school than there were boys, because some of the settlement families let their girls stay in town for schooling when they went off to their allotments, but they took the boys along to help out. The last month of school, Robbie had walked a different girl home every afternoon, sometimes more than one. As for Jack, he hated school, and was happy to be finished with it for a while. When Papa told him he should start studying to get into a college, the way Hugh and Charlie and the older boys had, Jack said he’d only just gotten out of upper school and he wanted a break.
I took a deep breath. “And it’s not fair that you were born last and a double-seven, and the rest of us are just regular people.” I didn’t have to add that it wasn’t fair that I was thirteenth-born. I knew that right then Lan was as mindful of it as I was. “It’s not fair, but it’s how things are.”
“I can’t change when I was born,” Lan said, and stopped.
“But you could change this?” I said for him. “Don’t be a…a goose! What good would it do any of us for you to give up the chance for the kind of schooling you want? Besides, if you stay, in less than a month you’ll be moping around making everyone else miserable. You know you will! How is that fair?”
Lan had to admit I was right, though he was plainly still troubled. He cheered up when we got to the creek, though most of the frogs seemed to have gone into hiding. We barely got half a bucketful between us. That night he told Papa that he’d try the boarding school. So Papa made the arrangements, and in the fall Lan left on the eastbound train.
I missed him more than I’d ever suspected I would. I’d thought that because we’d been in different grades for so long, and because he was off studying with Papa so much when we weren’t in school, I’d hardly notice he was gone. Instead, I noticed it all the time, even when I was in school or doing chores like the wash, that the boys didn’t ever do. Lan had always been somewhere nearby—nearer than Pennsylvania, anyway—and I’d known it. I felt like I was missing part of myself.
School wasn’t much changed from the year before. I still had difficulty with my spells—the fire-lighting spell went off like a Fourth of July sparkler without actually starting a fire, the spell for lightening loads sort of stuttered, so that the weight went from light to heavy and back, over and over, and the far-seeing spell didn’t work at all. Even William got impatient with me over that sometimes. He was studying hard for the final examination, along with about a third of the eighth-grade class, the ones who meant to go on to the upper school. The rest were looking forward to finishing with school and going off to work or to their families’ settlements.
I felt like I was drifting. I didn’t know whether to go on to upper school or not. If I didn’t, I could stay home and do more of the housework—the parts that didn’t take magic, anyway. Mama was still feeling poorly and not up to heavy cleaning, and with Lan’s school expenses, we’d had to cut back on having Mrs. Callahan in to help. Also, there was a part of me that cringed away from learning any more magic, which I’d have to do if I went on to upper school.
But I knew that Papa and Mama would be upset if I told them I didn’t want any more education. I was pretty sure William would be upset, too, and I knew for a fact that Lan would give me a tongue-lashing the next time I saw him. I didn’t want to face any of them. So I put off making up my mind, and put it off, and put it off.
And then it was March. The weather was cold and we had two blizzards in one week, but in between them the wind was warm and damp, and made everyone restless for the spring that hadn’t come yet. The settlement boys started cutting classes, even though there wasn’t much of anything to do yet outside of school. Every day there’d be two or three empty seats, except in Miss Ochiba’s class. Nobody quite dared to skip out on her.
One morning we came into Miss Ochiba’s classroom to find that she was not alone. A tall, strong-featured man was half leaning, half sitting on her desk, swinging a booted foot. His skin was a rich, dark chocolate color, and his hair was clipped close to his head, shorter than his neat beard and mustache. A broad-brimmed hat dangled from one hand, and his jacket and pants were well-worn brown leather with long fringes dangling from all the seams. He grinned a wide, white grin at our startled faces, and said something to Miss Ochiba that nobody else heard.
Nobody ever dawdled getting ready for Miss Ochiba’s class, but that morning we were even quicker about taking our seats than usual. Miss Ochiba smiled slightly as she rapped for order and wished us good morning. Then she said, “As most of you have probably guessed, today’s class will be somewhat unusual.”
A little stirring rippled through the class; Miss Ochiba frowned slightly and it ceased instantly. Behind her, the black man’s eyes crinkled at the corners, and he pursed his lips like he had to do something with them or he’d burst out laughing.
“Many of you will be going out to the settlements in a few weeks,” Miss Ochiba continued. “You will find that it is one thing to learn in class about wildlife and the spells that hold them back, and quite another to live with their presence day to day. Even for those of you who will remain in Mill City, it will be wise to remember that the Great Barrier Spell runs less than two miles away.
“I have therefore taken this opportunity to have Mr. Washington Morris speak with you today.” Miss Ochiba turned to indicate the man behind her, who gave a short nod in acknowledgment. “Mr. Morris has spent most of the past ten years on the far side of the Great Barrier, as an explorer, guide, and independent circuit-rider among the border settlements. He knows a great deal about the country and the wildlife of the settlement frontier, and I recommend that you give him your full attention.”
Washington Morris straightened up and came forward. “Thank you kindly, Miss Maryann,” he said in a deep, rumbly voice with more than a hint of a Southern drawl. “I think I’d best begin by speaking of what I do, and give you all a chance to collect your thoughts. Once you’ve got your questions ready, I’ll be pleased to answer them.”
We all listened in utter fascination. Mr. Morris was a traveling magician, one of those who went from town to town, bringing news and sometimes supplies, escorting folk who needed to travel, and helping the settlement magicians reinforce or expand their protective spells. Traveling alone on the far side of the Great Barrier was difficult and dangerous. The Settlement Office had a regular schedule of circuit-riders for the larger towns close by the river, but the farther out the settlements went, the fewer magicians were willing to take the risks.
So the Settlement Office decided to hire men who’d gone into the Far West exploring on their own and had lived to tell of it. They found six, and authorized them as independent circuit-riders, with no fixed schedule to keep, just a wide section of territory to keep track of. Mr. Morris had been one of their first recruits, and for the past five years he’d been riding the northernmost section of the territory from the tip of the Red River down to the Long Chain Lakes, stopping back to Mill City every so often to report in.
In that time, he’d been hunted by greatwolves and nearly trampled in a bison stampede. He’d been stung by sunbugs and had once awakened to find rattlesnakes sharing his bedroll. He’d run from wildfires and dodged prides of saber cats and Columbian sphinxes. Once he’d lost all his supplies in a flash flood, and had to hike eighty miles to the nearest settlement. He told us all this in a calm, matter-of-fact way that made his list of adventures seem as commonplace as watching the milk-delivery wagon rattle up the street every morning.
But for all that, it was plain to see that he loved the wide, wild country to the west, and all the people and creatures that lived there. “They were just acting according to their natures,” he said when one of the girls asked why he didn’t shoot the bear cubs who’d gotten into his food cache. Then he grinned his wide grin and added, “Also, I knew the mama bear was around somewhere, and I can’t rightly say I wanted her riled at me. A mama bear who’s protecting her cubs is a fearsome thing.”
He looked around the class and said more seriously, “There’s a thing to remember that’s worth as much as a round half-dozen spells: Steer clear of the young ones, no matter what kind. For certain-sure, their mama is nearby, whether or not you see her, and even a prairie dog will fight for her pups.
“There are two kinds of people who get themselves in true trouble on the far frontier,” he went on. “The ones who are terrified of the wildlife, who cower in the settlements wanting the magicians to keep every last critter as far away as if they still lived east of the barrier, and the ones who aren’t afraid of the critters at all, who act as if they carry a personal barrier spell around with them all the time.”
“Mr. Morris, what do folks do who don’t ever get themselves in trouble?” one of the boys asked. His family was moving to a settlement in a few weeks, so he had a serious interest in the answer.
Mr. Morris studied him for a minute, then gave him a slow smile. “There’s nobody who doesn’t ever get in trouble,” he said. “But the ones who see the least of it start like you, with questioning those who’ve been before them. They take care, but they don’t let fear cripple them. They watch the wildlife, and learn from them.”
“Learn from them, Mr. Morris?” the boy said.
“There’s no creature out there that’s not wary of something. If you watch them close, you can figure out
