GeeMa put the kettle on the stove and watched the robins splashing around in the bird bath. She had to smile a little because the big one was making such a mess, as always. She made a mental note to get his name next time they met.

The kitchen was a wreck. GeePa had made chicken parm last night, and all the dishes were still waiting for him. He enjoyed washing dishes in the morning. It was a ritual that gave him time to think about the coming day. Sometimes GeeMa would wash the dishes if she knew he was “in a mood” when he went to bed. It was a little peace offering. But that didn’t happen very often. Mostly because she hated doing dishes, but also because he wasn’t in a mood very often.

Earl Gray in hand, GeeMa went out the back door onto the covered patio and stopped to pluck a few verbena leaves to crush into her tea. The smell always made her think of summer, which was still a long time coming.

As she stepped through the shop door, she could hear Mr. Robin chirping quite loudly. He must have found something funny.

If the kitchen was a mess, the shop was a disaster. A group of ladies on a quilting retreat had stopped by yesterday, and they were very excited to be shopping. Thank goodness. She hoped a few would come back today to pick up some more fabric. Business had been a little slow lately, probably because everyone was out in their yards instead of in their sewing rooms.

Anna was already in the shop, working on the tiny quilt she was making for her doll’s bed. GeeMa almost told her she was supposed to be straightening the fabric. But she didn’t. She was glad Anna loved sewing. And… she knew Anna wouldn’t be a kid much longer.

⊙  The old clock on the high shelf struck four times. GeeMa looked up at it and sighed. She didn’t know why she even looked up, because the clock had never kept time as far as she knew. Well, not the normal kind of time, anyway. It was hard to explain.

Anna peered over her glasses at GeeMa. “The 'Twixt?” she asked quietly. GeeMa nodded. “I’m going to fix some tea. I’ll be right back,” she said. And while that was technically true, both Anna and GeeMa knew that for GeeMa, those few minutes could be days.

As she made her way back to the kitchen, Rose stopped on the patio and inspected her herb garden. "The thyme needs a little water when I get back," she thought. She hoped she wouldn't have a migraine like the last time. That reminded her; she needed to remember to strip some willow tree bark next time she and Anna went down to the creek. Maybe she could talk Andrew into coming with them. Probably not. 

When she got into the kitchen, Andy already had the kettle back on the burner. She knew that meant he had heard the clock in the house, too. "Sorry. Did it wake you up?" Rose asked. He said, "I needed to get up anyway." 

As she kissed his forehead, she briefly thought about how lucky she was to have him. Somebody who knew her secrets (for the most part), and yet just acted like it was another ordinary day. When the water got hot, she pointed to the top shelf, and Andy got the jars of Mugwort and Yarrow down for her. He reached into the cookie jar and grabbed a handful of rosemary crackers. When he handed them to her, he paused for just a second, long enough to make her look into his face. He didn't say anything, but she knew that he was telling her to be careful.

She kissed his forehead again and headed toward her sewing room. "A strawberry," she thought, and turned back to get one out of the fridge. 

When she got to her room, she took the old apron off its hook and put it on. It had been her mother's, and her mother's before that. She probably could stand to make a new one. This one had seen better days. But, it was comforting to have something that made her remember her past, and always wise, too.

Rose put the crackers and the strawberry into the apron pocket and reached into the big jar of marbles. It never hurt to bring a marble either. She had bought the marbles at the Goodwill a while back. Interesting fact: they bring out a new jar every time one gets sold. Apparently, marble collectors go crazy over those jars. Rose just picked one that looked similar to a bunch of others. She might try to get Andrew to see if there were any valuable ones in there later. That would be a good homeschool lesson, right?

She double tied her tennis shoes (you never know what you're going to be doing in the 'Twixt) and put on her pearls. She set the tea on the end table next to her chair. She loved that chair. She had reupholstered it herself several years ago. Instead of boring upholstery fabric, she had made an actual quilt to cover it with. It was bright, with large patches of hot pink and orange, lime green and turquoise. There were huge flowers appliqued on top, and crazy quilt stitches in the seams. She was very proud of it. 

She moved Mr. Boots out of the seat and put him outside the room. He was not happy about it, but she didn't need to deal with a cat while she was searching for a Lost One. Settling down into the chair with her tea, she reached for the old journal and started to read. 

◬ ⋮ Áine Ailish's Journal 

Settling down into the quilted chair with her Mugwort tea, Rose carefully unwrapped the old linen handkerchief from around the journal. It had been in her family for many, many generations. The first entry was made in 1775 by her fourth great-grandmother, Áine. 

The journal cover itself was leather. Very soft and thin leather. The ink had faded so badly in places that it was hard to make out some words. Rose knew she should translate it while she could. Somebody had started doing that at some point - the 1970's? - but then gave up. It was really hard to read parts of it. Maybe that would be a good lesson for Anna. Yes. That would be a good lesson. It could be both a history and a science class. But not for another year or so. Anna didn't need to be reading the journal quite yet. She might try crossing by herself before she was ready. Rose knew all about that. She had done it herself. 

By the 1950's, nobody in the family believed anything that was written in the old journal. Except Rose's grandmother Lula. Her mother or grandmother, or maybe even a great-aunt, had taught Lula about crossing. The records from that time weren't very complete, so who knew? There were several different handwriting styles in the old book, and many scraps of paper just stuck in there with random notes such as, "bring honey next time." 

Lula had been the last one who truly believed, up until she showed Rose the journal. By then, Lula's mind had begun slipping. Everyone thought she had completely lost it long before she actually had because she talked incessantly about "The 'Twixt." Toward the end, visitors would bring her Twix candy bars because they thought that's what she was obsessing over. 

But luckily, Lula had shared her secrets with Rose, who had spent many afternoons with her grandma. Rose made doll clothes on the old treadle machine while Lula proudly used her new Kenmore. She was an accomplished seamstress who could make a dress in a day without a pattern.

Most of the time, the pair just sewed in silence. Sometimes, Lula would announce that she needed to take a nap for a bit but would be back soon. This always happened just after the old mantel clock's bell made a curious sound of some sort. At first, Rose didn't understand why they kept that old clock anyway. It never had kept time, and only chimed ever so often, and not for any reason in particular, it seemed.

As they both grew older, Rose started finding reasons for not spending afternoons with her grandma, as kids do. One rainy Saturday morning, Lula called Rose and asked if she could come sew with her. It caught Rose off guard and she wondered if something was wrong. Her grandma never called. She lived right across the street, but had always just waited for the kids to come over after school (which they did - because she always had fresh cookies.)

That day Rose didn't have a project. It had been a while since she had been there. So she took a few pieces from the scrap basket and started sewing them together, like a crazy quilt. Maybe a kerchief for her hair, she thought. After a while, Lula cleared her throat like she was going to speak, but didn't. Finally, Rose, who was exceptionally good at reading people even as a child, asked her grandmother what was wrong.

"Oh nothing's wrong," Lula half-laughed. "I just have something I want to tell you, but I don't know how to start." 

Rose instantly felt her throat tighten, like she might cry. Her grandma saw her face, and said, "Oh, no, honey, I promise it's nothing bad. It's just really hard to explain."

And for the next hour, Lula explained as much as she could about The Betwixt, and about what it meant for Rose in the future, if she chose to be a Keeper. She explained what she knew from reading the old journal and what she had learned over the years.

Rose believed her. She had often heard not-quite-voices in the woods, near the creeks, and anywhere else that was quiet enough to be still and truly listen. 

Over the next couple of years (before Lula's dementia really set in), Rose spent more time with her grandma, begging for more stories of her adventures in the 'Twixt. But Lula kept most of the details to herself, except for the warnings. She was sure her mind was sliding. She often couldn't find names to go with the familiar faces around her. She wanted to prepare Rose as best should could, while she could. So she did mention the dangers. She made Rose promise she wouldn't cross by herself, and promised her that she would go with her the first time. Soon.

But life happens, and soon never came. 

Rose, now a grandmother herself, closed the journal, touched her pearls, and took a nap.