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go to town for his first day at the bank.
    We use our mittens and sleeves to clean off the windows. “Still early.” Pop is smiling again. “Plenty of time.”
    The bottoms of his trousers are soaked; his shoes must be, too. But he swings into the truck and we stand back as he starts it up. He crunches back and forth for a few minutes and we hold our breath. But then he backs out toward the road and I put my face up to the sun, which is warm on my cheeks. “It’s a new day,” I say.
    “I’m going to get up there on the roof as soon as it gets a little warmer,” Joey says. “While I work on the rooster, I bet I’ll be able to see for forty miles.”
    I shiver and Cassie says, “You’ll kill yourself up there. Won’t that be the last straw!”
    And somehow the three of us are laughing. Joey clumps up a snowball and tosses it at her, deliberately missing, and we troop into the kitchen, where the fireplace is blazing.
    The three of us sink down at the table and chew on toast that has gotten a little cold but is still delicious, with lumps of butter here and there. We sip at tea, no longer hot but still sweet.
    “I always wanted a pet,” Cassie says. “Maybe we’ll have chickens, and how about a goat? Remember that sign: ‘Get Your Goat … Twenty-Five Cents’?”
    I wonder at that. Cassie wants a pet, too. I think of Miss Mitzi putting an orange flower in with the pinks and purples. Strange. Cassie’s definitely that orange flower, but maybe not quite as orange as I thought.
    She has to spoil it. “We’ll have to clean up in here, Rachel. I can’t stand your crumbs all over the place.”
    “My crumbs? Mine?” I push back from the table and sweep the crumbs into my cupped hand. Three crumbs! Then I go upstairs to my Rebecca book. I’ll read only one page. Only one. But it’s so hard to do.
    How terrible it would be not to have anything to read. I’d have to read
Rebecca
over and over, like someone on a desert island waiting for rescue. I pretend that I’m somewherelike that; I can bring only four things with me. What would they be? Books, for a start. So three more.
    I could spend hours figuring that out. Days, even.
    I guess I’d have to bring Pop, Miss Mitzi, Joey … and that’s four. I grin to myself.
Too bad, Cassie, you’d have to stay home!
    When I’ve read ten more pages—ten—I hear the front door open and footsteps come into the hall. I go to the top of the stairs. Pop is back. Back already?
    I follow him into the kitchen as he slides into the empty chair at the end of the table. He’s soaking wet.
    “The plow came through,” he says, “but it piled snow up at the side of the road. There was no way I could get out in the truck. I tried to walk.” He spreads his hands wide and shakes his head. “It must be three miles; I just couldn’t do it.”
    “They’ll understand at the bank,” Joey says. “The weather is still terrible.”
    I jump in. “Don’t worry, maybe the bank isn’t even open this morning.”
    Pop nods. “I’ll change into work clothes and we’ll begin to clean the bedrooms.”
    And that’s what we do. We begin with mine, even sweeping in the corners, washing the insides of the windows, then look at each other. What will we do for a bed in here?
    “There are two beds in my room,” Joey says. “You can have one.”
    We take one of the mattresses and drag it down thestairs and out onto the porch. Not an easy trip, because Cassie is moaning the whole time that we’re leaving mouse dirt on every step.
    But how satisfying it is when we pound the mattress with the beaters we found in the pantry. We pound until the dust flies and we’re all coughing, but somehow I begin to sing “Happy Days Are Here Again,” and everyone joins in.
    I sing as loud as I can, to attract Clarence and, just in case that mountain lion boy is around, to let the boy know he doesn’t bother me one bit.
    Dear Miss Mitzi
,
    I have disastrous news. Pop will not be working at the