Authors: Nancy Krulik

A Whirlwind Vacation (5 page)

BOOK: A Whirlwind Vacation

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“They're really just water spouts,” Vicki assured her.

“Creepy water spouts,” Katie corrected the tour guide.

Suddenly Katie heard a loud rumbling.
“AAAAHHH!”
she screamed out. She grabbed her mother by the arm. “What was that?”

“It was just my stomach growling,” Annabelle said with a giggle.

“I think she's hungry,” Mrs. Bridgeman told Vicki. “Didn't you say there was a cafÃ© nearby?”

Vicki pointed toward the street. “There's one right on the corner there. The girls will love it.”

Katie was happy when she and her parents began to follow the Bridgemans away from the cathedral. She couldn't wait to leave those gargoyles!

“I would like a
fromage
sandwich,” Katie told the waiter at the cafÃ©. She smiled proudly as she used the French word for cheese. The waiter smiled back and wrote down her order.

Then the waiter walked over to the next small table where Annabelle and her parents were sitting. The tables at the cafÃ© were so small that they couldn't all sit together. But they were close enough.

“Ruff! Ruff!”

Katie turned around. The woman at the next table was sitting with a small black poodle on her lap. In Paris, lots of restaurants allowed dogs to sit at the table.

Pepper would love that,
Katie thought to herself. She missed her cocker spaniel. He was back home in Cherrydale. Katie's next-door neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Derkman, were taking care of him while the Carews were away. Katie hoped Mrs. Derkman was being nicer to Pepper than she had been to her third-grade class. When Mrs. Derkman had been Katie's teacher, she'd been really strict.

“Do you think Pepper's okay?” Katie asked her mother.

“I'm sure he's fine, Katie,” Mrs. Carew answered. “He's probably busy playing with Snowball in the yard right now.”

Snowball was Mrs. Derkman's dog. She was Pepper's best friend ... other than Katie, of course.

“I think I'll send Pepper a postcard,” Katie told her mother. “I saw one with a picture of a French poodle on it back at the hotel.”

Mrs. Carew smiled. “I think Pepper would like that.”

Just then the waiter arrived with coffee for the adults and sodas for Annabelle and Katie.

“Merci,”
Katie said, proudly using the French word for thank you.

As she sipped her soda, Katie looked out at the street. People were walking by. Mothers with strollers. Businesspeople with leather briefcases. A dog walker with six large dogs pulling her down the street.

Vicki was right. It was fun to people-watch in Paris.

Katie could see Notre Dame from her seat at the cafÃ©. It didn't look nearly as scary from here. In fact, it looked kind of pretty.

A group of artists were seated across the street on small wooden folding chairs. Each artist had set up a small easel. Katie watched as their hands glided across their canvases. Some seemed to be using paint, while others were drawing with pencils. They were all looking up at Notre Dame as they worked.

“They're painting the cathedral,” Katie said. “It looks like fun. Daddy, do you have a pen?”

Mr. Carew pulled a pen from his shirt pocket. “Here you go,” he told her.

Katie took the pen and began to draw on her napkin. She looked up at the cathedral and tried to get the points in the tower just right. It was really hard to do.

Annabelle looked over to see what Katie was doing. “Oh, I want to try that, too,” Annabelle said.

Mrs. Bridgeman pulled a pen from her purse and handed it to her daughter. Before long, both girls were busy drawing.

Katie loved everything about Paris. It was such fun sitting at an outdoor cafÃ©, drawing one of the most famous buildings in the whole world. She was speaking French (okay, so maybe she only knew a couple of words, but
still ...),
and she was about to eat a
fromage
sandwich on real French bread.

Katie grinned broadly. It didn't get better than this!

Chapter 8

“Mmm. That was good,” Mr. Bridgeman said as he finished the last of his french fries. “Anyone for another cup of coffee?”

“That sounds great,” Mrs. Carew agreed.

Annabelle and Katie looked at each other and frowned. The girls were getting tired of sitting. Luckily, Annabelle had a better idea.

“Can Katie and I go see what those artists are drawing?” Annabelle asked.

“Well ...” Mrs. Bridgeman began slowly.

“Come on, Mom. It's just across the street,” Annabelle pleaded.

“I guess it's okay,” she said. Then she looked at Katie's mother. “If it's fine with you.”

Mrs. Carew nodded. “Just be careful crossing the street. The people in Paris drive a lot faster than people in Cherrydale.”

“Oh, I can help her,” Annabelle boasted. “These drivers are nothing compared to the cab drivers in Boston.”

Katie scowled. She did
not
need any help crossing the street.

“And stay where we can see you,” Mr. Carew said.

“I promise,” Katie agreed.

“Come on,” Annabelle urged as she leaped up from the table and headed toward the crosswalk. “I want to see how good their paintings are.”

Apparently, Annabelle did not think the paintings were very good at all. As she and Katie stood behind the artists, watching them work, Annabelle began to laugh.

“My
drawing was better than these,” she said. “These don't even
look
like Notre Dame.”

“Annabelle!” Katie exclaimed. “That's not very nice.”

“Oh, don't worry about it. They don't even know what we're saying,” Annabelle assured Katie. “They speak French, not English, remember?”

Katie sighed. That didn't make a difference. “Well, anyway, I don't think these are supposed to look exactly like the cathedral.”

“They don't look
anything
like it,” Annabelle insisted. “I did better art than this in kindergarten.”

Katie was really glad the artists didn't speak English. Their feelings would be hurt if they knew what Annabelle was actually saying.

The girls moved behind the last artist in the row. He was covered in paint. There were colorful stains on his slacks, shirt, and even his shoes. At the moment he was busy drawing squares and triangles with a charcoal pencil. His hands moved quickly as he sketched.

“See what I mean?” Annabelle asked her.

Katie shrugged. “Well, I did draw a lot of shapes in kindergarten,” she agreed. “And some of my pictures looked a
little
like that.”

Suddenly, the artist whipped around in his chair. “Do you think I cannot understand you?” he shouted in a thick French accent. “I speak English very well!”

Katie gasped. Her cheeks turned as red as her hair. “I ... I'm sorry,” she murmured. “I didn't ...”

“You don't know anything about art. You are just foolish children. Now go away! Scat, like little cats!” the artist shouted at them.

Katie did as she was told. Without even waiting for Annabelle, she ran off into a nearby alleyway.

The alley was filled with wooden vegetable crates. A few rotting cabbages littered the ground. They stunk really badly. They smelled as badly as Pepper did that time a skunk had sprayed him.

Katie guessed she deserved to be in a stinky alleyway. After all, she and Annabelle had said some pretty mean things about the artist who had been drawing shapes on his canvas. This was sort of like her punishment.

She sat down on a hard wooden crate. Maybe if she waited here long enough, the artist would leave. Then she could walk back out onto the sidewalk and go across the street to the cafe where her parents were sitting.

But deep down Katie knew she was going to have to walk out there and see him again. If the artist yelled at her, she would just have to listen. And say she was sorryâ
again
.

Katie stood up and got ready to walk out of the alley. But before she could take even one step, a cool breeze began to blow.

Within seconds the breeze grew stronger. Soon it felt more like a wind than a breeze. And not just any wind.
This was the magic wind!

Before Katie knew what was happening, the magic wind was circling wildly around her. Katie grabbed onto one of the crates and held on tight. The tornado was really wild this time. She shut her eyes tight, and tried not to cry.

And then it stopped. Just like that.

The magic wind was gone. And so was Katie Carew.