Free The Sixty-Eight Rooms by Marianne Malone Page B

failed, her disappointment would be made worse by the fact that she and Jack would have to spend the whole night stuck in that dismal corridor with the otherworldly lights from the rooms glowing down on them. She tried hard to put those thoughts out of her mind and focus on how awesome the adventure was going to be.
    As she sat there, her stomach in knots, the doorbell rang. Ruthie almost jumped out of her skin. She popped off the couch, ran to the door and pushed the button on the intercom. The voice of an elderly woman came through the speaker. It belonged to Mrs. Minerva McVittie, an antiques dealer her father was friends with. Ruthie buzzed her in and waited for her at the door.
    “Hello, dear. Are you home alone?” Mrs. McVittie seemed to be about a hundred years old and had shrunk so much with age that she was the same height as Ruthie. She took her hat off as she crossed into the apartment, showing fine wisps of silver hair. She owned an antiques shop, but old and rare books were her specialty. She had been finding interesting books for Ruthie’s father for as long as Ruthie could remember. Sometimes she would show up at their apartment with a special one and she and Ruthie’s dad would pore over it like little kids at Christmas.
    “Yes, but just for a little while. Mom and Dad are in St.Louis for the weekend and Claire is taking the SAT today,” she answered.
    “Those tests! When I was a girl, people used to actually talk to each other to find out what they knew!” Mrs. McVittie often spoke about what it had been like when she was a girl. Ruthie thought maybe all old people did. “Did you have lunch?” Mrs. McVittie continued. “I’ll make you some soup.” Without waiting for an answer, she laid her coat on a chair and went to the kitchen. She acted like she was Ruthie’s grandmother sometimes.
    “Did my parents tell you to check on me?” Ruthie asked, worried that it might ruin her plans.
    “No, no. I thought your father was here—I brought a book for him.” She pointed to her coat. “In the pocket.” She was busy opening a can of soup and finding the right pot. Ruthie lifted the coat to find a small leather-bound book in the pocket. “Over one hundred years old,” Mrs. McVittie called from the kitchen. “A real find. It’s in French—I’ll help your father read it.” Mrs. McVittie spoke French and about five other languages.
    “Where did you get it?”
    “From an estate sale. I bought a few books and other antiques—some silver, a few old oil paintings. You should come to the shop and see them. I’d love a visit from you.”
    Ruthie hadn’t been in the shop for months but she always liked going there with her father. Mrs. McVittie let Ruthie touch the treasures in her shop; she knew Ruthie wouldn’t break anything.
    “Here, now eat your soup.” Mrs. McVittie set a steaming bowl in front of Ruthie.
    “Aren’t you going to have any?”
    “No, I just had brunch. What will you do today, young lady?”
    Ruthie was nervous about discussing her plans. The less said the better. “In a little while I’m going over to my friend’s house—maybe we’ll go to the museum—and then I’ll spend the night there.”
    Mrs. McVittie spied the Thorne Rooms catalogue on the couch. “This is new.” She seemed to have a mental inventory of every book Ruthie’s family owned.
    “Oh, I borrowed that from a friend,” Ruthie said between spoonfuls of soup. “I saw the Thorne Rooms last week on a school field trip. I love them!”
    “Mmm.” Mrs. McVittie was thumbing through the book. “They are quite convincing, aren’t they? I remember the first time I saw them—it was 1932. They were exhibited at the Chicago Historical Society before they went to the Art Institute. I was only eight years old then.” She looked at several pages quite intensely, taking her time. “They are magic.” Mrs. McVittie looked at her as she spoke. Ruthie tried to hide the jolt she felt in her soup-filled