Chapter 29
I spend the day packing everything I own into the same haversack I carried with me when I first arrived in Junction. In the year I’ve been here, I haven’t managed to accumulate many items—a book Miss Barbour said I could have off her shelf, pocket change, a new comb because mine broke, a second pair of dungarees Mrs. Steinwitz sold me when the rear seam on mine needed to be mended. I’ve been traveling light my whole life. I had only Bernie’s clothes on my back and my small bag of personals when I left Philadelphia all those years ago. I outgrew the clothes within a few years, and I lost the lady’s pistol somewhere along the way. The photo of my mother is all I still have with me; it sits tucked in the corner of the mirror above my dresser, her stern expression belaying the love
