“It’s all right,” I said.
“Don’t worry,” she said, patting my hand. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
I wasn’t worried as much as I was afraid. Before Daddy had deserted us, I had slept over at a friend’s house. That was really the only time I had ever been overnight at the home of strangers, and now I was going to live with some.
“You’ll have to wear that cast for months yet, Sasha,” she said, nodding at it, “but Dr. Milan’s arranged for you to be up and about on a crutch soon. In the meantime, we have the wheelchair for you. I’ve already told Mrs. Caro that one of her duties now will be to wheel you out onto the patio in the afternoon. I want you to get some color and fresh air and not be shut up in a room like you were in the hospital.”
“Who’s Mrs. Caro?”
“Mrs. Caro is one of my housekeepers and also our cook. We have four housekeepers. The one in charge is Mrs. Duval. She’s been with us the longest and was actually Kiera and Alena’s nanny as well. Her husband, Alberto, is what Donald calls our house manager. He is in charge of the grounds people, house maintenance, that sort of thing.”
“Four housekeepers? How many people work at the house?” I asked as we started away from the hospital.
“Fourteen full-time,” she said. “There’s a lot to do. You’ll see.”
Neither of us had mentioned her yet, but I didn’t see how I could go much farther without bringing her up. “What about Kiera?”
“What about her?”
“Does she know about me?”
“She knows about you.”
“But does she know I’m coming to live in her house?”
“It’s not her house,” Mrs. March said quickly and sharply. Then she smiled and added, “Don’t worry about it.”
“But she knows?” I asked.
“Not yet,” Mrs. March said. “Right now, I’m not concerned about what she thinks or how she feels about anything.”
Her answer shocked me. How could such a thing be kept secret from her daughter? What sort of a family was this, anyway?
Maybe Mama and I, even during the struggle, had been more of a family after all.
It wouldn’t be long before I knew.
6
Castle
Nothing I had seen in magazines, on television, or in a movie had prepared me for what I was about to see. I had thought castles were only in Europe and only kings and queens lived like this. We turned off a main road, went down a side road, and began to climb a hill. As we climbed, I realized there were no houses along the way.
Mrs. March sensed my curiosity. “All this land is ours,” she said, “on both sides. That’s why there are no other houses on the road.”
Eventually, we reached what I could only describe as a hidden entrance to the road on which the Marches’ house was located. There were no signs, mailboxes, or anything, just tall, full pine trees on both sides, so that when anyone drove in, he or she couldn’t see the March house just yet.
“This isn’t a public road,” she said. “My husband built it, and we maintain it.”
They own their own road? How can anyone own his own road? I wondered.
We came to a tall, solid, light orange wall at least ten or twelve feet high. Now, just over the wall, I could see the top of the house and what looked like a tower. Just looking at the wall ahead of us wouldn’t tell anyone it opened, but when Grover pressed a button by the sun visor above him, the wall began to part. It revealed a beautiful cobblestone driveway that curved upward toward what I could only call a storybook house.
“Is it a castle?” I asked breathlessly.
Mrs. March laughed. “Donald thinks so. He was determined to build something different, so he built what’s called a Richardsonian Romanesque house. It has the round-topped arches over the windows and entryway and masonry walls with a pattern of ruby and white. And yes,” she said, laughing again, “that tower makes it look like a castle, but Donald will tell you a man’s home is supposed to be his castle.”
As we approached and we could see beyond the high bushes and trees, the house seemed to unfold to my right and to my left.