Beyond the Prairie Sunset

By Scott E. Miller

This was no dainty, cottony cloud that I'd enjoyed watching as I lay in the grass staring up at the sky. This was ugly and evil, and it sent a shiver up my spine.

For fourteen-year-old Claire McKay, the last two years have been a constant struggle for her and her family as they continue to build a life on the unforgiving prairie. But it was not all hard work. There was also school, friends, picnics, a new horse . . . and Caleb.

Based on true events, Beyond the Prairie Sunset picks up two years after Miller’s debut novel, Beneath a Prairie Sky. The story vividly recounts the challenges faced by those brave pioneers as they tamed wild Nebraska prairie and made a life for themselves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ladytech
• Release date: Jul 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9780991651368

Book preview

Beyond the Prairie Sunset

Text Copyright 2008, (original title Prairie Sunsets)

2019 (revised) © by Scott E. Miller.

All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the author.

Illustrations Copyright 2015 © by Jerusha Lorenz

Cover design by Sherry A. Siwinski

Copyediting by EbookEditingServices.com

Book Design: Maureen Cutajar

This is a work of fiction. The names, characters and events portrayed in this book are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-0-9916513-5-1 (print)

ISBN: 978-0-9916513-6-8 (ebook)

Dedicated to my father, Howard E. Miller.

You are an inspiration.

Because of you, I am the man I am today.

Thank-you for your love, support and weird sense of humor.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

About the Author

About the Illustrator

Chapter 1

LATE MARCH 1883

SURPRISE!

Claire Edith McKay! Why can’t you act more like a lady? My mother’s words echoed in my head as I leapt from the top of the school’s four wooden steps to the ground. When Miss Wentworth, our teacher, rang her small, bronze handbell announcing the end of the school day, I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

Quickly grabbing my lunch pail and schoolbooks, I pushed past the other students and rushed through the doors. Not wishing to wait for anyone, including my younger sister, Abby, I sailed off the top step.

As I landed firmly on the ground, little yellow puffs of prairie dust billowed up. It settled over my shoes and onto my skirt, obscuring the faded blue floral print. My mouse-brown hair, pulled back into a ponytail and secured by a blue hair ribbon, whipped around, striking me in the face. Ignoring the sting, I took off down the road toward home.

I knew Mama would have been appalled at my boyish behavior, and had she been there, I would have gotten what I call, her frowny face. A look that told me that I was behaving in a manner not appropriate for a fourteen-year-old girl. But at this moment, I didn’t care. I was in a hurry.

Papa calls me his little tomboy. But I don’t really like that word, because I don’t feel much like a tomboy. It’s true that I can climb a tree faster than most of the boys in school. And it doesn’t bother me at all getting filthy digging for fishing worms. I’ve also been known to get into a good wrestling match once in a while, particularly with Charley Folsom. He's twelve and thinks he can beat anyone at anything; sports or school. He may be two years younger than me, but he is bigger and outweighs me by at least twenty pounds. I can’t help but have a certain amount of pride in being able to get the better of him... sometimes.

Of course, wrestling around on the ground, and with a boy no less, gives Mama something else to frown about. Not just at me tumbling around, but at my pride in occasionally winning. And that doesn’t even count the numerous scoldings I’ve received for coming home with dirty and torn clothing. It never seems to matter to her, that most of the time Charley's the one who started it.

Recently however, I’ve noticed that Mama hasn't been scolding me as much. If I come home with ripped or soiled clothing, she just simply looks at me and shakes her head.

She’s definitely your daughter, she once said to Papa. You need to have a talk with her.

I wasn’t worried though. Papa never really scolds me. He just says that I should try to act more like a lady, and not let Charley Folsom get to me. But I notice the gleam of amusement in his eyes as he tries to be serious.

I really don’t see why Mama gets so upset. There's nothing wrong with a girl being able to take care of herself. I’ve seen how the other girls in school act, particularly when boys are around. They get all giggly and flirty, and pretend to be so helpless. I am determined not to be like them. Sometimes their behavior annoys me. Especially Rebecca Lovquist.

She’s only a year younger than I am, and when her family first moved to the area, we became good friends. We dug for fishing worms, explored along the Niobrara shore, and even built a secret hiding place in a steep bank overlooking the river. More often than not, we came home with our dresses grass stained and splotched with mud.

But the last time I invited her to go fishing, she looked at me as if I had just sprouted an extra head. Nowadays, she and the other girls are more interested in how their hair looks, and if their clothes are neat and tidy.

Recently, Rebecca's begun to tease me when I play baseball with the boys. Well, why shouldn’t I? I can play shortstop just as good, if not better, than any boy.

It’s not that I only like to play baseball and fish, I like to read and sing, and I’m concerned about how I look too. I just don't let things like hair, clothes, and who likes who, dominate my time.

Like any girl, I can be awed by a pretty dress. For example, the Sunday outfit Mama recently made me. It is lavender-colored, with lace around the collar and sleeves, and has a matching bonnet. I love that dress. And as vain as it sounds, I think I look pretty good in it.

The first time I wore it to church, I strutted around making sure that everyone got a good look. I rather enjoyed the looks of silent jealousy from Rebecca and the other girls. That is, until I saw Mama giving me the face.

Rushing out of school now, however, has nothing to do with my trying to get away. I like school. Actually, I love it. Since I started two years ago, I can’t wait to arrive each day. And I'm always disappointed when the school year ends, which it will be doing in another week.

While at school, I am a sponge and absorb everything that is presented to me, soaking in every lesson. Most particularly geography, history, and literature, which are my favorite subjects.

Arithmetic is a struggle though. It’s not that it is totally beyond my understanding, it just takes me a bit longer to calculate the answers. While most of the other students are well into their readers, I’m still trying to finish up with my times tables or long division.

I enjoy science, but sometimes it can be confusing with all the different names they give to plants and animals. I once told Papa that Fluffy, our milk cow, had a special scientific name; bos taurus. Miss Wentworth told us it was from Latin, an old language that no one speaks any longer. She called it a dead language. After trying to pronounce it, Papa just laughed and said, I think I’ll just stick to Fluffy.

Our school also has a small library. Well, it’s really just four shelves at the front of the room, and all the books are used. Most were donated by the mercantile in Niobrara City, the closest town, as well as from some of the neighbors in the area.

Many of the books have ripped pages and dirty covers. Some even have writing in the margins, but nonetheless, I cherish our little library. I devour every book and wait with eager anticipation for each new addition.

I generally enjoy school. But today was different. I needed to get home fast. And nothing, like taking the time to walk down four steps like a lady, or stopping to talk with Rebecca and the others, or even waiting for Abby, was going to slow me down.

Hurrying down the path toward our farm, my mind was focused on one purpose - getting home quickly. I was so intent on my inner thoughts, that when I felt a hand touch my shoulder, I let out a startled cry and dropped my pail and books.

Claire?

Pulling up sharply, I spun around, ready to be angry at whoever had the nerve to interrupt my progress home. However, when I saw that it was Caleb Clark standing behind me, my mood abruptly softened.

Huh, what? I stammered.

Didn’t you hear me calling you? I’ve been trying to catch up with you.

Oh, I’m sorry, Caleb, I replied, stooping to pick up my things.

Let me help, he said. Boy, you must have really been lost in your head.

Just thinking about getting home.

You never leave school so quickly, he continued, handing me one of my books. So when you ran past without saying anything, I thought something was wrong.

Sorry. Nothing’s wrong. I just need to get home. That’s all.

Oh... well... may I walk with you?

Yes, of course, I replied.

I was thrilled that Caleb wanted to walk with me. And truth be known, his was really the only company that I wanted anyway. Even more than my eight-year-old sister. She could be so annoying sometimes.

Caleb was different. He was my friend. Actually, he was the first friend I made when we moved out here to the prairie from Weeping Water. And although I had made other friends in the past two years, I considered him my best friend. I could tell him things that I couldn’t, or wouldn’t, tell anyone else, not even Mama or Papa.

In the past, it had been fun to gossip and play dress up with Rebecca and Charley's sister, Elizabeth. But sometimes I wanted to talk about other things like astronomy, literature, or traveling to distant lands; things that the other girls wouldn’t have understood or even cared about. However, Caleb always lent an interested ear.

He had been a quiet, shy boy of fourteen when we first met, barely able to talk to anyone outside his own family. And although he still wasn’t a talkative person, he had become more comfortable around people. Now he would occasionally interject some important bit of information into a conversation.

What’s at home that’s so all-fire important? he asked, bringing me out of my pondering.

"Well, last night Papa