CHAPTER 3
Willa
This is what I am taking to Philadelphia.
My clothes.
My dolls.
My hair ribbons.
My cigar box of pennies.
The good-bye pictures my friends Hazel and Grace drew for me.
And Henry’s little rocking horse rattle that Mama said I could keep even though I’m not a baby. I’m nearly seven.
I am not bringing my bed or the chifforobe I share with Maggie, because Uncle Fred already has all the furniture we need.
We had a big get-together at Grandpa and Grandma Adler’s house yesterday after church. Grandad and all the aunts and uncles and cousins came to say good-bye, and they all brought something to eat. Everyone said they were so sad to see us go.
After dessert, the uncles and older boy cousins got out some of Grandad’s best cigars, and all the men smoked them. Uncle Walt told Papa that he needed to buy a nice, new tape measure—at least six feet—and a long black coat and hat. And the men laughed like it was a very funny joke.
“You’re going to miss this,” Uncle Vernon said, puffing on his cigar. Like maybe they don’t have cigars in Philadelphia.
I think he’s wrong about that. Maggie told me they have everything in the city.
The train is coming toward us now, whistling and huffing as we stand on the platform. I grab Evie’s hand, and I remind her that I want to sit by the window. I want to watch the outside zip past like it’s trying to catch us and take us back to where we used to be.
