Free Into the Free by Julie Cantrell Page B

in the woods. Some of the older pages still smell of earth. Plus, Miss Harper, the librarian, with her nervous eye twitches and rapid speech, is just too nice.
    Miss Harper doesn’t even look up when we arrive. She knows the sound of me. “Millie,” she says, “I’m so glad you’re here. I can’t bear to wait another day for the new Steinbeck novel, so I’m rereading The Grapes of Wrath . Just listen to Tom Joad.
    “‘Wherever they’s a fight so hungry people can eat, I’ll be there…. I’ll be in the way kids laugh when they’re hungry an’ they know supper’s ready.… I’ll be there.’
    “Beautiful, isn’t it, Millie?”
    She loves Steinbeck so much that she’s turning three shades of red, and her neck is nearly purple from increased blood flow. I worry she’ll pass out and I’ll be stuck trying to blow air back into her.
    Then she finally lifts her chin to notice River, and I want to say, Here’s what’s beautiful!
    “Oh my,” Miss Harper gets nervous. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you with Millie. Hope you like John Steinbeck.”
    “Yes, ma’am. One of my favorites, in fact.” River seems to know just how to charm everyone who crosses his path. He starts quoting Steinbeck right back to Miss Harper, without a book or anything.
    “‘What’s this call, this sperit?’ An’ I says, ‘It’s love. I love people so much I’m fit to bust, sometimes.…’ I figgered, ‘Why do we got to hang it on God or Jesus? Maybe,’ I figgered, ‘maybe it’s all men an’ all women we love; maybe that’s the Holy Sperit—the human sperit—the whole shebang. Maybe all men got one big soul ever’body’s a part of.’”
    Miss Harper is melting behind her desk. River leans down and whispers near her, “Jim Casy. Chapter Four.”
    Miss Harper and I both circle River like moons. He smiles. I tell Miss Harper about our close call with the cottonmouth. “Well,” she says. “Just remember what I always say. When something bad happens, it’s good experience. Now you know something you didn’t know.”
    “What’s that?” I ask.
    She closes Grapes of Wrath and says, “When the right person’s on your side, you’ve got a good chance of beating the odds.”

     
    Thin ribbons of rain are still trickling over us, and I walk two steps behind River all the way back to his camp. I like to watch how he moves through the world with slow, easy steps. He has absolutely no care at all about control, but he somehow manages to control everything and everyone around him. With no effort at all, he makes life fun and easy.
    “Tell me about the old woman,” I say. “The one who gave me the scarf.”
    “Babushka,” he says. “That’s what we all call her. Now, she’s one who can do a reading. A feisty one, for sure, but she’s got the gift like no other.”
    I can hardly wait to have her read my palm. “Race you,” I shout, and River keeps pace beside me, the soft wet ground giving way under our feet as we run.
    When we reach the camp, River introduces me to several friends and leads me to Babushka’s green tent. I’m nervous as she invites us in. I duck through the entrance. River kisses her cheeks. “I think you’ve already met Millie.”
    Babushka smiles and says, “Zheltaya. Yes.”
    River sits on the ground and motions for me to take a seat. The old lady is resting on a pallet but pulls herself up to sit. “Tea?” she asks, holding a chipped china cup out to me with shaky hands.
    “Yes, thank you.” I am chilled from the rain and eager to thaw my bones, but I wait for River and Babushka to be served, and then we all take long slow sips, happy to find the tea still warm and served with sugar.
    “Millie wants you to do a reading,” River says.
    “I can pay you,” I assure her. I pull a change purse from my pocket and open the clasp.
    Babushka reaches over me and closes it. “No need,” she says. “No reading today.”
    I look at River, eager for an explanation.
    “Not up to it?”