No Promises in the Wind by Irene Hunt

Author:Irene Hunt
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US

The weather that day was chillier than it had been since we reached Louisiana. The radio told about blizzards and sub-zero temperatures back home and all through the northern part of the nation. Fringes of that cold had apparently moved down to us, and the people, unaccustomed to chill winds, were miserable. Dozens of children were scuttling along the railroad tracks to pick up bits of coal and wood for fires in the boxcar homes. In the carnival tents, lights were left burning to provide a little warmth.

The carnival crowd had dwindled to almost nothing during the day. The dancers didn’t even bother to put on their act in the evening after a whole day of facing empty chairs in front of their pavilion.

Freed of my duties for the night, I wandered beyond the meadow where the carnival lay, walking on and on with the hope that I’d get so tired I could go right to sleep when I returned to our tent. But long after weariness had worked down to bone depth, I sat leaning against a tall pine by the side of the road, facing my loneliness. I should have been used to the feeling; it had been with me for many weeks but never quite so heavy as it was that night. I sat there remembering Mom and Kitty, remembering Howie and Miss Crowne. I wanted to see Lonnie again; I wanted so much to talk to him, and amazingly enough for a brief flash I wanted the dad I had once known. Most of all, I wanted someone near me who was tender and sweet, someone who was Emily, but a fifteen-year-old Emily who would wear the earrings I would give her and would sit close beside me while I played music that would tell her of my love.

The wind made a little sighing sound in the branches above me. I hated the wind. A bright morning, a moonlit night, a sunset sky—these might fill me with hope for happier times. Not the wind. It either lashed or cried or whispered little mysteries known only to itself. The wind never gave me hope; it never made any promises. I buried my head in my arms for a while.

It was late when I started back toward the carnival grounds. There was a glow in the sky above the grounds, the glow of the carnival lights I thought at first, but then I realized that the light did not flash and sparkle in a pattern of colors. It was like a purplish red cloud hovering over the grounds. It looked ominous.

I felt troubled and began to run; then I heard the noises of sirens and trucks. I smelled the bitter smell of burning canvas and leather, celluloid and oil.

The carnival was in wild confusion when I got there. Fire trucks, police cars, and an ambulance were on the grounds, and everywhere there were people with drawn, white faces, their eyes reddened by smoke and tears. Half the tents were charred or in ashes.

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