The rising of the sun brought to the small village of Le Mans, yet another Saturday morning. Marshall had wanted to get an early start on the repairs he had promised to complete for his new landlord, but Madame Dubois would have nothing of the sort. The kind woman insisted that a man couldn't possibly get any work done on an empty stomach; it would send him straight to the town doctor. So, there Marshall sat, at the kitchen table, having a hearty breakfast with the Dubois family. Monsieur Dubois' face was hidden behind the morning paper, while Madame Dubois busied herself by the stove, young Maurice was fiddling with, well, Marshall couldn't identify whatever it was, but Maurice claimed that his 'invention' was going to make him famous one day, and Ami sat with her elbows propped on the table, with her chin implanted in the palms of her hands, just staring at him. She also had this far off look in her eyes, that confused Marshall to no end, but he couldn't judge her just yet. Marshall only met the girl yesterday, after all.
"So, Marshall," Ami began in casual conversation, "did you sleep well last night?"
Finally, Monsieur Dubois lowered his newspaper, and raised an eyebrow at his daughter, "Since when are you on a first name basis with Monsieur Stoddard, Ami?"
"Oh, Papa," the girl brushed off, "he doesn't mind. Do you, Marshall?"
"Um... no. I prefer it, actually," admitted Marshall.
"See, Papa," Ami chirped, "it all works out in the end!"
Monsieur Dubois sighed, and again buried his face behind his paper. This morning was beginning to feel very awkward for Marshall, and he hoped that breakfast would be over with soon. It wasn't that Marshall disliked the Dubois', it was just... the way Ami looked at him like a fresh cut of lean meat, made him very uncomfortable. If the boy wasn't so fearful of what he might find, Marshall would have wished he could read Ami's thoughts. At least that way he would know exactly what he was dealing with.
"Well," the girl drawled out, "did you sleep soundly?"
"Oh, yes," Marshall lied. Truthfully, he had been plagued by nightmares until the morning sun peeked through the clouds, "thank you."
"Merci," corrected Ami.
"Oh, that's right... merci. I forgot," Marshall said, quite ashamed of himself, "I guess I really need to learn French, now."
"I can teach you," Ami offered.
Well, Marshall thought, Ami certainly was a friendly young woman.
"I don't mean to trouble you..."
"Oh, it won't be trouble!" she cried excitedly, "I finished school a year ago, and when I'm not doing housework, I'm completely free."
"Okay, then," Marshall smiled, "I would really appreciate that."
"Good, it's settled," the girl declared, "we can start lessons tomorrow! In the meantime, I can take you on a tour of Le mans. I'm sure you want to become familiar with your surroundings, don't you, Marshall?"
Monsieur Dubois set down his newspaper again, "You certainly are a chatterbox this morning, Ami. What has gotten into you?"
"Oh, Papa," giggled Ami, "you are so silly sometimes."
"I am not silly," her father maintained.
Ami ignored the man of the house, and directed another question towards Marshall, "So, when would you like to go on that tour?"
"Uh..."
"Monsieur Stoddard cannot join you on this so called tour, Ami. He has promised to fix the leaky spot in the roof."
It appeared that Ami was about to open her mouth in protest, when her mother intervened.
"Oh, stop it, Henri," Madame Dubois delivered a warning glance at her husband, "It's Saturday, the boy starts his new job on Monday. You'll get you're money soon enough!"
"Fine," grumbled Monsieur Dubois, "I suppose there's no harm in a tour, but I don't see why Maurice can't take Monsieur Stoddard."
Marshall noticed that Ami adopted a look of pure horror. He was just begging to realize his mistake: being caught in the middle of another family's life was beyond awkward. Perhaps if he worked extra hours, and saved his earnings, he would be able to afford a room at the tavern, after all.
"Oh, but Ami knows this town like the back of her hand, Henri! Besides, I have a few items that could be picked up at the market. I could send Ami out with a list of what I need."
"But, Paulette," Monsieur Dubois sputtered, "we cannot have our daughter seen gallivanting about town with a strange man no one has ever seen! Think of the scandal!"
"Then send them both," Madame Dubois said decidedly, turning back to her cooking.
"All right," Monsieur Dubois sighed, apparently accepting defeat from his wife.
"Good!" Ami jumped up from her seat, "I'll just go get dressed, then. I will only be a minute!"
With that, Ami quickly ran up the stairs, and everyone left in the kitchen below, heard the loud slam of her bedroom door. That girl was excited about something.
"What was wrong with the dress Ami was only wearing?" Monsieur Dubois inquired of his wife.
Madame Dubois only smiled at her husband, shaking her head, the same way Marshall's mother used to do. Still, the boy couldn't help but agree with his landlord on this one. He saw absolutely nothing wrong with what Ami was wearing at breakfast. Besides, they would only be going to the market. What was the point in changing her dress? This Ami was a very strange girl, strange and bubbly.
Ami had changed into an attractive, sky blue day dress, with a wine colored bustle, and carried in her hands, a wicker basket with her mother's shopping list placed neatly inside. Marshall had to admit that the girl looked rather picturesque, bounding up an down with each step, as her basket swayed in her grip. The whole scene looked like a page torn out of a child's picture book.
Ami explained the important places in town that Marshall needed to know, as the three of them made their way through the village. Ami was speaking animatedly, using her hands to emphasize her words, while Maurice simply trailed behind them, not venturing to say much. Marshall couldn't help but feel the boy had been sent along with them, to act as a spy, but Monsieur Dubois had nothing to worry about. Ami was nothing but a child compared to him, and Marshall could never have an impure thought about her.
Suddenly, Ami stopped and removed her mother's list from the wicker basket, and began reading though it.
"Ugh," Ami groaned.
"What's wrong?" Marshall asked, genuinely concerned.
"Mama wants another loaf of bread."
"Why should that be a cause of concern?" the young man furrowed his brows.
"Because," Maurice chimed in, "Ami does not get along with the baker's son. She insults Pierre every time she sees him."
"I do not!" Ami cried indignantly.
"Yes, you do," Maurice challenged.
"Oh, shut up, Maurice," Ami chastised as she rushed towards the baker's stand."
Both Marshall and Maurice followed the girl dutifully, and listened to the conversation ensue.
"Bonjour, Pierre," Ami began, with a forced politeness.
"Bonjour, Ami," Pierre answered with an equal amount of disdain, "what can I help you with today?"
"I need a baguette for tonight's dinner."
"That will be a half franc," the baker's son informed.
"Oh, not it won't!" argued Ami.
"You do this every single time, Ami," Sneered Pierre, "A price is a price. You can't change it by shouting."
"You should be ashamed of yourself, Pierre," Ami drilled into him, "taking advantage of you're hard working customers. Where's you're father? He should know that is only son is sullying his good name!"
Pierre held out an open palm, "Just pay me the half franc, Ami, and go on your merry little way."
"I most certainly will not, you... you terrible ogre!"
Ami argued back and forth with the baker's son, and their voices grew louder and louder with every few words. Marshall stood and watched in a mix of horror and admiration. Never before had he seen a woman speak so boldly, and confidently before. He couldn't understand what they were saying however, as the conversation switched to French a little while ago, but judging by the looks plastered across the faces of several old women, Ami must have been spouting some pretty big insults.
"Come on," Maurice tugged at Marshall's shirtsleeve, "Ami and Pierre can go at it for at least another hour. I can show you the rest of the town myself.'
"Yeah... okay," Marshall voiced, as he followed the young boy down the dirt path.
Marshall really did try to keep his mind on what Maurice was explaining to him, but he found it excessively difficult to tear his attention from the escalating confrontation, between Ami and the baker's son. Every few steps, Marshall stole another look back at the arguing pair. Those two were really drawing quite the crowd. He wondered what Monsieur Dubois would have to say about all this. The eighteen year old continued walking, without paying any attention to his surroundings. This of course was a mistake, Marshall suddenly realized, when his body collided with that of another human being. There was a distinctively feminine shriek, and Marshall looked up at the girl with a fright.
"I am so very sorry, miss," Marshall apologized with a gasp.
The poor girl had dropped her own basket, and its contents spilled about, all over the ground. Marshall immediately stooped to help pick up the mess he had created, but it seemed the girl had the exact same idea, for their hands reached for the same item, and touched. For a split second, Marshall felt is if, a bolt of electricity had coursed though his body, and for the first time, he took a good look at the young woman. Marshall's eighteen year old heart fluttered at the sight of her. She was simply beautiful, with flowing blond hair, and eyes the deepest shade of blue, he had ever seen. The girl was still bent over her basket, and from his current vantage point, Marshall had a clear view of her ample cleavage. The poor boy had to force himself to break his gaze. Honorable men simply did not do this sort of thing!
"I-I'm sorry, miss," Marshall repeated with a decent blush.
"Non, it's quite all right, Monsieur," the pretty girl smiled at him, "I didn't have any eggs in my basket this morning."
"Oh, good," Marshall said stupidly.
No! he cursed himself. Why did he have to sound so stupid in front of beautiful girls? Why? However Marshall collected himself, and offered the girl his hand. She accepted, and Marshall gently pulled the girl back up to her feet.
"Merci, Monsieur," she smiled sweetly.
Marshall gently nudged Maurice in his ribcage, and whispered, "How do you say, you're welcome in French?"
"De rien," he whispered back."
"De rien," Marshall repeated as confidently as he could.
The girl winked at him, "Well, Au revoir, Monsieur."
Having said her piece, the blond girl left, and Marshall watched her disappear into the distance.
"Who was that?" he asked Maurice, as soon as the young lady was appropriately out of earshot.
"Claire Mercier," Maurice answered with a shrug.
"Mercier?" Marshall questioned in disbelief, "Is she any relation to Jcaques Mercier?"
"Oui, she is his daughter."
"How old is she?" inquired Marshall.
"Just turned eighteen last month," Maurice replied, "why do you want to know?"
"No reason," Marshall said softly.
It occurred to Marshall that he was developing a schoolboy crush on his employer's daughter. Marshall smiled in spite of himself. It seemed that he would see the lovely Claire again, come Monday.
Quick French Lesson
Au revoir = Goodbye