Amie Bernstein; Chapter 2

 

Amie Bernstein; Chapter 2

© 2022 by Amber Wright

THE DRAMA BEGINS!

Date: Winter 1901

Place: London, England

Kitt dangled over the shoulder of the footman and his mouth dripped with… Amie gulped and looked away, feeling her throat fill with an acidy taste. Puke—he needs to lie down. I would be sick if I rode in boats looking as pale as he does! Poor Kitt. I’ll have to have Cook fix him something nice. Her feet clattered over the brick and she nearly collapsed into the entry as the door swung open.

“Miss Amie,” the butler called after her, “careful now. The floors have been—”

SLLLIPP. Amie’s cold boots did a slide over the newly waxed floor and she landed in a noisy heap, her side hitting the floor with a thud. She opened one eye. Two maids were craning their necks to look down at her while gripping the shaking whatnot shelf she had rammed into. In an instant, the pain from her fall evaporated and she scrambled backwards on all fours. It would be disaster had the whatnot shelf fallen on top of her.

“It would have finished me—that.” Amie told the maids in a horrified tone and then remembered her errand. Off her legs carried her to the kitchen where Cook was kneading bread dough.

“It’s just about time to eat so no more cookies until after you’ve had your supper.”

“It’s my cousin, Kitt.”

“He never came?”

“He’s sick and he needs—”

“Cook’s famous all-cure soup, eh?” Cook’s mouth crinkled into a lop-sided smile.

“Yes.” Amie wrung her hands and realized her gloves were making her fingers terribly sticky inside. She yanked them off. “I’ll find a cheerful bowl to put it in.”

“Was that you making that noise in the hallway?”

“Y-yes.”

“Then I’d better get the bowl. You get the spoon and napkin,” Cook winked warmly, “and perhaps the tray.”

Amie did her job with a skip and soon she heard the others coming into the house. “I’ll get the tray in a bit, Cook, okay?”

“No, Miss. I’ll have a maid bring it up.”

“Thank you!” Amie ran back from the doorway to give her a short, tight hug. “I love you.”

“And I love you too. Now, off you go.”



Once Kitt had opened his black-encircled eyes, Amie pounced him with questions. “What does Paris look like? Is it pretty? Or is it all crowded with no grass or flowers?”

“Amie, let Kitt rest a bit before you interrogate him.” Mamma gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Let’s go now. He needs his nap.”

“I’m coming.” Amie craned herself around to have one last word. “Kitt, I’ll interrogate you later.”

“Do you do—always?” even his voice sounded tired.

“Yes, always. I’m going to be a detective when I grow up. You can be my bodyguard.”

“Merci.”

“Or you could be my deputy?”

“Merci.”

“You’re welcome.” Amie slightly frowned. Why didn’t Kitt speak more English? That’s it—that’s what is wrong with him. He doesn’t speak enough English. That’s why he’s all pale and sickly. Hmm…but not speaking English won’t make people sick, or does it? The question dangled into her thoughts as she left the room.



“You didn’t wake up last night.” Amie pranced over to Kitt who looked swallowed up under his thick white coverlet. “Why?”

“I was tired.” Kitt yawned and pushed his breakfast tray back.

“But your soup ruined, didn’t it?” Amie perched herself on the edge of the bed.

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be. Soup is soup. It doesn’t get its feelings hurt. Now, how does Paris look?”

“Soup—has feelings?” Kitt’s eyebrows twisted.

“No, it has taste. Now, Paris—how is it?”

“But you said…” Kitt frowned straight at her.

“Well, what I meant was,” Amie took a quick gulp of air, “soup doesn’t need to be apologized to because it’s food. Now, please describe Paris.”

“Oui. Paris is…smelly.”

“It can’t be! That’s where I was born.”

“Where I lived, it was smelly. The nice part of the Ville smells nice though and there are flowers pretty there as well.”

“I’m so sorry, Kitt. I didn’t know.”

“Paris is Paris. It doesn’t get its feelings hurt.” Kitt grinned.

“I mean…” Amie chewed on her bottom lip. “I didn’t know you lived in the smelly part of Paris.”

“Oui, but I not die. I’m here, non?”

“Yes, you’re here.” Amie reached over and squeezed his white arm poking out from his nightdress’ sleeve. “And you’re going to be here for always.”

“Oui, always.”

“Of course,” Amie felt a mysterious smile surfacing her cheeks. “As soon as winter is over, we always leave here.”

“Leave? Where we go?”

“To Seaport. That’s where our country estate is. You’re going to love it! We have horses and sheep and…flowers everywhere.”

“Then I like new place as well. There I’ll show you how to ride like a French girl.”

“I am a French girl, I repeat.”

“You’re only half. Your papa is English.”

“And your papa was Russian. There, now we’re both only half French.” Amie smiled, bouncing once for emphasis.

“But I live in France since I was little.” Kitt insisted.

“Oh, alright.” Amie gave in with a sigh. “You’re more French than I am. Then I suppose I’m more Jewish than you are! I’ve got the Jewish nose and you don’t.”

“You not look right. I have big nose like you, see?” He pinched at his nose.

“Was I supposed to say merci to that insult? Girls don’t like having big noses.”

“Pardon. But your nose is nice—even.”

“Do you sing?”

“Oui.”

“In English?”

“Yes.” Kitt nodded and his dark brown hair flopped forward.

“Well, after you get a haircut, you can start practicing with me.”

“Haircut?”

“Yes.” Amie yanked a little on his silky locks. “If you don’t, I’ll bring in my rag curlers so you can really be my twin!” She then fell into a roll of giggles. Kitt folded his arms and began looking offended. “Pardon, monsieur! I shall be good now.”

Kitt only frowned back in reply.

French/English translation:

Monsieur……………… Mister

oui……………………… yes

non……………………… no

merci…………………… thank you

Pardon!………………… sorry/excuse me