It's late when I wake. I'm groggy because of lack of sleep. I stumble about my room and dress. Greet Sae in the kitchen, pack a lunch, and set off to the central library. Thankfully it's Friday and I don't have to spend my day on horseback.

In the morning light, my plan to quit my life and set off for Oregon seems downright silly.

But I'd be lying if I didn't acknowledge that Peeta's kiss changed me. It's awakened something deep inside – an inner conviction that there's something better out there for me than my current life.

My predecessor Clove brings her newborn son to our library meeting. He's a hardy boy. She hints at returning to her old position, the job I've been working at for more than five months.

Before yesterday I would have worried at her comments; today my mind toys with the thought. I follow her outside.

"Would you really come back if a job opened up?"

Clove nods, shifting the boy so that his head rests on her shoulder. "My mother lives with us. She can watch the kids. But we need the money bad."

I tuck her situation away in my mind.

The following Monday afternoon I visit Delly, secretly hoping that Peeta is at the cabin, that I can see him once more before he goes. To my great disappointment she's alone with the children.

"Peeta left early Saturday morning," she volunteers. "He's got a job all the way out in Oregon. Guess we won't be seeing him anytime soon."

She doesn't ask about my dinner with him, and I'm guessing that Peeta didn't mention it to his family.

"Did you bring me that book today?"

I move my hand from behind my back and hold it out to her. She squeals loudly, startling her youngest child who clutches her skirt, and cries.

Just that morning, I obtained The Rich Man's Pearl from a patron, and buried it in my saddlebag, saving it for Delly. She's pestered me for months about it, ever since the first day we met.

As I ride Mockingjay away, I catch a glimpse of a man walking between the trees in the direction of the cabin. He has a rifle in one hand and a plump rabbit in the other. For a second I think it's Peeta, but the man is taller and leaner, and his hair is far longer than Peeta's was only days ago.

It must be Peeta's brother Rye, the moonshiner.

Seeing him makes me miss Peeta all the more. If I were to go west too, I could meet up with Peeta again. I wouldn't have to settle for letters; I could have kisses, perhaps even more.

My mother's advice to Primmie and me sounds in my head. "Never pursue a man. Let him chase after you."

For the past twenty-six years I took her counsel seriously and did nothing, waiting for some man to notice me. And that tactic did work partly because Gale proposed. But our relationship was all wrong.

To obtain different results, perhaps I should take different actions than I have in the past. Isn't that the strategy President Roosevelt is using to remedy the economic woes facing the country - throw out dozens of plans and programs to attempt a solution, and then change course quickly when it's clear something doesn't work?

Anyway it's not like I'm going out west only because of Peeta. I'm going for a job with my uncle, and the chance for a fresh start.

The final spark, though, the one that overwhelming convinces me that it's time to seek my future elsewhere is when Mags calls me into the study a couple of days later to show me the empty shelves. My father's books are gone.

"A man came by this morning and took them away."

"What's he going to do with them?"

"He said they'd be sold at auction."

Dr. Snow has changed so many things to the house since he's taken ownership. Workmen are adding a sorely needed second bathroom. Walls are going up in some rooms to partition them off to house even more patients. Weekly, new faces appear.

The family home I grew up in is gone forever. It's time for me to accept it and move on.

I write letters, not waiting for answers. I tell my uncle that I am accepting his job offer. "I should be there within the next week or so."

I let my sister know of my intention, but I don't plan to visit her before I go because I worry she will try to persuade me from leaving Kentucky. I consider writing Gale, but I'm still upset with him so I decide to wait until I'm settled out west.

On Friday, I arrive early at the central library to speak privately with Mr. Adkins to give notice and suggest that he rehire Clove. He announces my resignation to the others at the close of our meeting.

Everyone wishes me well and tells me I'll be missed.

"What kind of business does your uncle run?" Johanna asks.

"A profitable one," I answer, but Johanna's question causes me to pause.

I have no idea what my uncle does, only that he has offered me a secretarial position. Am I jumping the gun by taking Uncle Haymitch up on his offer without knowing exactly what's in store? I don't know what he will pay me or where I will live.

Still I go ahead with my plans, spend the weekend sorting through my belongings, packing up my nicest dresses, those most appropriate for work in an office, and giving away anything that won't fit in my suitcase.

"Please forward any mail I get to my uncle in Sandy, Oregon," I tell Sae, hopeful that Peeta may already have written to me.

I bid good-bye to the current residents in my home, and give Mags an extra hug, as she is the nearest to family I have left in Dandelion.

Dr. Snow is very businesslike when I tell him that I'm going. I suspect it's because he's already lining someone up for my room.

I leave the house for the last time early Monday morning, carrying a single suitcase as I hike to the bus station. My route west will involve a bus ride to Louisville, where I'll catch a northbound train to Chicago. There, I'll purchase a ticket for a second train that will take me west.

A strange excitement stirs within me as I take one last stroll through Dandelion, mentally saying good-bye to the town. For the first time I'm taking charge in my life, not passively falling into a situation. It's a heady sensation.

I arrive in Louisville late in the day. It's the biggest city in Kentucky and I'm impressed with the amount of cars on the streets and the crowds.

Walking out of the bus station I set off in search of an inexpensive hotel to spend the night. I need the money I've saved from my job and my uncle's generous cash gift to stretch as far as possible.

A number of beggars stand along the sidewalk holding signs asking for food. A child, dressed in rags, sits on the curb selling pencils. Amazed at the sight, I rush past them. People are poor in Dandelion too, but vagrants aren't allowed to loiter on the sidewalks.

The sun shines the next morning as I climb aboard the train to Chicago. The conductor helps me set my suitcase in the rack above my seat.

I sit by the window, with my purse on my lap, and watch the scenery pass by. We soon cross the Kentucky state line and move into Indiana. It's mostly farmland, but the train makes brief stops in a few small towns, to allow passengers to board and disembark.

My thoughts fly to Peeta. Is he already at work at Mount Hood? According to Delly he left 11 days ago.

After two hours of train travel, I grow weary of looking out the window. It's ironic that a former traveling librarian would forget to bring something to read while traveling. I make a mental note to purchase a book before I get on the train in Chicago.

A little before noon, the train pulls into the station in Abbadon. The conductor announces that we will stop for twenty-five minutes. Leaving my suitcase in the overhead rack, I stand up and step out onto the platform to stretch.

Perhaps I can buy a newspaper.

I walk through the station and out to the front to look for a newspaper vendor. Across the street is a small newsstand.

When I cross the street, I see that the newsstand blocks a small bookshop.

A book would last longer than a newspaper. And I know just the book I've been most curious about reading.

I walk past the newsstand and into the tiny shop, crammed with rows of shelving. It's empty of customers, and has a musty smell. A man stands behind the counter flipping through a magazine.

"Do you have The Rich Man's Pearl?"

The greatest book ever written, I think, smiling to myself. Finally I'll get to see if that's true.

The man's face scrunches up. "Who wrote it?"

"H.A. McDonald."

"I might." He closes the magazine, leaves the counter, and goes down one of the narrow aisles. He returns a minute later with a paperback that looks almost brand new. "That will be 25 cents."

I set my purse onto the counter, open it and pull a quarter out.

"Don't bother wrapping it, I have to catch the train."

I take the book and go outside. I wait to cross the street while a couple of cars drive slowly past the front of the station. A young boy, dressed in a stained, lemon yellow shirt comes up beside me, as if waiting to cross as well.

I take a step forward after the last car passes, and I feel a sharp tug at my wrist. The boy yanks on the leather strap of my purse's handle, breaks it free from my wrist, and sprints away with my purse, while I stand in the road clutching The Rich Man's Pearl, in my other hand.

"Stop thief," I scream. I turn to chase after him, but I'm dressed for travel in a suit jacket, skirt, and low heels, and the youth quickly disappears from my sight.

My heart pounds as it strikes me that I'm sunk. All of my money was in my purse, along with my ticket for the train I'm currently a passenger on.

I turn my head, searching for witnesses, but no one appears to even look in my direction.

Alarmed, I cross the street and go straight to the front of the ticket line, interrupting a transaction between the clerk and a customer.

My voice is loud and excited. "I've just been robbed. A boy ran up and stole my purse. My train ticket and all my money was inside it."

While I'm speaking, a final boarding announcement is made for the train on which I've been riding.

My suitcase is on that train.

I don't wait for the ticket seller to respond to my plight; instead I race to the platform, only to be stopped by a line of people boarding.

By the time I reach my seat, the train has already begun to move slowly out of the station.

My throat grows tight as I consider my plight.

A different conductor than before walks down the aisle checking tickets. He asks to see mine.

"It was stolen."

I tell him what happened, but he only looks disbelieving.

"If that's true, miss, you should have stayed at the station and asked to file a report with the police. Without a ticket, you'll have to get off at the next stop."

He walks away and I shake with fear. What am I supposed to do now – broke and stranded somewhere in Indiana?

My eyes drop to the book I hold in my hand. The Rich Man's Pearl. I haven't read a single page and already I loathe it.

For the next hour I sit in a state of desolation. I was a fool to leave Dandelion. I should have stayed home where life was safe.

The conductor appears at my side when the train arrives at the next station. He pulls my suitcase from the overhead rack and hands it to me. I open it, shove the book inside, and disembark.

I go straight to the ticket line when I depart the train. Once I reach the clerk, I insist on speaking with the station's manager.

He takes me into his office and I recount my story a third time.

No expression of sympathy appears on his face; in fact, he seems bored, leaving me with an ominous feeling.

"Your story sounds believable, but you see I've heard it many times before. We'd be out-of-business if we gave free train rides to every person whose ticket was lost or stolen.

"If this really happened, you should have stayed in Abbadon and filed a police report. The authorities here have no jurisdiction over a crime that occurred in a town sixty miles away. I'm sorry I can't help you my dear. Good day."

He stands up and motions for me to leave his office.

I storm out of the rail station and ask the first person I see to direct me to the police station.

But once there, the officer at the desk conveys the same message the train station manager gave me – he can't help. In fact, he discourages me completely.

"Even if you went back to Abbadon to file a police report, you'd probably never recover your purse. Times are tough. The boy who took it probably already spent all your money on food for his family."

I leave the station hungry and despairing. I wander down Main Street wondering what to do next. A church steeple at the end of the street catches my eye. Perhaps I can find a kindhearted minister who can help me.

Instead I find a line of disheveled men standing outside the church.

"What's going on?" I ask one.

"A free meal."

I'm hungry so I join the line.

Others arrive to stand behind me, mostly men, but a few women as well. People scrutinize me oddly because I'm dressed for travel and carrying a suitcase. The other people in line wear old clothing that is torn and faded, and sometimes dirty.

When I reach the front of the line, just inside the doors of the church hall, two women greet me. They stand behind a table. One woman ladles out watery broth containing potatoes, carrots, and beans into a tin bowl, while the second hands out a slice of bread.

The bread lady's eyebrows rise at the sight of me, but she doesn't say a word as I take a slice from her and carry it and the soup bowl to a long, crowded table.

I put my suitcase under the table and then sit down. There aren't any spoons so I hold the bowl up to my lips and take a sip. It's bland but it fills my belly. When I'm done, I eat the slice of stale bread, wishing there was a topping for it.

All around me is evidence of poverty. I can't help but wonder how these people ended up in this place. They make my library customers appear well-off in contrast.

The stench in the stuffy hall is overwhelming, forcing me to breathe through my mouth so I won't lose my meal.

When I am done eating, I stand, retrieve my suitcase, and look for the women who served the meal.

"Is the minister available?" I ask.

"He's out making calls," the soup woman says. "Perhaps I can help you."

I tell her about my purse, train ticket, and money being stolen.

From the expression on her face, I can tell she doubts my story, but she doesn't want to say it to me outright.

"Do you have any family that can help?" she asks.

"My sister's in Lexington, Kentucky."

"Maybe you should give her a call. There's a payphone at the diner just down the street."

Calling Primmie is the last thing I want to do. Call her collect and ask her to rescue me? She'll be horrified, and I don't want to make trouble for her with my brother-in-law.

And I can't call Uncle Haymitch. I don't know where he works, or if he even has a phone at his house.

Still I walk to the diner, and step inside. A black payphone is attached to the wall, near the door.

The diner is half-full and I hesitate to use the phone because I don't want everyone listening in to my conversation. I feel like a complete fool to have fallen into this predicament.

Just as I'm reaching for the phone receiver, I overhear a customer complain loudly about how long he's been waiting for his meal.

"Alice called in sick and the cook's having to do double-duty, cooking and washing the dirty dishes too. If you're in such a hurry to eat, maybe you could go in the back and wash a plate for yourself," says the man behind the counter. He's tall and has a hooked nose.

The thought occurs to me that maybe he'd pay me to wash the dishes, if he's short of help. Then, at least I'd be able to pay for my call to Primmie. It would be one less expense to foist on her.

I put the phone receiver down and walk to the counter. After a quick negotiation, he agrees to give me fifty cents if I'll work until seven when the diner closes.

He hands me an apron. I enter the kitchen, set my suitcase down and get to work on the stacks of plates and glasses that fill the sink and line the countertop. It's tiring work in the hot kitchen. Sweat drips down my face and into my eyes causing them to sting.

At six thirty, the tall man who is the owner tells the cook, a short, squat fellow, and I to stop working. He serves up three plates of meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and a cup of coffee.

We eat at the counter, alongside a couple of customers. My late lunch of watery broth digested long ago, so I eat quickly, then get up and do the last of the dishes.

When I'm through, the owner hands me two quarters. "Can I use the phone before you lock up?"

"It's broken," he tells me.

Oh no.

"Is there another payphone around here?"

"There's one at the drugstore. But they closed at five."

Sighing, I open my suitcase and put the coins into a sewn-in side pocket.

I'd been so concerned about calling Primmie that I never thought about where I would spend the night.

As if reading my thoughts, the cook, who's walking out the door says, "If you need a place to stay tonight, there's always room in my bed."

"Leave her alone, Bill," the owner says.

"He's only joking," the owner tells me, but still I wait until the cook is at the end of the block before I leave.

I decide to return to the church where I got the soup and see if there is a deacon's meeting or maybe the choir is having a practice. Perhaps someone will be moved to offer me a place to stay the night.

But the church is locked up tight when I get there, as is the shed behind it.

I make my way back to the train station. Maybe I could sleep inside on a bench? But that is locked up too, and a few, unsavory-looking men linger in the area, so I leave.

I stroll aimless down the sidewalk until it ends and then set off down a dirt road that parallels the train tracks. It's already dark; fortunately the moon is low and bright making it easy for me to see.

I look for foliage or some kind of sheltered area where I can hide out and sleep. I slept outdoors with my father, Gale, and his father a few times when we were hunting years ago. It's not too bad, although the ground is hard.

Cresting a small rise in the road, I stumble upon a campground. Several tents are pitched; some are canvass, but many look to be made of white cotton sheets.

A bonfire burns brightly. Men sit around it talking, smoking, drinking.

A couple of the men are as old as Dr. Snow, but instead of a trim white beard, their beards are long and unkept. Others are as young as the students in the schoolhouse along my library route. The majority, though, appear to be in their thirties, only a few years older than me. I recognize a face or two from the meal at the church.

"Looking for a place to spend the night miss," a voice calls out.

I freeze and turn my head in the direction of the man who spoke to me. He's as thin as a beanpole and missing a few teeth. He's probably Gale's age and I can't help but compare the two. Gale has the world at his feet; this poor soul is at the bottom of the world.

I need to get out of here.

I may have spent months riding up and down the hills and valleys around Dandelion, but I am in a place where no one knows me, where I have no kin, no one to care a whit about my safety. What have I gotten myself into?

Even though I'm nervous, I keep my voice steady as I answer the man. "I'm walking home to my family. They're waiting up for me."

"You don't sound like you're from around here," a second man says. "A pretty girl like you shouldn't be out walking alone. It's not safe."

"Thank-you, but I'll be fine."

"It's awfully dark out miss," a third voice calls out. "I'd be happy to share my tent with you. I could pay you even."

My face grows warm as I take in his meaning. I am not safe being a lone woman.

I take off at a fast clip up the crest of a second small hill.

It was a mistake to leave the town. I should have slept in the doorway of a building.

Fortunately none of the men leave the fire to chase after me. As I get close to the top of the crest, I hear two men walking toward me, their voices low.

The heavy dinner I ate rises to my throat. Frantically I look for someplace to hide, but there is not even a tree around here.

I begin to swing my suitcase at my side, up and down to gain momentum. Perhaps I can bash one of the men in the head at least and take off running.

I let go of my suitcase and let it fly forward just as we all meet at the top of the rise. A man's arms reach out and push it away from him. My eyes follow the trajectory as my suitcase falls to the ground.

Then a familiar voice asks, "Katniss, what are you doing here?"

Perhaps I was never robbed in Abbadon. Maybe it was all a bad dream, and I'm still on the train speeding its way to Chicago.

But it is no dream. Standing in front of me is Peeta, his hands firm on my shoulders.

Author's Note: One of the novel features of President Roosevelt's New Deal to address The Great Depression was the speed in which the economic and social programs were introduced to the nation. Many of the reforms were rapidly drawn up, poorly administered, and some even contradicted each other. However, when it was clear that a program wasn't working, it was ended and replaced with something different. This momentum helped build public confidence because at least the president was doing something to help the nation. Although not everyone was helped by the government work programs, a fair portion of the population was.

I found researching passenger train routes in the United States for 1936 impossible, so I'm less exact in this portion of the story. The train route Katniss intends to take west is based on information provided by Amtrak routing from Kentucky to Oregon. (Amtrak was founded in 1971 to take over the remaining United States passenger rail services.)

Abbadon, Indiana is fictional. The word "Abbadon" means "the place of destruction" in Hebrew. I thought it was a fitting name because of Katniss' awful experience there.

Many people depended on getting free meals from churches and other charitable institutions during the 1930s. So called "bread lines" and "soup kitchens" were common.

During The Great Depression, millions of urban and rural families lost their jobs, depleted their savings, and eventually lost their homes. Shanty towns with houses constructed of cardboard, tar paper, glass, lumber, tin, and other salvageable materials sprang up. They were called Hoovervilles after President Hoover who was in office when the economy collapsed in 1929. Tent cities or hobo camps developed in areas along train tracks, as men needed places to stay between hopping freight trains to find work.