Better Loved, Part Four

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG

LINK TO PART ONE

~

Antoinette Charlotte Corday Bon sat cross-legged on her front steps. She was practicing her whipstitch on material that would soon be a red fichu.

She paused to smile at her work. She might be only seven, but her stitches were tiny, neat and even. None of her older sisters could match her skill with a needle.

She was so intent on her work that she didn’t notice someone approaching—not until he blocked her sunlight.

She looked up to find a young white man regarding her. He had dark hair and eyes and his clothes marked him as American, not French. He was carrying a valise and a guitar case, both of which he set down.

He smiled and tipped his beaver at her. "Pardon, is this the residence of Madame Marie-Louise Bon?" he asked.

She bit back a grin. His French was only passable.

She stared at him for a long moment, wondering if she should answer him. He was a stranger, after all. But at length she decided on a compromise—she simply nodded.

He smiled again. It was a nice smile—she couldn’t help but return it.

"Do you speak English?" he asked.

She giggled. "Better than you speak French, sir," she informed him.

He laughed as he switched to his own tongue. "Good. Are you related to Madame Bon?"

"Yes," she said, answering in kind. "She’s my mother."

He looked surprised. "Your mother?" he repeated, raising his eyebrows. "I didn’t realize she had any children as young as you. You must be the baby."

She bristled at that. "I’m seven years old! I’m not a baby!"

She reddened, thinking that he was amused by her outburst. But suddenly his features became serious.

"I beg your pardon," he said gravely. "I, ah, meant that you must be the youngest of the family. What’s that you’re making?"

She looked down at her work. "A red fichu. No, what do Americans call it? A neckerchief. Look at my stitches, sir—aren’t they fine?"

He inspected the stitches. "Very fine," he agreed. "You have a neat hand."

"I’m better than any of my sisters," she said proudly. Then she pointed at his guitar case. "Do you play?"

"I do," he answered.

She set down the red fichu and folded her hands together. "Would you play something for me?"

He grinned. "I’ll make you a deal. If you’ll introduce me to your mother, I’ll play some songs for you."

He held out his right hand. She stared at it, considering, and then solemnly shook it.

"I’ll introduce you, but she doesn’t speak English," she warned him.

"Well, let’s hope my French is comprehensible," he said as he picked up his belongings. "Otherwise I may need you to translate."

She brightened. "I could do that!"

He laughed as she stood up and skipped inside, forgetting all about the neckerchief.

"Maman!" she called out, switching back to French. "There’s a white gentleman here to see you!”

LINK TO PART FIVE