by Jenny Goebel
A few minutes after the family truck disappeared down the road, I had Annie’s makeshift leash and collar around her neck, and my ratty tennis shoes on my feet. Normally, I hated to jog, but time was limited. Mom was working a half shift and would be back in four hours. She’d be worried if I wasn’t waiting for her at the trailer.
I sped off down the gravel road and out to the paved street. Annie kept pace with me, and occasionally glanced my way. This is fun, right? her eyes seemed to say. We should do this more often.
It wasn’t fun. I liked running only slightly more than I liked rappelling off cliffs, but I jogged all the way to Rachel’s ranch. And I knew if Dad could see me, he would be proud. I was stretching my lungs, just like he’d suggested.
With Annie by my side, the alpacas kept their distance from the fence. It wasn’t until I reached the end of Rachel’s long dirt drive, looped Annie’s rope leash around a porch post, found a water bowl to leave beside her, and put a decent gap between myself and the dog that they wanted anything to do with me.
I carefully opened and slid through the gate the way Rachel had shown me. Benny was the first alpaca to approach. He eyed me curiously, with great big eyes and a smile. I knew it wasn’t the same as a human smile. All alpacas had stubby snouts and lips that curled upward. They all had permanent smiles. But still. It warmed my heart. Benny’s smile made me feel appreciated, even if it was the same look he gave everyone.
“Hey, buddy,” I said, and stroked the soft, soft fur on the back of his neck. At the same time, I felt a tug. I turned my head to find Carl sniffing, er, eating? my ponytail. I gently pulled my hair away and gathered it to one side. “Sorry, no treats today. Not yet, at least.”
I scanned the fields for Rachel but saw only alpacas. There was a vehicle and trailer I hadn’t seen the time before parked next to the barn. My stomach dropped. Maybe Rachel found someone else to fill the position after I’d stood her up. I wouldn’t blame her, but it would crush me to see another person doing the job I so badly wanted.
Nonetheless, I made my way toward the barn. At very least, I owed Rachel an explanation. As I rounded the corner, a glob of something slimy hit my cheek. I swiped with my hand and smeared the goo all over my fingers. Trying to make sense of what had happened, I glanced from the sticky substance gelling together chunks of grass to the two alpacas and the two human faces peering back at me.
“Amelia!” Rachel said. “I’m so sorry.”
“Is this … spit?” I asked.
Rachel stifled a chuckle and nodded. “I’m afraid it is. But Sky wasn’t aiming for you.”
The stranger in the barn cleared his throat. “I guess that’s good news, then,” he said quietly. “I’ll just load up my herdsire and we’ll be on our way.”
“Thank you,” Rachel said, and shook his hand. Instead of a collar and rope leash like we used on Annie, a halter was wrapped around the alpaca’s snout and head, and the leash clipped beneath his chin.
While the man gently led the larger alpaca out of the barn, Rachel handed me a handkerchief to wipe myself clean. I nearly burst waiting for the stranger to leave. “If Sky wasn’t aiming her spit at me, who was she aiming at?”
Rachel’s eyes were gleaming as she focused her gaze on my now clean face. Something was making her happy, and I couldn’t understand what considering I’d just been slimed. Not to mention she had every right to be angry with me. “That was a spit-off,” she said.
“Um, yeah.” I peered around Rachel to the alpaca standing in the pen behind her. I hadn’t been introduced to Sky the previous week. She was one of the fluffiest alpacas I’d seen. Her fleece was a silver gray. She shied away from my stare. Unlike the friendlier alpacas I’d met, Sky wanted nothing to do with me. It was hard not to take the spit assault, er, spit-off personally.
“Why doesn’t she like me?” I asked.
“Sky? No, she is more hesitant than Lulu and Benny and some of the others I’ve had for a while. Don’t worry, though; she’ll warm up once she gets to know you.”
A seed of hope sprouted inside me. Did that mean Rachel wasn’t angry, that she still wanted me around? Then another thought arrived like a bitter aftertaste: Would I be around long enough for Sky to warm up to me? Who knew with Dad? He wasn’t happy with his job and now that he had an alternative with the Zhangs’ blog, he was antsy to get on the road again.
Sky hummed, drawing me out of my thoughts. But it wasn’t the cheerful noise I’d heard from Samson as he bounded around his mother. “Is she going to spit me off again?”
“Oh, I highly doubt it. And, like I said, she wasn’t spitting you off. You just happened to be standing the same vicinity as her actual target.” Rachel was still grinning broadly. Confusion must’ve shown on my face, because she went on, “Remember last week when I told you we’d know soon if we had another cria like Samson on the way? Well, the spit-off just confirmed it. Sky and Mr. Kelly’s herdsire haven’t seen each other since we coupled them a month ago. Sky wasn’t spitting at you. She was spitting at the stud.”
I shook my head. None of this was making any sense.
“She was telling him to back off,” Rachel added. “Sky was telling him that she’s pregnant.”
“Oh,” I said. And then I let out a louder, more excited “OH!” Another baby alpaca? No wonder Rachel looked so happy. “How long? Until the cria is born, I mean.”
“Not for close to a year, I’m afraid. The gestation period for alpacas is eleven to twelve months.”
My heart sank. Even if Sky did warm up to me, there was no way I’d be around long enough to meet her baby. Rachel must’ve seen the disappointment in my eyes, because she said, “Come on. Let’s give Sky some peace and quiet and go check on Samson.”
Samson was every bit as adorable as I remembered. He had hay in his bangs, a grin on his face, and far more energy than his mother. He ran circles around the pen while his mother ate hay from the feeder.
“You’ve fed them already,” I noted.
“Yes, Julie gave me a hand with it earlier.”
“Oh,” I said quietly. “I’m glad. Maybe next time I’ll be able to come sooner so I don’t miss out.” I snuck a sidelong glance at her.
Her attention was on the alpacas still, so I couldn’t quite read her expression. “We missed you yesterday,” she said, but not unkindly. “The posts and hardware for the fence arrived on Friday …” She trailed off as if wanting me to fill in the blanks about my absence.
A wave of guilt washed over me. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here,” I said. I owed her an explanation. But with so many emotions swirling within me, I didn’t know how to pull them apart and form the right words. I was disappointed in myself for not telling my family how important it was for me to work at the ranch. At the same time, I hadn’t wanted to let them down. So I’d gone on the hike, all the while wanting to be here but being afraid to say so. Conflicts like this were new to me, and so were things like commitments to people outside my family.
“I’m not good with schedules,” I blurted out. A sickening feeling hit when the two letters from Ms. Horton, and the still unscheduled interview, sprang to mind. “Seriously, I’m terrible at them. But I really want this job, and I promise I will come whenever I can. Please don’t fire me,” I begged.
Rachel pursed her lips together while I wiped beads of sweat from my forehead and held my breath. After what felt like forever, she cracked a smile. “Fortunately, we’re pretty laid back around here. A flexible schedule should work just fine.”
A rush of air escaped my lungs. “Thank you! Thank you SO much.”
“I should warn you, however; there’s something we need to take care of before starting on the fence today, and you might find the work somewhat …” She paused as if searching for the right word. She finally settled on, “Unpleasant.”
I gulped. “That’s okay,” I said. After standing her up the day before, I felt like unpleasant work might be preferable to carrying around buckets of guilt. And, either way,
whatever it was, I’d still be here on the ranch. Near the alpacas.
She glanced down at my ratty tennis shoes and then at her own galoshes. “What size of shoe do you wear, Amelia Jean?”
“Seven and a half,” I said. I had big feet for a girl my age. It went along with the height.
“Wonderful! You can borrow Julie’s boots, so your shoes won’t get messy.”
I refrained from pointing out that my shoes weren’t worth saving. “All right,” I said. I swapped out my sneakers for Julie’s galoshes in the barn. Then Rachel handed me a shovel while she retrieved a wheelbarrow. “Time to collect some manure,” she said.
I winced, but it wasn’t a total surprise. I’d suspected the “unpleasant” work needing to be completed today would be something along those lines.
Turns out, alpacas are pretty tidy animals. They used what Rachel called “a communal dung pile” to relieve themselves. The pile was in one corner of the field, away from where the herd of alpacas had gathered.
“I’ve heard you can potty train them to use litter boxes,” Rachel said. “Although I’ve never been inclined to try.”
“Hmm,” I said, staring at the pile and wondering how difficult it would be to train them to go in a box. Might be worth it. At least their waste didn’t stink that bad. And the pile wasn’t that big. And it didn’t take that long to remove. The worst part was how squishy it was when I dug the shovel in.
As we rolled it back to the barn and went about transferring the waste into buckets, Rachel said, “Alpaca manure makes for awesome garden fertilizer. It’s rich in nutrients and it enhances the soil composition. We have more orders for it than we can usually fill, and it provides a decent chunk of income for the ranch. Plus, it’s not nearly as smelly as what comes out the back end of a cow or horse.”
I giggled. “Shoveling horse manure—now that would be an unpleasant job,” I said.
“There’s a reason I stick to alpacas,” Rachel fired back.
After we finished filling the buckets, we examined where the fence was weak and eroding. Wood was rotted, posts were split, and nails were rusted. In some places a hard shove would’ve collapsed an entire section. With a stroke of red paint, Rachel marked all the rails requiring replacement (thirty-three in all). Then she pointed out the new rails where they were stacked behind Samson and Hazel’s pen.
Next, we were off to the barn to retrieve tools—hammers, saws, eye protection, and items I’d never seen before. Rachel demonstrated how to pry the first rotten rail from the fence and the rusty nails free—with a great deal of force, a crowbar, and a pair of pliers. Once the old rail was removed, she measured for a new one, sawed it at the appropriate mark, then secured it between the existing posts. Each step took a significant amount of time and energy.
“There,” Rachel said. “One down.”
One down? All that effort for one single rail and we had thirty-two to go? My head was swimming. The task seemed more difficult and vast than I’d imagined. I hadn’t expected anything on the ranch to feel as intimidating as facing a roiling ocean wave or staring over the lip of a canyon. But this did.
“While I remove the next rail, you measure and saw its replacement,” Rachel instructed.
“What?” I croaked. “Me?” Before today, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d touched a saw or a hammer. What if I sawed off a finger or smashed my thumb? “No. I can’t.”
“Why can’t you? Everything you need is right in front of you,” she said. “And you have youthful exuberance on your side. Give it a shot. See what happens.” Rachel winked at me, then set about removing the next rail.
I reminded myself how badly I wanted this job. Plus, I’d agreed to helping with the fence repair before Rachel ordered the supplies. I couldn’t back out now, so I took a deep breath and dove in. I struggled. I hefted. I measured. I sawed. I was clumsy at it—the board slipped this way and that—and my cut turned out ragged and ugly. My arm ached by the time the rail split apart. But, eventually, I lugged my handiwork over to Rachel. As I helped her lift the rail into place, a wave of gratification washed over me. I did it! I felt good. I felt proud. That was, until the rail came up an airy inch short.
The failure hit me harder than it should’ve. Lately I’d been messing up all over the place. I was a flop at school. My cousin resented me. My dad had needed to rescue me on the past two family adventures. But not here. Not at the ranch. The ranch was supposed to be my sanctuary—the one place I didn’t screw things up.
“Argh, no!” I shouted at the blue sky between the rail and the post it was supposed to reach. I kicked a rock and pain shot through my big toe, up my leg. Dad was right, I had no business working here. Not because it was hard, or because I’d rather spend my time doing other things, but because I was worthless at it.
I was as worthless at working on the ranch as I was at rappelling and hiking up mountains, and at making friends. My heavy heart collapsed me into a puddle of disappointment. “I can’t do it,” I said. Feeding the alpacas and even shoveling manure was easy. But this—fence repair—took abilities I didn’t possess. I should’ve known better. I wasn’t skilled at anything. “You should probably find someone else,” I grumbled.
Rachel lowered herself to the ground beside me. “Don’t tell me I misjudged you.”
I raised my eyes to meet hers. “What do you mean?” I asked hesitantly. I was afraid I’d let her down like everyone else.
“I mean, I didn’t take you for the type of person who gives up so easily.”
“Oh … but you hardly know me,” I said. I wasn’t even sure myself. Did I give up easily?
“That’s not true. I do know you. You’re resilient, you’re kind, you’re loyal, and you’re strong.”
“Me?” I eyed her with more than a little disbelief.
“You are,” she said assuredly. “You’re resilient. The first time I met you, you were lost, but you found your way home, didn’t you? You’re kind. The alpacas wouldn’t respond to you the way they do if you weren’t. You’re loyal. For whatever reason, you missed work yesterday, but you’re here now. You’re strong. It hurt when that boy made fun of you, but you brushed yourself off and you took this job. And I’m glad you did. I think you’re the exact right person for it.”
I wanted to think those things were true, but I still wasn’t convinced. “Maybe, but I’m not … skilled. I don’t know how to use tools or equipment, or—” I cut myself off before saying “how to make friends.”
“All the skill in the world won’t get you anywhere unless you have grit, Amelia Jean. In most cases, grit is the determining factor. And I think you have plenty of it. So, what do you say? Want to give it another go?”
My chest heaved as I drew in air and blew it out. I didn’t answer Rachel, but I stood and retrieved another rail. I measured the distance, then I measured again. “ ‘Short cuts make long delays.’ ” I whispered Tolkien’s words to myself. Literally, I thought. Then, despite myself, I smiled softly.
This time the sawing was every bit as hard, but I held the wood firmly, and I didn’t stop. My cut turned out smoother. And when I helped Rachel lift the rail into place, it fit like a glove.
I smiled smugly and so did Rachel. “Well done,” she said. “I think that’s enough for today. The rest can wait. Why don’t we go spend some time with the alpacas instead? We deserve it. Plus, I think Lulu is feeling starved for attention.”
Sure enough, Lulu came right up to us as soon as we entered the pen. Then she did something Rachel called “cushing.” She folded her legs beneath her. She was lying down, sort of, with her head and long neck held in an upright position. She batted her eyelashes.
Rachel laughed. “That means she wants to be petted. Not all alpacas like to be touched, but Lulu is definitely an exception.” We crouched down beside her. I stroked Lulu’s neck and ran my fingers down the soft fur on her back. Every time I stopped, Lulu turned her head toward me and batted those long eyelashes until I started again.
&
nbsp; A dreamy expression bloomed on Rachel’s face. “My husband and I used to spend hours together out here with the alpacas. He was Lulu’s favorite. I think she might miss him almost as much as I do.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, not sure what else I could say.
Rachel’s chest heaved and then she sighed and said, “I’m not. The hurt and the hole left inside me is deeper than anything I’ve felt in my life. But I’m so very glad it happened. I’m so very thankful for the time my husband and I shared and the memories we made. No matter how long or how short, it’s the connections we make with others that matter most. Connections make life worth living.”
Adventures make life worth living,” Dad said as he dreamily flipped through a National Geographic magazine he’d brought home with him from the market.
I wondered who was right—Dad or Rachel? Was it adventure or connection that kept people going? Couldn’t it be both?
“And I’ll tell you what,” Dad added. “Nothing sucks the life out of you like a bad day at work.”
“Hear! Hear!” Mom chimed in. She was lying down on her and Dad’s bed with a cool washcloth draped across her forehead.
I kept my mouth shut.
It was Neil’s night to cook. The cramped kitchen was only large enough for one body, so we all took turns. The rest of us were scattered around the front of the trailer while my oldest brother had a pot of water boiling on the tiny stove and a pan of tomato and meat sauce warming on a hot plate on the counter. The sauce came from a jar, but Neil was adding fresh basil and minced garlic to spice it up. Of all of us, he liked cooking the most. But the trailer kitchen didn’t allow much room for culinary experimentation.
“You know, some of the newer travel trailers have pop-outs and enough space for kitchen islands,” Neil said.
Dad groaned. “Not tonight, Neil.”
Mom, no doubt trying to turn the tide of negativity flowing through the Gnarly Banana, sat up and said, “And how was bouldering today, boys?”