“How can you ask? Would I not follow the only thing on this Earth that I love? You are all I have left. Of course, dear child. I’ll go with you to the end of time, to the end of space, and place. I’d cross oceans and borders—borders between centuries and between Kentucky and Indiana or Ohio or Michigan.”

These ordinary names sounded almost magical now in Rose’s ears. But most magical of all was that she was here, sitting in this rose-scented garden with her very own father. She was no longer an orphan.

Chapter 37

Three Awful Girls

That same night, close to dawn, Rose crept into their bedroom and wakened Franny. One look at Rose’s face told Franny everything.

“You found him!”

“I did. He’s here now. At least for a while. And he thinks that Princess Elizabeth is moving back to Hatfield soon. Then we’ll be even closer. I want you to meet him, Franny. He’s so . . . so wonderful.”

“Aaah . . . ,” Franny said sweetly. “I’m happy for you, Rose. Too bad your mum isn’t here. You could be one happy family.” Franny immediately noticed the change in Rose’s face. “What is it, Rose?”

“It’s about my mother, Franny. I had to tell him she was dead.”

“He didn’t know?”

“No.”

“But she died a long time ago, right?” There was a shadow of anxiety in Franny’s voice. They both seemed to sense that they were approaching a difficult, possibly perilous subject.

“Well, sort of a long time ago, Franny. But not exactly.”

“What do you mean?”

“Franny, I don’t know how to say this . . . b-b-b-but . . . b-but . . . but I have a secret.”

“You do?” Franny said in a barely audible voice. She looked down as if to avoid Rose’s gaze. Rose reached out and grasped Franny’s hands. Franny shifted her gaze to the floor. It was as if she were evading Rose’s eyes at all costs. The color was creeping up her neck to her face.

“Franny, might you have a secret too?”

“Maybe,” she mumbled.

“Franny, I’m going to tell you mine, but you don’t have to tell me yours.” There was only silence. “Franny, my secret is that I . . . I come from another time.”

“What time might that be?”

Rose took a deep breath. “A time almost five hundred years from now.”

“So you are a traveler, a time gypsy.” Franny raised her head. Her blue eyes were clear and wide with wonder.

“A time gypsy?”

“Yes.” Franny paused several seconds. “And so am I.”

“You are?”

“That is my secret.”

“From what time?”

“From 1692. Salem, Massachusetts,” Franny said softly. Rose felt a coldness course through her. That was a terrible date and a terrible time. The Salem witch trials. This was unbelievable. She was sitting at a table with a girl from Salem, Massachusetts.

“You were a witch?”