. “Not that I have a farm, but life in Washington is always so busy.”

  Quilting is a lot more fun than I expected, and so is Savannah’s mother. Senator Sinclair may be what my dad calls a “stuffed shirt,” but underneath all that hairspray, Mrs. Sinclair is a hoot. While we quilt she tells us hilarious stories about things that she and Mrs. Chadwick did back at school when they were roommates, including sneaking off to go skinny-dipping in Walden Pond.

  “Poppy, you’ve given us enough ammunition for a lifetime!” says Mrs. Delaney. “Calliope’s never going to hear the end of this.”

  “I certainly hope not,” drawls Mrs. Sinclair, the corners of her mouth quirking up in a smile. “That’s why I tattled on her.”

  By lunchtime, it still hasn’t warmed up. In fact, the temperature has dropped even further, and we move our quilting bee back indoors. Mrs. Parker builds a big fire and we all help her fix lunch. Since there’s only a handful of us, it’s just soup and sandwiches. Cassidy and Zoe and Mrs. Chadwick and Owen Parker come in from the barn to join us, and so do Emma and Becca and “the spa girls,” as Mrs. Sloane-Kinkaid dubs the group that hiked to the hot springs.

  “Nothing feels better than a good soak when you’re saddle-sore,” says Mrs. Bergson, taking a brownie from the tray that Mrs. Parker is passing around.

  “Unless it’s going skinny-dipping,” says Mrs. Delaney with a sly look at Becca’s mom.

  “Really, Shannon,” Mrs. Chadwick replies pompously. “What kind of a person would ever do that?”

  The quilters all start to snicker.

  Cassidy’s mother glances out the window and stops laughing. “Oh my goodness, look at that sky!”

  Huge black clouds are gathering over the barn, and from the looks of the way the tops of the trees are starting to sway, the wind is really picking up too.

  She leans down and plucks Chloe out of the baby carrier by the hearth where she’s sleeping. “I
hope your daddy gets back soon,” she says, hugging her close. “I don’t like the idea of him being out in weather like this. Especially not in a helicopter.”

  We drift over to the long benches that line the dining room’s big windows.

  “There’s a storm brewing, no doubt about it,” says Mrs. Parker, peering out at the sky. “I’m sure everyone’s seen the signs. They’re all probably heading back to the ranch right now.”

  “Do you think our moms are okay?” Emma asks Bailey in a low voice.

  “Oh, sure,” she says. “We get storms like this all the time out here. Mrs. Parker’s right—they’re probably on their way back already.”

  “How’s your play coming?” I ask them.

  “Great!” says Emma, and Bailey nods.

  “We’re thinking of performing part of it for Ranch Idol,” she tells me.

  “If we can get our courage up,” Emma adds. “How about you, Megan? What are you going to do?”

  I shrug. My talents aren’t the kind you do onstage. “I’ll probably just watch.”

  “A good audience is important too,” says Madison, who’s planning to play her guitar.

  The phone rings in the kitchen, and Mrs. Parker goes to answer it.

  “That was your mom, Zoe,” she says when she returns. “She’s going to stay in town until this blows over.”

  We look out the window again. The wind is really picking up now, and Mrs. Sloane-Kinkaid is pacing the floor, humming softly to Chloe.

  “Are you going to do anything for Ranch Idol?” I ask Savannah politely. She’s sitting slightly apart from us down the window seat, her long hair still wet from the hot springs.

  She glances over at me. “Maybe,” she says coolly. “I haven’t decided yet.”

  Before I can say anything else, we hear the whomp-whomp-whomp of helicopter blades above the wind.

  “Oh, thank heavens!” Mrs. Sloane-Kinkaid passes the baby to Cassidy, then runs out onto the porch as the helicopter sets down on the lawn. It releases the three fishermen, then lifts right off again to head for the safety of a nearby airport hangar.

  The trees are really whipping back and forth now, and the sky is nearly black. Two minutes later, the rain starts, just a few drops at first, and then the heavens open up. Water pours from above, buckets of it streaming down the drive, clattering on the metal roof overhead with a deafening roar, overflowing the gutters, and spilling off the porch eaves.

  We watch, hypnotized, and then, through the rain-streaked windows we see the faint outlines of people running across the lawn.

  “It’s the hikers!” says Mrs. Parker, sounding relieved.

  Emma and Madison and Bailey and I all crowd around our mothers as they stumble into the dining room. Soaked to the skin and shivering, they warm themselves by the fire, thanking Mrs. Parker for the hot soup and drinks she offers them.

  “I’ve never seen rain like this in my life!” says Mrs. Hawthorne. “It’s coming down sideways out there—and it’s cold, too! Isn’t it still August?”

  “It was last time I checked,” says my mother. “You’re right, Phoebe—I’ve never seen anything like this either. I think Wyoming is on a different planet than Massachusetts.”

  Headlights flash through the windows as the ranch van lurches over the top of the rise and on down the rain-puddled driveway. It pulls to a stop in front of the dining room, and Sam Parker and the other ranch guests get out and make a run for it, but they, too, are soaked to the skin by the time they reach the shelter of the porch roof.

  Mrs. Parker gets busy shuttling soup and hot drinks again as everyone mills around, talking excitedly about the storm.

  “Wait a minute,” says Mrs. Delaney, scanning the room. “Where’s Jess?”

  “And Gigi?” I add, suddenly realizing that my grandmother hasn’t returned yet either.

  The excited buzz dies down. Mrs. Parker circles the room, counting heads.

  “Sam, go check the barn,” she says to Winky’s brother, who grabs a slicker from one of the hooks by the door and ducks outside again.

  “Is that snow?” says Cassidy, gaping out the window. “No way!”

  But it is. I’ve never seen it snow in August before, that’s for sure. My mother’s right—Wyoming is definitely on a different planet.

  “We get all kinds of crazy weather out here,” Bailey’s mother tells us.

  “All at the same time?” Mrs. Hawthorne replies, shouting to be heard over a loud rumble of thunder. A flash of lightning illuminates the sky.

  “Oh man, thundersnow!” says Owen. “Now this we hardly ever get.”

  The porch door bangs shut and his brother, Sam, reappears. He looks across the room at his mother and shakes his head. She turns pale and runs for the stairs, calling for Mr. Parker. He comes down fresh from the shower and toweling his hair, which is pretty useless since he just heads outside again into the rain and snow to recheck the barn.

  “No sign of them,” he reports when he returns.

  My friends and I all look at one another in horror. The trail riders are missing!

  Another flash of lightning illuminates the lawn. In the middle of it stands a lone horse.

  “It’s Bingo!” Savannah cries.

  Winky’s horse whinnies wildly and rears up, pawing at the air. No one is in the saddle.

  “Oh, my,” says Mrs. Parker weakly. She turns to her husband. “John?”

  Mr. Parker grabs his raincoat again and strides grimly back outside. We watch as he darts this way and that, trying to corner Bingo. But the storm has made the horse skittish, and he keeps wheeling and backing away. And then, in a flash that accompanies another clap of thunder, we see three more horses gallop across the lawn.

  “Vegas, Aurora, and Anthem,” Savannah says, her hands cupped around her face as she strains to see through the icy window.

  “Boys!” calls Mrs. Parker, her voice tight with worry.

  Sam and Owen grab their raincoats too, and charge off after their dad. All three of them are out in the storm now, struggling to corral the spooked horses. I move down the line of windows to where my mother is kneeling on one of the benches and take her hand. She grips mine back tightly.

  “Is Gigi going to be okay?” I ask, pressing my lips to her ear so she can hear me above the howling of the wind.

  She puts her arm around my shoulders and pulls me close to her. “If anyone can make it through something like this, it’s that stubborn mother of mine,” she replies, but her words are wobbly and I don’t feel comforted at all.

  Mr. Parker and his sons manage to rein in three of the horses and get them to the safety of the barn, but Bingo keeps whirling just out of reach. After a while they give up and come back inside. By now, the thundersnow has turned to sleet, and their hair and eyebrows are frosted with slushy ice.

  “No sign of anyone,” Mr. Parker reports. “And no notes in the saddle bags, either. Looks like we’re going to have to form a search party.”

  “Did Pete say where they were going when they left this morning?” Mrs. Parker asks.

  “He mentioned something about Pocket Canyon, but last I heard Winky was pushing for Lonesome Ridge. You know how she is about that place. I’m betting they’re up there.”

  Most of the ranch’s guests are what the Parkers call “tenderfeet,” like me—inexperienced riders—but a few of the more able horsemen volunteer to go along on the search party with Mr. Parker and Owen and Sam. Mrs. Parker volunteers to go, too, but Mr. Parker says someone needs to stay here and man the fort. Then Savannah steps forward.

  “I’d like to go,” she says.

  Mr. Parker shakes his head. “Absolutely not.”

  “But I’m an excellent rider,” she insists. “Way better than Jess and almost as good as Winky. I won the Silver Spurs award last year at Colonial Academy.”

  “The answer is no,” says Mr. Parker sternly. “It’s too dangerous. Wyoming isn’t some sheltered Eastern girls’ school, and there’s no telling what this freak stor
m might do next.”

  Senator Sinclair nods gravely. “Mr. Parker knows best, Savannah.”

  Mrs. Parker crosses the room to where my mother and me and Mrs. Delaney are sitting huddled together. “Try not to worry,” she tells us. “Pete’s lived here all his life and he knows this country like the back of his hand. He’ll have found shelter for everyone.”

  Mr. Parker nods encouragingly. “Ellen is right, ladies,” he says, but with Bingo still neighing wildly just outside the dining hall, their words have a hollow ring to them.

  As Winky’s father and brothers head out to round up the ranch dogs, Savannah speaks up again. “You should take Lefty along too.”

  Mr. Parker looks at her blankly.

  “You know—Pete’s rooster. We’ve all seen the way he follows Pete around. Maybe he can pick up his trail.”

  “Roosters aren’t like dogs,” Mr. Parker replies. “They can’t follow a scent.”

  Savannah shrugs. “Lefty’s not exactly an ordinary rooster.”

  “She’s right about that,” says Eva Bergson.

  Mr. Parker sighs and runs his hand through his wet hair. “Listen, ladies, I appreciate your wanting to help, but just let us take it from here, okay?” He turns to his wife. “We’re taking the two-way radio and the GPS. If you don’t hear from us in an hour, call the sherriff. We may need more help.”

  A few minutes later we watch as the search party rides out of the barn. The thunder and lightning seem to be over for now, but the sky is still dark and it’s continuing to spit a mixture of rain and snow. Over by the kitchen door, Jess’s mother is wiping tears from her face as she talks on the ranch phone, probably to Mr. Delaney. The storm has knocked out the ranch’s cell service. Cassidy’s mother is standing next to her, patting her on the shoulder.

  “There must be something we can do!” says Professor Daniels. “Just sitting here waiting is awful.”

  Mrs. Parker hesitates, looking at our anxious group. Then she says, “Absolutely,” and holds up a hand, ticking off a list of chores on her fingers. “We need to keep the fire going, gather towels and blankets for when the search party and the trail riders return, monitor the two-way radio, keep an eye on the other radio and the TV for weather reports, man the telephone, keep the coffee going, and get dinner started. I still have hungry guests to feed.”