She paused on the narrow road, standing between the well-worn ruts, and peered down the path before her. There - up the hill a bit and just off the road she spied a small cottage, with a barn and another farm outbuilding nearby. The barn - she should be able to curl up in the barn for a nap, and maybe, if she were lucky, she could find something to eat. Through frosty breath she hastened her step, anxious to get into the barn and to escape the chill.She crept around the back of the barn, the ice-tinged grass crunching softly under her shoes, and carefully she peered inside. It was dark and gloomy, but there were no animals, and more importantly, no people inside. She glanced around the outside of the farmyard and saw a man in the distance, walking hunched over beside a horse-drawn wagon, bending over frequently to pluck something from the ground and load it onto the cart. It looked like the back-breaking labor of harvest; the merest thought of the work made the girl realize just. And now all she could feel for him was the sadness of what had never existed between them—or for him. The Reverend Albin had lived to be eighty-eight. Ada, who had always been told her dominate characteristics came from her father’s side, could take comfort from his longevity. However, she told herself that, if she had the choice of living quietly to ninety or to live life to its fullness and die decades earlier, she’d choose the shorter life for herself without hesitation. What had really brought her grief and had slapped her in the face with the trouble that was brewing in the world, however, happened the following month, in May. An experimental aircraft Quentin Hopewell and his wife, Estelle, were very publicly taking on an around-the-world adventure on a National Geographic assignment disappeared off the tracking charts in a group of Japanese-held Chinese islands off the coast of Hainan Island. A storm had put the aircraft significantly off course, it wasn’t scheduled to go.
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