The Child Lives On

Chapter Ten

While brushing back the curtains to let in the morning light, I noticed a small child sitting on the stoop in front of my café, knitting. Curious, I observed for a minute or two. Unlike the grimy beggars who usually haunted my place, she was clean, and wearing a pretty dress and bonnet.

I poked my head out the door. "Mademoiselle, what are you doing out here?"

"Granny died," was her answer.

"That is too bad."

"Yes, it is."

"What is your name?"

"Emily."

"I am Jacques."

Turning her head around, she looked up at me. Her face was round, with chubby cheeks, and a tiny nose and mouth. Light red eyebrows hovered over her bright green eyes like crescent moons. "Is this your café?" she asked.

"Yes, it is," was my answer.

"Do you mind if I sit here for a while?"

"Have you no where else to go?"

"No, Monsieur. I have nowhere to go."

"Wait right here. I will return."

In my kitchen, I spread a pat of butter on some leftover bread and poured water into a cup. The child thanked me most politely when I presented the meager offering. Returning to the kitchen, I began preparations for the day.

While kneading some dough for bread, I glanced at some potatoes and vegetables in need of attention. An idea came into my mind. I stepped outside. The child was nibbling daintily on the slice of bread. "Mademoiselle," I said, "are you able to peel and chop vegetables?"

"Yes, Monsieur," she said.

"Come inside. I will pay you for your time."

Setting her to work, I thought she would fumble around with a carrot or two, as any small child would do. Much to my astonishment, she peeled and sliced the carrots quickly and efficiently, handling the knife like a professional. Obviously, it was not her first time in a kitchen. Potatoes, onions, whatever I needed, she handled with equal dexterity. She even cleaned the fish and prepared sauces, with little or no instruction from me. In all my years as a café owner, I have employed many people. Few would equal her in quantity and quality of work. The only thing she could not do was lift heavy bags or trays.

My cottage is situated behind my café. When lunch had been prepared, and ready to be served, I sent the child to the cottage for some rest. It has always been my understanding that small children do not have much stamina and need to nap often. At three o'clock, when the lunch crowd had departed, I went to the cottage to see how she fared. Much to my surprise, I found the cottage swept, cleaned and organized. The child was sitting in a chair, knitting. "Mademoiselle," I said, "do you intend to make this your home?"

Still concentrating on her knitting, she said, "Monsieur, do you want me to leave?"

"Come, Mademoiselle, let us not be hasty. I have prepared a lunch for you in the café. We will talk this over while we dine."

Needless to say, I could not allow this little gem to get away, so I offered her a job and a place to stay. Much to my surprise and delight, she accepted my offer.

My wife died ten years earlier. We talked of having children. After the tragedy, I stumbled blindly through the darkness, movements merely habit without thought, with no real purpose in my life. Then this child showed up out of the blue, and gave me a reason to live again.

However, it wasn't long before tongues began to wag and busybodies were poking their noses in our business. City authorities came around, and Emily was removed to the orphanage until the situation could be fully investigated. To complicate matters, Emily remembered very little about herself. All she seemed to know was that her granny died; but who her granny was, and where she was from, remained a mystery.

Determined to have her back, I took what action I could - filling out paperwork, cleaning and redecorating the cottage, buying new furniture, and so on. Having lived in Barfleur all of my life, and always an upstanding citizen, I saw no reason I could not adopt the child. Not everyone agreed. The more influential ladies in town (Madame Musaraigne, an old sour face, in particular) were scandalized at the thought of a single man caring for a little girl alone. My assurances of decorum and proper behavior fell on deaf ears.

I did not give up, however. Every afternoon, for months on end, and in all kinds of weather, I walked to city hall and spoke with Monsieur Forgeron, the clerk. He would kindly tell me, "No news yet." Then I would proceed to the church, and speak with Sister Giselle, who was in charge of the orphanage. "Monsieur," she would say, "every effort is being made to find a suitable home for the child." Then I would invariably say, "My home is suitable." To which she would reply, "That may very well be. A decision has yet to be made."

My long-time friend, Robert, confronted me in the café. "Jacques, my friend," he said, "you have not been coming to the tavern."

"No, no, I must not," I said, "for appearances sake."

He took umbrage, slamming his hand on the counter. "We are not bad men. There is nothing wrong with drinking with your friends."

"Perhaps not, but Sister Giselle and Madame Musaraigne will not see it that way."

"Is the child so important? Will you turn your back on your friends?"

"I have not turned my back on my friends. We can fish, play games, talk, joke, any number of things, but drinking in the tavern is out."

He crossed his arms and frowned. "Your mind is made up?"

"Yes."

"You are certain?"

"Yes."

"Very well." Sticking out his hand, he smiled. "Good luck to you, my friend. Your friends are behind you."

I shook his hand, said, "Thank you," and wondered who was testing me.

As time went on, doubt and despair haunted me, keeping me up at night. Questions abounded. Were the ladies right? Was I unsuitable? Were my motives pure? Did I really care for the child? Or was it just her marvelous work-ethic? In spite of my doubts, I persevered.

Month after month, I kept to the same routine, until a decision was made. In the end, someone up above was smiling on me. The authorities were unable to find another home for the child, though they had tried desperately. Emily was returned, but not without stipulations. Inspections would be forthcoming. My life would continue to be laid bare.

When Emily walked through the cottage door, my heart rejoiced. Even the sour face of Madame Musaraigne, and the subsequent long-winded lecture, could not dampen my spirits.

"My child," she said to Emily, "you must tell me if you are the least bit uncomfortable or mistreated."

"Madame," said Emily, "Monsieur Davignon is a fine man, who has always treated me well."

"Even so, I will be back to check on you often."

"You are welcome at any time."

The lady turned to me, a stern look on her face. "Monsieur Davignon."

"Yes, Madame."

"The improvements you have made, concerning yourself and your cottage, have impressed everyone, including myself."

"Thank you."

"I am sure we can agree, Mademoiselle Charbonneau's welfare is of prime importance."

"Yes, Madame, I agree wholeheartedly."

"Very well, Monsieur. A good day to you."

"And a good day to you, Madame."

As she marched out of the cottage, with her back rigid, and her nose in the air, I wondered if she ever smiled.

Emily and I were alone at last. After all the waiting, my dream had finally come true.

"Mademoiselle," I said, "this is your home, to do with as you please."

"The cottage is beautiful, Monsieur," she said. "Did you do this for me?"

"For both of us, my dear."

"How very thoughtful."

She floated around the cottage, poking her cute little nose into every room. When she came to her bedroom, she exclaimed, "What cute little furniture!"

"Do you like it?"

"It is darling. I love it."

"I am glad."

"How did you know I would like strawberry wallpaper?"

"A lucky guess."

Performing a graceful pirouette, she turned to face me. "Monsieur, I have a request."

"Anything you desire, my dear."

"I wish to establish a business."

"A business? What sort of business?"

"Herbal remedies."

"Oh? Is this something new?"

"No, Monsieur. I have always had an interest in herbs."

"Have you?"

"There is one problem."

"What is it?"

"I will require a garden, but I am not physically able to till the ground."

"Of course, you are so tiny. How large of a plot will you need?"

"The whole yard."

"The whole yard?"

"Yes. And if I succeed in this venture, I hope to purchase the land next door."

"You have thought this out, I see."

"When one is idle, one has time to think. There was very little to do in the orphanage."

"My dear, you are a most unusual child."

"You have been most gracious, Monsieur. I do not wish to be a burden."

"My dear, you could do nothing at all, and still not be a burden."

"If I were lazy, you would soon tire of it."

"I think not; but come, let us not argue. Is there anything else you desire?"

"Let me think." She rubbed her tiny chin, and pursed her lips, then thrust a finger in the air. "A workshop. I will need a workshop. The kitchen will do nicely, I think."

"Your wish is my command, my dear. But first, we must celebrate."

"Celebrate?" She cocked her head to the side, like a curious little puppy. "What do you have in mind?"

"A party."

"A party?"

"Yes, a party. At this very moment, my friends are waiting for us in the café."

"Are they?"

"And all of your little orphan friends are there as well."

Her smile brought out the dimples in her chubby little cheeks. "How wonderful," she said. "We are sure to have fun."

I offered her my arm. "Shall we proceed to the café, my dear?"

Placing her tiny hand in the crook of my arm, she said, "With pleasure, Monsieur."

And so my life began again, with a most unusual child by my side. If my wife were here, I am sure she would approve.