Alpaca My Bags

by Jenny Goebel

  “Sweet,” David answered.

  “Indeed.” Neil whooped. “Sunday Wild Exertion, Enjoyed Thoroughly.”

  Then the conversation descended into a jumble of words that didn’t hold my interest. Some of them floated into my consciousness: crags, grip holds, technique, finger tape. But mostly, my mind wandered back to Rachel’s alpaca ranch and my success with the fence. We had a long way to go, but I was excited to see how it progressed.

  I was in my own separate world until a lull in the conservation, followed by Dad asking “What about you, Amelia Jean? How was your day?” shook me from my thoughts.

  “Um, it was okay,” I said. Sure, it’d been hard, and I felt exhausted, but also satisfied and accomplished. I learned I was capable of more than I thought I was. But I didn’t think that’s what Dad wanted to hear—not when that revelation had come from working at the ranch and not from one of our family adventures. So, I focused on something I knew would please him. “I ran all the way to the ranch and back.”

  “Attagirl,” he said, nodding approvingly.

  “I think I’ll start jogging after school every day,” I added, knowing exactly where those jogs would lead me.

  Dad perked up. “Really, Amelia Jean? I didn’t think you cared much for it.”

  “Well, the scenery is so pretty here. And I like being outdoors.”

  Dad looked at me with a mixture of surprise and delight, like maybe I really was his daughter after all. Like all these years there’d been a little nagging doubt in the back of his head that he hadn’t passed on any strong Amundsen genes to me. But now? “That’s great. Really great,” he said. “It’ll help you get ready for hiking the fourteener.”

  “That’s what I was thinking,” I said cheerfully, while the words What is wrong with me? popped into my head. That wasn’t at all what I was thinking.

  I went on pandering to Dad anyway. “I’ll get off at the RV park bus stop every day instead of staying on the bus all the way into town and catching a ride home with you and Mom. I should be back from my jog around the same time you get home.” While I was talking, I was calculating how much time I’d be able to work at the ranch each afternoon—about an hour. Long enough to replace a rail or two each day. I returned Dad’s smile.

  “Good plan, Amelia Jean,” Dad said. “You do that each day this week, and you’ll be surprised by how much energy and stamina you’ll have for the hike on Saturday. And it’s nice to see you managing your time and commitments so well.”

  Dad’s praise jogged my memory—I still hadn’t given the letters from Ms. Horton to my parents. They didn’t know we needed to schedule an interview with Principal Stinger. But with Dad beaming at me the way he was, I hardly wanted to bring it up now.

  At least, that’s what I told myself. Deep down, I knew I was avoiding my fear of being sent back to elementary school by keeping my parents in the dark. The interview was going to assess where I belonged, as if I belonged anywhere. My only hope was to hold off the interview until it didn’t matter anymore. Until my family left town. Although that wasn’t an outcome I looked forward to, either.

  I was tired the next day at school thanks to the long hike on Saturday and the time I’d spent working on the ranch on Sunday. I slogged through until the last period of the day, when my literacy teacher instructed the class to break into groups. She wanted us to discuss a novel that had been assigned as summer reading.

  I walked up to her desk as the room dissolved into chaos—kids making eye contact from across the room and sliding chairs into small circles. “Ms. Windle,” I said, “I’m new … I didn’t—”

  “Of course! You weren’t given the assignment last spring with the rest of the class,” Ms. Windle said. “You can just listen in as the others discuss.” Then, to my horror, she raised her voice and said, “Class, do any of you have room in your literature circles for one more?”

  It was embarrassing. It made it look like I was up there because I was too pathetic to find my own group. Really, I’d only wanted to point out that this was the first I’d heard of the assignment. It was even more humiliating when not a single group volunteered to take me.

  At last, Cat reluctantly raised her hand. “Amelia can join us, Ms. Windle,” she said, but she didn’t sound happy about it.

  I did my best to smile as I dragged a chair over to her circle. There were two other girls in Cat’s group and one boy. I probably should’ve known their names, but I didn’t.

  The four of them shot me obligatory smiles, and then the group broke into discussion.

  “I think it would be exciting,” Cat said to the others in the group, tolerating my presence, but not going out of her way to loop me in. “Being stranded alone in the wilderness.”

  “No way,” the boy said, “I couldn’t handle the food situation.” He grimaced. “I need someone else to make sure my dinner isn’t moving long before I see it, let alone eat it.”

  I’d read the book after all—a few years back when my family trailered the Gnarly Banana through Canada all the way up to Alaska. Of course, the book had been on Dad’s radar. It was about a boy who gets lost somewhere in the North Woods after his plane crashes. All he has is a hatchet his mother gave him, and he must learn how to use it to survive. That was the title of the book—Hatchet.

  I remembered enough about it to contribute. But I let everyone go on thinking I hadn’t read it so I wouldn’t have to say anything.

  “I saw a bear last spring,” a girl with thick bangs said. “Just like Brian did when he found the raspberry bush.”

  “We’ve all seen bears, right?” asked the third girl, one with a petite, turned-up nose. “We live in Winterland, remember?” Then she glanced at me and her eyes narrowed. “Except you’re new here. So maybe you haven’t.”

  I shook my head. I wasn’t lying, though. I hadn’t seen a bear; I’d seen lots of bears. In Alaska, in Yellowstone, in Washington and Canada. I remembered what David said about his classmates being impressed by his travels. But if I mentioned all the places we’d been, I’d only make a bigger fool of myself.

  I was already thinking about how every time my family had spotted a bear, we’d made a joke about it being Beorn from the The Hobbit. Beorn was a shape-shifter who could change from a man into bear form. If I got really nervous and another Tolkien reference slipped out—well, I’d seen how well that had gone over with my classmates before.

  Thankfully, after I kept my lips locked and shook my head, the conversation passed on. Instead of listening, I let my mind wander. It was the one girl’s bangs that did me in. They reminded me so much of Sky’s bangs.

  The girl with the turned-up nose had an alpaca perma-smile thing going on, too—pert little lips, eternally curled up at the corners. I spent the rest of the period half nodding off and half lost in comparisons while the group droned on about the book.

  After school, I hopped off the bus at the stop closest to the Stargazer RV Park. It must’ve caught Ryan by surprise. He opened his mouth as I passed his row. Apparently, he didn’t have an insult at the ready, though. If he ever came up with one, I was too far gone to hear it.

  As I approached our campsite, Annie darted out of the woods. Her tail was wagging wildly. I petted her quickly, then popped inside the Gnarly Banana to shed my schoolbag and scarf. When I stepped back out, I snagged Annie’s leash from a hook on the trailer.

  “Come on, let’s go!” I told her. I was hot, sweaty, and winded already from having sprinted from the bus stop. On the positive side, I was wide awake now and my lungs were warmed up for the short jog to Rachel’s ranch.

  I sensed that the alpacas weren’t as bothered by Annie this time as we came blazing down the long dirt drive. After roping her off under the same shady tree, I headed straight for the barn. My breathing was ragged from the run, but I noticed a difference. I was getting used to the high altitude.

  Sky greeted me as I walked in. On second thought, greeted isn’t the word. Greeted implies that I was somehow welcomed. Shunn
ed was more like it. I wasn’t spit at this time, but the silver-gray alpaca made it clear I wasn’t wanted there. She made a sad and squeaky humming noise and backed away from the fence.

  “Don’t take it personally,” a voice said.

  I turned to find Julie smiling warmly and holding a bucket. “She has trust issues. It’ll take time, but she’ll come around.”

  “That’s what Rachel said, about not taking it personally, right after Sky slimed me.”

  Julie giggled. She had a pleasant, tinkling sort of laugh. “I heard,” she said. “I also heard you got saddled with poop-scoop duty on Sunday. Heath thanks you for that.”

  “Did someone say my name?” A man stepped into the barn behind Julie. I knew at once he was Rachel’s son—he had the same compact frame; broad face; and watchful, wide-set eyes. Unlike Julie, whose feet were clad in the galoshes I’d borrowed last time I’d visited the ranch, he was wearing flip-flops.

  “Amelia, meet my husband, Heath. Heath, this is Amelia—she’s the girl who rescued you from shoveling manure.”

  “My sincerest gratitude,” Heath said. “I’d shake your hand, but I’m in the middle of bagging said manure for deliveries now.”

  “Ew,” Julie said. “Not in those shoes again.”

  “It’s not like I’m bagging it with my feet.”

  “Just … stop. And promise me you’ll wash between your toes before you climb into bed tonight.”

  “Yes, dear. And behind my ears.”

  “What’s behind your ears now? Nope.” Julie raised one hand like a stop sign. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

  Heath planted a kiss on Julie’s cheek and left the barn.

  “Sorry you had to witness that,” Julie said after her husband was gone. “And I’m afraid if you were expecting to see Rachel, she’s at the shop today. You’re stuck with me.”

  “As long as I get to see the alpacas while I’m here, I’m happy,” I said. Then I realized that might sound rude. “Not that I don’t want to see Rachel, or you,” I quickly added. “You’re both great, too.”

  Julie beamed as bright as the sun. “Girl, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. For years, Heath thought I was dropping by for him. But, between you and me, I fell in love with the alpacas first.”

  “I heard that!” Heath yelled from somewhere out of sight.

  Julie laughed, then shouted back, “Now that you know where you stand, maybe you’ll start listening to me about the shoes.”

  I grinned. Their banter wasn’t something I witnessed much of. Not that my family didn’t tease one another lovingly. But the same jokes got old when you’d heard them a million times.

  It hit me that I might like being around new people. New jokes. New ideas. New everything. A nagging voice in the back of my head pointed out that I was around new people my own age every day now. And mostly I felt uncomfortable for not fitting in. I tried to push the thought away, but then Julie said, “So you must go to Winterland Middle School, right? I have nieces and nephews there, and friends’ kids, and … Well, Winterland is a small town. You’re in, what? Eighth grade?”

  “Seventh,” I said.

  “Hmm … Let’s see … then you might know Clarissa?”

  I shook my head.

  “Rajesh?”

  Julie proceeded to tick off a string of unfamiliar names.

  I strained my brain trying to remember my classmates, but the only two names I could come up with were Cat and Ryan. I knew that wasn’t right—I knew far more alpaca names than I knew names of my peers. “I don’t know many other students yet,” I said.

  Julie’s lips were curled upward at the corners, but her eyes were sad. They were sad for me. I didn’t want to see that, so I looked away. Sky had long since stopped humming nervously, but she lingered on the opposite side of the pen. “I can’t stay long,” I said to Julie while watching Sky. “I should probably get started on the fence.”

  Julie didn’t answer right away. Then she said, “It’s true we’re shorthanded, and the fence is in dire need of repair … but don’t feel like you always have to be working to be welcome here. Sometimes you can just enjoy being on the ranch.”

  I spun back toward her. “Really?”

  She smiled. “Really.”

  “Thanks,” I said, wishing I had more than one short word to convey how grateful I was to have found this place. A way to let her know how desperately I needed the ranch and the alpacas in my life.

  “Of course! Is there anything you want to see? Anything you’re curious to learn more about before you dive right into grunt labor?”

  There was one thing … I’d left my scarf back at the trailer. As much as I hated not having it around my neck, it really wasn’t proper attire for the heat. And it definitely wasn’t suited for jogging. “Will you show me how you knit the scarves?”

  Julie’s face brightened again, all trace of pity gone. “I would love to!” She guided me outside the barn and toward the house. On the back side of Rachel, Heath, and Julie’s home was a room filled with sun. Glass panes made up the ceiling and the walls. If it had been circular instead of square, it would’ve reminded me a little of the carousel. There was more natural light flooding this one small room than any other building I’d ever been in. And with all the trees and wildlife visible from inside, it hardly felt like we’d left the outdoors.

  Julie showed me the spinning wheel first. It looked like something straight out of a fairy tale—wooden spokes, foot pedal, and all.

  “Once the alpacas are shorn in the spring, we send some of their fleece off to be processed, and the rest we keep for working on projects here,” Julie explained. She showed me tubs of cotton-candy-like fibers. “I wash the raw fibers and pick out any burrs or coarse materials. Then I dye the fleece and use the spinning wheel to turn the fibers into yarn.”

  Julie gestured toward shelves on one side of the room, where balls and loops of yarn were appealingly stacked by color. Like a rainbow in a room of light, I thought to myself. But it sounded too childish to speak aloud.

  “And this is my loom,” Julie said as she led me to a large table in the opposite corner. The loom was slightly more modern-looking than the spinning wheel. It was made from wooden beams and plastic pieces that resembled long white teeth. The rows of teeth held in place lines of white yarn, all stretched in the same direction. Multicolored yarns were woven through in the opposite direction.

  “What are you making?” I asked. The cloth was too large to be a scarf.

  “It’ll be a rug when it’s finished,” Julie said. “And this”—Julie grabbed a basket with long knitting needles, and a ball of reddish-purple yarn—“is how I make the scarves like the one you purchased at Fleece on Earth.

  “Oh, can I watch you knit?” I blurted. “Please?”

  Julie didn’t answer but instead picked up the needles and began making small, precise movements with her fingers. She demonstrated something called a “seed stitch” where she made loops around one needle, crossed through with the other, and then reversed the process. Actually, there were more steps than that, but I couldn’t seem to keep track of them all. Knitting was really complicated, and I was concentrating so hard I lost track of time.

  It wasn’t until I heard Annie barking outside that I remembered I had a job to do. If I spent all my time learning to knit, the fence repair would never be completed. “Thank you so much!” I abruptly gushed. “But I’d better get to work.”

  “I knew I liked you,” Julie said. “And I appreciate your work ethic.”

  Annie was wagging her tail when I checked on her. I patted her head, added more water to her bowl, and then set off for the fence.

  Without Rachel’s help, replacing the first rail felt nearly impossible. I staggered under the weight of the board as I both lifted and secured it between the posts. But I managed. And the second one was easier. As I worked, I watched Samson frolicking around his mother.

  He seemed to be growing more sure of himself by the day.
Flying bugs now appeared a greater source of curiosity than fear. And while my first few hammer strikes had sent him bounding into the air, after a while, he hardly flinched.

  Watching him while I worked made the time pass quickly, and like before, I lost track of it. Only when the sky began to darken did I realize how late it had gotten. Oh no, I really wasn’t getting any better at keeping track of things. Flustered and anxious that I wouldn’t make it back to the trailer before my parents, I quickly stashed away the tools, and then retrieved Annie. We shaved minutes off our time on the jog home. Unfortunately, not enough.

  The truck was parked next to the Gnarly Banana when I got back. I unclipped Annie and let her roam free. Then I took a deep breath and entered the trailer. I expected my parents to pounce on me for being late the second I stepped through the door. But they were so immersed in a discussion, they didn’t even notice my arrival.

  “I really think if we pull some of our savings and reinvest wisely, we can generate more passive income and get back on the road quicker,” Dad said. “Depending on how much revenue we receive from contributing to the Zhangs’ blog, we’ll most likely be able to fund the Amundsen Adventures for a few more years. At least until Neil starts college.”

  Mom appeared to be lost in thought, glancing at her lap as Dad spoke. “If we don’t make our move soon, I’m afraid we might get stuck in a rut here,” he said.

  I held in my breath and tried to be as unassuming as a mouse as I quietly slid to a seated position just inside the door.

  Mom lifted her eyes to meet Dad’s gaze. “I don’t know … sticking around for a few more months might not be a bad idea …”

  I silently nodded in agreement. A few more months sounded good to me. That wouldn’t be enough time for me to meet Sky’s cria, but it might be long enough for me to finish the fence repair and for Julie to teach me how to knit.

  Dad scrunched his eyebrows together in the middle. He made a “humph” noise. “Explain,” he said.

  “Well, I think we should stick with our original plan,” Mom said. “Stay here until after the holidays. By then we’ll not only have climbed a fourteener, but we’ll also have had the opportunity, and hopefully the ability, to complete the actual Adventure Jar Challenge—Ski a Black Diamond.”