Hours later, long after the unexpected visitors had been forced out by her mother, Abby found herself still pondering about what they had said. Her grandfather had never made his travels a secret. After the war he had spent a few years exploring. He'd often regaled her with tales of his adventures in China, India and the Middle East. While all of the tales had been exciting, none had ever compared to his stories of the small island nation of Savaria.

          Perhaps it was the way his eyes took on a far off look whenever he'd spoken about the country, but Abby always sensed that he regretted leaving.

          Each time he finished a tale she'd never fail to express her desire to go there. A part of her had always hoped if she did, it would be with her grandpa. Unfortunately, he'd passed away before they ever had the chance. If the stories he told were to be believed, and Abby had always had her doubts, he had made some very influential friends among the nobility.

          Perhaps there was a chance she had some sort of a mysterious benefactor? Was it simply wishful thinking on her part? Had her mother's rude behavior ruined all of it? The very thought made her anger, which simmered just below the threshold of her self-control, begin to boil again. Why did it feel like that woman went out of her way to make Abby's life a living hell? What had Abby ever done to deserve that sort of treatment? Weren't mothers supposed to love their children?

          Where had it all gone wrong?

          Another thought nagged at the back of Abby's mind. It was something her mother had said. Something about a ring? Her mother had been quick to mention it before Vanessa or Jasper could even think to bring it up. Did one really exist? Had her mother really pawned it? She tried to think of any point in time where her mother's behavior might have indicated she'd come into some money. Nothing came immediately to mind.

          If there was a ring, what did it signify?

          A thought struck Abby, and she rolled off her bed kicking side her blanket in the process. She made her way to the desk on the far side of her small room. The desk was old, made of pressed particle board and metal, something she had salvaged from the dumpster years ago. Shoving it easily aside, Abby knelt beside the now exposed wall. Using her finger nails she pried a piece of paneling way to reveal a hole underneath.

          This was her special spot. Instead of trying to fix the panel when it had broken, Abby used it as a hiding place for things she held near and dear to her.

          Slipping her arm into the hole she fished around for a minute before finding what she was looking for – an old cigar box. Her grandpa had smoked them often and always smelled of cigar smoke. Whenever she opened the box and caught the lingering scent she could almost imagine he was there beside her.

          "I miss you," she murmured softly, running her fingers over the fading image on the top of the box. Taking a deep breath, she opened it and began to sift through the contents. They were all things she had salvaged from his home before it had been cleared out. Her mother had insisted on throwing everything away, but she had managed to grab a handful of things without her noticing. There was the Purple Heart he had been awarded for showing exceptional honor in the face of danger, a dried rose she always seen him looking at with a sad regret, and a small, nondescript wooden music box. The box was what she'd been looking for and she lifted it out before replaced the cover.

          Lifting it to her ear, she shook the box lightly. Just as she suspected she heard a soft rattle. She had always assumed it was just some component of the musical part that had fallen loose, but now Abby couldn't help but wonder if it was something more.

          Abby began to search the box all over, trying to find some sort of lever, or button, which would reveal a secret compartment. All the while the soft rattle continued each time the box was turned or twisted in some way. The more she searched, the more Abby felt like it was calling to her, begging to be finally be discovered.

          "Come on," she groaned in frustration. This sort of thing always worked in the movies. "How do you open?"

          Turning the box upside down, Abby examined it more closely. It was then that she noticed one of the screws holding the bottom panel on was missing. A rush of excitement washed over her and she dragged the drawer to the desk open.

          A screwdriver! She needed a screwdriver.

          After several minutes of searching she came up empty handed. There had to be one I the trailer somewhere, but if she started searching anywhere outside her room her mother was going to hear her. She'd start asking questions, and Abby didn't want her to know what she was doing.

          As she sat back in defeat, a thought dawned on her.

          Adam.

          Slipping the box into her backpack, Abby slung it over her shoulder and crept from her room into the hallway. The TV was blaring, concealing any sounds she made as she peered around the corner and into the living room. Her mother was sprawled across the couch, a half-eaten bowl of popcorn resting on her chest, and a bottle hanging from her fingers.

          Typical.

          Normally the sight of her mother in such a state disgusted Abby. Tonight, she was grateful for it. Stepping into the small kitchen she waited a moment just to make sure her mother was really down for the count.

          "I'm going out," she said, her voice getting drowned out by whatever show was currently dominating the television. Not that it mattered, her mother was too far gone. The trailer could have been burning down around her and she'd never know.

          Just as Abby had anticipated, there was no response.

          Taking a deep breath, she slipped out the front door and eased it closed behind her.

          It took nearly an hour for her to reach Adam's neighborhood on foot. He lived in the better part of town in one of those subdivisions with its cookie cutter houses and manicured lawns. She made sure not to linger too long in any one place. These were the sort of people who'd call the police in a heartbeat about 'suspicious activity'. The last thing Abby wanted was a run in with the local law enforcement. They'd bring her home, wake up her mom, and then there would be real hell to pay.

          Fortunately, Adam only lived two blocks in and it didn't take long to reach his house. Abby made her way quietly to the front door, careful to use the large slate stepping stones rather than crushing Mr. Patterson's perfect law. She knocked on the door and stepped back to wait. All the while Abby did her best to temper her impatience.

          Finally, the door open, light from inside spilling out onto the front stoop. "Abby?" It was Adam's father and he looked both puzzled and slightly unhappy to see her there.

          "Hey, Mr. Patterson," she said, trying to act casual. "Is Adam home?"

          "It's a little late, Abby," he answered. "Is everything okay?"

          "Is it?" she replied, trying to sound surprised and apologetic. "Yeah, everything is fine, I just didn't realize what time it was." From over Mr. Patterson's shoulder, she caught sight of Adam creeping quietly down the stairs.

          "Almost eleven," he informed her, as if Abby really cared about how late it was. She tried to look apologetic.

          "Oh, man, I'm super sorry," Abby said. "I just really needed to borrow a screwdriver. It's to finish this science project, if I don't get it done I'll flunk." She raised her voice just a tad hoping Adam would be able to hear her. He gave her a thumbs up and crept back up the stairs.

          "Well, you can ask him tomorrow," Mr. Patterson replied. "Do you need a ride home?"

          "No, thanks though," she said, noting the look of relief that flashed through his eyes. She knew he was just glad he wouldn't have to venture over to her neck of the woods. She couldn't blame him, she'd avoid it too if she was given the option.

          "Well then, good night Abby. Go straight home and be careful," he ordered in that stern way only fathers who cared could manage. It made her heart ache a little. What she wouldn't give for someone to care, even a smidgen. Shoving the thought aside, she grinned.

          "Always," she assured him before turning on her heel and retreating back down the walkway. She'd been taking care of herself for as long as she could remember and had learned early on which places to avoid, and when, if she wanted to play it safe. If Abby was anything she was a survivor.

          She didn't go home like Mr. Patterson suggested, instead she walked deeper into Adam's neighborhood towards a small park meant for the residents of the community and not an outsider like Abby.

          That didn't stop Abby. Nor the sign dictating the rules and the curfew. Crossing the smooth, clean asphalt, Abby dropped down into an empty swing and waited. She kicked off the ground with her feet and used the momentum to carry her back and forth. Closing her eyes, Abby lost herself in the rush of the wind and the gentle creak of the chains. For a moment, Abby could pretend, that she was somewhere else, that she was free of her problems.

          Then Adam arrived, and she was brought crashing back down to reality. He took up the empty swing to her right, and she dug her heels into the ground to slow herself down.

          "About time," she said, rocking slightly.

          "Sorry," he said, smiling sheepishly. "My dad took forever to go to bed. Here." He handed her a woven sack full of screwdrivers.

          "Geeze, Adam, I only needed one," Abby laughed, poking at the contents.

          "I know, but you weren't exactly specific," Adam pointed out. "I went to grab one and I realized there were all different sizes and I didn't know if you needed a flat head or a Philips."

         "Like I could say all that in front of your dad without him looking at me like I was crazy," Abby retorted. "He's not that dumb."

          Adam laughed this time and Abby turned her attention back to the screwdrivers. "Let's see..." she dug through the bag and after a minute of searching, she found one that would work. Adam leaned closer, watching as she dug the music box out of her backpack and flipped it over.

          "What's that?" He asked.

          Abby got the first screw out.

          "A music box," she replied, working on the second.

          "And you needed to take it apart in the middle of the night because...?"

          "I think there is something hidden inside," she grunted as she struggled with the third screw. It was twisted in tight and refused to turn.

          "Oh, that makes perfect sense," Adam replied sarcastically.

         "I don't know how to explain it because I'm not even sure what it is," Abby retorted, the screwdriver twisting as the stubborn screw finally gave in. She still hadn't told him about the visitors that afternoon.

         "What it is? I feel like I skipped a chapter in the Story of Abby," Adam protested. "I brought you a bag full of screw drivers, at least you can tell me what's going on."

          Abby pulled the third and final screw loose. "Some people were at the trailer today when I got home," she explained. "My mom thought they were from social services, but it turns out they were representatives."

          "Representatives? Like... door to door salesmen or something? Did they try to sell you a vacuum clear?" Adam asked. Abby struggled to pry the bottom away from the rest of the box.

          "No, they were delegates, ambassadors or something, from a place called Savaria," Abby corrected, the bottom of the music box finally popping loose.

          "And they told you to open this box and find something? Abby, are you feeling okay?" Adam reached out to touch her forehead and she swatted his hand away.

          "No, I mean yes, I mean. Listen. They claimed it had something to do with my grandpa," Abby said, looking over at him, "but my mom got really upset when they said who they were representing... she started yelling about a ring supposedly sold. Then she kicked them out."

          "And you think the ring is in this box?"

          "I have no idea, but if it is..."

          "What? What's going to happen if you find this ring?" Adam asked, looking a bit skeptical.

         "I honestly have no idea," Abby admitted, lifting lid. "Let me borrow your cell phone." She said, reaching her hand out to him. He grumbled something about asking nicely and fished the phone out of his pocket. He dropped it into her outstretched palm and she used the light from the screen to illuminate the inside of the box. A glint of metal caught her eye and she reached in to dig it out.

          "Did you find it?"

          "I don't know, Adam!" She exclaimed irritably. "Will you please be quiet for just one second?"

        "Well, sorry," he grumped. She managed to get a hold of whatever it was and pulled it free. Her excitement was short lived as what had felt ring-like was in fact a round piece of metal that had come loose from the music-playing mechanism. She pulled it out and held it up under the light of the phone.

          "I'm guessing this isn't the ring then?" Adam asked, taking it from her.

          "No," she replied, her mood plummeting. This wasn't fair. It should have been there! It had been her best chance at making a better life for herself. She reached for the piece of wood that made up the bottom of the box. She was about to return it when Adam stopped her.

          "Wait," he said. "There's something there, a piece of paper."

          Sure enough, on the underside of the panel a small strip of paper was taped.

          "Union Blue. Two-Five-Zero-Three-One. A Promise."

          "What does it mean?" Adam asked.

          "I have no idea... maybe it's some sort of secret code?" Abby suggested.

          Adam shrugged. "Could be locker at Union station or something," he joked. "You know, like in those movies with spies or undercover CIA agents? Was your grandpa a spy?"

          "That's it!" Abby exclaimed.

          "He was a spy?"

          "No," Abby replied rolling her eyes. "It's not for a locker either, but it could be for a safety deposit box."

          "Well aren't you just a regular Sherlock Holmes," Adam grinned. "But what makes you so sure?"

          "I saw something for him in the mail a few months ago, I didn't read the letter, obviously, but the name of the bank on the front was Blue Union Bank."

          "Not to rain on your parade, but aren't you even a little worried your mom has figured all this out? What if she got to it first? She did claim to have sold this ring you are looking for." Adam asked.

          "Even if she has figured it out, she'd need this to know what number the safety deposit box is," Abby replied excitedly. "I have the number and tomorrow I am going to find out what's inside."