Fernand heard a noise from the other room and opened the door to see a small girl frustratedly sobbing as she struggled to pull open a drawer. His daughter’s hair was a dark mess of black curls, forming a mad halo around her distraught features. Her nose was red from the repeated dabbing of a handkerchief she had clearly taken from her Maman. “Angel, what are you doing?”
“I- I’m leaving!” She succeeded in getting the drawer open, pulling out one of her play dresses to attempt to put on over the night shirt she was wearing. “I’m running away... to Spain, so I can go starve with all the poor children.”
“And why do you want to do that?” Fernand leaned against the door frame, keeping a remarkably straight face while the adorably angry girl told him of her plans.
“Because papa is mean to me!”
“I’m mean to you?”
“Yes!” She took a staggered breath, apparently remembering something she had forgotten in the other room. He watched her as she strutted over, grabbing up her small shoes and bringing them back to her dress with a huff. “And Maman, and you a-a-always scold me!”
“Is that right?” Fernand looked at her seriously, seeming to take in her words like a sermon. “And why do we scold you?” She was now struggling to get her arms through the sleeves, her head stuck in the fabric. She let out a cry of frustration and flung the dress off, sitting splay legged on the floor with a whimper. “Try undoing the buttons first, sweetheart.”
“You scold me because I misbehave.” She focused entirely on the buttons, tiny fingers struggling with each of them.
“Have you considered... not being naughty? Maman and I wouldn’t have to scold you if you behaved.” This was, apparently, the wrong answer. She threw up her hands, bringing them back down to wipe at her eyes. She then wiped her hands off on the handkerchief, deciding it was better to use that instead. She ineffectively patted the fabric against her face before discarding it once again to work at the buttons. “What will you do?”
“I need to get dressed.” Of course, how could Fernand be so blind. She was a little lady after all, obviously she needed to be dressed appropriately to run away.
“You get dressed, and then what? Where will you go?”
“To Spain!” She muttered angrily, hating to repeat herself. “I will go to all the poor children there and starve. With no water either.”
“Why do you want to do that?”
“So I will fall over dead and you cannot scold me anymore!”
“That sounds excessive.” Fernand wondered for a moment, just what were the details of this plan? She had apparently given it some thought. “How will you get there?”
She looked up, wide innocent eyes as she considered this new development. “...You shall have to take me.”
“Oh no, look. It’s night time already. I can’t take you, I need to go to bed.”
She looked up at him with a petulant glare, determined with her fate. But then she stood up to try the dress again, “Perhaps I will not go to Spain. I will go to Sweden and be a shepherd like Kristina. But I will have very naughty sheep and they will eat me.” He knew she had been listening as the Swedish ambassador exchanged some light gossip about their runaway queen. Of course she was the sort of woman his daughter would look up to, not that he minded.
“Sheep don’t eat little girls, Angel.” Her head popped above the collar and looked very concerned, her plans ruined.
“A bear then.”
“Very sensible.”
She sat down again, pulling on her shoes as best she could with her stockings falling down around her ankles. “I don’t need parents. All parents are mean and horrible.” She stood up again, wobbling from the exertion of her dramatic crying. “Papa, help me with my buttons, please.”
“You just said you don’t need me.”
“Button me up and I won’t need you afterwards!” Fernand had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing, but he smiled just the same as he knelt down to assist his vagabond daughter. “Don’t laugh at me! I’m going to run away!” The way her face scrunched up as she scolded him reminded him remarkably of her mother. Perhaps they should have named her after a demon instead, the descriptor would have been far more accurate in moments like this.
“My apologies, mademoiselle.” He finished tucking her night shirt into the dress, buttoning the dress up. “You are all set for your travels. There’s the door, out you go.”
“...You’re not going to stop me?” Her voice was hesitant for the first time.
“No, you’ve convinced me. Go on, find your sheep.” She sniffled as he waited, watching her. Her small hands went to the front of her dress, smoothing the fabric. He hunched down so he was face to face with her, letting her in on a secret offer. “Darling. Sweetie. How about I take you to go find Kristina later? For now, we can take a lamp and sneak down to the cellar to have ice cream without Maman seeing us.”
She seemed to consider his offer before solemnly nodding her head. “But we will go find Kristina later? We can go see the sheep?”
“Yes. Absolutely yes, my sweet. But only if you don’t run away.”