Spirit Riding Free--The Adventure Begins

by Suzanne Selfors

  Abigail nudged Pru with her elbow. “Look at what she’s doing. Maybe she’s not so bad after all. Let’s go talk to her.”

  Pru didn’t look super pleased with the idea, but she willingly followed Abigail over to the fence. “Hi, I’m Pru and this here’s Abigail.”

  “I like your hair ribbon,” Abigail said.

  “Thanks. These are nice horses,” Lucky told them.

  “That’s Chica Linda; she’s mine,” Pru said. At the sound of her name, Chica Linda stomped her front hoof and proudly shook her mane.

  “And that’s Boomerang; he belongs to me. He’s a goofball, but I love him.” At the sound of his name, Boomerang nickered.

  “What kind of horses are these?” Lucky asked.

  Abigail gave Boomerang a gentle push because he’d started chewing on Lucky’s braid. “He’s a pinto. Pru’s horse is a palomino. She’s won a dozen blue ribbons already.”

  “So, do you have a horse?” Pru asked.

  “No, I don’t ride.”

  “You mean you don’t ride to school, like you told us,” Abigail said.

  Lucky frowned at her feet. “I mean, I don’t ride at all. I never have.”

  “Of course she doesn’t ride. She wouldn’t be caught dead on a horse.” Maricela was interrupting, as usual. She squeezed in next to Lucky. “Horses aren’t for people like us. Society people.”

  Pru snorted. “Yeah? We’ll you’re wrong about that, Maricela. Society people, as you put it, have always loved horses. How do you think kings and queens traveled? And haven’t you ever heard of polo? Who do you think plays that, peasants?”

  Maricela ignored her. “The only reason Lucky was petting your horses is that she was being polite.”

  Pru frowned at Lucky. “Sorry you feel that way. Come on, Abigail.”

  Lucky stammered. “Wait, I… I…”

  They didn’t hang around to hear what Lucky had to say. Abigail had to scurry to keep up with Pru’s angry pace. How disappointing, Abigail thought. How fun it would have been to add a new friend to their mix, but apparently it wasn’t meant to be.

  20

  “Why would you say that to them?” Lucky asked Maricela as Abigail and Pru hurried away. “Now they think I’m some stuck-up snob who hates horses.”

  “Who cares? They’re dirty, smelly animals.” Maricela snickered. “And their horses aren’t much better.”

  For a moment, Lucky felt completely baffled. She couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. Dirty and smelly? She waited for the mayor’s daughter to say she was just teasing, the way people do when they’ve made a really bad joke. But Maricela stood there, beaming with pride, as if she thought herself clever with her insulting turn of phrase. Was she waiting for Lucky to agree?

  Things had been going so well. The horses had seemed to like her. She, Abigail, and Pru had been chatting like friends. But then Maricela had barged into the conversation and ruined everything.

  Maricela was horrid.

  Lucky stared at her, unsure what to do next. Making an enemy on the first day of school certainly wasn’t what she’d hoped for when she’d left the house that morning. But being part of a mean-girl duo wasn’t what she’d wanted, either. “Maricela, I don’t think it’s nice to call anyone dirty and smelly.”

  Because they were no longer getting attention, Boomerang and Chica Linda trotted over to their water trough, but as they did, a fleck of dirt flew into the air and landed right on Maricela’s dress. Maricela squealed. Chica Linda snorted as if saying, Serves her right. Lucky giggled.

  “It’s not funny!” Maricela cried. In trying to wipe away the dirt, she had made the smudge larger. “Those brutes just ruined my dress. Oh, they’re horrible.”

  “They’re horrible?” Lucky asked.

  Maricela glowered at her. “Are you actually taking their side? You’re the granddaughter of a railroad baron. You’re supposed to have class.”

  A voice in Lucky’s head told her to stay quiet and let the comment fade like an echo, lest she make an enemy. But another voice, the Prescott voice, couldn’t hold back. “Sorry, Maricela, but I guess you’re in a class all by yourself.”

  Maricela’s face became a cold mask. Even her voice turned icy. “You’re new here, so you don’t know how things work. But think about this, Fortuna”—she leaned real close—“if you’re not my friend, then whose friend will you be?” She turned on her heels and huffily stomped back to the schoolhouse.

  Lucky sighed. First day, first enemy. How could things get any worse?

  She opened her satchel only to remember that the stallion had eaten her entire lunch.

  That’s how.

  At two o’clock, the students grabbed their belongings and scrambled out of the schoolhouse as if it had been set on fire. Shrieks and squeals of glee erupted as kids dashed this way and that, skipping, chasing, and riding to freedom. Guess everyone has plans, Lucky thought.

  “Good-bye,” Miss Flores called, then she began to clean the last lesson from her chalkboard. She glanced over her shoulder at Lucky, who was the only student in the room. “So, Lucky, how was your first day?” Chalk dust drifted off the board.

  Lucky shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”

  Miss Flores half smiled. “Really? It looked a bit rough to me.”

  Lucky’s shoulders fell. “Yeah, it was.” Maricela had glared at her all afternoon, and while Abigail and Pru hadn’t been outright mean, they hadn’t made any further conversation with her. “Someone called me a tenderfoot.”

  “Oh, that’s not such a bad thing. It just means ‘newcomer.’”

  “They don’t like me because I’m not from around here,” Lucky said.

  Miss Flores set aside the eraser, then sat on the edge of her desk and folded her hands in a thoughtful way. “My first day in Miradero was rough, too. The teacher I’d been hired to replace was named Mr. Barnes. He was as ancient as the canyons.” She chuckled. “The kids adored him, mostly because he couldn’t hear anything and because he’d take naps at his desk. Lots of naps.” She wiped chalk dust from her hand. “People in these parts don’t like change. It took weeks for them to give me a chance.”

  “Weeks?” Lucky didn’t want to imagine weeks of sitting alone at lunch.

  Miss Flores reached across her desk and picked up a yellow flower. “You know, my students often bring these little gifts. Sometimes a flower, sometimes a pear. In the fall they bring me squash or acorns. But it was two long months before the first gift was given. It was a small apple with brown spots and a bruise, but I didn’t care because it was the thought that counted. The apple meant that I’d been accepted.” She handed the flower to Lucky. “Don’t worry; they’ll give you a chance. Just be patient. It takes time for people to adjust to new things.”

  “Thank you,” Lucky said, appreciating Miss Flores’s kind words. She twirled the flower between her fingers.

  “Can I give you a little piece of advice?” Miss Flores asked. Lucky nodded. “Ask your father to take you to the general store. They have some nice, practical clothes. I think it would help. The dress is very pretty, but you might be more comfortable in something less formal.”

  The advice was spot-on and well intentioned. Lucky said good-bye and headed out the door. She couldn’t wait to get back to the house and take off the pink dress. Of all the things she could have worn on the first day of school, it had been the absolute worst choice. “Of course they think I’m a snob,” she grumbled to herself. “Thank you very much, Aunt Cora.”

  Lucky stopped at the corral to check on the stallion. Maybe his day had gone better. Maybe he’d made friends with the other horses.

  But there he was, standing alone.

  “Sorry, boy, I don’t have anything to feed you this time,” she said.

  Lucky climbed onto the fence and reached out to the stallion, hoping to coax him over, when a loud voice hollered, “Get away from there, young lady! That horse is dangerous!”

  Lucky didn’t even look to see who was holleri
ng at her. She’d had enough. Miss Flores was the only nice person in this entire town! The flower fell from her fingers as she ran.

  21

  Whenever Lucky returned home from Madame Barrow’s Finishing School for Young Ladies, the house would smell of something lovely, like cinnamon or chocolate. Mrs. MacFinn would present her with a snack she’d baked earlier in the day. There’d be a cozy fire in the parlor, Lucky’s favorite place to do her homework. Sometimes Emma came home with her, and they’d play dominoes or go to the park to feed the swans.

  But there’d be no Emma today. Lucky missed her best friend more than she could bear. And that is why, when Aunt Cora asked, “How was your day?” Lucky couldn’t manage a single word. So many emotions washed over her—anger, frustration, and grief. She stomped loudly up the stairs.

  “Are you hungry?” Cora called. “I walked into town and got some bread and jam.” While that sounded delicious, especially since she hadn’t eaten lunch, Lucky had something more important to deal with.

  As soon as she was in her bedroom, she kicked off her shoes. Then she grabbed a handful of ruffles and began to pull up the dress. But it got stuck around her shoulders, as if it didn’t want to come off. “Stupid dress!” She pulled and yanked, jumped up and down. “Oh, I hate you!” she exclaimed, her voice muffled by layers of silk. “I’m never wearing you again!” With another tug, the dress finally came off. She threw it to the floor, kicked it a few times, then looked up to see that Cora had been in the doorway, witnessing the entire scene.

  Standing in her undershirt and bloomers, Lucky felt free for the first time that day. She pointed at the dress. “That was a disaster, by the way. Thank you very much.”

  Cora put her hands on her hips and frowned. “Look here, young lady, you can take your frustrations out on me, but you’re not the only one who’s had a terrible day.”

  Lucky waited for Cora to pick up the dress, to inspect it for stains. To lecture her about hanging it up. But none of that happened. Instead, Cora stepped over the dress, then sat on the edge of Lucky’s bed. She wore her usual white blouse and pearls, and her hair was pulled and pinned into a tidy bun. But dark circles loomed beneath Cora’s eyes, and she chewed on her lower lip, a habit she often lectured against.

  Lucky thought of the famous saying “misery loves company,” which means that if you’re feeling bad, it often helps to find someone else who is also feeling bad, and then you know you’re not alone. Lucky sat next to her aunt. “You had a terrible day? What happened?”

  Cora threw her arms into the air. “What didn’t happen? I went into town only to discover there are no French bakeries. Can you imagine? The lady at the general store had never heard of a croissant or a baguette. And there are no employment agencies, so finding a housekeeper is going to take an excruciatingly long time. Then I discovered that there are no parasols for sale in this town. Because of that nasty goat, I had to mail-order a new one, and it’ll take at least a month to get here. Your father hasn’t been home all day, so I had to pull apart the shipping crates for firewood. The porcupine came back. He sat on the porch for an entire hour, blocking the door, then he went under the house. I think he lives down there. Between doing the laundry and chasing the world’s largest spiders, I haven’t had any time to begin my correspondences back home. My friends will think I’m rude if I don’t write.” She’d spoken so quickly, she was out of breath. “And the hardest part of this move is that I have no one to talk to. I’m not used to being alone all day. I have no… no friends here.”

  That last statement rang very true for Lucky. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “That does sound like a cruddy day.” Lucky was about to launch into her own list of terrible things that had happened, but she decided to wait. Cora seemed to need a moment of silence. So they sat on the bed for a while, Cora catching her breath, Lucky staring at her bare feet and wondering how she could talk Cora into going to the general store to buy pants and cowboy boots.

  “There is one piece of good news,” Cora said.

  “Really?” All sorts of possibilities ran through Lucky’s mind. Maybe her aunt would say, Emma misses you so much she’s moving to Miradero. Or even better, The railroad’s expansion has been canceled and we’re going back home. “What is it?”

  Cora’s face lit up. “We’ve been invited to the mayor’s house for dinner.”

  What? This was terrible news. The last thing Lucky wanted to do was to spend time with Maricela. “I’m not going,” she said emphatically.

  “Of course you’re going.”

  “No, I’m not. Maricela is the meanest girl I have ever met.”

  Aunt Cora slowly stood and her voice returned to its normal stern tone. “The mayor and his family are important members of this town, and it would be rude to refuse their lovely invitation. We are a family and we will go together.” Then she pointed at the dress. “That is not how we treat our clothing, Lucky.”

  While Cora busied herself downstairs, Lucky tucked the pink dress into the back of her wardrobe, hoping the giant spiders would find it and eat it. Then she put on her bathrobe and stayed in her room, watching out the window for her father. She would appeal to him—maybe fake a stomachache—whatever it took so she didn’t have to go to Maricela’s house. To pass the time, she tried to write a letter to Emma. But every time she started the first sentence, she crossed it out. Did she really want to tell Emma how terrible everything was? How she’d seen a beautiful horse get captured. How the kids at school thought she was a snob. How her Aunt Cora was driving her crazy. That was not the kind of letter she wanted to write.

  Dear Emma,

  It’s pretty here. The mountains are made of iron oxide so they turn bright-orange when the sun hits them. The sun shines all the time, so I don’t need my wool coats or wool socks. On our first day we met a porcupine and a skunk. I wish you could have seen the look on Aunt Cora’s face when she realized they’d been living in our house.

  There are herds of wild horses that run free in the canyons. They’re called mustangs, and on the train ride I saw one of the mustangs get caught. It was terrible! He’s the most beautiful horse I’ve ever seen. A rancher is keeping him in a pen. They want to tame him, which I think isn’t very fair. Why can’t they let him live in the wild, the way he’s supposed to live? I’ll keep checking on him, and I’ll tell you what happens.

  How was your birthday? Did you have fun? Did you like your presents? Is anything interesting happening at school?

  Tonight we are going to the mayor’s house for dinner. I don’t really want to go, but Aunt Cora says I have to. I miss you so much. Please write as soon as you can, and tell me everything!

  Your best friend,

  Lucky

  She folded the paper and set it aside. Oh, how she longed to get a letter from Emma, but Lucky knew that the mail was delivered only a few times a month. Not enough time had passed to get a letter from her best friend.

  Jim returned just before twilight, whistling and walking at a happy, brisk pace. At least someone had a good day, Lucky thought. She ran downstairs and straight into his arms for a giant bear hug.

  “Hi, sweet pea.”

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “I love this place,” he told her. “It reminds me of those happy years with your mother. I’ve missed the frontier.” Jim’s enthusiasm was the wind that blew right through Lucky’s cloudy mood. He changed into his waistcoat, adding his favorite pocket watch. Because she’d promised to be brave, Lucky didn’t try to get out of the dinner. She put on a blue cotton dress, and they all set out for the mayor’s house. Maybe it wouldn’t be a terrible time. Maybe she’d misjudged Maricela. She certainly hoped that was the case.

  Lucky had been invited to countless dinners during her young life. She’d eaten in the homes of senators, bankers, art dealers, and philanthropists. She’d been served raw oysters, foie gras, and escargot with truffle sauce. Often she’d sat with the other kids at a separate table, so they wouldn’t have to endure the boring adu
lt conversations. But dinner at the mayor’s house was different because they all sat at the same table. And no one actually spoke to her. The mayor and Jim talked the whole time about the railroad. Cora tried to make polite conversation with Mrs. Gutierrez about the history of the town, but Mrs. Gutierrez seemed interested only in talking about her fine china and her imported linens. She pointed out her antiques as if her possessions were the most important things in the world. And Maricela sat across from Lucky, glaring at her before, during, and after every bite. Lucky didn’t really mind that no one was talking to her. It gave her more time to eat the main dish, which was beef stew with spring carrots. Having eaten no lunch or after-school snack, Lucky was famished. Despite Cora’s warning glance, she took a second helping of stew and a second slice of applesauce cake.

  When the meal was over, the adults made their way to the parlor. Maricela motioned for Lucky to follow her up the stairs. Lucky ignored her, but that didn’t work, because Maricela grabbed her by the sleeve. “Come on,” she urged. “I want to tell you something. In private.”

  Maricela’s bedroom had a four-poster bed with a white ruffled canopy. There were so many pillows, Lucky could barely see the bedspread. Maricela closed the door, then said, “I’ve decided to give you a second chance to be my best friend.” She waited for Lucky’s reaction. Was she expecting Lucky to start cheering? Or applauding?

  What if I don’t want to be your best friend? Lucky considered saying. But instead she said, “Thanks, but I already have a best friend. Her name is Emma.”

  “Oh really?” Maricela wound a lock of hair around her finger. “And where is Emma?”

  “She’s back home.”

  “So you’d rather have a best friend who is all the way on the other side of the world than a best friend here in Miradero?”