Spirit Riding Free--The Adventure Begins

by Suzanne Selfors

  As she rounded the corner, she nearly squealed with glee. There they were! The cowboy and his horse had stopped at an ornamental fountain, from which the horse was taking a long drink. One final dash and Lucky was at the horse’s side. A few other kids joined her and began petting the horse. He was leaner and more graceful than the draft horses that pulled city wagons. He didn’t seem to mind all the attention.

  “What’s his name?” Lucky asked.

  The cowboy tipped back his hat, revealing his face. Lucky gasped. It wasn’t a cowboy after all. “His name’s Shadow,” the cowgirl replied. “He’s the best jumping horse this side of the Mississippi, or any side of the Mississippi for that matter.” She smiled at Lucky. “Come see us perform tonight at our Wild West show.”

  “What’s a Wild West show?” Lucky asked.

  “What’s a Wild West show?” The cowgirl reached into her saddlebag and pulled out a piece of paper. It was a small flyer advertising the show. “Why, it’s the gosh-darned best thing you could ever see. We got rough riders and rope slingers. We got stagecoach robbers and six-shooters.” Lucky didn’t know what those were, but they sounded exciting. “We got Deadeye Dave, the fastest draw in the West. He can shoot a bull’s-eye blindfolded.”

  “That’s impossible,” a gentleman said. A small crowd had begun to gather. Lucky wasn’t the only one who found a cowgirl in the middle of the city to be an unusual sight.

  “You calling me a liar?” the cowgirl asked, sitting up straight in her saddle. “I don’t make this stuff up, mister. It’s impossible for most people to hit a bull’s-eye blindfolded, but Deadeye Dave hits it every time.” She raised her voice so those passing by could hear. “Come see for yourself. You can watch Wild Bill ride a bull, right up on the stage. And Shadow and I will jump through a ring of fire!” The crowd murmured in disbelief. “And we open the show with a horse parade. We got fancy horses from all over the world. You can’t miss that!” She slid out of the saddle, then handed Lucky a flyer.

  “Ring of fire?” Lucky asked, trying to imagine what that would look like. “Isn’t that dangerous for your horse?”

  The cowgirl ran her hand along Shadow’s neck. “I’d never put Shadow into danger. Me and him, well, we’re like brother and sister. We look out for each other.” She leaned close and whispered, “Don’t you worry. The fire’s a trick. An illusion.” She winked.

  While the cowgirl talked to some of the other onlookers, Lucky read the flyer.

  The crowd began to disperse. But Lucky lingered. She had so many questions. “Are you Cowgirl Betty?” Betty nodded eagerly. “You’ve been to Europe?”

  “Yep, that ocean crossing was no fun, I’ll tell you that. Shadow and I, we like our feet on solid ground.” Lucky tried to imagine a horse riding on a ship. Did he stay up on deck? Did he have his own cabin? Shadow snorted. Then he bumped Lucky’s hand with his muzzle. “Aw, look at that. He wants you to pet him. Go on. He’s real nice.”

  Lucky placed her palm on Shadow’s muzzle, finding the soft, velvety part around his nostrils. His breath was warm. She wanted to pet him forever.

  “There you are!” Aunt Cora hurried up to Lucky. “You scared the daylights out of me. What were you thinking, crossing the road without an escort? You could have been run over!” She set her hatbox on the edge of the fountain, then dabbed her face with her handkerchief as she tried to catch her breath.

  “Sorry,” Lucky said. “But look at this.” She showed the flyer to Cora. “Can we go?”

  Cora pursed her lips. “I should think not.”

  “But it’s at the opera house. We always go to the opera house.”

  “Yes, to see the ballet, the symphony, and the opera. Not a Wild West show.”

  “But…”

  “Fortuna Esperanza Navarro Prescott, a show like that is not appropriate for young ladies. Too wild, too loud, full of hooligans and roughhousers. I don’t want to hear another word about it. Now give that back.” She turned and hurried back to the fountain, where some pigeons were roosting on her hatbox. “Shoo! Shoo!”

  Lucky reluctantly handed the flyer to Betty. “Maybe next time,” she said sadly.

  Shadow pressed his muzzle into Lucky’s hand. “He sure likes you,” Betty noticed. “Since you can’t come to the show, do you want to ride him?”

  “Really?” Surprised by the invitation, Lucky took a step back. “But I don’t know how to ride.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll show you.” Cowgirl Betty patted the saddle. Lucky had often imagined herself sitting on a horse’s back. “He’s real easy to ride. He won’t buck. Come on; it’ll be fun.”

  A few other kids began to jump up and down. “Can I ride him? Huh? Can I ride him?” they pleaded.

  “I only got time to let one of you take a ride. And this young lady here is the one Shadow chose. Come on, get on up.”

  Lucky tapped the rolled newspaper against her leg. Certainly it would be an adventure to ride a horse for the very first time. She looked over her shoulder. Aunt Cora was still over at the fountain, busily folding her handkerchief, and adjusting her hat, and straightening this and that to somehow make herself even more presentable. If Lucky got up on that saddle, super quick, Cora wouldn’t be able to stop her.

  “Yes, I’d really like to ride him.” Lucky lifted her foot, preparing to set it into the stirrup.

  “Lucky!” In a burst of uncharacteristic speed, Cora rushed to Lucky’s side. “What are you doing?”

  “She’s gonna take a little ride on old Shadow here,” Betty explained. “It won’t be dangerous. Shadow won’t take off with her. He’s never done that before.” She paused. “Well, there was that one time. The kid was a bit upset, on account he ended up so far from home, but everything worked out just fine in the end.”

  “Sounds perfectly safe to me,” Lucky said, but she knew Cora wouldn’t budge.

  “Horses are not perfectly safe.” Cora placed a protective arm around Lucky’s shoulder. “Good day,” she said to Cowgirl Betty. She collected her hatbox, then led Lucky away.

  A few moments later they were back on the sidewalk, walking beneath Aunt Cora’s parasol. “How could you possibly think I would let you ride a horse?” Cora asked, her nose higher in the air than usual. “I think you’ve gotten too much sun today.”

  Lucky didn’t argue. She’d already gotten into enough trouble today. But as they headed toward home, Lucky glanced over her shoulder. No cowgirl or horse in sight, as if they’d been figments of her imagination. But Lucky could still smell that musky horse scent, deep within her nostrils.

  Deep within her soul.

  5

  When Lucky and Cora arrived at Lucky’s house, Mr. MacFinn, the aged butler, took their hats and coats, and the hatbox and parasol. Lucky set the newspaper on the table for her father. He liked to read it right after supper. Cora took the dreaded letter from her purse and set it beside the newspaper. Lucky glared at the wax seal. Oh, how she wanted to toss that letter into the rubbish bin!

  The housekeeper, Mrs. MacFinn, was in bed with sniffles, and since sniffles were nothing to mess around with, Cora heated up some broth and brought it to her. She mixed in a spoonful of medicinal tonic, just to be safe. Then she sent Mr. MacFinn down the street to purchase a cold roast chicken and potato salad from a delicatessen. The long dining room table was used only for dinner parties, so Lucky and Cora set the smaller table in the dining nook. “We may be having a picnic for dinner, but I find that even simple food tastes better when served on china,” Cora said as she set three porcelain dishes onto the damask tablecloth. Lucky placed a silver fork and silver knife on the right side of the plate. “The fork goes on the left,” Cora corrected. “And always place the silverware in an even line, one inch from the end of the table.”

  Having Cora over for dinner was no fun at all. It was like being under a microscope. “Aunt Cora, you don’t have to stay. I can wait for Dad by myself.”

  “Nonsense. I’m happy to stay.” And with that, Cora bustled into th
e kitchen to get water glasses. Lucky sighed. It was going to be a long night of lectures, no doubt about it.

  Mr. MacFinn returned with the food. Cora made him a plate and excused him to enjoy his meal in the kitchen. Lucky lit a pair of candles, for both she and her father loved candlelight. Then she paced along the Persian carpet, her gaze flitting between the headmistress’s letter and the front door. The grandfather clock struck six. “I wonder what’s keeping Dad?” she asked.

  “Here I am!” Jim Prescott announced as he flung open the front door. He hugged Lucky so hard he lifted her off the ground.

  “Dad, I can’t breathe,” she said with a groan, but she hugged him back equally hard. He always smelled like the office—a mixture of ink and papers, dust and tobacco. His mustache tickled the side of her neck. Mr. MacFinn, a napkin tucked into his collar, strode out of the kitchen and took Jim’s bowler hat and overcoat.

  “Cora, my dear sister!”

  Cora squeaked as Jim’s arms wrapped around her. “Honestly, Jim, I don’t see why you must hug like that. You are not a bear.” She stepped back and smoothed her blouse. “You’ve wrinkled me.”

  “And I love you, too,” he said with a laugh. “Thank you for escorting Lucky home. I know I interrupted your busy schedule.”

  “No thank-you is necessary. I was happy to do it.”

  “You’re late,” Lucky said to her father as they walked to the dining nook.

  “I didn’t mean to worry you,” he said, running a hand through his dark blond hair. “The paperwork was piling up. We’ve got that new line out West, the one that’s expanding all the way to the ocean. It’s exciting, but it’s the longest line we’ve built.” Jim worked at JP & Sons, a railroad started by his father, James Prescott Sr. “Hey, this looks great,” he said, grabbing a seat. “I’m famished!”

  Lucky was famished, too, having eaten nothing since lunch. She and her father dug right in. Cora pursed her lips. “Eating so quickly is not good for the digestion. Lucky, stop swinging your legs, please. And don’t you two ever use napkins?” Jim grabbed his napkin, stuck out his pinkie, and delicately dabbed the corners of his mouth. Then he winked at Lucky. The only time they ever got lectures about manners was when Cora came to visit.

  When the meal was finished, Cora made coffee. Jim took a sip, then sat back in his chair. “Why are you two staring at me? Do I have potato salad on my face?”

  Cora glanced at Lucky. It was time to deal with the letter. “Uh, Dad,” Lucky said, squirming in her chair as though it were covered in fire ants. “I get to go to Emma’s party, right?”

  “Sure.”

  “No matter what, I get to go?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Do you promise? No matter what happens?”

  His blue eyes crinkled with amusement. “And what might happen, pray tell?”

  Cora folded her hands and set them on the table. Lucky could practically read her aunt’s thoughts—look him in the eye, hold your head high, and admit your wrongdoing.

  Lucky pushed her braid behind her shoulder, then sat up straight. “I got caught running again, inside the school, but this time I bumped right into the headmistress.” Cora cringed. “Oh, and we both landed on our backsides.”

  Jim raised an eyebrow. Cora groaned.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll help Mrs. MacFinn and do extra chores all week, or for the rest of my life if you want me to, just so I can still go to Emma’s party.”

  “Well, that sounds like a good plan.” He seemed satisfied. “Where’s my newspaper?”

  “Jim!” Cora scolded.

  Jim cleared his throat. “Yes, of course. Lucky, no more running in school. Okay?” She nodded. “Good, now let’s talk about something else, shall we?”

  Lucky would have been delighted to talk about something else, but Cora tilted her head toward the letter. Slowly, as if walking to a guillotine, Lucky collected the letter, then set it before her father. “This is for you.”

  Jim broke the wax seal. His gaze glided across the words. Lucky hoped her father would read it aloud, so she could hear all the mean and rotten things the headmistress had written about her. Rule-Breaker. Willful. Unformed Lump. “Is it bad?” she asked.

  Jim peered over the top of the white linen paper. “Madame Barrow feels that you are possessed with an abnormal amount of spirited energy, and that I should send you to a physician for inspection and possible treatment.” Lucky went rigid. What did that mean? What kind of treatment? Foreboding silence filled the room as Lucky imagined herself being pricked with needles and made to drink cod liver oil or something equally disgusting.

  The silence was broken by Jim’s belly laugh.

  “Jim!” Cora said. “I don’t see what is so funny. This is a serious matter. The headmistress believes there is something wrong with Lucky.”

  He stopped laughing and turned serious. “Do you think there’s something wrong with Lucky?”

  “Of course not! She’s a Prescott. But the headmistress has the power to send Lucky to…” Cora could barely say the words. “To a less-prestigious school.”

  Jim faced his daughter. “Lucky, do you promise you will try harder to follow the rules?”

  “Yes, I will.”

  “Then that’s good enough for me.” He crumpled the letter and tossed it over his shoulder.

  Relief washed over Lucky. That letter had been weighing on her all day. She felt so light, she thought she might float right out of the room. Emma would be so happy to hear the news.

  “I’m not sure this matter has been settled,” Cora said, but she didn’t get to continue that thought, because she was interrupted by insistent knocking.

  “Who could that be?” Jim asked.

  They all turned to watch as Mr. MacFinn scurried past. He opened the front door and said, “Good evening, sir, may I take your coat?”

  “I must speak to my son right away! Urgent business, I tell you! Where is he?”

  “But, sir, may I take your hat?”

  “Didn’t you hear me? This business cannot wait!”

  6

  The bellowing voice belonged to Lucky’s grandfather, James Prescott Sr. Lucky’s heart sank. Such a late, unexpected visit could mean only one thing—the headmistress must have contacted him. This was a terrible turn of events, because James Sr. was even more opinionated than Cora.

  Even in his old age, James Sr. was a towering figure. In his youth, he’d been blond, like his children, but his thick muttonchops and mustache were now white.

  “Father, what brings you here at this hour?” Jim asked. He reached out and shook his father’s hand. Things were always very formal with James Sr.

  “Matters of importance,” James Sr. said. While his body was aging, his blue eyes remained bright and focused, like a bird of prey. “Lucky, my dearest granddaughter,” he said, reaching out to give her a pat on the head.

  “Hi, Grandpa.” The scent of pipe tobacco lingered on his wool clothing.

  “You’re getting bigger every time I see you. Must be all of Mrs. MacFinn’s good cooking.” Lucky nodded. “And how are things at school?”

  Was he waiting for her confession? Maybe she should get the unpleasantness over and apologize right away. “Grandpa, I ran into—”

  “Wonderful,” he said with a brisk clap. “Now, your father and I have business to attend to. We need to discuss the railroad.”

  Jim led James Sr. into the parlor, a cozy room with velvet-covered furniture and a small fireplace. Cora and Lucky followed. James Sr. grimaced as he sat on the divan. Though he appeared robust in health, he’d mentioned some aches of late. “Darn this rheumatism. Getting old is no picnic in the park, that’s for sure.” Jim poured James Sr. some coffee. Lucky, Cora, and Jim all sat, waiting for the Prescott patriarch to speak. After a few sips, James Sr. explained his unexpected visit. “One hour ago, I received a telegram from Miradero. The project manager is dead.”

  “Dead?” Cora’s hand flew to her heart.

  “Stone cold. Fell o
ff a ledge while scouting territory.”

  “Oh dear. Lucky, cover your ears,” Cora said.

  Lucky didn’t cover her ears. This was good stuff, right out of an adventure novel.

  “Did he have an assistant?” Jim asked. “Who’s going to take over?”

  “That’s why I’m here, Son. You’re going to take over.”

  “Me?” Jim’s eyes widened with surprise. “But I can’t manage the project from here. I’d have to move to Miradero.”

  “Exactly so. And I need you to leave right away.” James Sr. said this in a very matter-of-fact way, for he expected his orders to be followed. “Tomorrow.”

  Lucky wasn’t sure if she’d heard correctly. “Wait. What did you say?”

  James Sr. set his coffee aside. “There’s no way around it, Jim. You are the very best option.”

  Cora cleared her throat, making a silent point that James Sr. did have another option, someone equally capable, but being a daughter in this day and age meant that she wasn’t even considered.

  Jim stood and started pacing. “Father, I’m happy to help out. I’ll go to Miradero and begin the hiring process for a new manager. That shouldn’t take long. A few weeks, maybe, a month at the most. Cora can come here and stay with Lucky while I’m gone.”

  “Of course,” Cora said.

  A month with Aunt Cora? That would mean a bath every day, vitamin tonics, and evening lectures about culture. Lucky held back a groan.

  James Sr. shook his head. “You won’t be hiring anyone. You are the new manager. This is a huge project. We’ve invested everything. We can’t afford any delays. If this project fails, the future of JP & Sons is at stake.”

  Jim stopped pacing. “But that means…”

  Lucky jumped to her feet. “We’re moving to Miradero? Tomorrow? But…” Her head was spinning. Where was Miradero? What about her friends? What about Emma’s party? “But…”