“Would you young ladies care for something to drink?” Miss Wise asked, voice heavy with an accent but much smoother than the normally garbled delivery that certainly never included pleasantries or offerings. It was so peculiar how the spindly branches of this woman had magically sprouted a few blooms within the walls of the dollhouse.

“Yes, please,” Charlotte answered before I could find any words.

Miss Wise gestured for us to follow her to the kitchen. It was an immaculate space dressed in all white with touches of pink and chrome.

Charlotte tapped her knuckles against the glossy white countertop with subtle gray veining through it. A faint ping echoed through the quaint room. “Wow. This ain’t Formica. What kind is it, Miss Wise?”

Miss Wise pulled three sets of dainty teacups and saucers from a cabinet, her eyes moving to where Charlotte stood ogling the counter. “White marble.”

I regarded the pink rose pattern on the cups, not wanting to be rude but certainly not wanting coffee or hot tea after fighting that fire. I decided that after taking a few sips we would bolt but changed my mind when she opened her fridge and pulled out two glass bottles of Cheerwine soda. Besides milk and tea we kept a pitcher of Tang in our fridge, but never soda. That was only for special occasions.

Miss Wise popped the tops with a bottle opener with such ease like she’d done that very thing a million times. When she opened the cabinet below the sink and tossed the two caps inside a nearly full bucket, I supposed she had. After pouring the three cups of soda and placing them on a lace-topped round table with a fresh bouquet of flowers in the center, she glanced my way and took in my darkened hands and dingy shirt. “Perhaps you’d like to clean up a bit?”

Face heating, I nodded, beelining to the bathroom she pointed out. I turned the glass doorknob, using only my fingertips, and entered the prettiest bathroom I’d ever laid eyes on. A claw-foot tub was the centerpiece of the room. Beside it was a bench lined with elegant bottles of bath salts, bubble bath, and other fancy canisters.

I washed up in the pedestal sink, using the pink liquid soap that reminded me of springtime in Foxy’s flower garden, scrubbing up to my elbows and also my face. Completely opposite of the harsh Irish Spring we used at home, the soap smelled so perfume-fresh and felt so silky that I wanted to bathe my entire body in it.

“Dang it,” I grumbled under my breath at the grimy mess left in the sink. It took another squirt of soap and some elbow grease to clean it away. Satisfied with that, I hurried to the kitchen, where Miss Wise and my sister were sipping soda from fine china.

“Join us,” Miss Wise said quietly.