In the early morning, Emma Schrader sat up in bed. His hands searched the top of his nightstand for the box of matches. She felt the familiar edges of the box; it was exactly where she had left it. She retrieved a single match and clumsily dragged the tip across the rough-hewn table. A bright flame exploded. Emma touched the match to the wick of the candle she kept on the table next to her bed. Emma took great care to write down her thoughts during these few waking moments. Lately her dreams had been vivid – almost too vivid – but she found that they were fading as the day progressed, so she decided to write them down as quickly and as quickly as possible. Although his dreams were confusing, they weren't disturbing. Emma, ​​always hungry for a good mystery, couldn't wait to solve this last riddle. It was her personal riddle, and it was hers alone as far as she knew, and not a riddle she had read in a book. In fact, this puzzling turn of events didn't even resemble any of the mysteries she had discovered in the dozens of books she regularly borrowed from her teacher, Miss Rankin. In truth, Emma's dreams were a welcome diversion from the routine and predictable farm life she knew during the day. The seasons followed one another as expected. Cultures were always conventional. The farm animals were normal. It seemed to Emma that nothing had ever changed; nothing exciting ever happened on the farm. She decided long ago that life on the farm was not for her. His birth into this family must have been a cosmic mistake. She was sure that her destiny would hold adventures far greater than milking cows and mending fences. Emma wanted intrigue. She convinced herself that she could...... middle of paper ......e every day. She put on her overalls. They were boy's overalls. The same overalls she wore every day. Then Emma heard the door of the small brick house close with its "thud!" " familiar. This noise meant that Dad was tired of waiting for him and had headed to the barn alone. If she didn't hurry up, she would be in big trouble. As he walked across the barnyard, she could hear him whistling a tune that was familiar to her. Even though she never knew the name of the tune (if, in fact, it had a name), it was Dad's tune because he whistled it wherever he wanted. It was his routine and Dad thrived in it. As much as Emma loved her father, she despised the sameness of routine. The last place Emma wanted to be was holed up on a farm in central Pennsylvania. She was destined for adventure and there was certainly no adventure on the Schrader farm..