There's No WiFi on the Prairie

by Nicholas O. Time

  “Ethan,” I say. “Tell the horse to go back to the barn so the Pedersens won’t worry.”

  Ethan nods and gives the horse a light slap on the flank. “Go home!” he says, and the horse trots off agreeably in the direction of the barn. I try to do the same thing with Cow, but she won’t budge. Instead she stands firmly beside me and rests her chin on my shoulder. She sighs a huge cow sigh and blinks at me with loving eyes.

  “Oh my,” I say, looking at Ethan. “This cow kind of adores me.”

  “I guess she can come with us, then,” Ethan says. “After all, Ms. Tremt can always send her back through the book later.”

  “Everybody through the book, then!” I yell. “All humans and, um, bovines.”

  BOOMF!

  When I blink, I’m in the familiar back room of the library, looking at the now comforting sight of Ms. Tremt in a fuzzy scarf. Except that her eyes are popping open and her mouth is agape. Then again, we did bring the cow back to the future.

  “Oh dear, this is not what I imagined!” she says, looking at something behind us. “Not at all. Tim!”

  I whirl around and see Tim, still lassoed, trying to squeeze in through the swiftly closing portal.

  “Ack! No!” I yell. Then, almost as if she understands everything that’s going on, my trusty cow kicks Tim backward, sending him flying back to the past.

  “Good cow,” I say, patting her. “And fix the fence for the Pedersens, Tim!” I shout through the tiny closing portal. “You owe them that at least!”

  When Tim is gone and the portal is fully closed, I turn to Ms. Tremt. “Who is that guy?” I ask.

  She sighs. “It’s a long story, but he’s an old time-travel buddy who lost his privileges to The Book of Memories. He has a special time-traveling watch, but it’s not as powerful as the book. He’s always trying to use time travel for his own personal gain. But the rules of the system, which only allow him to travel on others’ positive vibes, keep him from making too much mischief. Mostly.”

  “He was with us on the prairie,” Ethan says. “He took us to 1991! And then back to 1891. We’ve been back and forth through time a bunch today. And I learned to lasso. It was awesome.”

  “Wonderful!” says Ms. Tremt. “And how about you, Miss Ava the actress? Did you learn anything?”

  “Yes, I did,” I say firmly. “But before I tell you about it, I need my phone, please.”

  Ms. Tremt rolls her eyes but hands me my phone. I quickly open up a search window and search for my ancestors on a history website. I scan the results, pleased to see that after a difficult summer in 1891 without their cow, my family bounced back and their farm prospered for generations.

  “Phew,” I say. “The Pedersen family is okay.”

  “Good,” says Ms. Tremt. “But what did you learn, Ava?”

  It’s hard to believe how much I learned during my trip. How could it have been only three hours? It felt like three lifetimes. And, believe it or not, I sort of wish I could do it all over again.

  “Well, I learned that my ancestors weren’t afraid of hard work. And they weren’t afraid of living a hard life, as long as they had one another. And even though we took their cow, which is kind of a long story, they didn’t give up and move to California. When I tried to get them to move, deep down I think I knew they’d be happier on the prairie, building their life from the ground up—that’s what they wanted in the first place. They enjoy working hard,” I say.

  I smile at Ethan, remembering that that was what he’d said to me before about why he enjoyed MineFarm. Doing the work himself. Building it from the ground up.

  “You really do remember everything,” he says admiringly.

  “Yep, thanks to my elephant memory. Plus, you know what? I liked doing things on my own—figuring them out without my phone. It was kind of fun. I don’t think I’d want to do it all the time, but it felt good knowing I could actually survive without the Internet if I had to. Plus, I learned that I don’t want to mess up my mom’s childhood. Now I know where she gets her work ethic and her cheerful nature. It’s genetic!”

  “Well, I am impressed,” says Ms. Tremt, laughing. “All I meant for you to do was return the cow. According to your family history, the Pedersens’ cow mysteriously disappeared during this week in 1891. So I snatched it before it could disappear. I thought it would be nice for you to return it so that your family wouldn’t have to struggle and maybe you’d learn a thing or two by seeing a harder life than your own. But it seems events have played out exactly as they were meant to. You did the right thing, Ava. Now, what are you going to do with the cow?”

  “Are you kidding? I love this cow! I’m keeping it,” I say. “I’m going to wake up every morning and milk it and teach my little sisters to do the same, just like my great-great-great-grandma Martha! And we’ll make dinner together and talk about our day. . . . I might even braid their hair. It’s going to be great, great, great. Get it?”

  “Ha-ha.” Ethan snickers. “How about the audition? And your plan to escape to L.A.?”

  “Nah, I’d miss my family too much,” I say, giving Ms. Tremt a knowing smile. “I’m so glad I went on the trip. I think it may have changed my life forever.”

  “Time travel has a way of doing that.” Ms. Tremt claps her hands and says, “Now, you kids get home and eat a snack. I bet you’re beat. I’ll make sure Tim helps the Pedersen family with their fence, Ava, all right?”

  I nod happily. “Yes, please. And, Ms. Tremt, thank you. You really helped me.”

  “It was my pleasure, Ava.” She collects our scarves and puts them into a box in the corner, then hands me my school clothes.

  She and Ethan leave me alone in the little room to change. It feels so great to take the bonnet off! My head feels light and free, and so do my legs in their cotton leggings. When I come out, Ethan and I wave good-bye to Ms. Tremt in her office, grab our backpacks, and head out to the bike rack to get my scooter.

  As we’re getting ready to leave, I realize I need to tell Ethan something.

  “I might not be able to tutor you as much anymore,” I say. “My family needs me after school, and I think they need me more than you do. For a while at least.”

  Ethan being Ethan, he understands. “Sure, I get it. Text you later?” he says.

  “Of course!” I say. “Although I have a feeling I might be too busy to check my phone tonight. I plan on getting my house in order.”

  “Moo!” agrees the cow, who happily walks alongside me as I scoot on my scooter.

  Really, why doesn’t everyone have a pet cow? I think they could be the future.

  For once, I don’t dawdle on the way home. I scoot straight there, because I know that I’m needed. I put the cow in the backyard and latch the gate, hoping she doesn’t moo too loudly and disturb the neighbors.

  When I walk in the house, our sitter, Bridget, is there. She’s obviously just picked up Adam from daycare and Tania and Tess from school, and as usual, backpacks, shoes, and jackets are strewn everywhere. I decided this was as good a place as any to start putting “Operation Big Sister” into effect.

  “Hi, Bridget!” I say cheerfully as I begin picking up jackets to hang in the front closet. “You can go ahead and go home. I’ll take care of everybody.”

  Bridget, a college student with bangs and a silky brown ponytail, looks at me skeptically. At first I feel offended, but then I remember I’ve never once come home early to help out or told her I could manage things. I’ve always acted like another person for her to take care of.

  “Does your mom know?” she asks.

  “Yep,” I say. I go to the kitchen, where my mom has the cookie jar with the babysitter money, and pay Bridget for the hour that she worked. She says good-bye to the kids, still looking slightly dazed.

  Then I text my mom:

  I’m home early. Told Bridget to leave. I’ll take care of everything.

  Mom texts back:

  What about dinner?

  I reply:

 
I said I’ll take care of everything! Don’t worry.

  I take the rest of the money Mom would have paid Bridget for this afternoon and move it to an empty flour canister. Then I take a piece of paper and tape it to the side, writing Dinner Dollars on it. From now on, any money I can save us by doing the after-school babysitting myself, I’ll put in this canister and use to order in delivery one or two nights a week, so I can save my mom the trouble of cooking. It’s a small thing, but I bet she’d appreciate a nice hot meal she doesn’t have to make, until I can teach myself to cook a little bit better. I’m going to download some recipes tomorrow.

  I turn to my siblings, who are all looking at me like I have two heads. “Now,” I say, “Tania and Tess, your job every day will be to put away the backpacks, shoes, and jackets. I will empty the lunch boxes and unload the dishwasher. Adam,” I say, pausing to get his attention. He turns his head toward me and smiles. How did I never notice before how chubby and adorable his little cheeks are? I just want to squeeze him and kiss him.

  So I walk over, pick him up, and do just that. I think about poor Martha and her sister, Inga, and how they lost their little brother, and I squeeze him even tighter. “Aaaay-vah,” he says.

  “That’s right, it’s me—Ava,” I say. “I’m going to help take care of you. Now, your job, Adam, is very important. Your job will be to take care of the toy blocks over here, and play with them. Okay?”

  I carry him to the corner of the kitchen, where my mom has set up a little play area for him. It’s there so she can keep an eye on him while she’s cooking. He gets started right away, playing with his blocks and building something with them.

  Tania and Tess are doing their jobs, and when they’re done, they come back into the kitchen. “Now what?” they ask.

  “How about we all do our homework, so that when Mom gets home, we can just hang out?”

  They look at each other and nod in unison, then retrieve their backpacks and plop down at the kitchen table with their books. I give out a small bowl of pretzels and a glass of milk to everyone as a snack, then set up my own books at the table with my sisters. We start doing our work, and when Adam gets restless, I put on his favorite cartoon, and he calms down.

  When my mom walks in at five thirty, she stops dead in her tracks.

  On the refrigerator whiteboard I’ve listed our new schedule and chores. Homework has been finished and put away. All clutter has been tidied. I’ve braided the girls’ hair the way Martha did mine (though I didn’t do nearly as good of a job), and I’m cooking a frozen pizza in the microwave and making a salad.

  “I think I need to sit down,” Mom says weakly, collapsing in a chair.

  “Are you feeling okay, Mom?” I ask, rushing over to her with a cool, wet paper towel.

  She looks at me like I’m a stranger. “What’s going on, Ava? Are you about to ask me for something huge? Like a car? Even though you’re nowhere near old enough to drive?”

  I smile, but inside I feel slightly ashamed that she’s so surprised to find me helping out. Was I really so useless before? Expecting my mom to do every single thing just because she’s the adult? How did I miss the fact that we are a family and each person helps take care of the others?

  Tania speaks up. “Mom, Ava’s taking care of everything now. She totally organized us, and made a chart, and we’ve all done our homework. Even Adam has a job taking care of the toy blocks! Now we can just have dinner and relax.”

  Mom shakes her head in wonder, and I notice there are tears in her eyes. I hug her, and she hugs me back hard. “I am one lucky mom to have you, Ava,” she says. “Lucky to have all of you.”

  “We’re lucky too,” I say. “Now, wash your hands and sit down! The twins set the table and Adam did the napkins. Sort of.”

  We all sit down to eat together, and Mom is so relaxed and happy that I ask her to tell us some memories from her childhood. She’s delighted, and begins with stories about her old dog, Moonlight, and how he never left her side, and her horses, and all the riding she did growing up out in the Connecticut countryside.

  “It was wonderful,” she says. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Now, how about I do the dishes, since all of you worked so hard this afternoon, and then we can start baths?”

  I’m about to agree, when a loud, deep “moooooo” comes from somewhere.

  “No phones at the table,” Mom says automatically.

  “My phone’s in my room,” I reply. Just then, the “moooo” sounds again, louder, and everyone looks out the window. Sure enough, my cow is standing out there, watching us have dinner. It might be my imagination, but I think she’s looking longingly at me. I wonder if all cows are as affectionate as mine.

  “Uh, Ava?” Mom says. “Do you want to tell me why there’s a cow in our yard?”

  “Well, that’s a long story. Let’s just say the cow found me, and she’s very attached, and she doesn’t belong to anyone else here. Can we keep her? Please?”

  Mom gets up and goes out to the backyard to see the cow. The kids and I follow. Adam and my sisters are totally smitten with her, and pat her ears and moo back at her. She looks thrilled to be getting so much attention.

  “I could take care of her, Mom,” I say. “And we’d get free organic milk!”

  Mom smiles, but she shakes her head. “I’m afraid our neighborhood is not zoned for livestock, Ava. You have to have a certain amount of acreage.”

  The cow licks my hand, and I realize how sad I’ll be to say good-bye to her. She’s taught me so much. And she’s so devoted. But she’d be happier somewhere with more room to roam. And maybe some other cows to talk to.

  “Do you have a vet client who might want her?” I ask. “Someone who would take good care of her and let us visit?”

  Mom thinks a moment, then says, “Why, yes. I do. A family I know just lost their dairy cow and could really use a new one. And they don’t live too far away. I could call them in the morning and see if they can pick her up.” She studies me. “I’m impressed by your thoughtfulness and maturity today, Ava. I hope it continues.”

  “It will,” I promise. “I know I haven’t always been the most helpful member of this family, but I’ve realized that we need one another and that every one of us is important to making our family work. We might not be trying to survive on the prairies of Minnesota, but we still need one another.”

  Mom looks at me oddly. “That’s funny. Have I ever told you about your great-great-great-grandmother whose family were homesteaders in Minnesota? That was just the sort of thing she wrote about in her diaries. She was about your age when she started writing them. I think your grandparents have them somewhere. I’ll ask them to send them to us if you’d like.”

  Martha kept diaries? Would she have written about a day when two kids wandered onto her farm and broke their fence? That would be awesome.

  “Yes, Mom! Please call Grandma and ask her to send them. I’d love to read them. I could even use them for a report at school.”

  “Okay. I’ll call her later tonight. But first, what would you think about getting everyone started on their baths and showers? If we do that now, then you and I might actually have time tonight to watch our show together.”

  “That’d be nice,” I say. “But you know what? It’s still light out right now, so how about we all take Sunny for a walk instead?”

  Mom gapes at me a little bit, and I don’t blame her. Me, suggesting a family walk instead of watching our favorite TV show? It sounds crazy. But TV just doesn’t seem as interesting to me anymore. Not with all the other real-life things I could be doing. Besides, after thinking for a while in 1891 that I might not ever see them again, somehow nothing seems better than just hanging out with my family for a little while.

  Tania and Tess each grab one of my hands, and Adam toddles to the corner where Sunny’s leash is hung up. “Walk!” he says.

  “A walk it is,” Mom says. “I feel like I’m in dream, Ava. What a proud mom I am right now. Proud of you and your
choices.”

  I can’t help beaming and thinking that this is the kind of time I really want to be spending with my mom. Not zoning out in front of the TV. Talking about her childhood, walking together, hanging out with the whole family. This is the good life right here.

  I let my cow out of the backyard so she can walk down the street with us. “She won’t run away,” I tell everyone. “She’s a very loyal cow.”

  And Cow, sure enough, sticks close by my side as we do a loop around the neighborhood. But I start to think about the Pedersens. Maybe I will return the cow after all. I’ll talk to Ms. Tremt about it. The twins talk to Mom about their day, and Adam rides on my hip, happily clutching some of my hair in his fingers.

  As Mom and my sisters walk ahead, I suddenly see a shadow pop up from a bush to my left. It’s not a shadow, though; it’s the Viking I saw yesterday.

  He shakes his finger at me and says, “That’s my cow. I stole it fair and square.”

  I squeeze my baby brother with one arm and hold tight to the cow’s leash with the other. I flash the Viking a huge grin. Maybe I will return the cow, but for today at least, she’s still mine. “Me too,” I say. “Go find your own.”

  For three hundred years, from the 1600s to the 1900s, settlers spread across the vast lands of the new world, beginning with the settlements in Virginia and Massachusetts. Beyond the Appalachian Mountains were wide, fertile lands, and many families from New England and the South moved west in search of flatter, less rocky land. Immigrants from European countries, including England, Wales, Scotland, Germany, Norway, and Sweden came to the frontier, believing it offered political freedom and economic opportunities they couldn’t find at home. The Homestead Act of 1862 gave any adult the chance to own their own land and support themselves.

  Many people came nearly empty-handed to the frontier. They traveled by covered wagon and usually had only an ax and a rifle, if they were lucky. Some had small pieces of furniture and bedding with them, or farm tools. Some brought seed to plant crops. But along the routes west, many found disease, starvation, and danger. Some families failed and returned to the East, where they had relatives and could scratch out a living in the cities.