While the World Is Still Asleep (The Century Trilogy Book 1) by Petra Durst-Benning Page B

note of pride in her voice. “Before this place was remodeled as a sanatorium, it was the Stag Guesthouse. The guests back then certainly did not have the luxury of a private washbasin, but Mr. Römpler saw the potential that the old Stag had to offer. He left the dining room and guest salon as they were.” The woman pointed toward a door. “You’ll find our library in there. We encourage our guests to choose whatever reading matter they might enjoy, because a cheerful spirit will hasten the healing process. The weather is still warm enough that you can even take a book and spend the day with it in our beautiful garden, if you like. Mr. Römpler brought in a gardener especially from Baden-Baden who transformed the old vegetable garden into a veritable oasis of calm, with benches for sitting and a pavilion. We even have a small lily pond! Isn’t that marvelous? Look, Mr. Römpler had the garden lit in the evenings.” The receptionist was clearly enjoying her presentation and pushed aside a checked curtain to show Josephine the view from the window.
    “It really is quite lovely,” said Josephine. For the first time in her life, she felt something like a joyful anticipation stir in her. A library. Reading books in the garden. And such a beautiful room . . .
    She pointed to a long room directly below her window. “And what is that?”
    “Our new extension. It houses the bath section. We have six tubs for hip baths, but we will only know tomorrow if they will be part of your convalescence here, after your medical examination.” The receptionist frowned and looked at Josephine, then at the watch hanging on a chain around her neck, and she said, “My goodness, it’s already so late! They’ll be serving dinner in half an hour. But you still have time to freshen up a little before you come down for dinner.”
    “For dinner?” Josephine said with a squeaky voice. The pleasant feeling that had begun to spread inside her disappeared and gave way to a new and nervous rumbling in the region of her stomach that had nothing to do with hunger. The thought of meeting strangers with whom she was supposed to make conversation made her anxious.
    “I’m not sure . . . I don’t want to rush things . . . and I’m really not hungry.”
    “Don’t worry. Everyone here is very nice and approachable.” The receptionist laughed. “We are blessed with a particularly likeable group of guests at the moment. Although it’s true that they’re all older than you, our guests’ afflictions and hope for recuperation are normally more than sufficient as a basis for conversation.” She already had her hand on the doorknob when she stopped and turned to Josephine one last time.
    “Oh, one thing I almost forgot . . . Here in the sanatorium, we use a special form of address. We don’t go by Professor Suchandsuch or Director Soandso, let alone Countess of Whoknowswhere. Each of us thinks up a nice plain name for themselves, and otherwise we just use a friendly Sir or Madam. Though in your case, because you’re still so terribly young, we’ll go with Miss.” A short pause followed. When Josephine said nothing, the receptionist spoke again. “What do they call you at home?”
    With some trepidation, Josephine told the woman her name. But that was on her registration form already, wasn’t it?
    “And do you have any special nickname?”
    “No. Well, my friend Clara sometimes calls me Josie.”
    “Josie.” The receptionist let the name roll over her lips as if she were tasting wine. “Josie.” She shook her head, then said firmly. “It doesn’t suit you. It’s much too sweet. We’ll call you Jo.”
    “Jo?” Josephine let out a confused laugh. “But . . . isn’t that a man’s name?”
    The woman flicked her hand dismissively. “Who cares? It’s short and snappy and that can’t hurt. My name’s Roswitha, by the way.” And even though she had already shaken hands with Josephine at the reception desk, she