The Sixty-Eight Rooms

by Marianne Malone

  Finally Ruthie had an idea.

  “Wait right here, Jack!”

  “Like I’m going anywhere?” he responded with his typical sarcasm. She dropped the key and returned to full size. Since Jack hadn’t been touching her, he stayed small and watched as his giant friend ran down the corridor. Near the door she found the boxes that contained extra copies of the catalogue that was sold in the museum. She picked up a box and brought it back to where Jack was waiting.

  “I’m going to build a stairway.” She started taking out books and stacking them in a stair-step fashion.

  “Great idea, Ruthie!” As soon as she had three steps stacked, Jack tried them out. The spines of the catalogues measured about an inch, which made each step taller than a regular stair but not too high for the five-inch Jack. Ruthie laughed at him—he looked like a toddler crawling up steps.

  “Don’t laugh—you’re going to look like this too!”

  “You’re right; sorry.”

  “Keep building till it reaches the ledge!”

  Ruthie hurried to build the book staircase. She opened two more boxes of catalogues in order to have enough for a stable structure. Finally her creation was complete. Jack stood on the top book, level with the ledge, and raised his arms in victory.

  “I’m king of the mountain!” he cheered. “Okay, Ruthie, c’mon!”

  “One more thing,” she said, remembering the small split in the wood of the ledge that Jack had had to help her over the other day. She tore a piece of cardboard from one of the box flaps, about one inch by two inches, and placed it over the crack. This would be perfect for them to walk on. Ruthie beamed with pride over her engineering skills.

  She was about to pick up the key when she had another idea. She grabbed one of the few remaining catalogues out of the box to shrink with her. They might need to refer to it while small. Then she picked up the key from the floor, and in no time she was staring up at the tallest staircase imaginable. She started climbing. It was actually hard work, because the shiny paper of the book jackets was slippery and made it difficult to climb. There were also nearly fifty steps. Winded, she made it to the top, where Jack was waiting.

  “Whew,” she said. “Thanks for waiting. I brought us a catalogue. I’ll leave it here on the ledge in case we need it.”

  Jack couldn’t wait any longer. “Let’s go!” he said, spinning around in the direction of room E24. Once inside he soaked it all in fast. Ruthie knew this was not Jack’s kind of room; “too prissy,” she thought he’d say. But he was interested in what he saw through the balcony doors: the eighteenth century. Imagine—there might be a revolution going on just outside! He ran through the room and the doors and stood on the balcony. Ruthie followed just behind him. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. He repeated this action a few times.

  “Jack, I think we should be careful not to let anyone see us—if there is anyone out there. At least not yet.” Ruthie didn’t want to spoil the thrill of his first moments in the rooms, but this new aspect of a living world made her wary. She wasn’t sure he heard her, though.

  “Wow …” His eyes scanned the horizon. So far the only living things they saw were squirrels and birds in the trees—no humans. To their left were stairs leading from the balcony down to a landing and from there to a formal garden. “C’mon! Let’s go explore!”

  “Jack!” Ruthie started to say, but he was already bounding down, two steps at a time. She followed him but continued, “I think we ought to go slow, Jack. Look how we’re dressed…. What if someone sees us?” That made him stop in his tracks. Looking at his clothes, he came to his senses.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I don’t see any people, though. Do you?”

  “No, and maybe there aren’t any. Who knows how far this magic goes? Let’s think this through.” They sat down on the landing. It felt like an early-summer day as they looked around, taking it all in.

  “It’s interesting how it’s daytime here but nighttime in Chicago,” said Ruthie.

  “I bet the time has to match the painted backdrop, right?” Jack suggested.

  “I guess so.” After a moment or two Ruthie added, “It feels so different here…. It even smells completely different, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it doesn’t smell anything like Chicago.” No exhaust from cars and buses, no smell of snow and icy wind. They were quiet, thinking. Jack spoke again. “You know what we need? Clothes. We need the right clothes.”

  “Room twenty-five is a boudoir—”

  “A what?” Jack interrupted.

  “A boudoir,” she repeated. “That’s the French word for bathroom or dressing room. Like rich people have. I read about it in the catalogue. Maybe there’s a closet or something that has clothes in it. Let’s go look.”

  They headed up the stairs, through the room and back to the ledge in the corridor, then followed it to room E25. The access was through a side door, which led them into what looked like a dressing room, complete with a kind of bed that looked like a couch with a canopy over it, for resting. The floors were shiny and tiled in marble. The dressing room led to the room with the bathtub that she had been so impressed with the first time she had seen the rooms. The bathtub was sunken into the floor right in the middle of the room. It too was marble and it had gold chains circling the inside so you could grab hold and not slip. Decorations on the fireplace matched designs on the walls. Ruthie couldn’t believe she was standing in a bathroom that had a fireplace!

  Jack whistled and said, “Boy, this must have been for a king or queen!” He climbed down into the tub.

  “It said in the catalogue that this was how rich people lived right after the revolution.” Finally Ruthie knew a little something about history. She had read it just that morning.

  “Cool. I wonder where the water came from—there’s no faucet.”

  “Servants, I guess.” They looked around, but this room had no closet or wardrobe or any sign of clothes.

  “You know, I think there is a bedroom from the same time with a big wardrobe in it,” Ruthie said. “Let’s go check in the catalogue.” Out on the ledge, she thumbed through the pages. “Yep, three rooms that way,” she said, pointing to the left.

  “Let’s go look.”

  They ran along the ledge, counting rooms: E24, E23…. Room E22 was a French bedroom from the eighteenth century. The entrance to this room was in the back, with an opening facing right onto the ledge. A short stairway went up from the ledge and then down into a small bedroom. This was certainly not a room for royalty; Ruthie really liked its coziness. The bed was set into a nook in the wall with curtains that could be closed. Over the fireplace hung a portrait of a lady in a blue dress, and next to the stairs was a tall grandfather clock. A window opened out onto a sunny garden, and along the same wall stood a large, finely carved wooden wardrobe. Jack ran to it and opened it.

  “Jackpot!” he shouted.

  “Real clothes!” cried Ruthie. The two of them inspected the outfits hanging in front of them and began to pull items out. “I hope something fits.”

  “This is going to feel like we’re dressing for Halloween!” Jack said. He was not as excited as Ruthie but was being a good sport.

  It was easy to tell the boys’ clothes from the girls’ clothes: dresses for girls, suits for boys. Ruthie chose a dress of pale blue cotton—like the lady in the portrait was wearing—that went all the way to the floor. It had long sleeves, a scoop neck and a scarf-like shawl to be worn at the shoulders. The fabric was simple but pretty. Two pairs of pointy-toed slippers sat at the bottom of the wardrobe. They were a little large for Ruthie and not very comfortable. She found handkerchiefs to wad up in the toes for a better fit.

  Jack’s clothes seemed very formal to him—not at all like his cargo pants and T-shirt. The pants were made of white cloth and stopped at the knees. There were white socks to cover the rest of the legs. The jacket looked like some sort of tuxedo, double-breasted and with tails. It was grayish bl
ue and there was a white shirt to wear underneath. The shirt had a scarf-like collar that would tie in a bow around his neck. His clothes also looked like they would be a little large on him but he could probably bunch the pants up at the waist. Jack had big feet, though, and the funny buckled shoes fit.

  “Do you think I really have to wear these?” Jack said, holding up the kneesocks.

  “Yes. What if we find people out there? We won’t want to look different,” Ruthie answered.

  “These look like the clothes George Washington is always wearing in all those pictures of him,” Jack said.

  “Yeah, you’re right. Mine looks like something Betsy Ross wore.”

  “Well, it’s the right time period, wrong country!” Jack added. “I’m gonna feel really weird in this, that’s for sure!”

  “Yeah, but at least the clothes are from the same time as room E24. You’d feel weirder in your real clothes,” Ruthie reminded him. “Here, take them. You go out of the room while we change.”

  The dress was a challenge to put on—no zippers anywhere, of course, but lots of tiny buttons. The only mirror in the room was a small one hanging over a dresser, but she could get an idea of what she looked like if she stood far enough back in the room. True, the dress was a size too large, but it wasn’t so big that she couldn’t adjust it with the sash at her waist. The shawl around her shoulders hid the fact that the top was too big for her. She loved what she saw.

  Jack reentered the room looking embarrassed—a rarity for him.

  “White knickers and a tuxedo jacket that doesn’t fit. I’m glad no one else will see me looking like this!”

  “I’d give anything for a camera!” Ruthie laughed. “Look in the mirror, Jack. It’s not so bad for the eighteenth century!”

  “Oh well,” he muttered as he tried to get a complete view. “At least we can go out and explore now.”

  SOPHIE

  WITH THE PROPER CLOTHES ON, Jack and Ruthie felt confident that they wouldn’t be noticed as they walked down the stairs from the balcony of room E24. At the base of the stairs Ruthie turned to look back at the room, which she could now see was part of a two-story limestone structure. It was the only building around, nestled amid the sycamore trees of the park. In front of them the flowers and bushes were neatly arranged along pathways that led into a wooded area on one side. In the other direction the path led down a small hill to a pond with a fountain in the middle of it. It was a very formal park, not the kind Ruthie was used to in Chicago.

  The garden seemed empty except for birds, squirrels and a few rabbits—until they came across a girl sitting on the grass behind a large flowering bush, reading a book. They hadn’t seen her until it was too late to go in another direction. She looked at them, tilted her head and spoke.

  “Bonjour,” she said, her face filled with curiosity. She was about their age, maybe a little older—it was hard to tell because of the elegant clothes she was wearing and her very elaborate hairstyle. Her hair was piled high on her head and it was unnaturally white.

  “Bonjour,” Ruthie quickly answered, and then added awkwardly, “Nous ne parlons pas français.”

  “What! What did you just say?” Jack asked.

  “I said we don’t speak French,” Ruthie said. It was the only line she knew besides hello, goodbye and thank you. Her mother had always tried to teach her more and now she wished she’d listened.

  “Oh, of course. I should have known by your clothes! Are you from England?” the girl said in perfect English but with a slight French accent.

  “We’re from the U.S.,” Jack replied.

  “I’ve never heard of such a place!”

  “We’re from America,” Ruthie added; she guessed no one would have said “the U.S.” in the eighteenth century.

  “The colonies? But that is so far! I’ve never met anyone from there!” The girl sounded excited.

  Ruthie was curious and asked, “How did you learn to speak English so well?”

  “My tutor taught me, naturellement!” she said. She pointed to a man walking in the other direction, into the woods, reading as he walked. She was about to call him over but Jack stopped her. It had suddenly occurred to him that this could be a tricky situation.

  “Don’t call him over—we’re not supposed to be here,” Jack said, not knowing what he would say next.

  “Oh, I see,” she said, smiling at them. “You have escaped your tutor also, no?”

  “Exactly,” Ruthie said. That was as good an excuse as any. “It is such a nice day we thought we’d go crazy with more lessons!”

  “My name is Sophie Lacombe,” the girl said, presenting her hand for Jack to kiss. Ruthie understood what this gesture meant, but Jack was clueless. She elbowed him. He finally understood and took Sophie’s hand.

  “His name is Jack and I’m Ruthie,” she said for him.

  Sophie smiled at them and repeated their names in her French accent, turning them into “Jacques” and “Rootie.”

  “I am happy to meet you.” She had perfect manners. Then she smiled broadly and added, “Let me escape with you!” She didn’t wait for an answer but started running in the opposite direction from her tutor, who didn’t seem interested in her at the moment anyway, his nose buried deep in his book. Jack and Ruthie followed, not having a better idea what to do. Ruthie was a bit concerned about going too far from room E24; she looked over her shoulder to make sure it was still in view. She didn’t need to worry. They followed the path only a short distance down the small hill before they reached the pond. The limestone building and the balconies of the room could still be seen in the distance.

  “We can sit here and you can tell me everything about the colonies and whom you are visiting in Paris!”

  “Paris?” Jack said. Until this point they had had no idea that they were even in Paris; the catalogue had said only France. And it certainly didn’t look like the pictures of Paris that they’d seen. It didn’t look like a city at all. “Uh … yes, Paris. Tell her why we’re here, Ruthie.”

  Ruthie glared at him. She had been counting on him for the quick answers.

  “Well,” she began hesitantly, “first of all, let me say we are so lucky to be here—”

  “Yes, of course,” Sophie interrupted. “I have heard so many stories of ships sinking on the voyage from America!”

  “It was a very rough voyage,” Jack jumped in. “We nearly died in three separate storms!” The suggestion of an ocean voyage was all Jack needed. “You can’t imagine how difficult it is to cross the ocean. Ruthie was sick almost the whole time!”

  “Mon dieu!” Sophie said, her big eyes opening wide. Ruthie did not protest this made-up story as long as Jack was doing the talking. She noticed that Sophie was directing her wide-eyed gaze only at Jack. “Tell me more!”

  “Well, we came here with our parents….”

  “You are brother and sister, then?”

  “That’s right,” Jack said. “Our father is an assistant to Ben Franklin!”

  Now it was Ruthie who was wide-eyed.

  “Monsieur Frankleen!” Sophie exclaimed. “I have heard he is very charming! Will he be your king—or president, as you say?”

  “Nope. Never,” Jack said, rather too confidently. “I mean, I think he likes the job he has now.”

  Good cover, Ruthie thought. Jack, who only a moment ago had been tongue-tied, was now telling an amazing tale of adventure that he was making up on the spot.

  The story he told had them arriving in Paris only a few weeks earlier. He explained to Sophie that their father had to visit because Benjamin Franklin was living in France. Jack liked to read about wars and history, and he remembered that Ben Franklin had been sent to Paris during the American Revolution to make friends for the new country, to borrow money from the French government and to set up an American embassy. Jack also remembered that the American Revolution had inspired the French people to overthrow King Louis XVI and Queen Marie Antoinette and chop off their heads—and those of many of
their friends! He knew so much about history that he could weave these facts into his story. Then Jack did a smart thing: he changed the subject.

  “So what about you? What does your family do in Paris?”

  Sophie seemed thrilled to be asked, but her answer was a little surprising. It sounded to Jack and Ruthie as if her parents didn’t really have jobs—not the kind of jobs that you went to every day and got paid for. Her parents simply seemed to be friends of the king and queen. She said they lived “at court.” Ruthie wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, but she had a feeling that Sophie was from a very rich family—exactly the kind of people who would be getting their heads chopped off in guillotines. Ruthie liked Sophie and thought that if they had been from the same time, they would be friends. She could tell for sure, though, that Sophie liked Jack, especially when she asked him how old he was.

  “Only eleven? Mon dieu! You seem much older!” She actually batted her eyelashes at him. Ruthie had only seen that in movies and thought it was kind of ridiculous that Sophie would be flirting with Jack; it made her seem much younger than her clothes and hair suggested.

  “Almost twelve,” he added.

  “Oh, Jack!” Ruthie interrupted, getting back at him for saying that she had been sick all the time on their ocean voyage. “You won’t be twelve for ten months.” Ruthie gave Jack a knowing smile. “I’m older,” she added, to Sophie. “Twelve and a half.” It was a lie, but she couldn’t resist. “How old are you?”

  “Fourteen. I wish I were still young, though, like you. Next year I am to be married,” she said.

  Jack and Ruthie looked at each other. Ruthie tried to picture her sister, Claire, who was just a couple of years older than Sophie, being married. She couldn’t.

  “Married! Who will you marry?” Ruthie asked.

  “I do not know yet,” she said. “Of course it will be someone at court; that is all I know. My father will arrange it.” She stated all this as a somewhat sad matter of fact. “But I want to hear more about your country! Tell me all about your revolution!”