Horse Camp (2 page)

Dear Diary,

You'd expect a girl my age to be exploring her deepest thoughts on a laptop or maybe texting, Facebooking, or Tweeting everyone about the horrible, really awful, and unfair tragedies that have befallen her these past few weeks. Instead, I write these thoughts by hand in a spiral notebook like people used to do centuries ago. If I ever require emergency surgery for carpal tunnel syndrome, here's who to blame: Uncle Stretch!

Here's why:

Me:
I can't stand it here. This farm is like the eighteenth century but way worse! (It's totally worse.

The water has a rusty taste, and all the meat used to be animals on the farm. But I was trying to be calm.)

Uncle Stretch:
(Raises his eyebrows in confusion, as though he doesn't even know what century we're in.) What are you talking about?

Me:
Hello? Are you listening to me? Is there a wireless signal anywhere near here?

Stretch:
(Grimacing, since his idea of living is running this farm as old-fashioned as possible. He acts as though he wants to be Charles Ingalls from the Little House books. He expects me to behave like Half-Pint, who would have been delirious with happiness over receiving one orange for Christmas or going on a walk with an old person or wearing a hand-me-down.) Are you always this dramatic?

Me:
You know, wireless, like, for the Internet? Don't you have a cell phone or something? Where's the phone reception? Do you have a cell phone tower around here?

Stretch:
(Taking a lazy bite from an apple he picked from his own tree. The apple probably has a worm in it because Uncle Stretch's whole farm is organic, which means he doesn't use pesticide. All his fruits are probably writhing with worms and bugs. Using the apple to gesture toward the wall.) I have the rotary over there that you can use to talk to your mom when she calls.

Me:
THAT'S your actual phone? I thought that was an antique for decoration. No way! How am I supposed to talk to my dad? What if he's trying to call my cell phone, but it's not getting through? (Holding up my dead, nonreceptive cell phone for extra effect.)

Stretch:
He's not calling. Won't call. (Taking another bite and staring out the window to his fields, which have lots of weeds he makes us pull by hand.) You may as well throw that celly-phone in the junk drawer.

Me:
(Clutching my cell phone to my chest.) It's called a
cell
phone. I can't live here. I have to have access to the outside world!

Stretch:
Snap out of it. I don't like hysterics. (Picking up the notebook from the counter near the phone and handing it to me.) Here. You can pour your heart out in there if that's what you need to do to keep from flapping around like a chicken with its head cut off.

Me:
This notebook smells like horse feed.

Stretch:
When you're done writing in that thing, meet me in the end rows with a hoe. Gotta get them cockleburs out of the field before they choke out the beets.

Even in the poorest countries I've lived in, Internet and phone service were readily available, and we always lived in the nicest house in the town or village because everyone respected my dad. He was kind of like a celebrity to them because he was bringing the good news about Jesus and being saved. And he needed the Internet to podcast his sermons and take online donations. Uncle Stretch's farm is not at all what I'm used to. Even though it's in the state of Minnesota, the heart of civilized America, it's the most remote, most lonely place I've ever lived. But I'm going to do my best to endure this sacrifice and pray that the Lord makes my will strong.

Anyway, here's some information about me: I am Penelope Rachel Pribyl. I am almost thirteen years old. I am a Christian. I am five foot two and getting taller. I have long brown hair, which is not at all frizzy like some girls' hair. When we lived in Africa, the little kids there used to try and touch my long hair all the time, because they thought it was so pretty. I have brownish-green eyes that have little flecks of yellow in them. I have a twin brother, Perseus. I have a little brother, Pauly, who is adopted from the Philippines. I have been all over the world, including the continents of Africa, South America, and Asia. I have been mostly homeschooled and test far above my age group. I don't have a best friend, though I have many acquaintances. I have never been in love. I want to minister to the poor and lost when I grow up, just like my dad.

Dad always preaches that the disintegration of the nuclear family is at the heart of all the world's troubles and sins, and I couldn't agree more! It's just not right that my own nuclear family is disintegrating! In Africa, Dad mostly preached to the women and children. (The men never came to church unless they wanted to collect their wives to come home and make them something to eat.) They rarely seemed to care about Jesus or being saved. Most of the time, they just came because Mom would give their kids free checkups, medicines, and immunizations. She had a brief career as a registered nurse before she met Dad and got involved in his ministry. She has a college degree and everything.

But when your husband is called by God to be a minister, you're supposed to go along with it and be a good pastor's wife. Dad said that Mom should stop running around like a feminist and get busy worrying about the spirits of the parishioners rather than their little aches and pains. But Mom just couldn't stop herself from nursing, no matter what Dad or us or even God wanted. She nursed wherever we went and never seemed very interested in being a dutiful pastor's wife.

We left Africa after a short time because it was just so obvious that the people there didn't care about the disintegration of the nuclear family, and they wouldn't donate any money to build a decent church building. I got really sick once, too, and Mom had to sit by my bed day and night with cool washcloths and give me droppers of medicine. Finally, one night, Dad said a prayer of healing over me, and the very next day, I sat up and felt a lot better. It was a miracle! I, for one, believe in miracles.

After moving here and there, we lived in the Philippines for a little while. That was my favorite place. The Philippine government has laws against divorce, for one thing. Married people can't just wake up one morning and get a divorce, like they can here. And the people there are very, very concerned about keeping the nuclear family together. They also have very pretty beaches and water. They have good food, not like roasted goat or yams, which is all they seemed to eat in Africa unless you order special food from America. That's what we did most of the time because Dad said the native food gave him gas.

And the Philippines is where we picked up Pauly, our little brother. I love him like crazy, and, not to brag or anything, but I've basically raised him these past three years. Pauly's got the best nature of any kid I've ever met, and I can't understand how any mother could've abandoned him. But that's exactly what happened. One morning, Mom opened up the front door to sweep the dirt outside. She looked down and saw him sitting on our doorstep, with a note pinned to his shirt:

Pauly looked up at Mom and smiled, and she was hooked. To look at him, you instantly know why. He's really adorable. I sometimes wish I had big dark brown eyes and long black lashes like his, but then I remember it's a sin to be envious, and I'm just happy that I can enjoy those features on Pauly.

I used to be Pauly's favorite person by far, but since we've come here, Stretch is the one Pauly follows around all day long, from the house to the barn to the pigpens to the field. Stretch lets him feed the horses and even sets him on top of the pigs. He gives him rides on the tractor and makes him homemade pancakes every morning because they're Pauly's favorite food. Stretch lets Pauly pour on his own syrup and doesn't monitor him when he brushes his teeth, which is not how a responsible adult should act.

Stretch's farm is located on a gravel road at least ten miles from the nearest town, so we're miles from people who need to be saved by God's grace. Compared to the exotic places we've lived, this area is quite boring. The town has two small schools (one regular, one Catholic), a gas station/bait shop (L
IVE
N
IGHT
C
RAWLERS
H
ALF
O
FF
!), and a café run by a woman who also operates a beauty parlor in the same building. Stretch goes there often to buy people's hair from her. He says he uses the hair balls to repel deer and rabbits from his young vegetable plants. I think he just goes to the beauty parlor because he likes to ogle the breasts of one of the beauticians. She seems pretty nice, but she does flirt with Stretch.

The town also has a farm equipment dealer, a grain elevator, a small medical clinic, a funeral home (
RESPECTFUL QUALITY THROUGH CARING COMFORT
—
BURY YOUR LOVED ONE WITH DIGNITY
), an American Legion, and a butcher shop where Stretch sometimes brings his animals for slaughter. The town is so small it doesn't even have a shopping center or a movie theater, though it does have a library, which has a couple of computers with Internet service. A nun named Sister Alice is the librarian, and she's not very nice, but she did used to be a missionary, like my parents, so she can be pretty interesting to talk to if she's not crabby. I think she's bitter about having to wear that hot and itchy habit all day.

I try to be good and nonjudgmental and righteous in the Lord's eyes. I do not like how my mom has ruined our family. I do not like how she embarrassed my dad and his church and all of us. You might think I'd be really, really angry at her, but I'm not. I'm just very, very disappointed. I do not like staying at Stretch's farm while she's on trial for distributing prescription drugs without a license to people who couldn't afford them.

When Mom said she was sending us to an uncle we'd never even known, we were scared, so she tried to make it sound better by referring to Stretch's place as
Horse Camp
, since she said Stretch had always had a lot of horses, and we'd probably be riding around every day like regular cowboys. My mom also tried to make the farm sound more appealing by telling me it was an organic farm, and that I'd be learning a lot about self-sustainability and going green. I've been to Bible camp and Jesus camp and the Little Saviors Camp and youth ministries camp, where they always had a point or a message. There's no point to us being at Horse Camp. What's more, the horses are very dysfunctional, and I, for one, would never ride them, for the simple fact that they are both clearly safety hazards. As far as the
organic farm
goes, it's much dirtier than I imagined it would be, and I have a hard time dealing with things like manure.

So far, I just keep myself busy by cleaning up the house. One thing about me is that I'm very, very neat and clean. You can't be too careful about germs, which are everywhere! Bleach and rubbing alcohol and hand sanitizer are very important to me. I also think personal hygiene is
very
important. I've seen how little parasites and germs and diseases can make a person really sick and even kill him or her.

Percy takes a shower only once or twice a week, which nearly drives me crazy. But since he's my age, I can't really do anything about it other than tell him he smells like rancid chicken soup and show him photos of awful skin diseases to scare him. I'm sure he'll get an infection from that cut on his chin that Stretch just duct-taped together.

One good thing about being here and being perpetually B-O-R-E-D is that I have plenty of time to reflect and pray. I've been praying for a long time for the gift of tongues or the gift of healing like Dad has, but so far, it's not happening. I don't know why the Lord won't give me a sign that I'm in His grace! It's very frustrating. I love Jesus so much, and I try to be grateful for the gifts He's given me, one of which is a very good memory. I remember everything and can tell you exactly how Mom ruined our family. A couple of days before we kids were sent here, I overheard Mom and Dad fighting.

Mom:
Allen, cut the bull! (Can you imagine saying that to a minister?!) You may fool the parishioners, but I'm not buying the Holy-Rolling act anymore. I'm through!

Dad:
Danielle, without me you cannot survive financially or spiritually. You are an empty woman.

Mom:
Who do you think you're talking to? I'm taking the kids, and I'm getting out of this crazy life.

Dad:
Neither the children, nor you are going anywhere.

Mom:
What's that supposed to mean?

Dad:
No court will give the children to an unstable criminal like yourself. If you want your children, you'll stay right where you are and take your proper place in the front pew and at my side when I need you. You're the one on trial. Remember? You need me.