Amanda Douglas - A Little Girl in Old St. Louis

“But he doesn’t want me. No one wants me!”

“Chut! chut! little one. Do not get in such a passion. Surely a child could not help it if it was to be so. But now that I think the matter over, he said I must come, as there would be no one here to look after you, and that your gran’père’s was no place for you. Truly, it is not, if the whispers about him are well grounded. It is said the river pirates gather there. And he goes away for weeks at a time. No, I do not believe M. Denys means to marry.”

“Oh, truly? truly?” Renée flung her arms about the woman’s neck. “Say again you do not believe it.”

Every pulse was throbbing, and her breath came in tangled gasps. The woman’s tranquillity rasped her.

“Nay, he would have planned different. And Ma’m’selle Barbe has young admirers. Ah, you should have seen her at Christmas and Epiphany! She was chosen Queen, she had one of the lucky beans. She would hardly want so grave a man. All young things love pleasure, and it is right; care comes fast enough.”

And now Renée remembered that a young man had spent evenings with his violin, and they two had sat out on the gallery. But she could not divest her mind of the curious sort of suspicion that Barbe cared very much for Uncle Gaspard.

“No, no,” went on Mère Lunde. “People gossip. They often mate two who have no such intention. Dry thy eyes, petite, and laugh again. There has a robin built in the beech near thy window, and now I think there are young ones in the nest. I heard them cry for food. And the father bird goes singing about as if he wanted to tell the news. It is pleasanter than thine.”

Renée smiled then. Yes, if the young man loved, ma’m’selle. How they had laughed and talked. Perhaps – and yet she was not quite satisfied.

But she went out and glanced up at the tree. Yes, there was a nest, and a funny, peeping sound, a rustle in the branches.

The path had been packed clear down to the gate. Some garden beds were laid out, and the neglected grass trimmed up. It began to look quite pretty. If there was something to do, to keep away thoughts.

“Mère Lunde, will you teach me to knit?” she asked suddenly.

“And sew, child. A woman needs that.”

“I can sew a little. But I have nothing to sew.”

“That will be provided if you wish for it. I think your uncle will be glad. I have heard that where there are holy Sisters they teach girls, but we have none here. And now you may help me get the supper.”

That tended to divert her troubled thoughts. And then Uncle Gaspard came in with a guest and the meal was a very merry one. Afterward the two sat over the desk busy with writing and talking until she was sleepy and went to bed.

She studied Uncle Gaspard furtively the next morning. He asked about the school, and said in the afternoon they would take a walk, and this morning she had better go to market with Mère Lunde.

She found that quite an entertainment. The old market was not much, a little square with some stalls, all kept by old women, it seemed. One had cakes, the croquecignolles , the great favorite with everybody. A curious kind of dry candied fruit, and a sausage roll that the men and boys from the levees bought and devoured with hearty relish. Then there was a stall of meats and a portly butcher in a great white gown. Some of the stands were there only two or three days in the week. Most of the inhabitants looked out for their own stores, but there were the boatmen and the fur traders, and the voyageurs . There was but one bake shop, so the market stall was well patronized.

Some one called to Renée as she neared her own corner, and she turned. It was a little girl she had seen in the class at the priest’s house.

“I am glad you have come here to live,” she began. “Your name is Renée de Long – ”

“Renée de Longueville,” with a touch of formality.

“And mine is Rosalie Pichou. I live just down in the street below. I have five brothers and not one sister. How many have you?”

“None at all.”

“Oh, I shouldn’t like that. And I am always wishing for a sister. But one of my brothers will be married shortly, only he is not coming home to live.”

“Do you like him to marry?”

“Oh, yes, we shall have a gay time and a feast. And then there will be the new house to visit. Andre is just twenty-one, Pierre is eighteen, Jules sixteen, and I am twelve. I am larger and older than you.”

They had walked up to the gate. Mère Lunde stood by it. “Will you not come in and see Renée?” she asked, on the child’s behalf.

“Oh, yes,” was the frank answer. “I came to see the new room when M. Denys was building it. Oh, how pretty you have it!” in an almost envious tone.

“But then you can have all. At home, there are two little boys to provide for, and I think boys are always hungry. Jules gets lots of game, he is such a good shot. Oh, I have such a pretty cat and a kitten. I wonder if you would like the kitten?”

“Oh, yes,” said Mère Lunde. “A cat is a comfortable creature to have about, and a kitten full of play, merci! One never tires of her pranks. You will like it, Renée?”

The child’s eyes shone with delight.

“And your mother will let you bestow it?” the mère asked tentatively.

“Oh, yes. You see, there are two dogs and a tame squirrel, and Jules is always bringing home something. Ma mère scolds about it. And Jules is afraid the kitten may get at his birds. Oh, yes, you can have it without doubt. I’ll run and fetch it now.”

Rosalie was back before she had time to go even one way, Renée thought. A beautiful striped gray kitten, with a very cunning face. A fine black stripe went from the outer corner of the eyes to his ears, and gave him the appearance of wearing spectacles, which amused Renée very much. Then they talked about the class.

“I hate to study,” declared Rosalie. “And reading is such slow work when you don’t understand. But it is beginning to be the fashion, ma mère says, and presently people will be despised if they do not know how to read. I like the sums best. You can say them after the Father and not bother your brains. And that’s why I don’t mind the catechism. It isn’t like picking the words out of a page.”

“I can read quite well,” said Renée, with a little pride. “And I like it.”

“I can make netting and knit stockings and am learning to cook. Oh, I must go home at once and help ma mère with the dinner. She told me not to stay, and that I was to ask you to visit me. Come soon,” and she made a pretty gesture of farewell.

Renée picked up the kitten. It was very tame, and made believe bite her hand. Then it gave a sudden spring.

“Oh, it will run away!” cried Renée in alarm.

But one of the men in the garden caught it and gave it back to her.

“Let us make him eat something. Then he will wash his face and stay. And he will be excellent to catch mice in the shop. They destroy the skins so.”

The kitten enjoyed a bit of meat. Then he sat down very gravely and washed his face, which made Renée laugh.

Uncle Gaspard came home and expressed himself delighted with the kitten. He was fond of cats, and had been thinking of one. They had their dinner, and he said he knew the Pichous very well, and was glad Renée had a playmate so near.

Presently they went out for their walk. Already Denys had explained to Mère Lunde the prices of some of the ordinary articles, and where the powder and shot were kept, so that she might provide for a casual customer. But being a little out of the way, trade was not likely to be very brisk.

They went up the Rue de la Place and out at the side of the fort. There were no houses save here and there a few wigwams, and Indian children playing about in the front of them. Cultivated fields stretched out. The King’s Highway marked the western limit of the municipality; all the rest was the King’s domain, to be granted to future settlers. There was the wide prairie, and to the northward the great mound. They mounted this, and then they could see up the winding of the river to the chain of rocks, and the Missouri on its way to join the greater stream and be merged in it. Farther still, vague woodlands, until all was lost in dim outlines and seemed resting against the sky.