At the time, Emma thought courage meant riding a horse or crossing a river.
Now she wondered whether it also meant walking into a school cafeteria.
She pressed her forehead gently against Daisy’s neck.
“I wish you could tell me what to do.”
The mare shifted her weight.
Emma smiled sadly.
“Probably eat more hay.”
She stayed until the sky began to darken.
Then she gathered the wood and walked home.
Clara was waiting with supper.
As they ate, Emma told her about the school harvest gathering.
“I said I might read.”
Clara put down her spoon.
“You did?”
Emma nodded.
Her mother smiled.
“That’s wonderful.”
“I’m still afraid.”
“Of course you are.”
Emma looked surprised.
Clara reached for her hand.
“Being brave doesn’t mean you stop feeling afraid.
Sometimes it means you decide that fear won’t make every choice for you.”
Emma thought of her father.
She wondered whether her parents had always known how to find the right words.
Later, they sat together sewing beside the stove.
Clara repaired a pair of trousers belonging to a ranch hand.
Emma helped straighten a hem.
Outside, stars filled the open sky.
The mountains were dark shadows beyond the prairie.
For the first time in several weeks, Emma allowed herself to imagine a different future.
Perhaps she could finish school.
Perhaps she could study at a college one day.
Perhaps she could become a teacher and help children who felt as lonely as she sometimes did.
It was not a grand dream.
But it was hers.
Before bed, she unfolded her writing assignment and read the final paragraph again.
Then she placed it carefully inside her schoolbook.
Friday arrived bright and cold.
The rain had passed, leaving patches of frost along the fences and a white crust on the roofs of the outbuildings.
At the Carter cabin, Clara rose early to prepare bread dough before leaving for the Miller ranch.
Emma helped carry water from the pump.
The bucket handles were cold against her fingers.
Inside, the kitchen stove crackled.
They ate a simple breakfast.
Clara noticed that Emma was quieter than usual.
“Something wrong?”
Emma shook her head.
“Just tired.”
Clara reached across the table and straightened the collar of her daughter’s sweater.
The blue fabric was clean.
She had washed it carefully the night before and hung it beside the stove to dry.
“There.”
Emma smiled.
“Thank you.”
As she reached for her schoolbag, Clara stopped her.
“Emma?”
“Yes?”
“Whatever happens at school today, remember something.”
Emma waited.
Her mother looked directly into her eyes.
“You are not worth less because we have less.”
Emma swallowed.
“I know, Mama.”
Clara kissed her forehead.
“Good.”
Neither of them knew how much Emma would need those words before the day was over.
The school bus came rattling down the road as the sun climbed over the eastern hills.
Emma waved goodbye.
Her mother watched until the bus disappeared.
Then Clara picked up her work basket and started toward the ranch house.
It would be another long day.
She expected to return home tired.
She expected to find Emma at the table doing her lessons.
She expected an ordinary Friday.
There was no reason to imagine anything different.
At school, the first two lessons passed quietly.
Emma completed her arithmetic problems and listened to a history lesson about families who had crossed the plains seeking new land.
The teacher spoke about difficult journeys, broken wagons, empty food supplies, and neighbors helping one another survive.
Emma liked that part of history.
She liked stories in which ordinary people mattered.
During the lesson, Vanessa whispered something to Dorothy.
They laughed.
Emma did not turn around.
At midmorning break, she went outside.
The air was cold enough to sting her cheeks.
Several boys were throwing a ball near the fence.
Girls gathered beneath the cottonwood trees.
Emma sat on a bench with her book.
A classmate named Alice Morgan approached.
Alice was a quiet girl from a small dairy farm north of town.
She and Emma had known each other for years, though they rarely spent time together outside class.
“May I sit?”
Alice asked.
Emma moved her books.
“Of course.”
For a few minutes, they watched the other students.
Then Alice said, “I heard Miss Parker wants you to read at the harvest gathering.”
Emma nodded.
“Maybe.”
“You should.”
Emma looked at her.
“Do you really think so?”
“I liked your writing when we worked together last spring.”
Emma smiled.
“Thank you.”
Alice twisted the edge of her scarf.
She looked as though she wanted to say something else.
Finally, she whispered, “I don’t think the way Vanessa treats you is right.”
Emma went still.
No student had ever said that so plainly.
She turned toward Alice.
“Then why does everyone laugh?”
