No Promises in the Wind by Irene Hunt Read Free Book Online Page A

door. Joey stood close at my side.
    â€œMakin’ yourself at home, I see,” said the man as he came up to the porch. “How many are you here?”
    â€œJust us two. I’m Josh Grondowski—this is my brother. We were wet and cold so we spent the night here. We haven’t hurt anything.”
    The woman said, “Why, it’s just two boys, Ben, just two young boys.” She smiled at us. I don’t know whether I smiled at her or not, but Joey did, his friendliest smile, and you could see the woman liked him right away.
    The man wasn’t so quick to be friendly. “Runaways, I suppose?”
    I shrugged. “There wasn’t enough to eat at home. We’re on our way to our grandfather’s in Montana. He asked us to come.” The lie about a grandfather seemed a good thing in case this man wanted to make trouble. I doubted if he cared, though. He looked as if he had too many troubles of his own to care much about whether two kids were runaways or not.
    â€œWell, I can imagine the old man’s real happy. Two more mouths to feed makes most of us feel privileged and cheerful these days,” he said sourly. “How you goin’ to manage to eat till you get there?”
    â€œI play the piano pretty well—I’ve been hoping maybe I could find a job—I play pretty well,” I repeated, worried and unsure. The man’s face convinced me that I had said a ridiculous thing.
    â€œSo you want a job at playin’ the piano?”
    â€œThat’s what—it’s what I’d hoped,” I said.
    â€œWell, young man, let me tell you somethin’. You got as much chance of findin’ a job like that around here as a snowball’s got of stayin’ hard in Hades. In fact, you got as much chance of findin’ any job at all as that snowball’s got.”
    I didn’t answer. The man was making me realize that every fear of mine was real. His words were hard to take, but I knew that he was only honest. He probably hated that kind of honesty as much as I did.
    â€œWhere you from?” he asked after a minute.
    â€œChicago,” I answered. “We just got into this part of the country night before last.”
    â€œWell, get on to your grandpa’s or back to Chicago—whichever is closest. You’re in a desperate part of the country here. We’re broke. We’re broke flat. This house and stove belong to me—tenants moved out last week—and the whole danged place ain’t worth thirty cents. Not with the stove throwed in.”
    â€œWe were sure glad to stay here last night,” I said.
    â€œHave you had anything to eat?” the woman asked. Her eyes were kind. She was looking at Joey.
    I knew there might be trouble over the rooster, but I supposed I’d have to face it. “We found a chicken, ma’am, and I cooked it. I hope it wasn’t yours?”
    She shook her head. “No, we sold most of what we had. I cooked the rest and canned them. No use keeping chickens. Eggs ain’t worth the gas it takes to get ’em to town. No, I reckon that must have been one of the chickens the Helmses left behind. A right middle-aged one, I’ll bet.”
    I showed her our boiled chicken, and she poked it with her finger. “I’ll put it through the meat grinder. It won’t help much, but maybe we can get a little nourish out of it. You boys can come on up for dinner.”
    â€œJosie,” the man said sternly.
    â€œWe can give them one meal, Ben. You’re right in tellin’ them to head for their folks, but we’re goin’ to give them one meal. Biscuits and molasses and maybe something or other I can fix up out of this chicken. I guess we can share a meal with two boys.”
    â€œMaybe we shouldn’t,” I said. “Joey and I don’t want to take food you need.”
    It was the man who answered me. “No, come on up to the house. A biscuit or