Rose’s heart was racing as she wrapped the shawl more tightly around herself and walked into the kitchen gardens, then around to a lane leading to the rose garden. Ever since Bettina had crept into her bedroom, tapped her shoulder, and awakened her, Rose’s mind had swirled with a zillion questions. How had she not seen him herself? What if he didn’t like her? What if she was a disappointment to him? And if they did like each other, what kind of life could they have? Could she go back to Stow-on-the-Wold and live with her own dad? It struck her now most forcefully that in fact she was no longer an orphan! But should she live here with her father, Nicholas Oliver, or—she hardly dared imagine it—was there any possibility he could somehow pass through that rip in time and go back to Gran’s house with her? But what would a goldsmith from Stow-on-the-Wold, England, in the year 1553 be able to do in modern-day Indianapolis?

Her mind began to buzz with all sorts of difficulties he would encounter. He couldn’t drive a car, for one thing. He’d have to get inoculations—polio, flu shots, tetanus. And his clothing. She tried to imagine this father whom she’d never met in, say, jeans, a plaid flannel shirt, and a North Face parka!

She had just passed a pathway to the tiltyard when a spray of moonlight illuminated the gates of the rose garden. A shift in the wind brought the heady scent of the pink tea roses that clambered over the brick walls of the garden. She ran through the gates. A few petals swirled about her ankles. She turned down a path where immense yellow blossoms burst like a gathering of suns in the shadows of the night.

She stopped and caught her breath. There at the end of this row was a figure standing by the circle of damask roses. He was very still, his hands clasped behind his back. She couldn’t quite believe what might happen. Should she call out to him? Run to him and embrace him? She suddenly was frightened, nervous—like an actor waiting for her cue to stride onstage, yet worried about forgetting her lines. She began to walk slowly toward him. He turned and leaned forward a bit, peering into the darkness. Now the moon had completely vanished behind clouds.

“Rose!”

“Dad!” She tore down the path. She felt herself embraced. He was picking her up; her feet left the ground. He was a tall man. Much taller than most of the men of the court.

“Rose! Rose!” he kept saying.

“Dad!”