Cindy Rankin - Under the Ashes

In a city shaken to the ground, she must find a way out.

Eleven-year-old Elizabeth Littlebeth Morgan would rather race the boys, chase skunks, and read about bandits than act like a lady. When she whacks the head off a rattlesnake, her parents decide its the last straw. They send her to live with her maiden aunt Sally in San Francisco to be tamed and refined.

The city proves to be anything but tame. Littlebeth wakes one morning to the crashing chaos of a massive earthquake and finds herself surrounded by wreckage. Then a fire breaks out and tears across the city. Now she must depend on her instincts and a few unlikely friends to find her way to safety. But does she have the spirit to survive in a city thats broken and burning?

ALBERT WHITMAN & COMPANY
Publishing award-winning childrens books since 1919
www.albertwhitman.com
Printed in the United States of America
Jacket art by Kyle Letendre

To my daughter, Kate, who taught me its okay to be proud of yourselfCR

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication

data is on file with the publisher.

Text copyright 2016 by Cindy Rankin

Published in 2016 by Albert Whitman & Company

ISBN 978-0-8075-3635-3

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Printed in the United States of America

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Cover illustration by Kyle Letendre

Design by Jordan Kost

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Saved my little brothers life today. Turned out poorly for me, good for Joey, though. Hard truth is, being the bravest, quickest, most interesting girl in town puts me at a disadvantage. Ordinary folkseven my own familycant seem to tolerate me.

Was on my best behavior when we came home from the Palm Sunday service. Had to be. Thered been trouble last week after I showed my class where the outlaw James brothers stayed here in the old days. My teacher said it was a reckless act of defiance and I was a bad influence. Mama, Papa, and especially Grandma were still vexed by what Id done. I worked to redeem myself by doing extra chores and accepted my punishment of tending Joey, plus no dessert for two weeks, without complaint.

In the kitchen, Mama tied an apron over her church dress and then put the cast iron skillet on the stove.

May I help? I asked in a cheery tone.

You up to something? Mama saw me eyeing the apple pie Grandma had brought over. Sticky sweetness glistened around slits on top of the golden crust.

No, maam, I said, turning away from temptation with a shrug. Couldnt keep my yearning from her.

Joey crawled under the kitchen table and spouted out his favorite song, Jesus Loves Me, through spit bubbles. His main talents at two and a half years were constant drooling, nose dripping, and darting off whenever I reached for him. But this time I grabbed his leg and pulled him to me before he could escape.

Aha! I hoisted him into the air and twirled around. Youre caught, you slippery rascal.

We bumped into Mama as she put lard into the heated fry pan. It sizzled.

Littlebeth Morgan! Mamas nerves showed whenever I got near her burners because of the time I tried to scramble an egg and my pigtail caught fire. She took a breath then gently squeezed my shoulder. You and Joey play outside. That would be helpful.

Yes, maam.

Stay right by your brother. Dont take your eyes off him.

I understood the warning in her voice, meant to remind me of my solemn responsibility not to let him run off. Yes, maam. Hoped she heard the earnestness in my reply.

Carrying Joey past the parlor, I walked slow enough to hear Grandma prattle on about my latest escapade. Papa cleared his throat now and then but didnt interrupt his mothers lecture. Shell be twelve in October. Shes untamed. Her shenanigans are an embarrassment.

Felt bad for Papa. Grandma could talk a blue streak about my faults. If that old bird had her way, Id be in the house all day stitching samplers with verses describing the qualities of a well-bred young lady: silent, sweet, soft. Dull, duller, dullest.

Thank goodness she didnt live with us anymore. When Papa became the manager of Citizens Bank four years ago, he bought Grandma a cottage around the corner. But she always has Sunday dinner with us and comes over whenever she wants. Mama says thats to keep us on our toes, because Grandma once caught Mama reading McCalls magazine instead of doing housework.

I put Joey down, and, as much for Grandma as for my little brother, I growled like a grizzly bear, spread my arms, and clomped after him. He squealed, pushed open the front screen door, and ran.

You have to take the sass out of that lass, Grandma said to Papa, making sure those words followed me outside.

Joey zigzagged around the porch, then went down the steps to the yard on his bottom. Caught him halfway to the picket fence. Tickled him till he begged for mercy. Hummed in his ear while I held him tight and rolled us across the grass. His arms and legs relaxed inside my hug.

Lilbit, story, please, story. He couldnt say my whole name. Annoying, but sort of adorable.

I shook the quilt wed used for a pretend picnic yesterday and forgot to put back in the house. Then I laid it underneath the oak tree and plopped down. Joey crawled onto my lap.

A long time ago, I said, the most wanted desperadoes in the whole Wild West, Frank and Jesse James, came to Paso Robles to hide from the law at their uncle Drury Jamess ranch.

Joey fell asleep before I got to the part when I took my classmates out to that old ranch site last week in Papas wagon. Knew everything about those bank robbers from the dime novels Id read. Figured telling some of their bandit deeds, in the very place theyd laid low, would show the class how exciting, and close, history could be.

Hoped they might finally appreciate me. Maybe even like me. It almost worked. Until Miss Hobson, the school board, and everyones parents got so riled up about the outing. None of the kids will talk to me now. Their folks wont let them.

Eased myself out from under Joey, careful not to wake him. He was on his back so I made sure the oaks branches shaded his face while he napped. Mama said too much sun would give us freckles.

I circled the tree thinking about how wrong everything went last week. Then walked a little faster around the edge of the yard. The injustice of it all simmered my juices. Had to work off steam. Found my skipping rope near the house and started jumping. Counted 227 hops until my foot caught. I stumbled. Drat, blast it!

Feared my curses might rouse Joey. That hed tattle on me. But he didnt stir; his baby snores held steady.

Decided to check Mamas garden for some ripe berries to soothe my mood. Looked over my shoulder at Joey as I went through the gate on the side of the house. Hed be in the land of nod a while longer. Id only be gone a minute.

Didnt find ready fruit on the vines but pulled a few weeds for Mama. Coming back through the gate, I froze when I saw the dreadful triangle shape six paces ahead of me. It moved.

A rattlesnake was poking its big head out from under the house. The serpent flicked its tongue, shook its rattle.

Knew not to catch its eye. Prayed it would go back under the house. But it slithered into the yard. Its long body moved slowly in the warm sun. Problem was, the reptile separated me from Joey. I had no way to get to my brother. If the snake kept going in the same direction, itd pass Joey by a wide space. Likely neither one would notice the other.