any windows. It was just large enough to hold a single bed with a cheery quilt, a bedside table with a propane lamp, and a tiny chest of drawers. Somebody had already laid out a stack of clean towels on the bed.
“It gets pretty cold up here, but there’s extra blankets in the dresser. You can come downstairs and sleep by the fire if you want. Amory sometimes does, now that it’s getting colder.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “I’ve been sleeping on the ground. You have no idea how grateful I am.”
She laughed. “Really, I do. I’ll bring you some clean clothes to change into, and we can ask Ida to pick you up some things at the Exchange when she goes.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s our pleasure,” she said, squeezing my arm. “We know what it’s like out there.” She turned to go but at the last minute threw her arms around my neck in a body-crushing, floral-smelling hug. “I’m so glad you’re here. Living with three boys is really awful!”
I laughed and she released me, flying out of my room and thundering down the stairs.
Once she left, I caught a glimpse of myself in the small mirror that hung on the back of the door. I was startled by how awful I looked. My cheeks looked sunken and streaked with dirt. My hair was a matted, tangled knot. I looked like a wild animal. A bath could wait no longer.
Grabbing a towel, I retraced my steps down to the tiny bathroom. Like most of the rooms, the wood panels were painted white, and a huge clawed bathtub took up nearly half the room. The candle had burned down, but I was grateful for the dim lighting as I peeled off my filthy clothes.
Sinking into the hot bath water, I didn’t think anything had ever felt so wonderful. I fought the temptation to fill the tub to the brim and sink down deep to let the warmth envelop my entire body. Careful not to get my freshly stitched arm wet, I scrubbed the grime off my body, turning the bathwater a murky gray.
I carefully removed Amory’s head dressing and dipped backwards to wet my hair. My head wound stung sharply, but my hair was too filthy not to wash. Freeing the dirt and debris from the tangled, matted locks, I marveled at the dark chestnut sheen I hadn’t seen in days.
By the time the water cooled, the candle was burning so low it had nearly gone out. I hurried to dry myself and wrapped the skimpy towel around my torso. Peeking out through a crack in the door to see if the coast was clear, I dashed up the stairs to my room with my dirty clothes in a bundle.
As promised, Logan had left some of her own clothes for me to wear on the bed: a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, a soft hoodie, and sweats to sleep in. I found her jeans to be a bit baggy — she was much curvier than I was — so they sat low on my hips.
I was still in awe over the relative cleanliness of my hair, so I left it to dry in its choppy waves over my shoulders and padded down the two flights of stairs to the first floor.
I found Logan on the back porch cleaning a shotgun. She jumped up when she saw me, looking relieved by my normal, less grimy appearance.
“You look refreshed!”
“You have no idea.” I grinned, eyeing the disassembled gun warily. What kind of house had I wandered into?
“Oh! Look at you, poor thing!” A warm but high-pitched cry from the front door caused me to nearly jump out of Logan’s ill-fitting jeans.
I turned to find the source of the voice and saw a tall, matronly woman with wispy platinum-blond hair floating down her back. This must be Ida. She wore gold rectangular glasses that framed huge, pale blue eyes and a floor-length skirt that appeared to be constructed from bits of carpet sewn together. Ida flew down the hall in a few strides and pulled me up in a spleen-crushing hug.
“You’re so skinny! Half-starved, I guess.” She pulled me a few inches away to get a good look, and I got the chance to study her up close. Her face was aged with wrinkles but had the healthy red flush of a farmer. She was
“It gets pretty cold up here, but there’s extra blankets in the dresser. You can come downstairs and sleep by the fire if you want. Amory sometimes does, now that it’s getting colder.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “I’ve been sleeping on the ground. You have no idea how grateful I am.”
She laughed. “Really, I do. I’ll bring you some clean clothes to change into, and we can ask Ida to pick you up some things at the Exchange when she goes.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s our pleasure,” she said, squeezing my arm. “We know what it’s like out there.” She turned to go but at the last minute threw her arms around my neck in a body-crushing, floral-smelling hug. “I’m so glad you’re here. Living with three boys is really awful!”
I laughed and she released me, flying out of my room and thundering down the stairs.
Once she left, I caught a glimpse of myself in the small mirror that hung on the back of the door. I was startled by how awful I looked. My cheeks looked sunken and streaked with dirt. My hair was a matted, tangled knot. I looked like a wild animal. A bath could wait no longer.
Grabbing a towel, I retraced my steps down to the tiny bathroom. Like most of the rooms, the wood panels were painted white, and a huge clawed bathtub took up nearly half the room. The candle had burned down, but I was grateful for the dim lighting as I peeled off my filthy clothes.
Sinking into the hot bath water, I didn’t think anything had ever felt so wonderful. I fought the temptation to fill the tub to the brim and sink down deep to let the warmth envelop my entire body. Careful not to get my freshly stitched arm wet, I scrubbed the grime off my body, turning the bathwater a murky gray.
I carefully removed Amory’s head dressing and dipped backwards to wet my hair. My head wound stung sharply, but my hair was too filthy not to wash. Freeing the dirt and debris from the tangled, matted locks, I marveled at the dark chestnut sheen I hadn’t seen in days.
By the time the water cooled, the candle was burning so low it had nearly gone out. I hurried to dry myself and wrapped the skimpy towel around my torso. Peeking out through a crack in the door to see if the coast was clear, I dashed up the stairs to my room with my dirty clothes in a bundle.
As promised, Logan had left some of her own clothes for me to wear on the bed: a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, a soft hoodie, and sweats to sleep in. I found her jeans to be a bit baggy — she was much curvier than I was — so they sat low on my hips.
I was still in awe over the relative cleanliness of my hair, so I left it to dry in its choppy waves over my shoulders and padded down the two flights of stairs to the first floor.
I found Logan on the back porch cleaning a shotgun. She jumped up when she saw me, looking relieved by my normal, less grimy appearance.
“You look refreshed!”
“You have no idea.” I grinned, eyeing the disassembled gun warily. What kind of house had I wandered into?
“Oh! Look at you, poor thing!” A warm but high-pitched cry from the front door caused me to nearly jump out of Logan’s ill-fitting jeans.
I turned to find the source of the voice and saw a tall, matronly woman with wispy platinum-blond hair floating down her back. This must be Ida. She wore gold rectangular glasses that framed huge, pale blue eyes and a floor-length skirt that appeared to be constructed from bits of carpet sewn together. Ida flew down the hall in a few strides and pulled me up in a spleen-crushing hug.
“You’re so skinny! Half-starved, I guess.” She pulled me a few inches away to get a good look, and I got the chance to study her up close. Her face was aged with wrinkles but had the healthy red flush of a farmer. She was
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