All Alone on a Prairie Road

I’m walking on the road to our house. I’m all alone, but I’m not scared. Besides, I can see all around me. I can see the farm where the Burmeys live—it’s on the right side of me. I can see the little bushes on the left side, and a little further I can see the big white church that belongs to our family. Way down the road, where it almost stops, I can see the flat roof of our barn, and beside it, our house. I twirl round and round with my eyes closed, wondering where I’ll end up when I open them. Everything looks in the wrong place for a minute, but soon it all goes back to where it should be—everything so pretty and in the right place. It’s not like the story Teacher read once, about someone who came here for the first time.

“It’s all the same.” the person in the story said, “It’s the same thing everywhere you turn. It’s the prairie, always the prairie, for miles and miles and miles.”

It doesn’t scare me to be alone on the prairie

I was happy Teacher sent me home to get the book I always forgot, even though she sounded so mean when she told me.

“You’re in Grade Two now,” she said, “It’s time you remembered when I tell you something. You’re not a baby any more. Now go straight home and come back with the book.” My big sister June wanted to come with me. But Teacher said no, so I started out and I even skipped a little so June could see I wasn’t worried.

I’m trying hard to stay in a straight line and go straight home, but a little way down the road I see a red fox run across the road and into the ditch. So I quickly follow him to see where he is going, in case there’s a den with some baby foxes in it. I can see his tail swishing back and forth. I think he’s excited because he sees a mouse. But he’s too fast for me, and quickly disappears into a culvert. Next I see a big black crow cawing and flying with some smaller birds. They’re mad at him, and try to chase him away. Maybe they have a nest of baby birds and want to protect them. Its just like in the book about Br’re Rabbit, where the animals all have enemies and friends.

Just then I hear a car! I look way far down the road, and I can see something twinkling in the sunshine. I stand very still. I’m not supposed to talk to anyone, and I don’t know what I would do if they stopped. But they don’t come any closer. They turn right and into the churchyard, and pretty soon I hear some people working and talking. I decide to go past the church very quickly so they won’t see me.

I’m very hot now, and tired. But finally I can see our house, and the fence around it. Everything is so quiet when I get in the yard. No chickens, no cows mooing, not even the horses coming to the fence for a carrot—all of the animals are just standing around in the shade probably, just swishing their tails and waiting for their oats and water. I open the screen door and step in. The kitchen is cool and dark. My feet are sore, so I sit down on the couch for a minute. When Mumma comes out of the bedroom she stops very suddenly and looks at me with a surprised look on her face.
“Where did you come from?” she asks, “Did someone bring you home?”

I don’t dare tell Mumma a lie

I think for a minute about telling a lie, maybe saying Teacher sent me home because I was sick. But I know Mumma would find out—she always knows the truth no matter what.
“Teacher sent me home because I forgot Br’re Rabbit again,” I say, “She said she is sick and tired that I forget everything, and she said I have to grow up and not be such a baby.”
Mumma reaches out and pulls me toward her. She runs her hand across my head and strokes my sweaty hair. She holds me there for a minute. When I look up, I can see her lips pressed together, and her eyes are black and angry.
“Are you mad at me?” I ask.
“I’m mad alright,” Mumma says, and she shakes her head slowly back and forth, and presses her lips together even more. “But not at you.”
“I’m mad at that teacher. She had no right to tell you to walk home all that way, by yourself. What if you got lost? What if some bad man picked you up?”

I didn’t think about those things, but now that I was home, safe and sound, I shiver a little when I think about the danger.
“Teacher said I have to go right back to the school,” I say in a little voice, “With the book.”

“Over my dead body,” Mumma says. This was what she always says when she is very, very sure about something, and nothing could change her mind. So I know I am safe.

“Today is Friday,” she finally says. “By Monday, we will all forget about this. Just make sure you take the book then. And that will be the end of it.”
And it was.