"Stupid rock!"Mary picked up the heavy stone and lobbed it into the bushes. That rock wouldn't stub her toe again. She made sure of that.
"Hmmph!" Mary snorted, stepping gingerly toward a large boulder on the side of the path. Some party! How could they have thought she'd like hair ribbons?
Glancing behind her, Mary quickly checked to see if anyone was following her.
The path was empty.
Satisfied that no one was coming, she sat down on the boulder and unlaced her shoe. Rubbing a hurt always made it feel better.
And her toe hurt!
"Nobody understands me," she fumed. "Nobody but Sarah. She's really my only true friend."
She rubbed her toe harder and harder as she thought how unfair her parents were.
In fact, she was so busy rubbing her toe that she didn't notice Papa until his shadow crossed hers and he plopped down beside her.
"Hurt your foot?" he asked.
"Kicked a stupid rock!" she said, almost shouting. Couldn't he see? Why else would she be rubbing her toe?
She wished she could hurt the rock just like it had hurt her. It made her feel good to be angry.
"You took your shoe off, I see," Papa said.
He picked up the shoe and looked at it for a long time without saying anything. He stroked the brown leather and fingered the laces.
Finally, he spoke. "This is a good shoe. It's sturdy. It fits. It doesn't hurt when you walk, even for long distances like you've walked on this trip. And it protects your foot from being hurt by rocks on the path."
"Not always!" Mary said hotly, rubbing her toe again.
"Yes, you're right," her father nodded. "Not always. Not when you are moving so fast you forget to stop before you hit something."
Then he took a deep, slow breath. "Another thing about shoes, Mary, is that they stay on your feet until you take them off."
He tapped the shoe on his other hand. "And usually, when we are falling -- say, in a river -- we don't have time to take off our shoes, do we?"
Mary flushed.
So that was why he had been so interested in her shoes yesterday! He had known all along that she had been wading in the cool stream instead of doing her job.
But even though he knew, he hadn't said anything.
Suddenly Mary felt foolish. Is that what Papa had wanted -- to make her look foolish? To embarrass and punish her for just wanting to have a little fun?
Mary scrunched her lips. If he was being mean to her, then she would be mad, instead of sorry!
"You don't care about me!" she blurted out. "I was hot, and nobody would let me go wading! I wanted a music box, and they got me hair ribbons! You and Mama . . .you just don't care!"
With that, she jerked her shoe from her father's grasp and jammed it on her foot without tying the laces. Ignoring the startled look on his face, she stood up and ran farther down the rock-strewn path.
Suddenly, she spun around to face her father, fists clenched at her side. Her face and neck burned with a fire of their own.
"I hate you! I hate you all!"
Her father was before her in an instant. He dropped to one knee, gently placed his hands on her shoulders, and looked her full in the face. His eyes, brimming with tears, searched hers.
"Come back with me to the wagon. You will need to sit and think about some things. You may be there for a while."
Back in the wagon, Mary and Papa sat down. It was hot and stuffy.
Mary was miserable and she didn't feel like talking.So Papa talked. "Did you know I watched you hurl that rock off the pathway?"
"No," she answered. Why should she care what he saw?
"It wouldn't have bothered you to leave it there, if it hadn't hurt you. Sometimes God lets things hurt us so we will know they are bad."
Mary knew that well. One time she had burned her hand on the stove. She never touched it again, after that.
But she was tired of Papa's lessons! She wished he'd leave her alone. She folded her arms across her chest and frowned, wanting him to leave.
"I am going to have you sit here in the wagon." Papa's voice broke, but he went on, reaching out to stroke her hair. "I don't like to see you hurt, little one. Let God speak to your heart. Let Him soften the hardness that has--"
She jerked her head away.
Tears came again to his eyes, but all he said was, "So be it. When you are ready to understand how your choices hurt others, call for me. I will come as soon as I hear you call."
And then he left.
Mary sat and brooded while the others ate. She could hear them. A bit of cool air teased her from the end of the wagon. She was hungry. She could be out there too, if she just called for Papa and admitted. . .but no! She clamped her mouth shut. She wasn't wrong. They were!
She dozed a little in the heat.
Suddenly, she was awakened. "Pssst!"
Mary sat up. It was Sarah!
Sarah smiled mischievously. "Why are you staying here? Did your papa make you?"
"Yes!" Mary spat out the word. Her voice took on a mocking tone. "I can't leave the wagon until I say I'm sorry."
Sarah nodded wisely. "That's parents for you! Just like I told you. They never understand.
"But," she added slyly, "there are good sides to being left totally alone."
"Good sides?" Mary shook her head with a shudder.
"I'll show you!" And then Sarah was gone.
Mary peered out the end of the wagon, but Sarah was out of sight. What was she doing?
Mary fidgeted. She hated waiting.
Finally, Sarah's curly blonde head popped up inside the wagon opening. Her eyes danced with excitement.
"C'mon! It's ready."
"Ready? And what do you mean? I can't leave here till I call Papa."
"No?" Sarah grinned and raised her eyebrows once, as if to say there was something she knew and Mary didn't.
"Silly. Think about it! Your papa won't come here until you call. How will he ever know you've left?"
As Mary considered Sarah's plan, a slow grin spread over her face. She peeked out the back of the wagon a second time.
Over behind Sarah's wagon stood Sarah's new horse, Hudson, with the new bridle over his head and the bit in his mouth. Behind Hudson, the ground dropped off to a thicket and a shallow ravine -- both completely out of sight from their parents.For several seconds, Mary reconsidered. But the next thing she knew her legs had slipped over the side of the wagon, and then she was on the ground.
Sarah took her hand. "Keep low!"
The moment crossing between the wagons seemed to stretch forever. Mary was sure she would hear her father's angry voice, calling her back.
But there was no sound except the quiet swish of their hurried strides through the tall grass.
"I couldn't lift the saddle, so we'll have to ride bareback," Sarah whispered as they approached Hudson. On the ground nearby was a stool and a leather bag. She positioned the stool next to the horse, and stepped up on it. Then, grabbing a handful of Hudson's mane, she pulled herself onto his back. "Hand me that bag, and then I'll give you a hand."
Soon Mary was up behind her cousin.
Sarah urged Hudson to a slow walk away from camp.Mary glanced at the sky. It was still a clear, brilliant blue, but the sun was much lower, near the horizon. They had only a few hours of daylight left.
"Are we going far?" she asked.
"Not too far. We can come back before they miss us. Hang on, now, we're going to go fast!"
Mary put her arms around Sarah's waist and hung on tightly. Sarah clucked to Hudson, and he broke into a trot.
The girls bounced up and down. Thump! Up in the air they went and down with every jolting step.
"This. . . is. . . easier. . . with. . . a. . . saddle," Sarah said, between bumps.
"Can't you make him stop bumping?" Mary complained. Her legs and backside had started to hurt.
"Sure! I can make him go faster." And before Mary could say a thing, Hudson was going faster. It was smoother! Mary was surprised. Sarah knew so much about everything.
"What's in the bag?" she finally remembered to ask.
"Some supper for you . . . and some extra goodies. We're going to have a picnic!"
Mary laughed, for the first time in hours.
Still at a gallop, Hudson took them onward, up and over the hills, farther and farther away from camp.
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