The green nylon case wiggled and thumped.
“C’est Bonbon!” Sylvie exclaimed.
“Can I take her out?” I asked.
“Sure,” Mom said.
I unzipped the opening. Bonbon climbed out and onto my lap. She kissed my cheek and wagged her whole body. She gave Sylvie a kiss, too, and then came back to my lap. She smelled freshly shampooed. Someone had clipped her nails and fastened a little bow to her collar.
“Bonbon, you look so sweet!” I said. “Mom, how did you know she was here?”
Mom explained. “I said I’d do some research, didn’t I? Well, your aunt and I finally found her at a shelter and started the adoption process about a week ago. She was fostered at this little farm, until now.”
Sylvie started giggling.
And then I figured it out. “Sylvie, she’s yours now!” Part of me was a little sad that Bonbon couldn’t be mine, but the other part of me was so happy for Sylvie—and for Bonbon, who would have a forever home at last.
Sylvie grinned, but she shook her head back and forth.
“Grace,” Mom said, “you watched out for this little dog and used your own money to keep her fed. You’ve proven how responsible you can be with a dog. So we had Bonbon examined by a veterinarian, who gave us her health certificate so that she could travel to the States. And I checked with the airline, and she’s small enough to ride in a dog carrier with you on the plane. So, Grace, what do you say? Do you want to bring her home?”
Hot tears rushed to my eyes and fell down my cheeks. I didn’t bother to wipe them away. I looked from Mom to Sylvie, who couldn’t keep from smiling, and then back to Bonbon with her pirate patch and upright ears.
Mom turned to me, waiting for an answer.
I placed my hands around Bonbon’s sweet face and looked into her black eyes. More than once, she’d tried to tell me what she needed.
Now at last I could answer her—and Mom.
“Want to?” I said in disbelief. “Oh, yes! Oui, oui!”
Mary Casanova is always full of ideas. The author of over 30 books—including Cécile: Gates of Gold, Jess, Chrissa, Chrissa Stands Strong, McKenna, and McKenna, Ready to Fly!—she often travels as far away as Norway, Belize, and France for research.
For Grace, she returned to Paris—this time with her grown daughter, Kate—where they biked, explored, and took a French baking class together. Mary comes from a long line of bakers. Her grandmothers baked fragrant breads; her mother made the “world’s best” caramel rolls and cinnamon rolls; and Mary, too, loves baking breads, cakes, and cookies.
When she’s not writing—or traveling for research or to speak at schools and conferences—she’s likely reading a good book, horseback riding in the northwoods of Minnesota, or hiking with her husband and three dogs.
Special thanks to Héloïse Blain, French teacher and language expert, Nice, France; Dawn Bowlus, director, Jacobson Institute for Youth Entrepreneurship at The University of Iowa; Dominique Dury, head chef, Flying Cook, Paris, France; and Donna Houle, special projects manager, Blackstone Valley Tourism Council.
Glossary of French Words
Aimes-tu la glace? (em-tew lah glahss)—Do you like ice cream?
Allez donc vous prendre une glace? (ah-lay dohnk voo prahn-druh ewn glahss)—Why don’t you go have an ice cream?
amandine (ah-mahn-deen)—a tart made with almonds, eggs, flour, butter, and sugar
anglais (ahn-gleh)—English
Arrêtez-vous! (ah-reh-tay-voo)—Stop!
arrondissement (ah-rohn-deess-mahn)—neighborhood or district
au revoir (oh ruh-vwar)—good-bye
avec moi (ah-vek mwah)—with me
Avez-vous faim? (ah-vay-voo fam)—Are you hungry?
baguette (bah-get)—a long, thin loaf of French bread
bébé (bay-bay)—baby
béret (bay-reh)—a round hat with a tight band around the head and a flat, loose top
Berthillon (behr-tee-yohn)—a famous ice cream shop in Paris
bon (bohn)—good
bon appétit (bohn ah-pay-tee)—good appetite; enjoy your meal
bonbon au chocolat (bohn-bohn oh sho-ko-lah)—candy with a soft center and a chocolate outer shell
bonjour (bohn-zhoor)—hello
bonsoir (bohn-swar)—good evening
bon voyage (bohn vwah-yazh)—safe journey
boulangerie (boo-lahn-zhuh-ree)—a French bakery that specializes in breads and may serve lunch, too
Café de Flore (kah-fay duh flohr)—a famous café in Paris
c’est (say)—it’s
C’est beau! (say boh)—It’s beautiful!
C’est dommage! (say doh-mahzh)—It’s a pity!
C’est dur! (say dyewr)—It’s hard!
C’est magnifique! (say mah-nyee-feek)—It’s magnificent!
chaussons aux pommes (shoh-sohn oh pum)—apple turnovers
Comment vas-tu? (koh-mahn vah-tew)—How are you?
cousin (koo-zehn)—male cousin
cousine (koo-zeen)—female cousin
crème brûlée (krem broo-lay)—a sweet dessert made of custard with a caramelized top
croissant (kwa-sahn)—a flaky crescent-shaped roll
croque-monsieur (krohk-muh-syuh)—a grilled cheese sandwich with ham
cygnes royaux (see-nyuh roh-yoh)—royal swans
Dormez-vous? (dor-may voo)—Are you sleeping?
éclair (ay-klehr)—a long pastry filled with whipped or sweet cream, often topped with chocolate
éclair au café (ay-klehr oh kah-fay)—éclair filled with coffee-flavored cream
éclair au chocolat (ay-klehr oh sho-ko-lah)—éclair filled with chocolate cream
en anglais (ahn ahn-gleh)—in English
Etats-Unis (ay-tahz-oo-nee)—United States
euro (ooh-roh)—European money
farine (fah-reen)—flour
fermé (fayr-may)—closed
flan (flahn)—a custard covered with caramel
framboise (frahm-bwahz)—raspberry
Frère Jacques (freh-ruh zhahk)—Brother Jacques; a French lullaby that is often sung as a round
gargoyle (gar-goil)—a carved human or animal figure projecting from the gutter of a building
génoise (zhay-nwahz) cake—an Italian sponge cake named after the city of Genoa
grand-mère (grahn-mehr)—grandmother
grand-père (grahn-pehr)—grandfather
guillotine (ghee-yo-teen)—a machine widely used during the French Revolution for beheading people
île Saint-Louis (eel san-loo-ee)—one of two natural islands in the Seine river in Paris
J’ai faim (zhay fehm)—I am hungry
Je l’aime (zhuh lem)—I love it
je ne sais quoi (zhun say kwah)—a special quality that cannot be described easily
Je regrette (zhuh ruh-gret)—I’m sorry
Je t’aime (zhuh tem)—I love you
Je vais bien (zhuh vay byehn)—I am fine
la glace (lah glahss)—ice cream
L’Arc de Triomphe (lark duh tree-ohmf)—a monument in Paris that honors those who fought and died for France in the French Revolution and Napoleonic wars
la Marseillaise (lah mahr-say-yez)—France’s national anthem
la poste (lah pohst)—post office; label on public mailbox
la prise de la Bastille (lah preez duh luh bah-stee-yuh)—Bastille Day, or France’s independence day, celebrated on July 14
le goûter (luh goo-tay)—afternoon snack
le Louvre (luh loo-vruh)—one of the world’s largest museums and a central landmark of Paris
le Sacré-Coeur (luh sah-kreh kur)—a famous stone church called “the Sacred Heart of Montmartre”
les filles (lay feess)—girls
les Halles (lay ahl)—a neighborhood in Paris famous for its baking and cooking shops
les jardins du Luxembourg (lay zhahr-dehn dyew lewksem-boorg)—Luxembourg Gardens, the second-largest public park in Paris
madame (mah-dahm)—Mrs., ma’am
madeleine (mahd-lehn)—a small, rich cake baked in a shell-shaped mold
mademoiselle (mahd-mwah-zel)—Miss, young lady
maman (mah-mahn)—mother, mama
Marchons! (mahr-shohn)—Let’s march!
marionettes (mahr-yoh-net)—puppets
merci (mehr-see)—thank you
merci beaucoup (mehr-see boh-koo)—thank you very much
meringue (muh-rehng)—a light mixture of egg whites and sugar that is baked and used to top pies and cakes
millefeuille (meel-foy)—a layered pastry with a glazed top of swirled chocolate and vanilla icing
moi aussi (mwah oh-see)—me too
monsieur (muh-syuh)—Mister, sir
Montmartre (mohn-mahr-truh)—a hill in the north of Paris and the district that surrounds it
Napoléon (nah-poh-lay-ohn)—the ruler of France after the French Revolution; also another name for millefeuille
noisette (nwah-zet)—hazelnut
non (nohn)—no
Nos mères sont soeurs (noh mehr sohn sur)—Our mothers are sisters
Notre Dame (noh-truh dahm)—a Catholic cathedral in Paris; one of the largest, most famous churches in the world
oui (wee)—yes
pains au chocolat (pen oh shoh-koh-lah)—chocolate croissants
pains aux raisins (pen oh ray-zan)—raisin bread
Paris je t’aime (par-ee zhuh tem)—Paris, I love you
Parlez-vous anglais? (pahr-lay voo ahn-gleh)—Do you speak English?
pâtisserie (pah-tee-suh-ree)—a French bakery that specializes in pastries and desserts
petite chienne (puh-teet shyen)—little dog (female)
pharmacie (fahr-mah-see)—pharmacy or drugstore
Pont des Arts (pohn dayz ahr)—The Arts Bridge, which crosses the Seine; tourists attach padlocks to it as a symbol of love
pourquoi (poor-kwah)—why
quai (keh)—river walk
Quel beau bébé! (kel boh bay-bay)—What a beautiful baby!
Qu’est-ce que c’est? (kess kuh say)—What is this?
qui (kee)—who
quiche (keesh)—an open-faced custard pie made with eggs, milk, cheese, and vegetables or meat
quoi (kwah)—what
ragoût de lapin (rah-goo duh luh-pehn)—rabbit stew
Recommence! (ruh-koh-mahnss)—Begin again!
rue (rew)—street
Seine (sehn)—a nearly 500-mile-long river that flows through Paris and into the English Channel
sel (sel)—salt
s’il te plaît (seel tuh pleh)—please; used with family and friends
s’il vous plaît (seel voo pleh)—please; used with people you don’t know well
Sonnez les matines (soh-nay lay mah-teen)—Morning bells are ringing
sortie (sor-tee)—exit
spatule en bois (spah-tewl ahn bwah)—a wooden spoon
sucre (soo-kruh)—sugar
tablier du jour (tah-blee-ay dyew zhoor)—apron of the day
tarte (tahrt)—a pastry shell filled with fruit or custard
travail (trah-vahy)—work
très difficile (treh dee-fee-seel)—very difficult
truffle (troo-fluh)—a soft chocolate candy covered with cocoa or chopped nuts
tuiles (tweel)—flat rectangular cookies or “tiles” that are set to cool over a curved surface
Tu t’appelles (tew tah-pel)—Your name is…
un arbre (uhn-ar-bruh)—tree
un cul de poule (uhn kuy duh pool)—a bowl
un peu (uhn puh)—a little
un platane (uhn plah-tahn)—sycamore (tree)
Versailles (vehr-sahy)—King Louis XIV’s main palace; also the French town where it is located
Veux-tu (vuh-tew)—Do you want…
Veux-tu manger? (vuh-tew mahn-zhay)—Do you want to eat?
voilà (vwah-lah)—here it is, or there it is
Starting a business is a lot of work, and so is being a dog owner. Grace is determined to do both—and have fun along the way!
Keep reading for a preview of Grace’s next adventure!
race, darlin’!” Mom’s singsongy voice drifted to my ears from somewhere nearby. “Someone needs you.”
I forced one eye open, then the other, expecting to see my cousin’s bedroom back in Paris.
But instead, on my sage-green rug, my suitcase waited to be unpacked. Beneath my print of two penguins with their heads entwined, my purple backpack hung on my desk chair. And from outside my screened window, a robin whistled brightly: cheeriup, cheerio, cheeriup …
“Grace,” Mom called again from the bottom of the stairs.
I found my voice. “Okay, I’m coming.”
I slid out of bed, still in my travel clothes. I’d left Paris at 8:30 this morning and hadn’t slept a wink on the plane. After six hours of flying and an hour-long drive from Boston, I’d arrived home only to find that time had almost stood still. My bedroom clock had still said 10:00 in the morning, but my body thought it was late afternoon. It had felt so good to be home that I’d flopped down on my bed and slept.
Now that I was waking up, I suddenly remembered, and a surge of energy zipped through me. “Bonbon!”
I raced down the stairs and into the kitchen.
Mom was stirring a pitcher of lemonade. “Hi, sleepyhead! You napped for almost two hours. Lunch soon.”
Whining rose from the dog crate near the back door. I spun toward the little black nose pressed against the wire door. Bonbon looked up at me with her sweet black eyes, one framed by a pirate patch of dark fur. At last, at last—here in Bentwick, Massachusetts—she finally had a real home.
“You’re really here,” I said, opening the crate and lifting her into my arms. She wiggled and squirmed with energy.
“I think she needs to go out,” Mom said.
I stepped into my flip-flops, grabbed the pink leash that Mom had bought for Bonbon, and set the dog on the kitchen floor. “Let’s go, pup!”
Bonbon twisted and spun, but I managed to attach her leash to her new collar.
“I hope she’s that excited for her vet appointment on Thursday,” Mom said, laughing. “I called this after-noon, and they can get her in for a quick checkup. And speaking of exciting news, Grandma and Grandpa invited us over for dinner tonight at six. They’re anxious to see us.”
“Can I bring Bonbon along?”
Mom shrugged. “Call and ask when you come back inside,” she suggested. “See what they say.”
I nodded and then stepped out the back door into a warm, humid day. Bonbon darted left and right. Nose to the ground, she snuffled, snorted, and sniffed every inch of grass in our backyard, straining at her leash.
Each time she pulled hard, I took a tiny dog treat from my pocket—just as Mom had suggested. Bonbon wasn’t used to walking on a leash, so we had to teach her not to tug.
“Bonbon,” I said sweetly. “Come.”
She turned, spotted my outstretched hand, and trotted a few steps back toward me.
“Sit, Bonbon,” I said firmly. When she did, I praised her, and then said, “Let’s walk.” I held the treat in front of her nose and started walking again. She stayed close to my side for a few steps, so I gave her the treat. “Good girl!”
And then we went back to exploring. Every time Bonbon strained, I repeated the treat lesson. I wished that I could let her run free in the yard, but there were gaps in the stone wall—gaps that Bonbon could easily escape through. So until Dad had a chance to put in gates, Bonbon would be exploring the yard on a leash.
I don’t mind a little extra work, I thought, breathing in the sweet, earthy air. Though I had loved Paris and my time there with Mom, my cousin Sylvie, Uncle Bernard, Aunt Sophie, and their new baby, Lily, there was nothing like being home again.
Within our stone wall, Mom’s flower gardens an
d rhubarb patch had survived our being gone. The hydrangea bush was a ball of blue blossoms. Roses and lilies bloomed in shades of red and yellow. Mom’s metal sculpture creations—a three-foot gnome and a heron standing on one leg—peered out from the flowers, as if welcoming me back.
Yesterday, Paris. Today, home. Flying happened so fast that my brain couldn’t catch up.
Bonbon nudged my foot with her wet nose. I reached down and scratched her under her chin. “We’re world travelers,” I said to her.
I thought back to that first day in Paris when Sylvie and I had walked through the Luxembourg Gardens—the day that I’d first met Bonbon. Skittish and mistrustful, the little French bulldog had come close to us only because Sylvie had bread in her hand. Then I began setting food and water just outside my aunt and uncle’s pâtisserie, and eventually Bonbon started showing up for dinner every day. When she didn’t show up one day, I was heartsick, wondering what had happened to her.
To my huge surprise, Mom had found Bonbon through the animal shelter and adopted her, and we flew her back to the States with us. “Since you’re the one who has been asking for a dog,” Mom had said on the plane, “she’ll be mostly your responsibility.”
Okay with me!
I headed for the end of our yard, where ivy spiraled up the trunks of towering maples and oaks, their leafy tops like massive green umbrellas. From their branches hung about a dozen birdhouses that Dad had made in every size, shape, and color.
A gray squirrel swung from the blue, double-decker birdhouse. Head down, tail flicking angrily, it chattered and scolded us.
In return, Bonbon yipped, barked, and bolted for the tree.
“Bonbon, no!” I held on to her leash with both hands. But Bonbon pulled forward, and I tripped over my flip-flops and fell flat on my chest, my arms outstretched. “Oomph!”
As I lay there, the squirrel disappeared into the neighbor’s yard. Bonbon stopped barking. She must have sensed that something had gone wrong. She wheeled around, whined, and licked my cheek.
I laughed. “That didn’t go so well, did it?” I rose to my feet and brushed fresh grass clippings off my clothes. “Are you going to be a troublemaker?”
In answer, Bonbon spun in an excited circle.
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