The Child Lives On
Chapter Seven
On a cool, late-spring morning, a little boy, and a little girl, with light blond hair and shimmering blue eyes, were wandering aimlessly down a dirt path. The path runs into, and out of, a little town located near the port of Calais in northern France. The little boy and little girl were twins; and if the little girl wasn't wearing a dress, and if her hair wasn't put up in pigtails and ribbons, you might not be able to tell them apart.
Now, these children were speaking to each other in the French language. Why? Because they were French, that's why. So, for those of you who don't understand the French language, I will do my best to translate.
"What do you want to do?" asked Renée.
"I don't know," answered René, while trying to hit a little squirrel with a stone, and missing badly.
Yes. You heard that right. These twins were named Renée and René. Don't ask me what their parents were thinking.
"Do you want to go see Emily?" asked Renée.
"Nah," said René. "She'll make me work in her garden."
"Make you? You can say no if you want to."
"No, I can't."
"Gilles and Benoit will probably be there. They're in love with her, you know."
"Nah ah."
"They were fighting over her the other day."
"You're making that up."
"Ask them."
"I will."
Having made a decision, in a sort of roundabout way, Renée and René walked, in a roundabout sort of way, toward Emily's little cottage. When they arrived, they heard crying coming from within.
"Maybe this is a bad time," said Renée, the more cautious of the two.
"Too late," said René, already knocking on the door.
The door was opened by a little girl with auburn curls and bright green eyes. She stepped outside and closed the door behind her.
"Emily," said Renée, "is something wrong?"
"Nothing to concern you," said Emily.
"Have you seen Gilles and Beniot?" asked René.
"No, I haven't seen the boys today."
"Renée said that they were in love with you…"
"Shut up!" said Renée.
"And that they were fighting over you. Is that true?"
"Other than the usual punching, prodding, poking and pushing," said Emily with a shrug, "I haven't noticed any fighting."
René turned on his sister. "See?"
"I wasn't lying," Renée insisted. "I know what I saw."
"Would you mind keeping you voices down?" asked Emily.
"I know what I saw," whispered Renée.
"It doesn't matter," said Emily. "Boys will fight over any little thing."
"Girls too," said René.
"Nah ah," said Renée.
"Perhaps it would be better if we continued this fascinating discussion tomorrow," said Emily.
"Huh?" said the twins.
"Come back tomorrow... please?"
Taking the hint, the twins went on their merry way, and Emily stepped back into the cottage. Four grown-up-type people were together in the living room. Two pretty ladies, almost identical, except for a twenty year age difference, which was almost imperceptible, were hugging each other and weeping. Two gentlemen, one in his fifties, and the other in his twenties, were standing side-by-side having a low conversation. The older man, due to his eye-patch and wooden leg, was often mistaken for a pirate, though he was really a soldier. The younger man, handsome and dashing, with dark hair and dark eyes, was the type women swoon over.
Leaving them be, Emily proceeded through the living room into the kitchen, where she had been preparing chicken and vegetables for lunch. Yes, as incredible as it may sound, this child knew how to kill, pluck, clean, dress and roast a chicken all by herself. What do you think of that?
While Emily was setting the food out on the table, the four grown-up-type people (Clara, Ruth, Victor and Gordon), having sufficiently regained their composure, sat together to enjoy the meal. When the food was set out, Emily climbed into her chair. "Tell me all about this move," she said, handing a basket of fresh-baked bread to Ruth, who was sitting to her right.
"Victor has been made a vice-president," said Ruth, taking some bread out of the basket and passing it to Victor.
"The Harrington Company set up a branch-office in Toronto," said Victor, passing the basket to Gordon, after helping himself to some bread. "I'll be working there."
"You mentioned before about expanding into the Americas," said Clara, accepting the basket from Gordon, "but I never considered the implications."
"Me either," said Emily, taking the basket from Clara and setting it on a side-table.
"To tell the truth," said Victor, "neither did I."
"Nor I," said Ruth.
"When will you be leaving?" asked Gordon.
"Our ship sails in a month," said Victor, "out of Portsmouth."
"We will come to see you off, of course."
"Of course," said Clara.
On a warm summer morning, four children were lounging lazily under a shady tree on the banks of a stream. Insects and birds sang all around them. The stream was singing too, in its own sort of way. You have already met René and Renée. Now let's meet Gilles and Benoit. Gilles is a stout little fellow with a wide round face, wide set eyes, and red hair cut short. Benoit is skinny, or perhaps gangly, with close set eyes, and a face all nose and chin. These four children have been friends since they were toddlers, and have always got along well, except when they don't.
On this particular morning, with poles and line and hooks and bait, they were attempting to catch fish. While thus occupied, Benoit let out a sigh. "I haven't seen Emily smile in weeks," he said.
"Neither have I," said Renée.
"Nor I," said René.
"Nor I," said Gilles.
"And she won't tell me what's wrong," said Benoit.
"Somebody must have died," said Renée. "When Grandma died, Mama didn't smile for weeks. She just cried and cried."
"I still hear her crying sometimes," said René.
"Because you don't behave."
"Nah ah."
"You still hear who crying?" asked Benoit.
"Mama," said René.
"Oh, I thought you meant Emily."
"I haven't heard Emily crying."
"But she looks so sad," said Renée.
"Who looks sad?" asked Benoit. "Your mama?"
"No, Emily."
"We should try to cheer her up," said Gilles.
"I have tried," said Benoit.
"So have I," said René.
"So have I, said Renée.
Having said all they had to say, the children sat in silence, preoccupied with various thoughts. Don't ask me what they were. I cannot read minds.
It was then that Emily walked down the dirt path toward the stream, holding a pole in one hand, and a bucket in the other. She was wearing a plain black dress with a plain white apron and bonnet. When she arrived, she put down the bucket, and extracted a little jar from inside. From inside the jar, she extracted a worm. Putting the worm on the hook, she threw a line out into the water, and sat down on the bank. The other children were watching her every move.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I haven't been much fun lately."
"Will you tell us why you've been so sad?" asked Renée.
"Yes, I will tell you." After a short pause, Emily let out a sigh. "Someone very dear to me has moved far, far away." A tear trickled down her chubby little cheek. She wiped it away with her tiny fingers. "It seems like just yesterday, I held her as a baby, and watched her grow from a child into a beautiful young lady. And now she's gone."
"Why don't you go to see her?" asked René. "When Aunt Simone moved to Paris, we went to see her."
"If it was just Paris, I wouldn't be sad. Ruthie moved all the way across the ocean."
"What's an ocean?"
"What's an ocean? Have you ever seen Lake Molyneaux?"
"Um hmm."
"The ocean is a million times bigger - maybe a billion."
"That big?"
"Yes, that big."
"Wow."
"Exactly."
"Now I understand," said Renée.
"But we will always be together, won't we?" asked Benoit.
"Probably not," said Emily. "Things will change when you grow up. They always do."
"But I don't want anything to change."
"Of course not." Gazing off into the distance, Emily let out another long sigh. "I remember when I was like you, many, many years ago. I didn't want anything to change either."
The children stared at her, uncomprehending.
"Never mind," she said. "I'm only reminiscing. Let's have fun together while we can."
Now these five children might have remained in this melancholy mood, for who knows how long, if something unusual hadn't happened to snap them out of it. A fish caught hold of Benoit's hook, jerking the pole out of his hands and dragging it away. Jumping quickly to his feet, he dove into the stream, emerging triumphant, with pole in hand, to a chorus of cheers and giggles. And he would have jumped in a thousand more times if he knew he would get the same result. Emily, ankle deep in the water, was offering him her hand… and smiling.