There are times when it feels as if retreat is the only option. For Jocelyn, this was one of those times. The girl was most definitely running away, though she had no idea where she was going, nor what she would do when she got there. All she knew was that she could not stay at that terrible school for another moment.

The morning was cold and damp. It had rained through the night and was threatening to start up again at any moment. The trail was slick with mud, and as she tried to navigate a sudden curve, Jocelyn slipped and fell. There she lay, gasping and sweating, streaked with sludge. She had never felt more tired, more hungry, or more defeated. Her eyes stung with tears that she refused to let fall, while unhappy thoughts chased one another around her mind.

Perhaps he isn’t coming.

I can understand why he didn’t come for me when I was younger—a ship is no place for a little child—but I’m older now. I could be such a great help to him.…

Perhaps he has forgotten all about me.

There she lay, quite literally wallowing in heartbreak and mud, feeling as if she couldn’t possibly be any more miserable. That is, until the clouds let loose and it began to pour.

What a stroke of good luck! Without that wretched, cold rain, who knows how long the girl might have languished in her own personal slough of despond? But with it Jocelyn’s physical discomfort quickly overpowered her anguish, pushing her to her feet in order to search for a place to wait out the storm.

She continued up the trail, reasoning that it must lead somewhere. Lightning flashed in the distance. If Jocelyn didn’t find shelter soon, she might be forced to turn back.

Fortunately for her, it didn’t come to that. Through the heavy rain, Jocelyn spied a small structure. Years before, the school had been located near where she now was. After being destroyed by a fire (one that I staunchly deny having had anything to do with), the main building was rebuilt in a location nearer the road. The old carriage house remained untouched by the flames, but it was no longer convenient for use and had been largely abandoned. It was to this building that Jocelyn came for shelter.

The heavy wooden door was swollen from the moisture in the air, causing it to stick. A brisk wind tore at Jocelyn’s dress as she struggled to force her way in. Finally, she leaned her shoulder into it and shoved with all her might. With a horrible screech of its massive hinges, the door popped open and admitted the cold and dripping girl.

Inside, the room was dim, but enough light filtered through a pair of grimy windows that Jocelyn could make out her surroundings. Since it was so clearly abandoned, she incorrectly assumed that the little building would be empty. Instead, it was piled high—to the rafters in places—with items that had long outlived their usefulness and thus had been banished here…rather like an old person’s house.

Or a house filled with old people.

Exploring proved to be the perfect distraction from Jocelyn’s more immediate troubles. The girl quickly began thinking of the carriage house, and all the things in it, as her own. She took careful notice of what was contained in her hoard, speaking aloud an inventory of the more interesting-looking objects.

“One purple horsehair sofa with springs poking out in two—no, three—different places; a marble bust of an ugly old man, missing an ear; one grandfather clock, stopped, face cracked and missing the minute hand; several mildewed charts and maps, possibly leading to buried treasure; two matching candelabra, much of the silver leaf rubbed off; four broken dress forms; a stack of dusty blankets, don’t mind if I do…”

She grabbed a couple, wrapping them around herself for warmth.

“One rusty birdcage, bright red feathers still on the bottom; and a skeleton, presumably for teaching, but one can never be sure.”

Jocelyn’s inventory was interrupted by a loud thump nearly directly overhead. She startled and looked up. Was there a second floor? In a shadowy corner, nearly obscured by forgotten objects, the girl spied an ancient-looking ladder disappearing into a dark, open hatch in the ceiling. Perhaps she was not alone.

Forgetting her treasures, Jocelyn carefully made her way over. She placed a hand on the ladder and stood still, listening. All was quiet above her. Even so, she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was up there. The girl began to climb to the dimly lit loft, her heart pounding, not with fear, but with the thrill of what she might discover. Sadly, upon reaching the loft and looking around, Jocelyn discovered only disappointment. Other than dust, cobwebs, and spiders, the room was empty.

Weak daylight streamed through a large round window. It was slightly ajar, the floor beneath wet from the storm. Jocelyn crossed the room to close it and stood a moment, looking out. The rain was already beginning to let up. A few brave sunbeams shone through breaks in the clouds. Overhead, the girl caught a glimpse of some great black bird soaring through the sky. She wished she could be as free.

Jocelyn was about to turn away when a sparkle caught her eye. A piece of jewelry lay on the windowsill. More treasure for her hoard?

Her fingers tingled as she held the piece up for a closer look. A heavy silver medallion hung from a dusty velvet ribbon. It was shaped like an egg, with a jeweled sea serpent on the front. In the dim light from the window, she was just able to make out an inscription on the back:

To E.H. on our wedding day.

Interesting.

Jocelyn ran her fingers over the jewels. One stuck out a bit more than the rest. She pressed it, and the pendant sprang open. It was a locket!

Inside, it held a miniature painting of a familiar-looking man. He stood at the bow of a ship, wind whipping long dark curls about his face. The look in the man’s deep blue eyes was intense, fierce, and determined. Jocelyn studied it closely for several long minutes, then whispered, “Hello, Father.”