—MARCEL PROUST The sound of approaching hoofbeats made me glance up. I shielded my eyes with a hand to block the glare of the summer sun and watched Stuart approach astride Endy. The sweat ran in rivulets down my back, making my chemise stick to my skin. I adjusted the egg basket on my arm and waited for him to approach. I had gradually settled into my new life on a nineteenth-century plantation. I never stopped looking for Annie, but I knew I had time. According to my own calculations gleaned from Zeke’s astronomy books, the next total lunar eclipse wouldn’t occur until September first, 1864. Even then, the possibility of a comet being present, or even needed for my purposes, remained a mystery to me. I could only wait and see—and continue asking everyone I met if they had heard of a lost little girl on Moon Mountain. The work was hard, but I reveled in the simplicity of it. No background noise of traffic, phones, or televisions.
