The Long Trail Home (Quartz Creek Ranch)

by Amber J. Keyser

  Rivka leaned over and pulled a handful for him. As soon as the pony finished scarfing it out of her hand, he nudged the fence for more. Rivka stood a long while, feeding him grass and zoning out.

  She could imagine her brothers at B’nai B’rith camp, singing songs and roasting marshmallows, a first-night-of-camp tradition, but she couldn’t think what her parents would be doing.

  Funny that she’d never considered it before.

  Her parents had six weeks off parent duty. No more forcing her to study every single day for her bat mitzvah. No more homework help. No more meal after meal for her brothers, who never seemed to stop eating. She wondered if they were flopped on the couch in sweatpants, eating popcorn and watching R-rated movies.

  The pony waggled his ears and nudged her hand.

  “I know. I know,” she said. “More grass. Kind of demanding, aren’t you?”

  \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

  The dinner table in the big ranch house was piled high—baskets of rolls, a green salad, a fruit salad, and a big bowl of vegetarian spaghetti. Mr. Bridle sat at one end of the long table, occasionally reaching up to his forehead like he forgot his cowboy hat was hanging by the door. Fletch was next to him, and they were deep in conversation.

  Rivka caught snippets of their talk . . . “cattle prices” . . . “next rodeo” . . . “the mustang threw a shoe” . . . Nobody in her house said things like that. She thought of Paul and his horse talk and decided that was way more fun than learning Hebrew.

  Ma Etty bustled around, getting Sam and Lauren to wash up and find their places. Paul came in and started bustling right back. “Come on, Ma Etty. Sit yourself on down. I’ll get the milk.”

  The old woman settled into the chair opposite Mr. Bridle with a sigh. “You’re a love, Paul. My feet are killing me.”

  He grinned at her and also at Rivka when he caught her watching everyone so intently. “Are you going to sit at the rodeo end of the table?” he asked with a wink and a nod toward Fletch and Mr. Bridle. “Or at the what are we going to name the baby horse end of the table?”

  Rivka hurried to snatch the chair next to Ma Etty.

  Paul nodded his approval. “Good call. I knew you were a smart one.”

  Lauren sat on Rivka’s other side with Sam next to her.

  “Where are Madison and Cat?” Ma Etty asked, taking in the empty seats.

  Lauren shifted in her seat. “They were . . . uh . . . in the cabin . . . um . . . having an issue.”

  “What kind of an issue?” asked Ma Etty, but just then the front door banged open, and Cat stomped in with Madison on her heels. All conversation around the table stopped.

  “Please wash,” Madison said to Cat through gritted teeth. She pointed to the sink.

  Cat rolled her eyes and flounced to the faucet.

  Ma Etty raised one eyebrow.

  Madison handed her the smartphone.

  “Ah,” said Ma Etty, taking the small device.

  Cat came to the table, glaring at anyone who met her eye.

  “I’ll keep this safe for you until the end of the summer,” said Ma Etty. “I’m sorry if no one told you about our no-technology policy.”

  Cat bit into a roll and answered with her mouth full. “I don’t see how me being able to listen to my music is any different from him having that stupid cube in his hand all the time.” She jerked a thumb at Sam, who was messing with the cube under the table. “I thought you wanted to keep us out of trouble.”

  Rivka was sure that Ma Etty would tell her to stop being sassy. Instead, the old woman turned to Sam. “How about we take a break from that during dinner?”

  He looked up to see everyone staring at him and flushed pink. “What’s going on?”

  Mr. Bridle took the cube from Sam but spoke to Cat. “We want you to check in here at the ranch, not check out.”

  Cat rolled her eyes. Again. Rivka was pretty sure that would get old too.

  “Tell you what,” said Ma Etty. “Let’s start eating, and then Mr. Bridle and I can fill you in on how things work around here. With all the excitement about Carla’s visit, we didn’t get to do a proper welcome for everyone.”

  They filled their plates, and for a few minutes, the only sound was the clink of silverware. Rivka could get used to this kind of meal. No know-it-all big brothers. No talking-all-the-time little brothers. Yes, please!

  After a while, Mr. Bridle cleared his throat. “A toast,” he said, raising his glass of milk and waiting until the rest had done the same. “To Sam, Cat, Lauren, and Rivka! A great summer lies ahead!”

  “Cheers!” said Ma Etty and Paul with gusto.

  Madison gave a little whoop.

  No one, Rivka noticed, yelled L’chaim.

  When they’d toasted and drunk, Ma Etty said, “Ranch life is pretty simple. Ride in the morning. Chores after lunch. Free time after that. We don’t have many rules. Be kind. Be careful. Respect everyone and everything.”

  “And that,” Mr. Bridle said, “is pretty much the key to a happy life.”

  “And horses,” Ma Etty added. “Don’t forget horses.”

  Mr. Bridle raised his milk again. “To horses—the key to happiness!”

  Chapter Five

  After dinner, Paul and Madison offered to do cleanup. Sam and Mr. Bridle decided to play chess. Ma Etty and Fletch nabbed separate ends of the sofa and started to read. Cat slipped out of the house to who knows where. Rivka went out to sit on the porch swing, and Lauren followed her.

  “Are you excited to ride tomorrow?” Rivka asked her.

  Lauren kind of twitched in response. “I guess so.”

  “Me too.”

  Rivka kicked one foot to keep them swinging. There was a low squeal from the chain every time they swung forward. “Maybe the Bridles could name the baby horse after one of the Avengers,” she said, still thinking about their conversation at dinner.

  “Huh?” said Lauren.

  “You know. The Avengers. Iron Man, Hulk, Black Widow . . .” Lauren stared at her blankly. “Who’s your favorite?” Rivka pressed.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Mine’s Black Widow.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “That’s it?! We’re talking Black Widow here.” Rivka stopped the swing and turned to face Lauren. “She’s way tougher than any of the rest of them, and she doesn’t need a special suit or biotech enhancement or rage or anything.” This was a hot topic of debate among her siblings.

  Lauren picked a hangnail and took over making them swing.

  The squeal of the chain fell into a steady rhythm.

  “So who’d win in a steel cage match between Captain America and Loki?” Rivka asked.

  “I don’t know,” said the girl, chewing on her bottom lip. “I don’t watch much TV.”

  “Comic books? Haven’t you at least heard about the Avengers at school?”

  Lauren shook her head. “I’m homeschooled.”

  “You’ve got to be freaking kidding me,” Cat said, walking toward them from the bunkhouse with a stack of comic books in her hand. She plopped down on the swing between Rivka and Lauren. “You mean you have no idea who the Avengers even are? By the way,” she said, whipping her attention to Rivka. “It’s totally Loki who would win.”

  “No way!” Rivka shot back. “It’s Cap. He’s the best.”

  Cat rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” She put the stack of comics down between them and picked up the top one—X-Men Origins—and started to read.

  “Can I look through these?” Rivka asked.

  “Sure,” said Cat, not looking up. “Think that old cowgirl is going to confiscate these too?”

  “Ma Etty says reading material is allowed as entertainment,” Lauren offered.

  Cat lowered the comic book. “Are you for real?”

  “What?” said Lauren, wilting against the arm of the swing.

  “Seriously. This is a ranch for troubled kids.” She continued in a mocking tone, “ ‘Reading material is allowed as
entertainment.’ What on earth could a little mouse like you have done to get stuck here?”

  Lauren’s expression got even more wilted. It made Rivka squirm to see how uncomfortable she was. “Give it a rest, Cat,” she said and handed a comic book to Lauren. “Read this one. Poison Ivy is cool.”

  Lauren flipped through the pages, but Rivka could tell she wasn’t reading.

  After a moment, she put the comic book down and said, “Cigarettes.”

  Rivka looked up. “What?”

  “My parents caught me smoking.”

  Now Cat put down the comic. “You got sent to the ranch for that?”

  Lauren dipped her chin.

  “What about you?” Rivka asked Cat, remembering the breaking point in her house. Three months ago, she threw her Hebrew book across the room and followed it with a pen and a tape dispenser for good measure. The book hit her mom, and the bruise on her cheek lasted a week.

  Cat waved her arm in the air as if dismissing the entire universe from her concern. “Read the report. Blah, blah, blah . . . It says carjacking. My loser stepdad sleeps with his keys now.”

  Rivka gaped at her. “You stole a car?”

  Cat threw her hands in the air. “He’s the one who taught me to drive when I was thirteen!”

  “But . . .” Rivka prompted. It was obvious there was more to the story.

  Cat gave a huge sigh, and her shoulders crumpled. “It doesn’t matter what really happened, does it? The only thing that matters is what they think you did.”

  That was a lot to chew on.

  “What did you do to get sent here?” Cat prodded.

  Rivka pushed the swing into motion with her toe, opened her mouth, closed it again. She really didn’t know how to answer that. It was everything and nothing. Maybe it was because her parents thought she was rotten to the core.

  “Fine,” Cat spluttered. “Be that way.” She forced the swing to an abrupt halt and stomped off.

  Lauren stood up. “I think I’ll turn in.”

  Rivka sat in the growing dark, not swinging. Her chest was tight. If her mom couldn’t understand how that day at their synagogue affected her, no one would, especially not someone with a chip on her shoulder like Cat.

  What was the point of trying to explain?

  Chapter Six

  It had happened last April.

  Boston was emerging from winter, shedding the last of the gravel-darkened snow. Lime-colored leaves burst out of gray branches that had been bare for months. In little cracks and crannies of the pavement, dandelions poked up their little sunny heads.

  Rivka loved the spring.

  She loved winter too, but by February she was sick of pulling on snow boots and always wearing her parka. It was time for flip-flops and trampolines and soccer season and Passover, or as they called it in Hebrew, Pesach. It was her favorite Jewish holiday. Her cousins came from Providence and Baltimore to celebrate the first night of Passover with a traditional seder meal, and their brownstone was full of giggling and games of sardines and vases full of tulips.

  The adults placed six-foot banquet tables end to end and covered them with long white tablecloths and all the things they would need for the celebration of the ancient exodus from Egypt. Things like plastic crickets and toy frogs and long strips of black cloth to simulate the plague of darkness. It was a serious holiday, but they found fun ways to reenact the story.

  Rivka shouldn’t even have been at the synagogue that day. Passover was celebrated at home, but the guest list had grown so long that her mother said they needed more Haggadahs—the book that led them through the prayers and stories of the seder.

  “I need you to run down to Havurah Shalom and get five more,” her mother said.

  Rivka was panting from a cutthroat game of hide-and-seek. “Can’t Noah go?”

  “I need him to move tables.”

  “Eli?”

  Her mother gave her a hard look. “Rivka, I asked you. Take your cousin Sadie.”

  “Can we take the bikes?” Rivka asked. The snow had kept her from riding all winter, and she was eager for all the wheel time she could get.

  Her mother smiled. “Don’t forget your helmets.”

  She and Sadie had gone the long way through the park, and Rivka rode with her face to the sun, soaking up spring. It was marvelous. Some teenagers were slack-lining between the big oaks. A man and his dog played Frisbee. Rivka felt ready for anything.

  Anything except what she saw when they rounded the last corner.

  The first thing was the broken glass littering the ground in front of the synagogue. One of the tall windows that let natural light into the sanctuary was shattered. But the thing that sucked the breath out of her was the red spray paint on the carved wooden door of the synagogue.

  The Nazi swastika was like a horrible, gaping wound.

  Underneath it, the vandals had written White Power and KKK in huge letters.

  Fear pulsed through Rivka.

  She let her bike fall to the ground and clutched Sadie’s hand. A crowd gathered. The rabbi came, grim-faced, and talked to the police. Several of their Muslim neighbors arrived and said that their mosque had been defaced too. Everyone looked as scared and worried as Rivka felt.

  The people who did this hated her. They didn’t care if she worked hard in school or tried to be a good friend. What if she had been at the synagogue when the vandals came? What would those people have done to her?

  Chapter Seven

  “Time to turn in,” Madison called as she left the house. Rivka heaved herself out of the swing and plodded behind her to the bunkhouse, wishing she could erase the awful memory from her brain. It hurt too much to remember.

  In the cabin of the Antisocials, Madison headed into her room, singing some country song about lost love and pickup trucks. Lauren was curled up in a ball in her bottom bunk, sleeping. Or pretending to sleep. Cat was nowhere to be found, and Rivka felt relieved that she wouldn’t have to face any more questions.

  She changed into her pajamas, brushed her teeth, and used the bathroom.

  Still no Cat.

  Rivka buzzed with irritation. Just because she didn’t want to talk about what had happened at home, it didn’t mean Cat should get all mad at her. Where was the fairness in that?

  Lights-out was supposed to be at ten. Rivka checked her watch. Fifteen more minutes. If Cat didn’t feel like following the rules at the ranch, she could get in trouble all by herself. Not my problem, thought Rivka as she climbed into her bed.

  She wasn’t ready to sleep, though. Instead, she knelt on the bed and pulled back the curtain on her window. It looked out on pasture, which meant that right now it looked out on darkness. No cars rushing by. No taxis. No twenty-four-hour convenience store on the corner. Who knew what was out there? Could be anything, really.

  Well, she corrected herself, anything quiet.

  This was nothing like Brookline, the Boston suburb where she’d grown up.

  Even B’nai B’rith camp had its share of noise. The counselors stayed up late, talking by the fire. Her brother Noah was probably there right now with his arm around some girl, listening to the motorboats putt-putt-putting across the lake and the faint sound of cars on the distant highway.

  Madison came out to use the bathroom and saw Rivka with her forehead against the window. “Lights-out in five.”

  “It might be too quiet here to sleep,” said Rivka.

  “City girl, huh?” Madison laughed, but not in a mean way.

  Rivka shrugged.

  “Where’s Cat?” Madison asked, suddenly noticing that the other bunk was empty.

  “I haven’t seen her since after dinner.”

  “Crap,” Madison said, returning to her room. She was back in a few seconds with a fleece jacket on over her pajamas and a headlamp. She pulled on her cowboy boots and slipped out the door. Rivka heard her crunch across the gravel and head to the big house. After that, it was quiet again.

  Well, almost quiet.

&nbs
p; Barely audible sobs came from under the blankets on Lauren’s bed.

  Rivka watched the curve of the girl’s back shudder as she cried. After a few minutes, she couldn’t stand just sitting there anymore. So much for antisocial. Rivka pushed out of her bunk and went to sit at the foot of Lauren’s bed.

  “Hey,” she said. “It’s okay. First night and everything. Lots to get used to, right?”

  Lauren pulled the blanket off her face. In the light from the open bathroom door, Rivka could see she was flushed and sweaty.

  “Sorry,” the girl said.

  “No worries. Wanna talk about it?”

  Lauren wiped her face on her sleeve. “I’m really homesick.”

  Rivka nodded.

  “Six weeks is a long time,” Lauren continued, “and every time I think about it I . . .” Her words trailed off in more sobs.

  Rivka went into the bathroom and came back with a wad of toilet tissue.

  Lauren sat up and blew her nose. “Where do you think Cat went?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “Beats me.”

  “What if she doesn’t come back?”

  Rivka gestured to the window. “Have you looked out there? Not many places to go, if you know what I mean.”

  “Maybe she’s hurt,” Lauren suggested.

  “Maybe. Wanna go look for her?”

  Lauren squinted and made a thinking-hard face. “I can’t sleep anyway.”

  The girls threw on sweatshirts and grabbed their flashlights.

  Outside, the night sky was a blaze of stars. To Rivka it looked like stars on top of stars on top of stars.

  Faint voices came from the big house.

  The porch swing was empty.

  “Maybe we should check the cars?” Lauren suggested, and the two of them walked toward the expanse of gravel where Fletch had parked the van when they arrived. It was still where they’d left it, next to a truck and a horse trailer propped up on a cinder block. There was also an old Honda Civic and a newish Ford truck, both covered with ranch dust and more than a few dents.

  “Were there more cars here before?” Rivka asked.