Suddenly Rural Girl: Facing Life, Death, Mean Girls, and Cute Boys in Rural America

By Dann Hurlbert and Kennedy Hurlbert

After her dad is tragically killed, Dakota Moore's mom moves her to northern Minnesota, where Dak discovers an outcast classmate may be a reclusive miracle worker. She thinks she found him too late. The truth is, she met him just in time.

 

Now, tucked into a secluded A-frame near a beaver-infested creek with her strong Sioux mo

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kirk House Publishers
• Release date: Feb 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9781959681342

Book preview

FACING LIFE, DEATH, MEAN GIRLS,

AND CUTE BOYS IN RURAL AMERICA

DANN & KENNEDY HURLBERT

SuddenlyRuralGirl:FacingLife,Death,MeanGirls,andCuteBoys in Rural America

Copyright© 2024 by Dann Hurlbert

All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the author's written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historic events is entirely coincidental.

The information in this book is distributed on an as is basis, without warranty. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this work, neither the author nor the publisher shall have any liability to any person or entity with respect to any loss or damage caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by the information contained in this book.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023920597

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-959681-33-5

eBook ISBN:978-1-959681-34-2

HardcoverISBN:978-1-959681-35-9

Cover and Interior Design by Dann Hurlbert and HMedia Co, with images generated by Midjourney, Nov. 2023 https://hmediaco.com

Published by Kirk House Publishers

1250 E 115th Street

Burnsville,MN 55337

612-781-2815

Kirkhousepublishers.com

Resemblanceto any person living or dead, or location or event is entirely coincidental.

1

Down & Nearly Out

C

RACK! Snap, scrape, and then SLAM! It sounded like a shotgun blast. Moments before, I had been riding a horse. I was now being crushed. Suffocated.

Somehow, a heavy and twisted branch had clawed my forehead, and its enormous trunk pinned me to the ground like an eagle squeezing a bunny between its talons. White pine needles punctured my clothes and sliced my skin like a thousand paper cuts. My eyes filled up with tears, but I didn't squeal. Life throws things at you constantly. Squealing doesn't help.

It got scary quiet, too. I was alone and not sure how long ago I landed in the dirt. Damp and moldy vegetation offered a sweet and sicklyodor.Some days,the dank smell of the woodsis comforting and welcoming. Not that day. The composting bouquet reminded me of all the things that had fallen in the woods and didn't have the strength to get back up.

The cracking sound could have been my ribs, but I don't think any bones broke. A gash on my forehead oozed sticky sap and blood across my brow, stinging my eyes. My lungs strained against the tree's weight, like a weightlifter trying to max out with life-or-death hovering just above.

Mom had cooked my favorite meal, knowing I was anxious about starting at a new school soon. The only person I knew there would be Jackson Redrickson, who lived nearby and is awkward, quiet, and unkempt. If I hoped to make friends with anyone halfway normal, I'dneed to avoid the one kid I knew. Mom's roast beef and gravy was not be the comfort I needed this time. She was the one who brought me here—away from everything I knew.

Back in my Michigan neighborhood, friends surrounded me. Here in Minnesota, it was just the woods waiting—branches stretched wide offering wooden hugs and silent, stoic reminders of the neighborhoodfriends I used to have.

We had moved to these Minnesota woods sixty-seven days ago. This land of 10,000 lakes is full of wildlife, like white-tail deer, majestic elk, and clever coyotes, foxes, and wolves. On rare occasions, mountain lions and black bears make appearances. Where we lived, there were a baffling number of beavers, too. I found a blog post detailing efforts to reintroduce them to parts of northern Minnesota. It must have worked because dozens of tree stumps were gnawed to chiseled tips around me. Sometimes, the beavers finished the job, and the tree tipped, but sometimes, the semi-aquatic rodents didn't quite finish the job, like some beaver mafia warning the other trees that they, too, may end up kneecapped and submerged in a nearby creek. That day, on day sixty-seven, a towering white pine balancing on a popsicle stick trunk finally toppled. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Where was Eyeballs? The horse I had been riding and caring for was nowhere to be seen. I was now a half mile from home, alone, and pinned to the ground. I strained to see what my ears told me was nearby: too much quiet.

The tree leaves shivered. A breeze whispered ominously above. Then,anothercrack,butthisonewasquiet.Subtle. A beaver?Thank God giant beaversaren't still a thing. Michigan, Wisconsin, Minnesota, and parts of Canada used to have giant beavers that weighed 200 pounds, the size of black bears! A year or so ago, at an old Minnesota mine, they found anotherfossil of one of those monstrous buck-toothedcreatures.Soonafter, agroupofenvironmentalists began petitioning to make it the official fossil of the state. I sucked in a painfulbreath. These people had too muchtime on their hands.

I strained my ears for the sound again. The creek was off tomy left, but the sound came from the right. Another distant branch snapped lightly. The bushes rustled. Something was breathing heavily, andit was approachingme. I hadto get away! I took as deep of a breathas I could,limitedby the loadon mychest. I flexed and twistedunder the weight of the enormous pine, wincing froma sharp stab. One broken branch drilled into the ground on my left, pinning my shirt and me in place. Another enormous limb angled away on the right. I was pinched in the union between them. Stuck. Remarkably, I hadn't been crushed.

A warm tear ran down the side of my face and pooled in my ear. I regretted my decision to slam the door at home and run toward Mr. Young's and Eyeballs—disobeying my mother's orders to set the table. Sometimes, emotions win. They can get you killed, too.

A mixofpineandwarmstink floatedintomynoseasawarm trickleoozeddownmycheek. Anotherfollowedit, but itwasn't from my eyes or forehead. Something slimy plopped on me. Drool.

Aaaggh! I gasped with the precious little air I had. Through squintedandtear-filledeyes, I saw a hairy animalleaningover me. Its toothy mouth was open, and slobber swung from its jowls.

Mom!Iexhaled.Eyeballs?Itriedtoinhaleagain. A sharp shallow breath was all the tree allowed. The sip of air I did manage to pull in was putrid from the stench of an animal just inches from my face. Please... I whispered with precious oxygen.

Dozens of tiny earthquakes began shaking the ground, growing stronger and closer. A loud whinny followed the vibration, then a rocket-like slam into the earth. It knocked what little breath I had away. The beast that had been hovering over me yelped, and I heard a snort and whinny again. Eyeballs!

Injusttwomonths,this horsehadbecomemybestfriendand my escape. He reared up on his hind legs and came crashing down next to my trapped, prone body with an enormous thud again. Through the pain and stinging, I saw the horse drive his foreleg into a now terrified canine. Eyeballs' kick launched the muscular bulldog into the base of a twisted oak. The horse then stomped the ground powerfully, marking a line of defense no dog or wild animal would dare cross.

Hunter! a booming voice called out. HUNTER! Get back over here! The bulldog whimpered and limped toward the angry voice.

Eyeballs reared up again, revealing the little white star on his chest; it shone brightly against his otherwise dark ash body. As his hooves pounded the ground again,our bristly neighbor, Mr. Redrickson, crashed clumsily through the bushes toward us. His leg injury from Afghanistan or Iraq or somewhere ensured he always wobbled. The alcohol bottles in his yard might have something to do with it, too.

What in the world? Dakota, is that you? Mr. Redrickson drank in the scene in front of him: a wounded dog, an injured girl, and a powerful horse pawing at the ground in front of him.

Dakota! Mr. Redrickson shouted. Did that horse do this to you? He wobbled angrily toward Eyeballs, who pounded the dirt like a jackhammer, keeping his enormous body between me and Redrickson. Dakota! Call off this beast so I can help!

Eyeballs reared up again, kicking the air like a stallion in an old movie.

Dakota?Calloff this beast!

The weight of the tree was crushing me. I desperately tried to inhale, but couldn't fill my lungs. I swallowed enough air to cough. Not a... beast. He's— The weight of the tree squeezed out my remaining oxygen and one last word. Friend.

I couldn't refill my lungs. The night was dark and getting darker. Things got blurry. I sensed my thirteen-year-old body go limp. The yelling, whimpering, and pounding became more distant. Suddenly, Eyeballs and Mr. Redrickson were squaring off...below me. Steam poured angrily out of Eyeballs' nostrils. Redrickson shouted again.

"Dakota!Callhimoff!"Theman'svoicewasmoreobscure now. More remote. I easily turned my head from above and saw...my own body.

Limp.

Crushed.

Lifeless.

Eyeballs turned from Mr. Redrickson to the teen girl under the tree and then looked skyward. His big, blue-bottle eyes widened further. I swear he could see me hovering above him. He sensed something terrible was happening. I knew it too. Was my soul somehow floating over my body?

Dear God, please, my suddenly detached self cried silently.I wasn't even sure what to pray for or if it even made a difference. Please,what!?

Mr. Redrickson pushed past the stunned horse, wrapped his massive hands around a large branch near my chest, and heaved upward. Uuunngg! Nothing. The tree barely moved. I kept watching myself not breathe. Redrickson tried again. Grraaaaggghhh! He groaned as his hulking shoulders strained fiercely to lift my death sentence. It was useless. He knew it too. Then he turned and scanned the woods for anything that could help.

Eyeballs was still in a stupor, so Redrickson snapped off a slim branch and whipped him across the chest. C'mon you dumb animal! I need your horsepower!

Redrickson whipped Eyeballs again before throwing the stick into the forest in frustration. The slender branch sailed into the woods, and his son, Jackson, stepped out like a shadow. He was as dirty and disheveled as ever, standing silently with his palms up helplessly, but he displayed neither shock nor fear. His dad hadn't noticed him, and I may not have either if Iweren't hovering above, watching my death play out before me. I'dseen Jackson walking on our gravel road and sitting by himself at church. I also knew we would be in the same class at school, and I dreaded it.

Redrickson turned back toward my lifeless body. He swallowed and closed his eyes. Then he inhaled, opened them, and charged at Eyeballs, plowing his shoulder into Eyeball's ribs like a linebacker tackling a giant. "Comeon! We have to help her!"

Eyeballs snapped back and was suddenly alert. Then, as though he'd been trained to perform a circus trick, the horse stepped alongside the hunched man. The two of them leaned forward and jammed their muscular necks and heads into forks between branches and trunk.

Heave! Redrickson yelled. I was higher above them than ever, watching the figurines struggle below, but I felt nothing. Not the weight of the tree. Not my lungs burning. Nothing. I heard another distant cry a mile below. Heave!

Redrickson and Eyeballs strained with all their might, and the wooden cage slowly came off the ground. My limp body didn't move, but a light breeze brushed my cheek. In a blink, I was falling toward them, barreling at my body. Air and branches flashed heartbeat-fast.

Mooove girl! A voice bellowed from somewhere nearby. It was Redrickson. I was back in my body, and I couldfeel every-thing, and it hurt! I sucked in cool, life-giving air, and a sharp pain rifled up my side.

Mooooooove! Redrickson strained again, inches from my face. Razor-like spasms shot through me, but I was able to claw myself through the composting earth. Simultaneously, three voices bawled.

Yaaaahhh! yelled Redrickson.

Snooorrt! Exhaled Eyeballs.

Aaaahhhh! I whimpered in pain but free from the weight of the tree.

Redricksonand Eyeballsreleasedtheirbranchestogether, and the trunk crashed to the forest floor. My classmate’s dad collapsed and leaned against the horizontal tree. Eyeballs inhaled deeply and snorted through his nostrils.

Ahhhh… I exhaled again. It hurt to breathe, but I could. I could smell, too. Pine, dirt, mold, sweat, alcohol, and maybe a faint scent of roses filled my nostrils.

I'mgoingto live, Ithought.

Then the bushes came to life, and a snarling mess of a bulldog burst toward us. Hunter stumbled out of the woods carrying the branch Redrickson had tossed minutes earlier.

Worthless mutt, Redrickson mumbled. And then his eyes landed on his son. For crying out loud, boy! Redrickson swore when he realized Jackson had been standing at the edge of the clearing. Were you just standing there the whole time?

Jackson said nothing. He just sat down and scrunched up his face,likehe,too,wasexhausted.Herubbedhishandsandstared ahead, his lips mumblingsomething unintelligible.

Jackson'sdad cursed again and pronounced,You're worthless, too.

I rolled my head toward Jackson, who returnedmy dazed stare. Thenhe spoke softly.

You'regoing to live.

2

Back On My Feet

T

wo weeks later, still days before the start of school, Mom made another roast beef.

Dakota, do you feel good enough to help Matt cut his meat?

Yah.

Yes, Mom?

Yes, Mom, I answered, leaning toward my little brother's plate. The roast was so tender it didn't require a sharp knife, but Mattwas only five,andI knewit wasimportantto cutthemeatwell.

Oooh! A slight stab shot through my side.

You OK, Dakota? she asked.

OK, Kota? Matt pleadedwith large, concernedeyes.

I nodded, delicately picked up the knife, and sliced him a few small pieces.

Matt reached forward and grabbed some of the tender beef. He dipped it—and his fingers—in the thick, brown gravy before shoving it in his mouth.

Use yourforkplease,Matt.

Yesch, Mom. He answered, grabbing his fork with his free hand while licking gravy off the other.

We ate in silence for a few moments—partly because the dinner was delicious, and partly because I had to start at a new school in days and was terrified.

Jackson's dad asked about you when I took him the pie this afternoon. He wondered how you were doing. He also mentioned he'd have Jackson check on you at school. I gagged. Jackson!?

Ugh.I don'tthinkthatwillhelpanything.

It'll be good for you to have someone you kno—

But Jackson? Can't you—

Let's talk more once the little guy is in bed, Mom nodded toward Matt. I have something for you that might help, too. Can you read Matt's bedtime story while I clean up and grab that...some­ thing?

A preschent, asked Matt?

Guess so.

Can I schtay up to schee it?

I'll show you tomorrow.

Matt's a good kid. He's interestedin lots of things, including someof the things I like—like horses, reading, and Mom's roast beef. Where our similarities end, though, is in our organization strategies. He has none. His room, for example, is a mess! Matt's likethe absent-minded professor in the body of a five-year-old. Crayons and clothes cover the carpet. Drawers spew unfolded clothes like an overloaded hayloft. Still, he's a good kid, and I don't mind settling into his messy bed to read with him. He's pretty cute when he's tired, and his lateral lisp gets even cuter.

Let'sch read.

What book tonight? I asked, already sure I knew the answer.

Matt grabbedhis favorite, handed it to me, slid under his covers, and snuggled with Teddy Pig, his favorite stuffed animal. Lyle, he smiled.

Again?

Yeah.

OK. You got it.

Hats offto Lyle is aVeggieTales book. Lyle is this baby asparagus boy who knits hats for tough, hairy Vikings. Yup. Vikings, the tough Scandinavian sea-faring warriors—except these Vikings are vegetables. And the sensitive asparagus kid who knits isn't much use to hulking warriors...so those Vikings pick on him. Though it's far-fetched,VeggieTales are actually pretty good children's books. Each story has a moral. This one is about forgiveness. Eventually, Lyle comes to the rescue by knitting a new sail for the ship and saving the Vikings. Lyle also forgives them for picking on him. By the time we were at the last page, Matt was almost asleep, so I lay in bed a little longer, hoping to sneak away unnoticed.

We now live in the country outside St. Margaret, Minnesota. It wasn't always called St. Margaret, though. As was often the case, the settlers who arrived in northern Minnesota recognized the value inthisresource-richareaandthe defensiveadvantageoflife on a hill, so they forced the Chippewa out and built their own settlement on top. Since the hill protruded above a huge bluff overlooking the Red River Valley, the settlers named the place Lump. Seriously. Lump, Minnesota. A hundred years later, just like Saul and Pig's Eye got renamed to St. Paul, Lump achieved sainthood, too. It became St. Margaret.

St. Margaret of Antioch was a beautiful and formidable virgin who was tortured for being a Christian. Then she was swallowed by a dragon. Yup. A dragon. Thankfully, she was wearing her trusty cross necklace, which helped her split the dragon's stomach open, and then she stepped back out from its guts unharmed. Some days, I feel like I'min that dragon's stomach—a dark and unfamiliar place that stinks. When I tear away from here someday, I don't expect sainthood, though. Saints are confident in their faith, plus they have to perform at least one officially recognized miracle. The closest thing to a miracle I ever did was make a half-court basketball shot facing backward. My friend Mary in Michigan, who is incredibly athletic, said I couldn't do it. She bet me a ten-dollar Dairy Queen gift card and her Teen Hunks magazine featuring Armando Hyde with his shirt off. The bet was on. She gave me 50 tries. I made it on shot 47. A shirtless Armando is still in my top drawer under my bras.

Later,though,St.Margaretgotdecapitated. Atleastshegot named a saint for her troubles. She probably would have made the backward basketball shot in one try.

We actually live just out of town, off the asphalt, on a gravel road called Mill Creek Lane. Our house is small, sandwiched between the gravel road and the creek behind it. It's a little A-Frame with a living room, kitchen, bathroom, and two bedrooms on the main floor. Matt's bedroom is straight across from Mom's. I got the upstairs to myself.

When I snuck out of Matt's room, Mom's bedroom light was off, so I walked into the living room. She was on the loveseat, facing the dark windows, staring at her own reflection. There is a tired board in the floor that creaks when anyone steps on it. It's exactly where the living room, kitchen, and hallway meet. I stopped short of it and watched mom watching herself for a moment. Then I stepped on the seam, and she turned toward me.

Hi,Sweetie.Comesit.

I took a handful of steps and cautiously lowered myself beside her. My slight grimace let her know that my ribs were still a little tender.

Still pretty sore?

I'll get over it.

I wanted to tell her that I'd never get over this. I'dnever get over Dad dying and our having to sell our house, move hundreds of miles away, and start life over again. I wanted to tell her everything, but I think I saw the same thing in her face. She won't get over it either.

I know moving schools has been hard. So, I got you this. She handed me a small box.

A pencil case? I said sarcastically. You shouldn't have.

Shut up and open it, she laughed.

I peeled off the wrapping paper and saw the white box. A new iPhone!? I squealed. Oh, Mom! Thank you!

Shhhhhhh!Matt'ssleeping!

Oh, Mom. Thank you. I squealed more quietly. And it's blue. Good choice.

I just thought after your riding accident, and with your first day of school around the corner...well, it'll help us keep in touch better. And you can text Mary.

Seriously. Thank you, Mom! I stood again and hugged her as tightly as my ribs allowed.

Butit'snotatoy!

Iunderstand, thankyou,thankyousooooomuch! And then I wondered. Ooooh. DoI have a phonenumber?

Yes, but now it's time for bed. I'll help you get it set up tomorrow. For now, get it plugged in to charge.

Mom stoodup andsteppedtowardthe hallway.She stopped when the floor creaked.

Iloveyou, Sweetie.Goodnight.

Love you too, Mom, I answered. Ooooh, again. Can I download a house design app? Please?

What'sthenameofit,andhowmuchdoesitcost?Mom asked, turning around.

"It's calledFavorite Spaces Design App, and it's free."

Nothing's free, Babe. If it doesn't cost anything, you're—  

—paying another way, I finished her sentence.

She tilted her head toward me. Her tired eyes sparkled a little. "Tomorrow.Justdon'tenteranypersonalinformation,like

your name or birthday or anythi—"

I know, Mom. I interrupted.

Plug it in to chargeandheadto bed.

I tried to jump up and hug her, but I moved too fast. A light jolt in my side reminded me to move slower. I flopped back on the couch.

Ugggh.

You OK?

Just moved too fast.

She was at my side again, putting her hand on my shoulder. And if it hurts too much to climb up to your room, you can just sleep on the couch again.

I'mOK.Really.

I smiled from the couch, taking shallow breaths while trying to look comfortable.

Okay.Love you.

Her reflection walked away, and the board squeaked, confirming that she had crossed into the hallway.

The steps to my loft go right up over Matt's room. They're steep and skinny stairs, almost like a ladder, but once I get up there, my room opens into a minor masterpiece. Well, as much of a masterpiece as a girl in an A-Frame loft could design with no budget. The whole top floor is mine. Mom thought I would enjoy having the privacy—and I did.

With a bit of creative thinking, my bedroom looked pretty cool. The ceiling comes together to a point in the middle. It used to be dark, rough, and bare lumber, but mom helped me paint it white when we moved in so it didn't seem so dark. On the near side of my bedroom are some skinny steps that lead up to a smaller loft, just over the door, where my bed is nestled under the peak. Beneath my bed, on either side of the door are two closets. One is a walk-in closet that stores my clothes and treasures. The other opens to my personal office. I can do my homework or do some designing without being bothered. Mostly, I love my desk chair. It's got soft arms a fluffy cushion to sit on, and it used to be Dad's.

The springs in the middle of my bed have sunken a bit, like it remembers me. On top of the mattress are a couple of sheets and a huge comforter. When I crawl into bed, it's like a marshmallow swallows me whole. Two years ago, in our old house, Matt climbed into my bed, telling no one. He was three years old and fell asleep all wrapped up in the poofy folds of my comforter; no one could find him. We tore the house apart in a desperate search to find him. Mom cried at the kitchen table, and Dad and I ran down the street shouting his name. The neighborhood was looking for him until he sleepily came back down the steps, carrying Teddy Pig by the leg.

Hi Mom. Whyare you crying? Matt saidsweetly.

Mom screamed and jumped at him. Matt screamed, too, and wet his pants a little. I came rushing through the front door frantically. We all laughed and cried together, and Dad swooped in and put his arms around the whole bunch of us. It was Saturday afternoon, and Dad's face had just a little stubble that rubbed against my forehead. I didn't mind.

A week later, Dad died. Someone killed him.

I was 12. Dad left for work in the morning and dropped me off at school. That night, we waited for him to come home for dinner. Instead of hearing the door open and Dad say, Hey Team! How was your day? The doorbell rang. Mom answered with Matt on her hip and me peeking around her side. A sheriff stood in the open doorway holding his hat like Adam and Eve wore fig leaves. Um, Hi. Hello, Mrs. Moore. His unsteady voice didn't match his bold uniform. In the silence, I could hear the world caving around me. Mom fumbled for words. She found one, but it didn't seem right.

No.

I'm Darrel. Sheriff Darrel Williams, and I, uh, knew, uh ... his eyes dropped to the ground again. He couldn't find the right words, either.

Ihavesomehardnews, he said.

Matt slid slowly from Mom's hip...Momma? Mom melted to the floor with him. Just the sheriff and I stood while Matt and Mom collapsed in slow motion beside me.

Um, an accidentthis afternoonkilledyour husband,Scott.

What came next was the most horrible and heart-wrenching sound I ever heard. Mom's voice was not her