Rain streaked the windows of the rolling train. Ramona
watched as the raindrops blend together in a watery blur. She leaded her cheek
on the cool glass, and the heat from her breath created fog on the icy window.
For it being summer, the weather outside was unbearably bleak. Sarah’s letter
lay crumpled in Ramona’s gloved hand. She had read it so many times she feared
that the ink would soon disappear from the page. Her search in New England had
not been productive. She had worn herself almost thin looking for her lost friend. If she did not find Sarah at the next
location she would abandon her search.
Ramona’s mind flickered back to a night, like this, when she and Sarah
had curled up on Sarah’s bed to talk about the future. Sarah had gone on and on
about being a writer. It was that night that she had shown Ramona her works
under her pen name James Mullen.
Ramona bolted upright. James Mullen. Her mind raced with a
swirl of uncontrollable thoughts. She un- crumpled the paper and found the line
she had look at so many times:
Where I go, I shall no
longer be Sarah Turner.
It all fit! She knew where to look now, though it would not
be easy...
Ramona could hear the echo of Sarah’s lark sounding voice, “One
of these days I am going to New York. I will show the world that a woman can
write just as well as a man. And you will come with me, wont you Mona?”
New York! Ramona’s mind wheeled and turned, then the jubilation
came to a startling halt. New York was one of the larges cities in the country,
far bigger than Boston. How in the world was Ramona going to find Sarah in that
city?
