Chapter 7 Riley

CHAPTER 7

Riley

THE WIDE-OPEN plains of Nebraska surround us, short wild grasses and scraggly bushes waving as we meander along the rutted road. We've been rambling westward for just over an hour and have made…surprising little progress. I'm pretty sure L.A. traffic jams move faster than this.

Plodding.

Slowly.

Along.

Is there even a word to describe the extremely slow gait the oxen use to pull the wagons?

"Glacial," I whisper, shifting to stretch my legs.

Mom and Dad are seated up front, talking nonstop to the McCreadys and Stones, two older couples about my grandparents' age who are sharing our wagon. They're discussing the Great Upheaval like it's some wonderful thing we should all be excited about.

"Nebraska's such a wholesome place to raise kids."

"The air is so much cleaner here."

"I'm sure you'll all love it."

I. Can't. Even.

It's strange, the contrast between how quiet and still the prairie is, a smooth sea of grass, and how topsy-turvy my feelings are, roiling about in my gut like a stormy ocean. The wagon's rocking tries to lure me into a false sense of calm, but my spine stiffens at Mom's enthusiastic addition to the conversation up ahead.

"We were so excited when two tenure-track positions opened up at the college at the same time. It was like it was meant to be."

"And we get to go on a wagon train adventure," Dad adds.

I glance behind us to see if Darby has finally shrunk into the horizon, but it's still there, taunting me. The next week is going to be torture if we continue at this mind-numbing pace. As I'm about to turn back around, I catch a glimpse of Tall, Dark, and Irksome on a dark brown horse trailing the supply wagon behind us. I don't know much about horses or riding them or pretty much anything at all equestrian related beyond what I gleaned from My Little Pony back in the day (Team Fluttershy forever). I'm guessing that level of knowledge won't cut it here on the trail. But Tall, Dark, and Irksome is completely at ease in the saddle, with the reins loose in his hands and his body swaying with the horse's slow walk.

I guess that means he's a tour guide, not a regular old passenger. I can't quite decide if the revelation softens me toward him a bit or just irritates me more.

He's so stoic, it's impossible to picture him cracking a genuine smile that isn't tinged with sarcasm.

Oh, he irritates me, all right.

I bet he took one look at me and my shopping bags and decided I was more likely to have Starbucks delivered to our wagon than stargaze under the open skies.

As if.

"Prairie Princess," I mutter under my breath like it's a four-letter word as I glare at him.

His Stetson is pulled low over his forehead, but, of course, he has to choose that exact moment to look up like he heard me. He sets me with a piercing look, and for some dumb reason, my cheeks burn in response. I whip around to face forward and lean closer to the open canopy flap to let the breeze cool my skin.

Mom's laugh filters down to me and I hate it. I hate how she can be so damn happy and I can be so utterly miserable, and we can both exist in such different spheres in the same universe. Doesn't it matter to her that I'm not happy? Shouldn't she be crushed that their decision has left my life in tatters?

Dad's no better. I swear, if he tells me one more time to "buck up" or "be of good cheer," I think I might lose my shit.

Caleb's a traitor, too. He's not nearly as bent out of shape about any of this as I thought he'd be, once reality sank in. Sitting across from me, with his feet propped up on the bench, he's the picture of ease with his head back and his eyes closed. Not even a hint of angst.

Why should I be surprised? Caleb's outgoing and easygoing, and he will waltz into our new high school on the first day like he's been going there his entire life. It'll be easier for him to mask his new-kid-in-town-ness, because every freshman is new. They're all starting out from the same space.

But being the new senior in town? That's a wild card I never wanted to be dealt. Will I be shunned? Accepted? Forced to prove myself? Or will I be an interesting new display in the teenage zoo? It was hard enough navigating high school when I knew the players and the rules, but now I'll have to work on my currently nonexistent poker face in the hopes that it will help me survive the year.

"Nooning time," the wagon train leader calls as he rides up alongside our wagon. When he makes it to the end of the caravan, his light gray horse nickers at Tall, Dark, and Irksome's horse as if to say, "What are you doing all the way back here?"

I glance at my watch to find that it is, in fact, noon, but what that has to do with anything is beyond me.

The wagons roll forward a few hundred yards more and then halt at a slight bend in the dusty trail. To our left is a small thicket of scrawny, windblown trees, but otherwise we're surrounded by the endless plains. There must be a highway somewhere out here that cuts west, but I don't see any vehicles speeding past in any direction.

Our driver, Wild Wanda, comes around the wagon and unlatches what is essentially a tailgate that lowers to serve as a loading and unloading ramp. Caleb stands, stretches, and yawns, the hem of his shirt rising up over his belly button. Mom only got him that shirt a few months ago, but he must be having another growth spurt, since nothing fits him right anymore. As much as I'd love another inch or two on my five-four frame, I'm not willing to sacrifice my wardrobe for it. And I'm glad I wasn't willing to share his, because those are some nasty-looking pit stains.

We file off the wagon, squinting in the bright June sun. The air out here is slightly sweet and more humid than I'm used to in the Southern California desert. My normally pin-straight hair curls along my neckline and my usual perky ponytail has lost its pep. Not that it matters since there's no one around I'm hoping to impress. My gaze flicks to Tall, Dark, and Irksome and I quickly look away.

Definitely not him.

"Gather 'round, pioneers," Wild Wanda says with a toothy grin. Mom, Dad, Caleb, the McCreadys, and the Stones huddle up to stand in a semicircle before her, but I hang back. My fingers twitch and I wish I'd thought to grab my new sketchbook and a pencil before we unloaded. The soft snick of the lead rasping against the paper soothes me and helps channel my emotions. I could definitely use a creative outlet right about now.

"This here is Mather's Field. It's named for Augie Mather who is a local legend for his time spent as an Oregon Trail guide and gold miner." She points toward the grove. "Just behind them trees there is a spring with fresh water for the animals. At just 'bout noon every day, we stop to give the animals a rest. Many pioneers learned that by observing noonin' time, the oxen are able to travel farther distances in a day, when they aren't forced to work in the hottest hours."

"How far can oxen travel in a day?" Dad asks, stepping closer to Wild Wanda.

Oh my god.

Wild Wanda grins. "Glad you asked. Oxen travel at about two miles per hour. We get in about fifteen miles on a good day."

No wonder it feels like we're crawling out there. I've seen babies scoot faster.

"Now, I'm gonna grab some buckets to haul water from the spring and get the team re-hy-dray-ted. While they're resting, we'll have a picnic lunch set out for you and you can stretch your legs. In about two, three hours we'll depart for our campsite at Hunt's Meadow." Wild Wanda strides away.

While Mom and Dad continue their conversation with our wagon-mates, I look for Caleb and find him playing hacky sack with the boys from the other wagon. It appears I'm an island unto myself.

A lonely, lonely island.

"Wild Wanda tell you about why this is called Mather's Field?" Tall, Dark, and Irksome stands beside me with his arms crossed over his chest and his gaze fixed on the horizon.

"She did not." And then, because I can't resist getting in a small dig, I add, "But I bet you're going to."

His jaw works, causing the skin below his cheekbones to grow taut. "Nope," he says. "Not unless you ask. I only tell interesting stories to interested people."

This feels very much like another Prairie Princess jab. I should ignore him, but I can't stand the thought of him gloating, thinking he was right about me. Plus, I have nothing better to do.

"Fine, I'll bite. Why is this place"—I spin around once like Maria in the opening scene of The Sound of Music. "The plains are alive…" —"called Mather's Field?"

"Funny you should ask," he says, dropping his arms to his sides.