Then there was a ding of a new text coming in. “Lord love a duck!” Rose muttered, one of her mom’s favorite expressions. It was a busy night text-wise. Well, the weekend was coming up. This one was from Joe, to both her and Susan.

Would you two like to come to ice-skating rink tomorrow after school?

Susan must be in meltdown mode, Rose thought. Another ding.

Forget black lace dress. I’ll call Elsie and put it on hold.

Another ding. Rose quickly texted back:

Excellent decision!

Rose puffed out her cheeks and blew, after her texting marathon. And now she had to sprint back to the text-less, no-smartphones sixteenth century and try to track her time there.

“So where was I?” she whispered, as she focused on the date at the top of the diary page. She unconsciously put her hands to the little hollow between her collarbones to feel for the locket. Gone! Stolen! But how can I miss something that might not be? It was just a picture! Then the echo of Franny’s voice threaded through her mind. Why not try to find your father—the real man?

But what is real? Rose thought. Is this real, to be caught between two centuries? Batted about like a stray autumn leaf—a leaf out of season, perhaps, or between seasons. Speaking of which—it suddenly occurred to her—where was September? Was she trapped back there? The last time she had glimpsed the cat, she was in the alley. Her thoughts were interrupted by the ding of another text message. She glanced at her phone. Susan. Caught between two friends, Susan and Franny! Franny, who told her to find the real man, and not just the picture. But in that moment when Sara had taken the locket from her neck, when she felt the weight of the locket vanish, she knew for sure that the man in the ruff must be her father.

She got up and went into her bathroom to look at herself in the mirror. She had done this more than a dozen times since she had first had the locket. She would open it up, then glance back and forth between the image of the man’s face and her own reflected there. Except now the locket had been taken from her. It was no longer in her grasp. She leaned in closer to the mirror, which was becoming blurry as a scrim of tears filled her eyes. “Stop it!” she hissed at herself. She stomped out of the bathroom and focused on her diary. She forced her hand to stay put and not reach for that haunting spot between her collarbones.