There's No WiFi on the Prairie

by Nicholas O. Time

  Silence for a moment. Then, “Mom, really? You and Dad haven’t been home for dinner for three days. I’ve been eating by myself every night!” She pauses, then says, “Yeah, yeah, I know there are TV dinners in the freezer. Okay, fine. See you later. Yes. Bye.”

  She hangs up the phone with a thunk and puts down her game controller, looking defeated.

  I glance over at Ethan. He’s looking back at me, frowning. My poor mom. All alone? Every night? She’s just a kid! Not much older than Ethan and I are.

  Mom turns to the small Yorkshire terrier curled up beside her on the couch. “Well, Moonlight, I guess it’s just you and me again. We’re always stuck in this house, with nothing to do. We have hardly any yard, and no grass for you to run through. It sure would be nice for us to go live somewhere wide-open and beautiful, like my aunt’s house in the country. We could have horses and cows. We could play fetch. . . . There would be lots of space to run around.”

  My mom sighs loudly as Moonlight yawns and scratches himself with his back leg. “Actually, Moonlight,” she says, “you’d probably hate it since you’re mostly a lap dog, but man, I’d do anything to go somewhere green and cool and beautiful.”

  Ethan elbows me. “Your mom sounds just like you!” he whispers. “Only the opposite.”

  Unfortunately, my mom hears Ethan’s voice and freaks out. She turns and sees us watching her. Then, jumping to her feet and grabbing the TV remote, she hurls it at us.

  “Attack, Moonlight!” she yells. “Attack!”

  Moonlight just sits on the couch and looks at us. He must be an older dog because the fur on his muzzle is gray and he looks bored.

  Mom grabs the remote for her video game next and holds it poised over her shoulder, ready to fling it at us as well. “Get out! Get out of my house or I’ll . . .”

  “We come in peace!” Ethan says, and I whack his arm. What kind of thing is that to say? Although I don’t exactly have a plan either. Hey, don’t flip out. I’m your daughter who won’t be born for many years probably isn’t going to help much.

  We all stand still, staring at one another. Then Mom dashes toward the front door, presses a button on the alarm system panel that makes a rhythmic screeching sound begin, and runs into the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

  “THE POLICE ARE COMING,” she yells from behind the bathroom door.

  “Um, I think we should go,” Ethan says.

  “It’s probably best,” I agree. We run back outside, and I’m sad not to get the chance to see more of my teenaged mom. She seemed so lonely. I forget sometimes that she didn’t have any siblings.

  We find Tim waiting for us out by the pool, looking eager. I don’t have time to wonder why, because the alarm is so loud I just want to get out of there.

  We motion for him to run with us back into the cornfields before the police can arrive, although how can the police reach this house while it’s inside this bizarre time-travel vortex? Who knows, but I’m not sticking around to find out! I need to get back to the farm.

  Once we’re safely out of the house, I turn to Tim. “Okay, Mr. Raveltere, now get us out of here! Back to 1891! I need to talk to the Pedersens, stat.”

  Tim looks at me and shrugs. “I can’t do that.”

  Bewildered, I say, “Yes, you can. Of course you can. You brought us here. Now take us back there.”

  He nods. “You’re right; I did. But you’re the one who’s in charge of whether or not we can time travel. It’s your positive energy that makes this vortex work. I can’t just wave a magic wand or something.” He laughs as if he’s said something really funny.

  But Ethan and I aren’t laughing. “So, wait,” Ethan says. “You’re telling us that if Ava can’t figure out how to be positive or do something positive, then you can’t get us back to 1891, where the book is, so that we can time travel home?”

  Tim nods, and Ethan looks over at me. “Oh, yikes.”

  “Um, how about that we want to go back home? Isn’t that positive?” I suggest.

  “Nope,” said Tim. “You’ll know when you have the right idea, because the cornfields will start blowing wildly. That means the travel vortex is opening. Keep trying.”

  “Oh, good grief. I have to find some positivity in myself to get us back home?” I mumble. “Sure, easy as pie.”

  Ethan says, “Well, think about why you started this.”

  “You started this whole thing!” I snap. “And dragged me into it. All I wanted was to be able to give my mom and my whole family the good life. And I thought that if she’d gone to California for college it would have changed everything for the better. But then Ms. Tremt sent us to 1891 instead of 1991. And when we got there, I realized that if the Pedersen family started out in California to begin with, it might make life better for generations. But then I saw my 1990s mom—”

  “What is the good life, anyway?” Ethan cuts in. “Do you know? Would you really be happier growing up lonely in a house like your mom? She has a pool and nonstop sunshine, like you say you want, but no parents around or siblings or company. And no grass or fields or fresh air like she wants. Do you want that?”

  I shake my head no. I can’t get any words to come out. I’m thinking so hard about how much my view of the good life has changed now. I thought I knew what it was until I came back and saw the Pedersen family, so cozy in their little wooden house, all working together, relying on their cow and their crops for their very survival, but happy with the simplest things—like a box of buttons. And then seeing my mom in her fancy, alternate-life house. Is that what my life would be like if I went to California and lived with my dad and starred in a TV show? Because it really didn’t seem all that great.

  “I guess that’s not the good life after all,” I admit.

  “Agreed,” said Ethan. “Not even close.”

  Maybe, just maybe, what I really want is what the Pedersen family has. Time together. Time with my mom. But I don’t want to take away everything that made my mom happy growing up. She loves animals, horses, and being outside. That’s how she should grow up. Not with lap dogs and TV dinners. After all, the Pedersen family is happy even though their life is hard. Because they help each other. Many hands make light work, after all. I think I finally understand what that means, and it isn’t just about getting your chores done faster.

  In a flash, I decide I’ve got to make sure the Pedersen family doesn’t go to California. I’ve got to get them to stay where they are so that my mom will have the childhood she had originally and so I can get back to my family exactly how it was. I don’t want to change anything about our life, except for how I feel about it.

  That’s it! The thing that would really make our lives better, to give us the good life, would be for me to pitch in more. I can make our house happier, cleaner, more organized, and more fun, just by helping more! Look at Martha. She’s my age and she helps her mother and minds the kids and seems happy to be depended on. She helps make everything run there, and she does it with a smile. And she and her mother talk all day and she knows she’s valued by the family.

  “Back to 1891!” I shout. “I’ve got to undo what I did. And for the right reasons.”

  I look over at Tim, and he holds up his wrist to show me his watch, which is now glowing, just the way Ms. Tremt’s pen glowed in the library.

  The cornfields suddenly begin blowing hard again, and Tim, Ethan, and I start running in the direction of the Pedersen house just as we hear the sounds of police sirens pulling up to the house behind us.

  Suddenly I feel a push on my back and go sprawling onto the ground. Ethan lays sprawled beside me. I look up, and Tim has surged ahead, beating us through the corn and quickly disappearing among the waving stalks.

  “Did he knock us over?” Ethan asks, rubbing his elbows. “Ouch.”

  “I think so,” I say, picking myself up off the ground. “But why? We’re safe. Away from the police. Back in 1891. We’re not in any danger, so why push us down to hide?”

  “He di
dn’t push us down to protect us,” Ethan says. “It was to slow us down. This was his plan all along, Ava! He heard us talking before, and he knows you left The Book of Memories behind in 1891. Quick! We have to hurry! We’ve only got fifteen minutes left!”

  Pretty soon we’re right back at the Pedersen’s yard, not far from the house. “Where’s Tim?” I ask, panicked. We both look around, but he’s nowhere to be seen. There is another length of fence knocked over nearby, which is likely his doing. But how did he manage to hop up and run off so fast?

  “I guess the more you time travel, the better you get at recovering,” Ethan says, as if reading my mind. “C’mon, we’ve got to beat him to the book or we’ll be stuck here forever. And I don’t want to fix this fence again.”

  But just as we start to search for Tim, the Pedersens appear, marching toward us from the house in a line.

  “Oh no,” Ethan moans. “Here we go again with getting in trouble for the fence.”

  “We’re so sorry!” I shout preemptively, trying to peer over their shoulders and locate Tim Raveltere. I don’t see him, but he’s got to be hiding somewhere around the house, maybe crouched on the other side, waiting for his chance to sneak in and steal the book. “Let’s go in the house and talk about it!”

  I say it very, very loudly, hoping Tim will hear me and not risk running in to get the book.

  “What are you sorry about?” asks Mr. Pedersen. “This old fence! Bah! Thanks to you, Laura and I and the family have just decided to pick up and move to California! Live the good life. Get work in a town. We’re going to sell this place immediately. And the horse and cow. So don’t worry about it!”

  Mrs. Pedersen is grinning from ear to ear. Then, looking at the fresh damage, she shakes her head and says, “You two seem like such nice children. I can’t figure out why you keep knocking over our fence. Do you have trouble with your eyes or something?”

  Ethan looks over at me and shrugs. I don’t know what to do. I know we have hardly any time left, and desperate times call for desperate measures.

  “Pedersen family!” I say. “I think you’re making a huuuuuuuuge mistake leaving this beautiful piece of land. Look at everything you’ve built here! And your corn crop is almost ready to harvest.”

  “I know,” says Mr. Pedersen. “That’s why our property will fetch a high price and we can afford the tickets.”

  “B-b-b-b-b-but,” I stutter. “Your dream! You came from Sweden with nothing. You’ve survived here, on this difficult prairie! And all because you worked together. This is your home now.”

  Mrs. Pedersen looks at her children lovingly. “Our home is wherever we are all together. The house itself makes no difference. And neither does the land. Home is your family.”

  Since I just realized that myself a few minutes ago, it’s hard to argue with. Especially when they’re all beaming at me like they’ve won free tickets to Disneyland, which they don’t even know about, because it doesn’t exist yet.

  I’ve got to change their minds. For their sakes! For my mom’s sake. For all the generations of my family to come. But how can I do that? What can I say to convince them?

  If only I had my stupid phone, I could look up some negative facts about California in the late 1800s. I can’t remember any except that the California gold rush is already over by now, so they probably won’t find gold. But that’s not enough to deter them.

  Ugh! I need my phone! Wait, do I?

  I don’t need to have actual facts to convince the Pedersens. I can just lie a little. It isn’t wrong, because really, they’re happy here, and they were planning to stay here before I showed up and ruined everything. So I’m just setting them back on the course they were already on before Ethan and I appeared and messed up their lives. And their fence. With our bad eyes or something.

  I just need to think of something scary enough to keep them here.

  “Ava,” Ethan mutters. “Hurry! I think Tim’s inside.”

  “Okay, okay!” I say. I close my eyes and think hard. Eyes. Bad eyes! That’s it! My mind flashes back to an episode of Little House on the Prairie, and I realize I have the perfect answer.

  “Well,” I say, “if that’s your decision, I’m happy for you.”

  The Pedersens cheer and Ethan looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. Which maybe I have. All I know is it’s time to flex my acting muscles again.

  I make my face sad and weepy and pretend to wipe a tear from my eye. “I should tell you, though,” I begin, “that just before Ethan and I came here to Minnesota with our parents to find a claim, our second cousin, who lives out in California, caught, uh . . .”

  Here I pause, as I try to remember the article I read about what really happened to Mary Ingalls, Laura Ingalls Wilder’s sister, in real life. Suddenly the word clicks, right before my eyes. Thank you, elephant memory!

  “She caught meningoencephalitis,” I say, “and went totally blind.”

  “What?” Mrs. Pedersen cries. “Blind?”

  I nod. “Yes. Apparently it’s a disease that passes easily from person to person. It could be all over California by now. Isn’t that terrible?”

  Mr. and Mrs. Pedersen look at each other, not speaking out loud but having some sort of serious conversation with their eyes. Martha looks at me, almost suspiciously, as if she knows I’m acting.

  Yikes. Could she know? Could she possibly guess what’s really going on? She is my great-great-great-grandmother after all. Maybe we have more of a connection than I thought. “That’s it!” Mr. Pedersen says finally. “We’re staying right here, away from people and their diseases. We don’t need any more illness in this family. The Pedersen family will take their chances on the prairie and we’ll do just fine.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful!” I exclaim. “Wise decision.”

  “Yeah, great,” Ethan agrees. “I’m so happy. My sister and I really should be on our way back to our parents now, though. They must be worried about us.”

  “But first I need to run into your house where I left my . . . handkerchief,” I say. “If I come home without it, Ma will be furious.”

  Martha looks at me, puzzled, and says, “I didn’t see a handkerchief anywhere. Do you want me to help you look?”

  “Uh, no. Ethan can help me.”

  I look over at him, and he motions to his watch, the one Ms. Tremt gave him. Oh no. We have less than ten minutes. Our time is nearly up!

  I dash toward the house, leaving the family to fuss over the fence again. Inside, I look everywhere, which takes only about twenty seconds because the house is small and nearly empty anyway, but I don’t see the book. Clearly Tim found it and left with it.

  My face falls, and I think about Ethan and me trying to live here forever, growing corn and milking cows. It’s like MineFarm, but for real, which means it’ll be cold and we might starve.

  “Don’t give up, Ava,” Ethan says, seeing my face. “Let’s go look for him!”

  He runs out of the house and back toward the cornfields again, the only place around here where a person can really hide. I follow him, hitching up my skirts and moving as quickly as I can.

  I can’t be sure, but I think I see a flash of Tim’s green gloves moving in the corn. “The gloves!” I shout to Ethan, pointing. I’m totally out of breath, and I’m sick and tired of running around barefoot in a long prairie dress. It’s like the ultimate workout.

  Then we see a crazy bright glow coming from a few hundred yards ahead. It looks totally weird and supernatural coming out of the corn like that. It must be the book, glowing to let us know it’s time to go.

  “Tim has the book and he’s trying to use it,” Ethan says. “We’ve got to hurry!”

  We’re really down to the wire. We have only minutes left. But as luck would have it, the horse and the cow, both free thanks to us knocking over their fence yet again, happen to be grazing nearby.

  “Quick,” I say. “You ride the horse! I’ll ride the cow!”

  “You can’t ride a cow,” Ethan
says disparagingly. “Get up on the horse with me.”

  I shake my head. I know this cow. I trust this cow. “Go, and Cow and I will catch up!”

  Ethan hurls himself up onto the horse’s back and gallops off toward the light ahead. I go up to Cow and pat her, saying, “Now, Cow, I really need you to give me a quick ride thataway, okay? Because I’ve got to get home or my mom will be so worried.”

  Cow nods and lets me climb onto her back. She sets off at, well, more of a slow trot than a gallop, but it’s not bad. We follow Ethan into the corn.

  Up ahead, the light is getting even brighter, and I can hear Tim yelling. He’s yelling at The Book of Memories! “You blasted, dopey, foolish simpleton of a book! Do what I say! I am the boss! You have to obey me!”

  Cow and I pull up alongside Ethan on his horse. We’re behind Tim, so he hasn’t seen us yet. Ethan looks gleeful. “The book won’t grow for him!” he whispers to me. “It must be because he doesn’t have positive energy. Watch this!”

  He takes the length of rope he had tied at his hip from his lassoing lesson with Mr. Pedersen earlier and begins to swing it over his head in a big loop. I duck, so that he doesn’t take my head off. Then he carefully whips his arm out and casts the loop of rope down over Tim’s body, tightening it around his chest and pinning his arms to his sides.

  “Brilliant!” I yell. “Ethan, I can’t believe you did that. You’re the official MineFarm and real farm champion!”

  “Noooo!” cries Tim, looking longingly at the book, which is sitting open on the ground but not growing a single inch.

  “I thought I’d finally learned to make it work!” Tim yells at us. “You children are ruining my plan. I wrote the date and time in it, and I was going to piggyback on your positive energy. I did everything right. You two are messing me up somehow!”

  “I guess we are,” Ethan says. He ties the end of the lasso to a giant stalk of corn, so Tim can’t run off, then slides down off the horse. He goes to the book and carefully writes in our return date and time. Finally, the book starts to grow. I’m so relieved I almost can’t breathe. I get to go home. Home to my family! Home to a pair of jeans and a T-shirt!