Garnet or Garnets Curse

undergarments. I had expected to be gone a few days. As each day went by, it was becoming clear that I had no idea what to expect. I was thankful I had packed warm stockings and a wool cape. God forbid, I would be there until winter.
    The house was deathly quiet. Nell and Arlene had already left for work. Not only was the house damp, it was cold and drafty. The wind blowing through the cracks in the walls was fitting for this isolated and lonely place.
    I ventured downstairs to the kitchen. On the stove was a cold pot of some sort of mush. It did not look appealing and I began opening the cupboards. My search revealed a can of lard and a bag of flour. With reluctance, I turned back to the pot on the stove. Thinking it might be more palatable heated, I lit the burner.
    It was a struggle to choke down the last bit of the bitter coffee and a bowl of the tasteless, glue-like mush. There was nothing to do but stare at the four walls and ponder what was to happen to me. Why had my father not checked out this place better before leaving me here? It must have been the best he could do on such short notice.
    Then in my mind, as if I were two people, a conversation began. How could it be short notice? After all, he has had 21 years to think about what to do with me. The curse was centuries old. I was his daughter, the 7th generation of Dragos. I was the one doomed to receive Aurochs’ final blow!
    Then the other half of my mind entered into the debate. What if my father was a fool, traveling the world aimlessly looking for someone to break a curse that never existed? I was sure to rot there, waiting for him to return.
    Back and forth, my mind flipped. The curse was real. I had seen the book and Auntie’s letter. Charles and my father were smart men. There was the death trail, Auntie, Harriet and the cook, Ellen. My father was exposed to the world and the curse of Aurochs would find him too. I paced the halls. The curse was closing in on me. It was my own insanity.
    It was only Monday , I told myself repeatedly. If I found something to occupy my time, fear would lose its hold on me. It was only Monday .
    Even though it was misting rain, I went for a long walk on the beach. An old woman walking her dog stopped to engage in conversation. She said she lived just over the hill. When she asked my name, I froze, and then quickly said, “Margo.”
    “Will I see you again?” she asked.
    “I am only here for a few days,” I responded. She smiled and gave me a curious look. I turned quickly and headed back to the house. She seemed gentle, but what if she was Aurochs? It was best not to risk talking to anyone.
    When I returned, the door was stuck. I pulled on the handle with great force. At last, the door flew open and knocked me off my feet. My breath left me as I hit the ground. Before I could regain my footing, the wind lifted my wet sandy skirt causing it to slap me in the face.
    It was well into the afternoon and I was cold and hungry. I went to my room, changed my dress and hung the wet one up to dry. I tried to nap, but my nagging stomach would not give me peace. Restless and cold, I recalled the stack of wood by the fireplace in the library.
    I had success in lighting the fire and stood there for some time watching it. For a moment, I thought I saw Auntie’s face in the flames. She looked sad and worried. I knew it was only my mind playing tricks on me. Yet, if Auntie was watching over me, she would be worried.
    Nothing about this dreadful house was inviting, but as the room warmed up it began to feel more comfortable. I eyed the shelves and selected a book to read, Le avventure di Pinocchio. I recognized the language as Italian and felt reading it would be an exercise of the mind.
    I settled down in a chair by the fire, covered my legs with a woolen throw and opened the book. It was there that I spent the balance of the afternoon. Oddly enough, the story was a near reflection of my own life. A charmed little wooden boy cursed by his own existence. He lies about his identity and is separated from his father.
    I closed the book and laid my head back. A fear rose in my chest as I contemplated the last line: “I don’t know where we are, but we’ll soon find our way home!” Listening to the wind pounding against the window I drifted off to sleep.
    Hours later, I awoke to the sound of voices in the hall. Nell and Arlene had returned from work. Nell did not acknowledge me as she passed by the library, but Arlene came in and