Jarry Beunard

The sun sank slowly westward, bathing the shady alleys of Avonlea in a warm, golden-amber glow. The air smelled of freshly cut grass, dry wood, and the wild jasmine growing along the wooden fences.

Fifteen-year-old Lady Eleanor walked along the edge of a country road, clutching a small volume of French poetry. After the stuffy halls of the estate, this quiet stroll felt like a breath of freedom.

Suddenly, from behind the high fence surrounding the Green Gables courtyard, a loud cracking of dry brushwood and a quiet, quiet drawing in French were heard:

• Ah, sacré bleu!..

A second later, a man carrying a large armful of chopped branches nearly stumbled out onto the path. It was Jerry. He wore a simple linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and his thick, dark, unruly curls were disheveled from his work. Taken by surprise, he nearly dropped the firewood right at Eleanor's feet and stopped just in time, a step away from her.

Jerry immediately became embarrassed. Hastily dropping the armful of branches onto the grass, he wiped his dirt-stained palm on his work pants, adjusted his vest, and picked up his fallen cap. Looking up at the girl, he froze. His deep brown eyes were filled with obvious confusion: this was a real lady standing before him.

"Pardon, mademoiselle!" Jerry said quickly in his soft French accent, bowing his head slightly in respect. "Forgive me, I... I didn't see you. Weren't you scared?"

Eleanor smiled slightly, clutching the book to her chest, and answered him in flawless, elegant French:
— Non, tout va bien, monsieur. (No, everything is fine, monsieur.) Are you okay too?
A smile instantly froze on Jerry's face. His brown eyes widened in amazement. For a refined girl from a noble house to open her mouth and respond to him in his native tongue—that had certainly never happened in provincial Avonlea!
The guy's signature smile immediately appeared on his lips: charming, slightly embarrassed, and incredibly warm.
Vous... vous parlez français? (You... you speak French?) —