Free All the Way Home by Patricia Reilly Giff Page A

almost impossible. Loretta’s words:
“Only one bobby pin in the whole house to hold on my cap. It’ll be like finding a needle in a haystack.”
    For another moment she stood there.
“You can do anything.”
    She took the two-dollar bill with its gold seal out of the broken frame. She closed her eyes, touching it.
    She reached for a pencil and a piece of paper on the table.
    Dear Loretta. I’ve gone to find my mother. I have the two dollars. Brick and I will take the bus. I love you. Mariel
.
    She stood there for another minute thinking about Loretta. Loretta’s hot temper. She picked up the pencil.
P.S. Throw a pot in the sink, but don’t be angry with me!
    What else did she need? She pulled out cookies and peaches, slapped together two sandwiches, and dumped them on the table.
    In her bedroom, she put on her straw hat with the daisies, snapping the elastic band under her chin, and pulled a sweater out of the drawer. She folded the money into her patent leather pocketbook, hurrying, going faster than she ever thought she was able to, and went back into the kitchen to stuff everything on the table into a bag with her sweater, and Claude’s book wrapped in waxed paper. She pulled her umbrella from the stairs in the hall. She was ready.
    She walked down the stairs, stepping on killer vinesall the way. Outside someone was listening to
Lorenzo Jones
on the radio. She stood there, trying to think, trying to plan.
    It would take Billy Nightingale a long time to cross the bridge into Manhattan. It would take her forever. But somehow she had to be at the end of that bridge waiting for him as he crossed.

18

Mariel
    O utside she pulled open the green-striped umbrella and started down Midwood Street. Suddenly she knew how she could catch up with Brick. The church bells tolled at six o’clock, and if she was at Jordan’s candy store by then, everything might work out.
Might
, she told herself, crossing her fingers.
    It all depended on Daisy, the ragman’s horse.
    Mariel turned the corner and stopped at Jordan’s window, twirling her umbrella, looking at his display. Faded red, white, and blue crepe paper was bunched up around the edges of the glass; dead flies were scattered here and there. In the center was a shiny picture of Mr. Jordan himself in his army uniform from the Great War. Jordan was young in the picture, he had lots of dark curly hair,and best of all, he was shaking hands with President Wilson. Mariel could understand why he wanted that picture there, why he was so proud of it. She thought about the picture of President Roosevelt in his cape that Loretta had cut out of the newspaper for her, and Geraldine Ginty, hands on her hips.
“You’re a liar, Mariel. There’s no such thing as a President who can’t walk.”
    The six o’clock bells began to ring. Mariel looked up the street as a car went by and then another. Where was Benny? She leaned her head against the wet store window. Suppose he didn’t come?
    “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself”
was what the President would say.
    Inside, Jordan tapped on his counter with the edge of his ring. “Hey, Mariel, want to break the window?” He shook his head. “It’s pouring rain. You kids are crazy.”
    She had always wanted to tell Jordan about President Roosevelt, but now wasn’t the time. He looked hot and irritable. “Sorry,” she said, and went to the edge of the sidewalk.
    She leaned against the telephone pole, her package under one arm, holding the umbrella over her head with the other. After a while, the bell tolled again, once this time. It was six-thirty. What would she do if Benny didn’t come?
    She was about to give up when she heard Daisy’s bells and Benny’s voice. “Old rags, we buy, we sell.”
    Thank you, Daisy
, she thought.
    Benny pulled up in front of the candy store, his hat streaming rain. Jordan was at the window again, tapping with his ring, motioning to Mariel. “Want a sugar cube for the horse?” he asked.