Red Wolfe

by B. L. Herndon

  It was snowing again. The cobble street was slick with melted snowflakes that had turned brown and mushy from being trampled upon when Ellena stepped from La Petite Masion.

  Her book would take place in a town like this, she decided as she let her feet take her where they pleased. A young woman about her age was sweeping the lane just in front of a shoe repair shop and Ellena carefully maneuvered closer.

  “Excusez-moi,” Ellena asked. “Do you know a Madame Danielle?”

  The girl shook her head and returned to her sweeping. Ellena shifted the basket in her arms and began down a small hill. As she rounded the corner she lost her footing and slipped but much to her surprise, she did not fall. A hand had shot out to rescue her, the hand of an old man, clean shaven, bundled up and smoking a pipe.

  “Merci,” she said.

  “Outsiders should be careful here,” he grumbled in a very thick accent. “Especially pretty young girls like yourself.” He clutched his cane and starting down the hill.

  “Do you know Madame Danielle?” she asked, running up beside him.

  “I do. I can see that you have her basket.”

  “Wonderful! Do you know where I can find her?”

  “No, I do not. She appears and vanishes as she pleases, but I do have a question for you. What’s a foreigner doing in a place like this?”

  “Research for a book,” she smiled.

  “Must be an odd book,” he replied.

  “Well it’s actually about the old folklore, Little Red Riding Hood. I came to talk about people’s different perspectives and views on the tale. Its origins are so shrouded with mystery that I’d thought it’d be a challenge to explore it.”

  “If a challenge is what you want, you’ve certainly got it.”

  “May I ask you some questions about the myth?” she sheepishly asked.

  He turned to look at her and then took an abrupt left down a narrow alley. “Do as you wish.”

  She didn’t follow him right away. From her time traveling she knew never to venture from the main road, no matter how innocent others appeared.

  “No need to worry,” the old man bellowed when he realized she was not following him. “There’s a tea shop down this alley. I go there every morning.”

  Ellena kept her distance as she trailed behind and surely enough a little run down shop appeared just a few feet ahead and the old man removed his hat before entering. He had already taken a seat by an open window by the time she joined him.

  “I very much appreciate it,” she set her basket down, pulling a pen and pad from her bag as the shop keeper came to take their order.

  “Le thé au gingembre,” he muttered.

  “Ginger tea? That sounds lovely, make it two,” Ellena said. “All right Monsieur…?”

  “Ansel.”

  “Monsieur Ansel, what is your take on the tale?”

  The waiter returned and set down two steamy cups of ginger tea. Monsieur Ansel took his time slowly dropping two cubes of sugar into his drink, followed by a dabble of cream. Ellena did the same, only she eagerly plunged what was about four cubes of sugar and a good amount of cream into her cup.

  “You spoil fine things by adding too much stuff to it,” he grumbled and Ellena grinned. “As for your story, the original version has been changed so many times it’s nearly too muddled to decipher, but I can tell you some things, regardless of what version you read, may not be true. My great grandmother use to tell me all kinds of stories when I was child. One of course, was the very we are discussing now. Only the wolf was not an actually beast, but a man, an arrogant fellow who preyed on young, beautiful girls. The story goes that he was quite the handsome chap, but completely rotten to the core. He would lure poor girls out to the woods to their death and they were never found again.

  “You mean like a werewolf? In some accounts I’ve read there was one of those.”

  “No, just a regular man I suppose. Of course because of his actions I’m sure they made him out to be a beast.” He took a sip of his tea and continued. “I’m sure you know how tales change with time. It may have started out with a man who was called wolf or that he acted like one and over time the story eventually changes to depict him as an actual animal.”

  “I see,” she said.

  “He didn’t give much warning of where he would strike next, but they all knew him from his crimson colored cape, or at least that’s the tale my great grandmother told me.”

  “He wore the cape? What an interesting twist.” She made sure to scribble it down.

  “Apparently, it was believed to be red from the blood of all young maidens he had killed,” he chuckled. “I’m sure it’s not true, just a wives’ tale to keep young girls from running off with the first handsome bloke they met.”

  “What became of him?”

  “I suppose he was killed or that’s how all the stories end, all of them have that in common at least.”

  Ellena was fiercely writing. This was exactly what she needed.

  “You take what I’ve told you with a grain of salt,” he took another sip. “I’m sure it’s just another version to a very obscure legend.”

  Ellena finished her tea and spent some time talking with Monsieur Ansel about the village and his life. He was a very interesting man and even older than she thought. He had served in the war and had seen many things in his time. His grandmother had lived in this village until the day that she died and, looking for a quiet place to settle, came back here. He now worked as the town baker and as Ellena finished her tea and stood to leave she promised to come by soon and try one of his handmade pastries.

  She left to wander the village still carrying Madame Danielle’s basket. Her steps were slow and her mind deep in thought. A man who preyed on young girls? That would be quite the twist. She was already forming the story plot in her mind when she happened upon a tiny bookstore. She adjusted the basket again and entered.

  Two small children, one boy and one girl, were playing on the floor with a deck of cards and marbles, but the moment they saw Ellena they jumped up and fled to a back room. The books were old, terribly so with tattered covers and yellow pages. The shop keep appeared and Ellena asked if she had any books about folklore. The woman waved for her to follow and led Ellena to the far end of the store. She carefully set the basket down as the store owner returned to her desk, keeping a wary eye on her.

  Ellena found an old version of Beauty and the Beast. Ah! What luck, another one of her favorite tales. Tucking it under her arm she continued down the row. Before long she came a book that had not only Little Red Riding Hood, but also Bluebeard. These would do nicely. She paid for her newly acquired treasures and asked the other woman if she heard of a Madame Danielle. The woman had not. Ellena, feeling a little discouraged, set off to find a place to eat. It was nearly noon and some warm soup was what she was craving. She headed back to the inn where Madame Catherine would surely be serving a mid-day meal that would suite her palate. It would also give her some time to explore her new books.

  It was still snowing when she returned to the empty inn. Madame Catherine was shuffling about, but stopped to show her one and only border to one of the plush chairs and helped her sit before heading towards the kitchen. She still had not found Madame Danielle which struck her as strange. Surely, in such a small town people would have known of her and where she lived. At least, Monsieur Ansel had known of her which gave Ellena some hope that she hadn’t imagined the old, peasant woman.

  She could already smell the French onion when Madame Catherine came from the back with a bowl of soup. Ellena loved French onion. It was just what she needed to warm her insides and chase the cold away. Groping through her bag, she pulled her books free and gently opened their well-worn covers. A gentle ‘clink’ brought her eyes up to see Madame Catherine setting a cup of hot chocolate down on the table. Ellena thanked her and took the drink in her hands, but not before inspecting the little chipped teacup. It was light blue, handed painted with delicate golden accents
and suited her very nicely.

  Hours passed, but Ellena was too consumed in her own world to notice. No one came or went. The only sound was the fire crackling. She read all the way through Bluebeard while clutching her cup. She had forgotten how scary this tale had been, but she wanted to read all that could to get a full understanding of French traditions and their style of writing. Taking a sip, she turned to the page where a picture of a young girl wearing a red cape greeted her. With her blonde, curly hair and bright blue eyes, she was a perfect depiction of old world drawings. Above the picture read The Tale of Little Red Riding Hood.

  She sank deeper into her seat and stretched her neck. It was snowing harder now. The window across the room revealed nothing but a flurry of white flakes as they angrily swarmed. She had made it back just in time.

  There it was, still quietly resting—the basket. Maybe it would be a good idea to look inside? Scouring the town was not working and she was growing concerned that she may never see the old woman again. Maybe whatever was inside would help her find its rightful owner. In the end, after several minutes of debating with herself on what to do, she had decided to leave it alone. She would try looking again tomorrow and hope that her persistence paid off. With that decided, Ellena returned to her reading.

  This version was different than any other she had ever come across. There wasn’t any axe man in this tale and the grandmother along with the girl tricks the wolf, ultimately drowning him when he tries to come down the chimney. Monsieur Ansel had been right about one thing. The wolf, no matter in which account, always died. One way or another, he always met a horrible end and she wondered what ever became of the mysterious man from Ansel’s story.

  A layer of snow was gathering in the window seal and only growing bigger by the time she returned to her room. A cold breeze sliced through the warm air coming from the still burning fireplace and Ellena rushed to close the window. She was saddened to discover that her little bird was gone, but as she went to latch the window his red form suddenly appeared among the white flakes.

  “You came back!” Ellena smiled. “You better come in now before I close it.”

  She was surprised to see him hop past her and fly over and perch atop the basket’s woven handle. Ellena had never seen a bird so brazen around humans and she began to wonder if perhaps at one time he had been someone’s pet.

  “You sure are a brave little thing,” Ellena softly spoke. “But I guess being in here sure beats being out there.” The cardinal bounced along the handle as if trying to respond to her. “Don’t you dare do anything to that basket,” she warned. “And you know what I mean.”

  It began to peck and pull at the white handkerchief and before Ellena could shoo him away, the handkerchief had already fallen away, partially revealing what was inside. A sliver of crimson peeked out from the basket to reveal a gorgeous red cape!

  Something felt strange. She couldn’t tell what, but a wave of butterflies was fluttering in her stomach. Why would Madame Danielle have this—a red hood, just like the one from the story? This had to be a coincidence. What other explanation was there? Even as she said it, she didn’t believe it. There was more to this than met the eye and Ellena now was more determined than ever to find the old woman.

  Chapter Three

  She rose early the next day and was out and on the town before breakfast could even be served. Her feet where steady and unwavering as she walked through the streets, heading for the only other person who seemed to know of Madame Danielle’s existence. A foot of snow had accumulated on the paths, crunching under her steps as she walked. She was the only person, as far as she could tell, who had dared to venture outside.

  A soft bell rang as she opened the door to Ansel’s bakery. No customers were there, but the sweet scent of breads and sweeties filled her nose.

  “I was hoping you’d come by today.” Monsieur Ansel walked from the back of his bakery with a tray of breads and went to put them out in his window display. “Pick anything you want. It’s one the house.”

  She excitedly picked one of the delicious looking blueberry scones and Ansel brought her a cup of coffee as he sat down with his own mug.

  “This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten,” Ellena said.

  “You flatter my ego,” he grinned. “How is your stay so far?”

  “Very enjoyable, but a little unpredictable.”

  “Ah! The winning formula for an unforgettable experience.”

  “Monsieur Ansel,” Ellena finished her scone and brought the coffee up to her lips. She took a sip before asking the question that had been on her tongue for some time. “Have you seen Madame Danielle this morning?”

  “I’m sorry, but I haven’t. I can see you still have her basket.” He glanced at the object resting at her feet.

  “I know you said that you didn’t know where she lived, but is there somewhere that she goes to often? Perhaps a store that she visits?”

  “I don’t know of any place in town, but I do know I have often seen her down by the very edge of town where the forest begins to take over.” He must have recognized a look on Ellena’s face because his next words were dark and warning. “Do not go there.”

  “Why not?” Ellena asked, a little offended.

  “It’s far from safe. Wild animals have been known to come from those woods, even wolves.”

  Ellena took a sip of her coffee. She may not have responded, but her stubborn streak began to rise. If an old peasant woman could chance the dangers of the forest edge so could she.

  “Mademoiselle Ellena,” she looked up in surprise. It was the first time he had ever addressed her in such a way. “Please, do not go there. I can’t stop you from doing so if you are dead set on it, but I will make one last plea. That old woman is crazy, always has been and I urge you not to follow her.”

  Ellena had not gone to the forest, at least not yet. After slowly wandering the street with the basket in her hands, she had returned to her room. She now stood, gazing out of the window into the untamed wilderness. Crossing her arms she leaned closer, letting her fingers run along the sleeve of her red coat.

  Who knows when Danielle would appear again? She may not have a choice but to go. She had to find the woman and ask her about the hood. In the end, her impatience won and Ellena scooped the basket up and left.

  She sped through town, walking until the cobbled road ended right outside of the village. It was a sharp drop down the hill and Ellena carefully stumbled down the mountain side. It was a long way down and a narrow slither of white snow was the only barrier that separated the base of the hill from the looming forest ahead. What on earth would Madame Danielle be doing down here, she thought.

  She shouted for the old woman, a little hesitantly at first. She felt uneasy standing all alone and trudging through the layers of snow. A harsh wind blew, chilling her to the bone as the flurries became thicker, wilder, brimming everywhere.

  “Madame Danielle?” she shouted again. Fear began to wrap around her throat like a suffocating noose. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe. It had happened so quickly, the flurries becoming so thick that she couldn’t even see a few feet ahead. She blindly turned and began to stumble through the blizzard and back to town.

  She was running now, trying to keep her eyes open against the stinging winds. And that’s when it happened. Out of the nothingness, a black blur appeared and Ellena ran to it. Judging distance is nearly impossible in such circumstances and unfortunately the young woman collided face first into the bark of a massive oak tree. She clung to the tree, feeling the wind whip and rage around her and then it all became quiet. The storm finally died, much to her relief, but as she opened her eyes a new fear began to creep into her chest. She was in the forest, deep in the forest and the town had disappeared.

  Her next thought was to simply follow her footprints back to town. It would have been a good plan if the heavy blizzard had not covered her trail. Her heart was racing, blood rushing to her face. How she wished she had listen to Monsieur
Ansel! She looked back at the tree. If Ellena was right, she needed to simply turn around and trek back, but before long she wasn’t so sure if her plan had worked. To make matters worse, she wasn’t sure what time it was since the dense woodland kept any light from reaching the forest floor.

  “I’m gonna freeze to death,” Ellena whispered as she tried, but failed miserably, to hold back the tears. She was angry, angry at herself for being so stubborn. She had been warned, but just wouldn’t listen.

  A gentle snow was falling, dancing through the green pine trees and whirling along the gigantic roots that rose from the ground before plunging back into the snow. It really was a magical sight, like a scene from one of her favorite stories. It was solemn, like the beauty of a snow covered graveyard.

  It was getting colder and the only thing she had left was Danielle’s red hood. Ellena slipped it from the basket and flung it across her shoulders, tying the two red ribbons as the base of her neck. It draped around her in the most wonderful fashion, all the way down to her feet and the crimson hood cradled her head just right. As she pulled the hood up and over her face, Ellena could only think of one other thing to do to get her out of this predicament. She needed to see what direction she was going and that would require her to do something she had not planned on doing this faithful trip.

  She fiercely pulled her blue gloves tighter and set to challenging a rather massive pine tree close by. Climbing was much more difficult than she remembered as a child. Of course, it had been some time since she had scaled the branches of a tree, but she found it easier to move the higher she rose. The limbs were closer to each other now, but heavy splotches of slush would still fall each time the tree’s prickly green needles shook.

  When Ellena thought she had scaled high enough, she stopped. She steadied her feet on the rough bark of the branch below and turned to gaze out along the hills.