Free Chasing Sylvia Beach by Cynthia Morris Page B

ladder.” The woman turned and disappeared behind a door Lily hadn’t seen before.
    As soon as she was gone, Lily snatched an apple and dropped it into the basket. The woman reappeared, struggling with a short ladder. Lily gave her what she hoped was an innocent smile. The woman regarded her briefly, then situated the ladder against the shelf. She climbed up, reaching toward the potato masher.
    Lily took advantage of those few seconds to scoop another apple into the basket, as if nothing had happened. The woman finally managed to grab the potato masher. She descended and proudly placed the gadget on the counter, breathing heavily from the effort. Lily approached to inspect it. Just then, a tinkle of chimes announced another shopper, a burly mustachioed man who rushed into the shop.
    “Marguerite, I need a pound of beans for my wife,” he ordered. Then he caught sight of the young woman and said, “Hello, mademoiselle,” his gaze assessing Lily.
    “Bonjour,” she replied shyly, heart pounding, holding her basket against her.
    The shopkeeper announced the price of the potato masher to Lily and then left to serve the man. Lily pretended to inspect the masher, lifting the sieve basket, turning the crank. The grocer filled a canvas bag, using a scoop to shovel the beans, weighing them on a scale, all the while chatting with the man. Heart pounding, Lily took the opportunity to say, always with her best French accent, “It’s too expensive for me.”
    She left the shop, setting off the door chime. Around the corner, she put the apples into her jacket pockets, causing them to bulge. She returned the basket and found Emilie patiently waiting for her. They found a bench near a newsstand. Lily pulled the apples from her pockets, wiped one against her sleeve, and handed it to the girl.
    “Here,” she said. The girl thanked her shyly and took the apple. She munched the fruit, swinging her feet high off the ground. Lily took a bite of her apple, her saliva glands responding to the food. She was suddenly proud to take care of this girl like a little sister. They watched the pedestrians, content to eat in silence. After a few minutes, Emilie spoke.
    “You talk funny.” She peeked at Lily, the half-eaten apple clutched in her small hand. Lily smiled.
    “Probably because I’m not from here. I come from far away, all the way across the ocean, in America,” she replied.
    “Where the Indians live?” said Emilie, inspecting Lily even closer now.
    “Yes! There are cowboys and Indians,” she replied.
    Emilie, still crunching the apple, gazed at the street, swinging her feet even harder, as if satisfied with Lily’s answer. Soon, apples finished, they resumed their route, hand in hand, continuing along the bus line.
    After a while, Emilie cried out, “I live near here.” She pointed to children playing in the middle of a small side street. They crossed and entered the alley. Suddenly, Emilie released Lily’s hand and ran in the direction of two little girls playing hopscotch under the watch of their mothers, who chatted near an open door.
    “Pierrette! Marie!” she cried, happily joining the girls.
    Lily paused at the alley entrance, watching the reunion. One woman glanced at her and then Lily was jostled by a woman pushing past, pulling a little boy with her.
    “Emilie!”
    The girl turned and shrieked, “Maman!” Her mother knelt in front of Emilie and grasped her by the arms, inspecting her to see that she was okay. She clutched the girl against her chest, weeping.
    “I was so scared! I looked everywhere, everywhere! I thought I had lost you forever!”
    Emilie began to sob, and the little brother, taken by the emotion of the moment, joined them. Tears came to Lily’s eyes, too. She waved one last time at Emilie and slipped around the corner.
    On the other side of the main street, two elegantly dressed women observed the scene. The elder of the two peered over her glasses and said, “She did much better than I had