She’s Been Marooned Next Door to the “American Gothic” House With No Way Out
But she’s no ‘girl next door’
Clutching a tattered suitcase against her chest, Aimée looked up at the Gothic window in front of the house. How had it even gotten there?
It was commonplace in her native Lille. In fact, she rarely even noticed the Gothic architecture of L’Église Saint-Maurice, which she had passed every day as a child.
But here? In a tiny village in the United States? This gothic window stuck out like a sore thumb. It was as marooned here as she was.
“Amy! Amy! Stop gawking and get in here!”
Unused to the anglicized version of her name, it wasn’t until her Aunt Dorothy was standing at her side that she pulled her eyes away from the window.
“Don’t go bothering Mrs. Dibble and Clara. Come inside!”
Aunt Dorothy wrenched her arm towards the back door of the Prairie-style home she shared with Aimée’s uncle, François.
Frank.
She’d have to get used to the anglicization of his name too.
Aimée knew she should be grateful to be here to stay with her uncle and aunt, an ocean…
