R My Name Is Rachel Read Online Free

the back of the truck.
    The truck is packed tightly with our clothes, the rosewoodrocking chair, and our enormous trunk. Besides the picnic basket, which is filled with sandwiches for lunch.
    But best of all, besides the locket, are the presents I’ve gotten, which I’ve tucked in with my mementos: an apple from Mr. Appleby, a card from Charlie that’s greasy and smells like the butcher shop, and a book from Mrs. Lazarus,
Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm
.
    I can’t believe it. I actually own a book. When we get to the farm, I’ll read it. I’ll go through it as slowly as I can to make it last.
    “I have to sit in the front for a while,” I tell everyone, and gesture to the pillowcase, which has calmed down a little. “The cat will have to be inside.”
    Pop nods and Joey boosts himself up the side of the truck and plunks himself down in the rocker.
    “Wait a minute.” Cassie’s hands are on her hips. “I’m sitting in front with the cat.”
    I close my eyes. That Cassie. But her dress is ripped, and she has a jagged scratch along her cheek, all because of Clarence. All because of me.
    “All right,” I say through clenched teeth, and add, “For now.”
    “Take turns, girls,” Pop says over his shoulder.
    Through the pillowcase, I whisper to Clarence, “It’s all for the best,” then I hold it out to Cassie.
    “Well, Leo,” Pop says to Mr. Appleby. “This is it.”
    Mr. Appleby reaches out to shake Pop’s hand; he turns to the rest of us and shakes our hands, too. “Don’t worry about anything,” he says. “Look forward, not back.”
    As Pop starts up the truck, I climb in next to Joey.Through the cab window I see Cassie open the pillowcase. Clarence comes out, biting and hissing, and dives under the seat.
    I take a last glance at the apartment house, the only place I’ve lived since I was born. “Goodbye, old friend,” I whisper. As we turn the corner, I glance up at a sky so blue it almost hurts my eyes. A few clouds, like torn paper, drift along.
    I’ve been up forever today, so I pull the old quilt around me and close my eyes. When I open them later, I see fields with bare trees and patches of snow.
    For the first time, I really wonder about the farm. Will there be a red barn with a cow already there, waiting for us? Or maybe there’ll be a wishing well in front and a porch with rockers on the side.
    Joey’s hair is blown back against his ears; he holds up one hand to catch the wind. “Great practice,” he says.
    What is he talking about? Then I remind myself that he wants to be a flagpole sitter, like Shipwreck Kelly, when he grows up. It’s an appalling goal, especially because Shipwreck sits on poles for days and they have to lift up a tent on pulleys so he can go to the bathroom in privacy. It makes me shudder.
    Moments later, we see a field filled with huge boxes leaning against each other. Some are made of wood, others of cardboard that buckles here and there. A man stands in front of one with his pockets turned inside out.
    “Are people living in those things?” I ask.
    “Pop told me there are places like this all over the country, Hoovervilles, for the homeless.” Joey points tothe man. “See his empty pockets hanging out? Hoover flags. He’s telling the world that President Hoover didn’t do a thing to stop this Depression.”
    I nod, remembering that Pop is counting on President Roosevelt to fix things up. At least Pop’s pockets aren’t empty. And even though we’re leaving the city, we’ll still have a home somewhere.
    There are more fields as we go on, but they’re rich and brown, with almost no snow; they’re waiting for spring planting, I guess. And then I see my first cow, her black-and-white face wide and peaceful.
    But how will we manage with this new farm? Last night Pop’s face was serious. “Once we plunk the rent money down, that’ll be that. We’ll have to make it work. All of us. Together.”
    Don’t look back, I tell myself. Look forward,