Alma’s face scrunched in confusion.
Josephine looked at Ida and Fargus for support, but both were sound asleep.
“Start from the beginning, hon. Don’t rush. Perhaps Bruce and I can help you.” Alma stared at her, her intense eyes willing Josephine to tell her everything.
And Josephine did. She felt a deep desire to tell these people anything they wanted. She told them about Fargus’s appearance in her garden, her tumble through the shed, the Institute, Stairway Ruth and Kitchen Maggie, and the encounter with the Brothers, and she also told them about her father, his gloves, and his total lack of interest in her.
“And who is your father, dear?” Alma asked.
“Mr. Russing,” she answered.
Bruce and Alma exchanged a look. It reminded her of the look people gave at home whenever his name was mentioned. But how would they know him here?
She could have talked all night; she was so relieved to tell someone about her predicament. These were adults, nice, responsible people who would help her get home. She was in the middle of the story about her schoolteacher and the silly, squashy tomatoes when she drifted off to sleep, with the hot chocolate mug still delicately perched on her lap.
SEVENTEEN
Ida awoke in a strange bed, covered in layers of old blankets. She looked over and saw Fargus similarly buried in the bed next to hers. For all she knew, they might have been sleeping for days. She labored to remove the heavy blankets, noting that a smaller child could have been stuck under their weight indefinitely. She got out of the bed, stretched, and looked around.
The room was completely bare. They were in some type of attic and she had no idea what time of day it was. Her keen sense of curiosity got the better of her and she decided to have a look around the house. She opened the attic door and walked down the narrow stairs until she reached the landing. Voices were coming from downstairs. Ida had learned to be an excellent eavesdropper at the Institute and she crept toward the voices with catlike silence.
It seemed to be some sort of meeting. There were many people present and they all kept trying to talk at once. Ida knew immediately that they were talking about her, Josephine, and Fargus.
A strange voice said, “I say send them back to where they came from.”
“But what if the Master hears of it?” This sounded like Alma.
“Better to just turn them in now,” another strange voice said, and was followed by a murmur of agreement.
“But what about the one that claims to be a Russing?”
“She could be of real value.”
“A bargaining chip.”
“But how will you keep her here?”
“Will you use force?”
“No, no. She’s weak-minded. We’ll keep her here with kindness,” Alma answered her inquisitors.
“Very well. So we all agree?”
“Yes, we agree.”
“Then it’s settled. All three of them shall be kept here until we decide otherwise.”
“Fine. Thank you, Mayor. We feel much better.”
“You’re welcome. And thanks for the tea, Alma. You always have the lightest cakes in Gulm.”
Alma tittered with pleasure. Ida heard the front door open, and several men walked out. The moment the door closed, Bruce announced to Alma, “If that man gets any fatter, his constituents will have to carry him around in a wheelbarrow.”
“Bruce! What if he hears you?”
“He’s gone, Alma.”
“I swear that man’s shadow has ears. Go wake the children. I’ll get breakfast ready.”
Ida crept from the landing and scurried back to bed, where she found Fargus wide awake, looking at her fearfully, unable to move underneath the layers of down. She pretended she was asleep and signaled for Fargus to do the same. By the time Bruce opened the door, they were both pictures of innocence.
EIGHTEEN
Josephine awoke feeling completely refreshed. Sunlight streamed through the window above her bed. She looked around and saw she was in the room of a young girl. She gasped at how near it came to the bedroom she had fantasized living in when she was younger.
There were dolls piled in a corner, smiling blankly up at the new day. A small rocking horse held a teddy bear, and tiny sprouts of lilac decorated the walls. Fresh tulips had been left by Josephine’s bedside and she could see they were just about to open. Brightly colored books sat on a blue bookshelf and a piggy bank rested on top. There was a beautiful dollhouse in the corner, a perfect replica of the Jarvises’ house, swirly white trim and all.
Josephine stepped out of bed and looked out the window. It was a gorgeous day and she could see Bruce heading out to the fields. She turned to explore the room some more, and when she opened a door, she discovered a large pink bathroom.
She ran a scaldingly hot bath—just as she liked them—and happily lowered herself into the deep tub. She began scrubbing away what felt like a month’s worth of dirt and grime. Once her skin was clean, she tilted back her head and submerged her thick nest of curls.
Underwater, she began to hear all the noises in the house as they reverberated through the porcelain and bathwater. Footsteps downstairs, a door shutting above her, the drip-drip of the faucet. She instinctively stuck her big toe into the tap to block the leak, just like at home. Home. She sighed, realizing to her surprise that she was starting to miss it less and less.
There was suddenly a voice at the door. “Josephine, dear, are you in there?”
Josephine sat up, water running into her eyes. “Yes, Alma.”
“Come on out. I have something for you.”
