Spirit Riding Free--Lucky and the Mustangs of Miradero Page 10

  Jim chuckled. “Why does everyone keep telling me who is and who isn’t married? Am I wearing a sign on my back that says ‘Looking for a Wife’?”

  “Don’t be silly, Jim. I only mention it because you are an eligible bachelor.”

  There was that term again. Lucky stirred her soup ’round and ’round, waiting for her father’s reaction. Surely he’d laugh and say, That’s ridiculous! I’m not eligible, because I’m very happy being single and I don’t need a wife.

  But he didn’t say that. Instead he said, “Speaking of Miss Flores, I did run into her at the bakery. She does seem to be a very nice person.” He smiled in a strange way, as if he’d just discovered a new flavor of ice cream.

  “Did you speak to each other?” Cora asked.

  “Yes; it was a short conversation, but I found her quite delightful.”

  Delightful? Lucky scowled. What was going on?

  Jim sat back in his chair. “You know, I’ve been so busy at work, I haven’t volunteered in your classroom yet. Perhaps I should stop by and—”

  “No!” Lucky blurted, a chunk of carrot flying from her mouth.

  “Esperanza!” her aunt chided. “Do not spit food across the table.”

  “Sorry.” Lucky wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Dad, we don’t need volunteers right now. We have too many volunteers. Really.” That was a huge lie. Miss Flores had complained only a few days ago that she could use help clearing some fallen branches away from the schoolhouse. “Too many volunteers,” Lucky repeated.

  Jim helped himself to a slice of bread. “Yes, well, maybe some other time, when we don’t have blizzards and avalanches threatening to close the railroad.”

  “Yeah, some other time.” If Lucky had a choice, that other time would be never. Imagine if her dad started dating her teacher. How awkward would that be? She had enough troubles at school without adding that to the mix. And besides, he didn’t need to date anyone. They were perfectly happy, the three of them. Nothing needed to change.

  After dinner, Lucky went back to work on the cookies, but Cora stopped her. “That’s enough for tonight, young lady.”

  “But, Aunt Cora—”

  “Lucky, I admire your dedication to your schoolwork. But it is almost midnight. Besides, it wouldn’t be safe to have you cooking on a wood stove all night long without supervision. I need to get some sleep.”

  “So do I,” Jim said. He kissed Lucky’s forehead. “Good night, sweet pea.”

  Even though she tried, three more times, to argue her case, her aunt and father refused to be swayed and insisted that everyone go to bed. Reluctantly, Lucky got into her pajamas. She wound her nightstand clock and set the alarm for five AM. It would still be dark, but she could sneak downstairs and start work again, maybe getting a couple batches of cookies baked. And then she and Pru and Abigail would hang the suet cones and scatter the seed cakes. Hopefully, some birds and rabbits, field mice, squirrels and chipmunks would have full bellies. Then the PALs could ride out to scatter the cookies for the herd.

  As Lucky climbed into bed, Cora came into her room. “Lucky, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

  “I thought you wanted to go to sleep,” Lucky said grumpily.

  Cora adjusted her bathrobe, then sat on the bed. “You were a bit snappy at supper. That’s not like you. What happened?”

  Lucky told Cora about the fight between Pru and Maricela and how they’d both stormed out. “I know Maricela can be mean, but we needed her help. And Pru’s help.”

  Cora nodded thoughtfully, then said, “Sometimes when people act mean, they are hurting inside. Maybe something is bothering Maricela.”

  “I can’t imagine what could be bothering her. She gets her way all the time. And she has everything.”

  “Does she have everything?” Cora asked. Lucky wasn’t sure how to answer that question. Maricela lived in a grand house, wore fancy clothes, brought gourmet lunches to school, and always had pocket money for candy at the general store.

  “I’m mad at Pru, too,” Lucky admitted. “She shouldn’t have left me and Abigail to do all the work.”

  Cora took Lucky’s hairbrush off the nightstand. “Friends fight, but friends also forgive. I’m sure you and Pru will work things out.” She ran the brush down Lucky’s long hair. “But is that the only thing bothering you, other than the fact that I won’t let you cook all night long?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I noticed that you got upset when I mentioned Miss Flores.”

  Lucky turned around. “Yeah, why did you do that? Dad doesn’t need a girlfriend right now. Or ever. Why is everyone pushing this on him? Althea wants him to meet her sister. And Widow Brown wants to make him chicken stew. And now you’re trying to get him to marry Miss Flores!”

  Cora tucked a strand of hair behind Lucky’s ear. “Oh, Lucky, I hope you don’t believe I would push your dad into getting married. That is not my intention in the least. He’s my brother. I just want him to be happy.”

  “You’re not married. Are you unhappy just because you’re not married?”

  Cora shook her head. “Of course not. Maybe one day I’ll meet a nice gentleman, but for now I am proud to be a single, independent woman.” They both looked at the poster on the wall. Milagro’s face smiled back at them. “Lucky, things change. Look outside. Last month we were basking in a warm autumn day at the harvest festival, and here we are, surrounded by snow. Seasons change. People change. One day your father might fall in love again.”

  Lucky frowned. “Or he might not.”

  “Or he might not.” Cora set the hairbrush back on the nightstand. Then she took Lucky’s chin in her hand. “But do not be afraid of change. Look how we adapted, you and I. We didn’t think we’d ever fit in, but now we’re both so busy; we both have friends and meaningful projects. Any changes that come our way, we can face them. Together.”

  She kissed Lucky’s cheek, then turned off the lamp on her way out.

  Lucky lay back on the pillow. As the room darkened, her mother’s face faded from view. And Lucky was overcome by a desperate feeling. If her dad fell in love, would he forget Lucky’s mother? Would he forget what she looked like? How she sounded? The things she said?

  Would her mother fade until she disappeared, forever?

  22

  Lucky gently smacked her alarm clock to stop its buzzing. Then she scrambled out of bed and pulled back the curtains. Though no new snow had fallen, the temperature appeared to have dipped well below freezing. Clusters of icicles hung from the roof’s eaves. Was it too cold for the herd to wander in search of food? Poor Spirit. Lucky felt helpless. Why did winter have to be so cruel?

  She quickly dressed, then charged downstairs, her sleeves rolled up, ready for work. It wasn’t long before Pru and Abigail showed up. “I’m sorry I stormed out,” Pru said. “I shouldn’t have let Maricela get under my skin.”

  Any anger Lucky had felt immediately brushed away, like a chalkboard being wiped clean. “I understand,” Lucky told her. “Maricela isn’t easy to get along with.”

  “She’s stubborn,” Abigail said. “Like Señor Carrots.”

  “Well, I can be just as stubborn,” Pru admitted. Lucky and Abigail shared a quick look, for they both knew this was true. Then they all laughed.

  No more needed to be said. They were friends, now and always, and they would finish the project together. But there was so much more to do.

  By noon they finished making all the cookies, with no help from Maricela. After bundling into their warmest layers, and passing Cora’s inspection, they set out. Lucky carried the burlap bag of cookies, Pru carried a basket of suet cones, and Abigail carried a basket of seed cakes. The herd was their priority, so they headed straight for Pru’s barn. But they ran into a big blockade, in the form of Al Granger. “It’s too icy to be riding out there,” he said. “Can’t risk a horse slipping and breaking a leg, or you girls getting hurt.”

  “But, Dad—”

  “I’
m not changing my mind about this, Pru, so no use in begging.” And off he marched. But a moment later he turned around, real quick. “And don’t you go sneaking off. I’m still mad at you girls for almost getting blown up by dynamite. If you go riding, you’ll be in a heap of trouble!”

  “Drat!” Pru said with a stomp of her foot. “I’m sorry, Lucky.”

  “It’s not your fault the weather’s so bad.” But Lucky couldn’t hide her disappointment. She desperately wanted to give the treats to the mustangs, more than she’d wanted anything in a very long time.

  “We can still feed the birds and wild rabbits,” Abigail reminded them.

  Lucky set the burlap bag down in Pru’s barn. They checked on the chickens, bunnies, sheep, goats, Chica Linda, and Boomerang. Everyone seemed happy and warm. Jacques had heated up some water, which they added to the horses’ trough to help melt the ice. “Boomerang, look, the water isn’t frozen.” Abigail cupped her hands into the trough and held up a handful of water. “Come on, Boomerang. See, you can drink it now.” Boomerang stuck his nose into her cupped hands and drank. Abigail did this two more times until she had coaxed him to drink from the trough. Meanwhile, Pru grabbed a small stepladder. “So we can reach the higher branches,” she explained.

  Sounds of laughter and cheers coaxed them in the direction of Pig Pond, which had frozen over thanks to the dip in temperature. The pond was thus named because of its oval shape and because it was in view of Miradero Mel’s pen, which happened to be the fanciest pen a pig has ever known—palatial in size and clean as a whistle. That was the kind of accommodation a pig got when he was famous.

  Turo and the older students had pulled their ice skates out of their attics and were taking full advantage of the frozen pond. They’d built a little fire to warm their hands, and they’d set up a metal grill, upon which they were roasting nuts and warming a kettle of cocoa. Parents and younger kids had joined them. “Wow, that looks like fun,” Pru said.

  “We have work to do,” Abigail reminded her.

  Maricela did not show up, but they saw her looking out her window as they passed by. She darted behind a curtain when Abigail waved. “Why doesn’t she come and help us?” Abigail asked.

  “She doesn’t work, remember?” Pru grumbled.

  They knocked on the Gutierrezes’ door, but the housekeeper told them that Maricela was busy and wasn’t accepting visitors.

  “Aunt Cora said something last night,” Lucky told Pru and Abigail as they crossed the Gutierrezes’ yard. “She said that sometimes, when a person acts mean toward others, that person is actually hurting inside. Do you think Maricela is hurting?”

  “I don’t see why she’d be hurting,” Pru said. They stopped at a walnut tree. While Lucky held the ladder, Pru stood on the top step, hanging a cone from a branch. “She gets everything she wants.” That had been Lucky’s thought as well, but as she peeked over her shoulder, she caught Maricela looking out the window again. A person who gets everything she wants should look happy. But Maricela looked miserable, a huge frown plastered across her face.

  As the PALs made their way through town, they tucked the seed cakes into dry spots beneath shrubs and into rock crevices. Then they hung the last cone in Abigail’s yard. Señor Carrots was an expert at standing on his hind legs and stretching his body and neck to snatch things, so they borrowed a taller ladder so they could hang the cone out of the donkey’s reach.

  By the time their baskets were empty, snow had gotten into their boots and the cold had seeped through their mittens. Pru’s house was closest, so they decided to thaw out in her kitchen. Jacques made them big bowls of French onion soup and a platter of buttered toast. While Lucky ate, she couldn’t stop thinking about the herd. There was no way Mr. Granger would give them permission to ride if the weather didn’t improve.

  Just as she sipped her last spoonful of her soup, Turo barged in. “The herd’s here,” he announced, gasping for breath. His brown hair poked out from under his knit hat. “And there’s something you should see!” Lucky’s heart skipped a beat. Turo wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t bringing good news. “Come on,” he urged, motioning for them to follow.

  Bundled up once again, they hurried outside. The frozen snow crunched beneath their feet as they ran. To make it easier, they stuck to the path of boot prints the older kids had made on their way to Pig Pond. Then they followed Turo past the pond and climbed a small hill. “There!” Turo said, pointing.

  The herd stood on the horizon, dark shapes against the snow. They walked with their heads down, searching for food. Lucky counted eighteen horses, plus one foal. Where was the other foal? The herd walked close together, the foal in the middle. Then she noticed two horses far behind the herd. “It’s Spirit,” Lucky realized. “And one of the foals.” Spirit seemed to be walking in a normal manner, only very slowly. The foal, however, was clearly having trouble. It appeared to be staggering. Wobbly on its feet. “Is it hurt?”

  “It might be sick,” Turo said. “Is it a boy or a girl?”

  Pru squinted and stared at the shapes. “We’ve never seen it up close, so we don’t know.”

  “Look how Spirit is staying with the baby,” Abigail said. “He cares.”

  While it eased Lucky’s worry to know that Spirit was watching over the foal, the fact remained that something was wrong. This was terrible news, not just for the foal’s sake, but for the entire herd. “If the sick foal is slowing them down, that means they can’t walk as far for food. Mrs. Granger said the ability to cover lots of ground is key to the herd’s survival in winter.”

  “You’re right,” Abigail said. “They’re going to need our help.”

  Pru grabbed Lucky’s arm. “We have to change my dad’s mind. He has to let us bring food to them.”

  “But how do we get it to them?” Turo asked. “It’s too icy out there for a wagon.”

  Lucky, Pru, and Abigail looked at one another, then said, “The sleigh!”

  23

  It wasn’t difficult to persuade Pru’s mother that the herd needed help. But Al Granger, like his daughter, tended to be a bit stubborn. “I don’t see why we should interfere,” he said. “Wild critters do just fine on their own. That’s the way nature intended it.”

  “But, Dad, our school project is about helping wild animals,” Pru said. “That’s the whole point.”

  “Normally, I would agree with you,” Fanny Granger told him. “But these are unusual circumstances. We’re dealing with extreme winter weather, the likes of which we rarely see in these parts. And Lucky has a special relationship with this particular herd.”

  Lucky stood as still as a mountain, holding her breath and waiting for Al’s reaction. He remained silent, eyes narrowed, deep in thought. He rubbed his black beard, thinking some more. Then he folded his arms and said assuredly, “I care about the well-being of those mustangs, don’t get me wrong, but I still think they know how to fend for themselves.”

  He wasn’t going to help them? Lucky was about to plead. To beg. But Fanny stepped close to her husband and said, “Al, don’t you think it’s strange that Spirit has allowed his herd to get so near to town? He knows it’s a risk. He knows that you might send out your mesteñeros.”

  Lucky gasped.

  “Dad! You wouldn’t do that, would you?” Pru cried.

  Abigail nearly burst into tears. “No, Mr. Granger, please don’t do that. Please don’t catch Spirit’s herd.”

  “Hang on, now.” Al pushed his hat up his forehead. “I never said I’d do any such thing.” This statement was followed by a huge exhale of relief from all three girls. But still, the situation hadn’t changed.

  “Mrs. Granger is right,” Lucky said. “Spirit would never let his herd get this close unless he didn’t have a choice. They can’t travel because the foal is sick. He could leave the foal behind and let it die to give the rest of the herd a chance, but Spirit isn’t doing that.” Was Mr. Granger listening to her? Could she convince him? “Spirit is helping the foal and we shou
ld help it, too.”

  Al’s expression softened. “I know it’s not easy watching something small suffer, but I still say we shouldn’t mess with wild critters.”

  Fanny set her hand on her husband’s shoulder. “Need I remind you that your men are the ones who captured Spirit in the first place, thus messing with a wild critter?”

  Al rubbed the back of his neck. Lucky, Pru, Abigail, Turo, and Fanny warily waited for his response. “Dadburnit, I reckon you’re right about that. Okay, we’ll take the sleigh out there and drop off a bale of hay.”

  “And cookies!” Abigail exclaimed. She darted into the barn.

  “Cookies?” Al asked.

  Pru frowned. “Gee, Dad, haven’t you been paying attention to our project? The oatmeal cookies are for the—”

  A loud squeal sounded from inside the barn. Everyone ran inside, where they found Abigail holding an empty burlap bag. “Boomerang,” she said, shaking a finger at her horse. “You’ve been very, very bad.” Boomerang took a step back and licked his lips, perhaps trying to get rid of the evidence. The chickens pecked gleefully at cookie crumbs that were scattered around Boomerang’s feet. Chica Linda tried to look innocent, but the cluster of oats stuck to her nose gave her away.

  Lucky groaned. “They ate everything.”

  “We still have hay,” Pru said. “Come on.”

  “Good luck,” Fanny told them.

  “Mom, aren’t you coming with us?” Pru asked.

  “I need to make my rounds,” she replied, grabbing her medical bag. “There are other animals that need tending.”

  “But don’t you want to examine the sick foal?” Lucky asked.

  “There’s no way the herd would let me get close enough,” Fanny said. “If the foal is weak from hunger, then the hay will help.”

  Al, Turo, and the girls removed the tarp and pushed the sleigh to the front of the barn. Aside from cobwebs and peeling paint, it appeared to be in great shape. Like the sleighs in Philadelphia, this one had two bench seats, with the driver’s being slightly higher. The cushioning, however, was long gone, having been stolen over the years by field mice for nest-making purposes. But the wooden slats were solid with no signs of rot. The blades formed graceful lines that curved to the front like arching snakes.