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WALK TWO MOONS SHARON CREECH WINNER OF THE NEWBERY MEDAL A Face at the Window Gramps says that I am a country girl at heart, a nd that is true. I have lived most of my thirteen years in Bybanks, Kentucky, whi ch is not much more than a caboodle of houses roosting in a green spot alongside the Ohio River. Just over a year ago, my father plucked me up like a weed and took me and all our belongings (no, that is not true – he did n ot bring the chestnut tree or the willow or the maple or the hayloft or the swimm ing hole or any of those things which belong to me) and we drove three hundr ed miles straight north and stopped in front of a house in Euclid, Ohio. ‘Where are the trees?’ I said. ‘This is where we ‘re going to live?’ ‘No,’ my father said. ‘This is Margaret’s house. ‘ The front door of the house opened, and Margaret , the lady with the wild red hair, stood there. I looked up and down the str eet. The buildings were all jammed together like a row of birdhouses In front o f each one was a tiny square of grass, and in front of that was a long, l ong cement sidewalk running alongside the cement road. ‘Where’s the barn?’ I asked. ‘Where’s the river? Where’s the swimming hole?’ ‘Oh, Sal,’ my father said. ‘Come along. There’s Margaret.’ He waved to the lady at the door. ‘We have to go back.’ I said ‘I forgot something . The lady with the wild red hair opened the door and came out on the porch.
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