“Aunt Cora, about leaving,” she said. “I’ve been thinking, and—”
“Hey, what’s that sound?” Jim interrupted as voices rose outside.
Lucky, Cora, and Jim stepped onto the porch. Dozens of people were walking toward the house. Lucky recognized some from town, others from school.
“Oh dear, I’m not dressed for company.” Cora grabbed her pheasant-feather hat and plunked it onto her head.
“Hello,” Jim called as they neared. “What’s going on here?”
The people gathered at the base of the steps. Everyone was carrying something to eat. There were cakes and pies, bowls of potato salad and sandwiches. Snips had two handfuls of carrots. The mayor and his wife were there as well. Even Maricela held a plate of cookies, though she was the only person not smiling. “We’ve come to thank Lucky for all she did today,” Mr. Granger said. “And to officially welcome the Prescotts to Miradero, their new home.”
“Well, that’s mighty nice of you,” Jim said. He gave Lucky and Cora a long, thoughtful look, for only the three of them knew the truth—that Cora and Lucky might be leaving.
“So, you gonna make us stand here all day?” Mr. Granger asked with a chuckle. Then he held up a platter. “Wouldn’t you rather eat my famous barbecued ribs?”
Lucky’s stomach growled. Those ribs looked amazing. She jabbed her dad with her elbow. “Uh, yes, of course,” Jim said. “Let’s eat!”
Cora stood quietly to the side, watching as the kitchen table was brought out from the house, along with chairs and benches. Some blankets were set on the ground. People ate the ribs with their hands instead of using a fork and knife. A few of the men used their shirtsleeves as napkins. Cora’s expression was so twitchy, Lucky thought her face might crack like porcelain. How could Lucky break the news that she’d decided to stay? She didn’t want her aunt to feel obligated to remain in Miradero, just because she was staying. She wanted her aunt to be happy. And she wasn’t happy here. Poor Cora.
“Hello.” A woman walked up to Cora and extended her hand. “I’m Althea. I run the Tanglefoot Inn.” Cora looked puzzled at first, for ladies of society didn’t normally shake hands. But she took Althea’s. “I saw your posters. How was your meeting?”
Cora sighed. “No one came to my meeting. Apparently no one in this town is interested in my causes. I have no place here.”
“No place here?” Althea put her hands on her broad hips. “No one came to your meeting because no one knew what it was. What in the world is a Ladies’ Social Betterment Society?”
Cora’s hand flitted to her collar. “Why, it’s a group where we have discussions about important matters, and we raise money to bring art and culture to the community and to help those in need.”
“Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” Althea said with a laugh. “We’ve got one of those already. It’s the Ladies’ Aid Society. I’m the president. We meet every Wednesday, and it just so happens we’re looking for a treasurer. How about joining us?”
Lucky had never seen her aunt smile so big. “Yes,” Cora said breathlessly. “I’d like that very much.”
“Come on, I’ll introduce you to some of our members.” Althea led Cora to one of the tables. Three women scooted down the bench to make room. Althea set a plate of potato salad and ribs in front of Cora and began to tell her about their next fund raiser. Cora absorbed every word, like a thirsty sponge.
As one of Mr. Granger’s ranch hands played the banjo, Abigail and Pru sat with Lucky on the porch steps. “You know, we’ve got plenty of horses at the Ramada,” Pru told Lucky. “If you meet us there tomorrow, we’ll help you pick one out.”
Abigail broke a cookie in two and handed half to Lucky. “Then you can ride with us.”
“Really?” It was the thing Lucky had been most craving—the invitation, not the cookie, though she did love oatmeal. “I’ll need to check with my dad and aunt, but that sounds great.”
As Lucky ate the cookie, she glanced across the yard. Her dad was laughing with Mr. Granger and the mayor. And Cora was chatting with the women from the Miradero Ladies’ Aid Society. Cora was so happy, she picked up one of the ribs, with her fingers, and took a bite. Lucky wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes.
That tight feeling in Lucky’s stomach was gone. She smiled.
She felt as light as air.
That night, as Lucky was climbing into bed, her dad knocked on the door. “Hey, sweet pea,” he said. He stood in the doorway, his hands behind his back. “Well, that was an exciting day.”
“Yeah, pretty amazing.” So much had happened, her head was still spinning. “I told Emma all about it.” She pointed to a letter lying on the bedside table.
“You won’t be telling Emma in person? Does that mean you’re staying?”
“Yes.”
“I’m very happy to hear that.” He stepped into the room. “You know, when I saw you riding that mustang, for a minute, I thought I saw your mother.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.” He kept his hands behind his back. “You not only looked like her, but you rode like her. I’m not sure how to explain it, but you looked… graceful. Like you’ve been riding all your life.”
Lucky sat up very straight. She had something important to say. “Dad…” She took a deep breath. “I think I’m good with horses. They seem to like me. Even Señor Carrots likes me, and he’s a donkey. No one else could get Spirit’s trust but me. I think it’s what I’m good at. I think… I get it from Mom.”
“I agree. That’s why I want you to have these.” He held out a pair of boots.
“Wow!” Lucky scrambled out of bed. “For me?” She couldn’t believe this was happening. She knew these boots by heart. She ran her hands over the flames.
“Go ahead, try them on,” her dad urged.
She hesitated. This was a huge moment. She’d learned so much about herself in such a short time—that she could ride, that horses trusted her—things that she and her mother had in common. But stepping into her mother’s boots felt even scarier than climbing onto the stallion’s back. What if they didn’t fit? What if she could never really fill her mother’s shoes?
Lucky slipped her feet inside and they fit perfectly.
She walked around the room, getting a feel for the high arch and the curve of the toe. The boots were well worn, and that made them extra comfortable. “Thank you, Dad.”
“You’re very welcome.”
Lucky took these boots as a really good sign. Now was the time to broach the subject. “Dad, Pru said that if I go to the Ramada tomorrow, she and Abigail will help me pick out a horse. I want to learn to ride.” She waited, worried that he’d say no for all the same reasons Cora always said no. “Will you let me learn? Will you let me take lessons? Please?”
“As long as you promise to stay out of areas that are being dynamited,” he said with a furrowed brow.
“I promise!”
“Then riding lessons sound good to me.”
That night, the dream came again, but this time it wasn’t Cowgirl Betty who stood on the stage. Milagro Navarro, in her circus dress and red-and-brown boots, held out her hand to her daughter. “What am I doing here?” Lucky asked.
“You’re gonna show them what you’re made of,” her mother replied. When Lucky looked into the audience, she recognized so many upturned faces—Pru and Abigail, Miss Flores and Snips, Turo and Mr. Granger, her father and her grandpa, Mr. and Mrs. MacFinn, Emma and Aunt Cora. Even Maricela was there.
Shadow nudged Lucky with his muzzle, urging her to climb into the saddle. Milagro smiled at Lucky and handed her the reins. This time there was no hesitation. Lucky grabbed the saddle horn, stepped into the stirrup, and swung her leg like a professional. Shadow shifted as Lucky settled in, preparing for her command. Then, reins in hand, she faced the ring of fire.
And together, they jumped through.
32
Spirit was happy to be reunited with hi
s herd, but it wasn’t the same. While he belonged with them, something was missing—something that hadn’t been missing before. And that is why he went back.
He stood on the hill, his head held high, watching and waiting.
Below the hill, in the corral, the men with ropes saw him, but they didn’t chase him. They left him alone and turned their attention to the other horses, the ones they’d tamed. They knew he wasn’t meant for them.
But where was she?
His ears pricked at the sound of nearby footsteps. Three girls walked toward the barn—the girl with the yellow mane, the girl with the black mane, and the girl who knew his name.
He neighed. She turned, saw him, and began running up the hill, her long mane flowing behind her.
“Spirit!” she cried, holding out her arms. She pressed her face into his neck. “You came back.”
Yes, he’d come back. Despite the joyous reunion with his family, he realized that he now belonged in two worlds—the world of his herd and the world of this girl. She had set him free and he would never forget. For a horse will always remember kindness.
He dipped his head, then bowed his front legs so she could climb onto his back.
“Lucky?” the smaller girl called. “Aren’t you going to pick out a horse?”
“I don’t have to,” his girl called back. “He picked me!”
He waited for her friends to join them, with the horses he now trusted—the one with the white spots and the one with the golden coat. He waited for his girl to find her balance, to secure her hands in his mane. “Let’s go, Spirit!” she cried.
“Let’s go, Boomerang!”
“Let’s go, Chica Linda!”
The morning sun warmed the prairie as hearts and hooves beat a wild rhythm.
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Author’s Note
Dear Reader,
While I hope you enjoyed this story, I want to point out that this is not a piece of historical fiction. While some of it is historically accurate, this is not meant to represent the true American West or the Victorian age. It is pure fiction, set in a fictitious location in the American West, in a time in the nineteenth century, and that is all. Please enjoy it as fiction.
I have been extremely blessed in my writing career because some really amazing projects have come my way. When Kara Sargent, my lovely editor at Little, Brown, asked if I’d be interested in writing a novel for DreamWorks Animation, I nearly fainted. Do you even have to ask? Yes! And when she told me that the story would be based on Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron, I was thrilled. That had been one of my daughter’s favorite movies. We’d watched it together countless times. I even knew all the songs by heart. So I flew down to the DreamWorks Animation campus in Glendale, California, met with a whole bunch of really nice people, and the journey began.
I would like to begin by thanking Aury Wallington, the DreamWorks writer at the helm of this new Spirit series. Her script was the inspiration for my novel and served as the novel’s framework. Thank you, Aury, for providing me with such a fun world in which to play. There are many more people involved in this project, and I’m very grateful for their help. Thanks to Rich Burns, Laura Sreebny, Katherine Nolfi, Robert Taylor, Lauren Bradley, Megan Startz, Harriet Murphy, Corinne Combs, Barb Layman, Mike Sund, David Wiebe, Rebecca Goldberg, Tiffany Howell, Jackie Chan, and Natalie Wei.
At Little, Brown Publishing, working alongside Kara Sargent, I’d like to thank Mara Lander, Christina Quintero, Kristina Pisciotta, Lindsay Walter-Greaney, Dani Valladares, Dan Letchworth, Allegra Green, Carol Scatorchio, and Victoria Stapleton.
Big thanks to my dear friend, Jeremy Bishop, for patiently answering all my train questions. And thanks also to Megan Chance, Sue and Faith Kerrigan, and Vicky Poole for answering all my horse questions. While I still did most of my writing at Hot Shots Java in Poulsbo, where LeAnne Musgrove, AJ Stokes and their staff keep me caffeinated, I added a new coffeehouse to my routine—Cups—owned by the lovely Wanda Winker. Without these welcoming baristas, I’d be stuck in my office writing, and that’s no fun at all.
And, as always, thanks to my agent, Michael Bourret, for making the business side of writing easy peasy. And to my family, Bob, Walker, and Isabelle, who keep my spirit riding free.
Happy reading, everyone!
Spirit Riding Free--The Adventure Begins Page 16