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Old Man Rochester was running toward her, his feet crunching through the snow. Before she could blink, he’d circled the bench and grabbed her by the upper arms. Grace didn’t know what to do, but surely, he’d realize she wasn’t Hannah.

“Where have you been, girl? We’ve searched these woods for hours. Were you hiding?”

Grace shook her head, helplessly. Should she answer him? Before she could say anything, he pulled her into a tight hug, burying her face against his front. She wrinkled her nose, expecting stink. Didn’t homeless people stink? But he didn’t. He smelled like freshly laundered clothes.

Then he set her back, looking into her face again, and it gave her a chance to look at him for the first time close up as well. Old Man Rochester had to be in his seventies. Most of his hair was gone, and she wondered if he even noticed how cold his head was. His eyes were a faded blue, but they were smiling, as Mama liked to say. His cheeks looked windburned, and she wanted to reach up and cover them with her hands. It wasn’t her place, though.

“Lottie will be so excited to see you, child. You’ve been gone so long.”

“But I’m not…”

Tears had started in the old man’s eyes. Grace snapped her mouth shut, and she allowed him to pull her close as he sniffled over top of her, his arms trembling. Tears started in her own eyes, too, at the obvious pain the man was in, but she still didn’t know what to do. He was crying with joy at finding her. But she wasn’t Hannah.

Grace couldn’t continue with the lie. She knew from her own experience that the longer the lie went, the more it hurt at the end. She tugged back, looking for his face. “Mr. Rochester, I’m Grace. Grace Lowell.”

He smiled down at her, frowning slightly. “Why are you calling me Mr. Rochester? I’m Grandpa, remember? Grandpa.”

Grace shook her head. “No, sir. You’re not my grandpa. And I’m not Hannah.”

A shiver of confusion contorted his face, then anger, and Grace started to become concerned. He still had a grip on her arms, and she tugged back, trying to get him to let her go.

“I don’t know what foolishness this is, but you need to stop it, Hannah. Let’s go home and get some soup and cocoa, like we used to do.”

Grace jerked, trying to break his grip, but the old man had strong hands that just tightened on her arms. Maybe she needed to approach this a different way. Instead of trying to get away, she nodded toward the bag on the bench. “I brought our lunch.”

A smile broke out on Mr. Rochester’s face. “You did? Oh, what a smart girl you are. Let’s eat something.”

They sat on the bench, and Grace handed him the bag. He pulled the chips out, and the little Debbies, wrinkling his nose, slightly. Then he pulled out the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. “This is on store-bought bread. Don’t you have a loaf of my bread at home? I sent one with your mother just the other day.”

Grace blinked, absorbing the details. She shook her head. “No, sir. It’s all gone.”

“Well,” he said, smiling again, “we’ll get you another loaf from the store. Maybe a good sourdough. It goes with everything.”

Grace felt really bad for Mr. Rochester. Pawpaw had said something about his store, but it hadn’t been open for a very long time. Mr. Rochester was very confused. She glanced at the sidewalk, looking for anyone she could wave down for help, but everyone was at work and school. Where she should be, she admitted to herself.

The old man wasn’t believing her words, so she was going to have to run from him. The thought made her stomach clench. It made her sad because she didn’t want to hurt him any more than he’d already been hurt, but she didn’t know how else to get out of this situation. He was unwrapping the Saran wrap from the sandwich, and she thought it was time. Her heart racing, she jumped up from the bench and tried to take off. That was the moment her luck broke, and her feet slid on the ice in the shadow of the bench. She lost her balance and landed on her butt, hard, her teeth clacking together. She skittered back as Old Man Rochester jumped to his feet, reaching for her. He managed to grab her coat sleeve, but her momentum jerked her away. Unfortunately, she felt herself skidding down the bank to the pond. Grace hit the ice hard, her head snapping down first. Then she heard another crack, beneath her. She drew in a breath to scream, but the icy water stole her breath.

* * *

Cheyenne looked up with a smile when Joan Hampton knocked lightly on her door. She got up from her desk to cross the room to meet her. “Hey, what’s up?” she whispered, trying not to bother the students behind her taking the quiz.

Joan glanced around. “Well, I was looking for Grace. I thought she might be in here with you.”

Cheyenne frowned. “She should be in class. Did she go to the bathroom?”

Joan shook her head. “She wasn’t in her seat at attendance.”

Glancing at the clock, fear clutched at Cheyenne’s heart. Her brilliant daughter was a little wild, but she loved school. For a terrible moment, she feared that Wade Shipton, Grace’s father, had returned, but that was impossible. He was locked away for a very long time. Cheyenne crossed to the phone and called the front office.

“Joy, can you page Grace to come to my room, please.”

“Honey, I was just about to call you,” the older woman said. “You need to get downtown. I have someone coming to relieve you.”

“What’s happened,” Cheyenne asked, more calmly than she thought she could.

“Grace has been in an accident. The Sheriff is on his way.”

Cheyenne hung up, and immediately turned for her desk. She scrabbled for her phone in her purse, and she found three text messages from Sheridan.