Laura Ingalls Is Ruining My Life

by Shelley Tougas

  “Since when do you give up so easily?” Rose collected the flashlights. “We can still do it. No fire. We’ll just change location to the car and stay warm there.”

  Mom sighed, but she said, “I guess that would work.”

  We crammed into the back seat. Mom sat between us, using a flashlight to read the book. Rose and I ate cold s’mores, which isn’t easy. They’re thick, and without roasting, they don’t mush together.

  By the Shores of Silver Lake is sad from the beginning. Mary is blind from scarlet fever, which is obviously worse than fever ’n’ ague, and on top of that, their dog is dead. Pa wants to leave Walnut Grove because the grasshoppers keep eating the crops, so he takes a job working for the railroad and moves the family to South Dakota. It’s basically the Wild West, but they get to live in a nice house for a little while because of the railroad job. The house is stocked with the most food they’ve had since they left the big woods of Wisconsin. No more jackrabbit stew. And no more Nellie Oleson.

  “Lucky Laura!” I interrupted Mom. “She finally gets rid of Nellie Oleson.” I said Nellie Oleson, but I was thinking about Julia Ramos.

  Rose said, “Here’s the amazing thing. Pretty soon Laura moves to De Smet, and guess who shows up? Nellie Oleson! She tries to steal Laura’s boyfriend.”

  “So Laura has to go to school with her again? She has to eat lunch with her and hang out at recess? Nellie is a rash that won’t go away.” I shivered, and it wasn’t because I was cold. I was thinking about finding a place to hide during Monday’s lunch period.

  “Charlotte, do you want to take over with the reading? I don’t feel like it.”

  I took the book, but I didn’t start reading because just then I got the best idea ever. “Mom, it feels like reading is getting harder and harder. School is so hard.”

  “But you’ve always had an excellent grasp of language,” Mom said.

  “Trust me, it’s getting harder and … worser.”

  “You mean worse?”

  “See!” I slapped my hand against my forehead. “I was wondering if you’d talk to the principal about me getting extra help during lunch. I can take a sandwich every day and work with Mrs. Newman. It’d really help me.”

  “What’s going on, Charlotte?”

  “Nothing. I just like Mrs. Newman, and I want to show her I can do better.”

  “I think you’re fine just as you are.” Mom patted my shoulder. “But if getting some extra help builds your confidence, then we should do it. You know your own heart and mind. I’ll talk to Mrs. Newman.”

  “You should go straight to the principal.”

  “Why?”

  “Mrs. Newman doesn’t care about me. She says if I’m not reading well by now, it’s basically too late. She wants me to focus on math.”

  Rose said, “You just said you like Mrs. Newman.”

  In addition to being a poor rainbow-finder, I was a bad liar. I spoke before I thought. I threw in details that didn’t make sense. I needed my own role of duct tape. “Well, usually I like her. But not when she said that thing about reading. I didn’t like her then. I like her now, though.”

  “She really said that?” Mom shook her head. “That’s terrible. I’ve been feeling like something isn’t right. Something is … off.”

  “Please don’t say anything to the principal about her. It’s a small school. I don’t want to be called a troublemaker.”

  “All right.”

  “Will you call right away Monday morning? I already missed a week of school. I can’t get … behinder.”

  “More behind,” Mom said. “I’ll call first thing.”

  Who’s a genius?

  Me, that’s who.

  CHAPTER

  EIGHT

  By lunchtime Monday I was in the media center taking a reading comprehension test with the librarian.

  I had to read an essay and answer questions. The essay, “Manifest Destiny and America’s Expansion,” was long and boring. If you’ve heard people say something is as boring as watching paint dry, well, the Manifest Destiny essay would bore the paint. I couldn’t wait to get home and tell Freddy about it. Then I remembered he’d turned into Red Fred and broke our Twin Superpowers.

  The essay went like this: After colonists won independence from England, American leaders thought it was destiny for our country to grow. If ordinary Americans could own land, not just rich people, then they would be committed to making the country strong and the best in the world. So the government bought land around Louisiana from France and fought with Mexico to get even more land. And pretty soon the country stretched “from sea to shining sea,” just like the song “America the Beautiful” said.

  The first thing I had to do was define Manifest Destiny. I wrote, America was destiny to be from see to shiny see.

  Then I had to explain the Louisiana Purchase. Louisiana was on sail so we bought it.

  Then I had to explain why leaders thought it was important for ordinary Americans to own land. I wrote, ????? don’t understand question

  I left the rest of the questions blank and turned it in to the librarian when the dismissal bell rang.

  The next day, as everyone headed to the lunchroom, Freddy stopped by my desk.

  “Come to lunch with us.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “You can tell the interrupting-cow knock-knock joke.”

  “Not happening.” In third grade, I’d heard a joke on the radio. What’s a drummer’s favorite veggie? Beets. I’d practiced it in front of the bathroom mirror; then I’d delivered it at recess to girls waiting in line for the slide. Nobody had laughed. Not even a chuckle. Amanda Perkins had rolled her eyes and said, “Beets aren’t anyone’s favorite vegetable.”

  Or was her name Amelia?

  Anyway, I learned fast. No jokes.

  “Come on, Charlotte. Please.”

  “Are your hearing aids on? Because I said no.”

  Freddy sighed. “Whatever.” He followed the wolf pack to the cafeteria.

  Mrs. Newman came over and sat in the desk next to mine. Sitting close was how she pretended to be friendly.

  “I got a look at your test, Charlotte.”

  “Oh?”

  “You definitely need to work on your reading.”

  I sighed. “I know.”

  “And you’d like to do this during lunch while the other kids are taking a break?”

  “That’d be best.”

  “I guess that’s what we’ll do,” she said. “For our first assignment, you’ll read about the First Transcontinental Railroad. The railroad was part of the government’s plan to settle the western United States.”

  “I’ll be reading about trains? I have books from home I could—”

  “What did you think you’d be reading? Harry Potter?”

  My answer was yes, but obviously I had it wrong, so I shrugged.

  She said, “The decisions we make have consequences; some of those consequences are intended and some are not intended. Perhaps reading nonfiction is an unintended consequence for you?” She looked proud of herself. “You’ll have a chance to analyze the intended and unintended consequences of westward expansion. That’s going to be our focus. It’s all coming together beautifully, isn’t it?” Mrs. Newman paused, like she was waiting for me to applaud or something, but I pressed my lips together and frowned. “I brought a book from my personal collection, and I have countless articles on homesteading laws. Do you know about homesteading laws?”

  “I’m guessing they have something to do with homes and steading.”

  “The homesteading laws opened the West for rapid expansion. The government lured people from the relative comfort of the East by giving away free land. It was a turning point in our history. But first, more about the railroads.” She handed me a heavy book titled The First Transcontinental Railroad: The Impact of Westward Expansion on American Culture and the Economy. If I dropped it on my foot, I’d break a toe for sure.

  “One more question,�
�� Mrs. Newman said. “I read your Laura Ingalls essay, and it had tremendous qualities. Some might say it was overly negative, but I value a critical eye. And your vocabulary, syntax, and grammar? Outstanding.”

  Uh-oh. Big mistake. I needed to plan my lies better. I was so focused on failing the comprehension test that I didn’t even think about the fact that I’d written an essay with tremendous qualities. My brain raced for an explanation as Mrs. Newman said, “If you can write an essay that’s clearly above grade level, how is it that you failed a reading comprehension test?”

  I had exactly one second to think about my options. If I admitted I failed the test intentionally, I’d be banished to the lunchroom and recess. So I mumbled, “I cheated.”

  “You cheated?”

  “I copied it from the Internet.”

  Mrs. Newman looked suspicious. “But the essay was specific to your life. How did you find an essay online that had details about your mother’s jobs and your history?”

  That woman was smart. If the FBI ever needed a special agent—a very mean special agent—they could find one right here in Walnut Grove.

  “Well…” I took a couple of breaths. “Actually, my sister wrote it. Rose. She’s a genius. Just look at her school records if you don’t believe me. She’ll probably graduate when she’s fourteen.”

  “So it wasn’t from the Internet?”

  “I just said that because I didn’t want Rose to get into trouble. I … I told her it was an essay just for fun. I didn’t tell her I needed it for class.”

  Mrs. Newman stared at me. “Interesting.”

  Students started pouring into the room, so Mrs. Newman turned and walked to her desk. I was sweating from the pressure. Mrs. Newman’s eyes looked like the eyes of the lady judge on TV who was always shouting at people. She was going to dish out a horrible punishment for me in front of the whole class, but what?

  Mrs. Newman stood for an announcement. “We have the results of the essay contest. Students in grades five through eight submitted essays, and I’m thrilled to say that the winner is in this class.”

  The class roared to life. Freckles Boy actually clapped.

  I was absolutely 100 percent without-a-doubt certain the winner was Julia Ramos. She probably wrote her essay on a slate—the sort of handheld chalkboard Laura and her sister Mary shared in school. Maybe she even submitted a picture of herself in a bonnet. Julia was that kind of student.

  “Congratulations to Julia Ramos!” Mrs. Newman said.

  See?

  Julia smiled, and Tallest Girl in Class gave her a high five. I swore Freddy’s brown eyes took the shape of little hearts.

  “One more thing,” Mrs. Newman said. “The contest was definitely close. I think it’s only fair to mention the runner-up because that student did such a tremendous job.”

  My face went red because I knew what she was going to say before she said it.

  “Congratulations, Charlotte Lake.” She smiled wickedly.

  Sometimes it stinks to be right.

  * * *

  At the end of the day, when everyone left, Mrs. Newman asked me to stay for a minute. But why? She made me sweat buckets while she organized papers. I wondered if I should confess that the whole thing had started as a way to escape the lunchroom and the playground. But I knew she wouldn’t understand. She’d probably lived in Walnut Grove her whole life. She didn’t know what it was like to be new or to lose a twin brother.

  Finally she said, “The museum folks could use more help. They don’t have any money for a second student, but if you volunteer, I’ll consider it your sentence for cheating. If not, I’ll report it to the principal, who has zero tolerance for cheating. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

  “I made my essay negative so I wouldn’t get the job, and—”

  “You mean your sister made it negative?”

  “Yes. My sister, Rose. I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would turn out like this.”

  “Unintended consequences.” Mrs. Newman stared into my eyes. “Charlotte Lake, I will not allow you to fall short of your potential.”

  My potential?

  I didn’t see that coming. I thought she’d nag me about cheating. No adult ever talked to me like that, not even Mom. When Mom talked about potential she meant opening yourself to the universe. I never thought about potential and school.

  You think Mrs. Newman is one of those teacher-angels for reaching out to the quiet kid, right?

  You’re wrong. Mrs. Newman was ruining my Walnut Grove survival plan. She was stirring everything I wanted settled, and I didn’t have Freddy to help outsmart her.

  I ran to my locker. I literally ran.

  PART TWO

  The Long, Cold, Terrible, Snowing, Blowing Winter

  CHAPTER

  NINE

  The Laura Ingalls Wilder Museum smelled like someone was frying chicken strips in a thrift store. The artifacts were responsible for the musty odor, and Gloria Johnson carried the scent of the chicken strips like her own personal perfume. Outside, sleet was turning Walnut Grove into a town-sized ice rink, even though it was only November. Julia and I showed up for orientation covered in tiny ice pellets, so Gloria made hot chocolate for us while she explained the project.

  In the winter, volunteers cleaned the “nooks and crannies” because the museum buildings were closed. Even the biggest Laura fans wouldn’t risk prairie blizzards for a visit. But this year, in addition to the cleaning, Julia and I were going to update the catalog of artifacts. Gloria took us through the buildings and showed us how we’d take pictures of each item and log the information into a spreadsheet.

  “It seems like most of the stuff here is from Walnut Grove in general, not just Laura,” Julia said.

  We’d been in Walnut Grove since August, and only Rose and Mom had toured the museum complex. No way would I visit the place voluntarily, and Freddy didn’t have time for tours. He always hung out with the wolf pack after school. At home, Freddy talked to Mom and Rose. And I talked to Mom and Rose. But all those weeks, from the moment he’d turned into Red Fred to the first day of my prison sentence at the museum, we’d basically kept our vow of silence against each other.

  “Think about it,” Gloria said to Julia. “There are Laura museums in all the places she lived. Lake Pepin in Wisconsin, Burr Oak in Iowa, Mansfield in Missouri, De Smet in South Dakota, and a few others. We have to share her things.”

  “She saved everything,” Julia said. “Her little handkerchiefs and old quilts and even buttons.”

  “Back then, it wasn’t a throwaway society. You made things or bought things and you kept them and reused them. You didn’t buy more and more and more and more. Just think about how many cans and bottles of soda people across the country drink in just one day. Millions in one day! And your generation complains about my generation ruining the Earth.”

  I rolled my eyes, but Julia actually said, “I’m sorry.”

  “Anyhoo, that’s enough for today. Let’s try to meet twice a week. Just leave a message if you aren’t going to make it. If you don’t show up, and the weather’s bad, I’ll worry.” She chuckled. “And the weather’s always bad.”

  * * *

  Gloria Johnson was right. Winter had come to Walnut Grove like a toddler having a tantrum—that’s how Mom described it—kicking and howling, without apology or regret. And it had come early. Snow covered the grass before it had a chance to turn brown. Kids wore snow pants under their Halloween costumes. Jack-o’-lanterns froze, ruining the tradition of smashing them into a gooey mess.

  The rare snowstorm in Lexington was nothing like your ordinary, everyday Walnut Grove snowfall. In southwestern Minnesota, there was an unstoppable trio of snow, wind, and cold. As soon as the plow scraped the highway clean, wind swirled behind it and left a fresh layer of snow and ice. The gusts could whip a few flakes into a blizzard. Mom was so nervous about dangerous weather she wouldn’t leave the house without searching the Internet for news about road conditions. Sh
e started chewing her fingernails.

  The snow had personality. Angry pellets that scratched your skin. Fat happy flakes. Tired wet clumps. Irritated plumes of powder. Sometimes the snow came rapid-fire, like it was late for an appointment; other times it seemed to float, undecided about whether to land or ride the wind. Occasionally it appeared to form on the ground and blow toward the sky.

  Inside was no better. The basement was damp and cold, so we turned on space heaters. The heaters sucked all the moisture from the air. Rose’s fine hair floated above her head in a cloud of static. When we touched a door handle, we got a shock.

  “I’m anxious all day about getting zapped.” Mom sighed as she showed us a pair of rubber cleaning gloves. “I wear these.”

  “How do you type in those things?”

  “It’s not easy.” She sighed again.

  When did my mom turn into a person who sighed?

  At bedtime I talked to Rose about Mom. “Observation: something’s going on with Mom.”

  “I know.” Rose turned off the space heater in our room. It was better to sleep in a chilly room than to blast the space heater all night. Otherwise we woke up with itchy skin and sometimes a bloody nose.

  “I stated an observation. You’re supposed to ask for evidence.”

  “Huh?”

  “Ask me for evidence. It’s not hard.”

  “What’s wrong is the Mars book is super hard. She’s going to need more time.”

  For a smart girl, Rose could be clueless. I said, “The evidence is she doesn’t shower every day. She doesn’t leave the house. She’s not eating enough. I don’t think Mom is a winter person.”

  Rose pulled a book from the shelf in the corner. “Found it.” She held up Laura’s book, The Long Winter. “She needs to read this. The entire book is about—”

  “Let me guess. A long winter?”

  Freddy would’ve laughed, but Rose just kept talking. “Mom needs to connect with Laura’s winter story. It’ll give her energy and creativity and happiness.”