Red Wolfe

French Vocabulary
:

Oui
- Yes

Bonjour
- Hello/ good morning

Bonjour Monsieur, de la gare veuillez
- Good morning sir, to the train station

Madame
- Title for a married woman

Mademoisell
e- Title for an unmarried woman

Monsieur
- Mr./ Sir

Besoin d'aide
- Need any help?

Bonjour! J’ai Madame Catherine-
Hello! I am Mrs. Catherine

La petite maison
- The little house

Votre nom?-
Your name?

Ah, oui! Chambre de cinq
- Ah, yes! Room five

Entre
r- Enter

Dîner
- Dinner

Ratatouille-
A kind of peasant stew

Toilette-
Washroom

Merci
- Thank you

Merci beaucoup
- Thank you very much

Excusez-moi
- Excuse me

Le thé au gingembre
- Ginger tea

Un Moment-
One moment

Vous n'êtes pas
Janelle- You are not Janelle

Femme stupide
!- Stupid woman!

Mère
!- Mother!

Frances Folklores-
French Folklores
 

Parfait!-
Perfect!

Bonne nuit
- Good night

Le déjeuner est prêt-
Lunch is ready

         Chapter One

Everything was buzzing as she stepped from the airport’s glass doors and on to the busy street. Not only was it buzzing, but it was unbearably cold. The faces of people blurred past her as she strained to make her way through the crowd. Ellena tugged her bright red coat closer before pulling on her blue gloves and grabbing the handle to her suitcase, rushing to flag down a taxi. She could barely believe that was now in the place of her dreams.

She had finally made it to France!

“
Bonjour monsieur,
de la gare veuillez
,” she huffed, her words coming in white puffs as she situated herself in the back of a cab. She set her book down in the seat as the driver chuckled.

“
Heading to the train station, are we? You speak French well,” he smiled.

“You know English
?”

“
Oui
, most taxi drivers do,” he answered in a thick accent that Ellena found delightful. He was a jolly man with red, shiny cheeks. A skinny cigarette was perched between his lips, but she didn’t mind. He had been kind enough to crack the window so the gray smoke filtered away. “What brings you to France?”

“I’m doing research for a book,” she replied, tugg
ing her black cap down over her bright blonde hair.

“Ah!” he smiled.
“So you are a writer! What kind—if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Folk
tales,” Ellena replied.

“Then you have come to the right place! France has some of the oldest urban myths around.
” He glanced at the book in her hands. “Even the great
Grimm Brothers
used many of our stories for inspiration. Where are you headed?”

“
To a small village in
Auvergne
,” she said, leaning closer. “It’s quite isolated, right? Or at least that’s what I’ve been told.”

“
Oui,
many of its towns are surrounded by untamed lands and green, mountain pines. What great legend will you be investigating in such a tiny, remote place?”

“
One of my favorites,” Ellena smiled. “
The Tale of Little Red Riding Hood.”

They
chatted of all sorts of things—food, cheese, wine— until reaching the station where she happily paid her driver, but sadly waved goodbye. She just hoped that all the people she came across here would be as welcoming.

The train station was just as busy, if not more so than the airport. She muscled her way to the ticket window, all the while slightly coughing from the clouds of fog that bellowed from the trains’
tall, metal snout. People were shouting in French, waving, and fiddling with their clothes. It was a sight that still left Ellena overwhelmed since she had never grown up in a big city. Before long she was boarding the train and walking down the aisle to her compartment. This time she would be alone. Dropping her luggage on the seat in her room, she also flopped down with a relieved sigh. She was almost there. Just a few more hours and she would be in the region of
Auvergne.

The train gave its warning whistle, a loud earsplitting screech. It began to slowly move, pulling from the station. At first they pass
ed through the city and Ellena watched the buildings, churches, and café shops roll by on the snow covered streets. The city was buzzing with life in spite of the horrible weather. People walked down the stone boulevards bundle in their winter best, popping in and out of shops. Some were even outside sipping coffee, but after some time the city trickled away and all that Ellena could see were the rolling white fields of meadows and pastures that went on into the horizon.

Her trip was going quite well until she had stepped off of the train
onto a neglected, dilapidated station. She had expected the train to take her to the village, but she recalled the ticket window’s teller giving her the bad news as she struggled up a hill.

This is Auvergne,
she had grumbled.
The village you are looking for is some miles ahead. You can wait for a carriage or walk.

When will the carriage
arrive?
Ellena had asked.
The woman could only shrug.

She
had waited for a little while, but with no sign of the carriage and the cold weather only getting colder, Ellena decided to take her chances and trek all the way to the village. Her rolling suitcase wouldn’t be that much of an inconvenience, or so she had thought.

The road hadn’t exactly been a road, more like
a dirt rock path that sent her suitcase jumping every which way as she tried to pull it along. It had only gotten worse as she began up hill. Apparently, the village was not only remote, but atop a small mountain. Her chest was burning and her nose was wind chapped as she stopped for the third time to rest. She tugged her red coat tighter as her determination flared. This was just another adventure she told herself.

Just ano
ther adventure.

An
old woman suddenly appeared in the road and Ellena stopped to stare. There hadn’t been any cars come through. In fact she was certain that a car would not even fit on the narrow path and she had not seen another living soul for miles.

“
Bonjour
,” the woman greeted. She was dressed in a torn brown dress along with heavy boots and a black coat, but what really caught Ellena’s attention was the large, woven basket in her hands. She was clearly a peasant, but her smiled beamed and Ellena released a toothy grin herself.

“
Bonjour,”
Ellena replied back.

“
Besoin d'aide
?”

In her exhausted state,
Ellena without thinking replied back in English, “No, thank you.  I can manage.” She instantly back tracked and began to answer in French when the woman laughed.

“Do not worry. I
am fluent in many languages,” the woman said.

This surprised Ellena. The woman certainly did not look like someone who had much schooling, but she instantly berated herself for thinking such things. She had learned a long time that things were not always as they appeared.

“Are you heading up to the village?”

“I am,” Ellena laughed. “I didn’t plan on walking
, though.”

“Your coat is very lovely,” the woman moved to touch the
brilliant fabric and Ellena let her. “May I join you on your walk?”

“Of course, i
f you like you can set your basket on my bag and I’ll pull it.”

T
he woman did and they began back up the hill. Ellena found it quite easy to chat with the woman. The normal awkwardness she felt upon meeting a new person quickly died away, leaving behind only light hearted exchanges and her partner seemed to enjoy her company as well. Ellena told her why she had come, her writing projects, and all the research she had done in preparation. She had seen pictures but Ellena quickly discovered that those photographs had not done France real justice. Along the way, the woman revealed that her name was
Madame
Danielle.

“You are not fearful of traveling alone?”
Danielle asked.

“
I was a little at first,” she confessed. “But I got used to it.”

“Your parents must worry.”

“They passed some time ago. I was very young.”

“You must have been! How old are you now?”

“Twenty-six,” Ellena replied. ”But enough about me. Tell me more about yourself.”

“
Me? I’m just on old widow. I’ve lived by this village all my life which has been quite a long time.”

“There it is!”

The town had suddenly come into view.
It was a sight, with its stoic, gray stones and little wooden houses sprinkled along the mountain, looking like something out of a medieval book. It was as if time had stood still atop that little snow covered hill. When Ellena turned back around she found that
Madame
Danielle was gone and left behind was her basket.

“
Madame
?” she called, but her voice was the only one to be heard. “
Madame
Danielle?”

The kind old woman
had vanished.

As Ellena
drew closer to the tiny village she found that it only had one main street, which was not surprising. The cobbled lane ran right through the heart of town. Even the street lights were fascinating with their black sleek flame boxes and whimsical tickertapes.

She had made it just in time. The sun was beginning to set and a few people scurried along the road, in and out of shops. She pulled a map from her belongings and, a
fter a few moments of studying it, began to look for the inn.

Finally, she found it. It
had been easy, considering it was probably the only boarding facility in the town. She could barely see the cracked faded letters written in gold on an old hanging sign, but she made them out.

L
a petite maison.

This was it—
The Little House
. She began up the stone steps and, knocking the snow from her boots, opened the door. It smelt of burning wood and dusty books. A fireplace was directly in front of her where the burning logs released a delicious scent. No one was there to greet her and she took the moment to admire the old time craftsmanship.

A clock sitting on the mantel ticked away as the seconds passed. Plush faded, chairs occupied the room covered in colorful, knitted q
uilts. Two rounds tables sat in between the seats and on one was a chip porcelain cup with steam coming from it. It smelt of lilac.

“Bonjour!
J’ai Madame Catherine.”

Ellena whirled around to see a rather
plump woman come barreling towards her. She was obviously the inn keeper. Her faded green apron was covered in flour and what Ellena guessed were potatoes peelings in her red, wispy hair. She surely would have to use this shop owner in one of her books. The woman gently wiped her hands clean as she picked up a book from the desk by the main door.

“
Votre nom
?” she asked.

“Ellena Hood.”

“
Ah, oui! Chambre de cinq
.”

The
innkeeper handed her an old key and Ellena took it as the woman pointed to a flight of steps in the corner.

“
Merci beaucoup
,” Ellena graciously said.

Her room was the last
door on the right of a very long and narrow hallway. Room number five. A glass paned window was at the end too, looking out across the wilderness. Rolling green hills scattered with snow went on as far as the eye could see.

Ellena put her key in the lock
and it clicked open. It was a homely, quaint space. A small fire was flickering to her right and a dark, brown rug covered the floor. Ellena dropped her suitcase and flung herself across the lush, quilted bed. Her legs hurt, her feet her, and her stomach hurt. She was horribly hungry and the exhaustion from her unpredictable day finally hit her full force. It was all worth it, she thought, kicking off her boots.  This little remote village was a hidden gem tucked away from the world and tomorrow she couldn’t wait to explore it. Suddenly, a knock sounded at the door.