It was early the morning after the ball. For the most part, Suzanne
regretted going. Though she would never say so to anyone. Most of the
things she had been looking forward to at this occasion had failed to
happen. Scooting back from her place at the table after breakfast had
been finished she walked silently into the front room and found her
normal seat in the windowsill. She sat in sweet revelry for several
minutes staring out the window before hearing anyone else enter the
room. Looking up she smiled slightly at Pierre before looking back
through the glass.
"Who are you looking for?" Thus begineth the morning.
With a frown she turned back towards him. "No one."
"You sure? You look sad." Pierre actually felt a moment of compassion
for his sister and pat her knee.
"Just enjoying the morning is all." Suzanne looked up to Pierre with
a half smile. "I'm fine, I assure you."
He laid down his head in her lap. As a little boy, he would do this
with each family member. It helped him calm down and usually they
would rub his back, which he liked.
Very soothingly, Suzanne stroked her fingers against his hair, and
worked her way down his back. It was so much like the peaceful times
at home. When she and Pierre rarely had any reason to go against each
other. "Mon petit Pierre, is something wrong?" She asked very softly,
he hadn't done this in so long.
Last night he decided he wasn't going to tell her, but today seemed a
very different day. He remained there and hugged her legs, deciding
if he should tell her about the French man he'd met the night before.
Continuing to rub his back, Suzanne sighted softly wishing for Papa
to be sitting in his chair reading the paper.
"I know something is on your mind. Please, tell me."
He hugged her legs again and thought and thought and thought. Finally
he spoke, "I'm going to save Poppa."
Looking down at him in surprise she tried her hardest not to tell him
that it was crazy, for she longed to do so herself.
"I wish you could. I miss him so much, but how could it be done. We
don't even know where he is."
Glancing up, he wondered if he should not tell her. Maybe it would be
better if he just went and met the other man. "Yeah, I guess so."
"If only we knew where he was, then I'm sure something could be
done..." She whispered half to herself. Andrew had promised he would
see what could be done, hadn't he. But she was so unsure anymore.
"There is a look in your eyes, what are you thinking?"
"Nothing." He lied. Then he thought the better of it. "There might be
a man who can help Poppa. The man I'm going to find."
Her face brightened slightly. "Someone can help poppa?" she asked in
half hope.
"Where is this man? Where did you meet him?"
He sat up now, wishing to speak and be treated like a man. "Last
night at the ball. The man is French. He doesn't think he can help,
really, but then again, if I went and needed support... I trust him
Suzannie." The poor daft boy.
"Do you know where he is? Or even what we would have to do for our
part?" Suzanne asked turning to face him.
She asked a lot of hard questions. "Well, no. But I'm going to go
and free Poppa. I could figure it out."
That was where she did not like his plan.
"Pierre, you can't go back. There is no way for you to get there, and
even if you could get back to France... There is no way you could do
such a thing alone."
"But Suzannie! This man could help me! I could move around a lot
easier than a group of loud mouthed pompous English!" He pulled away
from her now. She never believed in him.
"Those loud mouthed pompous English were the one's who saved us. Do
you think they meant to leave Poppa behind." She stood and folded her
arms. "I want to see Poppa back with us as much as you do, but
risking your life and going back. It would kill Mamaa to see you go."
"Did Sir Andrew mean to leave you behind last night at the ball?"
Pierre did not actually mean to pick on Sir Andrew again, for he had
a fairly good idea on how it must have hurt his sister, but right now
she was not believing in him and that hurt more. He lashed out
equally sharp.
Her face crumpled, as he shot those words at her.
"No!" she whispered. "It was not his fault." How she could defend him
when he had hurt her, she didn't know. "Besides, this has nothing to
do with you going to find Poppa!"
"Not his fault? Like the English did not *mean* to leave Poppa?!" He
stepped back and clenched his fists. Why could she not see things as
simple as he did? It was as clear as crystal!
"They didn't, I know they didn't. Sir Andrew said they had gone back
for him. I know they didn't mean to, how can you say such things."
Suzanne snapped back. "You want to make it sound like they purposely
left them, but the Scarlet Pimpernel would not have done that. And I
will not let you go off to get your self killed."
"And did Sir Andrew not mean to *not* dance and ignore you last
night? These English! When will you realize they are not French
Suz?!" He took her hands and pleaded. "You are my sister, why do this
to us?"
Pulling her hands away, she took a step back.
"I did not do this to us."
Another rejection. Again from his own sister. This habit was becoming
unbearable to receive. "I am going to find Poppa. You can't keep your
eye on me *and* swoon over your deserting lover at the same time."
He turned to go.
Although his words hurt her, family meant more to her than anything
and would not lose Pierre as well.
Chasing after him she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and
softly pleaded with him. "Please, don't leave Mamaa and I alone.
Pierre, I'm afraid, don't go."
He stopped and reached up to hug her halfway awkwardly. Closing his
eyes, he remembered months before what it felt like to be loved. His
family. It had been months.
The younger boy's voice had calmed, as well as his disposition, but
he was still curt. "Won't Sir Andrew still be here to protect you
both?" The sting to his words was gone, but he asked the question.
"I'm not sure I want him to Pierre." Suzanne confessed softly. A lot
of her opinions had changed during the night. "I will help you to
find this man, see if he can help us, but please, do not go to
France."
Not be with Sir Andrew? It was music to his ears. A smile crossed his
face briefly, and then he quoth, "I have got to go to France. That is
where this man is." Then, with no detail left out, Pierre confided in
his sister and told her all about Mattheui.
"But if he was here in England last night, there is a chance we could
still find him before he leaves to go back for France." Suzanne knew
it was a long shot. After all they knew no way of finding him.
"I only have his address in France..." He hadn't thought about
contacting him in England, and honestly, Pierre looked forward to be
going home.
"Then can you write to him?" Anything to keep him from going back to
France.
"I suppose." It took him a while, but he understood why his sister
kept asking him things. She didn't think he was old enough to handle
it himself.
Well, he would show her. "I could write him." He would write him too.
Informing him of his visit. Pierre could go to France. He *would* go.
He wasn't going? Suzanne hugged him again.
"Then, we can finally find out where Poppa is. And this man will
help us, I am sure." Happiness just seemed light her face with the
idea that her poppa would be coming back to them. "Will you write
tonight? Then the letter can be there when he returns."
"I can do that. You want to write it with me?" He liked the idea of
the two of them doing something together. Alone. No stupid
Englishmen. "But Suzannie, we shouldn't tell Mamaa. I don't want to
get her hopes up if it fails." Actually, he didn't want his mother
keeping a closer eye on him. He would need to slip away from his
family when he went to France.
Touched he would let her help when she offered, Suzanne
nodded. "Yes, I would like to help. And I understand, Maman would be
terribly upset if all this came to nothing." Walking back to her
window seat she lifted the box and pulled out the small writing
desk. "Do you think it would be best to go into one of our rooms?"
He smiled and took her hand. "Okay. Let's go to your room." In his
early youth he was quite the snuggly little boy, which would explain
his tantrums when he did not get his way. Times like this, Pierre was
near pleasant towards his sister.
In agreement, Suzanne glanced down the hall to where their mother was
then lead them both to her room, careful to shut the door behind.
Then with a hopeful smile, she pulled her skirts around so she could
sit on the edge of her bed and Pierre could be beside her. "Now, do
you know the monsieur's name?"
He snuck passed the viewing point of Mother. That would ruin his
whole plan if Mamaa became involved. With almost an excited leap,
Pierre told Suzanne the name Mattheiu had given him. A good sounding
French Aristocratic name. "What shall I ask of him Suzannie? He lives
south of Paris and does not have many contacts in the city." The
thought crossed his mind to have the Frenchman meet up with Sir
Andrew and the rest of the Pimpernels, but that would only get his
sister back in good graces with Ffoulkes. At all costs, Pierre would
avoid that.
Watching her little brother, and thinking of how to find Poppa with
this mans help Suzanne settled into a seat. "Well... we might ask him
if he could confirm which prison Poppa is located in.." The more she
thought, the more things began to click in her mind. "I do think they
would have taken him to the same place as they had taken myself.
Perhaps we could suggest he try there first?"
The boy nodded and hugged her arm, leaning his head into it. "That is
good. Write that. I like that." Pierre smiled.
Concentrating on making the letter very clear, and serious, Suzanne
frowned for a moment before she addressed the letter to the name
Pierre had given her and began to explain what they were asking and
the information she had.
Looking for Pierre's approval, as this was a joint project her frown
from writing softened. "does it sound correct? And what else are we
to tell him? Perhaps we should contact Sir Andrew and see if he can
find out anything more..." In truth she wondered how Sir Andrew
faired. He had seemed so ill.
Immediately, Pierre's face scrunched hearing that name. Sir Ugly
Andrew. "It sounds found until you mentioned *that* part." He looked
at his sister. How could she?
Sighing softly she glanced back to the paper. "I only thought he
could contact the man who had been in the prison. The one who had
taken me out. But of course, no, we should not contact him." A trifle
disappointed, she then looked up. "What else does this need?"
"No..." he whispered, imitating her and enunciating his great
dislike for the aforementioned Englishman. "A contact name and
signature. Then to be mailed. We are done, no?"
Studying the paper, she made a tiny change then looked over to
him. "I am going to put you as the contact, as you are the one he
spoke with." She wrote his name and handed him the paper to
sign. "You are sure this man will try to help us?"
Having spent a Hellish night at home after the ball (Drew had wound
up walking- he was in no way, shape or form able to ride his horse)
he woke up with a nasty hang over and could hardly sit up on his bed
from the throbbing pain in his head. Feeling horrible about what had
happened, he decided to go and appologize to Suzanne. Even though he
felt awful, he pulled on some clothes, ran a comb through his hair
and started out. It wasn't long before he arrived at the
residence...'Dear God, please let her be home..please, please..' He
begged silently, knocking at the door...
Still holding the letter in her hands she looked over to Pierre.
Pulling out a few blank pages she placed them on top of the freshly
written message for help and placed it on her desk. "If someone is
here, Maman will come looking for us, we should go downstairs. she
looked once more to the letter. "We will have to send that later."
He nodded and placed the ink well on top of the blank sheets too.
Just for security in case it might, but couldn't with no window open,
blow away. "Yes, yes," he whispered as they shared the secret. "Let's
go so she doesn't see!"
He was resourceful, that she would give him. All relied on Mamaa not
finding the letter and discovering their plans.
Taking Pierre's hand, she pushed the door open and listened before
tugging him downstairs. Peeking into the room where their mother had
last been, she found her still sitting there, sneaking past the door
she went to the place she had been sitting last and glanced to Pierre
as she picked up a book. "go to the door, Pierre, Mamaa will not."
Following Suzannie, he felt very adult and very important. Right now,
she could ask him to scratch her back and he would. Seeing his sister
take her seat, he smiled and nodded, giving an agreeable sign.
Moving over to the door, he opened it and that is when his smile
vanished. As quickly as the door swung inward, he took to shutting it
tight again. Sir Andrew!
"Nobodies there!" he called and pressed his back to the door. Would
this Englishman just go away?
She couldn't see him, but heard the door shut immediately after being
opened. Leaning forward in her chair she could see him in the hall.
"What? But someone was." She got up and walked into the hall. "Are
you sure no one was there, maybe they left a package or something."
She said moving towards the door to check.
Moving immediately in her path, he waved his hands about. "No! No one
Suzannie! It was nobody!" He tried to stop her, but she was bigger.
Moving one step she reached past him and unlatched the door. Why was
he not even letting her check if there was no one...
"Sir Andrew!" She said in surprise seeing him on the other side of
the door, turning her head she cast an evil glare at Pierre. "What a
surprise." he didn't look well at all. "Are you feeling well this
afternoon? I do hope you have improved."
Drew's head pounded and throbbed, but all that mattered at the moment
was seeing Suzanne. "I-uh, s-somewhat." He said softly, too weak and
tired to really argue. "I see I've come at a bad time. Perhaps I'd
better go and come back later..."
"Not at all, please, come inside and sit for a moment. You have come
all this way at least stop for a moment before heading home." She
still felt guilty for leaving him alone at the ball when he was ill,
but what was she to have done?
Drew nodded, before following Suzanne into the house. As awful as he
felt, just being near her made him feel a tad bit better. "A-all
right, if it's not an inconvenience or anything.." His head hung and
he wasn't sure how he was supposed to act around her anymore. Did she
or did she not want to be with him? Only time would tell..." A wave
of sickness washed over him and he ignored it. "Sus, I-I'm sorry-
about last night...I had to say something, I...feel…awful…bout
ruining your evening..."
She lowered her eyes feeling horribly guilty for harboring such evil
thoughts. "It is I who must apologize. I should not have left you
alone when you were ill. I had good intentions to find someone to
help..." never the less she had gotten distracted.
Seeing that Suzanne went right back into her old path of things,
Pierre huffed his disappointment and turned heading to his
room. "Stupid English!" he said sort of loudly. Not really loud
enough for them to hear, but secretly he hoped they could. Sir Andrew
Ffoulkes here to stay. It was inevitable. This man was everywhere! If
he wasn't such a loser, Pierre would have thought him the screwball
Englishman named after an ugly plant.
Andrew looked up in surprise...he hadn't come here to make Suzanne
feel guilty when he had been the one who had deserted HER first. "No
need to feel bad, Suzanne. I guess I deserved it." He should never
have come to her home. Stupid English indeed! "I messed everything up
last night." His head pounded from the hangover and he simply wanted
to pass out. Yes, fainting sounded rather good at the moment...
She would almost swear that he was paling more before her eyes. "Why
don't you sit down, Sir Andrew. Would you like some water?"
"Merci beaucoup, mademoiselle." Andrew said in a shaken voice,
feeling like he was going to collapse at any time now. Though he
would have sooner have had the wine...sitting down, Andrew lay his
head down in his lap, moaning slightly. He sincerely hoped that it
was the hangover and not another flu bug.
Nodding slowly, Suzanne looked back once as she went over to the
next room towards the kitchen. "Pierre?" She called softly. Where was
he when she wanted him.
She had seen him walk off when she let Andrew in, but she hadn't
heard the door close. "Pierre?" Softly she knocked at the
door. "Petit frère? Please, I need to talk to you."
Sir Andrew! Ugh! Now Suzannie wished him to emerge from the hiding
place he took to. Not very dignified, for he went around the corner
and hid behind a long drape near the window. He had planted himself
there to try and listen in on his sister. With a bit of a gulp, he
shifted his feet and tried not to make a sound.
No Pierre? With a soft sigh of uncertainty, she looked back to the
doorway then went into the kitchen and fetched that glass of water
for Sir Andrew. Stopping once more in the hall she looked about then
went back to the room with Sir Andrew. "Here you are." She took the
glass over to him setting it on the table before him. Then calmly she
sat down in a nearby chair.
His eyes widened and threatened to tear up. No! He couldn't! He just
wouldn't! Clamping his teeth on his tongue, Pierre concentrated and
shut his eyes.
There was no way in his young little life that he was going to open
his eyes and let out...
"Ahhh-CHOO!"
Her head snapped up, "Excuse me." she whispered standing and moving
almost silently back into the hall. Looking in both directions she
could still she the ruffling of the curtains to the one side so she
walked that direction and stood there for a moment before pulling the
heavy fabric aside.
She realized why he was hiding and wanted to scold him, but glad to
see him none the less she hugged him and pressed her face against his
shoulder.
Pierre heard the soft footfalls of his sister's shoes
approach. Unsure of what to do, for the thought of suddenly bolting
crossed his mind, he remained where he was, fidgeting.
When Suzannie whipped back the drape, he looked at her as if he had
been caught sneaking in sweets prior to the dinner bell. His mother
scolded him for that, and now he expected his sister to be tenfold
angrier for his eavesdropping.
Instead, she confused him and offered an embrace. Pierre returned it
gently, still waiting for the blow to fall.
"Oh, Pierre, I am so confused." She admitted to him. She longed to
ask for advise, yet what did he know of matters of the heart? Of
course, depending on his mood he may turn everything around on her.
Softly she sighed and still held onto him.
Alas, the phrase the Englishman was the answer he feared to escape
from her vocals and hearing the desperation in Suzannie's voice made
him ask it anyway. "What is wrong my sweet Suzannie?"
Knowing his feelings towards Andrew, she knew any thing he said
would reflect that, but who else could she go to. "He apologized, I
didn't think he would. Now I don't know what to do. I thought I could
just let his disappear. I cannot."
With a large out take of breath, the little brother sighed. Unable to
contain it any longer, he angrily asked, "Why do you like this
useless man so much?!"
The anger in his voice made her gasp in breath to keep from tearing
up. But he was right, wasn't he. What did she like?
"He was so sweet in Paris, he seemed to care so much about what I
thought. No one had every paid attention to me like that before. He
even wrote to me after he left for England. It's just, things seem so
different now that I'm here." She sank slowly to the ground wrapping
her arms around herself. "Did I do something to make him change how
he felt?"
Wanting his own way, cruelly, Pierre answered, "You are boring to
him now. You came over to his country and the excitement is gone." He
heard that line in a play once. Maybe Suz would buy it.
It only took long enough for the words to register for the tears
begin to roll down her cheeks. She then crawled behind the curtain to
hide.
She bought it all right. For a moment, he almost felt bad for saying
it. "Suz..." he said and hugged her, joining his sister away from the
world and within the drape. Should he calm her? "Suz? It maybe isn't
that bad."
"No, no." she cried. He had to have been right, she just was too
available now, he couldn't go home and leave her there now. Burying
her face against his shoulder she cried. "I guess I just can't hold
his attention." She whimpered.
Good. The Englishman was through. "I guess not." He added and hugged
her, resting his head in the crook of her arm. Pierre couldn't' wait
to see what happened next.
Her crying increased. There was no hope.
She got up and glanced back towards the doorway where Andrew was.
She wanted to go in, ask him for herself. Taking steps that direction
she let out a muffled cry and ran down the hall the other direction
before shutting herself in her room leaving Pierre to handle Sir
Andrew.
One small child had never had such evil thoughts in protection of his
sister. Boldly, Pierre moved into the other room, sensing his chance
and taking it.
"Sir Andrew?" He asked quietly, "I need to ask you to leave now.
Suzanne is very upset at your behavior lately and asks that you never
come call on her again."
Andrew sat up with a start, half expecting to see Suzanne standing
there, but instead? He saw Pierre. Ask him to...leave...? Hadn't he
just apologized? Andrew was very much in love with Suzanne, which is
why he had been so confused. And hurt, when she had kept leaving him
stranded the night before. "All right, fine. J-just grant me one last
thing...tell her that I...love her." Then he stalked out of the
house, tears burning in his eyes. He got halfway home, before he had
to stop along side of the road where he simply sobbed. This simply
was not fair. He could be dead and she wouldn't care...
"Sure." his voice used as much sincerety as possible, which wasn't
much. He would pass a message along for this moron. One that would
finalize his fate. Pierre held their door open, and locked it prompty
once Sir Andrew left.
Proud of himself, he wandered around and then decided enough time
passed for him to deliver the 'message'.
"Suzannie?" He asked quietly as he stood near her door. "Can I come
in?"
Sitting at her window she had watched him walk away. Wasn't that what
she had wanted? Of course not. She jumped up and started for the
door. She would go after him. She stopped short when she heard her
brother's voice. Moving to the window she looked back to the
door. "It is not locked. You may come in." She had to force her voice
not to tremble as she looked back out the window so Pierre would not
see the tears that still streamed down her face.
"He left a message. Said he's fine with what you ask. What he wanted
anyway." Pierre didn't know if Sir Andrew would sound like that, but
Suzanne would believe him.
She nodded slowly but didn't turn towards him. Lifting her hand she
wiped the tears from her face then turned to Pierre. "Well, we had
best get that letter off." she whispered getting up and removing the
things from on top of it. "Sign it and we can take it down to the
post and see it gets there soon."
Quickly he moved over and signed the letter to Mattheui. Hugging his
sister he laughed, "Things will be all better once Poppa is home."
Poppa always made things right.
Waiting for the letter to dry, she then folded it and copied the
address neatly on the outside before handing it to Pierre to hold
until they got there.
Picking up her shawl Suzanne took Pierre's hand and started for the
door so they could make this bold step towards finding their father
together.
Putting on his coat, Pierre held Suzannie's hand. By now, Andrew
would be well on his way home. With a smile, he gave a bit of a skip.
It was going to turn out to be a good day.
Walking with her head slightly down, she followed her brother to the
post. They would mail the letter and they would finally get to help
Poppa. That was the only reason she smiled. She was doing something
for Poppa. Waiting in line she looked down to Pierre as they reached
the counter. "We would like this sent to France, as quickly as
possible."
Once the letter was passed on and the two renounced Aristocrats left
the building, Pierre tagged his sister. "What do you want to do now?
Want to play?"
"Play?" she asked a bit surprised. "Play what?" she needed to do
anything to get her mind off Andrew. Yet all she wished to do was
curl up in bed and wait for Poppa to come home.
He looked around. There wasn't much to do in England. "Maybe go on a
boat ride?"
She shook her head. "I've had enough boat rides. Maybe we can just go
to the park?"
"Feed the ducks?" He liked ducks. The noises they made were funny.
"Yes, ducks." She gave a soft laugh. "Let me see if I have enough
change so we can get some bread." Suzanne pulled out her small change
purse that she had brought to pay to send the letter and then pulled
out a few coins and gave them to Pierre. "There is a bakery right
there, go ahead and see if you can get some of their day old goods."
she said motioning towards the building.
Immediately he made a face. Having to actually *look* to see if you
had enough money was humiliating. Worse was asking for spoiled food.
He refused to do it. "Maybe we can only watch the ducks."
She took the money back. "If you feel like that we can just go
home."
"No." He argued back. "I just want to watch them now. Okay?"
"No, it is not." She fired back. "We are going home because I said it
was time. You do not wish to feed the ducks we do not need to stay."
She folded her arms and started walking down the street towards their
small apartment.
Catching up to her, he grabbed for her hand and tried to undo her
fingers wrapped around the money. "Fine! I want to stay! I want to
feed the ducks!"
Pierre began to cry louder, making a scene.
Stopping she pulled her hand away. "Poppa would be so proud,
wouldn't he?" she asked, then shook her head disappointed in his
behavior as she started down the street again.
"I'm not the one being a lover to some Englishman, am I? I've been
doing actions to free him!" He shouted at the top of his lungs.
She flinched, pausing her steps.
"All you are doing is acting like a spoilt child." She didn't turn
around but she had stopped her walking.
Moving slowly near, he took her hand and whimpered, "Can we please go
feed the ducks Suzannie?"
Looking down, her face softened from the frown she had been holding.
the trail of a single tear evident on her cheek. "You must promise me
never to speak like that of Sir Andrew and I again. And believe me, I
want Poppa as much as you do."
He could never quite promise that, so he gave a quick nod of his head
and squeezed her hand. Pierre hated the Englishmen, so it would have
to do.
With a sigh she accepted his answer and keeping his hand in hers she
walked with him into the bakery and bought two rolls. Holding the
small paper bag they had been wrapped she looked through the park for
the ducks. He wished to feed the ducks, they could stay for a while
longer and do so.
Sitting at a bench near the quacking birds, Suzanne handed her
brother the rolls so he could have his fun.
Taking the rolls, the brown sad eyes gazed up at his sister. "Aren't
we doing this together Suzannie?" His soft voice hoped.
"I thought you were angry with me..." she said looking to him.
Neither of them needed more sadness. "Yes, we can do this together."
She said standing to go with him towards the ducks.
"I thought you were angry with me." In truth, Pierre could not
remember how the argument started. Usually, all it took was the
mention of the English to set him off, but he did not think on that
part with specifics. Taking her hand, he set off and soon he was
breaking off bread, and tossing them in the pond.
Closing his eyes, he listened to the happy beckonings from the
birds. "I can almost pretend we are back home, in our own yard!" he
exclaimed with excitement.
She smiled happily taking the smaller roll and breaking it slower so
she could feed the ducks but that there would still be some left when
he had finished.
"When Madame Burke would bake fresh bread and the ducks would come
right up to the house. And Poppa would laugh when they chased you."
Those were the happy memories, but at least they had them.
Refusing to open his eyes and end the wish, he laughed. "Yes!" he
cried out, "And Mamaa would move over and dangle bread by Poppa's
feet and then all the ducks would come and I would toss the bread at
his feet."
Snapping open his eyes, his hand flew out and threw the bread at
Suzannie. Pierre laughed, "And YOUR feet!"
Letting out a squeal she jumped back as the ducks came waddling
towards her. Laughing she kept backing up as they continued towards
her. Those birds must not have had very big brains because they still
believed the food to be on her shoes when it was now on the ground.
Still laughing she ran around and hid behind Pierre. "You are so
horrible." She laughed
"No!" He squealed. You are bringing them to me!" He turned and
ripped up all of this bread, throwing it and tossing it as his
friend. His sister.
Laughter increasing, she moved away her legs moving her over the
rough grassy ground. Tearing pieces from the roll she threw it at him
trying to get the ducks to follow him. "that is the point!" she
called out> Waving a piece of the roll in front of the ducks she ran
to Pierre and stuck it in the small loop in the back of his jacket
watching the ducks run towards him for it.
He had nothing left and laughed so hard his sides hurt. Falling on
his knees, the ducks quacked and pecked at his sides and legs. Unable
to free the bread from his pants, for he was crying in joy now,
Pierre breathlessly begged Suzannie to help him.
The ground was covered with bread crumbs from their tossing before
and she gathered some up in her hands and waved it before those
orange-brown bills before tossing it to one side, distracting enough
of them to get her little brother out of the mess she had put him
into. Wrapping her arms around him she handed him the piece of bread
she had stuck on him. A bright smile covering her face, cheeks
flushed from the running. "You are very lucky, my brother, what would
you do with out me?" she asked tickling him.
"I don't know" he said in-between the laughter. How silly was
it? "Death by Duck!"
Giggling, she took a collapsing seat on the lush grass. "Deceased by
geese" She picked up another crumb of bread and tossed it at him just
to have something to throw.
He laughed at his sister. "Silly Suzannie" he giggled. Taking the
last of the bread, he tore it up and tossed it above his head, as he
spun in circles. When he near dizzied himself, Pierre moved over by
her and sat, resting his head on her chest. It was a good afternoon.
With a laugh, she placed an arm around his shoulder as he sat there
soon her gaze turned to the small pond and of course Andrew came back
to her mind to the day they had met in France. She frowned for a
moment then brightened trying to place that away to the back of her
mind.
"What should we do now?" she asked, hoping he had another idea.
He shrugged. They mailed the letter. They played for a bit. Pierre
knew they didn't have money to rent a boat or a carriage or even a
horse. "Pick flowers for Mamaa?" He offered.
She frowned. That didn't seem the least bit exciting. "That would be
nice, I'm sure she would like it. But I do not see any flowers around
here." Suzanne looked about "Mamaa will notice we are gone soon, so
we cannot stay out much longer." She reminded him.
Nodding, there was nothing else to do. Taking her hand he retained
the fun feeling Suzannie and he shared. "Let us go home then."