Wake Unto Me by Lisa Cach Read Free Book Online Page A

the room were two sets of double doors within gothic arches.
    Madame Snowe brushed the ice off her sleeves, then loosely clasped her hands in front of her. “Now that we’re out of the cold, let me be the first to welcome you, Caitlyn, to Château de la Fortune.”
    “Thank you,” Caitlyn murmured.
    “As you may have guessed already, I am the headmistress, Madame Snowe. It is my sincere hope that you will benefit from your time with us here at the Fortune School, and that you will take full advantage of all we have to offer. This is Greta,” she said, nodding toward the middle-aged blond. “She is the house mother. She’ll show you to your room. If you have any questions or need anything for your personal comfort, go to her.”
    The driver bumped his way through the door and plopped down Caitlyn’s “luggage.” Caitlyn watched Madame Snowe’s eyes go to it, widening as she took it in. Caitlyn’s cheeks heated.
    Her “luggage” was a Vietnam War-era army green duffel bag, bought for a dollar at a garage sale. Cloud-shaped moisture stains mottled its faded surface, and jagged stitches of black carpet thread sealed a rip on one end, Caitlyn’s clumsy needlework giving the mended hole the look of one of Frankenstein’s scars.
    “Is that all you brought?” Greta asked.
    Caitlyn nodded, wishing the floor would swallow her.
    “Very good. You will have no trouble unpacking, and then you can burn your bag, heh?”
    “Reduce, reuse, recycle!” Caitlyn said with false cheer. “We’re very big on living green in Oregon. Why buy a new suitcase when someone else’s old duffel bag will do?”
    “We’ll see that it gets … disposed of properly,” Madame Snowe said dryly. “I will talk to you again in my office, at nine A.M. tomorrow morning, to give you a more thorough orientation to the school and to explain what I will be expecting of you as a scholarship student.” She turned to Greta. “Greta, please see Caitlyn settled in her room, and see that she showers.” With a nod she turned on her heel and left.
    Caitlyn raised her arm and sneaked a sniff at her armpit. Was Madame Snowe saying she smelled? She caught Greta watching her and lowered her arm. “Just checking,” she said sheepishly.
    “Are you sure you are well?” Greta asked.
    Caitlyn smiled crookedly. “I’m okay. Really. Just tired.” Greta’s warmth was a welcome contrast to the icy headmistress. Even Greta’s German accent was somehow comforting, making it sound as if she’d next be offering warm apple strudel and hot chocolate.
    “You will feel better after a bath, and perhaps some tea to settle your stomach. Try to stay awake until this evening; it will make the adjustment to the time difference easier,” Greta said.
    “Okay. Thanks.” Caitlyn didn’t know how she could possibly manage that. She was barely conscious as it was.
    Greta patted her arm and smiled. “You’ll be fine.”
    Caitlyn felt a small return of energy tingling through her arm as if from Greta’s touch, and believed her.
    “Now come this way,” Greta said, and pushed through the double doors on the right side of the room. Caitlyn picked up her ecologically sound bag and followed her through an immense medieval hall with a stone checkerboard floor and walls painted in deep red scattered with gold fleur-de-lis; the ceiling high above was royal blue and covered in gold stars. Yellow ocher columns ran down the center in two rows, providing support to the arches above. The room was filled with tables, benches, and the lingering odor of lunch. “The hall dates from the 1140s,” Greta said as she led Caitlyn out through another doorway to a smaller room built of pale stone, and then up a wide spiral stone staircase. The handrail was a rope as thick as Caitlyn’s wrist, strung between steel eyebolts sunk into the curved wall.
    Caitlyn lagged a few steps behind Greta, in awe of her surroundings. She’d spent hours poring over picture books of castles; she’d