Read Online Finding My Own Way by Peggy Dymond Leavey - Free Book Online Page A

chair back down and smiled at me. “You know, I remember how I first came to hire your mother. Best move I ever made. She’d been sending in pieces while she was still in high school, some really good stuff. I published a few of her seasonal stories, even ran some as serials. The readers loved her. I hired her to write advertisements at first, till she got the hang of newspaper work. Before you knew it, she was writing feature articles. Of course, by then, she was able to sell her stories to the bigger papers too.”
    William Thomas leaned toward me over his desk, his face kind. His hair, which needed cutting, curled out over his ears, and his wild, grey eyebrows sprouted hairs in every direction. Even the cuffs of his shirt were beginning to fray. “Are you sure you’ve thought this thing out, Libby?” he asked. “You’re awfully young. Why not stay with your aunt for a few more months? Maybe go to teacher’s college. Teaching’s a wonderful calling.”
    I stood up. “I’m not going back to the city, Mr. Thomas. If you ever decide you need some extra help, I’ll be around.” I hesitated, my hand on the doorknob, my vulnerability showing. “Do you remember at Alex’s funeral, how you suggested I should write about what I was feeling?”
    He nodded slowly.
    â€œWell, I took your advice. I’ve been writing ever since. It really did help.”
    â€œThen, I’m glad you took the advice,” the man said. “Your mother was a good writer. And she worked at it, every day. If you want to write, that’s what you have to do.”
    â€œWell, the writing I do now isn’t making any money,” I pointed out.
    â€œNo, but one day it may.” He came around the desk and put his hand against the door, preventing me from leaving just yet. “Can I lend you some cash, Libby? Are you really okay?”
    â€œI have enough to do me if I can find a part-time job,” I said. “I’m sure I will.”
    â€œI’m sure you will too. You have the right attitude.” William Thomas stepped out onto the sidewalk with me. “Why not try at the five-and-ten? They seem to hire youngsters like yourself.” Savaway, better known to the older people as the five-and-ten, was where Margaret had worked the last two Christmases. That was to be my next stop.
    â€œI’ve put my name in at the employment office,” I said. “They might call me if they need berry pickers.”
    â€œWell, good luck. And Libby,” Mr. Thomas said, as I lifted my bike towards me, “why not bring me somethingyou’ve written?”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œYes. I’d like to see how well you write. Just in case. You never know.”

    â€œWe only hire kids for after school and on Saturdays,” Mr. Forth, the manager of Savaway, informed me. His office was a glassed-in cubicle at the back of the store, three steps up off the main floor. I had to stand on the bottom stair, which already put me at a disadvantage. He didn’t invite me in, didn’t even bother to look up.
    â€œI’m available any time,” I pressed. “I’m finished high school and could work as many hours as you like. My best friend, Margaret Pacey, used to work here. She’s gone now for the summer.”
    â€œI heard. I have three regulars now.” He raised a hand to his head, to smooth hairs that weren’t there any longer, and looked down at me. He seemed to be considering. “Oh, what the hay. I guess we could use a bit more help.”
    Mr. Forth stood then, hiking his pants. “So, okay. I’ll get you an application.” Unclipping a pen from the pocket of his rumpled shirt, he slid a form under the glass at me. I filled out the application against the wall.
    â€œWe pay students forty-three cents an hour.”
    I stopped writing. “Really? That’s not much, is it?” The man didn’t flutter