by Jenny Goebel
Mom glanced up from her coffee. Her eyes darted to the back of the trailer. After Dad finished cooking breakfast for the family, he’d hopped into the shower. He was singing in his deep, off-key baritone, a sign that he was in a really good mood.
Mom focused her attention back on me with an uncertain eye. “I don’t know, Amelia Jean … Your dad and I aren’t very happy with you.” She sighed. “You should’ve listened to your father when he told you not to visit the ranch yesterday.”
I allowed my head to slump forward. “I know,” I said.
When I glanced up, though, she was smiling softly. “But, yes, you should tell Rachel and say goodbye to the alpacas, too. Go right after school, okay?” she said. “We’ll need to get an early start tomorrow if we’re going to summit the fourteener before noon. I want you back to the trailer before your dad and I get here.”
I sprang from my seat to give her a hug, nearly sloshing coffee out of her cup. My stomach revolted at the idea of climbing the fourteener, but at least I’d get to do one thing I wanted before then.
Later, at school, I avoided drawing attention to myself when I turned in my books and notified my teachers. I waited until after class to speak with each of them. Still, it was incredibly awkward. My teachers tried to act sad that I was leaving. “So soon?” Mr. Roybal asked. “Such a pity! It’s only your third week here.”
I nodded politely. It was a pity, one I felt deeply even if he didn’t. And when a few teachers eyed my colorful hands curiously, maybe trying to make a connection between the stains and my bewildering news, I felt crushed inside. Yes, it’s my fault, I thought as I offered as little information as possible. “My family is moving. This is my last day.” I sounded robotic.
As for Ms. Horton, she was positively gleeful when I told her I was withdrawing from Winterland Middle. She took notes in my folder with orange, purple, and hot-pink-colored gel pens. “This is the right decision. Homeschooling causes many deficits,” she said smugly. “But I’m sure another year in elementary school will make up for what you’ve missed.”
When I told her “I’m not enrolling in elementary school” and that I was going back to being homeschooled on the road, she grew rather cross, snatched up her red gel pen, and scratched out everything she’d just written.
With me putting as much distance as possible between myself and the other students, it was like my first few days of school all over. I pretended not to see Cat when she motioned for me to sit by her at lunch. And I hardly said a word in seventh period. I knew it was wrong, but I didn’t say a thing about moving to my literature circle. I couldn’t bring myself to tell them.
Cat was talking to someone when I climbed on the bus after school. Her eyes drifted to me and she smiled. My flight response kicked into overdrive—muscles tensing, heart pounding. Get out of here! my body seemed to scream.
If I ran, though, I’d be just as bad as her mom. I couldn’t do that to her. Even if it was difficult to say goodbye, it had to be done. I felt awful for what my family was going to put her through all over again. But ghosting her would be far worse.
The only way I could get through it was to do it quickly before I lost my nerve, so I blurted, “We’re leaving.” Then I stared at an oily spot where bubble gum had been removed from the bus floor. “My family. We’ve got a campsite reserved in Wyoming for, uh, next week.”
I glanced up in time to see Cat’s face freeze. “What?”
“I’m sorry. Really sorry. I promise I’ll write to you,” I babbled, then I hurried to the back of the bus and found a seat before I fell to pieces. A minute later, Ryan and a couple of eighth graders ambled by and spilled into the row behind me, the last one.
I didn’t know if Ryan had moved on to finding other ways to impress the ski and snowboard team, or if he’d given up on teasing me after his insult fizzled flat the last time. Either way, he acted like he didn’t even know I was there.
Ryan and the others were speaking in muffled voices, but it sounded like they were excited about something. I tuned them out and gazed at a mountain peak beyond the windowpane. I was heartsick knowing I wouldn’t see Cat again. I didn’t even want to think about what she must be feeling.
Then there was the fourteener my family still expected me to conquer. But there was no way they’d summit by noon, not with me there slowing them down. Thank goodness it wasn’t an official Adventure Jar Challenge, because this one was doomed to fail. The best I could hope for was that I wouldn’t be struck by lightning or fall and need to be airlifted off the mountain.
At least I’d get to say goodbye to the alpacas, but that wasn’t going to be easy, either. I thought about how I’d break the news to Rachel. She’d be disappointed. From the way Cat was plastered forward in her seat, I could tell she was disappointed. I’d disappointed my family time and time again and was bound to do so again on the fourteener. I was one big disappointment.
As I stewed over my many failures and shortcomings, the guys in the row behind me grew louder and rowdier. They seemed to be arguing, fighting over something. “Let me see it.” Ryan’s voice rose above the others as the bus neared my stop.
I saw the bus driver’s eyes flicking between the road and the mirror he used to keep track of the students. No doubt, he was troubled by what he saw happening at the back of the bus. He parked along the side of the road, and as I made my way toward the front exit, he hopped up from his seat and made his way toward the back. Our paths crossed in the middle. The stern look in his eyes said Ryan and his friends were about to be in hot water.
Good, I thought. Ryan deserved every bit of what he had coming.
I glanced in Cat’s direction, hoping for, well, I don’t know what. Some sort of meaningful exchange between us? One last farewell? But her neck was stiffly turned in the opposite direction.
After I got off, I scanned the windows, hoping she’d pop her head out and wave. But the only window open was at the back, near Ryan and his friends. “I don’t have anything. See?” Ryan’s voice sounded shrill. I was pretty sure Ryan had pitched any incriminating evidence out the window. I guess it wasn’t meant to be the day karma finally caught up with him.
I shook my head sadly and took off jogging. I skipped stopping by the Gnarly Banana on my way to the ranch. My backpack was light now that I’d turned in all my books. The only thing in it was my scarf, which I’d removed after school in anticipation of the run.
Even though it panged my heart not to take Annie, I knew the sooner she got used to being left behind, the better. Plus, I wanted to spend as much time as possible with the alpacas, and I’d promised Mom I’d be home before she and Dad got there.
Since Rachel and Julie split time between Fleece on Earth and the ranch, I didn’t know who to expect. I was surprised and delighted to find them both sitting on the front porch when I arrived.
“Hey there!” Julie trilled.
“Amelia Jean!” Rachel said with a smile as bright as the Colorado sky.
All my breath, my hopes, my wishes, felt lodged inside my rib cage. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so welcomed by anyone outside my family. I couldn’t remember the last time I hadn’t felt like an outsider. A sense of belonging was a wonderful feeling, and I didn’t know when or if I’d ever find it again.
“Hi,” I said, doing my best to return their smiles.
“Glad you’re here!” Julie motioned for me to step closer. “I was just telling Mom about your hands.”
I slowly flipped my palms over and let Rachel see the purple, blue, and red swirls.
Rachel clicked her tongue playfully. “Well, it’s official; you’re now a bona fide ranch hand. We’ll have to get you your own pair of gloves.”
“Don’t forget galoshes,” Julie added.
I forced another smile, knowing I wouldn’t be able to hold it together much longer. The grief for what could’ve been was threatening to sink me. Dad always said he wanted us to live our “best lives.” What if my best life was here in Winterla
nd and I’d never get to live it? My lower lip trembled, and Rachel snatched up one of my colorful hands in her own. “What’s wrong, dear?”
I shook back the tears. “Nothing,” I said. “I just don’t have long to stay today. Can I go see the alpacas?”
Rachel gave my hand a quick squeeze before releasing it. “You don’t have to ask,” she said sweetly and stood up. “I think I’ve rested long enough. I’ll go with you.”
“Forgive me if I keep my butt planted right here,” Julie said. “It’s plain wrong for it to be this hot and dry. I think Heath offered to work at the shop today just to escape the heat.”
“You’re probably right. Heath has never cared much for the retail side,” Rachel said. “Neither did his father.” When her voice broke with emotion, it helped me put my own grief in perspective. At least there was a chance I could come back here someday. Rachel would never have her husband back. At the same time, I felt a wave of guilt for leaving her, too. She’d already lost so much.
As we wandered around the ranch, I tried to work up the courage to tell her my family was hitting the road once more—that I wouldn’t be able to finish the fence repair. But the timing never seemed right—not with Benny sidling up for snuggles and Lulu vying for our attention. Then Carl nearly teased my backpack from my shoulder while Rachel pushed a bag of grain into my hands and Ed came trotting up. Ed’s mouth tickled my hand as he gathered up grains and spilled more than half of them on the ground.
We went to Samson next. He was as lively and adorable as ever, and I lingered near his pen. He came close to the fence, close enough I could run my fingers through the short tufts of fleece around his neck and torso. He would grow up to be a friendly and handsome alpaca. A drenching sadness came over me knowing I wouldn’t be able to watch him sprout up and become as soft and fluffy as the others. When he bounded away to investigate something on the other side of the pen, my heart went with him as though it was being tugged away from my body. I whispered a silent goodbye. It was painful to walk away.
And then we came to Sky. She loomed near the fence, close enough for Rachel to stroke her back, while keeping a wary eye trained on me. It was the nearest she’d come, but it was obvious she still didn’t trust me.
“Give her time,” Rachel said. “She’ll come around. You’ll see.”
This seemed like my opening. I parted my lips to tell Rachel I was moving again, but before I could, Julie burst into the barn. “Mom!” she said, panic thickly lacing her voice. “Come quick. The mountain is on fire.”
As we exited the barn, Julie pointed to where the sky eerily glowed orange and streams of red ran through the trees. I gasped, feeling all at once struck with horror and awe.
“If the wind picks up, it’ll carry it here in no time,” Rachel said with a forced calmness. Still, her words conveyed urgency. “We have to evacuate the alpacas.”
“But the trailer isn’t big enough for all of them,” Julie said. “Even if it was, we couldn’t pull it. Heath took the truck into town today. And what about the house? Oh, Mom, what are we going to do?”
While they discussed options, I stared in disbelief at the fire. It was impossible to judge the exact location when billows of smoke obscured the view. But it didn’t appear to be that far away, and it was in the same direction as the Stargazer RV Park.
My heart drummed. A chill ran down my spine. The Gnarly Banana was empty right now, wasn’t it? My parents were still at work and my brothers’ school let out later than mine. What about Annie? Had she been waiting for me by the trailer? Where was she now?
With my chest tight and the pounding of my heart drowning out everything else, I didn’t notice that Rachel was speaking to me until she gently shook me by the arms. “Amelia, you have to snap out of it,” she said firmly. “We’re in danger. I need you to start rounding up the alpacas.”
I could barely hear her. Fire was deadly. Fire consumed everything in its path. I was standing in its path. Every instinct I possessed was telling me to run. Forget Everything And Run.
“I can’t,” I choked. I wasn’t brave enough. I wanted to be the person Rachel thought I was. Someone with grit and determination. Somebody you could count on when your ranch and your beloved animals were at risk. But I wasn’t. When things got dicey, I wasn’t capable of providing help. I was a liability. “You need someone else.” My parents and my brothers—they were the type of people who could Face Everything And Respond. Not me. I was the one who always ran or needed to be rescued.
“Please, Amelia, there isn’t time. There is isn’t anyone else,” Rachel said urgently. “The alpacas might not survive if we don’t act quickly.”
“You don’t understand,” I tried to explain. “I’ll just make things worse.”
Rachel looked me hard in the eye. “No, you won’t,” she said with so much conviction that I almost believed her.
It took everything within me, everything I’d learned about combating my fears, for me to square my shoulders, take a deep steadying breath, and say, “Okay.” I wasn’t close enough to the Gnarly Banana or Annie to do anything for them. My self-doubt was as thick as the smoke-filled sky. I didn’t think I’d be able to help save the ranch, but I couldn’t turn my back on Rachel and the alpacas. “Okay,” I said again. “I’ll try.”
“Thank you,” Rachel said, clearly relieved. “There’s too much hay and wood around here with the barn, pens, and fences. We can’t fully evacuate the herd, but we can move them to a safer location. You and Julie grab as many halters as you can find. Start guiding the alpacas down to the lake. The water’s low right now and there’s nothing to burn on the beach—without a fuel source for the flames, the alpacas will have a better chance at survival there. Hopefully they’ll be okay until the firefighters arrive.”
Rachel seemed confident at first, but then a flicker of uncertainty appeared in her eyes. “My husband, he had a checklist of what to do in case of a wildfire. God, how I wish he was here right now.”
I grabbed one of her hands in mine and Julie grabbed the other. “It’s okay. We can do this,” I said. Then, word for word, I found myself saying what Dad had told me hundreds of times. “Just stay calm and focus on what you want to accomplish.”
Rachel pursed her lips, steeling herself once more. “The Bible says to not be afraid, three hundred and sixty-five times—that’s one reminder for every day of the year. You’re right,” she said, squeezing my hand. “We can.”
I squeezed her hand back and then released it. She pressed her fingers to her forehead. “Let’s see … Heath cleared the branches and cut back vegetation around the house recently. I’ll drag out hoses and fill buckets with water to leave for the firefighters.” She spoke rapidly while laying out the plan. “While you and Julie are moving the alpacas to the lake, I’ll gather mementos and close all the windows. I’m going to park the SUV in the garage facing out. When I start honking the horn, you must come quickly,” she said, looking me straight in the eyes. “Do you understand? Saving the ranch isn’t worth any of our lives.”
I swallowed hard, then said, “I promise.”
“Me too,” said Julie.
I handed my backpack over to Rachel so it wouldn’t slow me down, and then we broke apart. I was a step behind Julie entering the barn. She quickly pulled halters from drawers and rope leaders from hooks. “We can each handle three alpacas at a time,” she said. “We have to lure them into the pens first. Our alpacas are well-trained, but most aren’t going to let us harness them in the fields, especially with the fire. They’re going to be extra skittish.”
While I listened to Julie, I noticed the air wafting into the barn was becoming thicker. The smell of smoke that had started off as faint was growing disturbingly stronger.
After unloading half of the halters and leads into my arms, Julie grabbed a bag of grain. “I’ll bring the first group to you. You start leading them to the lake. Then I’ll start on the next batch. We’ll take turns. Got it?”
“Um, sure,” I s
aid even though my nerves were fraying and I had a ton of questions. Not the least of which was—how the heck do you halter an alpaca?
We exited the barn and entered the first pasture. The alpacas there were huddled together and humming loudly. I stood back while Julie used the grain to coax an alpaca toward the pen.
Ed broke free from the herd. Once he was corralled and distracted by the treat, Julie effortlessly guided his nose inside the halter and then pulled the strap around the back side of his head before clipping it in place. He would be the first tempted by food, I thought as Julie attached the leader beneath Ed’s chin and handed it over to me. “Two more and then you go,” she said.
The next two—ones I didn’t recognize—were harnessed in no time. As I led my group out of the pen and down the winding dirt path that ended at the lake where Rachel and I rested during my first visit to the ranch, I caught a glimpse of the massive cloud of smoke, and the menacing orange glow beneath it. The sight took my breath away. The fire was growing larger and nearer. It was gobbling up trees the same way Ed gobbled up grains—greedily.
I quickened my step and tried to encourage the alpacas to trot instead of walk. They hummed nervously. The tallest one dug in his feet and made a sound I’d never heard from an alpaca before—shrill and warbling. I assumed it was his warning call.
“Shhh,” I soothed. “It’ll be okay.” It felt weird being the one doing the calming again. I’d always been the one in my family who needed to be reassured. Why was that? Because I was the youngest? Because I was a girl? In my heart, I knew those things shouldn’t matter. I could be young and brave. I could be a girl and be bold.
The alpaca pulled back on his leader rope, but I held tight. “A little farther,” I insisted as I tugged him forward. “We’re almost there.”
As we broke through the trees, the reflection of the firelit mountainside in the clear blue lake was startling. The ripples in the water made the flames seem alive as they licked the air and incinerated trees.