From the Newbery-Award winning author of Catherine, Called Birdy and The Midwife's Apprentice comes the story of an orphan who decides to go west--with nothing but gumption as her guide. Sally O'Malley is an orphan working at a mineral spring hotel in the woods of central Oregon--that is, until she's chucked out like chewed-on chicken bones, due entirely to an unfortunate incident with a pig and some church ladies. And so Sally decides to head west to the sea. Glorious, she's heard. Fierce, she's heard. Why not see for herself? Before long Sally encounters a dangerous bobcat--and that's just the first day! Safe in the knowledge that she's fearless, she continues on her journey with no place to belong and no one to depend on. And that's just fine with her. Then a lady called Major, an old donkey, a loyal dog, and an abominable brat show Sally that she's not quite as brave as she thinks. It turns out that counting on someone else is the scariest thing of all. ★ "[A] middle-grade page turner that will work equally well for reading aloud or reading alone.... This lively adventure tale is a page-turner for historical fiction fans ." — Booklist , starred review ★ "[T]his evocative historical novel....will have readers clambering to hitch a ride on this entertaining and gratifying adventure ." — Publishers Weekly , starred review " An engrossing historical journey , filled with shenanigans that support trust and growth." — Kirkus Reviews "Sally O’Malley’s adventure will grip and charm even the most reluctant of readers ." — School Library Journal "The choreography of peril and refuge is well managed as readers find themselves cheering Sally on to her happy ending." — The Horn Book Karen Cushman is the Newbery Award-winning author of The Midwife's Apprentice, Catherine, Called Birdy , and War and Millie McGonigle , among many other popular novels for young readers. She was inspired to write about a girl making her way west after many years of visiting Cannon Beach, a small town on the Oregon coast with a long history, with her family. One Miz Broome chucked me out. Chucked me right out like I was chewed-on chicken bones. “That’s the last straw, Sally O’Malley,” she called as she chucked my coat after me. “Goodbye, and good riddance.” Jumpin’ jiminy! Due to an unfortunate incident with the pig and the church ladies, I was out and on my own. And so was the pig. The sun was too strong for a coat, but my red knitted cap stayed put. I took long strides ahead, for there was nothing behind me but an angry Miz Broome and her River Hotel and Mineral Spring. Still, where was I going? And what for? I had no purpose or destination, no place to belong, no one to depend on, no one to miss or to miss me. Nothing was holding me or calling me anywhere. I was aimless as a falling leaf. Alone. But there are worse things than being alone. I knew that for sure. A tiny shiver shook me. Fear? Not Sally O’Malley. It was more likely excitement, or maybe too much of the foul-smelling water from Miz Broome’s mineral spring. I just kept walking. Moses and the Israelites wandered the desert for forty years be-fore they figured out where they were going and why. I reckoned I’d wander on a while and hope it wouldn’t take me as long. I ate as I walked, fed by the thimbleberries, huckleberries, and dark-blue berries of the salal shrubs that grew in thickets beside the road. My hands turned purple from the berries, and I rubbed them on my face and growled. Beware! I was hun-gry and ferocious. If only I were purple all the time, so creepy that people would stay away. I hadn’t had many good experiences with people in my life, and I tended to keep clear of them. Soon enough, I was bone-weary from the walking, tired as a hound with ten pups. And, I had to admit, a bit low-down from the turn of events. Though it was still light, and the evening lingered mild and sweet, I sought somewhere to sleep. “Let’s find me a place,” I said right out loud, and it was strange to hear a human voice. “Far enough from the road that I won’t get squashed by a wagon, but not so far that I get lost in the woods.” Fir and cedar trees grew as close together as sardines in a can, and so tall I swore I could see angels sitting on the tops, flapping their wings at me. The ground was thick with ferns and bracken, and carpeted in fir needles. I gathered heaps of fir branches and made a pile, wrapped myself in my coat, and settled down with an oof. The ground was still warm, though a little damp, and soft but for lumps of fir cones. It would do. It was dark as the inside of an old boot when I jerked awake. Crickets and katydids chirped. The frogs by the river krek-keked. Foxes screeched like babies crying, and owls hoo-hooed at each other. Unknown critters scrambled and snuffled and snorted. What a rumpus. I jumped to my feet, brushing off the ants and spiders. I hollered, “All of you, pipe down and let me sleep!” It didn’t work, but it didn’t ma