by
MagdalenMary495
Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the TV program
"Big Valley" are the creations of Four Star/Republic Pictures and
have been used without permission. No
copyright infringement is intended by the author. The ideas expressed in this story are copyrighted to the author.
“Daddy,” Jenny complained tugging at Jarrod’s hand, “when
are we gonna eat lunch? I’m awful hungry.”
Threading his way along San Francisco’s busy Market Street, Jarrod clung tightly
to Jenny and Nicky’s hands. Part of his mind heard Jenny’s complaint, for the
fourth time, while most of his thoughts replayed the heated conversation he’d
just had with Louisa at the townhouse. An argument which ended with him caving
in to her demands to take the children somewhere so she could get settled in.
Holding his children’s hands, he’d begun to see a pattern to this argument. It
seemed to happen every time they came to San Francisco so he could see clients
there. He had his suspicions Louisa didn’t need time to get settled into the
townhouse as much as she wanted some time alone. Women! When she knew how
important it was that he have time to open his office today! And those
important papers he needed to give to Bill Sanders this afternoon..he’d have to
tromp all over town to find the man. How was he suppose to do it with two
fretful children?
“Daddy,” Jenny came close to whining, “aren’t we ever gonna eat?”
Jarrod looked down at his daughter. Poor child. She was hungry. Tired. Had just
witnessed her parents acting like fools. “Soon, honey,.let’s walk on down to
the Parisian Room.” He kept his voice low, loving, aware both children had been
present during the bitter words preceding this outing. Smiling fondly at Jenny,
looking sweet in her little blue coat and darker blue beret, he turned to look
down at his son carrying that blasted pig. If only Louisa hadn’t been so
insistent they take Daudra along! Louisa knew as well as he did the addition of
Daudra to any outing guaranteed more time lost in searching for her.
“Nicky! Hold onto that dratted pig! If you drop her here, she’s gone forever.”
Nicky clung tight to Daudra with the hand not holding Jarrod’s. As an extra
precaution against dropping her, he bit her ear between his front teeth. Grinning
up at his father with the pig dangling from his mouth.
Jarrod sighed. Sooner or later this afternoon, Nicky would lose the pig. It was
inevitable. Fate.
Once again he’d be demeaned by a blue and white spotted toy. If only Louisa
hadn’t insisted Nicky take along that blasted pig!
“Here, we are,” he spoke brightly as they arrived at the Parisian Room, forcing
happiness into his words. “We’re all going to be very well behaved aren’t we?
Nicky, you are going to eat your soup without feeding any to Daudra. You Miss
Jenny, aren’t going to make loud comments that Silas can cook better pig slop
than what’s on your plate. If you don’t like something, you won’t eat it. Is
that clear?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Es, Pappy.”
“Good!” Jarrod smiled at them. He could hope anyway. Asking for a table in a
dark corner might help too. If there were no one in the restaurant who knew
him, his happiness at lunch would be complete, even with the pig along. “Let’s
go in and...” He looked toward the end of the street, his eye catching sight of
the very man he needed to see first in San Francisco. “Bill! Bill Sanders!”
When his shouting went unanswered, he fretted to the children, “He can’t hear
me.”
“Who, Daddy?”
“Bill Sanders,” Jarrod kept his eye on the back of Bill’s tweed suit jacket. “I
must speak to him. He’s going to the Bureau of Mines in the morning and I have
some papers he needs today.” He glanced down at Jenny and Nicky. If he tried to
chase after Bill with the two of them in tow, they’d never catch up. Bill was
known among his colleagues as “Breakneck Bill” who never slowed down. “Jenny,
Nicky, you two stay here. I’ll be right back. If I can catch Bill, I’ll tell
him to pick the papers up later at home. It will save me hours of searching the
city for him later.”
“Will it take long?” Jenny grumbled in a pout. Good scents were coming from the
door of the Parisian Room causing her stomach to rumble in response. If Daddy
stopped to talk to someone, they might be waiting a long time to eat. Jenny was
old enough to take a dim view of any lawyer business conducted on the way to a
restaurant.
“Not long at all,” Jarrod assured her, anxious to catch Bill, “you two stay
here. Don’t move an inch! You make Nicky mind too. Do you understand, Jenny? “
“Yes, Daddy. Stay here an’ don’t move an inch,” she repeated after him.
Wondering if an inch were some thing she wasn’t suppose to touch or a measuring
thing like miles or fence posts. It sounded like a word she should know. Maybe
an inch was something that might come walking by and if it stopped in front of
them, they couldn’t move it.
“Good girl!” Jarrod smiled and patted her head as he pushed the two of them
closer to the wall of the building. If he wanted to catch Bill, he hadn’t a
moment to lose. He fought down a moment of unease about leaving them alone.
What would Louisa say? Soothing his conscience with the thought-- once he
caught up with Bill and turned to face their direction he could see them
plainly. What possible harm could come to them in this neighborhood?
Standing quietly, obediently, Jenny and Nicky watched as Jarrod hurried after
Mr. Sanders. They saw him catch up, clap the man on the back and smile. Mr.
Sanders shook Jarrod’s hand as he turned around all jovial good humor. Jenny
sighed miserably. Mr. Sanders sure looked like one of those men who kept
talking and talking and talking. Jenny sniffed something that smelled like
steak hoping Daddy hurried.
To pass the time while she waited, Jenny smoothed the collar of her coat,
enjoying the feel of the soft white down. Maybe, she thought, everyone who
passed by noticed how pretty her coat was and how beautiful she was because she
wore it. She began to grin at the people passing by. A few people smiled back
at the sweet little girl and the little boy with a stuffed pig between his
teeth. After a few minutes, tiring of smiling, Jenny began to glare at people
instead. Especially the ones passing her and Nicky to enter the Parisian Room.
They were going inside to eat, not standing out in the wind waiting for a dirty
darned ole lawyer to quit talking. She walked over to peer in the windows,
hands cupped around her face for a better view. A mean face appeared on the
other side of the glass, shooing her away. Jenny walked back to stand by Nicky
puzzling over the inch word again.
“Nicky,” she asked while they shivered in the cool wind, “what’s an inch?”
Nicky shrugged. Slobber ran out the corners of his mouth as he chewed on
Daudra’s ear. He wished Pappy would come. He needed Pappy to come. Very, very
soon. If Pappy didn’t come soon he would have what Mama called a mishap. He
pulled Daudra’s ear from his teeth holding her close to his heart for comfort.
Hurry, Pappy, he thought, hopping from foot to foot.
“Nicholas Barkley! You stop that fidgeting!” Jenny scolded, taking seriously her
role of being in charge of her brother. She could yell at him with Daddy’s
permission. It gave her a nice feeling of power, like she was as big as Uncle
Nick roping a bull.
“Tant.”
“You’d better or I’ll tell Daddy you were naughty. You stand still like a good
boy.”
Nicky wiggled from foot to foot. Hurry, hurry, hurry. If he stood still, the
mishap was a sure possibility.
“Nicky! Stop that! You’re makin’ a spectacill of yourself.”
Nicky’s eyes brimmed with tears, “Sissy, I tan’t. Gotta go to the necessary.”
Louisa, who abhorred most of the euphemisms for using the outhouse or the water
closet, had taught Jenny and Nicky to say they had to visit the necessary room
instead.
“You can’t go now,” Jenny told him heartlessly with no sympathy for his plight.
“Mama told you to go before we left. You shoulda listened.”
Tears dripped from Nicky’s eyes, his face went from distressed to frantic as he
hopped back and forth. “Sissy, I gotta.”
“Daddy said not to move an inch.” Jenny reminded him, still unsure exactly how
far an inch was.
“Dare’s a necessary in the eating house,” Nicky reminded her, “is it more than
a inch to the necessary?”
Exasperated beyond endurance, Jenny flung at him, “I done told you I don’t know
how much an inch is! Maybe it’s not a how much but a thing. Maybe if we see an
inch we can’t touch it or move it!”
“Maybe the necessary ain’t an inch,” Nicky said hopefully with the agony of his
situation on his face. “Please, Sissy.”
“Oh, you baby! C’mon then and let’s go in.”
Both children had been to the Parisian Room before. They were also well known
to the maitre de, Allard, who thankfully had his back to them as they tiptoed
inside. Jenny was smart enough to know Allard didn’t like her, maybe even
loathed her. Every time she came to the Parisian Room with Daddy, Allard’s
smile got tight, his black eyes squinted in pain and he stiffened his back as
he led them to a table. Jenny thought his disdain of her must go back to the
day she accidentally tripped him while he was caring a bottle of expensive
champagne. Or maybe he still felt bitter over the day she’d bumped into him and
made him spill soup over a lady in a green brocade dress. You never could tell
about grown ups. Jenny was glad he didn’t see her without Daddy. He acted real
polite around Daddy, but Jenny had seen the evil gleam in Allard’s eye once as
he glared at her behind Daddy’s back.
Standing in an office with the door partway open, Allard appeared to be
scolding, his face red with rage, at one of the waiters about an unfortunate choice
of wines. As Jenny led Nicky to the necessary room down a small hallway behind
the dining room, she wondered if the French words Allard hissed at Pierre in
between the English words were as interesting as the ones Uncle Heath and Uncle
Nick sometimes used when they thought no one heard. Jenny had plenty of time to
wonder while Nicky visited the necessary room. Allard yelled at Pierre a long
time before he screamed, “Out! Out you imbecile! Do not darken my door again!”
Pierre, flinging his hands dramatically in Allard’s face, spewed forth a river
of French words that caused Allard to pale and clutch his heart. His face got
that scared look just like the day he’d spilled the soup down the lady’s dress.
Right at that interesting moment, Nicky pushed open the door of the necessary
room and came out.
“All dun,” Nicky said. Jenny made sure he was buttoned up. Tucking his white
shirt into gray pants and helping him put on his coat, she led him back outside
the restaurant. A quick glance up the street told them Daddy was still in one
of his long winded, lawyer conversations with Mr. Sanders. It was going to be a
long wait. Jenny’s stomach grumbled.
“Know what’s gonna happen,” Jenny predicted, “we’re gonna stave to death right
here before he gets done talking to that man. Wait an’ see.”
Nicky shoved his cold hands into the pocket of his black woolen jacket. Just as
quickly, he pulled his hands out. Something was wrong. His hands were empty.
Nicky’s hands were almost never empty. Usually, Nicky’s hands held.... “Daudra! I losted Daudra!”
Dirty darn, wouldn’t you know.
* * * * * * * *
“You shoulda held onto her,” Jenny reminded Nicky callously.
Not at all sorry he’d lost his pig. “Daddy told you not to lose Daudra. Betcha
he’s gonna be really mad at you now.”
Nicky, eyes brimming with tears, kneaded his empty hands together. Daudra
losted! Pappy would not be happy. No, he would not be happy at all. As little
as he was, Nicky knew Pappy did not like Daudra. Pappy would not be sorry
Daudra was losted, only that he had to search for her. With a heavy heart,
Nicky knew Pappy sometimes hoped they would never find Daudra again. Pappy
always did find Daudra, if Nicky kept crying long enough, although Nicky
worried maybe a day would come when Daudra would be lost forever.
“Want Daudra!” Nicky stamped his foot coming close to Sissy’s toes on purpose.
“Look, Sissy!”
Jenny shook her head. “No. Daddy said not to move an inch. I think I member
Mama saying an inch was a little bitty, tiny space so I’m bein’ a good girl and
not going anywhere else.”
“Peese,” Nicky begged. “I thinks Daudra went to the necessary room.”
“Too bad. You’ll have to wait for Daddy to come and tell him. I’m not going
anywhere.”
Nicky began to sniffle and cry. His hands felt so empty without Daudra! Poor
Daudra, all alone in the necessary waiting for him to come.
“Stop crying!” Jenny grabbed his coat sleeve and gave him a little shake.
“Daddy said . . . ”
She didn’t get to finish her sentence because Pierre, the waiter from the
restaurant, stomped past them muttering in French. Seeing the two children, he
stopped and began waving his arms at them while shouting in French and pointing
back toward the restaurant and Allard. Nicky stopped crying over his lost pig,
eyes wide with terror. Clutching the sleeve of Jenny’s blue coat, he trembled
and tried to hide behind her. Nicky hid his face in Jenny’s coat while Jenny
bravely faced this strange, loud grown up. It never occurred to her to be
frightened. She’d heard Uncle Nick yell louder plenty of times with his face
all dark and scowls too. Her only problem as Pierre ranted was whether or not
he expected her to answer him. Jenny, who knew a smattering of Spanish,
Italian, and thanks to her father a little Latin, knew only one French word. It
was a drink Daddy once let her have a sip of. Jenny remembered it tasted nasty
and had bubbles that tickled her nose.
“Champ pag knee,” she said, mangling the pronunciation. Pierre, startled at
this development, clamped his lips tight for one brief, silent second. When he
opened his mouth again, the words spewed forth in a waterfall of venom. He
raved on and on as Jenny stared open mouthed. Must have been a word Pierre
didn’t want to hear? Nicky trembled and wished for Daudra in his arms.
Finally, Pierre seemed to run out of words. His hands still shot up and down
and pointed back toward the Parisian Room every time he spit out the name,
“Allard.” Jenny watched fascinated. It was exciting as watching a play or
having Uncle Nick stomping up and down in the foyer, throwing out his arms and
shouting at somebody. Dirty darn, Jenny thought when Pierre fell silent, she’d
been enjoying the way his eyebrows shot up with his voice. At least it was
something to take her mind off how cold and hungry she was.
His face took on a softer, dreamier expression as he patted her on the head.
“Ah,” he said wistfully in English, “to be a child. So simple, so carefree, no
Allard, “ here his face darkened again as he threw an evil glance toward the
door of The Parisian Room. Muttering again in French, he stalked away as Jenny
stared after him in bewilderment. Grownups surely were odd. A few steps short
of a full staircase.
“Sissy, is dat man gone?” Nicky mumbled against her back. “Why he so mad?”
Shrugging at the question, Jenny pulled Nicky out from behind her and shoved
him back against the building. “He’s gone an, I don’t know why he’s so mad.”
She looked down the street, sighing loudly when she saw Daddy still talking,
talking, talking. Dirty darn. They’ d starve here, wait and see.
“Sissy?” Nicky wiped his dripping nose on his coat sleeve. Jenny pretended not
to notice. No way was she cleaning THAT off! “Tan we go find Daudra now.”
“No! No! No!”
Nicky stared, lower lip quivering. Eyes spilling tears, he used the only weapon
available to change Sissy’s mind; Nicky opened his mouth and bawled out his
grief. A site sure to draw a crowd of concerned motherly women who wanted to
pat his dark curls and ask the agitated little boy, “What’s wrong, sonny?” He’d
used it often enough to know Sissy did not like this and usually gave him his
way.
“Stop that, Nicky! Right this second or I’ll tell Daddy you were bad, bad,
bad.” Exasperated with her sobbing brother, Jenny wished Daddy would hurry.
Being in charge of Nicky was no fun with her stomach gnawing from hunger and
him not minding anyway. “Stop crying!”
“No,” Nicky wailed louder, shoulders heaving, “I tan’t! Want Daudra!”
Dirty, dirty darn. Jenny glared up the street at her oblivious father. Just
wait till she told Mama how he made them stand out in the cold and starve.
Dirty darned ole lawyer talk! Frustrated by Daddy not coming and Nicky’s
blubbering, Jenny turned around and kicked the wall of the restaurant. “Darn
you, Nicky! You keep still!”
“Want my pig!”
“Oh, come on!” Jenny caved into his heartrending wails. Grabbing his arm, she
pulled him into the Parisian Room. In the entryway, she whispered cautiously to
Nicky, “We got to watch out for that Allard. He’s very mean. He might pour hot
soup on us.”
Nicky’s eyes, glistening with tears, grew rounder at this warning. Sniffing
away his remaining tears, he reached for Jenny’s hand. Only for Daudra would he
venture back into this strange world where people shouted words he didn’t know
and poured hot soup on innocent little children.
Together, tiptoeing around several matronly ladies chattering in the
entranceway, Jenny and Nicky managed to avoid running into Allard as they
retraced their steps to the necessary room. Nicky found Daudra exactly where
he’d left her, lying in a wash bowl. Daudra was damp but unharmed. Much to
Jenny’s disgust, Nicky kissed Daudra over and over on her red thread mouth.
“Daudra tastes like toap,” he noticed after the fourth kiss, puckering his lips
at the bad taste.
Rolling her eyes, Jenny took his hand and started to lead him out of the
restaurant. They walked quietly down a dim hallway; their stomachs rumbling and
grumbling as the aromas of steak, pea soup and yeasty bread floated through the
air. Jenny groaned out loud. I’m starving. I’m starving.
“Me hungry,” Nicky whimpered. Now Daudra was safe. He could concentrate on
other problems. “Wanna eat.”
Jenny didn’t bother answering. Halfway down the hall, she noticed a small
silver cart she hadn’t seen on the way to the necessary. White china plates
with cake, dessert cups of pudding and éclairs filled the top. Licking her
lips, Jenny held Nicky’s hand tight. She led him past the cart turning around
to walk backward so she could see those éclairs as long as possible. Jenny
loved éclairs covered with smooth chocolate glaze and oozing creamy filling.
The éclairs on the silver cart beckoned her to stop so suddenly Nicky rammed
into her back.
“Tan we eat some, Sissy?” He whispered as she walked back to stand an inch from
temptation.
Jenny tried to remember if anyone had ever told her NOT to eat something from a
pretty silver cart sitting in the hallway of the Parisian Room. Staring at
those éclairs, Jenny wrestled with her conscience, deciding after a two-second
struggle no one ever told her not to. She was really hungry . . . and poor
Nicky! What if her baby brother starved cause she didn’t feed him? Mama would
be very angry.
“Tan we, Sissy?” Nicky asked again with his mouth watering.
Jenny snatched up an éclair. Handing it to Nicky, she helped herself to one while
admonishing him, “Eat fast!” Nicky took her command to heart and crammed it in
with gusto, barely bothering chewing. With her mouth full, Jenny cautioned him
again, “We don’t want that Allard to see us.”
Nicky shook his head no while holding out his hand for a second éclair. Each
bite filled his tummy pleasantly. Daudra was safe in his arms and Sissy kept
handing him éclairs. Nicky smiled happily. “Dis is good.”
“Um,” Jenny mumbled around her third éclair. Drawing her finger through the
white icing on a wedge of cake, Jenny popped it into her mouth sampling what
else the silver cart had to offer. For one second, Jenny felt a pinching in her
conscience. Mama never let them eat cake before the meat and potatoes and
vegetables. Sometimes, Daddy would hand them both a cookie or a piece of candy
before dinner but not often. Was it wrong to eat the desserts now? Jenny
soothed her conscience by picking up a wedge of golden yellow cake and cramming
it in her mouth. If Daddy got mad, she might as well enjoy it before he did.
With her mouth full, Jenny noticed a door toward the end of the hall opening
slowly. Her heart thumped to a stop then jumped back up in fear. What if it
were Allard? What if he caught them eating his desserts? Before she could tell
her feet to “run!” the door opened all the way and Pierre peeked inside.
Smiling at the children, he came tiptoeing inside holding his cap in both
hands.
“Ah,” he said, patting Jenny and Nicky on the head, “you fool the stuffy Allard
by eating his éclairs, no?”
Jenny shook her head no, unable to answer with a mouth so full of cake her
cheeks bulged. Beside her, Nicky trembled, his hand stopped halfway to his
chocolate-covered mouth with a fourth éclair squishing between his fingers.
Would Pierre scold them? Worse, would he tell Daddy? Or Allard? Jenny’s blood
ran as cold as an icy stream at that thought as the éclairs and cake in her
stomach wadded into a big lump.
But Pierre didn’t appear to be interested in their mischief. Holding his cap
open, he edged closer to the two showing off two tiny, gray mice chattering in
the folds. “Allard, he thinks he is so perfect, no? Pierre shows him he is not!
I dump the little mice . . . so,” Pierre titled the cap pantomiming letting the
mice loose, “they run into the restaurant and startle the ladies. Eeek! They
scream.” Pierre made a face exactly like a frightened woman and holding one
cheek showed how they would scream. Even with her mouth stuffed full, Jenny
managed a muffled chuckle. “You no tell, no?”
Jenny wasn’t quite sure what answer Pierre expected. Even when he spoke English
she couldn’t quite understand what he meant. Swallowing enough cake to manage a
word, she answered, “Champ pag knee,” the only French she knew.
“Champagne,” Pierre smiled. “Ah, little one,” he sighed, “if all life were so.”
Shaking his head sadly, Pierre gave them each another pat on the head and slunk
down the dim hall toward the dining room.
Grownups, Jenny thought, wiping icing down the sides of her blue coat, they
must all be a few cows short of a full herd. She hoped it didn’t happen to her
when she got as old as Daddy. Taking an almost clean handkerchief from her coat
pocket, she wiped her face and went to work on Nicky. It was probably a good
idea Daddy did not see all the icing and crumbs on their faces. “We better go
now,” she told him as she stuck the handkerchief back in her pocket, “Daddy
might be waiting for us.”
Keeping close to the wall, Jenny held tight to Nicky’s hand and walked
carefully toward the front door. Just when it looked like they might make it,
rising like an evil genie in front of them, Allard stopped them in their
tracks. “What have we here? Miz Barkley, where is your father?”
“Down the street,” Jenny answered honestly, afraid not to, “but he’s coming
here.”
“I see,” Allard leaned down with his lip curling in disgust, his dark eyes
glittering with a scary look, “then what are we doing here without him? Mr.
Barkley, does he let you little beasts loose to torment poor Allard?”
Jenny shook her head no. Inching toward the door, she pulled a quivering Nicky
with her. Allard quickly stepped in her way, cutting them off from escape. “I
ask again. What are you doing here without your father?”
“The pig!” Jenny confessed desperately. “My brother left his pig in the
necessary room.”
Allard’s face changed from scary to one of horror. “A pig? Where is this
creature? We have no animals in this restaurant, one of ze finest in all of San
Francisco! Show me! At once! We serve this pig for dinner!”
“NO!” Nicky shrieked. He clamped both arms tightly around Daudra, holding her
little ears so she wouldn’t hear the horrible man. Legs quivering, he fought
the urge to sit down and cover his own head with his hands. Pappy? Where was
Pappy to rescue them?
Jenny, trembling herself at the fierce glaring face of Allard, tried to explain
in stutters. “Daudra’s not . . . not..a...real . . . pig.” But Allard refused
to listen. Throwing his hands into the air as Pierre had done, Allard began to
speak in rapid French. Jenny caught a few English words thrown in such as “no
animals in zis restaurant.”
In desperation, Jenny looked around for a way to escape from Allard. Her eyes
darted around the crowded dining room, hoping she’d see someone to help or
somewhere to run. Neither of those presented themselves, but Jenny saw one of
the mice perched near the tip of a lady’s shoe. Pierre must have dumped them
out of his cap. . The mouse’s little whiskers and ears shook as Jenny watched
him get down and walk carefully onto the lady’s shoe top. He sat up on his little
back paws, kneading his front paws together as if he were afraid.
“No animals in zis restaurant,” Allard hissed again grabbing the sleeve of
Jenny’s coat. “One of ze finest..”
“There is so animals in this restaurant,” Jenny interrupted rudely. “There’s
mice!”
Several patrons nearby looked up, startled at this announcement. Allard changed
quickly from an irate, child hating man to a gracious, charming maitre de’.
Patting Jenny roughly on the head, he turned to the patrons with a wide smile
on his lying lips and told them, “Ah, ze imagination of ze young, no?”
“There is so mice!” Jenny shouted as loudly as possible, her voice reaching to
the far corners of the dining room. “There goes one there, right up that stout
lady’s shoe! The one in the green brocade dress!”
The lady in the green dress, smiled and chuckled across the table at her
husband, murmuring some witty remark Jenny couldn’t hear. She showed no fear at
all until the tiny mouse tired of her shoe and went darting off across the
floor. The lady happened to catch a glimpse of the fleeing creature from the
corner of her eye. Just as Pierre predicted, her response was, “Eeek!” She
jumped up, hopped onto her chair and held her dress above her knees showing
more skin than was decent and a badly mended petticoat.
Suddenly, the Parisian Room erupted into total pandemonium. The lady in green
screamed again and again, even though the mouse claimed another victim on the
other side of the dining room. A bride and groom, having a celebration dinner,
were so engrossed in one another they didn’t notice the shrieks, chair
overturning or crashing of china that followed the mouse’s progress. It wasn’t
until he ran up the leg of their table and appeared, whiskers quivering over
the dainty morsels of cheese on the bride’s plate, they noticed something out
of the ordinary.
“Eeek.” Jenny whispered to herself, right before the bride let out a blood
curdling, “AAAAAAAAAA!” of her own. In a frenzy of protecting herself, the
bride picked up a full bowl of pea soup and flung it in the direction of the
mouse. The mouse, who’d fled to greener pastures at the first “a,” was not
drenched by a drop. The groom wasn’t so lucky. The bowl of soup hit him
squarely in the face, dripping onto his elegant black suit and ruining his
white shirt while he stared in horror at the dainty woman he’d married.
“Edith,” he stated in revulsion, “how uncivilized.”
Allard, shouting in French, English and a few languages Jenny couldn’t begin to
guess, ran toward the confusion. Another mouse ran squeaking away from the
bedlam and fled out the front door of the restaurant. Jenny, after a quick
backward glance at the screaming women, the floor strewn with food and broken
china, grabbed Nicky’s hand and followed the mouse. As they ran out the door,
they passed a gleeful Pierre doubled up with laughter. He rose up enough to
mouth at them, “Eeek! Eeek!” before he collapsed again in mirth.
Heart thudding, Jenny leaned back against the side of the building where Daddy
had told them not to move an inch. Beside her, Nicky panted and clung to Daudra
with a desperation born of terror. He would be a good boy. He would! If he
could just get home again away from this awful place. He would never be a
naughty boy again!
“There you are,” Jarrod said hurrying up to them, “I couldn’t see you for a few
minutes. That wasn’t long, was it?”
“No, Daddy,” Jenny lied.
“Let’s get something to eat, shall we?” He asked brightly, reaching for both
children’s hands. As he turned to lead the children into the Parisian Room, the
lady in the green brocade dress came stomping out, spewing words of righteous
indignation. Stopping beside Jarrod, her husband trailing behind her with an
apple turnover still in his hand, she laid a gentle hand on Jarrod’s arm.
“Sir, I beseech you. If you love your dear children, do not take them in that
restaurant. They have mice.”
“Mice?” Jarrod shuddered. “Are you certain? This has always been such a fine
establishment.”
After further assurances, the hurried departure of several other patrons
including the pea soup-drenched bridegroom, Jarrod took her at her word.
Leading Jenny and Nicky away, he began to mutter to himself about how the whole
world seemed to be falling into ruin. The Parisian Room with mice? Allard had
always seemed to take such pride in the place.
“Pappy,” Nicky spoke up in a voice full of misery as they walked down the
street, “me feel sick.”
Jarrod barely had time to stop walking and turn to his son before Nicky was
indeed sick. Before he had time to wipe Nicky’s face or discern the reason
behind Nicky’s sudden illness, Jenny leaned over and began to retch into the
street. Looking up at him with a face full of woe, Jenny began to cry, “Dirty
darn, Daddy! I’m sick too!”
The next morning at the breakfast table, Jarrod paged through the San Francisco
Examiner. Louisa, walking behind his chair, leaned over to plant a quick kiss
on his cheek as she set a cup of coffee before him. Jarrod smiled, happy an
evening of caring for two sick children had mended any fences of discord
between them. All seemed right with his world this morning. Even Jenny and
Nicky seemed to have recovered from their mysterious bout of illness. They were
playing with a Noah’s Ark in the parlor, having a fine time if their shrieks of
“eek!” and “champ pag knee!” were any indication.
Jarrod took a sip of coffee, almost chocking as a headline caught his eye.
Tots Cause Panic at Parisian Room
Early Thursday afternoon, pandemonium erupted in the Parisian Room on Market
Street of this city. Two unidentified children were seen eating their way
through the dessert cart and later releasing large rats into the crowded dining
room. Allard Charbonnette, maitre de’ of this fine establishment, was so
befuddled by events that he was later taken to the hospital in a state of
shock. Mr. Charbonnette’s condition is unknown as of this date.
Several injuries were reported as women, fearing bites by the savage rats
jumped atop tables and chairs. One woman sprained her wrist as she jumped into
the waiting arms of Mr. Charbonnette for rescue. A bridegroom was burnt upon
his chest by a bowl of hot pea soup thrown by his bride of three hours. Upon
interviewing the groom, this reporter learned the bride had gone home to her
mother is Sausalito. Several women, fleeing from the floor overrun with rats,
slipped in spilled food and reported bruising.
Pierre Brouchet’, head waiter, will be taking over in Mr. Charbonnette’s place
until or if the latter is able to return. When asked to comment on the
disturbance, Mr. Brouchet’ assured us the Parisian Room is still a fine
establishment. “Ah, what fuss!” He told us hands to his head, “two tiny mice
let loose by two little ones! Zat is all. No fuss, no worry. Ze women they
excite too much I think.”
It couldn’t be! Could it? Jarrod looked toward the parlor at his two darlings.
A dessert cart? Could it have been the cause of the mysterious illness?
Possible. Mice? No, absolutely not! He’d told them not to move an inch. Weren’t
they standing right where he’d left them? They couldn’t have caused such
mischief. “Could they?”
“Did you say something, Jarrod?” Louisa looked up from a marketing list.
“No, honey,” he lied hiding behind the paper which he intended to toss in the
fire at the first opportunity. “I was just clearing my throat.”
THE END