The Long Trail Home (Quartz Creek Ranch) Read online

  Finally the van rumbled onto a dirt road. Rivka bounced and jostled as Fletch drove between fields that were technicolor green. Off to the left side of the van, the fields turned into forested hills, which turned into mountains unlike anything Rivka had ever seen. The jagged peaks looked almost purple, utterly wild and impenetrable. Patches of snow gleamed in the sun even though it was the middle of June. The mountains looked like something out of a movie.

  So did the ranch.

  Rivka had assumed the brochure picture was a Photoshopped version of the real Quartz Creek Ranch. Instead, when Fletch parked in front of a big ranch house, she realized it was a cheap paper imitation.

  A burbling creek rushed by. The fields were dotted with wildflowers. And the horses . . .

  “Wow,” she said, as she climbed out of the van and stretched.

  Madison grinned at her. “I know. It gets me every time.”

  Sleek animals grazed in the nearby pasture. Black ones and white ones, gray ones and brown ones. A white and black polka-dot horse kicked up its heels and spun around in a full circle.

  “That’s Snow White,” said Madison, puffing out her chest. “She’s my girl.”

  Fletch opened the back doors of the van, and everyone found their bags and followed the trainers toward two small bunkhouses that stood side by side across the lawn from the ranch house.

  “Girls with me,” said Madison, waving them to the cabin on the left.

  “Come on, Sam,” said Fletch. “We’ve got the place to ourselves.”

  Rivka clomped up the steps and across the little wooden porch. The main room of the bunkhouse had a table and chairs, two sets of bunk beds, and a single bed in the corner.

  Rivka put her bag on the single bed and looked over at Lauren, who was standing in the middle of the room looking shell-shocked.

  “You cool if I take this one?” Rivka asked.

  Lauren nodded and put her things on one of the bottom bunks.

  Madison waved toward the doors in the back of the room. “We share the bathroom. My room’s the other one. Get comfy, ladies, and start thinking of a cabin name.”

  “We’re naming a house?” said Cat, claiming a top bunk. “That’s dumb.”

  Madison shrugged. “You’re not the first one to say so, but it’s a tradition here at QCR, and it’s your first job as a team.”

  Cat squinted at her. “I work alone.”

  “You make it sound like you’re a spy or something.”

  The girl put her hands on her hips. “I’m serious. Check the file. State of Ohio. I’m sure it says something like doesn’t play well with others.”

  Rivka expected Madison to get mad about the back talk like her mom would have, but Madison chuckled. “I don’t need to know what brought you to the ranch, Cat. My job is to teach you to ride.” Cat seemed about to give her more lip. “But,” said Madison, interrupting her, “you still need a cabin name.”

  “How about the Antisocials?” Cat sneered.

  Madison grinned at her. “If you can get Rivka and Lauren on board, I’m down for it.”

  “Well?” Cat demanded, wheeling on Rivka and Lauren.

  Lauren took two steps backward and crumpled into the bottom bunk. Rivka stared at Cat.

  “What say you? How about the Antisocials?” Cat repeated.

  Rivka couldn’t help but wonder why Cat was at Quartz Creek Ranch. She suspected it was a bit more dramatic than refusing to go through with a bat mitzvah. Cat pulled out another bag of Cheetos and tore it open.

  “Sure,” Rivka said. “Whatever. The Antisocials works for me.”

  “Wonderful,” said Madison, with a trace of sarcasm. “We have a cabin name.”

  Cat dumped the contents of her duffel bag on the empty bottom bunk in a jumble. Lauren shrank even farther into her bunk.

  “Is there a cabin sign or something?” Rivka asked. Madison tilted her head to one side like Rivka’s mom did when assessing what she called the sass factor. “Just wondering,” Rivka added. “If there’s a sign, no bubble letters, okay?”

  Madison pursed her lips. “Are you cool with rainbows?”

  Rivka shook her head.

  “Got it,” said Madison, frowning. “No bubbles. No rainbows. So here’s the deal, gals,” she continued, glancing at her watch. “We’ve got half an hour before camp meeting in the main house. Feel free to hang out here and get settled.” She gave Cat a pointed look and indicated the shelves and drawers available for storing their things. “I’m heading to the barn because the vet is here checking on one of our pregnant horses.” She swiped her sunglasses off the table by the door. “You’re welcome to join.”

  Cat shoved a handful of Cheetos in her mouth. “Gah,” she said. “I hate babies.”

  “You hate baby horses?” said Lauren.

  Cat made a show of leaning forward and staring her down. “It speaks.”

  Lauren immediately went back to unloading her things.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Rivka saw Lauren swiping at her eyes with one sleeve and felt a momentary pang for her friends at B’nai B’rith camp. She’d bunked with the same girls for the last three years. They had their inside jokes and secret codes. Now they were getting a new bunkmate, and she was stuck with these two—a crybaby and a crab.

  Chapter Three

  While Rivka and Lauren finished unpacking, Cat flopped onto her pile of clothes, pulled out her smartphone, and plugged in earbuds.

  Rivka eyed the phone.

  Cat caught her watching. “What?” she demanded, spraying Cheeto crumbs everywhere.

  “I didn’t think we could have phones and stuff.”

  “What’s it to you?”

  Rivka shook her head. “Whatever. Get yourself in trouble. See if I care.”

  Cat rolled her eyes and went back to her music.

  Antisocial, Rivka remembered, and she headed out of the bunkhouse.

  Lauren followed her outside. “She’s intense.”

  “Yeah,” said Rivka, squinting against the bright afternoon sun. A couple of fluffy yellow chickens wandered by, pecking in the grass and making warbling, clucky chicken sounds. Lauren gave them a wide berth.

  That was exactly what Rivka planned to do with Cat.

  “Do you think she gets into fights?” Lauren asked.

  Rivka gave her a perplexed look. “Why would she do that?”

  Lauren flushed and fiddled with her braid. “I don’t know . . .”

  Rivka pushed her curly hair out of her face. “Just leave her alone. You’ll be fine.”

  They crossed the bridge over the creek and headed toward the barn. There was a round, fenced pen on one side and a large outdoor arena on the other. Rivka had never ridden before. Once on a summer vacation in Vermont, she’d begged her dad to let her go on a trail ride for a day, but he’d said it was too expensive.

  She heard voices on the opposite side of the barn and headed toward them.

  An enormously fat horse was standing in what looked like a very small outdoor stall. The horse was the color of ripe wheat with a pale yellow mane and tail. There was a low metal gate at its chest and rear, and metal bars on either side almost touched its flanks. An older woman with gray hair even curlier than Rivka’s stood at the horse’s head, stroking its neck and whispering to it.

  Madison and several others were clustered nearby. As Rivka and Lauren approached, Madison caught sight of them and waved them over. “You’re just in time for the good part!” she said.

  A tall, blond woman in a tank top and jeans stood up from where she was crouching by the horse’s belly and walked over to a white work truck that said Carla Randall, Large Animal Veterinarian on the side in big, black letters. When she opened the locked boxes on the bed of the truck, Rivka was amazed to see what looked like an entire medical clinic inside.

  The older woman talking to the horse met the girls with a huge smile and widespread arms. “You’re finally here!”

  Rivka couldn’t help grinning back. She immediately lo
ved the crinkly smile lines around the woman’s eyes and mouth.

  Madison took charge of introductions. “Ma Etty, this is Rivka and this is Lauren—two thirds of the newly-named Antisocials.”

  Ma Etty cracked up, slapping her hands on her thighs and snorting. “Best cabin name in a while,” she said through her laughter. Everything about Ma Etty was bouncy. The horse snorted too and tossed its mane in the air. Rivka and Lauren exchanged a look and shrugged.

  Madison scratched the horse between its ears. “There, there, Chickpea, it’s all good. I doubt they’re really antisocial.”

  “Um,” said Lauren, “is that horse named after a bean?”

  “Yup!” said Madison. “Ma Etty must be hungry every time she names the animals. Don’t even ask about the chickens.”

  “What about the chickens?” asked Rivka.

  Madison faked her exasperation. “I told you not to ask about the chickens.”

  Ma Etty chimed in. “I name all the chickens for food. And you’re right, Madison, I am hungry all the time.”

  A tall man with salt-and-pepper hair and a deeply lined, bronzed face approached. “You’re telling me,” he said, holding up his right hand. Lauren gasped, and Rivka could see that his ring finger was missing down to the second joint.

  Ma Etty hip-checked the man as he chuckled. “Willard, you stop that right now! Girls, don’t you listen to a thing he says.”

  “Howdy then,” the man said, extending his hand. His finger wasn’t missing at all. It was a joke Eli would have loved. “I’m Mr. Bridle. We’re happy to have you here this summer. I promise I won’t let Ma Etty gnaw on your fingers.”

  Rivka had never seen such goofy old people. Even her parents were way more serious than these two.

  “Hey, team,” called the veterinarian. “Paul and I are ready over here. Let’s see what’s going on with this foal.”

  Madison introduced Rivka and Lauren to Carla, the vet, and Paul, the sandy-haired ranch manager with an epic mustache, and they all gathered around to watch as Carla pulled on a long plastic glove that went all the way to her shoulder. She got Madison to stand close to the mare, holding something that looked like a burly white laptop with a black-and-white screen.

  “Before we do the ultrasound, I want to check her manually,” said Carla, lifting the horse’s tail with her ungloved hand.

  Rivka took a step backward. She might be antisocial, but her parents were anti-pet, and this was looking like it might be a little too up-close and personal for her experience. Lauren’s eyes were huge, and for once, she didn’t look like she was about to cry. The rest of them looked as casual as if they were all waiting in line to buy popcorn at the movies.

  Carla slid her gloved hand under the horse’s tail and . . .

  “What the what?” The screechy voice surprised everyone, including the horse, who pranced in its tiny enclosure, forcing Carla to step back.

  It was Cat, coming around the corner of the barn with Fletch and Sam on her heels. “Did you seriously just put your hand in that horse’s, you know—?”

  Sam, still messing with the Rubik’s Cube in his hand, snorted.

  Rivka snuck a glance at the Bridles to see how they would react. Neither seemed fazed. Ma Etty went back to calming the horse. Mr. Bridle strode toward the newcomers. “You must be Catherine and Samuel,” he rumbled.

  The two kids corrected him simultaneously.

  “Cat.”

  “Sam.”

  Mr. Bridle scratched the side of his nose. “Well then, Cat and Sam, welcome to Quartz Creek Ranch.” He tipped his cowboy hat to both of them. “Today’s your lucky day.”

  Cat cocked her head and swept her hair out of her face. “How so?”

  His face lit up. “Come here.” He urged both kids to join the group crowded around Carla. Fletch took Ma Etty’s place at Chickpea’s nose. Rivka could hear him humming to the horse, a tune that reminded her of a lullaby her mother used to sing, and she felt a pang of regret. She had not said a very nice good-bye to her family.

  Carla went back to work. Her face twisted in concentration as she felt inside the horse. It made Rivka wince to see how far the vet’s arm went inside the animal, but with Fletch singing, the horse didn’t seem to mind at all.

  The ranch manager caught Rivka’s expression and patted her on the shoulder. When he smiled, his mustache twitched like a furry little animal. “Don’t worry. Doesn’t hurt the horse at all. Carla’s amazing.” It seemed to Rivka that he turned a little pink in the cheeks when he said this, but maybe it was the hot afternoon sun.

  “This foal is in exactly the right position,” said Carla, stepping back from the horse and peeling off her glove. She stroked Chickpea’s rump. “Such a good mama.”

  “Gross,” said Cat, her face pinching up.

  Madison quirked up one eyebrow. “What’s not to love about horse babies?” Madison asked, and the girl just shrugged.

  “Hey, Carla,” said Paul, “are you ready for the ultrasound?”

  The vet grinned at him. “Definitely.”

  He unhooked a probe that was attached to the laptop thingy Madison was holding and handed it to her. “Here you go.”

  “Turn the ultrasound machine on, will you?” Carla asked, and Paul bent over the controls until a grainy black-and-white blizzard appeared on the screen. She leaned across him to adjust a few of the knobs and dials before squatting next to the horse. The kids clustered around the display.

  Carla slid the probe across Chickpea’s huge belly.

  The image on the screen morphed like a black-and-white lava lamp. Blobs grew and shrank as Carla examined different parts of the foal. At several points, she had Paul take a screen shot and label different things: aorta diameter, eye socket, amniotic fluid.

  “I can’t even tell that’s a horse,” said Sam.

  “I know, right?” Cat piped in.

  “She’s close to delivery,” Carla explained. “The foal is too big for me to see more than bits and pieces of it.”

  “Is it a girl or a boy?” Rivka asked.

  “You mean a filly or a colt,” Madison corrected.

  “Uh, I guess so,” said Rivka.

  Ma Etty, who was standing behind her, must have sensed her discomfort because she put her hands on Rivka’s shoulders. “No worries. We should hand out a ranch dictionary or something. Half the time it must seem like we’re speaking a different language.”

  “Horse talk is its own thing,” agreed Paul.

  “Baby horses are called foals,” Ma Etty explained, even though Rivka already knew that. “Females are called fillies, and males are colts.”

  “We’ll have you speaking fluent horse by the time you leave,” Paul said with a chuckle.

  Rivka liked him already.

  “Back to your question,” said Carla, standing and curling the cord of the probe around her hand. “I tried to determine the sex of the foal earlier in the pregnancy, but it kept moving around. This one will be Ma Etty’s surprise.”

  “What’s your verdict on my surprise?” Ma Etty asked.

  “I think we’re spot on with timing,” said Carla. “It’s measuring right in line with our estimate that we’re about 330 days into this pregnancy. We’re getting close.”

  Cat let out a low whistle. “That’s a long time to be pregnant.”

  “Yup,” said Carla. “Longest horse gestation on record was 445 days.”

  “Are you serious?” Paul burst out.

  Carla laughed. “You know I never joke about horses, Paul, but that was way out of normal. Typical range is 320 to 370 days.”

  Rivka leaned into the last image on the screen. “This doesn’t look anything like a horse.”

  “I know,” said Carla. “After just a few months, the fetus is too big to capture in a single image, but check this out . . .” She hit some keys on the ultrasound machine, and the grainy blobs disappeared. “This picture is from the ultrasound I did early in the pregnancy.”

  A still image appeared.
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  A pointy nose. Four little legs, all folded up like spindly origami. A pudgy, round belly.

  Rivka could hardly believe the cuteness of it.

  Lauren squealed, “It’s so adorable!”

  Even Cat’s face softened.

  “You don’t hate that baby, do you?” Rivka asked.

  A tiny smile swept across the girl’s face, making her seem almost approachable.

  “No,” she said. “Who could hate a squishy little thing like that?”

  Chapter Four

  After Carla had packed up her things, and Ma Etty had shown Rivka and the others how to give Chickpea pumpkin-flavored horse treats on the palms of their hands, there was still some time before dinner.

  “Usually, helping cook is one of the assigned chores here,” Ma Etty explained, “but we’ll get started with all that tomorrow. Feel free to wander a bit. See you at the big house at five.”

  Rivka turned to the others. “Wanna go for a walk?”

  Cat pointed to a hammock hanging in some aspens. “I’m gonna be antisocial.”

  As she watched Cat swagger off, Rivka was sure that joke would be very old by the end of the summer.

  “What about you guys?” she said to the others.

  Lauren shook her head, mumbled what Rivka took to be “No, thanks,” and made a beeline for the bunkhouse.

  Sam didn’t even bother to respond. He just glanced at her, shrugged, and then twisted the game cube and brought the green side in order. He weaved across the lawn toward the boys’ bunkhouse without looking up.

  I hope he runs into a tree, Rivka thought, turning to walk along the creek. When she heard him yelp a moment later, Rivka turned to see Sam looking accusingly at a nearby branch.

  “Called it,” she said to a little brown pony that had wandered up next to the fence.

  The pony looked at her and then nudged the fence with his nose.

  “What do you want?” she asked, reaching over to scratch under his mane. The pony pushed his nose under the fence, his rubbery lips wiggling their way toward a clump of grass on the other side.