One hundred years later a passenger bus drove over rolling hills. The coach stopped near a weathered sign pointing to Morning. Eleven-year-old Tessa stepped out to hug her grandmother. The girl had visited each summer but this was the first year that she was old enough to ride the bus by herself. Tessa's blonde hair and fare skin made her almost disappear into the yellow hay fields behind her. As Grandmother's car pulled away from the bus stop a cardboard cutout of the girl's uncle waved at them with a motorized arm advertising ghost town tours. The man was a jolly-faced mirror image of his land swindling great-grandfather.