Before Cat could argue, Mr. Bridle said, “We still need to talk about what happened out there.” Rivka squeezed her hands in her lap, bracing for a lecture. “You made some choices—dangerous choices—that put you in harm’s way and put a huge burden on Paul, Madison, and Fletch. Henrietta and I are mighty glad that you are home safe, but it is still our obligation to address your actions.”
Rivka chewed the inside of her cheek. Letting down the Bridles made her feel minuscule.
“Normally,” the old man continued, “we think that good, old-fashioned manual labor helps kids get their heads back on their necks.”
“But we know,” said Ma Etty, “that you are both feeling a little ragged from your adventure.” She said that last word carefully, like she wasn’t making the case that it was a good thing or a bad thing, just that it was a thing that happened. Rivka felt a tiny surge of hopefulness. Maybe their punishment wouldn’t be too terrible.
“We are going to ask you to spend the afternoon helping make signs for the anti-immigrant rally tomorrow,” said Mr. Bridle.
Rivka felt the knot in her stomach start to form again.
“We are part of the counter-protest,” Ma Etty explained. “We have to stand with Álvaro and Elias and the rest of our friends here.”
“Show us what to do,” said Rivka, feeling tired to her core. It was more than physical exhaustion. She felt overwhelmed by how much meanness there could be in the world.
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Cat spread newspapers down on the front porch.
Rivka opened the jars of paint and brought out a jar of water for rinsing the brushes.
“Here’s the poster board,” said Ma Etty, handing over a stack of white sheets.
Mr. Bridle put down an armload of thin wooden boards, each about two feet long and two inches thick, and handed Rivka a roll of duct tape. “Wrap a bit of this around the end of each stick before you put on the signs. I don’t want anyone to get splinters. I’ll be right back with the staple gun.”
When the porch door shut behind him, Cat leaned against the porch railing and looked out at the arena where Lauren and Sam were learning to ride their horses around a set of three barrels. “Lucky ducks.”
Rivka agreed. If her parents insisted on taking her early, she’d hardly get any more time with Rowdy, and back at home, she wouldn’t have him at all. That was too awful for words.
Mr. Bridle returned and handed her the staple gun. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll make sure you get to ride tomorrow. Rowdy misses you.”
Rivka gazed up at him. “Does he really?”
Mr. Bridle grinned and pointed to the pasture on the far side of the house. A brown nose poked between the slats of the fence, pointing in her direction. “Now get to work,” said the old man. “Time’s a-wasting.” She picked up a piece of poster board. “Oh, and by the way,” said Mr. Bridle, sticking his head back out the porch door, “Paul thought you might be interested in this.” He held out a book.
“What’s that?” Cat asked.
“Jewish Pioneers of the Old West,” said Rivka, reading the title as she took it from Mr. Bridle. She flipped through the pages. It fell open to a page full of cattle brands. Sure enough, there was the squished-together R and J of Rachel Jacobs, right next to the brands of her sisters Hannah and Bella. She flipped to the index and looked up Rachel Jacobs. On page sixty-seven was a grainy old photograph of the cabin on the river. A curly-haired woman about her mom’s age stood by the door with a rifle over one shoulder. The caption read Cattle woman Rachel Jacobs was a crack shot.
“Wow,” she said, holding the book out so Cat could see the picture. “That’s Rachel Jacobs.”
“No one is going to mess with her.”
Ma Etty rounded the corner of the house, followed by seven chickens. “Nobody should mess with me either,” she called. “Paint now. Read later. Everyone is coming over after dinner to get their signs.” With that, she snapped her fingers at one of the chickens, saying, “Come on, Broccoli, let’s get you back to the coop.”
“I wonder if there is one named Cabbage,” Cat said in a not-so-quiet whisper.
“Not yet,” Ma Etty called, “but that’s a good name for a chicken!”
The girls collapsed into giggles.
When they finally collected themselves, Rivka put a fresh piece of poster board on top of the newspapers and picked up one of the stencils Ma Etty had left. All Ranch Families Are Our Families. Carefully, she centered it on the poster board and painted over the letters with dark green tempera paint. Rivka made five more before switching to the next message.
“Are you going to protest at the rally?” Cat asked, painting No Hands, No Harvest in red.
Rivka squinted at her poster board, trying to decide if she had the stencil level. The words leapt out at her: Strong Together. She believed that—she really did. Look at what had just happened to her and Cat. They had stuck together and made it back in one piece. But going to the rally? That was an entirely different kind of challenge.
“I don’t know,” she said, finally. “I mean, I want to help Álvaro, but . . .”
“. . . it’s still scary?” Cat offered.
“Yeah,” Rivka agreed, lifting the stencil with her fingertips. “Maybe I’ll work up to it.”
They painted until the porch was covered with signs neatly lined up to dry.
“You know that story you told me during the storm, the one about your synagogue?” Cat asked, swirling her paintbrush in the jar of water.
“What about it?” said Rivka, chewing on her lower lip.
“Is that why you don’t want to do your bat mitzvah?”
Rivka shrugged.
“Because I think,” Cat continued in a rush, “that if you can stand up to a mountain lion that’s about to eat you, you could go back to your synagogue.”
“Why do you care?” she asked, unable to meet Cat’s eyes.
Her friend snorted. “I hear the after-party is killer.”
Rivka rolled her eyes and considered the bat mitzvah. It would be a lot of work to get ready. She’d have to learn a bunch of prayers and how to chant from the Torah. She’d have to write a speech and do a community service project. It all felt overwhelming. Rivka snuck a glance at Cat. “Would you come?”
“Sure.”
“All the way from Ohio?”
Cat raised one eyebrow. “Is there a chicken named Broccoli?”
On cue, the little flock of chickens came waddling around the corner, pecking and gabbling.
Maybe she could do it. Maybe it was like getting un-lost, a matter of taking it one step at a time.
Sam and Lauren rounded the corner after the chickens.
“Are you slackers almost done?” Sam yelled.
Lauren gestured to them. “Time for Frattleprat.”
Rivka looked at the poster board nearest to her. It said All Hands Build America. That meant Álvaro, and Mr. Bridle’s Paiute ancestors, and her. If Rachel Jacobs could run a ranch all by herself in the middle of Colorado, it seemed to Rivka that she could stand up and say I’m Jewish. Her family would be there, and her Jewish community, and maybe even Cat.
“We’re coming,” Cat said, washing the last of the paintbrushes. “Wait for us.”
And she and Rivka joined the others.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mr. Bridle did not let Rivka down. The next day, she was back in the saddle. Cat watched from the porch, nursing her sore ribs, as Rivka and Rowdy cantered around the arena. The sturdy little pony did everything she asked, and Rivka let the joy sink into her bones. This feeling, this connection—she wanted to put it in her pocket with the slip of paper about the world being created for her.
When she reined in at the end of the lesson, flushed and sweaty, Mr. Bridle said, “I like what I see, Rivka. You’ve become such a strong rider.”
She grinned at him. “Rowdy is a great horse!”
“You make a good team.”
She
dawdled as she untacked Rowdy and brushed him down. Leaving Quartz Creek Ranch early was the last thing she wanted to do. When she turned the pony out in the pasture with Bucky and the rest of the horses, she wished she could stay the rest of the summer.
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After chore time, Sam and Lauren decided to go birdwatching.
“You two should come,” said Lauren.
Sam held up his binoculars. “We’re looking for the belted kingfisher burrows that Fletch told us about.”
“I wish,” Rivka replied.
“Our parents are coming,” said Cat, looking none too pleased.
Lauren frowned. “Do you guys really have to leave early?”
Rivka slumped on the porch. “Apparently.”
“That sucks,” said Sam. “Come on, Lauren.”
Cat scowled at him. “Love you too, Big Boy.”
Lauren scurried onto the porch to hug the girls. “We’ll be back before you go. Don’t leave without saying good-bye.” Then she turned to catch up with Sam.
Rivka and Cat watched them go and then waited on the porch together, silent and nervous.
Cat’s mom arrived first, calling out to her daughter as soon as she got out of the car. She was a small woman with lines around her eyes and a slump to her shoulders. She took a few tentative steps toward Cat and paused in front of the porch steps, waiting for some sign. Rivka wondered if Cat could do it—if she could reach out, instead of running away.
“I was so scared, Cat,” said her mom. “I don’t want to lose you.”
Rivka felt Cat hesitate and heard the hitch in her breath.
“I didn’t want to be lost,” said Cat.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
Her mom gave a tentative smile. “I’m glad.”
Cat chewed on her lower lip. Mother and daughter watched each other. Finally, Cat said, “What I want is more time with you, just the two of us. Okay? That hasn’t happened in a long time.”
Her mom’s face lit up. “Oh, sweetie, I want that too!” She held out her arms, and Cat took the porch steps quickly. They embraced, and from the porch, Rivka watched her friend melt into her mother’s arms.
“I want you to show me everything on the ranch,” Cat’s mom said, and the two of them headed toward the barn.
Ten minutes later, another rental car rumbled down Bridlemile Road.
Rivka twisted the hem of her T-shirt into a knot. Suddenly, she didn’t feel ready for this. Not by a long shot.
Her little brother Eli was the first one out of the car. He threw the door open and bounded up the porch steps, diving into her arms. “Hey, Little Little,” she said, ruffling his hair and using his old nickname. Over the top of his head, she watched her parents and Noah get out of the car and stretch.
They had all come—the whole family, even Noah, who had to leave B’nai B’rith camp early. Her mom smelled like warm challah, and her dad’s beard scuffed her cheek, just like always. Rivka couldn’t speak. Not yet. Even though there was so much to say.
Eli tugged on her arm. “I want to meet the hero pony.”
Rivka took his hand. They found Rowdy in the back pasture. As soon as he saw her, the pony trotted up, nosing her pockets for treats. She showed Eli how to offer one on a flattened palm.
“His lips tickle,” Eli said, grinning at her. “And his nose is so soft.”
Her dad gave Rowdy a scratch.
Her mom put her hands on Rivka’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “You’ve had quite a summer.”
“Was there really a mountain lion?” Noah asked.
Rivka made a face like she could hardly believe it herself. “Yeah, there was. Cat and I were trying to find our way back to camp, and all of a sudden, Rowdy wouldn’t let us keep going. He knew it was there, and he knew it wasn’t safe. So Rowdy got stubborn, and he saved us.”
“That sounds a little bit like a certain girl I know,” said her dad.
Rivka frowned at him. “You mean the stubborn part?”
He gave her a sad smile. “Sometimes we dig our heels in when we get afraid.”
“Is that what happened?” her mom asked gently.
Rivka’s throat tightened. Rowdy nudged her through the fence. She scratched under his forelock and looked out across the pasture. This moment felt as difficult as any she had faced all summer. “When I saw the synagogue at Passover, I didn’t want to be Jewish anymore. I didn’t want to think about what might happen.”
As she spoke, her mother’s eyes filled with tears. Her dad took Rivka’s hands and gazed into her eyes. “We are so sorry that we didn’t make you feel safe. That’s on us. We let you down.”
Rivka thought about that. “You know,” she said slowly, “I don’t think it’s possible to feel safe all the time. But you can’t let that stop you.” And she wrapped her arms around her parents and hugged them tight.
“Are you ready to go home?” her mom asked.
“Actually,” said Rivka, “there’s this rally in town later today. The Bridles and Cat and some other people are going to protest, to support our immigrant friends. I was hoping you would take me before we drive back to Denver.”
“That sounds important,” her dad said.
Rivka gave Rowdy another treat. “I’m nervous,” she told her parents. “But I really need to be there.”
Mr. Bridle joined them at the pasture fence.
“It looks like we’ll be staying a little longer,” her dad told him.
“I’m glad,” said Mr. Bridle.
“So I have this other idea . . .” Rivka began, wanting to catch Mr. Bridle while she could. “I will need to do a community service project if I’m going to have my bat mitzvah.”
Her parents exchanged a smile.
Mr. Bridle nodded. “Go on.”
“And I was thinking that I could catalogue the homesteads of the Jewish pioneers in this area. I’ll spend the winter doing research and come back here next summer to take pictures of all the sites.”
“Some of them are pretty far away,” he mused.
Rivka had thought of that too. “No problem. We’ll ride.”
He touched the brim of his cowboy hat. “We?”
“I’m coming!” Cat said, leading her mom toward them.
Rivka beamed at her. To Mr. Bridle she said, “Paul told me that you’re really into the history of this area. Maybe you’d want to come with us.”
The old man gazed at her. “I’ll have to check in with Ma Etty.”
“Think about it,” Rivka pleaded.
At that moment Ma Etty came out of the ranch house to invite them in for some pie. She was wearing a T-shirt that said If it involves a horse, I’m in. A huge grin spread across Mr. Bridle’s craggy face. “I guess you’ve got yourself a bat mitzvah project!”
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The last thing Rivka did before they left for the rally was say good-bye to Rowdy. She ran her fingers through his mane and leaned into his warm, strong neck.
“You have to keep an eye on Peanut. Teach him to be tough like you.”
Rowdy huffed at her, and his breath smelled like sweet grass.
“I’ll miss you,” she said, through the lump in her throat, and the pony nuzzled her arm.
There was something extraordinary about Quartz Creek Ranch, about Ma Etty and Mr. Bridle, about Fletch and Madison, and especially about the horses.
They changed people.
That’s not quite right, she thought.
Being on the ranch hadn’t changed her, but it had given her time to figure some things out. As Rivka scratched under Rowdy’s forelock and listened to the burbling creek, she knew these green pastures would always feel like home.
About the Authors
Kiersi Burkhart grew up riding horses on the Colorado Front Range. At sixteen, she attended Lewis & Clark College in Portland and spent her young adult years in beautiful Oregon—until she discovered her sense of adventure was ca
lling her elsewhere. Now she travels around with her best friend, a mutt named Baby, writing fiction for children of all ages.
Amber J. Keyser is happiest when she is in the wilderness with her family. Lucky for her, the rivers and forests of Central Oregon let her paddle, hike, ski, and ride horses right outside her front door. When she isn’t adventuring, Amber writes fiction and nonfiction for young readers and goes running with her dog, Gilda.
Acknowledgments
We have loved our time on the ranch with the cowpokes (aka the team at Darby Creek), our ranch manager (aka agent Fiona Kenshole), our real-life horse trainer (aka Wendy Myers), and the best Jewish cowgirl ever (aka Ruth Feldman). It’s hard to pack our saddlebags and go.
This book was inspired by the pack trips Amber went on as a child, one in Montana with a guide named Half-Way Earl and the other in the Mount Zirkel Wilderness in Colorado with her awesome Steamboat cousins. The pony in this book is loosely based on a sweet little Welsh pony named Peanut, who left her far too soon. Amber will always miss her mornings at the barn on Skyline.
The Long Trail Home
Cover
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
About the Authors
Acknowledgments
The Long Trail Home (Quartz Creek Ranch) Page 13