She called him Cheri, and so did every one else because she did.
None of the girls had ever been to her what Cheri was.
But none of them had stroked her black hand quite as Cheri did, nor rested their heads against her knee so confidingly, nor fallen asleep in her arms as he used to do.
That summer--the summer Cheri gave La Folle two black curls tied with a knot of red ribbon--the water ran so low in the bayou that even the little children at Bellissime were able to cross it on foot, and the cattle were sent to pasture down by the river.
But Cheri did not need the summons, for he was coming straight to her.
There she found Cheri stretched upon the ground, with his rifle beside him.
La Folle goin' mine you; Doctor Bonfils goin' come make mon Cheri well agin.
And all the while Cheri moaned and wept and entreated to be taken home to his mother.
She spoke no more to Cheri, but muttered constantly, "Bon Dieu, ayez pitie La Folle
Critique: Author Cheri
Loughlin draws upon her years of developing recipes for big-brand liquor companies, artisanal brands, and craft distillers to provide a variety of cocktail recipes that will liven up any and all social occasions.