Spirit Riding Free--The Adventure Begins

  “It’s not the other side of the world.”

  Maricela shrugged. “It seems to me that unless Emma moves here, you’re going to face a very long year of sitting alone at lunch and not having anyone invite you to parties. Believe me, being my best friend is what you should do.”

  Why was everyone always telling Lucky what she should do? Wear this dress. Go to this dinner. Be this person’s friend.

  Maricela tucked her pleated skirt under her legs as she sat on the window seat. “But if we’re going to be best friends, there are a few rules.” She patted the cushion, offering Lucky the space next to her.

  Rules? Lucky and Emma didn’t have rules. They were best friends because they cared about each other and they loved being together.

  Keeping as much distance between them as the window seat allowed, Lucky sat next to the mayor’s daughter. Sitting did not mean she was accepting the friendship invitation—it simply meant that she was curious. “What kind of rules do you have in mind?”

  Maricela raised one eyebrow, as if she were about to reveal an evil scheme. “I tried really hard to be friends with Pru and Abigail, but Pru doesn’t like me. She says I’m a snob, as if that’s something bad.” She rolled her eyes. “So rule number one is, Pru and Abigail aren’t our friends.”

  Lucky frowned. “I don’t really have a choice. They don’t like me.”

  “Excellent. Moving on to rule number two—we don’t ride horses. Ever.”

  Lucky narrowed her eyes. Even though she wasn’t allowed to ride, she wanted to challenge Maricela. “Why? Because it’s not ladylike?”

  “Yes, exactly. It’s not ladylike.” She paused. “But there’s another reason. Riding is what Pru and Abigail do. It’s their whole life. But we do other stuff, stuff that takes training and skill.”

  The poster of El Circo Dos Grillos flashed into Lucky’s mind—her mother balancing on one leg on her horse’s back. “I’m pretty sure horse riding takes a lot of skill.”

  “Of course it doesn’t. Anyone can ride a horse. But not everyone can play the piano or speak French. Comprenez-vous?” It was bad enough that Maricela was dictating friendship rules, but she was also denying the talent and achievements of Lucky’s mother.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lucky said through clenched teeth.

  Maricela’s eyes widened.

  “Sweetie,” Mrs. Gutierrez called from downstairs. “Do come down and entertain us with your lovely playing.”

  “I’ll show you what talent is,” Maricela said as she sauntered from her bedroom. She and Lucky joined their parents in the parlor, where Maricela strode up to the piano and curtsied. Her parents applauded. Cora and Jim joined in. Lucky, ignoring her aunt’s heated stare, refused to clap.

  “What are you going to play, my darling?” asked Mr. Gutierrez.

  “I shall play Beethoven’s Symphony No. Five,” Maricela announced with a flip of her hair. She sat on the piano bench, stretched her fingers, then held them above the keys like stubby snakes ready to attack. And attack they did. The sound that erupted from the piano was so bad, Lucky wanted to plug her ears. Jim coughed, covering a laugh. Even Cora was grimacing. And the “music” went on and on. Sitting in that parlor, enduring the cacophony of notes erupting from the ebony and ivory keys, Lucky squirmed like a worm on a hot rock. Her father was doing his best to hide his amusement, but when they made eye contact, neither could hold back the laughter. Fortunately, the mayor and his wife didn’t seem to notice the audience’s reaction.

  When the ear splitting was finally over, Maricela curtsied again, to her parents’ delight.

  “Encore! Encore!” they cried.

  Cora gave Jim and Lucky her fiercest warning glance. Then she stood. “I think it’s time to leave. Thank you so much for your lovely hospitality.” She ushered Jim and Lucky to the door before the laughter could begin anew.

  “Lucky!” Maricela called, hurrying after her. “I forgot to mention rule number three.”

  Lucky stopped smiling and stepped away from her father. “What’s that?”

  Maricela lowered her voice. “You can’t hang around with Pru or Abigail.”

  “I’m not following that rule. That’s mean.”

  Maricela crossed her arms and stuck out her chin. “If you don’t, then we can’t be best friends.”

  “That’s fine by me.” Lucky didn’t wait for Maricela’s reaction. She turned away and hurried to catch up with her dad and aunt.

  Well, now she had zero new friends.

  “What a delightful family,” Cora said as they walked up the hill.

  “Yes, delightful,” Jim said.

  Expecting Cora to lecture her, Lucky was surprised to hear her aunt say instead, “Ludwig van Beethoven is probably rolling over in his grave after that performance.”

  “You okay?” Jim reached out and took Lucky’s hand. She didn’t want to burden him with her troubles. So she just nodded, then let the quiet wrap around them, her hand warming in his.

  When they got home, a surprise was waiting on her bed. “Pants!” Lucky cried after untying the cord and opening the brown paper package.

  Jim stuck his head into her room. “Yup, got them at the general store today. I figured it would help you feel more at home here.”

  She hugged him. “Oh, thank you, Dad!”

  “I got a pair for your aunt, too.” He held a finger in the air. “Wait for it…”

  From Cora’s room came the sound of crinkling paper and then a gasp. “Pants? Never!”

  Lucky and her dad shared a quiet chuckle. But Lucky remembered the sad look on her aunt’s face when she’d mentioned that she had no friends. Maybe tomorrow would be a better day for them both.

  22

  Another night had arrived and the stallion was still surrounded by fence. Being penned in was nearly driving him mad. Staying in one place went against all his instincts. To wander, to roam, and to seek was the natural inclination of his kind. Yet all he could do in this dreadful place was to pace, around and around. A deep groove formed in the dirt beneath his hooves.

  He fretted for his herd’s safety. How would they manage without him? He remembered when a mountain lion had tried to take one of the foals. Only a few days old, the foal had been lying next to its mother, sleeping. The lion had crept silently, as lions do, camouflaged by the brown grasses of late summer. But the crisp snap of a single twig had alerted the stallion. He charged at the lion, face-to-face. The great cat growled and slashed with its claws. The stallion reared and stomped, his hoof landing on the lion’s paw, causing just enough pain to make it turn and flee.

  He remembered another time when a pair of foals, twins, had been playing on the ridge. They’d wandered away from the herd and when he found them, one stood dangerously close to a cliff. The stallion slipped between the foal and the cliff, his hooves teetering on the edge. But he managed to push the foal back to safety.

  That’s how a herd works. They watch out for one another. They look after the young ones and the old ones. But how would they fare without him?

  He paced, around and around, the groove deepening.

  23

  The next morning, Lucky awoke to sparrow song and a cloudless blue sky. It was a lovely start to the day, but Lucky didn’t want to wake up. While she’d dealt with nerves on her first day of school, her stomach felt even tighter on this, her second day. So many things had already gone wrong. If only she could erase it all and start over.

  She sat up. That’s exactly what she’d do. She’d pretend that yesterday never happened and today was the beginning. She’d explain things to Pru and Abigail. If they understood that she actually liked horses, they’d surely give her a second chance. She’d even be nice to the mayor’s obnoxious daughter. That would be tough, but if Lucky was expecting a second chance, then she should grant one to Maricela, too. She had a plan, which was better than losing hope. Prescotts do not run from challenges.

  There were no pancakes that morning, be
cause Cora had been distracted by an important project. She’d borrowed Lucky’s art supplies and was seated at the kitchen table, creating some posters. “What are those?” Lucky asked.

  “I’ve had a brilliant idea. I’m going to bring culture to the frontier,” Cora said as she dipped a paintbrush into paint. “There are no art or history museums in this town. They don’t even have an opera house. We must change that, and I shall be the one to lead the revolution.”

  “That looks good,” Lucky told her. Cora smiled at her work. She was so focused on her lettering, she didn’t notice that Lucky was wearing the new pair of pants. It was nice to start the day without a battle over clothing choices. “Don’t forget your lunch,” Cora said as she added more paint to her brush.

  “Thanks.” Lucky grabbed her lunch bag and an extra apple. She glanced back at Cora, and her stomach suddenly felt better. Lucky wasn’t going to give up, and it looked as if Cora felt the same way. Maybe things would work out. They were Prescotts, after all.

  Jim was sitting on the front porch steps, enjoying his morning coffee, a platter of toast at his side. Lucky sat beside him and helped herself to a slice. “Isn’t this country beautiful?” he said, gazing toward the mountains.

  “Uh-huh,” she said while chewing.

  He smiled, noticing her clothes. “Hey, you look like you’ve lived in Miradero all your life. Want me to walk you to school?”

  It was a tempting offer, but with Maricela mad at her, and Pru and Abigail thinking she was a horse-hating snob, she didn’t want her father to see the other kids shun her. “I’m okay on my own,” she said.

  “Gotcha.”

  After another piece of toast and a kiss good-bye, Lucky ran down the driveway. “Don’t run!” Cora’s voice called after her. “You might fall and hurt yourself!” What was the deal? Did she have eyes in the back of her head? Lucky appeased her aunt, but only until she was out of view; then she started running again, all the way to the corral, hoping to find the stallion so she could feed him the extra apple. She also hoped no one would be there so she wouldn’t get yelled at again. She ran fast so she’d have as much time as possible before the school bell rang. How nice it was to run in pants. When she darted around the corner of the barn, she skidded to a stop. Her heart sank.

  The stallion wasn’t alone.

  A tall man with a black beard stood inside the corral. He pushed his tan cowboy hat from his eyes. The stallion moved around the man, keeping his distance. A few ranch hands leaned against the fence, watching. Lucky approached quietly. Fortunately, everyone was distracted and took no notice of her. Except for a boy with messy brown hair.

  “Hi.” He walked up to Lucky and smiled. “I’m Turo. You must be the new girl.”

  “I’m Lucky,” she told him.

  “Yeah, I heard you’d arrived.” He seemed a bit older than she was. “I wasn’t in school yesterday,” he explained, patting his leather apron. “I’m apprenticing at the blacksmith’s shop and when we get extra work, I’m allowed to miss school.”

  “Who’s that man, and what’s he doing?” Lucky asked, pointing into the corral.

  “That’s Mr. Granger. He owns this ranch. Come on. We can go watch.” He motioned for Lucky to follow, and they found a spot next to the fence, away from the ranch hands.

  Lucky remembered that Pru’s last name was Granger. That man must be her father.

  Turo was tall enough to see over the fence, but Lucky had to step on the lower board to get a better view. “Mr. Granger is trying to wear the horse down,” Turo explained. “So he won’t fight so much. But that horse just won’t tire. Look at him.”

  The stallion didn’t seem tired. His nostrils flared, and he glared at his captor. The morning sun gleamed off Mr. Granger’s silver belt buckle and highlighted the golden tones in the stallion’s coat.

  “His color is so pretty,” Lucky said.

  “Yeah, that’s called buckskin. It’s the same color as tanned deerskin.”

  The stallion stopped trotting as one of the ranch hands climbed over the fence and handed something to Mr. Granger. The stallion neighed at the ranch hand, who, with a look of terror, jumped back quickly over the fence to safety.

  “Now what’s he doing?” Lucky asked.

  “He’s going to try to introduce a halter and a lead.” Turo noticed Lucky’s questioning look. “A halter is the piece that goes over the horse’s face. And the lead is the rope that hangs down from the halter so you can lead the horse where you want to go.”

  “It’s okay, boy,” Mr. Granger said, trying to get close. “It’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. Come on now.” An odd dance followed. As Mr. Granger stepped closer, the stallion stepped away. If Mr. Granger sped up, the stallion sped up. “Walt, Henry, get in here and help me.”

  Walt and Henry didn’t look like they wanted to help. They pushed each other, trying to make the other go first.

  “Get in here!” Mr. Granger repeated. The two ranch hands climbed over the fence. But the minute their feet touched down, the stallion went berserk, whinnying and rearing. “Watch out!” The front legs came crashing down, barely missing Walt, who scrambled back over the fence. Then, after a swift buck, the back legs came down, breaking a piece of the fence next to Henry, who was already halfway over. The stallion, eyes burning with rage, turned his attention to Mr. Granger. He neighed again and shot forward. Mr. Granger dove over the fence like a trapeze artist. Lucky gasped as he landed, facedown, in the grass.

  The stallion snorted a few times, which sounded a bit like laughter. While Lucky didn’t want anyone to get hurt, she felt a surge of pride for the stallion. He was defending himself. Good for him!

  “Mr. Granger, sir? You okay?” Walt asked, leaning over his boss. He reached out a hand but Mr. Granger whacked it away.

  The stallion snorted. Then, as if Mr. Granger were nothing more than a pesky fly, the stallion swished his tail and turned away. It was an opportunity not to be missed. With the stallion’s gaze elsewhere, Mr. Granger grabbed a handful of mane and swung quickly onto the stallion’s back, taking the creature completely by surprise. Lucky gasped. For a brief moment, Mr. Granger was sitting on the stallion’s back, grinning from ear to ear.

  Then the stallion bucked and, once again, Mr. Granger soared over the fence and landed in the grass.

  “If Mr. Granger can’t ride that mustang, no one can,” Turo whispered in Lucky’s ear.

  Mr. Granger took off his red bandana and wiped his glistening forehead. “More time is all I need. More time and he’ll break. They all do.” The stallion stomped around the corral, tossing his mane defiantly.

  Mr. Granger got to his feet, turned and pointed at Turo and Lucky. “You kids stay away from that mustang. He’ll bite you if you get too close!” Then Mr. Granger and his ranch hands walked into the barn.

  “I’d better get back to work,” Turo said. “See you later.” He moseyed across the street to the blacksmith’s shop, leaving Lucky alone with the stallion.

  Oh, how she wished she could set him free!

  “Hello, boy,” she said.

  The stallion’s proud stance melted, as if he also realized that they were alone. Suddenly, she could see his fatigue. His shoulders sagged. Droplets fell from his nostrils as he panted. He’d been putting on a show for Mr. Granger, hiding his exhaustion. But with Lucky, he didn’t hide the truth. She reached out her hand. “Here you go, boy, here’s a treat.” He took the apple, then she gave him the one from her lunch bag, too. She touched his cheek. His face was warm and damp with sweat. “I’m sorry,” she told him. “I’m sorry for everything that’s happening to you.”

  Miss Flores had said it took time for people to adjust to new things. Lucky realized that animals needed time, too. Eventually, the stallion would be broken. The wild spirit would be tamed out of him. But where would that wild spirit go? Would it drift away, over the mountains, to a place where wildness was allowed and celebrated?

  If only such a place existed.

  Bo
ng. Bong.

  With all her heart she wanted to stay with him, to tell him that everything would be all right. But she had a plan for a new beginning. And the new beginning was calling.

  24

  The men were gone. The girl was gone. Alone once again, the stallion finally allowed his legs to buckle. He sank to the ground. Lying on the dirt was a welcome relief. Over the past few days he’d done his best to hold his head high, to defy the men in every way possible. To not eat their food. To not show them weakness. But he desperately needed to rest.

  Even a wild horse needed rest.

  He allowed his eyes to close, but kept his ears alert, picking up the sounds of the tamed horses out in the pasture. But there were no sounds of his herd thundering across the wilderness. They were smart to stay away from this place. Far from the men with the ropes.

  He thought about the girl, the one with the sweet treats. Why did she keep coming to see him? She was smaller than the others, and different. She spoke to him without force. She looked at him without aggression.

  He trusted her.

  The tall man was back. The stallion bolted to his feet, his eyes blazing.

  “Okay, horse, let’s try this again.”

  25

  While erasing a drawing simply requires a good eraser and some muscle, erasing an entire day is another matter entirely. Lucky, being kindhearted and genuine in her intent, might have had success at starting anew with the students at school, were it not for Maricela.

  Maricela, still angry with Lucky for not agreeing to her friendship rules, was apparently on a mission. She spent that entire school day whispering in ears and pointing as Lucky passed by. Lucky could only imagine the horrid lies coming out of Maricela’s mouth. That new girl thinks she’s better than everyone else. That new girl hates horses. That new girl says terrible things about all of you. With a fake sweet smile, Maricela spread her meanness like icing on a cake, only this cake was sour and full of lies.