The Keepers

Chapter 3

Josie blinked in rapid succession, no longer trusting her senses. The woman, however, was really there, standing at the top of the staircase waiting for her to speak.

The young girl – usually quite loquacious – suddenly found herself to be wanting for words.

Although Great Aunt Donatella's frailty had been based wholly on Josie's own assumption, her age should have been reflected in her familial title. Even Mother's sister Aunt Evelyn looked older, and she didn't have the distinction of being 'great.'

"Are you feeling unwell, Josephine?" Donatella questioned her silence before starting down the stairs.

Josie wanted to answer, but the graceful way the woman moved – almost glided – down the steps mesmerized her. By the time she came to, her great aunt was standing beside her.

"No, mada—" She shook her head. "I mean, no, Donatella. "I am just so pleased to meet you that no words do this moment justice." She dutifully bowed.

The woman smiled and brushed a sopping lock of brown hair off Josie's shoulder. "And I'm happy to meet you, as well. Although I was hoping you'd be older when the time came." She sighed. "No use in fretting over that now. Come along, Josephine."

"Josie." The girl ignored what others may have considered an insult and quietly corrected the woman descending the stairs ahead of her.

Donatella glanced over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow. "You prefer to be called Josie?"

She looked down at her mud-covered shoes. Didn't Mother and Father tell this woman she'd never been called by her given name in her entire life? "Yes, madam," she whispered.

Donatella headed toward the parlor. "Are you hungry, Josie?" The question of how she'd be addressed seemed to be settled.

Josie frowned. While she hadn't eaten since the mid-day meal, she had no appetite. "No, thank you, mada—" She cleared her throat. "Donatella." It felt strange to call an adult by her surname, but if she insisted on being Josie, then her great aunt would have to be Donatella.

"I suppose that's not unusual, given the circumstances." The woman sat down in a large, leather chair. "Tea perhaps?"

Josie stopped in the open doorway and nodded.

"Don't be shy. Have a seat, my dear." Donatella gestured toward the Louis XVI style loveseat covered in a white silk decorated with pink roses, but Josie shook her head.

"I can't. I don't want to get it . . . dirty." The last word briefly got stuck in her throat as she looked down on her previously wet and muddy clothing. Patting the now bone-dry and spotless cloak and then doing the same for the dress underneath, she gaped at Donatella with wide eyes. "But how can this be?"

The woman picked up a small bell from a side table. "Things here work quite differently than in any other place." She smiled before ringing the brass instrument.

Not knowing what to make of the answer, Josie bit her lip, and sat down on the fine furniture. It must have cost many Shillings, perhaps even Pounds. Unlike the sturdy and utilitarian sofa in the corner of her home's parlor, this was quite lovely. Perhaps she could convince Mother to get theirs upholstered in a similar pattern when she returned home.

Home. Why wasn't she home right now?

"Forgive me, Donatella, but why did my parents bring me here?" she asked the question as soon as it entered her mind.

The woman made a tent with her slender fingers in her lap and wrinkled her brows. "I'm afraid it wasn't their choice to make."

What do you mean? Why not? Whose choice was it, then? Josie thought in rapid succession, but the words would not leave her mouth no matter how hard she tried.

Donatella gave her a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry, my dear, but you'll find that in this house, you can ask a question only once you're ready to hear its answer."

"How absurd!" Josie covered her mouth as the inadvertent exclamation slipped out and blushed. Back home, Father would have no doubt smacked her for such insolence.

Here, however, Donatella just sighed. "Indeed. Ah, here's our tea."

Turning her head, Josie saw a short, old man enter through a side door. He shuffled toward them and placed a large, silver tray with a fine bone china set onto a side table. "May I, madam?" He addressed Donatella, and when she nodded, he poured milk into two delicate cups.

Anxious to get back to finding out more from the woman, Josie nervously tapped her feet while watching the roaring fire burning in the hearth. In spite of the tall, orange flames, the air inside the parlor was crisp, and she rubbed her hands along her upper arms to make herself warmer.

"I'm sorry about the temperature, but I'm afraid there's not much that can be done against it." Donatella peeked at her around the balding old man who was now pouring the steaming, brown liquid from the teapot.

"Thank you, Wesley." She dismissed him when both cups were full. Handing one to Josie, she smiled. "This might help a bit."

Accepting the drink more for the warmth than from thirst, Josie blew on it out of habit before taking a small sip. Raising her head, she met Donatella's eyes. "If you can't tell me yet, that's quite understandable." Her heartbeat accelerated with the realization she was able to vocalize this concern. Emboldened, she went on. "If I may, how long will I be staying here?"

Donatella continued to slowly drink her tea and didn't put it down until it was almost all gone. Josie quietly watched as she placed the cup and its matching saucer aside. She then reached to the choker at her neck before gently playing with its conjoined sun and moon motif pendant. The metallic jewelry sparkled in the candlelight.

"When and how you leave is wholly up to you, Josie."

Josie's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Yes, really." Donatella nodded.

Josie smiled. Having her fate in her own hands – irrespective of how ambiguous the terms – gave her relief. If there was a chance for her to return home, she would find the way.