There's No WiFi on the Prairie Page 5

  I open up the paper, excited to read the news of the day. The boys are happily pulling up grass and cooing, and the air out here really does smell sweeter than anyplace I’ve ever been. I suppose the prairie does have the peacefulness thing going for it.

  Then I luck out. There’s an article on the second page about the railroad. It has recently connected Southern California to the rest of the rail system, making the trip from the Midwest much easier. All they need is train fare, and boom! They’re on their way to a much better life.

  It’s only a matter of convincing them to go.

  Really, I’m doing my family a favor in the long run if I get them to move. Look at all the hard work they have to do here! And no toys or neighbors or schools? A doctor they can’t afford? Even a broken fence is a calamity.

  “If it was this tough to survive on the prairie,” I say to the cow, “and you had another option, what would you do?”

  “Mooooo!” the cow answers me.

  “Exactly,” I say. “Moooove. I’m going to save this family, Cow. I just need to get ready for my next act.”

  Now that I have my plan for how I can convince the Pedersen family to move to California, it’s time for me to put it into action.

  “Wish me luck, Cow,” I say, as I scoop up Hans and Jens once again and take them into the house. It’s all hands on deck now, as the biscuits are rising in the oven and Mrs. Pedersen and Martha are preparing some sort of stinky bean soup on top of the cookstove. My mom makes us rice and beans all the time, which I think taste awful, but something tells me this is a meal they have pretty regularly around here, so I say, “Wow, that smells delicious,” as I come into the house.

  Martha beams. “My mom is a wonderful cook,” she says proudly. “She can pull together a dinner out of practically nothing. And she even knows tricks for baking bread when we have no yeast, and how to season certain things with just leaves and grass.”

  I think of my own mother with the box of spaghetti and the jar of sauce. No, cooking is not her specialty, but she does heal animals for a living, and she’s great at helping with homework. Plus, she’s very funny.

  Inga comes in carrying a pail of fresh milk from the cow. I’m reminded how glad I am that I was able to return her so they have milk.

  “Ava, do you think you could help Martha churn some butter?” Mrs. Pedersen asks me tentatively, as if she’s worried I’ll ruin that, too.

  I decide I can’t risk messing up more of their precious stock of food, so I’m honest. “Well, Mrs. Pedersen, our family has just arrived here from back East, where we lived in, uh, town, and so I’m not very good at that yet. But maybe Martha can show me? I’m a pretty quick learner.”

  Martha agrees, and takes me in the corner with the pail of milk. She strains it and then pours the creamy milk into a large jug. Immediately she begins beating it with a wooden spoon, for what seems like ages, and the milk somehow manages to separate into buttermilk and some other kind of milky liquid with little pieces of actual solid butter in it. She pours that through a sieve and then stows the buttermilk in a cool dark corner and places the butter solids onto a plate and salts it.

  Meanwhile, Inga has been setting the table, and Mrs. Pedersen has taken the biscuits from the oven and is now doling out the soup into small bowls.

  I can’t believe how much work went into just making the bread and butter, things that sit in my pantry and fridge and I grab every single day without thinking about it. And this is just one of three meals they have to make every day! How do they have time to do anything else?

  “You all have worked so hard on this meal,” I say, without meaning to. It just kind of spills out. “I can’t believe it. That’s amazing!”

  Mrs. Pedersen shrugs and then smiles at her two daughters. “Many hands make light work,” she says. Inga and Martha both smile back at her, and I realize that while I’ve been focusing on all the work and the hows and whys of how all this food came together, the three of them have been happy and chatting and calm, used to their ordinary routine and enjoying each other’s company.

  None of them are complaining, like my twin sisters would be if they had to do this every day. Inga went out on her own to milk the cow. No one asked her to, and no one had to thank her, nothing! She just did what she knew was her job when she had to do it.

  “We’re very glad to have the butter today,” Martha tells me. “When the cow went missing yesterday, we were certain it had been stolen. It’s quite lucky for families in the area to have a cow, and most of the families are so new they haven’t been able to buy one yet. If you and your brother hadn’t brought our cow back, we would have had a very hard time without milk for the babies, and butter and cheese.”

  “I love cheese,” Inga says softly, which I think is the first thing she’s said since I met her.

  Mrs. Pedersen nods. “That’s true, girls, but remember, we’ve had worse hardships than a lost cow. Do you remember the year the corn crop was eaten by gophers?”

  Inga and Martha nod, and even laugh, remembering how their dad had stalked and hunted those gophers day after day but to no avail. They were too fast and sneaky to catch.

  I can’t believe it, but I’m actually feeling a little envious of these people! They’re all so close, and the kids get to spend so much time just quietly working alongside their mom.

  “Ava,” asks Mrs. Pedersen. “Do you think you could go out to the pump and bring in one more bucket of water for dinner?”

  “Of course,” I agree quickly. It’s the least I can do, considering what I did to the potatoes, which have since ended up in the bean soup. I run outside and go through the long, arduous chore of pumping up and down, up and down, up and down to get a full bucket of icy water. It seems like only a trickle comes up every time.

  With my shoulders and arms aching, I lug the heavy pail back inside and decide I’ve seen enough. It’s time to enact my plan. Ethan and I don’t have forever, and I want to help this family have it easier next winter. After being here for just a couple hours, my feet hurt from being bare (most homesteaders wear shoes only in the winter to save shoe leather), I’m sweaty, my arms are worn out, and I can’t wait to take out these too-tight braids. Phew.

  After I put down the pail of water, I dig into the deep pocket of my skirt, where I had placed The Book of Memories earlier. I set the book on the windowsill, so that I can at least be a pound or two lighter. Then I fan out my skirts for a second, hoping for a cool breeze. Prairie clothes are bit cumbersome with all this water-hauling.

  I glance around the room, looking for a clock. Ethan is the one with the watch, and I need to know how much time we have left. But there isn’t one, so I decide to just jump right in.

  “Well, I’m certainly glad Ethan and I found your cow and were able to visit with you all today,” I say. “Especially since now I think we can report back to our parents that homestead life is really very challenging.”

  Mrs. Pedersen looks intrigued. “Oh? Do you think you won’t settle here, then?”

  “It seems like it’s awfully difficult to get a crop started, and then the gophers, as you mentioned, and, uh, all the other things. I think maybe you were right, that many of the families are leaving this area because it’s just too hard to make a good life here.”

  “With hard work and a bit of luck, you can do it,” Mrs. Pedersen says emphatically.

  I nod, making sure to look around her home and to appear very impressed. “Yes, indeed, you can. But my parents have a backup plan, you see. And I think I’m going to tell them that their foolproof backup plan might really be the way to go.”

  Martha and her mother exchange a look, and Inga stares at me, anxious to hear what I have to say. I stay silent, letting their curiosity build. This is all part of my act. I must make them want desperately to know, because then they’ll be more likely to think it’s a brilliant idea. I learned that on some detective show.

  Finally, after what feels like minutes and minutes, Martha says, “Please, Av
a. Tell us your plan!”

  Slowly I look each of them in the eye. Then I say, “California.”

  “California?” Martha says. “But it’s so far away!”

  “Not anymore,” I tell her. “The railroad has been running from here to Southern California for a while now, and it’s the easy way to travel. You pack up your things, buy a seat, and travel in style. No more covered wagons!”

  “But what’s different about living there?” Martha asks.

  “Less work!” I tell her. “The weather is beautiful and warm and sunny all year round. No hard winters. No starving. You can live near the ocean! It’s the happiest place in the world.”

  “You must work for a good life,” Mrs. Pedersen says. “There is no way to avoid it.”

  “But there are more cities and towns in California,” Martha says. “It’s more settled than these prairies. Pa and I could get jobs in a town. I can sew for money! Oh, Ma, it could be much easier.”

  “I don’t know,” Mrs. Pedersen says. She’s begun bringing the food to the table, so I step in to help her. “Nothing is as easy as Ava says it is.”

  “But, Ma, there would be more doctors there! If we ever had an emergency . . .” Martha lets the sentence trail off, and I know they’re all thinking of poor Elias, who passed away. I busy myself wiping the twins’ hands with a wet rag from the water bucket and bringing them to the table.

  I almost feel a little bad pressuring them like this, but at the same time, I want them to do well! I want them to have a better life.

  “You know, if we sold the new house, and the horse, and the cow, I think we could afford the train tickets and have some money left over to start our new life . . . ,” Mrs. Pedersen muses. “Maybe it’s worth mentioning to Pa at dinner. Just to see what he says.”

  Martha jumps up. “Should I go call Pa and Ethan in?” she asks.

  This is it! I’m convincing them. I can’t believe it. Just then, out of the corner of my eye, I see someone waving at me from outside. I assume it’s Ethan, but when I look again, I see that the person is taller, an adult, and is he’s wearing a dark, modern suit.

  What is that all about? Is this another crazy trick from Ms. Tremt, like with my phone?

  I need to check it out. ASAP. Maybe this guy was sent to tell us we’re running out of time?

  “Uh, I’ll go get Ethan and Mr. Pedersen for dinner,” I offer quickly. “Be right back!”

  I run out of the house and scan the fields, unable to find the man again. Then I see a flash of bright green disappearing into the high stalks of the cornfields. What is happening? Where is he going?

  In an instant, I decide to follow him. I start running toward the cornfields, yelling over my shoulder as I go, “Mr. Pedersen! Ethan! Dinner’s ready!”

  I don’t wait to see if they go inside for dinner, because I don’t want to lose sight of that man. Could he be an ancestor of mine too? But then why would he be in regular clothes?

  As soon as I enter the cornfields I can hear him thrashing ahead of me. I try to follow the noise, since it’s harder to see in a cornfield than you would think. Suddenly, the cornstalks around me start blowing wildly, moving back and forth like the pendulums on an old grandfather clock. What is happening? I don’t remember it being this windy outside when I was getting water.

  Then, in an instant, the wind stops. The cornstalks freeze. I see what looks like an open pocket of land in the midst of all the corn and walk straight toward it.

  Bizarrely, I step into a clearing filled with what looks like a totally modern house and backyard! It’s posh and fancy, with tiny manicured shrubs, a small iron fence, and a pool.

  Hello, Toto? I don’t think I’m in Kansas anymore!

  Just as I’m wondering whether I should check out the house or run back to the Pedersen family, Ethan appears beside me, completely out of breath.

  “Ethan!” I exclaim. “What are you doing here? I thought I told you it was time for dinner!”

  He rolls his eyes. “You did. But then I saw you run straight into the cornfield by yourself and I was worried you were up to something.”

  “I’m not up to anything,” I reply, slightly annoyed. “I saw someone out the window. He was wearing modern clothes and waved to me. Then he ran into the fields. I thought he might be a messenger sent from Ms. Tremt or something, so here I am.”

  Ethan shakes his head. “She doesn’t send messengers, Ava! We get the book and three hours to explore the past, and that’s it. Then we have to return.”

  “Well, then, who was the guy, Mr. Smarty-Pants Know-it-All?”

  “I don’t know and I don’t want to know.” He glances at his watch. “Yikes! I’ve been learning so many neat things I completely forgot all about our time limit! Mr. Pedersen showed me how to ride a horse and lasso a steer, although it was actually a barrel we used for practice. It was great! I can’t believe you want the Pedersen family to move to California. This is the life.”

  I sigh, and try to keep myself from strangling him. A half-hour lesson on roping cattle or whatever isn’t enough of a reason for Mr. and Mrs. Pedersen and their kids to stay here. They need to go somewhere easier, where they don’t have to work so hard all the time.

  “Listen,” I say, “we don’t have time to argue. Let’s make sure my plan worked, and then we’ll head back to the future. I left the book on the windowsill at the house, so we need to go and get it.”

  “What’s the rush?” says the man I saw earlier, appearing from around the modern house. He’s wearing a dark suit and has bright green gloves on his hands. “Thank you for coming, children. I’ve been anxious to meet you.”

  Ethan and I stare at the man, our jaws hanging open like we’re two goldfish who flopped out of their bowl.

  “Who are you?” Ethan finally manages to ask.

  The man wearing the green gloves smiles, looking both friendly and amused. “Me? Why, I’m Tim Raveltere. Didn’t Valerie Tremt tell you about me? We’re old friends.”

  He walks toward us as he’s talking and awkwardly trips over a lounge chair by the pool. He catches himself, smiling at us again.

  “I’ve never heard of you,” Ethan says, narrowing his eyes.

  “Well, I’m a time traveler. Just like Valerie. Isn’t that neat?” He uses his gloved hands to smooth the front of his jacket, but one fuzzy glove gets snagged on a button, and he ends up spending a minute extricating the glove from the button, mumbling something under his breath as he does it. He doesn’t seem very coordinated for a time traveler.

  “So how do you time travel?” I ask, hoping his answer will prove whether or not what he’s saying is true.

  He holds up one gloved hand and points to the watch on his wrist. “With this watch, of course. I don’t have a copy of The Book of Memories, but this watch works the same way. Almost.”

  Slowly, Ethan inches his way over to me until he’s standing right beside me. Under his breath he whispers, “Tremt warned me about another time traveler. She said he’s always trying to steal her book and that he needs the positive energy generated from our time travel to be able to travel by himself.”

  My eyes widen as I realize what he’s saying. We’re stuck in a large Minnesotan cornfield with a . . . sneaky time traveler?

  But Tim Raveltere, who apparently overheard what Ethan said, laughs loudly. “Oh, that’s jolly. Of course she said that. But she wasn’t talking about me, children. Valerie and I really are old friends. You have nothing to worry about.”

  I exchange a look with Ethan. I’m not buying it, and neither is he.

  “Listen,” Tim says. “I’m trying to help you. That’s why I brought you here, Ava, to see your mom in 1991! Just as you wanted. This is her house.”

  “No, it isn’t,” I say. “This looks nothing like my grandparents’ house.”

  “Not the one you know, of course,” says Tim. “You changed the past! You convinced the Pedersen family to move. That moment changed the course of your history. So now this is where your
mom grew up, in sunny California, just as you wished. When you walked into the cornfield, you stepped through my time vortex, and voila.”

  “Whoa!” says Ethan, looking at me. “You changed your history! And all I did in 1891 was learn how to lasso a barrel. I need to think these time-travel trips through more before I go.”

  “Not now, Ethan!” I say. I can’t believe I’m actually looking at a new life for my family. “I changed the course of history? Really?”

  “You sure did,” Tim replies. “You can go inside and see your mom if you want.”

  As I look over the yard again, it all starts to sink in. The palm trees, the flagstone patio around the lovely swimming pool. And is that a security camera? I really did do it! I made everything better forever!

  “Come in with me, Ethan,” I say, still nervous about going inside. “Tim, you wait out here.”

  “Sure, sure, of course,” Tim says, accidentally kicking a potted plant and spilling some of the dirt onto the patio.

  Ethan and I slip in the side door of the house without knocking, as I’m hoping to get a glimpse of everything without actually freaking anyone out. After all, they won’t know who we are, because in 1991 we hadn’t even been born yet.

  The first thing I hear is “Moo!”

  Honestly, again with the cow?

  But it’s not a real cow; it’s just a sound from a video game playing on the television. Ethan and I peer around the doorway from the hall and see my mother, looking like she’s maybe in high school, sitting on the couch playing some game. Her hair is pulled up in a ponytail and she’s wearing a cozy flannel shirt, despite how warm it is. Something happens on the screen and she cheers to herself as I hear points being scored.

  Whoa! My mom likes video games as much as I do. My mom is cool!

  The phone rings, and my mom leans across the arm of the sofa to grab a phone on the table.

  “Yeah? Hi, Mom. No, I’m playing a video game. When will you guys be home?”