Page 31 of The Curse of Indy Moore
“You should take another rest, Beamy,” I suggested.
“That isMissBeamy to you.” The cat staggered toward me, then sat primly. “And I may be old, but I am more than capable of catching that horrid bird.”
Quite old, based on the streaks of gray through her fur. She was well fed, however, plump and perfect for snuggling, if any dared to try. Mr. Hawthorne ensured her comfort based on the many cat trees, perches, beds, and toys scattered around the house. No place was off limits to her, and she knew it. Mr. Hawthorne created the Ivory House, but Miss Beamy ruled the roost.
“Why do you hate him so much? Because he’s a bird?” I asked.
“I don’t dislike birds. They sing beautifully in the morning, but that one,” she growled, and her fur stood on end, back slightly arched, “I dislike entirely. He is insufferable and follows my boy everywhere.”
“Are you jealous? Perhaps you should tell Mr. Hawthorne to take you with him more often.”
Miss Beamy sat silently for a moment, then asked, “What are you doing milling about the hallway?”
“I got lost.”
“Then all you must do is ask Ivy to guide you. The house will show you the way.”
“I don’t know where I want to go.” That was a lie.
I wanted to go home. I wanted to go to the past and ensure none of this ever happened. I’d beg Father not to leave with that smug woman, and maybe together we would save Mom. Uncle Fern could still be alive, and our families would meet regularly to have dinner in the city. Maybe then I would find a partner who wanted to keep me around. They’d meet my parents, where we would blush over dinner whilethey teased us. I’d have everything so utterly normal that it’d be achingly sweet. Life would be perfect if we were given that second chance.
“Have you seen your room yet?” asked Miss Beamy.
“I am not interested in getting locked up,” I grumbled.
“No, foolish girl. Your room, a place where you may rest and leave your belongings. You may still have one to use. It is important to have your space. I quite like mine.”
I smirked. “You have your own room?”
“I have whatever I please,” she replied. “My boy has built me many cat trees and dozens of cubby holes to sleep in. Now come along. Ivy will show us to your room.”
Miss Beamy strutted as if she knew the way. We walked down a hall to the last room on the right with a rose-colored door and a golden knob. The door swung open to a room that matched the door’s shade, the walls covered in painted foliage. My suitcase, which had been forgotten in Mr. Hawthorne’s office, somehow sat at the bottom of a plush bed. There were a dozen ruby red pillows and pale pink blankets, enough to make a fort big enough for me and my cousins to sleep in. A writing desk sat next to a wide, circular window accompanied by a nook, equally inviting as the bed.
On the opposite side of the room was a full-length mirror between a dresser and a closet. All the furniture was white, painted with lush vines and roses blooming across them. A circular rug took up the center of the room, the same hue as the walls, and a chandelier dangled from the ceiling. The handles spiraled out like vines, even decorated with a few leaves. The sun caught in its crystals, reflecting dazzling shapes across the walls.
“If it is not to your liking, you may ask Ivy to find you another one,” Miss Beamy suggested, having hopped on the bed to claim it as her own.
“No, this… this is all for me?” I asked softly, awe-struck.
“Of course.”
I’d never had my own room. When Mom was alive, we lived in a boarding house, where we shared a bedroom and the rest of the home with ten other women. Atthe farm, I shared a room with my cousins. I didn’t know what to do with all this space, how I should feel about knowing this was a space dedicated to me, albeit momentarily. I had a closet and a dresser and a bed too big for once. In truth, it was a tad overwhelming.
First, I opened the closet, surprised to find it empty. Actually, I was surprised the room was livable. Mr. Hawthorne filled all the others, so it was a miracle there was any space available. I sat my suitcase in the closet rather than unpacking it. For some reason, I thought unpacking it meant a longer stay. If I kept my belongings there, maybe time would move more swiftly and I’d return home healed.
The scent of chamomile hit my nose. I glanced about the room in search of the smell. A moment later, Otis peeked into the room. “There you are,” he said. “I see Miss Beamy and Ivy have found you a room.”
Otis carried a tray of tea: the chamomile smell. “I thought you may want a warm beverage after today.”
He sat the tray on the nightstand, then picked up a porcelain cup to present to me.
“Thank you,” I said, appreciating the gesture and the taste.
The drink hit the spot. I settled on the edge of the bed—my bed, even if I wouldn’t use it much. Miss Beamy curled up beside me, allowing the occasional head scratch. Mr. Hawthorne took great care of her because her coat was softer than silk.
Otis sipped his drink. “Rooke mentioned we’ll be going to Eldari tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? I thought it’d take longer. Can the house travel that fast?”
