R My Name Is Rachel Read Online Free PDF

She’s the first one out the door to catch snowflakes in her mismatched mittens.
    Joey comes out of the living room, stretching, laughing. He goes straight to the window and rubs it with his sleeve. “Look at that snow. I think we’re going to be lucky here.”
    Pop smiles at him. “Joey, you keep us all going.”
    “Listen, Pop,” he says. “Did you see the weather vane up on the roof? It’s a rooster. Funny-looking thing with his head back as if he’s crowing.” He chews on his lip. “All I’d have to do is shinny up there and polish it up. It’ll look like a million dollars.”
    “You’d be like Shipwreck Kelly sitting on a flagpole,” Cassie says.
    I feel my heart turn over. I can almost see him climbing up on the roof, then sliding down, leaving a clear path in the snow behind him.
    We all stand at the window then, listening to the glass rattling in the wind; icy air blows in around the edges.
    “I can’t believe it,” Pop says. “How deep must that be?” He runs his hand along the sill. “Maybe we can put some newspaper here if we find any. One thing about snow—it will cover some of the chinks in the walls.”
    He glances up at the kitchen ceiling, a frown line appearing between his eyebrows. “It won’t help the holes in the roof,” he says. And even now I see a dusting of snow on the floor.
    What a strange world it is outside. Along the edge of the field, tree branches are heavy with inches of snow. White flakes swirl in the gray sky, and wind pushes them into huge drifts.
    “Poor cat,” Cassie says. “Poor, poor cat.” She glares at me.
    Pop goes to the bags on the counter and starts to line up things for breakfast. We sit hunched at the long table someone left, shedding our coats and then our sweaters while Pop cuts the bacon. He lights a match, and the stove top lets off an orange-blue flame. The bacon curls and fries as he drops eggs into a spider pan we brought with us.
    “Eggs, bacon, toasted bread …” He hesitates. “And sweet hot tea.”
    I look at him quickly. I’m sure he’s thinking about Miss Mitzi. He turns away, though, before I can see his face.
    My mouth waters as the bacon twists in the pan and the eggs turn brown around the edges. I’ve never smelled anything so good. Maybe steam from the bacon will waft through the holes in the roof. Cats are supposed to have a terrific sense of smell, and that might bring Clarence out of hiding.
    “When my father was a boy,” Pop says, “there was a terrible snowstorm along the East Coast, the blizzard of 1888. That was in March, too. His grandmother brought the chickens into the kitchen from the barn. They didn’t get out of the house for days—” He breaks off. “I have to go to town tomorrow,” he says at last. “No matter what. I have to get that job at the bank.”
    We’re all silent, staring out the window. The truck must be covered with snow, of course.
    How will Pop ever get out of here?
    And what will happen if he can’t?
    How did we get so far away from home?
    One thought at a time. Choose wisely.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    In the late afternoon, the light is dim; it will be dark soon. Still it doesn’t stop snowing. Pop has been carrying wood inside for hours and cleaning the fireplace in the living room. He’s curled up on an old sofa now, wrapped in his coat, sound asleep. Cassie and Joey are upstairs; I hear them talking back and forth.
    I have to get outside and search for Clarence. Who knows what I did with my galoshes? I yank on Joey’s and stuff them with old newspaper. Already his feet are bigger than mine.
    I can’t get out the back door. Snow has sealed it shut. In the front hall, I can barely hold on to the door as it opens into the wind. It swings back, but surprisingly, there’s almost no snow on the porch. The wind has whooshed it away. I tell myself I’m a pioneer, like Laura in
Little House in the Big Woods
.
    I start down the steps and sink past my knees into an icy-cold drift. I try to take