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

dark man with a tired look in his eyes. He smiled at us, a little wearily I thought, and he spoke in a kind of dry, toneless voice.
    â€œWhere to?” he asked.
    â€œWe’re just moving along. We’ll go anywhere.”
    He didn’t seem surprised. There were plenty of people just moving along these days. “You from around here?” he asked.
    â€œNo. Chicago. We’ve been on the road since the first of October.”
    â€œNo folks?”
    â€œNo, we’re on our own.”
    He seemed to be studying us. Finally he said, “I’m taking this load down to New Orleans. You want to go south?”
    It was a bitterly cold day. I could have cheered at the thought of getting to a warm climate.
    â€œWould you take us? I’ll help in any way I can.”
    â€œDo you have any money?”
    â€œNot a cent.” I expected this would end the deal. No money for food and room, no money to pay for the ride. I braced myself for a “Nothing doing, kid,” but I was in for a surprise.
    â€œWell, I’ve been broke quite a few times myself—I know how it feels. Give the youngster a hand and climb in.”
    The truck cab was warm, and the comfort of riding was a joy to our tired legs. After he’d asked us our names, the man looked straight ahead of him as he drove, and for miles he didn’t say a word. The drone of the wheels made Joey drowsy, and he dropped off to sleep, leaning against my shoulder. The man glanced at him once, and I noticed a kind of half-smile on his lips.
    â€œPretty young for a jaunt like this, isn’t he?” he asked, turning to look at me for a second.
    â€œYes, he’s only ten, but he was set on coming with me.”
    He talked to me a little after that—asked where we had been and how we had managed to stay alive. He would acknowledge something I’d say with a nod occasionally, but I had the feeling that he was giving most of his attention to the road and his driving.
    After we’d traveled about three hours, we drew over onto the shoulder again. “Have to rest a little,” the man said. “Long straight slab gets you hypnotized after a while.” When he got out of the cab, I followed him and let Joey go on sleeping. The man leaned against a front wheel and rolled a cigarette quickly and carelessly as if he’d done it for a long time. “What was the trouble about?” he asked curtly as if he were sure I knew what he was talking about.
    I supposed he meant the trouble at home, but I just looked dumb and didn’t answer.
    â€œYou know what I mean. Why did you run away?”
    I hesitated. The things that had happened at home shamed me. I had grown up believing that only ne’er-do-wells lacked food, that only people in homes of low standards shouted insults at one another, begrudged the food that others swallowed. Now Joey and I were from such a home. The music and laughter and love that had once been part of our lives had been hopelessly shattered. I looked up at the man standing before me.
    â€œI hate to talk about it,” I said in a low voice.
    â€œYou don’t have to, I suppose, but before we get too far, I’d like to know something more about the boys I’m hauling south. I don’t want the police on my neck for helping two runaways. Now why’d you tell me you had no folks—that isn’t the case, is it?”
    I stared at the ground for a minute. Then I opened up and told him everything that had happened between Dad and me, how things had been going from bad to worse, how Mom had even agreed that it would be better for me to clear out.
    He had a way of sighing deeply as if there were some heaviness in his chest. He ground out his cigarette as he sighed and made no comment on what I had told him. I got the impression that he wanted to change the subject.
    â€œHow old are you, Josh?” he asked abruptly.
    â€œFifteen.”
    He nodded. “I thought so.