For the second night in a row, Ava didn't sleep very well.
They had gone back to Tommy's house and Tommy's family had offered her a bed in the loft above their cabin.
Just a soft mattress stuffed with straw and a heavy quilt.
But Ava's mind was racing way too fast for her to sleep.
The storm had passed, but the river had not calmed down and the tree, the one that carried her across time was nowhere to be found.
She was stuck.
And yet, she didn't feel that scared.
Not exactly, because Tommy was there and he knew that she was from another time.
In the morning, Tommy took her to the riverbank again.
Nothing, he said.
I checked upstream and down.
That tree is gone.
Ava sighed.
Am I really going to have to live the rest of my life in 1890?
How did this happen anyway?
I don't know.
Tommy said but hey, since this whole place is new to you, let me show you around a little bit.
So they spent the day together and Tommy showed her how to carry water from the well, how to use a washboard, how to collect eggs from the hens without getting pecked.
Everything was slower and simpler in Tommy's time.
And some things seemed a lot harder, but some things were even easier than where Ava was from.
That afternoon Tommy took her to a sunny spot near the riverbank, his pockets full of tiny dark seeds.
My grandfather saved these, he said.
He said they were special.
They're cherry trees, but we never planted them.
And Ava knelt beside him.
You mean like the ones I can see from my side of the river?
Tommy tilted his head.
What do you mean?
There aren't any cherry trees near the river.
And then Ava's jaw dropped as she started putting the pieces together.
Wow, you're right.
I didn't even notice that.
I can see the cherry trees from my side of the river, but I can't see them when I'm over here.
So together they planted the seeds into the soil one by one along the river's edge.
A lot of times, seeds never survive when I plant them like this, Tommy said.
And Ava smiled, thinking about how big and beautiful these seeds would grow up to be.
I'm pretty sure these ones are going to make it, Tommy.
Let's plant them in a curve, she said.
That's a good idea, Tommy grinned.
So they followed the bend of the river like a path.
And that evening, as they sat outside watching the sun dip low behind the trees, Tommy handed Ava something wrapped in cloth.
What's this? she asked.
I figured you'd want to keep drawing, he said.
It's charcoal.
We make it from the fire.
Okay, thanks, as she unwrapped the cloth and found something else tucked inside.
It was a small picture frame made of wood and it had a delicate swirl pattern on the front and tiny initials carved on the back.
T.R.
What's this?
Ava asked.
Tommy looked surprised.
That?
Oh, I made that.
Ava turned it over in her hand.
The swirl pattern looked familiar.
She had seen this somewhere before, but she couldn't remember where.
That night she curled up in bed thinking about it and then suddenly she remembered she had seen that very same picture frame in her grandmother's house.
She had passed by it a hundred times but never looked at it that closely.
She could see it now an old, black and white photo of a boy, A boy named Thomas R Whitmore.
It was her great-great-great-grandfather.
And then, she sat straight up in bed, her breath caught in her throat.
Tommy, she whispered, the boy who had found her drawings.
The boy who had saved her from the river.
The boy who brought her across time.
And in that moment, Ava realized she hadn't just wandered into the past.
She had stepped into the roots of her own story.
But that's a story for another day.
