Chapter Four

Maria found the church frightfully dull. The nuns and priest, while nice, were equally dull. She recalled the tea party they had set up being nothing more than an attempted interrogation of who she was and her connection with God. They pried at her private life, and one nun even slipped the word orphan.

'You seem very polite for an orphan,' were her exact words.

Maria knew they held no malice as she prepared herself for bed that night. Orphan seemed to have negative connotations lately, but having worked with orphans, and even running an orphanage, she hadn't expected a member of the church to say that to her.

She had been an orphan from birth or at least assumed so. She had no memory of a mother or father figure, just the orphanage directors in her small town, according to them, she had been left at a train station. Maria had often fantasised about who her parents may be, having never met them she could believe they were anything.

Or anyone.

Maria closed her eyes and sighed, pulling out the necklace and running her fingers over the odd crest. She had examined the necklace charm many times over the years, able to draw it from memory if needed. She had other charms that she had attached over the years, all which she kept in her violin case because they kept falling off.

She took the necklace off and placed it on the side-table, opened her bedsheets and tucked herself in, lying on her side to look out the window. Despite the light pollution of night-time Paris, she could still see the stars, even when she closed her eyes.

*

Maria explored the church grounds the following day. It was much larger then she anticipated, and was mainly indoors. There were grand contraptions as churches, with extravagant stain glass windows depicting scenes from religions, towers which stretched to the sky with rusted old bells and elegant gardens where the public often went to meditate, relax or worship.

She pondered whether there was a library, or if there were books other than Bibles on the Church grounds.

There wasn't much for Maria to do since she arrived. She wasn't a nun, so she wasn't allowed in any of the meetings, and was seventeen so she was too old to go to the orphanage school. She pondered getting a job in Paris but doubted anyone would accept her. "Perhaps the word of a nun would be enough…"

Maria had been given a notepad and pencil, told to entertain herself, make a note of how many windows, doors, bells, gardens, flower types, list anything and everything to occupy her until the 'big day.'

Maria thought it was to get her out of their hair while they did whatever work nuns did. She made conversation with the priest of the church, but soon even he was called off to work. The young orphan glanced at her lists, seeing her little notes on golden wine cups and jewelled bowls by the alter.

She was sitting on a stone bench, doodling in the borders of the page, eventually growing bored again as she shut the book loudly and started dawdling around the gardens. As she passed some rose bushes, decorated heavily with pinkish flowers, she stumbled upon a man kneeling on the ground picking weeds. She scarcely managed to stagger around him.

"Beg your pardon!" he called out when he noticed Maria.

Maria managed to catch herself, smoothing out her dress and retrieving the notebook she dropped. "I didn't see you there, Mr Vickers," she confessed.

The gentleman laughed as he rose, "I like to think I make a bit of a bigger presence, but I guess with all these flowers, you'd have never look down."

Maria apologised, seeing she had also disturbed the messy pile of weeds he had gathered beside him, now scattered about on the short grass. He dismissed the apology, stating he knew precisely where every plant was and would be. She found this a bizarre statement.

"Are you enjoying your time here, Missy?" he asked.

Maria Stephany pondered being honest or polite. "I suppose. It's certainly much prettier then back home," she stated politely.

Mr Vickers smiled and nodded. "I've seen you strolling 'round the gardens. How do you like my handiwork?" He made grand gestures, with a wide smirk on his face, as he swung his arm around him like a magician pronouncing his act.

Maria's eyes widened. "You did all the gardening work?" She was genuinely surprised.

He nodded. "Most of it at least. Took a long while, I'll tell you. Self-appointed gardener I am. Otherwise, everything around here would become overgrown and ferrel."

"They don't pay you for your services?" Maria asked.

Mr Vickers shook his head. "Not directly. They give me lodging and food, and I get to keep whatever gets thrown in the little fountain over there." He motioned behind Maria, who saw, across a sea of knee-high shrubbery, an elegant, circular fountain in the next patch of grass over. "They're not supposed to throw things in there you see. Give 'em warnings all the time. Get some money now and then from wishes. Never spend them, though." Maria looked back to Mr Vickers, who appeared prideful. Up close, she could make out more details of his face. His rounded face was unshaven, speckled in white and grey hairs declaring his older age. His kind brown eyes hindered by the shadow of his brown, floppy hat.

"What do you do with it then?" Maria quizzed.

He shrugged, "Sometimes I give it to little kids on the street, always looking to buy sweets of some kind. Usually to this little girl so she can buy her dog a biscuit. Sometimes a young lad to buy a balloon. Tonnes of things just depends on who finds me first." He suddenly made a yelp, it shocked Maria and prompted a smile as Mr Vickers thought of a story to tell.

He continued with his work as he spoke of life. He recounted the early days of his jobs, stating how much he use to hate roses and how his father would make him memorise the differing types entirely based on their shades of red. Maria was so engrossed in his story; she didn't notice the Sisters approach them until Mr Vickers' story turned into a greeting. "Good day, Sisters."

Maria looked over her shoulder to see Sister Wendy and Sister Genevie, each holding some clothes in a basket and a sewing kit. "Mr Vickers." They gave him a nod of recognition before looking to Maria, "We require your assistance, my dear."

Maria glanced at their full hands, noting their cloths, needles and string. She withheld a sigh from the idea she would have to assist in mending clothes. She looked to Mr Vickers for some help, but was dismissed, said he would continue his story another time. Maria exhaled as she pushed herself to her feet and followed the nuns. Maria appeared in the smaller tea room, several armchairs which allowed nuns a place to sit around and discuss things. Hanging above the door was a wooden cross, as was in every room, and hanging on the wall was a tapestry of the Virgin Mary holding a baby.

Maria followed obediently and sat down in one of the chairs. It was more cushiony then expected as she sank into the armchair and found difficulty sitting up straight. The two Sisters placed their chairs in front of Maria's, making a triangle of armchairs, as they started their sewing of clothes and blankets. "Thank you for helping us, Maria."

"Why are there so many…?" Maria was daunted by the number of clothes in the baskets.

"Soldiers, policemen, the homeless, lots of reasons. We've got to do our part for things, and these just happen to fall under our tasks."

Maria frowned as she picked up an old button shirt with a tear under the left armpit, quickly noticing she was sitting in the blinding light of the window. "A lady should always know how to mend a shirt."

Maria tried to mask how unpleasant this felt for her. Sewing, mending or other textile duties were not her strongest features. While her fingers were petite and unfazed by smaller tasks, the act of sewing was boring and, to her, tedious. Plus, she wasn't any good at it.

Maria had to pick out her stitching twice in one shirt due to inconsistencies and yelped every few moments from a pinprick. By the time she had finished one mending job, the two Sisters had completed four. Sister Wendy was quick to notice Maria's struggles and made a quick suggestion, "Would you like to run an errand for me, Maria?"

Maria sighed half-way through a stitch and hung her head, "Sure…"

The Sister giggled to one another as Sister Wendy retrieved some money from a small box on a wooden table across the room. She returned with a small pouch's worth. "I would like you to go to the shops and get some more white, black and grey thread," she instructed, handing the velvety red pouch over.

"Umm…" Maria clasped the money and nodded, "Thank you. I'll be back as soon."

Sister Wendy waved her off. "No dear, take all the time you need. Have a little explore of the area even. This is your first time in Paris, dearie. Have some enjoyment." With a mechanically slow creak, Sister Wendy hovered over her chair before just falling into it, quickly composing herself and going back to her sewing. "Unless you want to sit here mending all day."

Maria sharply excused herself and exited the room, hearing the chuckles behind her.

*

Maria stood at the gate of the church grounds, with a lavender coloured cardigan over her white and grey dress, she held a black violin case in one hand, and the red pouch of money in the other. It was soft against her skin, despite the hard coins she felt within it. "White, black and grey… white, black and grey…" she uttered under her breath as she walked into the busy streets of Paris.

Late morning was the busiest time in Paris. Women dressed in ballgown-esc contraptions and drenched in strong-smelling perfumes walked their dogs seemingly with their eyes closed according to the number of times Maria clipped shoulders with them. Bustling men were rushing for taxi cars or briskly walking down the street, many outfitted in magnificent black and white suits and matching top or bowler hats.

Maria was overwhelmed the moment she stepped foot amongst the chaos.

In her old town, there were two hundred people. Thirty of them were elderly, sixty of them were under the age of fourteen, the rest were farmers, artists, church workers or labourers. In a small town, she only every exposed to crowds of perhaps forty people or less, as she scanned the brick path she could easily count beyond forty just going about their day.

She remembered the directions Sister Wendy had given her before she left, following them as correctly as she could recall them. On the first corner was a small vase of large red flowers, on the second there was a small bakery with a caramel glaze that smelt sickeningly sweet, and down the next road she noted a large park.

She continued silently down the street, making her way to another corner. She leaned against the black lamp post. There was a space in the sky where the taller buildings parted, and she could see the Eiffel Tower.

Maria found the shop; Tammy's Tiny Textile Shop and Supplies. It's interior decorated with rolls of fabric hanging from every wall, examples of their potential works, ranging from complicatedly designed dresses to feathery hats. She Maria purchased the threads she was mesmerised by the glass jars of buttons, with a small sign which read; 5 pennies for one button.

"Merci," Maria stated, taking back her change and the bag and walking out of the store, the bell providing a small ding as she left.

She looked at the small amount of change in her hand, then glanced at her violin case. She had wanted to play in the park. She retraced her steps, passing the same people a second time, but noticed a small crowd of people gathering around a small table. She stood on the outskirts, curious about why people were crowing.

Two older men, each decorated with grey bears and thick trench coats, turning up the radio they had between them while they sipped their hot drinks. It was a news story, one that everyone was eager to listen. Over the quiet mumbling of gossiping women and snooping men, Maria could hear the reporter's voice. "… The infamous art thief has struck again!" he announced, his voice was muffled occasionally by static.

Maria heard the commotion of this information.

"I read that in the papers!"

"My cousin said there were police at the museum…"

"This has got to be the third time this month."

"He's escalating that thief."

"How on earth haven't the police caught him yet?"

"A part of me hopes they never do. The authorities could use a kick in the pants."

"They even upped the patrols at night time because of this thief. He must be cunning."

The radio was lost in static. Having listened to the chitter of the people, Maria continued down the street but was prompted to stop by an interesting line quickly added. "…And like all other artworks stolen in that past… this thief… returned… Tea in the Countryside was found on the doorstep of the museum early this morning… What on earth could be the motive of this art thief?"

Maria narrowed her eyes at this. Like many, Maria thought if you stole, especially if you appeared to be adept at thievery, you wouldn't give the artwork back.

"How strange of this thief to return these artworks!" the voice bellowed, "Could this all just be for show? A scandal? Publicity stunt? What is this thief's agenda, and more importantly, when will it end?"

Moments after this announcement, a boy dressed in a low hanging hat and baggy brown clothes dragged a large pile of newspapers tied by a thin piece of string outside the café and plonked them on the ground, quickly announcing the headlines. "Return of Tea to the Countryside! Art thief still at large!"

Before he finished bellowing the headline, he was swarmed by people to buy a newspaper from him.

Glancing over the shoulder of a reader, she saw a picture of a man with a black moustache, a suit she could tell was strictly for the cameras, holding up a painting she assumed was Tea in the Countryside. Based on the small blurb she managed to read, he appeared to be the director or owner of the museum and seemed thankful for the return of the painting.

The woman she was glancing over the shoulder of moved away. Maria didn't follow.

She watched as a man, who bought the cheap paper strictly for the headline, folded his paper once he had glanced over it and dropped it in a black bin. Maria quickly rushed over to the bin and pulled the newspaper out, reading the top story on the cover.

She quickly became fascinated.

The journalist interviewed Inspector Riley, who said, "While it's a noble and confusing act of returning the artwork, this thief is still a criminal, who has slipped from the police's grasp one too many times. We will catch this felon, as while he may be some cheeky villain doing casual stealing on the weekend as a time-waster, he is still at first-most a thief. We urge the public to understand him as one." There was a recount of the events of the attempted capture of the art thief, yet they had still managed to lose him.

Maria heard the commotion of wonder as many whispered and spoke of the return of the painting. As Maria started heading back, she watched what appeared to be decorations hanging from lampposts. Men on wooden ladders were tying strings with the French flag proudly waving in the wind. She hadn't seen them on her way to the textile shop.

She also noticed the small shops were setting up lights and similar flags in their window displays and front doors. She approached a man in brown labourer's clothes, hanging up posters. "Excuse me?"

He turned, taking off his hat as he spoke, "Oui, Mademoiselle?" He had a thick French accent that Maria couldn't place.

"What's all this about?" she asked gesturing to the flags.

"You're not aware, Mademoiselle? Fete de Paris!" he exclaimed, "The Paris Festival, Mademoiselle! A one in a three-year event!"

Maria hadn't been aware of the festival. "Our monarchy is planning on holding a ball for all the royalties, while we mere commoners stay out in the streets. Dancing! Singing! The music and the foods!" He seemed so passionate about it. He held one of Maria's hands and twirled her. She laughed at his sudden enthusiasm, recalling hearing about the festivities.

"Is this festival today?" Maria asked.

He shook his head, "No. It begins in two days. All the decorations are coming up!" He gestured to the flags, "We fly the flags to remind us of the important things, at least once every few years. Heaven forbid it to be every day. That would just be overkill!" Maria chuckled and thanked him, watching as he went back to hanging up the posters; a grand image of the Eiffel Tower decorated in beautiful lights with giant red letters reading 'Paris Festival!'

He noticed her fascination and beamed a smile, "It will be merveilleux."

Maria mentally translated before nodding, eyes still on the poster. "I certainly hope so."