“Seriously?” Pru asked. “I’m supposed to forget that she did all that stuff to me?” She groaned. “Yeah, I get it. Forgiveness and all that.” She sighed. “Okay, Maricela, yes, you are always welcome to go riding with us. Can we just stop fighting?”
Lucky smiled. They all knew how selfish Maricela could be, how calculating and unpleasant, and yet Pru had taken the high road and not only forgiven her, but was willing to include her. Pru was a good person and an amazing friend.
But before Maricela could reply, Abigail squealed. “Look,” she said, pointing to the filly. “She’s getting to her feet!”
31
By evening it was clear—the filly was going to be okay. She was not only walking around, but eating small amounts of hay. “We’ll need to keep her for a day or two,” Fanny Granger said. “Just to make sure she regains all her strength. But it looks like we got to her in the nick of time.”
That was the best news ever.
As darkness fell, the mare returned to her herd. Lucky was glad that she’d be warm in the cave with the other mustangs, rather than outside in the cold. Did the mare understand that they were not keeping her baby? That they’d return her as soon as possible? Lucky hoped so. Spirit, however, ventured into the barn and kept close to the filly. “You’re a good uncle,” Lucky told him.
In times of crisis or times of celebration, the Granger kitchen was the usual gathering place for Pru and her family’s guests, but on this night everyone was drawn back into the barn. Al and Jim brought lanterns, while Jacques and Fanny carried a large pot of hot cocoa. Cora and Miss Flores helped ladle the cocoa into mugs. Then they all sat on bales of hay—even Maricela, who didn’t once complain about how the animals smelled. As the stars twinkled through the windows, and Abigail’s snowflakes dangled from the rafters, lantern light warmed the barn with an amber glow. The chickens, rabbits, sheep, and goats settled into their spaces. Chica Linda, Boomerang, Spirit, and the other horses seemed content, with eyes closed and ears relaxed. Even the filly, who’d curled onto a blanket, looked peaceful.
It was Miss Flores who spoke first. She tapped a spoon against her mug to get everyone’s attention. “I wanted to say how very impressed I am with you girls. Your parents told me how hard you worked making the critter care packages. I think you each deserve an A for your winter project.” Lucky, Pru, and Abigail, who were sitting together on a bale, smiled and happily elbowed one another. But Maricela, who was sitting by herself, raised her hand.
“Miss Flores?”
“Yes, Maricela?”
“I think you should know that I…” She looked down at her mug. “That I…” Lucky was stunned. Was Maricela struggling to speak? She always had something to say. Pru stiffened, as did Lucky, expecting the worst. Was Maricela about to tell Miss Flores that she was the only one who deserved the A grade? Maricela swallowed hard, then looked up. “I didn’t do as much work as the others. You should know that.”
“I see.” Miss Flores nodded slowly. “And why didn’t you do as much work?” She didn’t sound critical, just curious.
“Because…” Maricela hesitated. Was she going to tell everyone about her feelings? How she’d been mad at Pru all these years? How she’d felt left out, and friendless, and hurt? She’d already confessed all those feelings to the PALs, and wasn’t that enough?
“Maricela helped with the filly,” Lucky said. “She fed her medicine and soothed her. That was very helpful.”
“Yes,” Abigail said. “Very helpful.”
Maricela’s eyes widened with surprise. “But…?”
“We’re a team,” Pru explained. “We all deserve the same grade.”
Lucky smiled with pride. She couldn’t have said it better herself. Did Maricela’s confession mean that she’d changed her ways? Maybe. Or maybe not. Lucky knew that she couldn’t control what Maricela said or did, but the PALs had done their best to make her feel welcome, and that was good enough for Lucky. She scooted closer to Pru, then looked at Maricela and patted the empty spot on the hay bale. Maricela walked across the barn and sat next to her.
“Then it’s an A for the entire group,” Miss Flores said.
Though the girls were quite gleeful at that moment, Jim and Al weren’t smiling. They were staring at their daughters with concern. Al pushed back his hat. “While I’m proud of your schoolwork, don’t get me wrong, there’s still the matter of you two riding when I specifically told you not to,” he said.
“You do realize that there will be punishment,” Jim told them. “You know that, right?” Lucky nodded. As did Pru. That’s when Abigail jumped to her feet.
“You have to punish me, too,” she insisted. “Because I knew all about it and I was going to cover for them.”
Al’s scowl melted and he chuckled quietly. “You girls really are a team, aren’t you?” On that note, Jacques passed around a platter of freshly baked oatmeal cookies.
Pru gently pulled Abigail back onto the hay bale. “Are you crazy?” Pru whispered. “You didn’t have to do that. He’s gonna come up with something really bad, like digging holes for fence posts, or skinning rattlesnakes for his favorite soup.”
“We’re a team, remember?” Abigail said. She was about to eat her cookie when Boomerang snatched it from her hand. “Boomerang!”
When the cookies were gone and the cocoa consumed, everyone started to bundle up to leave. Cora pulled a pair of gloves from her pocket, then sat next to Lucky. “Don’t think I didn’t notice your hands, young lady.”
Lucky turned her palms upward, revealing the chapped skin. “My gloves got wet from scooping snow, so my hands got a bit frozen.”
“I have some of Dr. Merriweather’s burn cream at home. It should take the sting away.” She handed the gloves to Lucky. “For now, wear these.” Both Lucky and Cora paused a moment, looking across the barn as Lucky’s dad said good-bye to Miss Flores. It was one of those long, lingering good-byes. Cora reached out and squeezed Lucky’s arm. She didn’t need to say anything. Lucky knew what the squeeze meant. Change might be coming, but Cora would always be there for her, even if Lucky broke more rules, even if she refused to wear layers, even if their family’s size and shape changed. And her father would always be there, too. “I love you,” Cora said.
“I love you, too.”
Change can be a scary thing. But after moving to a new town, sleeping in a new bed, making new friends, and learning new skills, Lucky knew she could handle whatever changes came her way. She walked over to Spirit and ran her hand down his muzzle. “Good night, boy,” she said. “See you in the morning.” He nodded, then lay next to the filly. Lucky took her father’s hand and they started the walk home.
Most days are ordinary, filled with familiar sights, sounds, and practiced routines. But for Fortuna Esperanza Navarro Prescott, most days were extraordinary. And she hoped it would always be that way.
32
Spirit dipped his head and gulped some cool, clear water. Pools had formed here and there, thanks to the melting snow. With each passing day, more birds were returning, busily gathering twigs for their nest making. It was nice to hear their songs once again. Grasses, bright green and crisp, poked out of the thawing ground. Rabbit families emerged from their burrows, their noses and whiskers twitching. It was safe for them to venture out, for the wolf pack had returned to the depths of the forest. Spirit lifted his head and nodded at his sister, who stood on the other side of the pool, her filly at her side. Soon, the filly would be a yearling. She was healthy and strong like her mother. The whole herd was healthy. Spirit tossed his mane with pride. He’d known feelings of love, of protection and of fear, but at that moment he was blessed by the feeling of contentment.
“Spirit!”
He turned. Up on the ridge, the brown-and-white pinto stood with his yellow-haired girl. The palomino stood beside him, with her black-haired girl. And sliding off the palomino’s back was the brown-haired girl. Spirit’s girl. She waved and called his name again. He neighed to his her
d, bidding them good-bye. Then he bolted up the trail, pausing only long enough for his girl to grab his mane and swing herself into place. She smelled like soap and oatmeal cookies.
But there was another scent, the one that arrived at this time every year. It was the scent of promises—that grasses would grow, that trees would fruit, and that life would renew. With Spirit in the lead, the horses and their girls took their first ride of spring.
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Author’s Note
Once again I’ve been blessed with an amazing project. Huge thanks to Kara Sargent at Little, Brown Books for Young Readers for inviting me to write these novels about Spirit the wild mustang and the girl who loves him. Kara and I share a love for animals, and so teaming up for a project like this seemed as natural as breathing.
There are many people to thank, for a writer never works alone. Sometimes it feels like some act of magic has occurred when the finished book actually arrives on my doorstep and I get to hold it for the first time. The magicians responsible for this story are, from Universal/DreamWorks Animation: Aury Wallington, Rich Burns, Laura Sreebny, Katherine Nolfi, Robert Taylor, Lauren Bradley, Megan Startz, Harriet Murphy, Corinne Combs, Barb Layman, Mike Sund, David Wiebe, Andrew Tolbert, Heather Oster, Rebecca Goldberg, Alex Ward, and Susan Weber; and from Little, Brown, working alongside Kara Sargent: Dani Valladares, Christina Quintero, Kristina Pisciotta, Lindsay Walter-Greaney, Dan Letchworth, Allegra Green, Carol Scatorchio, and Victoria Stapleton.
And a big thanks to Jeremy Bishop, Megan Chance, Sue and Faith Kerrigan, Vicky Poole, Michael Bourret, and to my family, Bob, Walker, and Isabelle.
I humbly offer each of them a heartfelt thanks.
Ride Free, everyone!
Turn the page for a sneak peek at the adventure that started it all
1
The morning sun streamed through the windows as Lucky’s shoes beat their wild rhythm.
Though Lucky was a natural runner, with long, strong legs, the shoes themselves hadn’t been designed for such activity. Made from stiff black leather, with a half-inch heel, they laced tightly up the shins. That very morning the boots had been polished to a perfect sheen by the family butler. If she kept running, Lucky would surely develop blisters, but she didn’t have far to go.
With no one around to witness, Lucky picked up speed and darted down the hallway of Madame Barrow’s Finishing School for Young Ladies. Running within school walls was strictly prohibited, along with other disrespectful activities like pencil gnawing and gum chewing. But sometimes rules had to be broken, especially when a hot, buttered scone was at stake. So Lucky ran as fast as she could, her long brown braid thumping against her back. Morning tea at Barrow’s was a tradition the headmistress had brought with her from England. The school’s cook could make the pastry so flaky it practically melted in the mouth. And she stuffed each one with a huge dollop of salted butter and sweet blackberry jam. Lucky’s mouth watered just thinking about it. But she was late. So very late. Which wasn’t entirely her fault.
There’d been a…distraction.
She’d been looking out the window as she tended to do during morning recitations, her mouth moving automatically, for she knew her multiplication tables by heart. “Twelve times five is sixty. Twelve times six is seventy-two.” Her legs felt twitchy, as they often did when she was forced to sit for long periods of time. “Twelve times seven is eighty-four. Twelve times eight is ninety-six.”
“Lucky, please stop fiddling,” the teacher said.
“Yes, ma’am.” Lucky sat up straight and tucked her feet behind the chair legs to keep them still.
“Continue, everyone.”
“Twelve times nine is—”
Lucky stopped reciting. Something on the other side of the street caught her eye. It was a horse, but not the usual sort that one saw in the city. This horse wasn’t attached to a carriage or wagon. A bright-red blanket lay across his back and feathers hung from his black mane. He was being led down the sidewalk by a man whose long blond hair was topped by a cowboy hat. The fringe on the man’s pants jiggled as he walked. Certainly the city was full of colorful people who came from every corner of the world, but Lucky had never seen a cowboy in person, only in photographs. He walked in a funny, bowlegged way and was handing out pieces of paper to passersby. Lucky leaned closer to the window, but a carriage pulled up and blocked her view.
“Twelve times fourteen is…” Lucky tapped her fingers on the desk. She couldn’t get that cowboy and his beautiful horse out of her mind. What were they doing in the city?
“Lucky. Please sit still!”
And so it was that after recitations, instead of heading to tea with the other students, Lucky snuck out the front door to see if the cowboy was still there.
He wasn’t. And by that time, morning tea had already begun.
The headmistress believed that teatime was as crucial to a young lady’s education as literature or history because it taught manners and the important art of conversation. Plus, she insisted that the tea they served at Barrow’s Finishing School was superior because it came all the way from England and had a picture of Queen Victoria on the tin. Lucky wasn’t a huge fan of the stuff, but those scones were to die for.
She bounded up the flight of stairs, lifting her long skirt so she wouldn’t get tangled. She detested the school uniform—a stiff white blouse that buttoned all the way to the chin and a gray wool skirt that always seemed too heavy and too hot. She’d pleaded many times for a change in uniform. She’d brought in newspaper articles to show the headmistress that pants were all the rage in other countries. But her reasonable request fell on deaf ears, for the headmistress was as immobile as a ship in the sand. “My young ladies will not be seen in public in a pair of bloomers!”
Lucky leaped onto the second-floor landing. From the end of the hall came the clinking of china and the quiet conversations of her fellow students. She was almost there. Still gripping her skirt, she dashed out of the stairwell, turned sharply on her heels, and then raced down the hall.
Only to bump into something.
Correction—into someone.
When a scone-craving, restless student collides with a no-nonsense, uppity headmistress, the impact is the stuff of legend. Not only was the wind knocked out of both parties, but they were thrown off-balance. Objects flew into the air—a notebook, a hair comb, a marble pen. When Lucky reached out to break her fall, she grabbed the first thing in front of her, which happened to be the headmistress’s arm. Down they both tumbled, landing on the hallway carpet in a most unladylike way. Lucky knew this was bad—very bad. The headmistress had probably never sat on the ground in her entire life, let alone been knocked down to it!
Madame Barrow pushed a stray lock of hair from her eyes. “Fortuna. Esperanza. Navarro. Prescott!” she said between clenched teeth.
“Gosh, I’m so sorry,” Lucky said, scrambling to her feet. “I didn’t see you.” She offered a hand to the headmistress, pulling her up off the carpet. Then she collected the hair comb, notebook, and pen. “Are you hurt?”
Madame Barrow, headmistress of Barrow’s Finishing School for Young Ladies, did not answer the question. Instead, with expertly manicured fingers, she brushed carpet fuzz off her perfectly pressed gray skirt. She set her hair comb back into place, collected the pen and notebook, and then drew a focused breath, filling her lungs as if she were about to dive underwater. Lucky could have sworn that the intake of oxygen added another inch to the headmistress’s towering frame. Silence followed. Agonizing silence. Then, after a long exhale, the headmistress spoke. “Do you know how long I have been teaching young ladies of
society?” she asked in her thick British accent.
“No, Madame Barrow.” Lucky tried not to stare at the headmistress’s right eyelid, which had begun to quiver with rage.
“Fifteen years, Miss Prescott. Fifteen dedicated years.” With a flourish of her hand, she began what Lucky expected would be a long, dedicated lecture. “I was raised and educated in England, Miss Prescott, a country that is the pillar of civility and tradition. The patrons of this institution have placed the tender education of their daughters in my capable hands. In my fifteen years here, I have encountered many different sorts of young ladies. But never, and I repeat, never, has one child exhibited so much…spirited energy.”
Spirited energy? Lucky fidgeted. “I know I’m not supposed to run, but—”
The headmistress held up a hand, stopping Lucky mid-excuse. A moment of uncomfortable silence followed. At the other end of the hall, a few students poked their heads out of the tearoom. Eavesdropping. Who could blame them? The scene in the hall was oodles more interesting than the idle chitchat they were forced to engage in while sipping tea. “Must I remind you that running inside is not appropriate behavior for a young lady of society?”
“Yes, Madame Barrow. I mean, no, you don’t need to remind me.” Lucky shuffled in place. Sarah Nickerson’s head appeared next to the others. She smirked. Lucky wanted to holler, “Mind your own business, Sarah!” But she didn’t.
“And yet… you ran.” The headmistress raised an eyebrow. Lucky scratched behind her ear. She was starting to feel itchy, as if allergic to the headmistress’s intense and unblinking gaze.
“I’m sorry?”
“Are you asking me if you’re sorry?”
“Um, no, but it’s just that…” Lucky’s stomach growled. Loudly. “It’s just that I didn’t want to be late for morning tea.”
Spirit Riding Free--Lucky and the Mustangs of Miradero Page 14
