84 Ribbons Read Online Free Page A

ahead she’d be searching for a place to live in a town with no friends or familiar faces. Time to be brave and independent. Time to bury her fears. Time  to take charge of her own life.
    She placed her hand in the pocket of her shirtwaist dress and fingered the small leather pouch. It held the last stones her dad had polished, connecting her to the time she spent in the garage helping him tumble rocks. When she first bagged them, she’d felt a finality, an ending of knowing her dad. Now, they’d be a lasting connection, a talisman to carry on all her travels.
    The bus traveled east from Tacoma, leaving the Puget Sound basin behind. Evergreen forests gave way to crags of granite where stubby alpine trees twisted and stretched sideways.
    Across the Cascade Mountains, farmlands surrounded the roadway with long stretches of green fields similar to Gran’s Wenatchee farm. At the dozens of stops, Marta got off to stretch and execute a few pliés . The fresh air at the stops exaggerated the stale, gassy smell of the interior of the bus and the heavy scent of unwashed travelers.
    In Spokane she changed buses. For the rest of the trip, she sat hemmed in by a plump, elderly woman who pulled out an unending supply of snacks and knitting. The woman rambled from one conversation to another, leaving no gaps in her comments for Marta to speak.
    The swaying bus made Marta’s stomach queasy. She set aside her Seventeen magazine and closed her eyes. First thing she’d do with her first paycheck would be to start saving for a ticket home, by train.
    All night, the bus twisted through the Rockies, following its headlights along deserted roads. In the early morning, Marta’s head jerked off her purse she’d used as a pillow against the window. She stretched her torso from side to side to loosen the kinks. Outside, brown prairie grasslands and scrub brush slid past in a blur. Her seat companion snored on.
    The bus meandered through the tiny towns of Drummond, Deer Lodge, and Opportunity, making brief stops in each before descending into a wide valley. The bus slowed and turned off the highway. Sun streamed through the gritty window, blinding her view of the town. “Billings,” announced the driver. “All travelers going beyond Billings check inside the depot for connections.”
    People rustled in their seats, collecting their belongings. Her seatmate moved slower than syrup. So far she’d not attempted to retrieve her oversized bag from the shelf overhead.
    While Marta waited for her seatmate to pack up, she reorganized her questions for the greeter. She needed to locate her overnight accommodations and the ballet company, find housing in town, and learn to navigate Billings. Her hands began to tremble as she thought about all she had to do. Thank heavens for the greeter.
    Marta stepped off the bus and into intense midday heat that hit her like an oven on broil. She began to sweat. Her mouth felt dry as a cotton ball. She moved to the side of the bus with the other passengers, watching the driver unpack the baggage compartment.
    Bag after bag formed a pile beside the bus. People grabbed their bags and walked away. Now the pavement was empty. The driver closed the baggage compartment and walked toward the depot.
    Marta looked around. “Excuse me, sir. Are there more bags stored on the other side?”
    “No, Miss. That’s all I had. If yours isn’t here, it must not have made a transfer along the way. Check inside at baggage claim.”
    Marta closed her eyes and let out a calming breath. Okay. It would work out. She’d ask her greeter what to do when she called her, after she got a drink of water.
    The drinking fountain dribbled water; she couldn’t get a sip. She moved to the pay phone booth to call the greeter.
    Her dime slid into the coin slot and dropped down inside the telephone. After she heard a dial tone, she placed her finger in the first slot and pulled it to the small, curved metal stop. She listened to the clicks as the