I slam the door behind me so hard that the front windows rattle in their frames. The noise leaves me oddly satisfied, as it releases some of my pain.

Uncle Haymitch sits on the sofa, his arms spread wide to hold the newspaper that he reads. At the sound, he lowers it and glares at me.

"Where were you?"

I wipe my cheeks clean of their tears. "Didn't you find the message I left? I wrote it on your notepad."

He picks up his pad from the low table in front of him and reads aloud. "I'm going on a picnic with Peeta."

He lets out a loud, exaggerated sigh. "So I'm guessing you're not hungry anymore and won't be making me something to eat."

Perhaps my uncle means to calm my foul temper with a joke, but I'm in no mood for it. "Is that all I'm good for – taking care of you?"

He folds up the newspaper and sets it down onto the low table in front of him. "Okay, what the hell happened on your picnic?"

I'm hesitant to tell him anything personal because I know he's desperate for a story idea, but I'm trapped between fury and distress. I have no one to discuss this matter with and I need to talk.

I perch on the edge of the armchair across from him. "Peeta told me he can't see me anymore because he has nothing to offer me."

"Well he doesn't." My uncle is so matter-of-fact that I immediately begin to argue.

"That's not true. He's a hard worker and a talented artist. He has a job with the WPA at Mount Hood."

"And I'm guessing he lives in a tent on the mountain and is sending most of his pay home to help his ailing parents."

My eyes narrow. How has Uncle Haymitch summed up the situation so easily without my telling him a word? Angry with him for not taking my side, I point out his one error.

"His parents are dead, he sends the money to his brother's family."

"The details aren't important. The thing is he's not in a position to take whatever the hell the two of you have any further. A decent man thinks about the future. And right now he knows he can't. Believe me, if he's serious about you, he'll be back once he's got some money set aside.

"Haven't you read The Rich Man's Pearl yet? It's all in there."

"He won't be back," I wail. "He said I'll always be the miner's daughter and he'll always be the guy who comes from a family of moonshiners."

"The longer he's away from the class prejudices that exist in Dandelion the quicker he'll be cured of that thought. If anything good's come from this crippling economy it's that the playing field has been leveled for just about everyone. A resourceful man can go far.

"But what's this, you say, about his family making moonshine?"

When I'd told him about Peeta previously, I'd deliberately avoided the topic of moonshining because it seemed irrelevant to the story, and also because it was illegal.

"Is their moonshine good?"

I frown. "How would I know? Besides, Peeta's not a moonshiner. It's his brother who does that work, and keeps getting caught by revenuers."

"Well, he may not be personally involved, but some of those families in the hills have been making moonshine for a couple hundred years. It's a way of life. He no doubt has the family recipe memorized."

"I don't care about some stupid family recipe. This is my life and I can't let Peeta go. I need him."

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, my mind flies back to the manuscript I've typed up for my uncle. Abigail said those very words to her father.

The thought that my life has become as angst-ridden as one of my uncle's sappy romance novel surprises and horrifies me.

My uncle smirks. "Whatever happens Katniss, you'll survive."

For the second time today, I resist an urge to slap someone.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Even though Peeta said we were all wrong for each other, I can't bring myself to believe that it's completely over between us. Surely my parting declaration of love will persuade him otherwise.

I cling to Uncle Haymitch's idea that time will cause Peeta to forget the difference in our social background, and that he will return to me once he has some money saved. Since the WPA only pays workers once a month, it makes sense that I won't hear from him for at least another month.

In the meantime I keep myself busy to avoid the despair of my broken heart. I put the house in order, help Chaff in the yard, take long walks, and write cheerful letters to my sister, Mags, and even Gale, extolling the wonders of my new home out West.

I even crack the cover of The Rich Man's Pearl but stop after one page because I'm in no mood to read a romantic story.

One morning, I'm in the shed organizing things when I hear voices.

"I don't think it's a good idea," Chaff says. "He's been drinking a lot since you left."

I step outside to find Chaff and the woman from the grocery store. She's in a colorful dress, and wears a large hat with a purple feather on it.

"Can I help you?"

She throws me a pleading look. "I'd like to see Haymitch."

"Are you Effie?"

"Yes. Effie Trinket."

"It's nice to officially meet you. I'm Katniss." I extend my hand to shake hers, but she only stares at it. I look down and see that it's covered with a cobweb. I wipe my hand on my skirt and put it out again.

Effie takes my hand and squeezes it lightly. "It's nice to meet you, dear."

It may seem childish, but I marvel that the real Abigail stands before me. After typing up her story I feel as if I know her.

"I'm not sure if my uncle's even awake yet. He stayed up late listening to the radio." Uncle Haymitch has taken a rabid interest in the Olympic Games being held in Berlin, Germany.

"It's urgent that I speak with him."

"Well, I could see if he's awake."

"No bother, I know my way around the house."

She hurries to the back door."

"He's gonna be teed off," Chaff says as Effie enters through the kitchen.

"Maybe I better go inside and stop her."

"No, it would be better if you waited out here. They can be a loud couple."

Couple?

"My uncle and Effie…" I don't even finish my sentence and Chaff winks at me.

My mouth flies open. "They're a couple?"

Chaff nods.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised, but after hearing Uncle Haymitch's sad tale about his dead fiancée Maysilee, I naively assumed he was still pining for her.

And how could Abigail, I mean Effie, be so disloyal to Samuel, that is, Fred.

I give them their privacy until the shouting starts. Chaff shakes his head at me as I run to the house.

"I won't be spoken to like that Haymitch," Effie says, when I enter the living room.

My uncle sits on the sofa with a notebook on his lap. His darkened eyes fly to me.

"Why did you let her in?"

As if I could stop her.

Effie's face is red and near to tears. I recognize the look on it as one of shock and despair. The same look I no doubt had when Peeta bade me farewell.

"I'll be going now," Effie says. "But mark my words Haymitch. If that book is published, I'll sue you."

A nervous tingling passes down my spine because The Prodigal Daughter sits on the publisher's desk at this very moment.

"Just try that Effie and you'll find that you're in as big of trouble as me. I'm not the only one who borrowed material from someone else."

She heads for the front door and I follow her outside.

"Wait," I call out as soon as we are past earshot of the house. She turns and stops.

"What's going on?"

Haltingly she tells me a story that confirms what Chaff has told me. For many years she and my uncle had a relationship that was far more than employer and secretary.

But three months ago, while reading the handwritten draft of The Prodigal Daughter she realized that it was her story. She'd confronted him and after the ensuing fight she'd left.

All this occurred just prior to my uncle writing to offer me a job working for him.

"Will you really sue him then?"

Tears come to her eyes. "I don't want to, but what recourse do I have?"

I don't know how the law works, but I'm not sure if Effie has much of a case if The Prodigal Daughter only loosely follows her life. I understand her anger, though. Hadn't my uncle contemplated doing the very same thing to me?

Still, I'm curious. "Why did he say you'd be in trouble too, if you sued him."

Her face goes white. "It was nice speaking with you dear, but I have an appointment and I don't want to be late."

She leaves me in the front yard pondering her lack of an answer.

When I go inside, Uncle Haymitch lies on the sofa with his eyes closed.

"Has she left?"

"Yes. You never told me that your former secretary was your…" I hesitate to use the word "girlfriend." It seems like a juvenile way to describe a middle-aged couple. I settle for "sweetheart."

"I think she's serious about suing you."

He opens his eyes and catches mine. "It's all talk. She'll never sue because if I'm guilty, she's equally guilty. She came up with the plots for the last dozen books I wrote. All of them were stories about so-called `friends' of hers."

My jaw drops. I'm amazed that no one has come forward to string up the pair of them.

"No one has guessed? How is that even possible?"

My uncle sits up. "Because I'm a damn fine writer, that's why. I've changed names, disguised situations, re-worked endings. Made homely women beautiful, and turned louts and bumpkins into Prince Charming. Believe me, it would be impossible to prove theft if you were to compare the real persons to my characters.

"You sound very sure of yourself."

"Of course, I'm sure. Besides I've changed the conclusions to their stories, drastically in some cases. On the whole, Effie's friends didn't have much luck with men."

He pauses for a moment before continuing. "By the way I've been thinking about your recent boy trouble."

Like Effie, I am ready to lash out at him. How dare he reduce what has happened me as `boy trouble'. I am in despair over the matter.

"There is a simple solution to your problem. I've written this scenario into several of my stories. You need to make him jealous. Then he'll realize his feelings for you and fight to get you back. It works every time."

"It works because you make it work."

I don't like his idea. I certainly don't want Peeta that way, but his words remind me of the day Darius gave us a ride. At that time, I'd thought Peeta was jealous of Darius. Afterward he'd certainly shown a lot more affection toward me when we traveled with the Brown family.

But how can I make Peeta jealous now if we're not in contact? The question weighs on my mind over the next few weeks.

I don't hear from him. Slowly it's sinking in that I might never hear from him again. My uncle's house is spotless, and his pantry is stocked with jams and enough pickled vegetables to last all winter. I am irritable and moody.

My uncle, who is still at a loss for a story idea, is the same.

"Does it always take this long to come up with a new idea," I ask him over dinner one night.

"No," he admits. "This is the worst case of writer's block I've ever experienced. But I have an idea about how to solve it, and how to snap you out of that blue mood as well. We're going to the community dance tomorrow night."

I'm aghast at his suggestion. I have no desire to go to a dance – it seems like I'm giving up on any hope of Peeta returning altogether. Besides, I can't believe my uncle plans to deliberately search out women whose lives he can write about.

I argue with him the entire day, but he won't give in. "I'm not dancing with anyone," I warn him.

"You don't have to. Just get out there and mingle. It will do you some good to get out of the house."

We leave far too early for the event. The sky is filled with an orange glow as I drive my uncle the short distance to the community hall.

The musicians aren't even there yet, only the organizers - three women who look to be past sixty and a couple of old men. The women set out cookies on the refreshment table alongside a large bowl of punch.

My uncle knows the men and goes over to help them set out chairs along the wall.

"Do you usually get a good turnout for these dances," I ask the women.

"We do," one woman says. "Entire families come, kids too, from town and the outlying farms."

She gives me a sympathetic glance. "You know occasionally we've had young men from the WPA camp on the mountain drive down and join us. I'm sure they'd appreciate having a pretty, young dance partner, rather than some old widow like me."

My heart twists at her words. I hadn't considered that Peeta might attend. He may claim to care about me, but he also rejected me. I can't imagine he plans to stay a recluse for the remainder of his days.

I get a cup of punch and sit down. Furious at the thought that he might show up to seek comfort in someone else's arms, I mentally prepare a speech in case I run into him.

Slowly over the next hour, the room fills up. The musicians are the first to arrive, taking up a corner of the room where an upright piano sits. They play a little of everything, swing, jazz, and popular tunes.

Uncle Haymitch circulates among the women in the room like a bee spreading pollen. In his hand he carries a cup of punch, which I suspect he's spiked from the silver flask he carries in his pocket.

Idly I wonder if he brought a pocket-sized notebook as well, to jot down the facts so he won't forget.

After an hour of watching, a man asks me to dance. He looks to be about fifty and I suspect Uncle Haymitch put him up to it. He looks kindly though, and I'm too embarrassed to refuse. When the dance is over, a second man asks me to take a spin. He, too, is as old as the first man.

After the second dance, I make an excuse to go outside. The room is warm and the back of my dress is damp against my skin.

It's dark now, but white lights are strung up. Many people stand outside talking, likely to escape the heat inside. Some are dressed for a night out, while others dress for a day of labor in the field. They stand clumped in small groups. A few children run after a barking dog.

I scan the crowd, but I don't recognize a soul, and I don't feel inclined to converse with strangers. Maybe I should go inside and look for my uncle to ask him if we could leave.

Just as I turn to go back into the hall, a woman's voice calls out to me. "Excuse me, are you Katniss by any chance?"

I turn in the direction of the voice to catch sight of the woman who was flirting with Peeta when he was loading rocks onto the truck. She walks toward me.

She wears a white cotton dress that clings to her lithe figure. Her hand reaches up to her head, a lone finger running through the curls that lie on her shoulders.

She's the reason Peeta won't visit me. It's just like what happened with Gale.

I turn my back to her, my face growing warm. I take a few steps toward the hall when a hand lands on my shoulder.

I twist around ready to yell something rude when I catch sight of a tall, slender man in front of me. He has beautiful sea green eyes and hair the color of polished copper. He is sensuous in a way that would cause most women to go weak in the knees. I think he could be a movie star.

"You must be Katniss," he says. "Peeta told me about your hair that you wear pinned up in braids and those beautiful grey eyes."

How does Peeta know this man and why would he be telling him about me?

"I am Katniss, but I don't know you."

"I'm Finn Odair. Peeta and I share a tent on the mountain. Of course I'd rather be sharing it with my wife Annie but the government keeps us apart."

The woman who called out to me steps forward and Finn puts his arm around her waist.

"We have to keep our marriage a secret because the WPA doesn't allow married couples to work on the same project," she explains.

The loving glances the two of them exchange are proof enough that I never had a reason to be jealous of Peeta and Annie.

Confused, I look around. "Is Peeta here too?"

Finn shakes his head. "He's back in camp. He's been working on all our days off for extra pay. He's exhausted."

"He's been down in the dumps ever since he saw you," Annie adds.

Even though I don't know these friends of Peeta's, I can't help but blurt out. "Has he told you what he said to me?"

Finn nods. "If it's any consolation, my wife gave him hell for it."

"My dad shot himself in `33 after the bank closed and his business failed," she says. "I came from money but I didn't know what happy was until I met Finn. Now we have everything but money."

"Funny how that goes," Finn says, kissing the side of her head. "It's like that old song, `The Best Things in Life are Free'."

"If Peeta's feeling bad about our conversation, why doesn't he come tell me?"

"Well, he's been working continuously," Finn points out. "He's spends the evenings writing letters to folks back home to get some family matter straightened out, and then there's some editor he says never paid him for a job.

"My uncle has a truck. I could drive up to see Peeta if that would make it easier for him."

"You should probably wait for him to come to you," Annie suggests. Her comment reminds me of my mother's warning about chasing men.

"But how long will that take?"

"Maybe not much longer if I tell him we saw you here dancing," Finn says.

I snort. "I danced with two men old enough to be my father."

"Ah, two beaus." Finn bites his lip to hold back a smile. "That would give Peeta something to chew on."

My conversation with the couple is interrupted by the appearance of my uncle.

"I've been looking for you everywhere." His voice slurs. "I'm ready to go."

His eyes roam past me to Finn and Annie, but stop on Annie.

"You must have lived an interesting life young lady."

Finn's eyes narrow as he studies my drunken uncle. He pulls his wife closer to his side.

"This is my uncle, Haymitch Abernathy," I introduce him.

Finn's face relaxes. He stretches out his hand. "Finn Odair and this is my… Annie."

My uncle shakes Finn's hand, but looks to Annie. "Nice to meet you. My niece could use some friends. Are you new to the area?"

"We're part of the WPA crew building the lodge on the mountain." Annie says.

"You don't say. Well, Katniss here, is in need of friends. Maybe you know her…"

I cut him off before he can continue his drunken ramblings. "I'll take you home now. We should probably get going anyway. I could have sworn I saw Effie."

He pales and reaches for my arm.

I wave goodbye to Finn and Annie, thankful for the news they gave me about Peeta. My gloomy mood lifts.

My uncle questions me about them on the way home. They are a handsome couple and I'm sure he would love to re-imagine their life for his own financial gain.

He'd be rapturous if he knew about their secret marriage and the scandal Annie's family faced, but I have no plans to tell him any of that.

"Did get any story ideas at the dance? You were talking to a lot of people."

"I got a couple of possibilities, but I'll have to play around with them. But what I was really looking for was something to inspire me. Without inspiration a writer can do nothing."

He begins another one of his many lectures on writing and how everyone has the same hopes and dreams and that his stories are popular because he taps into his readers' emotions, but I stop listening.

Instead I think about Peeta and how he will react when Finn tells him I was at the dance tonight.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

We're eating lunch a couple of days later when someone raps on the door.

My heart pounds. Could it be Peeta? Is he here to make amends?

I jump up and rush to the door and throw it open.

A young boy stands in front of me, note in hand. "I have a telegram for Mr. Abernathy."

I put my hand out to take it, but my uncle is already behind me and snatches it from the boy.

He reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a nickel for the youth.

As soon as the door closes he opens it.

A flash of anger appears on his face as he reads the telegram. He tosses it onto the floor.

"Damn her," he shouts.

I pick it up to read.

Stopping publication of book due to pending lawsuit.

Plutarch Heavensbee

I guess Effie wasn't kidding.

Author's Note: The WPA workers who built the Timberline Lodge lived at a camp set up at Summit Meadows. Walled and floored tents, a kitchen, mess hall, and quartermaster's store were erected, and showers with hot/cold water provided, along with a complete infirmary. There weren't many women who were assigned to the camp. And married couples were not permitted to work on the same WPA project.

The 1936 Summer Olympics were held in Berlin, Germany from August 1-16. Reich Chancellor Adolf Hitler saw the Games as an opportunity to promote his government and his ideals of racial supremacy. Jewish athletes were forbidden to compete for Germany. The only exception was made for fencer Helene Mayer (whose father was Jewish and mother was Lutheran). Mayer had won a gold medal for Germany in the 1928 Summer Olympics and won a silver medal in 1936. Most countries did not send Jewish competitors so as to not offend the German government. Hitler's racial theories were challenged though when American runner Jesse Owens, a black athlete won four gold medals in the sprint and long jump events.

Around 9,000 banks failed in the United States during The Great Depression. By 1933, depositors saw $140 billion disappear through bank failures. That same year, President Franklin Roosevelt signed the 1933 Banking Act which created the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation (FDIC), an independent government agency that insures bank accounts in FDIC-insured banks in the event that bank fails. At that time, the insurance covered the first $2,500 of a person's funds; today it covers the first $250,000.

The Best Things in Life are Free was a song from the 1925 Ray Henderson-Buddy DeSylva musical "Good News." The song took on new life during The Great Depression.