Spirit Riding Free--The Adventure Begins

  “So I heard,” Emma said as Lucky wheeled her down the hallway, “you were in the headmistress’s office.”

  “I’m setting a school record.”

  Emma placed her hands over a pair of books that lay in her lap. “Did Madame Barrow remind you that”—she conjured a British accent for the rest of the sentence—“you’re a little lump of clay that needs to be molded into a work of art?”

  “Actually, she told me that you’re the lump.”

  “No, you are.”

  “No, you are.” They both laughed.

  One of the nice things about going to the most prestigious school in the city was that the school came complete with all the latest technologies, including an elevator. Lucky opened the elevator gate, then the door, and pushed Emma into the small chamber before stepping inside behind her. She turned the lever. After a loud clanking sound and a quick jarring motion, the elevator moved slowly upward.

  Lucky leaned against the wall. “Madame Barrow wrote a letter to my dad.”

  “What does it say?”

  “I don’t know. But I’m guessing it’s not good. Something about me being willful and having too much spirited energy.”

  “Well, that’s better than having a stick up your behind like Sarah,” Emma said. “Besides, your dad won’t get mad. He never gets mad at you. He adores you.” Emma was trying to make Lucky feel better, but Lucky’s stomach tightened with worry. She didn’t want to disappoint her father. “Why were you late, anyway?”

  “I saw a cowboy and a horse with feathers in his mane!”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. Walking down the street. The cowboy was passing out pieces of paper to people and I wanted to see what it was all about.”

  “Did you get one?”

  “No.” Though she still wanted answers about the cowboy and his horse, she couldn’t shake her worry about the letter. “What if Madame Barrow wants to kick me out of the school?”

  “Never,” Emma said with a wave of her hand. “She wouldn’t do that.”

  “But what if the letter’s really bad and Dad decides I need some kind of punishment?”

  Emma shrugged. “It’s really not a big deal. If he does punish you, then he’ll do what my parents always do. He’ll make you stay home on weekends and not go to any—” She gasped. “Oh no. You don’t think he’ll make you miss my party?”

  The elevator had reached the third floor, but Lucky didn’t open the door right away. Emma’s question hung in the air over both their heads, like a storm cloud.

  Emma’s birthday party was going to be the most glorious party ever. At least that’s how Lucky imagined it. The Pophams lived in a stone mansion on Church Street, with a private stable for their carriage horses. No expense would be spared for the event. Emma’s perfumed invitations had been mailed weeks ago. “I’m going to your party,” Lucky said as she opened the elevator door. “I’ll do chores for the rest of my life if I have to. I’ll help with the shopping and the cooking. Nothing’s going to stop me.” She grabbed the handles and wheeled Emma out of the elevator.

  “And I’ll help you with those chores,” Emma said. “Because there’s no way I’m turning thirteen without my best friend.”

  Library was next on the schedule. According to Madame Barrow, young ladies should always take time to properly digest a meal, so after enjoying tea and scones, they faced another long bout of sitting. But Lucky didn’t mind, because she loved reading. Adored it, in fact. For a young lady of society, reading was the only socially approved type of exploration.

  The school library took up most of the third floor. Bookshelves lined the walls, and embroidered cushions decorated the velvet chairs. A fire usually crackled in the winter, but on this spring day the window was open, permitting a nice breeze. Lucky wheeled Emma to their favorite corner, by a window that overlooked the park. Emma held up the books she’d been cradling on her lap. “Dad got these for us. They’re both by Jules Verne. I can’t wait to start this one. Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea.” She and Lucky were drawn to the same kind of stories—grand adventures in exotic locations, brimming with danger. This was one of the many reasons why they were best friends.

  “Oh, I’ve read that one,” Lucky said. “Everyone thinks there’s this huge sea monster, and they send out these guys to kill it, but the sea monster turns out to be a—”

  “Don’t tell me the whole story!” Emma cried.

  “Oops.” Lucky smiled. “Trust me, you’re gonna love it.” She grabbed the other book. “Journey to the Center of the Earth. This looks great.”

  “You can keep it.”

  “Thanks.”

  The clock struck eleven. The other students found seats, and everyone took out their books and began to read. Along with the clock’s ticking and pages rustling, young children squealed in the park, but none of those sounds distracted Lucky. The only time she didn’t get squirmy was when her nose was stuck in a book. How does one get to the center of the earth? she wondered. Was there a secret tunnel? She’d never been outside the city, except to go to her grandfather’s country house upstate. Lucky opened to the first page, ready for another story to take her someplace amazing.

  A shadow fell across the page. Mrs. Beachwood, a portly woman with a jiggly chin and a warm smile, had wandered over. “I see you two are sticking with the adventure genre.”

  “Yes,” Emma said.

  Was that a twinkle in Mrs. Beachwood’s eye? “Wouldn’t you prefer a gentler story? A story about taking care of your home?” She held up a book titled The Joys of Domestic Duties. Emma and Lucky cringed. “Or perhaps this one?” The second choice was Manners and Etiquette of a Young Lady. Because it had been written by the headmistress, it had been read by most of the students. Lucky groaned to herself. The corners of Mrs. Beachwood’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “I see how it is. You’d rather read about dangerous places, courageous heroes, and evil villains than about how to tell a salad fork from a dessert fork.”

  “Yes!” they both said, forgetting the quiet rule.

  Mrs. Beachwood cupped a hand around the side of her mouth and whispered, “Well, I wholly approve.” Then she began to shelve books.

  Lucky curled up in her chair and opened to the first chapter. She always felt a rush of excitement when she began a new book. Where was she going? What would she see? Would this story give her nightmares or would it make her laugh? She felt restless again, but it wasn’t her legs. The feeling came from a deeper place. Lucky didn’t fully understand yet, but what she felt at that moment was longing. There are people who never have this feeling, people who are content to stay put. But Lucky longed to go somewhere. Maybe not to the center of the earth, maybe not twenty thousand leagues under the sea, but somewhere.

  Somewhere beyond her tidy, inside life.

  3

  Cora Thayer Prescott rarely left the house without a black parasol. She highly approved of the practical device, which was handy in most weather situations. In case of sun, it protected her fair skin. In case of rain, snow, or hail, it kept her expensive hats and clothing dry. The only time she didn’t carry one was during a storm. She’d come to that wise decision after learning that a distant cousin had been struck by lightning while carrying a parasol in a hurricane and thus had been left a bit befuddled in the brain. Cora didn’t have time for befuddlement or any kind of impracticality. Today, however, with the sun gentle and pleasant, Cora’s parasol was tightly folded, ready to be employed in case the temperature should rise, or droplets of rain should fall. Spring weather was so unpredictable.

  As was this day. Very unpredictable, which annoyed Cora, for she tried to keep her days in a state of utmost order. Cora highly approved of routines. Life was messy and complicated, and the best way to deal with messy and complicated was to wrap it up in a tight bow. Each day planned. Each hour scheduled. But she’d received a note from her younger brother that his housekeeper was ill and unable to meet Lucky after school. Could Cora fetch Lucky? Cora, wh
o’d been in the middle of a meeting of the Ladies’ Social Betterment Society, had read the note quickly. Of course her niece could not walk alone. It was improper for young ladies of society to go unescorted on city sidewalks. So she’d politely withdrawn from her meeting and was now making her way toward the school.

  As she walked down the sidewalk, her long skirt swishing, her steps were purposeful but not rapid. Cora often added an afternoon walk to her schedule. Walking was appropriate exercise for ladies of society. Expansion of the lungs was most beneficial to a sturdy constitution.

  As Cora neared the school, she spotted Lucky standing on the sidewalk, waving as a carriage pulled away. Another girl waved from the carriage window. “See you at my party!” the girl called. Cora vaguely recognized the girl, but when she noticed the rolling chair tucked at the back of the carriage, she remembered that the girl was Lucky’s best friend.

  “Good-bye, Emma!” Lucky called.

  Cora smiled. Her heart always warmed when she saw her niece. Had Lucky grown another inch? How long had it been since they’d been in each other’s company? Cora ran through a mental list of activities and realized that she hadn’t seen her niece in one month. She supposed it was possible to grow an inch in one month. How quickly time passed. How quickly Lucky was changing. A pang of guilt tugged at her. Perhaps she should make more time for her niece.

  Lucky’s boots were nicely polished and her hair properly braided. She was such a lovely girl, with a bubbling personality and keen intellect. Under the right guidance, Lucky would grow to be an amazing woman who could do anything she set her mind to. Cora believed it was her duty to be a role model to Lucky, but she was not Lucky’s mother. She was her aunt, and she’d been reminded many times that parenting duties and decisions were up to Lucky’s father, Jim. As brother and sister, Jim and Cora were polar opposites, and she did not always approve of his laid-back ways. But he was the parent, and it was not her place to interfere.

  Though she did, sometimes. Interfere. When she thought it necessary. Being a single parent was a tough job, and Jim didn’t like to wear the hat of disciplinarian. Nor had he fully recovered from that sad day, many long years ago, when he’d lost his wife.

  “Hello, Lucky,” Cora said with a warm smile, pausing just a moment before pulling Lucky in for a quick hug.

  Lucky returned the hug, then took a step back. “Aunt Cora? What are you doing here?”

  “Mrs. MacFinn is not feeling well. I’ve come to walk you home.”

  “Oh.” Lucky frowned. Cora frowned, too, worried that her niece wasn’t happy to see her. But when Lucky’s hands darted behind her back, and her big green eyes looked away, Cora raised an eyebrow.

  “Lucky, what are you hiding?” she asked in a hushed voice.

  Lucky shuffled in place. Then she revealed a letter. “It’s from the headmistress,” she mumbled. “For Dad.”

  Normally, Cora would have told her niece not to mumble, to speak clearly and to hold her head high. “Words matter,” she often said, “so make certain your words are clear and delivered with confidence.” But in this case, with parents milling about, Cora didn’t mind the mumbling. The letter was no business of anyone’s. Jim and Lucky would discuss it in the privacy of their home. Cora took the letter and tucked it into her bag.

  “Madame Barrow was really mad,” Lucky began to explain. “But I was just trying to—”

  “This is neither the time nor the place,” Cora said. “You can discuss it later.” She caught the judgmental stare of a woman she knew all too well—Mrs. Nickerson, wife to the president of the city’s largest bank. Cora smiled politely. It was well known that Lucky often had troubles at school, and clearly Mrs. Nickerson had heard about the latest incident, whatever that might be. Mrs. Nickerson turned and spoke to another woman, and even though they kept their voices hushed, Cora heard the words clearly: “She acts wild because she doesn’t have a mother.”

  That comment stabbed Cora right to her heart. She could feel her face heating up, and with every ounce of her being, she wanted to pounce on that woman like a mother lion defending her cub. How dare she say such a cruel thing! But this was a public place, and Cora Prescott was not about to make a scene. Instead, she turned her back to Mrs. Nickerson, reached out, and straightened Lucky’s straw hat. The ribbon was beginning to fray and needed replacing. This was the kind of thing Lucky’s father would never notice, but was important nonetheless. “Let’s go.”

  Lucky walked fast. She’d get ahead of Cora, then backtrack. She’d clearly inherited her energy from her father. Cora remembered many occasions when Jim had gotten in trouble at school, and a few times when he’d brought home a letter from his school’s headmaster. Like father, like daughter, Cora thought bemusedly. Perhaps she could help find a good physical outlet for Lucky’s energy. She’d look into tennis lessons at the club. Tennis was a civilized form of exercise. As the saying went, sound body, sound mind. She’d bring up the subject with Jim as soon as possible.

  The city was in its usual state of busyness. Horse-drawn carriages and wagons crowded the road. Men in suits and bowler hats and women in high-collared jackets and long skirts strolled the sidewalks, shopping and conversing. There were vendors hawking their wares and stray cats meowing from alleys. And there were the odors—the musky scent of horses (of which Cora was not fond) and chimney smoke. But pleasant odors lingered as well, like chickens roasting in a butcher’s shop, and a bakery with apple cake just out of the oven. “Those sweets will spoil your appetite,” Cora said when Lucky stared longingly into the bakery window.

  “Extra, extra, read all about it! Gold found out West!” a newsboy called. Cora stopped to buy a paper.

  “What if we don’t give the letter to Dad?” Lucky asked, after Cora had paid the newsboy a nickel and handed the paper to her to carry. “What if we accidentally lose it?”

  Cora didn’t ask Lucky what she’d done. The letter was specifically addressed to Mr. Jim Prescott, and if Cora got involved, she might be accused of interfering again. She was curious, of course. But she knew it was probably the same thing—that Lucky had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, drawn there by her curiosity and energy. “Whether your actions are good or bad, you must own your responsibility,” Cora said, taking advantage of a teaching moment. “We learn not from success but from failure. Look your father in the eyes, admit your wrongdoing, and you will grow and learn.”

  “Fine.” Lucky’s shoulders slumped. “Are you mad at me because I got in trouble again?”

  “I’m not mad at you. I love you with all my heart. You do know that, don’t you?”

  Lucky nodded. They began walking again. But Cora couldn’t shake the image of Mrs. Nickerson’s disapproving eye. “I am, however, concerned. I don’t think your father has conveyed to you the importance of these school years.” Cora gently guided Lucky so they made a wide berth around a man and his ornery-looking bulldog. “The girls at Madame Barrow’s are your social peers. They are the ones who will be inviting you to parties, to dances, and as you grow up, to weddings. They are your people. The headmistress has influence, here and abroad. If you are in her good graces you can expect to be included on many invitation lists.”

  “I don’t care about invitation lists. The only party I care about is Emma’s birthday.” Lucky frowned. “I really hope Dad lets me go.”

  Cora doubted her brother would keep his only daughter from her best friend’s birthday. When it came to discipline, Jim was as softhearted as a stuffed animal. She’d never even heard him raise his voice. But rather than set her niece at ease, Cora decided that a bit of worry might be good for Lucky. “Perhaps next time you will think about consequences before you act.” Cora stopped outside a hat shop. “I have something to pick up. Are you coming in?”

  “I’d rather wait out here,” Lucky said.

  It would be easier to have Lucky remain outside. When made to wait inside a store, Lucky could be the proverbial “bull in a china shop.”

  “
Very well. I’ll be only a few minutes.” Cora stepped inside. The woman at the counter greeted her, then collected the blue wool hat that Cora had ordered. It bore a pheasant feather and would look quite smart with her coat. As she paid for the hat, she noticed the selection of ribbons and chose a new one for Lucky’s straw hat. Then, hatbox in hand, she emerged from the shop.

  Lucky was gone.

  Cora’s heart skipped a beat. She told herself not to panic. She knew her niece had simply wandered, distracted by something, and was nearby. But where? She glanced up and down the sidewalk.

  Perhaps she should have told Lucky to stay put. But Lucky should know that rule by now. With a determined jut of her chin, Cora tucked her parasol beneath her arm. It was one thing to try to keep a schedule in place, but trying to keep Lucky in place was as impossible as trying to contain a breeze.

  A breeze with a braid.

  4

  Lucky waved apologetically at a driver as he hollered, “Watch out!” and his horse reared to avoid running over her. She should have looked both ways before darting into the road, but something had caught her eye. And she couldn’t miss out, not again!

  It was the beautiful black horse, the one with the red blanket and feathers in his mane, and the same cowboy she’d seen earlier, only this time the cowboy was riding the horse. She wanted to call out to them, but they were too far away to hear her above the city noise. The cowboy rode around the corner, disappearing from view.

  With one hand atop her straw hat to keep it in place, and the rolled newspaper in her other hand, Lucky skidded to a stop to avoid another carriage. She waited for it to pass, then hurried onto the sidewalk. She picked up her pace, scurrying between pedestrians. Why were they walking so slowly? She dashed around a couple strolling arm in arm, then dodged a woman with a basket of flowers. “Excuse me. Excuse me.” She bumped into a young deliveryman carrying parcels of laundry. “Sorry.” She leaped over a crate and nearly overturned a small fruit stand, sending an apple rolling. She grabbed the wayward fruit, plopped it back into its bin, then hurried away before the shopkeeper could holler at her.