After that encounter with the slave-catcher, I no longer felt that I was finding my place in Lewiston. I was afraid to visit the shops on Center Street and only left the house to make wary excursions to the library and post office. Weeks went by when the postal clerk behaved as though I were a nuisance. I couldn’t make out whether he was crotchety by nature, or if he was one of the townspeople who refused to accept me, so I never felt comfortable approaching the window and asking, “Anything for Lewis?” But one summer morning soon after school had let out for the year, the clerk seemed pleased to hand me a fat envelope. When my hand touched the letter I had longed for, a shiver rippled through me. Whether it was from fear or excitement I didn’t know, but I hid my fee...

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