Under arrest?
My eyes grow big.
Peeta's right hand holds fast to me. He sets down my suitcase onto the ground beside him, and raises his left hand to rub the back of his neck as he ponders the situation.
Does he have a plan? What can he possibly say to gain our release?
Satisfied that we appear to cooperate, the railroad detective tells us to stay put. Holding a flashlight, he peers into the boxcars ahead of us. Two cars past ours, he issues a shout and a family climbs out – a mother, father, toddler, and infant.
Surely that couple didn't run and jump on to the boxcar. They must have snuck on board in the same fashion we did.
"Is he going to arrest them too?"
"I don't know." Peeta's voice is low.
Still more people exit the boxcar just ahead of the one that carried the family. Old men mostly, too run-down to fling themselves out of a moving train in the dark.
A second family also exits. One of the children, a boy around three years old, cries loudly. His mother picks him up, rocks him in her arms, and hums.
Apparently railroad security at the station where we climbed on board, couldn't stop everyone from sneaking onto the train because there are almost two dozen of us.
Another uniformed man appears. He motions everyone to gather together. Peeta picks up my suitcase, and we move towards the other riders.
"Look folks, you all broke the law and rightfully belong in jail," the second man says. "But seeing as there's so many of you, we're willing to make a deal. We'll let you off in exchange for all your cash."
Gasps are heard all round.
"I'd rather go to jail," an old hobo says.
"We don't have any money," the woman who holds the boy in her arms says. "Do you think we'd be riding in a boxcar if we had money?"
"Then you'll go to jail."
For how long?
Thoughts go round in my head. If we end up in jail, Peeta and I will be separated. How will we find each other again? Besides my uncle is expecting me, and Peeta needs to start his new job. We don't have time to sit in a jail cell.
Desperate to escape this situation, I whisper to Peeta. "Give me my suitcase."
His eyes narrow, but he sets it down in front of me, and lets go of my hand.
I squat down and open it, pulling out the two quarters I earned while washing dishes at the diner.
Closing my suitcase, I stand up and shout. "I have fifty cents. You can have it if you let me and my husband go."
"No Katniss," Peeta growls.
But the man who made the offer steps forward with his hand outstretched. I put the coins in it and pick up my suitcase, take hold of Peeta's hand and give it a tug.
"That lady made the right choice. You all ought to do the same," he says, as we walk rapidly in the direction of the station.
"We don't have any money," the woman says a second time, as the child in her arms begins to wail.
When we are out of hearing range, Peeta speaks. "You shouldn't have done that Katniss. It was a shake down. I doubt those men even work for the railroad.
"And even if they are railroad security, I'm not sure they'd put all those people in jail because then the town would have to pay to feed them. They'll likely just get a good tongue lashing."
His words condemn me. I should have waited to see what happened. But the fear of going to jail was too much. Handing over my money seemed the easiest way to get Peeta and I away from that situation.
"Let me carry your suitcase," Peeta says.
I hand it to him, still fretting over those families. Hoping Peeta is right, and that they'll be let go with only a warning.
We walk toward the lights of town. It must be eight, maybe nine o'clock.
Where will we spend the night?
My stomach growls loudly.
"Sounds like you're hungry."
"I am." But the bread and cheese are long gone, and I just gave away all my money.
"Maybe we can find something to eat in town."
Is Peeta going to buy us a meal? I have no idea how much money he has, but it can't be that much. Besides he already paid for my breakfast and my lunch today. I feel like a terrible burden to him.
We walk down a street lined with businesses. But every shop, every restaurant is closed. At the end of the street stands a church. Light shines from the windows and singing drifts out the open front door.
This is my story, this is my song.
Praising my Savior all the day long.
"Let's go to the church. Maybe someone will help us there," I suggest, remembering the soup line.
Peeta looks doubtful, but he agrees.
Climbing the stone steps, we enter as the song ends and take a seat in the back pew.
The minister stands up in front. He must be at least sixty, and so fat that his stomach overhangs the rope belt that encircles his long white robe.
"Please bow in prayer."
Heads are lowered. Underneath my eyelashes I look beside me to Peeta. His eyes are shut tightly and I wonder if he is praying, or if he's fallen asleep. He looks so tired.
It seems that everyone in this town is experiencing hard times, as the prayer goes on and on with specific requests for various individuals. It ends with a loud "Amen."
Peeta and I join the congregation as they stand up to sing again. I pick up a hymnal from the holder at the back of the pew, but I don't use it because I know already know the song.
When peace, like a river, attendeth my way.
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
It is well, it is well with my soul.
My voice soars and more than a few heads turn to look in my direction. Peeta leans close and whispers, "You sound like a songbird Katniss."
I smile back at him and sing the remaining verses.
We linger in our seats after the service ends. A few people stop to greet us, but their smiles are not overly friendly. I imagine it's because we have suitcases with us. After years of economic ruin, even charitable folk are bound to grow weary of helping others out.
When the last person has left, we stand up to speak to the minister. I worry that Peeta will say that we are married. I would be ashamed to lie to a man of the cloth.
But Peeta simply tells the preacher that we just arrived by train and are hungry and tired. Can he give us some food and shelter for the night?
The man's forehead wrinkles. "Son, I've heard every version of that story imaginable. My hospitality wore thin years ago when a well-dressed young man asked for help and then held a gun to my head and robbed me of the church collection."
I think he means to tell us to fend for ourselves when he adds, "Still there's something in me that says it would be wrong to turn away a tired, young couple seeking shelter for the night.
"Especially when this lady here knows every word to our closing song.
"Come home with me. I'll give you something to eat, and a blanket. The night is warm. You can sleep under the eaves behind the church."
He is a trusting man to invite two bedraggled strangers into his home.
We follow him to a small house behind the church. He offers us simple fare – bread and jam, and tea. But it fills the hole in my belly.
He also lets us use the bathroom in his house. I wash up as best I can in the tiny sink, remembering my bath in the stream that very morning. It seems like I have aged a dozen years this day.
We sit on the concrete porch behind the church, and lean our backs against the wall. Peeta hands me the blanket.
"No, we can share."
He shakes out the blanket to cover both of us.
"I had no idea how bad it was outside of Dandelion."
I thought the people that I delivered books to in the hills around home were poor, but at least they had houses to live in and ground to keep a garden.
"It is bad, " Peeta says. "All over."
"I wish I had given my money to Bennie and Jack, instead of those two crooks at the station."
"Well, if you'd given it to them, then you couldn't have bought our freedom," Peeta points out. "But don't worry about those boys. I gave them each a dime while you were sleeping."
It comforts me that Peeta was bothered by their stories as well.
We talk some more, but eventually my eyes droop. I lean my head onto Peeta's shoulder. After a while, I find myself being shifted.
Peeta's arm is around my waist and the blanket covers us. I don't think I've ever been so comfy before.
I awake to the sunrise. Birds chirp in the distance. I lift Peeta's arm from my waist and slip out from under the blanket.
Needing to use the toilet badly, I walk around to the front of the church, hoping the door is unlocked. Surprisingly, it's propped open. I go inside. Ahead of me, the minister is kneeling at the front, his head bowed.
I find the ladies room. When I exit, my face is washed and my hair neatly arranged.
The minister meets me at the entrance to the church.
"Thank you for everything. We're heading out west for jobs in Oregon."
He nods and tells me he something for us. I follow him back to his house. He hands me the rest of the bread loaf we ate from last night in a paper sack.
"There's a widow in our congregation that has set her cap for me. She's always bringing me baked goods even though I don't need any more fattening up." He rubs his hand over his protruding belly.
"You know dear, when you're settled at your final destination, you ought to join a church choir. You have a lovely voice. It would be a shame not to share that gift with others."
Tears come to my eyes. Will I ever be settled again?
I thank him again and then go to Peeta. His eyes are just opening.
"I have some bread."
He smiles at me sleepily. "That's good Katniss."
He stands, folds the blanket up and brings it to the door of the parsonage. The minister invites him inside, to use the bathroom I expect. I sit down on my suitcase and wait for Peeta to return.
I tear off two big chunks of bread for us to eat. When we are finished, we leave the church behind and amble past the still closed shops. Peeta carries my suitcase and his satchel. I carry the sack with the remaining bread.
I assume we head back to the train station, and the thought makes me shudder, but Peeta has a different idea.
"Maybe we should try hitchhiking."
Relieved, I keep close as he leads us to a road that goes west out of town. We stand at a spot along the highway where it would be easy for a car to pull to the side without hindering traffic.
Every time a car approaches, Peeta closes his fist and puts out his thumb to indicate that we're looking for a ride. I do the same, but several vehicles pass us by.
"This reminds me of a movie," I say.
"A movie?"
"Yes. Didn't you see It Happened One Night? It played at the Dandelion Theater a couple of years ago.
Peeta shakes his head. "I haven't been to the movies in a long while. What happens in it?"
"Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert try to hitch a ride. No one will stop for him, but a car stops when she lifts her skirt to show a portion of her leg to the passing drivers." I lift my skirt ever so slightly to show him.
Peeta's face grows red. "No Katniss. You're not doing that."
Even though I have no intention of flashing my leg to passing motorists, I immediately take offense at the tone in his voice.
"Well, it worked in the movie."
"That was a movie, not real life. What kind of driver is going to pick us up if you do that? Will he expect something in return when you've as good as offered it to get a ride?"
His words make my silly story ring hollow because I know he's right. In the shelter of the movie theater, surrounded by a world of pretend where everything usually works out in the end, teasing drivers to get a ride is good for a laugh. In the real world, it could end up with frightening consequences for the both of us.
While we bicker on the side of the road, a vehicle stops beside us, and a man calls out, "Katniss Everdeen, whatever are you doing so far from home?"
I startle at the sound of my name, and turn. Darius Whitlock, the red-headed man who stayed at my mother's house after my engagement ended, is leaning across the passenger seat and calling out to me from the open window of a shiny black car.
"Darius."
Peeta's eyebrows go up suspiciously, and I immediately explain.
"Dr. Snow brought Darius to our home to stay for a week to rest up."
I turn back to Darius. "Can you give us a lift?"
"Where are you heading?"
"West. We'll go as far west as you can take us."
"Sure, hop on in."
Peeta nods, but I have a nagging sense that he's upset that I know the driver. He shoves our luggage into the back seat and climbs in after it, while I sit in the front next to Darius.
As Darius drives down the highway, we play catch up. I tell him about my mother's unexpected death.
He appears genuinely distraught, even wiping a tear from his eye. "Not Lil. She was far too young."
"She was," I agree.
"And is Mags still there?"
"Yes, she is."
"Oh, I liked her a lot. She reminds me of my grandmother."
The conversation turns. "So how did you meet your traveling companion?" Darius cocks his head slightly toward the backseat.
"Peeta was the first patient Dr. Snow brought to our house."
Darius looks in his rear view mirror to catch Peeta's eyes. "So Katniss played nurse to you too?"
I spent far more time with Peeta than I ever spent with Darius, but Peeta doesn't know that. I turn my head to gauge Peeta's reaction. He nods to Darius, but his lips are pressed together and he doesn't speak.
"So Katniss, how is it that you ended up hitchhiking?"
I tell him about my job in Oregon for my uncle and my stolen purse, but I am vague about the rest, the hobo camp, riding in the boxcar, almost getting arrested, sleeping on the church porch with Peeta.
"I was lucky to run into Peeta because he's headed out west too."
"Do you have people in Oregon as well?" Darius looks in his rear mirror again directing his question to Peeta.
"I have a job waiting for me," Peeta says. "Painting murals on a lodge that's being built at Mount Hood."
"You're an artist?"
"Yes."
"I once had an artist friend."
I think Darius means to tell us about his artist friend, but Peeta doesn't ask about him, so instead Darius talks to us about his new job for the Seneca Necktie Company.
"I thought you worked for Langley's Department Stores? Aren't you related to the owner?"
"I am," he says. "But my uncle and I had a falling out, so I quit."
Peeta makes a funny sound in his throat, as if he's clearing it. I turn back to look at him as he holds up an empty liquor bottle. He points to the floor, where several other bottles lie empty.
I turn back quickly to see if Darius noticed Peeta's gesturing, but his eyes are fixed firmly on the road.
"My territory covers Missouri, Arkansas, and Oklahoma. I could take you as far west as the Oklahoma Panhandle, but not until sometime next week. I have a lot of stops along the way."
Peeta and I cannot accept Darius' offer. I have no money for lodgings or food, and I doubt Peeta has it either.
"Thanks for the offer, but we're in a hurry. My uncle is expecting me, and Peeta has to start his job soon, too."
"I understand Katniss. Just wanted to help if I could."
We ride with Darius across the state line into Arkansas, where he has an appointment to meet with a business owner of a clothing store.
He lets us off in the downtown business area. Before we go, he opens his wallet and hands me a crumpled bill. "Here, Katniss. Take it."
Normally, I'd refuse, but I have no money at all and am nowhere close to Oregon.
"Thanks, I'll pay you back someday," I say, all the time knowing it is a lie.
I'll never see this man again. But he must know that too.
He gives me a genuine smile. "Have a good trip, Katniss." He gives Peeta a stern look. "Take care of her."
"I have been."
The look that is exchanged between the two men is curious, but it makes me angry. I don't need anyone to take care of me. I can do just fine on my own.
"Do you want to stop and get a meal?" I ask Peeta as we take leave of Darius.
"We still have some bread left. Save your money."
We walk down the street. "Where are we going now?"
"To the gas station we passed as we rode into town. I think it would be easier to pick up a ride there."
It's a hot, sweaty walk in the heat as we hike back to the station. "You should have told Darius to let us off there," I mutter.
"I would have, but I didn't want to interrupt your conversation."
Is Peeta jealous of Darius?
My throat is parched when we reach the gas station. It's almost as if Peeta can read my mind, or perhaps he's thirsty as well, because he sets down the suitcase and satchel onto the curb and tells me to wait. In a couple of minutes he returns with a bottle of Pepsi.
We sit down on the curb and share the soda. The sugary liquid flows easily down my throat. The few moments of rest refresh and energize me.
"How will we get a ride?" I ask when the bottle is empty.
"Your friend gave you that single. We could offer to pay for a few gallons of gasoline in exchange for a ride."
"It's a five."
Peeta's eyebrows rise. "Okay then, let's get some change."
We go inside and the manager makes change for us – four singles and four quarters.
Gasoline costs 10 cent a gallon and we sit on the curb outside the station to wait for a likely driver who would be interested in our offer. We want to get as far west as possible for the least amount of money.
Peeta does the talking, but I stand alongside him. We have our story down. It's a concoction of a little bit of truth and many lies.
We are a young married couple from Kentucky who were robbed of our train tickets while traveling out west.
Most drivers seem hesitant to give us a lift, despite our offer to pay for part of their gasoline. Peeta is average height, but his shoulders are broad and he looks strong. He hasn't shaved in over a day and the stubble on his face gives him a desperate appearance.
I too, though small, give off an aura of fitness as a result of my daily horseback rides up and down the hills around Dandelion. Possibly drivers worry that Peeta and I could be another Bonnie and Clyde, robbing them, or even attacking them and stealing their vehicle.
After a couple of hours, I grow concerned. No one is interested in our offer, and we have already devoured the bread. It will be dark soon.
"Maybe we should walk back into town," I suggest.
Just then, a beat up truck pulls into the station. Two boys, around the same ages as Bennie and Jack, sit in the back of it, atop a pile of furniture and other household items.
"That truck is too full," I tell Peeta, but already he's hurrying toward it.
The driver exits the cab, and Peeta speaks with him. I come alongside Peeta just as the man's lips turn up into a crooked grin.
"Sure you can travel with us," he says. He puts his head into the cab. "Can you believe this Mary? I told you everything would work out. This is Peeta and Katniss Mellark. Peeta's going to help pay for our gas, if we'll give him and his wife a ride."
"Have her sit up front with us," Mary says. "It would be nice to have someone to visit with."
Ten minutes later, I'm riding in the cab with Hal and Mary Brown and Peeta is riding with our luggage in the truck bed with Bobby and Earl, Hal's teenaged brothers.
The couple is only a couple of years younger than Peeta and I. Yet they've been married for three years already, and Mary is expecting.
Her large belly appears out of place on her thin frame. Hal, too, is noticeably thin. The bones on the sides of his wrist protrude, causing his hands to look overly large on the steering wheel.
As we drive down the highway, lit only by the moon and the stars, Hal recounts their plight.
"We had a farm here in Arkansas, but we can't make a living with it anymore. So we decided to pack up and head out west. Talk is there's farm jobs out in California."
"Now you tell us your story," Mary insists. "You two been married long?"
I feel awful about lying to them. "Not too long. We're from Dandelion, Kentucky, but we've both got jobs waiting for us in Oregon."
"You're lucky to have work already lined up," Mary says.
"I know." Peeta and I are lucky.
Hal looks to me. "Your husband said you were robbed and your train tickets were stolen?"
"They were. Just outside the train station in Abbadon, Indiana."
I hesitate to provide too much detail because I have no idea what Peeta is telling Hal's brothers. I already like these people and I don't want to get caught in a lie.
"They get your ring too?" Mary asks.
My eyes fly to her left hand that nervously rubs her belly. The thin gold band gleams in the moonlight.
"They did," I mumble, automatically rubbing my bare ring finger. The only ring that finger ever wore was my engagement ring to Gale.
Suddenly a thought crashes into my mind.
I still have my engagement ring hidden in the sewn-in pocket of my suitcase.
Why did I worry about how we'll get to Oregon? I can sell the ring to finance the trip.
Author's Note: The song Katniss and Peeta hear drifting from the open doors of the church is "Blessed Assurance," a well-known Christian hymn. The lyrics were written by Fannie Crosby in 1873 to music composed by Phoebe Knapp.
The hymn Katniss sings in the church is "It Is Well With My Soul." The lyrics were written by Horatio Spafford, and the music was composed by Philip Bliss. The song was published in 1876.
It Happened One Night is a 1934 movie directed by Frank Capra. It was the first movie to win all five major Academy Awards: best picture, director, actor, actress, and screenplay.
Pepsi became a popular drink during The Great Depression because it came in a 12-ounce bottle and sold for a nickel, while it's rival Coca Cola sold in 6-ounce bottles for the same price.
Bonnie Elizabeth Parker and Clyde Chestnut Barrow were American criminals who traveled through the central United States during The Great Depression with a gang of friends and relatives. They're known for robbing banks, but they mainly robbed small stores and rural gas stations. Their gang is believed to have killed at least nine police officers and several civilians. In 1934, they were ambushed and killed in Louisiana by law officers.
"Oakies" was the label put on refugee farm families from the drought-ravaged states of Kansas, Colorado and New Mexico, Oklahoma, Texas, Arkansas, and Missouri during the 1930s. These refugees were escaping two separate, yet simultaneous catastrophes, the collapse of tenant farming due to sinking commodity prices and agricultural mechanization, and the environmental disaster of the Dust Bowl, which made farming impossible and caused massive dust storms that impacted a large portion of the U.S. For more information about the Dust Bowl, I recommend Timothy Eagan's book The Worst Hard Time.