Alpaca My Bags

by Jenny Goebel

  Rachel started to look sad and distant again, but then she came back to me. “Anyway, enough about llamas and goats. Let’s go visit the cria, shall we?”

  “Cria?” I repeated.

  “You’ll see,” Rachel said. Her hazel eyes twinkled in the warm morning sunlight. And I liked the way her short hair appeared even more silvery outdoors.

  We passed by other alpacas in other pastures, but we didn’t stop. Instead, Rachel led me to a pen closest to the barn. As I neared the fence, a baby alpaca stared up at me inquisitively. His fur was a rich, dark brown with a hint of red. The tip of his nose and his ears were black. He hummed softly.

  I thought my heart might explode.

  “Meet the newest member of our ranch. This is Samson.” Rachel gestured at the attentive little creature behind the fence, then at the docile adult alpaca behind him. “His mother’s name is Hazel.”

  As if on cue, Samson arched his back and sprang into the air. He did this repeatedly, bouncing around the pen as well as his mother, who happened to be a lighter shade of brown. He reminded me of Sugar Plum, lifting and dropping on the carousel pole.

  I giggled, watching him entertain himself with all that leaping about. “So, baby alpacas are called ‘crias’?”

  “That’s right,” Rachel said.

  I bounced my head along with Samson’s movements. When I reached my hand out to touch him the way Rachel had shown me, he startled and sprang away.

  “Did I mention that most alpacas are timid creatures?” Rachel asked, almost consolingly. “They’re afraid of their own shadows. But the more you’re around them, the more they’ll trust you.”

  While Rachel was talking, Samson sniffed at a harmless insect crawling in the dirt. The insect fluttered away suddenly, and Samson again jolted with fear. Rachel chuckled softly. “See,” she said.

  I felt an instant bond with the easily frightened baby alpaca. “Do you have very many of them?” I asked hopefully. “Crias, I mean.”

  “Just the one. Although … next weekend we’ll find out if we have another one on the way,” Rachel said cryptically. “Now, I would love to watch Samson pronk around all day, but I’m afraid there’s work to be done. Are you okay with lifting hay bales?”

  “Sure,” I said. I never felt strong when I was around my family, but maybe I hadn’t been given the right task. Also, lifting hay bales sounded better than grinding teeth.

  “Great,” she said. “Come with me, we’ll use the cart.”

  I helped Rachel load a wheelbarrow with two bales of hay and we bump, bump, bumped it along the uneven ground out to a hay feeder in one of the pastures. She loaned me a pair of work gloves. The straws scratched at the exposed skin of my forearms anyway. They looked like I’d been caught in catfight after we transferred the bales to the feeder.

  I also learned why Rachel wore galoshes all the time. The pastures were a minefield of puddles, but the rubbery galoshes provided her protection against more than mud. Prickly plants pierced the bare skin around my ankles—the parts that my too-short pants didn’t cover.

  It wasn’t long before my arms ached from transferring bales from the stack in the barn to the cart, and from the cart to the feeder. It was hard work and my body protested. But the weird thing was, I didn’t care. The more beat up and exhausted I grew, the stronger I felt. My entire life, any time my family faced something difficult, I’d been a hindrance to everyone around me. Without fail, when we had to stop and rest or were forced to quit an activity, it had been my fault. I was too slow, too weak, or too scared.

  That wasn’t happening here. Not today. I wasn’t a nuisance or a hindrance. My height didn’t make me awkward. It helped me reach higher bales. My long legs and arms didn’t make me clumsy. They made me more capable of getting the job done.

  Dad was wrong. I liked working. It made me feel useful for once.

  After countless trips back and forth between the barn and the hay feeders scattered around the ranch, Rachel pointed out how the fence surrounding Samson and Hazel’s pen needed repair. Old wooden boards were starting to rot. They would have to be torn out and replaced with new ones.

  “I’d like you to help with things done regularly—like feeding the alpacas—and with other, larger projects. This fence is the most pressing item beyond the day-to-day operations of the ranch. Is the repair something you think you can help me tackle?” Rachel asked. “I’ll get the supplies, of course, but it’ll take a lot of hacking and sawing, not to mention hammering and staining the new posts … and out in this heat.” She wiped sweat from her forehead with a glove. “Unfortunately, winter will be too cold, and it can’t be put off until spring. It needs to be addressed now before it becomes a problem.”

  I studied the rotting posts. Almost the entire fence would need to be replaced. I wasn’t a carpenter or a handyman. I’d rarely swung a hammer. The job felt too big. It was too much. Rachel had been so kind to me. I didn’t want to let her down, but this had the whiff of something I would surely fail at.

  Rachel must’ve sensed my hesitation because she said, “You’ve been a terrific help today, but I need someone who is willing to see this project through. I can pay you for the work you’ve done, and you can walk away if that’s what you want. But if you’re willing to put in the effort—it won’t be easy—I think you can handle it.”

  “I … I don’t know how to build a fence,” I stammered.

  “Of course not. I didn’t expect that you would. I’ll teach you. You’ll learn. That’s not the issue. The issue is whether you’re willing to try.”

  I paused to consider, and then slowly nodded. Of all the things I was afraid of, hard work was not one of them.

  Rachel smiled. “Good. Now let’s go find a shady tree. I could use a rest.” We wound our way down a path to a grassy spot at the edge of a lake on the far end of her property. It was cooler in the shade, but not by much.

  “The waterline is so low,” Rachel commented. “It’s this dry August heat.”

  August, I thought. The first snowstorm and the completion of my family’s Ski a Black Diamond Challenge would be months away. I had plenty of time to repair a fence while I spent the hours blissfully surrounded by alpacas.

  Then I could visit the alpacas and the ranch in my mind after we moved away. I thought of the soldier who’d carved the carousel and the way his music box made him think of a carousel in a meadow and how it calmed him on the battlefield. Maybe we all needed a place we could tether our daydreams to.

  I snuck a glance at Rachel. She was smiling wistfully and staring out over the serene lake. “So, tell me about yourself,” she said, turning her gaze to meet mine. “Your mother said you’re staying at the Stargazer RV Park and that you do quite a bit of traveling. That must be exciting.”

  “I guess,” I said. I didn’t like talking about myself—it made me feel uncomfortable because I never knew the right thing to say.

  “What’s been you’re favorite destination?”

  I almost said Winterland. There was something wonderful about the way mountain peaks all around made me feel. I knew there were dangerous, frightening things in the woods—mountain lions, bears, Lyme-disease-infested ticks, not to mention rocky precipices. But somehow, I felt safe here. Like maybe the craggy peaks were gentle giants standing guard over all the alpine inhabitants. However, Rachel was one of the only people I’d met in Winterland who, as far as I knew, didn’t think I was an oddball. I didn’t want to say anything weird and change her mind.

  So, instead, I said, “I don’t know, maybe the redwoods?” And it sounded like a question—which was silly. I was supposed to be answering her question. “Northern California,” I said more convincingly.

  It really was amazing, all the different places I’d been. I’d seen trees that grew to dizzying heights, and skyscrapers that reached even higher. I’d seen soft ocean waves ebb and flow across sandy beaches, as well as places where the ocean met land with more, I don’t know … vigor? Places where the surf clashed
with the rocky shorelines and water was sprayed high into the air. I’d seen red cliffs, and gray ones, and I’d crawled through cavernous spaces inside a mountain’s belly.

  The Adventure Jar had taken us Amundsens to some incredible places. And I was thankful for all of it. But … all along, there had been a want deep inside me. A want for a center, a base or foundation … I wasn’t sure how to describe it. What I did know was that the want seemed to be growing larger by the day.

  Since Rachel hadn’t purchased any of the materials for the fence yet, I spent the afternoon sweeping out the barn and meeting the rest of the herd. I was finally introduced to one of the alpacas I’d met that first day, the one who’d had a piece of twine wrapped around his leg. His name was Chai Latte. Rachel said her daughter-in-law named him after her favorite drink.

  I felt like I could hang out with him and Ed and Lulu and even Carl all day and listen to the soft humming sounds they made to communicate with one another.

  Mom must’ve worried about me the whole time they were gone, though, because my parents showed up an hour earlier than expected. Or maybe my family was that much faster at hiking up a trail when I wasn’t there to slow them down. Either way, I wasn’t ready to leave when the truck came rambling down Rachel’s long dirt drive.

  “Thank you so much for letting me work on your ranch, Ms. Rachel. I had an amazing time,” I said.

  “You are most welcome,” Rachel replied, her eyes shining back at me with warmth and generosity.

  My brothers were near the back of the truck, letting Annie lap water from a cup. Dad came around from the driver’s side, while Mom was sitting in the passenger seat with the window rolled down.

  “Yes, we hope Amelia wasn’t too much trouble,” Dad said. His comment made my ears burn. Why did he assume I’d been a bother? Because I was to the rest of my family?

  “Nonsense. I appreciated having the extra pair of hands. Honestly, having Amelia around lightened my load a great deal,” Rachel said.

  When she turned to me, I tried to convey my gratitude with a smile. Her nose crinkled with delight and she said, “I’ll work on gathering supplies the next few days, okay? Come visit me at Fleece on Earth later this week. I’ll pay you for the work you did today, and we can figure out a schedule.”

  I thanked her once more, and then scrambled into the cab along with my brothers and Annie. As we drove away, I gazed out the window at Rachel’s herd of alpacas. A sense of loss pinged in my stomach. I missed them already.

  First thing Sunday morning, Dad made my brothers and me print FOUND DOG posters. Although Annie still hadn’t been let inside the trailer, we kept feeding her and she persisted in hanging around.

  One corner of the Gnarly Banana was set up as our “home office,” with the laptop we sometimes used for online classes, a printer, and a mobile router for Wi-Fi.

  David took the worst possible photo of Annie. It was blurry, taken from behind, and her head was down, half buried in sagebrush. I didn’t see how anyone could recognize her from it. But maybe that was the point.

  Dad peered over Neil’s shoulder at the computer screen, while my oldest brother put the finishing touches on the poster. “You have the last digit of your mother’s cell phone number wrong,” Dad said. He sounded annoyed.

  “Oops, do I?” Neil said. “My bad.” He corrected what we all knew had been an intentional mistake and then clicked print.

  Dad dropped David, Neil, Annie, and me off in the center of town. After we hopped out, he rolled down his window. “I’ll meet you by the market in an hour,” he said. “I don’t want you getting back in the truck with any of those posters still in your possession.”

  David grinned mischievously; a long, dark eyebrow curled upward.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Dad groaned. “You actually need to hang them. Don’t you dare throw them away,” he said as he pulled away from the curb.

  I started our assignment by taping the first one to the center of a nearby light pole. David said, “Here, let me help you with that.” He removed the poster and repositioned it low to the ground on the back side, where unless you were two feet tall, you’d have to bend down to read it. “There. Much better,” he said, and grinned at me.

  He had Annie on a leash he’d fashioned from a rope. She looked up at me and wagged her tail. I scratched behind her ears. All traces of mud were gone. Now that my brothers had bathed her, her fur was soft and clean. She wasn’t alpaca fluffy, but she was close.

  We spent the next forty-five minutes tacking up posters in the most unlikely-to-be-seen places: on the rear side of dumpsters, the underside of benches, and in the darkest corners of the most desolate streets—not that there were many dark alleys in the small town of Winterland.

  We arrived back in the center of town empty-handed and with fifteen minutes to spare. With nothing better to do until Dad returned, I found myself wandering toward the Carousel of Wonder. My brothers and Annie trailed behind as I approached the round building with tall glass windows. The carved wooden animals were spinning inside—around and around in a blur. Children’s faces were full of light and laughter as they passed by. More than half the riders were adults, and their joy was just as obvious.

  I cocked my head as I watched the happiness being spun right before my eyes. It truly was a magical place. Then a single face inside the building came into focus. Cat was peering straight at me through the glass. Straight through me, was more like it.

  Neil stepped up behind me. “Who’s that?” he asked.

  “Cat,” I said. “I mean, Catherine Winter. Our cousin.” She hadn’t come up since I’d told my parents she was “nice” and nothing more. Mom must’ve suspected it was a sensitive topic, because my parents had left me alone about it.

  “Why didn’t you say so?” Neil said. “Let’s go meet her.”

  “Neil, wait!” I called, but he and David were bounding away like gazelles before I could stop them. By the time I caught up, they had Annie tied to a post outside and Cat cornered inside the building. I hung back only a foot or two inside the entrance and observed. I expected Cat to give them the same frosty treatment I’d received, and I didn’t want to get caught in it again.

  She was stiff at first. But then, as she answered their questions with replies I couldn’t hear, her whole demeanor changed. She relaxed, even laughed at something Neil said. I crept forward until their voices were audible.

  “That’s awesome!” my oldest brother barked. He punched David’s arm lightly. “Dude, I love that we have a cousin with serious slope skills.” Then he clasped his hands together in front of Cat and begged, “You HAVE to teach us.”

  “We’ll see,” Cat said, but she didn’t sound totally opposed to it.

  What just happened? I was mystified and more than a little annoyed. I’d spent an entire week at school with our cousin and she hadn’t cracked a single smile for me. My brothers had spent all of two minutes with her and she was already agreeing to, what? Coach them on the ski slopes? If only I could be half as disarming as my brothers.

  I took another step closer. But my irritation only grew as my brothers continued to fawn all over her. I could tell they were impressed when she started talking about freestyle races and ski jumps, and I thought, They’ve never once been that impressed by anything I’ve done. But Cat was different than I was. She was brave, and apparently, she was an athlete, too.

  The realization caused my heart to plummet into my stomach because I knew … I knew they’d much rather have someone like Cat for a sister than someone like me.

  Later that evening, when my brothers animatedly told my parents about the encounter, I felt jealous all over again. But for a different reason. Hearing about Cat and my brothers bonding made my parents happy. And it was just one more way that they’d been able to please them where I had failed.

  After everyone else had gone to bed, I took the Adventure Jar down from the cupboard and read the slips. I told myself I wasn’t being sneaky. My parents would’ve
let me peek at the slips anyway, if I’d asked. Probably. Except I didn’t want them looking at my face while I read them. I wasn’t sure I could fake excitement that long. One slip at a time was easy. But slip after slip of hair-raising activities? Oof. I guess I was hoping to find something in the jar that I might excel at. Something I’d be able to do down the road that would make my parents proud.

  But I only made it through a handful of slips before dread got the better of me and I couldn’t read anymore. Ride a zip line in the Catskills Camp in an underground cave in Tennessee. Go storm chasing in Tornado Alley. The thought of the things that would thrill them gave me shivers up my spine. I’d swear I was adopted if I didn’t look so much like my brothers.

  Despite the rough time I was having at school and my inability to win over Cat the way my brothers had, I got a sick feeling when I thought about packing up and leaving again. We’d only been in Winterland for a little over a week, but thanks to the carousel and Rachel’s ranch, I already felt more rooted here than anywhere else we’d stopped in the past five years.

  So many thoughts and mixed-up emotions were churning inside me as I returned the jar, climbed into bed, and eventually fell asleep. My brain picked up right where it had left off when I awoke the following morning. And I carried all those worries and insecurities with me to school. In fact, I was so absorbed by them I couldn’t focus on anything else.

  “Amelia?”

  Hearing my name shook me from my thoughts. I glanced up to see twenty faces—make that twenty-one, counting Mr. Roybal—staring back at me. I’d been so deep inside my own head, I almost felt startled by my school surroundings. “Wha—what did you say?” I stammered.