Genre (s): Teen Fiction/Drama
Written When? 10th Grade
Chapter 1
Welcome to Kansas!
Kansas, U.S.A.
A crisp, cool breeze passed through the atmosphere, followed closely by puffy, white clouds. On the air currents in the gorgeous, blue sky soared a flock of meadowlarks.
Amongst the flock was Jewel, the youngest meadowlark there, who followed her mother. Her astonishing, yellow feathers glistened while she flew.
Farms grinned at the young meadowlark and her flock. Windmills and rolls of hay sitting on top of hills were engaged in conversation, and horses, wild or not, roamed the country landscape. Corn stalks danced in the wind.
Chirping, Jewel stopped to hover over a windmill that caught her attention. Her eyes followed the rotation of the three, white blades. She found them to be somewhat hypnotic because of the way they moved.
The rest of her flock passed her and left her alone, but Jewel didn't mind. Soon the only bird there, she stooped down to the windmill and playfully circled each blade three times. Afterward, she continued her flight and glided over rolls of hay, hills, horses, lakes, and finally, corn stalks that led in the direction of a two-story farmhouse and barn.
Ah, Kansas. What a wonderful state. There wasn't a single moment in which Jewel regretted living in Kansas. Kansas was her home, and she enjoyed it.
While Jewel soared, the tips of her wings brushed the corn stalks. When she left the crops, she found herself floating in front of the two-story farmhouse.
The house had a brown roof and porch, but other than that, it was white all over. The barn looked like any average barn, with its blood-red coat and gray roof. Attached to the side of the building was a white fence, and inside the fence, pigs sunbathed and cows mooed.
Jewel fell in love with the farm; it was just too beautiful to resist. She wanted to explore it.
First, she checked out the farmhouse. Jewel landed on the railing of the porch, folded her wings, and hopped towards a bird feeder, where a few barn swallows feasted, but she didn't feel like introducing herself to them. She fluttered up to the roof of the house and was blown away when she came upon the back end of it. In front of her was Kansas like she had never seen before–absolutely stunning!
Surrounded by a fence was a flat but marvelous pasture with healthy, green grass and rolls of hay. What was even better was that when Jewel peeked down to the backyard of the farmhouse, she found a yellow biplane outlined in red.
Jewel's curiosity hit a home run. She glided down to the biplane to examine it more carefully. She tapped the wing of the plane with her beak and checked the inside of the open cockpit. Afterward, she headed towards the pasture and sailed over the fence. She soared close to the ground and peeked back at the biplane that waited patiently for someone to fly. However, she forgot to pay attention.
Jewel crashed into the backside of a tall, brown and white paint, who feasted off a roll of hay, and smashed into the ground.
Blue eyes widening, the paint whinnied and went insane. Repeatedly bucking and rearing, it galloped all over the place and kicked rolls of hay, spinning in a circle. Every time it passed the fence, it banged its shoulder and went out to wreak more havoc. Numerous times, it almost stepped on the dizzy meadowlark that had hit it but avoided her at the last second.
Other meadowlarks took off in flight when the crazed horse almost squashed them and zoomed away, screeching.
Just before the horse could squish Jewel, a sudden voice picked up by the wind caused it to avoid the bird. "Diesel!" A handsome, teenage cowboy, who carried a laundry basket under his arm, appeared at the fence. He looked to be about sixteen years old, and he wore a plaid, red shirt that was tucked into blue jeans, a black buckle, tall, brown cowboy boots, and a brown cowboy hat that rested on his head of dirty blonde hair.
Dropping the laundry basket, the boy shouted, "Hey!" to the paint and started to climb the fence, his green eyes fixed upon the horse. "Don't make me come in there!"
Diesel didn't hear him and continued his rampage. Lifting his back legs, he kicked a roll of hay down onto the grass and reared, neighing.
From his post, the boy yelled, "Diesel!" in his country accent. He leaned forward on the fence. "Don't worry! I'm coming!" His boot became caught in the fence, and he screamed, "Whoa!" as he fell over the top and landed in a puddle of mud below. Quickly standing, he ignored the fact that he was now covered from head to toe in mud and sprinted to the rearing horse, grabbing him by the red halter. "Calm, calm, calm! Diesel, calm! Shh!"
After a bit, Diesel stopped rearing and started to calm down.
His owner patted his cheek and whispered, "Shh, boy, shh." He stared into Diesel's eyes.
The horse fell silent.
Hugging his neck, the boy asked, "What startled you?" He left the paint so he could survey the area.
Diesel cautiously followed him from behind. At every sudden sound, he jumped.
After a couple of minutes of searching, there came a small sound from the grass. A chirp and the shadow of the fallen bird appeared in front of the horse and his owner.
At the sight of it, Diesel nickered and backed up, but the cowboy clasped his bare hands around his nose to prevent him from running off again. Letting go, he tiptoed towards the meadowlark.
Diesel hurried to hide behind a roll of hay.
Reaching Jewel, the boy kneeled to her, but she slid away from him. She had never been that close to a human before, so she was a bit nervous.
Chuckling, the boy asked, "Oh, Diesel," and picked up the bird in cupped hands, "you're afraid of just a tiny meadowlark? Partner, what am I going to do with you?"
Embarrassed, Diesel buried his head in the roll of hay.
His owner glanced down at the bird in his hands. Taking her over to the fence, he placed her on it. "You be more careful, little fella. You could've been severely injured, or even killed."
Understanding his point, Jewel lowered her head.
The boy stroked it, saying, "You're a pretty, little meadowlark. How about you return to your family? They must be worried about you." He picked her up again.
Jewel peeked into the sky, watching as other birds soared across it. Twisting her head, she peered into the cowboy's eyes, and he nodded. Opening her wings, Jewel gave them a flap and lifted herself off of his hands.
The boy said, "Go on, little guy. Amputate your timber; just don't hurt yourself."
The bird waved goodbye to him, and then she rocketed up and disappeared behind some clouds, the boy watching from below. Afterward, all became still and quiet.
Diesel pulled his head out of the hay and trotted over to his owner, soon standing next to him.
Taking off his hat, the boy held it to his chest and said while still looking into the sky. "Ah, birds. Sometimes I really get jealous of them. Whew,–" He fanned himself with his hat, "I could really go for a cup of Arbuckle's now. Hopefully, Ma made some this morning. Now, Diesel,–" He focused his attention back on the horse, "what did that bird do to make you have a panic attack? She was a sweetheart."
Scoffing, Diesel turned his back to him.
"You're pouting?" the boy added. "Why are you pouting? Are you embarrassed that you were scared of just a little meadowlark?"
Agitated, Diesel picked him up with his nose and took him over to the puddle of mud that he fell into.
Seeing it, the boy said, "Oh come, Diesel, you wouldn't hurt someone afraid of–whoa!"
Diesel dropped him into the mud.
Standing up, the cowboy checked himself up and down. "Aw come on, man! Ma and Pa are going to have a fit when they see me like this!"
Diesel rubbed his hoof on the ground, grumbling deep in his throat, still pouting.
Smiling, his owner sprayed some mud into his face and asked, "Do you forgive me for being such a cow, Diesel?"
Shaking the mud off of his muzzle, Diesel thought for a moment, and then he rubbed his nose on the boy's side, as a sign that he forgave him.
Laughing, the teenage cowboy said, "Thank you, Diesel!" He touched his ear, "Tag, you're it!" and took off at a run.
Diesel playfully chased after him.
For a half-hour, the two friends played four games of tag and hide-and-seek, but unfortunately, the afternoon was ruined by the voice of the boy's mother calling him home. "Zachariah, time to come home, darling!"
Recognizing the voice, the boy froze on his tracks and sighed, closing his eyes.
Diesel also stopped. He appeared to be disappointed.
Rubbing his head, Zachariah called back to his mother, "Just give me a minute, Ma! I'll be right there!" Glancing back at Diesel, he continued with, "Well, Diesel, that's my mother. I guess I'll see you tomorrow, bright and early?"
Nickering sadly, Diesel's eyes landed on the ground. He turned on his puppy face.
As Zachariah put his hat back on his head, he said, "Oh come on, partner, don't give me that." He lifted Diesel's chin. "We'll go riding tomorrow, and I promise you that this time, I will actually jump a hurdle."
Diesel turned off his puppy face and replaced it with a yeah right one, instead.
"I promise," Zachariah spoke. He brushed mane out of Diesel's eyes. "Cross my heart. I think that tomorrow I will also trim your mane and tail. They're getting a little long. Until we meet again, partner,–" He saluted like he was a sergeant, "Cho!" Dropping his hand, he ruffled Diesel's mane, turned on his heel, and marched away. Making it to the fence, he rolled up his sleeves, re-climbed it, and fell into a third puddle of mud.
On the other end of the fence, Diesel collapsed onto his back, waved his hooves, and whinnied like he was laughing.
Hearing him, Zachariah sat up in the mud and glared at him, saying, "It's not funny!" in a stern voice. Jumping to his feet, he ignored Diesel's continuous laughter and scooped up the laundry basket. He decided to enter the house from the back door because it was a shorter hike. He would also have the opportunity to sneak by his parents and change out of his clothes.
Creeping into the backyard, Zachariah patted the biplane as he passed it and climbed the stairs to the backdoor. Taking one hand off the basket, he reached for the knob, straining. Just before he could turn it, the door opened on its own and hit the basket, causing it to fly back and smack Zachariah in the face. Losing his footing, he back-flipped down the stairs and landed in a heap at the bottom one, with all the clothes spilled out over him. He was buried under some shirts and pants, and he was still.
His mother was the one who had opened the door. She gasped when she saw the pile of clothes and placed her hands to her mouth. "Zachariah! Oh, my gosh, what have I done?"
Zachariah's mother was pretty and about 5'6 in height. Like Zachariah, she had medium-length blonde hair and green eyes, but she didn't wear a hat over her head. She was also dressed in a plaid shirt, blue jeans, and boots, but she wore a white apron over her shirt, which indicated she had been cooking. When Zachariah didn't come home, she had a hunch he was out in the pasture with Diesel. Therefore, she decided to call him in from the back door but ended up knocking him down the stairs, instead.
Petrified, she hurried down the steps and hollered, "Zachariah!" Approaching the pile of clothes, she asked, "Zach?" but there was no response. Getting down on her knees, she reached into the pile and felt around for his hand. When she found it, she unburied the rest of his body and yelled, "Eek!" She had not only knocked Zachariah down; she had knocked him unconscious.
Running her fingers through her hair, she sobbed, "Oh, I'm such a horrible mother! I knocked my own child unconscious! He'll never forgive me!"
Suddenly, another new voice chimed in. "Rebecca, what's with all the yelling?" Jack, Zachariah's father, rushed out of the house carrying a shotgun. "I'm all loaded up! Where's the bird?"
Zachariah's father was a buff-looking cowboy who had a short, brown beard and brown hair, but unlike his wife and child, his eye color was blue. He was dressed in a long-sleeved, blue shirt with a brown vest over it, tall, brown cowboy boots, black jeans held up by a black buckle, a brown cowboy hat that he wore behind his neck, and a red bandana that hung down in front of his neck and collarbone.
Seeing the gun he held, Rebecca's eyes widened. "Oh no, no, no, Jack, that's unnecessary! Drop the gun! Drop it now!"
Jack refused to obey her orders, so Rebecca was forced to leave her son and snatch the gun out of his hands herself.
As she did so, Zachariah stirred and woke up. Struggling to a sitting position, he moaned and buried his face in his hands. Once he recovered from his unconsciousness, he dropped his hands and asked, "Ma and Pa?" when he saw his parents arguing over the gun. Picking up his hat that fell off when he tumbled down the stairs, he stood up and came within reach of his mother, taking her by the shoulder. "Ma, what are you and Pa arguing about now?"
When Rebecca heard his voice, she whirled around and shouted, "Zachariah!" when she saw her son, now conscious. "My baby boy, you're awake! I didn't see you coming! I'm so sorry! Please forgive me! I feel like a T-Rex!" She reached out to hug her child but stopped midway when she saw his clothes. "Oh, look at your clothes!"
"Oh," Zachariah chuckled, "you see, out in the pasture, a meadowlark startled Diesel while he was grazing. I climbed the fence to go in and calm him down but ended up falling into a puddle of mud. And now,–" He exhaled and picked up the laundry basket, "I have to do the laundry all over again."
"I'm so sorry," his mother apologized. "This is all my fault. I'm the one who opened the door, knocked you down, and hurt you. You know, no." She snatched the basket out of Zachariah's hands. "I want to make it up to you, Zach. I'll do the rest of your chores today. For now, I want you to get cleaned up and change clothes. Meet us in the living room in fifteen minutes for tea. There's something we need to discuss."
Zachariah gulped and asked, "What'd I do this time?"
Chuckling, Jack patted his left shoulder and said, "Don't worry, son. Right now, focus on changing out of those disgusting clothes, ick, and we'll see you in the living room in fifteen minutes." Lifting his hands, he chuckled nervously and pushed Zach towards the backdoor. "Amputate your timber, kid; thank you, and don't ya worry about nothing."
Zachariah disappeared inside the house.
Sighing, Jack peeked back at Rebecca. "Rebecca, what happened?"
"It was an accident!" Rebecca cried out. "I didn't see him coming up the stairs with the laundry basket! I–!"
"Oh never mind," Jack interrupted. "You can share that chapter later." He nudged Rebecca's shoulder with the back of his hand. "Hurry to the barn before he sees you. We have but one chance at this, so cross your fingers."
Rebecca did and held her hands behind her back, saying, "Get him comfortable, Jack. Put on some country music and bring out his favorite cookies and tea. Now scoot!"
"Yes ma'am!" Jack said while saluting. "This time, we will succeed!"
"Hopefully," was Rebecca's response. Kissing her husband goodbye, she scooted over to the barn.
Behind, Jack blushed and sighed.
Chapter 2
Zach's Fear of Jumping
Ten minutes later, Zachariah sat in the living room of the farmhouse, playing his guitar, while he waited for his parents. He had changed into a brown, short-sleeved shirt, a fresh pair of blue jeans, and brown shoes.
The living room was backed up to the kitchen. Decorations in the den included a wooden floor, three chairs–two out of the three being brown; the third chair was black–and a black couch. The chairs and couch sat on top of a red and tan rug. In front of them was a white fireplace. Over the fireplace hung a painting of Wilson Lake, and to the right of it was a tall lamp and brown cabinet. A clock and radio sat on top of the cabinet. In the center of the three chairs and couch was a coffee table. Three windows with curtains attached to them surrounded the small living room. In the corner of the room was a piano, and a second lamp stood next to it. Finally, from the white ceiling hung a fan.
Zachariah strummed away on his guitar and sang the lyrics to his favorite country song, "Did It for the Girl" by Greg Bates:
"I got the Chevy all shined up
Paid a little more for a haircut
Ironed up a pearl snap, left the old ball cap
Gave myself a little extra smell good splash"
However, Zachariah stopped playing right at the chorus. It wasn't because he forgot the lyrics, oh no; he just didn't feel like singing. His mind was focused on other things. For example, he wondered why his father rushed him inside. What on earth did he do to get himself in trouble? Those thoughts troubled him, as he put up his guitar and cuddled with his family's thirteen-year-old Border Collie, Claude. Next to Diesel, he and Claude were the best of friends. They had grown up together in the plains of Kansas, and because Zachariah was homeschooled, Diesel and Claude were the closest organisms he had to real friends.
Peering into Claude's face, Zachariah asked him, "Claude, what was my case this time? I promise that the last time I herded a pig rather than a cow was when I was ten. I don't understand."
Panting, Claude rested his head on Zachariah's thigh.
Stroking him, the teenage cowboy said, "Oh, Claude, you're slowing down." Lost in thought, he peeked up at the ceiling fan and exhaled. He waited for ten more minutes. Of course, that didn't surprise him. His parents were always late.
Eventually, his eyes started to grow tired and droop, but before he could doze off, his ears caught the voice of his father who spoke in a singsong voice, "Oh, Zachariah!"
Jumping, Zachariah said, "Oi!" and snapped awake. "Is that you, Pappy?"
Jack skipped out of the kitchen, carrying a tray of sugar cookies and Apple spice tea, Zachariah's favorite snack. "Of course, boy. Who else did you think it was?" he asked. He set the tray down on the coffee table.
"No one," Zachariah admitted. "I'm just used to Ma being here first." He leaned forward on the couch to take in a whiff of the cookies. "Mm, these smell really good. Are they sugar cookies?"
"Yes, my child," Jack said, clearing his throat. "They are." He pointed his hand at the sugar cookies. "We have sugar cookies, and oh! Your personal favorite." He picked up the tea kettle and handed it to the child. "Nice hot Apple spice tea."
"Wow, Pappy," Zachariah said, sniffing the tea. "I don't know what to say. Thank you."
Turning his back to him, Jack rubbed his hands together and whispered, "Yes!" He was getting Zachariah comfortable, and he wasn't suspicious.
Zach picked up a teacup and poured himself a cup of tea, asking as he did so, "So, Pa, where's Ma?"
"Oh," Jack said. He turned back to face him. "Don't worry, kid. Your ma had to go to the chicken coop and feed the chickens. She'll be back soon."
"Kay, kay," Zach said, placing the kettle back on the tray. Gripping the teacup in both hands, he brought it to his nose, sniffed, and added, "Mm, I love Apple spice tea."
"I know you do," his father said.
Zach took a sip from his cup. When he swallowed, he said, "Mm," and focused on his father. "Oh my gosh, this is to die for, Pa."
As he drank his tea, Jack shuffled over to the radio and asked, "Say, Zach, tea time wouldn't be complete without some country music, eh?"
"A fantastic idea, Pappy!" Zachariah exclaimed from his seat. He scooped up another cookie. "Excellent! Tune the radio to Country Pop." Country Pop was his favorite radio channel. He listened to it all the time.
Nodding, Jack said, "Why certainly." He turned on the radio and tuned it to Country Pop.
Zachariah released his guitar from its prison. He and Jack sang along to every song they heard on Country Pop. They were having the time of their lives.
Claude even got down from the couch and watched Jack and Zachariah.
All three of them were unaware that the back door had opened, and Rebecca slipped in. She carried something behind her back. At the sight of Zachariah, Jack, and Claude, she hid it behind the wall and smiled.
Jack again stood in front of Zachariah, and he told him, "Check it out, Zach." He held a spoon up to Zachariah's face. "See the spoon? See the spoon? See the spoon?"
"Yes I see the spoon, Pa," Zachariah said with a laugh, as he finished his third cookie.
Smirking, Jack said, "All right," and put the spoon in his shirt sleeve, "now watch as I make it disappear! Little Olé Joe taught me this trick back when I was a teen just like you. Wait for it." He held his arms high above his head and shook them. "And a one! And a two! And a one, two, three... Shananzo!" He threw back his arms, and the spoon went flying out of his sleeve.
Jack and Zachariah watched as it sailed across the room and hit a vase. As the result, the vase fell over and broke into tiny little pieces once it hit the ground. Thunderstruck, Jack and Zachariah stared.
Groaning, Rebecca turned away and placed her palm to her face. When she shifted her body back around, Jack and Zachariah were chatting with each other about what to do with the broken vase. Crossing her arms, she said, "Ahem!"
Hearing her, Jack and Zachariah gasped.
They whirled around at the same time, and Zach shouted, "Ma!" when he saw his mother standing there. He chuckled nervously. "Ya see, about the vase."
"Save it," said his mother. Uncrossing her arms, she held them behind her back and leaned in toward her son. "Zachariah..." She exhaled. "We need to talk." She exchanged glances with Jack.
Zachariah felt a pit in his stomach.
Before long, all four family members were having tea in the living room.
Jack said to Zach, "Zachariah."
Once again, Zachariah plucked away at his guitar, and he said, "I'm listening," though, he really wasn't.
Assuming he was, Jack continued. "You see, Zach, we understand it may be a little late now, but your mother and I wanted to give you a late birthday present."
"Okay," Zach unexcitingly said because he was so focused on not messing up the song he was practicing. "Carry on."
Jack stood up from the chair and held his hand out to Rebecca.
She took it and was pulled up from her seat.
Jack asked her, "Rebecca, would you mind getting the gift?"
"As you wish," Rebecca said, letting go of her husband's hand. She pulled hair behind her ear and scurried over to the wall where she had hidden the object she got from the barn. It turned out that the object was a box-shaped present covered in horse wrapping paper.
Zachariah looked up from his guitar and said, "Wait a minute," when he saw the present. "Is that for me?"
Rebecca gestured yes with her head.
Interested, Zachariah pressed his guitar up against the couch's pillows.
Approaching him, Rebecca offered him the gift.
Zachariah accepted it. He peered down at the wrapping paper and sighed.
Reaching Rebecca, Jack placed his hand on her shoulder. "Your mother and I wanted you to have this when you were old enough. It was your uncle's. Don't be shy. Open it."
Smiling, Zachariah shook his head and tore the wrapping paper. Tossing it off to the side, he saw that he was looking down at a white box and peeked up at his parents.
They dipped their heads to him.
"What is it?" Zachariah asked as he flipped up the top of the box and pulled out the tissue paper. When all the tissue paper had been removed, Zachariah peered into the box and saw that he was staring straight down at... a fancy black riding jacket. "No way," he said.
His parents gave him hesitant smiles.
Zachariah set the box down next to him and took out the jacket, holding it up to his face. "Uncle Brett's riding jacket! Back in the day, he told me he used to wear this when he was a teen in all those jumping competitions he participated in." He held the jacket up to his body. "I remember when he gave this to you, Pa."
"Yeah," Jack said in a gloomy voice. "That was the happiest day of my life, and also the saddest. You need to take really good care of that jacket, son. It's an antique."
"I understand," Zachariah said. He held the jacket up to his body. "It's been in the family tree for as long as I can remember. But, if it's so important to you, Pappy, then–," He lowered the jacket and met eyes with his parents, "why did you turn it over to me?"
Rebecca and Jack fell silent. They were quiet for a very long time. So long that even the crickets began to chirp.
Zachariah became a bit suspicious. He again asked, "Why did you turn it over to me?"
"Ya see, Zach, it's like this," Rebecca finally said after five minutes. "When your father and I took a drive up to town the other day, we stumbled upon these." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled-up piece of paper. Unrolling it, she nervously held it out to Zach.
He took it with a small little, "Hm." With his parents watching, he scanned the paper.
"It's a flyer for an upcoming horse show in town," Jack explained.
"Horse show?" Zachariah asked, with a touch of fear in his voice. "Ya-ya mean jumping?"
His parents bobbed their heads up and down.
"Right, Zachariah," said Jack. "Your mother and I have been talking about this since we first saw the flyers, and well..." He took a deep breath. "We think it's time you got back into jumping."
Claude lifted his ears and glanced at Zachariah. He made a sound that sounded like, "Uh oh."
Zachariah stared at his parents for a good while. He then snorted, and spit spewed out of his mouth. Rubbing it, he said, "Y'all, that's hilarious! Oh, that's a good one. Perhaps one of these days, that'll show up in Old Yeller." He laughed, but at the sight of his parents' faces, he quickly lost his smile. "Wait, you're serious? You-you want me to participate in a jumping show?"
"Yes, Zachariah," Jack desperately said. "This is why we had to get you comfortable. Will-will you do it?"
"Will I do it?" Zachariah mocked him. "Will I do it? Of course!"
Rebecca and Jack gasped and hugged each other.
When they disconnected, Rebecca said, "Really?"
"Sure," Zach spoke through clenched teeth. "In the near and distant future."
"Oh, Zachariah," said his mother, as he put up the jacket and stood from the couch. "Please?"
"Hah!" Zachariah sarcastically laughed. He headed for the back door. "You don't understand, Ma. I'm not a jumper!"
"You are, too, a jumper!" his mother retorted. She and Zach turned to one another. "Zach, you're the one who doesn't understand. You hold the spirit of jumping in your heart. You inherited it from Uncle Brett. Brett was a skilled jumper, as you should know, and he was one of the best. When you were two, he took you over to meet his horse, and guess what the first thing you said was?" She placed her hand on her breast. "'Jump horse. Me jump horse.' We knew you would grow up to love horses. We knew you would grow up to love jumping. You inherited those genes from Brett. We know you love jumping. You know you love jumping. You just–," She shrugged, "have forgotten the joy of it."
"Wow, Ma," Zachariah said with his hands on his hips. "You know, I never knew you were such an unsophisticated bumpkin."
Immediately, Rebecca shut down and took a step back.
Furious, Jack stormed to Zachariah and snapped, "What did you just call your mother, lad? Now listen here, partner!" He backed Zachariah up to the wall. "You're the bumpkin! You need to learn to 'fight your fears'! 'Life's a climb'! Accept it! Fight your fear of jumping, boy, and regain your confidence! You won't regret it. I promise!"
"Oh, I'm sorry," Zachariah scoffed, "but who made you responsible for telling me what to do? I'm not a little boy anymore, so if I don't want to jump, I don't want to jump. I'm now realizing both my parents are bumpkins!"
"All right, that's it!" Jack shouted, his face red. He pointed his thumb at the back door. "I want ya to get your snooty-booty out of this house! Take your troubles with you, and don't come back until you fix your attitude! Sleep in the barn if you have to!"
Offended, Zachariah said, "Excuse me." Angry, he hurried to the backdoor and prepared to open it, but he stopped midway when he heard Jack.
"You're grounded for a week, boy! That means no more horseback riding and no more day trips into town! You will not leave this farm!"
Zachariah sarcastically chuckled. He shifted the position of his feet so that he faced his father. "You-you can't take horseback riding away from me."
"Oh really?" Jack asked. "Because that's what I'm doing."
"No!" Zachariah shouted. "I-I can't accept this! Please, Pa, you can take away my privileges of going into town, but not my horseback riding."
Rebecca seized Jack's shoulder and whispered for him to cool his head, but Jack was looking for a fight.
He closed his eyes and said, "It's too late, boy. You should've thought about the consequences before you called your mother a 'bumpkin'."
"But, Pa!" Zachariah protested.
"That's enough, Zachariah!" Jack snapped. "You have lost your riding privileges, end of story! Think about the jumping during your punishment, and we'll ask you again next week if you want to keep the family's history imbalanced."
"Fine," Zachariah said, mentally skewered. "I thought you were on my side."
Jack closed his mouth and shut down.
Zachariah, on the other hand, hurried to the door and threw it open.
Feeling bad, Jack yelled, "Zachariah!" but Zach had already darted out of the house.
Claude ran after him.
Once the dog disappeared outside, Jack gazed at Rebecca. "Do you think I was too strict with him?" he questioned.
Rebecca didn't answer.