by Jenny Goebel
It was like I’d stepped into a different world—one where Ryan and his snickering friends never existed. A woman stood at a counter. Behind her, a menagerie of wooden animals rose and dipped as they spun around the room. The most delightful music played in the background. It sounded like an entire symphonic band was contained inside the organ at the center of the carousel, with brass instruments and drums beating out notes that were deep and full. They sounded sad yet cheerful.
A man with a gray beard, glasses, and a ponytail sat beside the organ. A cane rested on his knees. He smiled and waved at me, then disappeared as the backside of the organ came into sight. Soft white bulbs illuminated the crested rounding board. The animals hung on golden poles that extended from cranking rods at the top, down to the platform below. There was music and color and light, and it was all so wonderful. So whimsical. So magical.
“Would you like to purchase a ticket?” the woman asked. She had a kind, round face; silver hair; and watchful, sparkling eyes.
My heart beat inside my chest with the most resounding YES, but I hesitated. I wanted to find Fleece on Earth. Plus, I didn’t have much money for shopping. But I had enough time and money for one ride, didn’t I?
“How much?” I asked.
“One dollar.”
It seemed a reasonable fare, especially compared to the money my family had shelled out for amusement park rides. I fished a bill out of the pocket in my jean shorts and held it up like a wish.
“Is this your first visit to the Carousel of Wonder?” the woman asked.
I nodded.
“Passing through?”
“No, my family just moved to Winterland,” I said, but it didn’t sound right since all I’d ever known was “passing through.” I reasoned in my head that it was—that living somewhere for several months should count as moving there. And despite my rough first couple of days of school, I still wanted the statement to be true.
“Well, welcome!” she said. “Glad to have you here.”
I felt like a first grader again, bubbling with excitement as I deposited the dollar bill in her outstretched hand and she ripped me off a ticket. As I stepped through the passageway and closer to the carousel, the room opened up, taller and rounder. The music grew fuller and louder.
I waited as the animals crept to a stop and the music winded down. Then the man with the ponytail stepped off the platform with the aid of his cane. “Hello there,” he said. “My name is Dan, and the young lady out front is Carol.”
“My name’s Amelia,” I said, “Amelia Jean.” I handed over my ticket, then peered past him. The eyes on all the animals were so, I don’t know … soulful. I loved the way many of them seem to be frozen mid-stride—at least until the carousel came to life. Amundsens typically bypassed the carousels at amusement parks for more thrilling rides. But it seemed to me that almost all the carousel animals I’d seen before were horses. I loved the variety of animals on this carousel. I loved everything about it.
“Nice to meet you, Amelia Jean. Now, the Carousel of Wonder is all hand carved,” said Dan. “The creator was a soldier. He carried a music box with him on the battlefield. In between firefights, he’d hold the music box up to his ear. The sound brought him peaceful thoughts of a carousel in a mountain meadow. It helped him manage his fears. After he came home from the war, he spent over two decades carving and painting all these colorful creatures you see behind me. Choose any animal you please,” he said. “Just watch your feet as you climb on. We don’t want to damage them any.”
I scurried around the platform from animal to animal. Choosing wasn’t easy. There was a lynx, a bear beside a bench, an ostrich, and a rabbit—so many to pick from. Then I saw one that reminded me of the animals I’d met in the field the day before. “Serendipitous,” I whispered, and stepped forward.
The animal had its legs drawn together and appeared to be jumping. It wore a saddle on its back and pink ballerina slippers on its feet.
“Fine choice,” the man said as I carefully climbed aboard. “The alpaca is my favorite, too.”
“Alpaca?” I said. “I thought it was a llama.”
He shook his head. “Many people make that mistake. Both are in the camelid family. But if you ask me, the alpaca is a step above its more famous cousin.” Before I could ask why, and how one could tell the difference, he added, “Looks like you’re the only rider at the moment. Are you ready?”
I nodded and next thing I knew, the circular platform was moving, and the organ was playing that cheerful yet sad music again, and the alpaca was lifting and falling. Lifting and falling.
Gears cranked overhead. There was so much to see—lights and colors flashed by as I rode around and around. Another carved wooden animal—a racoon, I think—sat on the cranking rod over my alpaca.
I clung to the alpaca’s neck. I wished the ride would never end. I wished I could throw my arms around the necks of the real-live alpacas, the way I could this one. I would’ve ridden the carousel until all my dollars were gone if I didn’t so badly want to see those alpacas again. I decided to buy one more ticket, and then ask the woman—Carol, Dan had said her name was—for directions to Fleece on Earth.
The blissful effects of the carousel lasted after it stopped spinning and the golden rods stopped rising and falling. I floated on air off the ride and out to purchase a second ticket. But reality came crashing back when I noticed Cat standing in the lobby.
Carol smiled warmly at me. “Do you know my granddaughter, Cat?” she asked. “The two of you must be around the same age.”
“Hi, Amelia,” Cat said with a hint of annoyance in her voice.
The woman was Cat’s grandmother? The happy buzz evaporated and was immediately replaced by a stomachache.
“Amelia? Amelia Amundsen?” Carol said as recognition dawned on her. “Why, of course. I can’t believe I didn’t put two and two together when you said your family just moved here.”
The air in the room grew impossibly thin and suffocating. None of us seemed to know what to say after that. I wondered if Cat’s grandmother resented me, too—if she wished she could take back the welcome she’d extended me minutes before.
As for me, I wished the ground would open up and swallow me whole. Which only made me think of Tolkien. “ ‘In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit,’ ” I mumbled. Then, when the look in Carol Winter’s eyes changed from surprise to confusion, I blurted, “I should leave now.”
“Wait!” Cat’s grandmother said, but I already had one foot out the door.
I hurried outside, not paying attention to where I was headed. As soon as the door shut behind me, it was flung open again. “You don’t have to go,” I heard Cat say. Unfortunately, her tone didn’t sound sincere.
I stopped but didn’t turn around.
I heard Cat exhale loudly. I didn’t know if she’d come after me because she felt like she had to, or because her grandmother told her she must. If I hadn’t been through a ton of uncomfortable situations in Winterland already, I might’ve gone back just to ask her. As it was, I didn’t know why things were weird between Cat and me. But they were, and I was sick of feeling gawky and unwanted. I was tired of not knowing what to say, and then saying the wrong thing when I did open my mouth.
If only I’d known my hesitation would make things worse. Because I froze, it gave Ryan time to saunter over from the coffee shop. His eyes flicked to Cat standing inside the doorway, then back to me. “I was wrong about you, Brows,” he said in a low, even voice. “Those aren’t the thickest eyebrows I’ve ever seen on a girl. They’re the thickest eyebrows I’ve ever seen on a baby. Did you have a fun widdle wide on the carousel?”
My cheeks burned and I tried to push past him, but he kept after me. “Great choice, though. I mean, you and that hairy llama have a lot in common.”
I hated what he was saying. I hated more that he and I had made the same mistake. Alpaca, I corrected him, but only inside my head.
“Will you be wearing ballerina sli
ppers to school tomorrow? Wait, no, that’d be way too classy for you.”
How could I have been so stupid? The carousel only made me feel like I’d been transported to a different world. The walls of glass weren’t one-way mirrors. It was painful to think about Ryan watching me ride the alpaca (not a llama) with a dumb, dreamy expression on my face. I’d been totally oblivious that he was out here laughing at me the entire time.
My eyes stung as I sped across the lot. The market where Dad worked was directly in front of me. I thought about seeking refuge inside, but I didn’t want Dad to see me like this. He’d only give me a pep talk about facing my fears and standing up to my tormentors. And I wasn’t up for that just now. I really wasn’t.
So, I jotted off to the right, around the back of the strip mall, and promptly fell to pieces. I let my hair fall over my face and the tears flow. The thing was, I was tired of nonstop travel, but I didn’t know where I fit in in the world now. I was afraid I’d never fit in again. I was afraid I’d always be an outsider.
“I thought that was you. Are you all right, dear?”
I raised my eyes high enough to see flowery galoshes a few feet from where I’d crumbled. I would’ve recognized those galoshes anywhere.
I sniffled and raised my head.
“Listen, I overheard what that boy said to you. First of all, don’t let anyone convince you not to like something that brings light and joy into the world. Second, comparing someone to an alpaca is a compliment of the highest order,” she said flatly. “Alpacas are hardy, graceful, gentle, and friendly creatures, not to mention they produce the softest, must luxurious fleece on the planet. That boy is just too dense to know it.”
I smiled wanly and nodded.
Rachel extended a hand to help me up from the ground. “Do you have a few minutes? My shop is right around the corner. I think you’ll like it.”
I sniffled again and she added, “I can also provide a tissue.”
Rachel’s store was tucked around the back side of the shopping complex. The store’s name—Fleece on Earth—was curved around an image of the world. A tiny painted alpaca was situated on top of the blue-and-green globe.
I almost smiled, but the pain was still too fresh.
Rachel flipped over a notice in the window from the side that read BE RIGHT BACK to OPEN.
Inside, there were signs everywhere. They marked colorful garments, handbags, and balls of yarn. They directed customers to PLEASE TOUCH! YOU’LL BE GLAD YOU DID!
I walked over to a bin of scarves and submersed my hand in the softness. “Oh,” I said. “Like reaching into clouds.” Then I felt silly again. That was probably something a toddler would say. Not a seventh grader.
The skin around Rachel’s eyes crinkled as her face lit brightly. “Isn’t it, though?” she said. “You could say I was inspired by Sugar Plum to start the ranch and open this store.”
“Sugar Plum?” I asked, confused.
“The carousel’s alpaca; she’s named after the sugar plum fairy from the Nutcracker ballet.”
“Oh, of course,” I said. But “Attend a Ballet Performance” had never been jotted down on any of the slips in the Amundsen Adventure Jar.
Rachel retrieved a tissue from a box near the checkout register. She placed it in my hand. I took the tissue from her, even though my tears had already dried. “Thank you,” I said. I didn’t want to talk about my most recent humiliation. Besides, I was far more interested in hearing about her ranch. “The animals I saw yesterday, they were alpacas. Do you have more of them, more than the ones I saw, I mean?”
“I do!” Rachel beamed. “In fact, I have an entire herd of them. When they’re sheared, I send some of their fiber to co-ops to be made into the different products I sell here in the shop. My family and I wash, dye, and spin the rest of the fiber at the ranch,” she said proudly. She paused to soak in my reaction, then she added, “I was thinking, maybe you’d like a job?”
“What?” Had I heard her correctly?
“It’s part-time, of course. A few hours here and there, mostly on the weekends. It doesn’t pay much, and it won’t be easy. I need someone to help with repairs, and general care of the alpacas. You won them over so easily yesterday. They don’t respond that way to everyone.”
My emotions were all over the place. After having been so low, I bounced back with too much enthusiasm. “I—I would love to work on your ranch! Yes, please,” I said. It was only after I accepted that I realized I should’ve told her I needed to ask my parents first.
Rachel didn’t seem to mind my overeagerness. She reached behind the register again and produced a business card. “Come by on Saturday,” she said.
“Thank you. I will.” I took the card and was about to leave, when I was struck with an idea. “Um, how much are the scarves?” I asked as I dug out all the bills I had left in my pocket.
Rachel considered for a moment. “How much money do you have there?”
I unwadded the roll and, one by one, laid dollar bills on the counter. After riding the carousel, I had fourteen dollars left. Maybe it would’ve been enough to buy a new pair of pants, maybe not. But I figured I could make do with the ones I had. I wasn’t sure I could go on living without one of the featherlight scarves.
“You’re in luck,” Rachel said. “That’s precisely what they cost.”
I picked the prettiest one out of the bin, one with shades of green, gold, orange, and purple, and wrapped it around my neck. It felt incredible—like wearing a hug. But I was smart enough to know that things in stores were rarely sold in even dollar amounts. Not after taxes were added, anyway. “Are you sure fourteen dollars is enough?”
“Fourteen dollars,” Rachel said again, “that is, with your employee discount.”
Mom wasn’t angry exactly, but I could tell she was a little miffed about the way I’d spent her tips from the deli. “So much for being smarter about how we use our money,” she grumbled. When she saw the crushed expression on my face, she added, “It’s a beautiful scarf, Amelia Jean. I can see why you wanted it. You don’t have many pretty things. I just … It’s August. It’s really hot. A scarf wasn’t the most practical choice.”
“We’re not the most practical family, though, are we?” Dad said. His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. He winked, but I could tell the workday had taken its toll on him. The creases in his forehead were deeper than usual. I’d met up with my parents at the market after my “shopping excursion.” They were giving me a ride home, even though I would’ve preferred to walk so I could visit the alpacas again.
Mom exhaled loudly, and there was amusement in her voice when she said, “I guess we’re not.” She started to swivel back around in her seat, and then stopped herself. “Oh! Have you bumped into Catherine at school yet?”
“Um, uh-huh,” I said.
“And?” Dad asked. I could see in the rearview mirror that his eyes were on me again instead of on the road.
I squirmed a little. “She’s nice,” I said truthfully, because I could tell she was a nice person. She just wasn’t all that nice to me.
After waiting a few beats, Dad asked. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”
“Yeah, I mean, I don’t really know her yet,” I said, which was also true.
Dad’s eyes flicked to mine yet again, and I could see he was growing frustrated with me for not sharing more. What did he want? Was I supposed to somehow mend the family by befriending his niece? I thought he’d wanted me to meet my cousin for my benefit, not his.
I could feel the muscles in my jaw tighten.
This time Mom defused the situation. She finally did swivel all the way forward, and then she placed a hand on Dad’s arm. “Let Amelia be. Seems like it’s been a long second day for all of us. Guess the honeymoon phase is over already.” She laughed hollowly.
After that, Dad’s eyes stayed on the road. I was thankful I didn’t have to explain how Cat seemed to be holding a grudge against me. Or reveal that I was being treated far
worse by Ryan.
Then there was the job offer … One revelation at a time, I told myself. I’ll tell my parents about the alpacas later … maybe after dinner? A sickening thought hit me that I still had to give them Ms. Horton’s letter, too. Definitely after dinner, then. Dad was always more relaxed when his belly was full.
It seemed like a good plan—waiting for the right moment to spring all my news on them—but that was before I saw what was waiting for us back at the Gnarly Banana. When we rolled into the Stargazer RV Park, Neil and David were hunched down in front of the yellow travel trailer. It wasn’t until Mom, Dad, and I hopped out of the truck that we could see what my brothers were so interested in.
A dog lapped water from one of our cereal bowls. Her sides were rippled by her protruding rib cage. She was as red as a Utah sunrise. She had pointy ears, and clumps of dried mud hung from her tail and the fur on her legs.
“She was wandering around the RV park,” Neil explained, “panting like crazy.”
“She was frightened at first,” David chimed in. “She cowered and walked wide circles around us when we tried to get close. But she warmed up quickly when we gave her some water.” He gently patted the dog on her back. “Can we get her some food, too?”
I turned to Dad, but for some reason his face was clenched while everyone else was smiling. Mom glanced from David to my father and back to David. The expression on her face grew as somber as Dad’s. “You know we can’t have pets,” she said with a sigh.
This wasn’t the first time the topic had been raised. David had brought in a stray cat once, a few years ago, and named him Oscar. Oscar traveled across six states with us. But he escaped one day while the Gnarly Banana was parked at a rest stop in Idaho. We waited hours for him to return, until our parents said we couldn’t wait any longer. David cried for days.
Obviously, my parents thought we were wandering into dangerous, heartbreaking territory again by feeding a vagrant dog. Pets and the Amundsen lifestyle didn’t mix well.