The French Girl

Felicia Donovan

COPYRIGHT

The French Girl © 2012 by Felicia Donovan. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any matter whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from Felicia Donovan except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

To my Wonderful Readers with deep appreciation.

To my Friends (and you all know who you are) who are always there for me.

To my Family for their constant support.

To my Children, Jess and John, with love and pride always.

To Karen who fills me with joy, love and laughter each and every day.

ALSO AVAILABLE FROM FELICIA DONOVAN

The Black Widow Agency – Book One

The Black Widow Agency – Spun Tales (Book Two)

The Black Widow Agency – Case #3

Cyber Crime Fighters: Tales from the Trenches

Visit www.feliciadonovan.com for more information.

Contents

The French Girl 1

COPYRIGHT.. 2

DEDICATION.. 3

ALSO AVAILABLE FROM FELICIA DONOVAN.. 4

CHAPTER ONE.. 1

CHAPTER TWO.. 6

CHAPTER THREE.. 11

CHAPTER FOUR.. 14

CHAPTER FIVE.. 16

CHAPTER SIX.. 25

CHAPTER SEVEN.. 37

CHAPTER EIGHT. 43

CHAPTER NINE.. 49

CHAPTER TEN.. 57

CHAPTER ELEVEN.. 61

CHAPTER TWELVE.. 66

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.. 74

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.. 77

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.. 83

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.. 86

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.. 89

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.. 98

CHAPTER NINETEEN.. 100

AUTHOR’S NOTE.. 102

CHAPTER ONE

Papa used to always say that the wind carried with it either secrets or souls and if you watched very carefully, you could tell which one it was.

As I walked home from school that day, a patch of pine needles suddenly began to spiral upward as if being coaxed by some unseen hand upward, upward.  They rose in swirls, spiraling around in a dance and then fell back down again. A soul for certain, I decided.

***

Maman was lying on her side, her long brown hair taking up most of the pillow beside it. The empty bottle was tipped over on the table next to her leaving an egg-shaped burgundy stain in the rug.  I took a towel from the bathroom and dropped it down.  Stepping on it, I watched the towel stain with color and felt the liquid seep through the sole of my shoe.  A cigarette had fallen beside her and burned itself out. The carpet was singed with small burn holes.

“Maman,” I said touching her shoulder.

She was wearing her black and white dress with the big polka dots on it and a wide red belt that hung loosely around her thin waist.  Her arm was wrapped around it, as if she were hugging herself.  Her other hand was outstretched and open, the bright red fingernails pointing at something only she knew.

“Maman,” I called again.  Her shoulder bone, which was so thin that I sometimes thought it would poke right through her skin, moved slightly.

***

“Etoile! Etoile!” my sister Anais yelled from the living room. She scooped up the dirty laundry that was scattered everywhere as I ran towards her.

“It is that county woman,” Anais said.  “I saw her over at the Lalonde’s.  Quick, Etoile, dump these ash trays and put this laundry somewhere,” she said throwing the pile of clothes into my face.

“Shit,” she said as she ran into Maman’s room. “Get up,” she barked at Maman.

“Laissez-moi tranquille,” I heard my mother reply groggily.

“I will not leave you alone,” Anais said. I heard the sound of water running and paused in the doorway just as Anais took a wet cloth and slapped it across Maman’s face.

“Aller se faire voir chez les grecs!” Maman screamed as she swiped a bony hand in the air at her.

“Go to hell yourself!” Anais yelled back.  “The county woman is on her way.”

“Merde!” I heard my mother say followed by a few other words I was not supposed to know as she forced her body upright. She looked a lot better lying down because sitting up, her eyes looked all puffy and she was a little green around the mouth.  Her thin hand went first to her waist and then to her mouth and she bolted, hand covering mouth, to the bathroom.

“Come on, Etoile, help me get the kitchen cleaned,” Anais said ignoring her.

There were half a dozen wine bottles, some empty, some still half full, standing next to the sink and on the kitchen table.

Anais, who was almost sixteen years old, scooped them all up, opened the kitchen window which had no screen in it and tossed them down four flights. The sound of breaking glass shattered the quiet alleyway.  I wondered what Mr. and Mrs. Dumont, the landlords, would have to say about that.

Anais was like a whirlwind as she scooped up a stale box of Wheaties and threw it in the cabinet, took all of the dishes even the dirty ones with the crusted food on them, and piled them back in the cabinet.  I grabbed the broom and quickly swept the crumbs and mouse remnants under the refrigerator.

“Come on,” Anais said as we moved to the living room but as soon as we crossed the threshold, we stopped in our tracks.

The county woman was standing there in the middle of our living room.  I had left the front door open to get some fresh air.

The county woman was dressed in a red plaid gingham dress that looked like an oversized picnic tablecloth.  It was early spring and the air was still quite cool as it always was in Cote Nouveau, but I could see a glistening of sweat across the county woman’s chest as she struggled to catch her breath.

She wore very sturdy white shoes that looked like nurse’s shoes and clutched a matching white pocketbook tucked tightly under her arm. Her round face was swollen like a piece of spoiled fruit just before it bursts. She took out a handkerchief from the front pocket of her dress and dabbed at her forehead.

“How long has the elevator been out?” she asked breathlessly.

Anais turned and gave me a “let me do all the talking” look.

“It has been out for a while and will not be fixed for some time,” Anais answered hoping to discourage her from coming back.

***

The county woman had shown up about a month ago.

“Our mother does not let us invite strangers in,” Anais had informed her.

“And ordinarily, that’s a good thing, but I’m with the county,” the woman protested displaying a very official looking badge.  “If you’d like, you may call the police to verify my credentials.”

Anais had looked at her, smiled her sweetest smile and said, “I’ll let our mother know you visited,” and then abruptly slammed the door in the woman’s shocked face and locked it tight.

But now she was in our apartment because I had left the front door open.

***

“Is your mother home?” the woman asked. I felt her eyes settle on me and quickly lowered my head to avoid her glance.

“She is resting,” Anais said. It amazed me how confident Anais could sound around adults.  “She worked all night and this is her only chance to rest.”

“And where does your mother work?” the woman asked.

Anais stuck her chin out.  “She works in the domestic services industry.”

I wondered about that because as far as I knew, Maman hadn’t actually worked for several months, not since Mrs. Adelstein, le Juif puant, ‘the stinking Jew,’ as Maman had called her, fired her because an expensive ruby and diamond necklace turned up missing after Maman had cleaned her house.

***

“Then who watches you and your sister at night?” the woman asked.

“I do.”

“And how old are you?”

“I am almost sixteen.”

“I see,” the woman said as she drew out a notepad from her large purse and began to scribble on it.

Her eyes swept around the room - from the cracked glass on the front of the television set as Princess Grace explained her busy schedule in Monaco to Merv Griffin, to the small ceramic Christmas tree with all of its missing lights still sitting on the floor in the corner, to the hutch and Maman’s cork collection.  Her eyes settled on the cork collection for several seconds.

“I will need to speak to your mother before I leave. Do you think you could wake her?

“You already have,” came a voice form the doorway. We all turned to see Maman standing there, propped casually against the frame.

Her hair was pulled back and she had put on fresh lipstick. There was a wet stain on the front of her dress. She reached into her dress pocket and took out her gold lighter, the special one that Papa had given to her, and lit a cigarette..

Maman looked like she didn’t have a care in the world the way she took a long, slow drag, but I could see one hand was clutching at the doorframe and her knuckles had gone white.

“Mrs. Toussaint, I’m Mrs. Galloway from County Services.”

Maman stayed put and studied her in that steady way she had that could bring a mean dog down and start begging to be let go.

“I know who you are,” Maman said.

Glancing back towards us, the county woman said, “Perhaps it would be better if we spoke in private.”

Maman took a long drag on the cigarette making her already thin cheeks look downright skeletal.

***

“Real French women don’t get fat,” Maman had once said to us when Papa teased me about asking for thirds of Maman’s beef stew.  That was back in the days when Maman cooked for us.  Certainly Maman never looked fat nor did Anais, but I wasn’t quite sure if that was true, because Mrs. Lavasseur who lived in the apartment next door with her annoying son, Frankie, was most certainly fat and not just a little fat, but downright waddly fat.  Maman called her “Le Cochon,” “The Pig.”  Maman had a habit of coming up with names that stuck with people.  Mr. Cavelle at the flower stand was “The Man Woman” and Madame Duvais, who ran the local market, was “Madame Fried Dough.”

***

The smoke spiralled from Maman’s nostrils in twin spurts, evaporating into the edgy haze of blue that clung near the ceiling.

“Whatever you have to say to me, you can say in front of my girls,” Maman announced making me feel suddenly very grown up.

The county woman cleared her throat and looked back at me.  “Very well, then, it has been brought to the county’s attention that the situation here may not be conducive for the children to thrive.”

She waited, but Maman said nothing, just kept leaning on the doorframe, taking long drags of her cigarette.

“And where is Mr. Toussaint?” the county woman finally asked when Maman did not respond.

Maman flicked at one of her nails and studied it. “Monsieur Toussaint is dead.”

“I see.  My condolences,” Mrs. Galloway said with little emotion.

“He was aboard La Dominique when it went down in the Christmas storms.”

“I see,” Mrs. Galloway said again, but it was hard to tell if she really knew what Maman was talking about.

Everyone from Cote Nouveau knew about the storms that blew out of nowhere five years ago one Christmas morning that took the lives of twelve fishermen on three separate vessels and left twenty-six children, including Anais and myself, without a father.  The State erected a statue in their honor in the town center. Sometimes I would go down and trace my fingers over Papa’s name.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to see your kitchen,” the county woman said.

Anais positioned herself across the doorway and folded her arms. The county woman watched her do it and turned back to my mother.  My mother stabbed at the air with her cigarette. In French, she said, “Let the fat cow go in the kitchen if she wants.”

I laughed to myself at le grosse vache and knew that from then on, that would be the county woman’s nickname. I saw the corner of Anais’ mouth turn up ever so slightly as she stepped aside.  The county woman jotted away on her pen and pad as she moved from the living room to the kitchen. I wished I was tall enough to see what she was writing.

The final disconnect notice from the phone company sat on the table. Round red stains covered the surface of the gold-flecked countertop.  The county woman opened one cabinet after the other. She found the dirty dishes in with the clean ones and spotted the mouse droppings in the cereal cabinet, not that we were eating any of that anyway.  She made a note when the only thing she found unopened was a box of Ritz crackers, but picking it up, she suddenly dropped it when she realized that the bottom had been chewed through.  Shaking her head, she went to the refrigerator.  I cast an anxious glance at Anais. We had not checked the refrigerator.  I watched as the county woman opened the door wide, leaned over, and then took a quick step back.  The smell was unforgivable, a combination of rotted cream and a spoiled brick of cheese that was fringed in green fur.

She turned to me.

“How old are you, young lady?” she asked.

“Eleven.”

“What did you eat for breakfast this morning?”

I could feel my cheeks flush and glanced anxiously at Maman who simply shrugged her shoulders.

“I had a croissant.”

“Here?” she asked glancing around.

“No, at Le Gateau.  Maman always gives me money to get something before school,” I lied, but since it had actually happened once, maybe it wasn’t a complete lie. The truth was that I had eaten many times at Le Gateau because the owner, Monsieur Segal, made the best ice cream in the world and seemed to like it when I came in to chat with him. Sometimes, Maman’s friends would slip me some money to go down to Le Gateau and buy ice cream while they visited with her. The tall one, Luc Paul, who came most often, gave me three dollars once if I would stay away for a while so he could talk to Maman about some work, but Maman never went to work as far as I knew.  I took the money and went to Le Gateau and Monsieur Segal asked lots of questions about Maman and what she was doing.  If I told him everything he wanted to know, he’d give me an extra scoop for free.  His ice cream was so thick it left a white coating all over my tongue.  Sometimes he would rip open a pixy stick and sprinkle it on top.  Other times, he would mix in fresh strawberries or big chunks of dark chocolate. That was my favorite. If I was really lucky, I’d come in when the ice cream was down to the bottom of the barrel where all the extra chocolate had settled.

***

The county woman turned to my mother, who had shifted and was now leaning against the kitchen doorframe.

“It appears you do not have much food,” she said.

Maman pushed past her, jammed her cigarette between her teeth, grabbed me by the shoulders and shoved me forward. For a few seconds, I thought she was going to say, “Here, take her,” the way she was pushing me out.  My heart began to pound and I felt that funny feeling in my stomach like I’m on the ground, but my stomach is up in the air.  I tried to look back at Maman to see what she was doing, but she just pushed me forward.

“C’est ridicule,” Maman said pulling me back by the shoulders. She had her hand balled up in a fist and shoved into the small of my back.  I arched away from the pain.  “Look at this one,” she said, “she’s got a belly on her like a little stuffed pig from eating so much.”

I thought for a minute that I had not heard her correctly.  “Real French women do not get fat,” Maman had said.  I was sure of it.  I looked down at my protruding belly and waited for the county woman to say, “Don’t be silly. The child looks thin to me,” or “I don’t see any extra fat on her at all,” but instead, she looked at me up and down very slowly, her eyes settling on my belly, and all she did was raise her eyebrows.

Un porc bourré peu.  A little stuffed pig.  The words rolled over and over in my head. Maman finally released her grip on me and I shrank back into the corner.

Reaching into her big white purse, the county woman took out a wad of green slips of paper.

“These are grocery vouchers,” she said waving them in the air like money won at the bingo tables. “Take them to the market and get your girls some fresh produce and milk.”

Maman stepped out from behind me, snatched the pile of vouchers from the county woman’s hand and with a fiery look in her eyes, reached into the front pocket of her dress, took out her lighter and set it to the corner.  She glared at the county woman as the flames crept up the green tickets until they got so close to her hand, she nearly got burnt.  She turned and tossed them into the sink.

I could see a flush of red going up the county woman’s neck and her chest seemed to rise and fall even more than when she’d first come in.

“We do not accept charity,” Maman said as she took one final drag of her cigarette and tossed it on the floor at the woman’s feet.

The county woman shook her head and walked back out to the living room. We followed her.  She paused at the door and touched the big hole in it that was covered by silvery tape with her fingers.

Turning back, she said in perfect French, “I will file my report with the county by the end of the day and will be back in two weeks expecting to find edible food for these children, Madame Toussaint.”

I looked anxiously at Anais, then to Maman.  Maman’s eyes narrowed a bit, but then she tilted her head back and started to laugh. The county woman shook her head and walked out.

Maman waited until she left before going back into the kitchen. We followed her.  She opened the refrigerator, bent down, and then slammed it shut.  She flung the cabinets open one by one and banged them with such force that they bounced back open.  She looked around and even pulled the trash bag from the barrel to inspect underneath it. Whipping around on her heels, she faced Anais and me.

“Où sont-ils? Where are they?” she demanded.

I glanced anxiously at Anais and then without realizing it, looked over for just a second at the window.  She caught my glance, strode over, flung up the sash and leaned way over.  I was afraid she’d pitch forward and fall right through.

Maman surveyed the contents below, pulled herself back in and without even bothering to shut the window, drew back her hand and slapped Anais across the face.

“Zut alors!” she said as she headed back to her room.

I watched the red welt rising across Anais’ cheek. She shut her dark brown eyes as I grabbed a towel that was hanging from the stove handle, wet it and handed it to her.  She placed it gingerly against her swollen cheek.

Maman suddenly reappeared in the kitchen with an unopened bottle in her hand that must have been in her room. Ignoring us, she rummaged through several of the drawers flinging them open until Anais walked over to a cabinet, took out a corkscrew and dropped it loudly on the table in front of her. As Anais walked by, Maman tried to grab her by the arm, but Anais yanked it back and threw the wet towel down on the floor at Maman’s feet.  I heard the front door slam as she walked out.

CHAPTER TWO

I tried hard not to think about the county woman coming back and was extra careful from then on to always shut and lock the front door, despite the blue haze of smoke that clung to the ceiling.  Two days later, I came home from school to find Maman’s door locked.

“Maman,” I called banging on the door. “Maman, please!”

I heard rustling and finally the door opened up.  Maman’s friend, Luc Paul, came out.  I did not like him much.  He was a thin, bony man with slick black hair, a very long face and a chin that stuck out far from the rest of his face and was always full of stubble.  He smelled like fish.

***

Everyone knew that Luc Paul was supposed to be aboard La Dominique that Christmas morning but he never showed up and the crew, who were anxious to make their morning run and get back to celebrate the holiday with their families, couldn’t wait any longer.  Later on, Luc Paul told everyone that he woke up with a bad stomach, but I once overheard Monsieur Segal tell Madame Fried Dough that Luc Paul was only sick from too much celebrating the night before and what a shame it was that he hadn’t been on board.

***

Luc Paul stood in the doorway wearing only trouser pants. Maman was sitting up in her bed, trying to light a cigarette between very shaky hands.  Several bottles sat on the table beside her along with two empty glasses.  Luc Paul reached down into his pants pocket and took out a wad of bills held together with a scrimshaw clip, peeled off two dollars and waved them at me.

“Why don’t you be a good girl and go get yourself some ice cream?” he said patting my head.

I ducked away from him and looked beyond him to Maman who sniffed loudly, wiped at her nose with the back of her hand and waved me away.

As soon as I turned my back, I heard the door shut and the lock turn.

I walked down to Le Gateau.

“Bon jour, Etoile,” Monsieur Segal said greeting me.  “I have a special treat for you today,” he said as I laid the two dollars down on the counter.  He quickly scooped them up and put them into the front pocket of his apron.

Monsieur Segal was quite bald, but wore his hair flipped from one side to the other.  His eyes were such a pale blue, almost gray, as if someone had forgotten to put the color in them.

“And how is Maman, today?” he asked as I took a stool.

“I have not spoken with her,” I said.

“But this money?” he said.  “She did not give it to you, non?”

“Her friend did.”

“Ahh…” he said as he reached behind him and took out a large glass bowl.  “And who is this friend?” he asked casually as he opened the front freezer and dipped the metal scoop into a tray of hot water.

I watched the muscles of his arm twitch as he dove into the frozen bins.

“Luc Paul.”

“Ahh…Luc Paul,” he said nodding.  “And where did you see Luc Paul?” he asked. I kept hoping if I didn’t answer him right away, he’d keep scooping.  I watched the white mound grow and tried to guess what flavor it was.

“He was at the apartment,” I said.

Monsieur Segal set the dish in front of me and watched as my eyes grew large. I could see the chocolate chips, but something else was in there, something red.

“Where in the apartment?” he asked.  He held a spoon out to me, waiting for my response.

“In Maman’s room,” I answered, though after I said it, I wasn’t sure I should have.

“I see,” he said as he set the spoon down.  “And was Maman in there, too?” he asked.  I picked up the spoon, but he scooped the bowl out from in front of me.  I could see the flare of his nostrils and he seemed to be breathing a little hard.

“Yes,” I said.

“What was she wearing?” he asked, his gray eyes narrowing.

I stared at the bowl as he reached out from underneath the counter and took out a bottle of his home-made whipped cream which was so good, and held it poised, over the bowl of ice cream.

“Please, Monsieur Segal.”

“What was she wearing, Etoile?” he asked again.

“I do not know. I did not notice.  Her black and white dress, I think,” I lied because in fact, Maman had the covers held all the way up to her chin and come to think of it, her shoulders were bare, though I hadn’t realized that before all of this.  My stomach began to toss around and I was afraid I might have just wasted two dollars on nothing.

Monsieur Segal put the tip of the whipped cream to the bowl and squeezed around and around in circles forming a peak of cream.

“Cherry chocolate chip,” he announced as he set the bowl back down in front of me.

“Merci,” I said as I picked up the spoon and dove in. The thick cream slid across my tongue and down the back of my throat, leaving only chunks of dark chocolate and cherries to chew.  Tart and sweet.

Monsieur Segal laughed in amusement as he pointed me out to our neighbor, Mrs. Lavasseur, the Pig Woman, who had just come in.

“This one, she can eat, non?” he said.

Mrs. Lavasseur leaned forward and said something to him that I could not hear.

Mrs. Lavasseur’s husband was aboard La Catherine, one of the other boats that went down during the Christmas storm.  She lived with her son, Frankie, who was in my grade, next door to us. I hated Frankie Lavasseur.  He was the meanest boy in the entire school. Just the other day, he’d stood in the middle of the playground as a gust of wind lifted Bett Chapelle’s jumper up and chanted, “Bett wears a diaper, Bett wears a diaper.”  All the other kids joined in and Bett ran back to the school in tears. Mrs. Gordon sent Frankie to Mrs. Varrone’s office, but it never seemed to do any good.  I thought of many things I could do to Frankie Lavasseur, and named him “garcon de ballon,” “the Balloon Boy,” because that is what he looked like, a filled balloon about to burst.  I dreamed of poking him in the side with a sharp needle to see what would happen.

Mrs. Lavasseur inspected each loaf, knocked on it and gave each one a little squeeze right in the middle. The skin on her arms flapped back and forth as she did so.  Her swollen ankles burst out of the sides of her thick black shoes.

As I watched Mrs. Lavasseur and looked down at the ice cream, I realized Maman was probably right. I was a little pig, a Pig Girl who would surely grow up to be a Pig Woman.

I suddenly had trouble swallowing and pushed the bowl away.

“Are you buying bread today, Madame, or just squeezing it?” Monsieur Segal asked watching her.

“I should not think you would mind my making sure the bread was fresh, Monsieur Segal,” Mrs. Lavasseur answered. I watched the roll of skin under her chin vibrate as she spoke.

“Have you ever bought bread from my shop that was not fresh?”

“Only because I check each loaf before I buy it,” Mrs. Lavasseur replied. Her thick hands squeezed yet another loaf.

“Humph.”

“For what you charge, Monsieur, I should think all of your customers would want to check the freshness of the bread,” Mrs. Lavasseur said as she turned and her ample bottom nearly knocked over a display of jellies that was stacked nearby.

“If all of my customers checked the bread the way you do, Madame, I would have to sell it at half price for being damaged merchandise.”

“Perhaps you should sell it at half price to give your customers a break,” she said as she took not one, but three loaves and shoved them into her basket.

“But I see my prices do not stop you from buying it,” Monsieur Segal said.  He snickered and turned towards me to see if I had heard him.  He saw I was not eating and frowned.

“Qu'est-ce que c'est ? What is it, Etoile?” he asked.  “You do not like?”

“I…I…” I tried to speak but no words came out. I just kept staring at Mrs. Lavasseur’s ankles hanging over the edge of her shoes.

I jumped off the stool and ran out the front door.

“Etoile!” I heard Monsieur Segal call.

***

Running through the back alleys, I stumbled over an empty box of Boston Baked Beans, a discarded copy of The Thorn Birds in French, fish wrap, a single clog, and the body of a dead seagull as I ran back towards the apartment.

The curtains were still drawn but I did not care.  I needed to ask Maman if she really thought I was a pig and not a real French woman.  Stumbling, I ran up the stairs trying not to lose my footing as my well-worn shoes hit the carpeted treads.  I unlocked the front door with the key I kept on a chain around my neck and banged on Maman’s bedroom door.

“Maman!” I said, “I need you.  Please, Maman.”

Anais bedroom door suddenly opened up and there was Luc Paul, sitting on the edge of Anais’ bed, shoving his big feet into his boots and lacing them up.

Anais fumbled with the buttons on her blouse as she grabbed me hard by the shoulder and dragged me out into the hall, shutting the door behind her.

“What are you doing?” she asked shaking me.

“I…I need to talk to Maman,” I said.

“She is sleeping.  Stop banging so on doors or you will wake up the dead.”

“What are you doing, Anais? Why is he in your room?”

“We were just…talking. Stop asking so many questions and tais-toi! Be quiet!”

“But Anais, please, I need to talk to Maman!” I said.  She folded her arms and it struck me that it could have been Maman standing there; they looked so much alike with the same dark curly hair and the brown, chestnut-shaped eyes.

“Go!” she said giving me a shove towards the door.

I turned.  “But Anais, please,” I begged.

She looked over her shoulder towards her bedroom door, reached into her front pocket and took out a wad of money wrapped in the same scrimshaw clip I’d seen Luc Paul take out of his pocket.

“Where did you get that?” I asked.  Anais peeled off a few dollars and shoved them in the palm of my hand.

“Ssshh.  Go buy us some milk and bread and stop asking so many questions,” she said, her eyes flaring.  I heard a shuffling movement by the bedroom door.  “Rapidement! Quickly!” Anais said, glancing back towards her bedroom door.

I left and headed back towards the markets, but I did not want to go into Le Gateau again.  I did not want Monsieur Segal staring at me with his gray eyes and asking me about what I’d seen or dangle anymore of his ice cream in front of my face.  Instead, I went to Madame Fried Dough’s market.

“Bon jour, Etoile,” Madame Duvais said as I entered.

“Bon jour, Madame.”

Madame Duvais kept a fryer in the backroom for dough and chips and fish.  Everyone knew that she rarely changed the grease, but that did not stop people from buying the food.  Maman had once let me buy a twist of fried dough, but I had an upset tummy for two days after.

I took a small container of milk out of the refrigerator.  Looking around in the bins, I could not find any bread other than the plastic-wrapped, store-bought kind that Maman would never let us buy.

“Do you have any real bread?” I asked.

Madame Duvais gestured with her head towards the door.  “Go see Monsieur Segal.  I am all out.”

But I knew I could not face Monsieur Segal again today, so I grabbed the pre-cut loaf of bread wrapped in plastic and put it on the counter.

“I said to go see Monsieur Segal. He has fresh loaves,” she said, appalled at my choice.

“I do not have the time,” I lied.

“Oh?” she asked.

“I…I have to… get back home and do homework.”

“Oh?” she asked again and all of a sudden my stomach began to swirl.

“Please, Madame,” I said rocking back and forth on the soles of my shoes.

“This…this is your supper?” she asked picking up the loaf as if it were a dead animal.

“Oui.”

She shook her head and sighed.  “You have something to go with it, yes?” she asked.

“No… yes.  I mean, I am sure Maman has something.”

She turned and slid open the glass door to the cheese bin and took out a block wrapped in wax paper.

“This is an end,” she said placing it on the counter.  “Tell your sister to be careful with the knife when she slices it for you.”

Madame Duvais tucked everything into a brown bag and tossed in two apples and a vanilla Charleston Chew.  I waited anxiously as she wrung the items up; hoping Anais had given me enough money.

Madame Duvais nodded.  “You are all set,” she said as she took the two dollars from me and slipped them into her register drawer.

When I got back, Luc Paul was gone.  Anais was sitting in the kitchen.  A lit cigarette burned in an ashtray next to her.  She quickly put it out as I came in.

“Good girl,” she said as I emptied out the contents of the bag onto the table.  She brought out two glasses from the cabinet, rinsed the dust out of them, then took out a couple of napkins and laid them out like place mats. She had already slipped the bread knife out of the drawer when she spotted the store-made bread.

“What is this?” she asked as she picked up the plastic wrapper and dropped it back down on the table.

“Madame Duvais was out of real bread,” I explained.  “It was all she had.”

“What about Monsieur Segal? Surely he was not out of fresh bread?”

“I did not have the time…Please, Anais.  There’s cheese, and apples and a Charleston Chew, too.”

She unwrapped the cheese and sniffed at it.  Setting the block on edge, she cut off a thin layer that was beginning to mold on each side and tossed them out the open window. Then she cut several thick slices for each of us and stared at the plastic-wrapped bread.

Shrugging her shoulders, she said, “Go ahead and open it.”

We had never eaten store bought bread before. Even the school baked fresh bread every morning.

I opened the wrapper. Every slice looked exactly the same. I picked up a slice and it felt soft in my fingers. Anais took a slice too, and wrapped it around a big slice of cheese.  She popped it in her mouth.  I did the same.  It was the strangest bread I had ever tasted, very light and airy compared to Monsieur Segal’s bread, which was crusty and heavy.  As I chewed, the bread got stuck to the roof of my mouth. I rolled my tongue around to get it off and realized Anais was doing the same thing.  We both laughed at the same time.

Anais ate hers like a sandwich but I took one slice of cheese at a time and placed it on a small piece of bread.

“Look,” I said as I pushed my thumb into a slice.  A small thumbprint remained.  I began to make shapes with my thumb in the bread.  Holding up a heart shape, I began to sing, “Anais and Luc Paul sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S…”

I suddenly realized Maman was standing in the doorway staring at me.  She was wearing an old navy-blue skirt and flowered blouse.  She held a bottle by the neck and was swaying.

“What did you just say?” she asked, her eyes flaring.

I looked at Anais, who tucked her head down.

“Qu'avez-vous dit? What did you just say?” Maman asked again coming closer.  She grabbed onto the back of a chair to steady herself.

“I…I…” My stomach began to flip and growl.

Anais looked up at me and gave me a small shake of her head.

Maman clung to the back of each chair as she moved closer. She grabbed my cheeks with one hand and squeezed them.  Her long red fingernails dug deep into my skin. “What did you say?” she said very slowly.

“Why don’t you go back to bed?” Anais said quietly.

I began to feel tears welling up from Maman’s fingers digging into my cheeks.

“Leave her alone,” Anais said.

Maman pushed my face away and spun towards Anais.

“Putain! Whore!” she said.  She swung her arm just as Anais shoved her chair back so Maman’s blow mostly caught the table.  The glass of milk went sailing across and left a white blot on the wall before shattering to the floor.  Maman clung tightly to the bottle as Anais stood up.  I backed as far away as I could from Maman as she lifted her head up and spotted the loaf of bread.  She picked it up.

“Qu'est-ce que c'est?  What is this?” she demanded with a sound of disgust in her voice.

“Madame Duvais was out of real bread,” I explained as fast as I could.

“The Fried Dough woman cannot even keep any decent bread?” Maman said as she took the entire loaf and heaved it, along with the block of cheese, out the open window.

I made myself as flat to the wall as I could.

“You,” she said turning to Anais, “Pétasse! Bitch!” she screamed.

Anais said nothing. Maman’s eyes shifted to the knife that was still sitting on the table. She picked it up by the handle and turned towards Anais.

“Maman, Non!” I yelled.

Maman lunged forward.  Anais stepped aside again as Maman pitched forward.  The knife plunged dead into the center of the table as Maman very slowly slid down onto the kitchen floor.  The bottle tipped over and its contents seeped into her blouse.

I stared at Maman for a few seconds before looking up at Anais.  I could see the flush of color in her cheeks.

“Anais?” I asked quietly.

Anais took the toe of her shoe and nudged Maman’s arm with it.  Maman did not move. Anais shoved her a little harder, but still, Maman did not move.

“Help me get her inside,” Anais said as she picked up the bottle and laced her arms underneath Maman’s shoulders. I thought she would weigh much more, but she wasn’t very heavy at all.

Anais set Maman on her bed and quickly unbuttoned the flowered blouse that the wine had seeped through. The bones of her chest protruded from underneath her skin.  Anais tucked Maman under the covers in just her bra and gestured for me to go out.

We went back into the kitchen and in silence, cleaned up the broken glass and spilled milk and wine.

“Are you still hungry?” Anais finally asked.

“No.”

“If you are, I have more money for food,” she said.

“Anais…” I started to say, but Anais put her hand on my arm and stopped me.

“She will sleep through to the morning now.  You will be alright. I have somewhere I need to go.”

“But Anais,” I protested, “please don’t…”

Anais brushed the hair off my face just as Maman used to do and touched my cheeks where Maman’s fingers had dug in.

“It is alright, Etoile.  Everything will be alright. Go to bed early. I will be back later.”

***

I sat up for a long time on the sofa, which was also my bed since there were only two bedrooms in the apartment and tried to read the copy of Black Beauty that Mrs. Gordon had loaned me but I could not focus on the words.  I kept listening towards the hallway, but Maman did not stir.

A few hours later I heard the front door open. I could smell the cigarette smoke drifting off Anais’ clothes as she passed by.

“Anais,” I called.

“Go back to sleep,” she whispered.

“Anais,” I said again and she paused.  “Anais, will Maman ever be alright again?” I asked, but she ignored the question and went straight to her room.

I lay back down and tried to fall asleep, but a cool breeze brushed against my skin. The kitchen window was still wide open.  I glanced down into the alley as I went to shut it and saw the white shadow of the store-bought bread being dragged along by something in the black of the night.

CHAPTER THREE

Two days later, I was sitting against the crook of a tree watching some of the girls hopping to a game of Marelles on the playground when I tasted the saltiness of a cool sea breeze in my mouth. The girls all brushed the hair back from their faces as the wind twisted it around.  I wrapped my arms tighter around my waist as goose bumps crept up my skin.  A secret wind I thought to myself.

***

As I joined the others heading back into school I noticed Frankie Lavasseur, who was so much bigger than all the other children, pointing towards the wall where our “Names as Art” projects hung.  Spotting me in the crowd, he began to chant, “Toilette Toussaint, Toilette Toussaint.”  I glanced up at my poster and saw that the letters of my name had been rearranged. The other children began to join in.  I felt my cheeks flush and my stomach churn.

“To your classes!” Mrs. Gordon suddenly bellowed from behind. The children moved along obediently, but I remained standing there. The white paint on the concrete walls began to spin around.

“Etoile,” I heard Mrs. Gordon say, but I had trouble figuring out which direction to turn.  “Etoile,” she said again placing her hand on my shoulder to steady me.

I tried to look up at her but my eyes couldn’t seem to focus.

She knelt down to my level.  “Etoile, what did you eat for breakfast this morning?”

“Cereal, I think,” I lied.

She untaped my project from the wall and rolled it up with great care.  “We will fix this later.  In the meantime, why don’t you go down to the cafeteria and see if Mrs. Levesque can find you something to eat?  Tell her I said it was okay and that I will speak with her in a….”

Mrs. Gordon stopped and looked past me.  I turned around. For a moment, I almost thought I saw the county woman talking to the school principal, Mrs. Varrone.  I blinked several times until my eyes focused on the white shoes.  They walked straight towards us.  Mrs. Gordon put her arm on my shoulder and drew me closer.

“Mrs. Gordon,” Mrs. Varrone said glancing at me, “may I speak to you in private for a moment please? Etoile, you may stay right here.”

The two women walked a bit down the hall while the county woman looked me up and down.

“Do you remember me, Etoile?  I’m Mrs. Galloway,” she said.  “We met at your apartment the other day.”

I nodded and gulped.  I pushed my hand into my stomach against the pain.

Mrs. Gordon and Mrs. Varrone came back down the hall. Mrs. Gordon looked a little pale as she put her arm around my shoulder and said, “Come with us, please, Etoile.”

They led me into Mrs. Varrone’s office and shut the door. I waited for someone to say something and finally, Mrs. Gordon said, “Etoile, have you met Mrs. Galloway?”

I looked up at the county woman and nodded.

“Etoile, I’m very, very sorry to have to tell you this, but there has been a terrible accident…”

Mrs. Gordon reached forward to hug me, but I broke away and raced towards the entrance of the school.  I heard all three women shout my name, but I kept running.  I ran past the empty playground, down the road towards the center of Cote Nouveau, past Monsieur Cavelle’s flower stand where I caught the scent of roses for just a second, past Le Gateau which had a “Closed” sign dangling on the front door. I nearly stumbled as I turned my head because I had never known Le Gateau to be closed in the middle of the day, ever.  As I passed The Thirsty Fish, Luc Paul came out and spotted me.

“Etoile!” I heard him call, but I kept on running.  He started after me, but I was much faster.  My lungs were beginning to burn. I was aware of people calling my name as I sailed past them.

Turning the corner, I saw several police cars and an ambulance at the entrance of the apartment building. Two men in white shirts came from behind the building near the alley pulling a steel gurney.  The body was wrapped tightly in black plastic and strapped down heavily as if it was going to try and escape. I stopped in my tracks.  I did not like how tight the straps had been pulled down.  It made everything look flat.

A sudden gust of wind came out of nowhere billowing the men’s white shirts out from their waists, but the black plastic sheet did not stir one bit.

A car’s breaks screeched behind me as the county woman pulled up.  I bolted up the stairs, but a policeman stood at the entrance of my apartment.

“Sorry, Miss, no one can go in there,” he said pointing to the yellow tape strung across the entrance.

“Anais!” I yelled. “Anais!”

From deep within the apartment, I heard someone call my name.  Ignoring the policeman, I ducked under the tape and ran inside.

“Hey!” the policeman said as he tried to maneuver under the tape to stop me.  “I said you cannot…”

There were several policemen in our living room lifting cushions, opening drawers, and touching everything we owned.  They all looked up as I bolted in.

“Anais!” I yelled.

She was sitting in one of the chrome silver chairs smoking a cigarette, staring at the open window across from her.  She did not get up.

“Anais,” I said throwing my arms around her neck.  She kissed my hair.

“It is okay, Etoile,” she said stroking at my head and drawing me very close to her. “Il est partout maintenant.  It is all over now,” she whispered.

“What do you mean, Anais?” I said pulling back.

She put a finger to my lips.

A man wearing a gun on his belt was taking photographs while another had a long tape measure and was measuring near the window.

“Who is this?” the man with the measuring tape asked as he stood up.

“This is my sister, Etoile.”

He had a very large, bald head. He stooped down to me.  “Hello, Etoile.  My name is Detective Brody and I want you to know how sorry I am about your mother.”

I looked at Anais, but she turned away and looked towards the window.

“Why don’t you come out with me into the other room?  We need to talk to your sister alone.”

“Non.  I will stay with Anais,” I said.

Detective Brody put a hand under my arm and tried to pull me away.

“Non!” I yelled.  “Je veux rester avec Anais! I want to stay with Anais!”

Anais turned to me and touched my arm with her hand.  I noticed for the first time, that her nails were painted bright red.  “Go with them, Etoile,” she said.  “Do what they ask you to do.”

“But Anais!” I said again.

“Go with them,” she said again as she picked up the cigarette and took a long, slow drag.

***

The Detective led me by the arm to the living room where the county woman was standing.  She was very out of breath.  Her skin was flushed and beads of sweat glistened on her forehead. Her chest rose and fell quickly.

“You…you should not have run off like that,” she said between breaths. Turning to the detective, she said, “I am Audrey Galloway of County Services.”  She opened her wallet and took out a card. The detective glanced at it and nodded.  “May I speak to you for a moment in private?” she asked.

The detective turned to the policeman at the door and gestured towards me with his head.  “Make sure this one stays put,” he said as he and Mrs. Galloway stepped outside.

“Etoile,” Mrs. Galloway said when they returned, “You are going to have to come with me now.”

“I will stay here with Anais.”

Mrs. Galloway looked at Detective Brody and shook her head.

“Anais needs to go with the policemen for a little while.  You will come with me.”

“Then I will go with them. I will go with the policemen too. I want to stay with Anais.”

Mrs. Galloway produced a white handkerchief with a rose on the corner of it and dabbed at her sweaty forehead. “I know this is very hard for you to understand, but you cannot be with Anais right now.  I have spoken to your neighbor, Mrs. Lavasseur, and she has agreed to let you stay with her for a few days.”

“Mrs. Lavasseur?  But I do not…I cannot…”

“Let’s go gather some of your things together. Show me to your bedroom,” she said putting a sweaty hand on my back.

The policemen started to leave.

“Please,” I said turning to her.  “Please!  Do not make me go anywhere. I want to stay with Anais."

“I’m afraid that is not possible,” the county woman said more firmly.

“But why not?” I said.  “Why not?  She is old enough to take care of me.  Please, Madame.  S’il vous plait!. Please!”

“Your sister needs to go with the policemen and talk to them down at the station right now.  And by the law, she is not old enough to care for you…”

The detective came out of the kitchen with his hand under Anais’ arm.

I ran towards her, but the other policeman grabbed me.

“Anais! Anais!” I yelled, struggling to get free but his grip was too strong.

Anais picked her chin up and looked straight ahead, just the way Maman did and walked out.

“Come now, let’s get some of your things. Where is your room?”

I pointed towards Anais’ bedroom.  Mrs. Galloway handed me a small blue bag and watched as I pushed aside her stack of Teen Beat magazines with “Set your hair like Farrah’s!” on the cover along with a picture of a shirtless Greg Brady.  I rummaged through Anais’ dressers, taking several of her sweaters as well as her key chain with her initials engraved on it that Papa had once given her and slipped it into my pocket.

“Excuse me,” one of the policemen said to Mrs. Galloway, “they need to speak to you again for just a moment.”

I waited until she left the room before slipping across the hall to Maman’s room and opening the door. The pillow was still dented from Maman’s head.  Two empty bottles stood side by side on the table next to her bed. I opened up her dresser drawer and rummaged through her blouses.  I just wanted to touch something that had been against her skin.  I felt something hard.  Glancing back at the door, I pulled out a thin, black box that had been tucked beneath the blouses and opened it.  Inside was a necklace with a big ruby stone at the center and diamonds all around.  Hearing nearby voices, I quickly shoved it back in the drawer.  The bottle of bright red nail polish that Maman always wore was sitting on top of the dresser.  I slipped it into my pocket.

CHAPTER FOUR

Maman’s funeral was held on a Wednesday.  I stayed out of school until then. Several times a day, Mrs. Lavasseur brought me trays of food, most of which I returned uneaten.  Each time she came in, I asked about Anais and each time, she said, “Je ne sais pas.  I do not know,” but I did not believe her. The television played loudly all day long.  I listened to the drama unfold on Days of Our Lives and General Hospital.  When Frankie came home from school, he would jump up and down on his bed in his room next door to the sounds of the radio, which he played even louder to drown out the noise of the television.  Paul Simon’s Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover competed for volume with Luke and Laura’s troubles.  But I stayed put in the small room because without Anais, I had no reason to go out.

Mrs. Galloway stopped by the morning of Maman’s funeral. I stood close by the door and could hear she and Mrs. Lavasseur talking in the living room.

“She barely eats,” Mrs. Lavasseur said.  “She must eat soon.”

“I’m sure she wills once the shock of all this wears off.  Perhaps after today…”

“And then what?” Mrs. Lavasseur asked.  “I cannot have her here for long. My son requires a great deal of attention…”

“I understand.  We have located a relative, a cousin; however there are some unusual circumstances…”

“Oh?”

“Still, it is a possibility.”

I could not understand how I could have a cousin when Maman had no brothers or sisters and Papa’s family was all in Canada.  Surely they were not going to send me there? I would never see Anais again.

“And the sister?”

“There are special circumstances there, too.”

“Is it true?” I heard Mrs. Lavasseur ask, “What everyone is saying? That Anais…”

“Yes.”

“Incredible!”

“I think it is best we don’t talk about that with her,” Mrs. Galloway said.  “She has enough to try and understand as it is.”

I ran back to the bed just as Mrs. Galloway knocked on the door.

“How are you, Etoile?” she asked.

She was wearing a different dress, a maroon dress with short sleeves that accentuated her fat arms, but my eyes immediately jumped to the necklace dangling at her throat with its big ruby center stone and the diamonds all around it.

“I hope you are getting along alright,” she said patting my knee, but I shrank away and clutched the pillow against my chest and stared at the necklace.

“I will pick you up in a few hours and we will go to your mother’s funeral together, along with Mrs. Lavasseur.  That will give you some time to get ready.”

“Will Anais be there?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“She will?” I jumped up.  “Can I please go with her?”

“Anais will be brought over by Detective Brody and will stay with him, but you will see her for a little while.  The police are not done talking to her yet.”

“But it has been two days,” I said.

“Etoile,” she began, her hand touching the necklace, “there are a lot of things the police still have many questions about.”

“But why can’t they just ask her the questions and then let her go?”

Her hand stroked the chain of the necklace up and down as she spoke. She suddenly seemed to be aware of my staring at it and quickly dropped her hand into her lap. “Because they can’t.  You, on the other hand, may have a new place to go, but I’ll tell you more about that later on.”

***

The funeral was held at St. Michel’s Church. There were many more people there than I expected. Luc Paul showed up in a suit jacket, but he still smelled like fish.  Monsieur Segal came and patted my head as he took his seat.  Madame Duvais was there.  Mrs. Galloway sat next to me.  She was not wearing the necklace anymore.

Shortly before the Mass began, a black car drove up and Anais was let out of the back seat by that same detective.  I ran to her and threw my arms around her.

“Anais, Anais!”

Anais looked very tired and had dark circles under her brown eyes.  She smiled feebly at me and touched my hair.  “How are you, Cherie?”

The detective with the big, bald head stepped closer.  “We should go in now.”

“Can’t you come back and take care of me?” I asked. “Why won’t they let you come and be with me?”

“It is complicated, Etoile,” she said. She stroked my hair.  “You must be very brave.  Maman would have wanted that.”

I felt my heart begin to sink. “But I will see you soon, yes?”

She looked over at the detective before answering.  “I will come to you as soon as I can.  Le grosse vache, the fat cow, will let me know where to find you, okay?”

The Priest said many nice things about Maman, how she had been a good wife to Papa and how so many lives had been changed by the Christmas storm.  He went on a lot about the storms, les orages, and how we all have storms in our lives but that God will help us weather them.  I imagined that had Maman been there, she would have taken a long drag of her cigarette, tossed back her head and said, “Rien a cirer.  I don't give a damn,” because I could not remember Maman ever believing in God.  Turning to me, the Priest said, “Etoile will need all of God’s protection from what those storms have wrought.”

I tried hard not to cry as Maman was lowered into the ground right next to Papa’s grave, but I looked over and saw that Anais had her eyes shut very tight and tears were rolling down the curve of her cheekbones.  Mrs. Galloway put her arm around me, but I drew back. After it was over, I ran to Anais and hugged her so hard that it took both Mrs. Galloway and Detective Brody to pull me off, but I could not let go of her.

Mrs. Galloway let me take one of the white flowers from the bouquet by Maman’s grave, but as we neared her car a gust of wind took it from my hand.  I watched as it sailed upward and all of the petals came off and danced around in the air for quite some time before slowly drifting back down to the ground.  Surely a soul, I thought.

CHAPTER FIVE

Mrs. Galloway’s office had piles of papers and folders stacked everywhere. I sat at a small desk and flipped through a magazine about whales while she stood just outside and talked to a man with a very red face.

“We have located a cousin, but there are unusual circumstances,” I heard her say.  She leaned forward and whispered something into his ear.  He drew back and looked at her with raised eyebrows. Then he shook his head back and forth and said, “No. It’s unheard of.”

“There was a case in California…” Mrs. Galloway said.

“This is not California, Audrey.  This is Massachusetts and I for one will not have this division responsible for placing a child in a home with…”

“Actually, it would be in New Hampshire.”

The man stopped.  “What do you mean?”

“The cousin lives in New Hampshire.  All we have to do is meet the caseworker, sign the papers transferring guardianship and it would be on them.”

The man tapped the side of his red cheek with his finger for several seconds. “Alright,” he said, “but not one word in the documentation about the… circumstances.”

“I’ll make the call right now.”

Someone brought me a hamburger. I realized I had not eaten in some time and was trying hard not to, but the smell of the French fries reminded me of Madame Duvais’ shop. Before I realized what I was doing, I ate the whole thing.  At the bottom of the bag, I found a little stuffed yellow dog.

“It is good that you are eating,” Mrs. Galloway said as she picked up her phone.

Because I am not a real French woman, I thought to myself.

“Yes, excellent,” she said into the phone as she glanced at her watch.  “We can leave right now with the paperwork if you’ll give me directions to your office.”  She scribbled on a piece of paper.  “We’ll meet you there in two hours,” she said placing the phone back on the receiver.

“Was that my cousin?” I asked.

“No,” she said tearing the sheet of paper off the pad.  “That was the New Hampshire caseworker, but they have gotten hold of your mother’s cousin, Giselle Simone, who will let you stay with her in New Hampshire.”

“New Hampshire?” I said.  “But I don’t want to go to New Hampshire.  I’ll never see Anais…”

Mrs. Galloway sighed and picked up her white purse.  “Come along, Etoile,” she said gesturing towards the door.

We drove for a long time on a highway.  My stomach was very restless and I was sorry to have eaten all of the food.  I felt only the slightest relief when the “Bienvenue New Hampshire” sign came into view.  I did not know this cousin, Giselle Simone.  I did not even know that Maman had a cousin.  If she was anything like Maman, I could not imagine living with her without Anais being there. I dug my fist into my belly against the pain.

Mrs. Galloway pulled into a parking lot by a tall, modern brick building that said, “New Hampshire Department of Health and Human Services” on a sign out front.

My stomach started to leap around. For all I knew, this Giselle could be a monster who hated children.  Not that I liked Mrs. Galloway very much either, but at least she brought me food.  I squeezed the little yellow stuffed dog very hard and blinked a few times as I stared at the building.

Mrs. Galloway was already out of the car with papers in one hand and my little blue bag in the other before I could even get my door open.

“Come along, Etoile,” she said.  “It will be alright.”

I slid slowly off the seat and landed on wobbly legs.

Mrs. Galloway put a firm hand around my shoulder as she steered me through the front doors.  There was a sign with a lot of different departments listed on it including Welfare, Women Infants and Children, and Family Services.  Mrs. Galloway pressed the elevator button.

As soon as the doors shut, I imagined they would open and this Giselle woman would take one look at me and say, “She is too fat.  Send her back.”  All the food began to stir around in my belly as the elevator buttons swirled.

I looked up at Mrs. Galloway but that just made it worse so I squeezed my eyes shut tight.

“Here we are,” Mrs. Galloway said.  I opened my eyes to see a bunch of offices with large glass windows.

Mrs. Galloway pressed her hand into the small of my back and pushed me forward just the way Maman had that time in the kitchen. “This way,” she said, steering me to an office.

I peered through the glass window and saw two women sitting in it.  One woman had dyed blonde hair in a shag hairdo.  The other woman, whose back was turned to us, had dark, curly hair the same color as Maman’s, but cut much shorter, just touching the tips of her shoulders.

“I’m Audrey Galloway and this is Etoile,” Mrs. Galloway announced as she shoved me forward.

I could feel my heart racing as the woman in the chair turned around and looked at me for the first time.  She was younger than Maman, but with the same triangular face, pronounced cheekbones, almond-shaped brown eyes, and wide lips. She was thin, but not nearly as thin as Maman. She wore a long blue peasant skirt, a white cotton blouse, a choker and tan Earth shoes. She stood up, smiled at me and held out her hand. On her left hand was a silver ring with a very pretty green stone in the shape of a heart.

“Bon jour, Etoile,” she said softly.  “Je suis notre cousine, Giselle.  I am your cousin Giselle Simone.”

Her nails were cut very short and colorless.

“Well, you can certainly see the family resemblance,” Mrs. Galloway announced to the other woman sitting behind the desk.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” she said.

“There, you see?  It is official. We are family,” Giselle said smiling.  Her eyes lit up as she did so.

“Very well, then,” Mrs. Galloway said, “If you can just sign the paperwork, Miss Simone, I’ll be on my way.”

A few minutes later, Mrs. Galloway patted my shoulder and said, “Good luck to you, Etoile,” before bolting out the door.

I struggled to keep up with Giselle as she walked down to the parking lot.  She held open the door of an old green Mercedes for me. The smell of leather filled the air. I had never sat on leather seats before and could not help but touch the smooth surface with my fingers.

Giselle saw me. “Doesn’t it feel nice?  And the smell,” she said taking a deep breath.

We climbed in and she started up the engine. Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody filled the car’s interior as we pulled away. I watched the brick building disappear from view.  In between the seats was a cassette tape storage unit.  She had people I had never hear of – Beethoven, Vivaldi, Mozart, plus people I did know like Bob Dylan, Janis Ian, Joni Mitchell and Fleetwood Mac.

“This is your car?” I asked.

“No.  It is Jean’s. I live with Jean.”

She pronounced the name with a hard “J.”

“Is he French?”

“No,” Giselle said shaking her head.  “And it is a she.  Jean is the woman I live with. Dr. Jean Becker.”

A moment of panic struck me.  Maman had once cleaned for a woman, a Mrs. Beckerman in Seaville.  Maman called her un chien sale Juif, a dirty Jew dog.  Maman said she was glad to be rid of her after she accused Maman of stealing a silver bracelet.

“She is not a Jew is she?” I asked.

Giselle glanced at me for a second, then put her turn signal on and sped past a bread truck.

“No,” she said, “she is not Jewish.  She is German, but several of our good friends are Jewish.  You’ll see what nice people they are once you have had a chance to meet them.”  A few seconds later, she said, “We will try to be open-minded, Etoile, okay?  If you shut doors so quickly, you may never find all the wonderful things that are hidden behind them.”

“This Jean, she is a doctor?” I asked.

Giselle smiled.  “Not a medical doctor.  She is a professor of Women’s Studies at Eastern University.  We live in a small house right near the campus.”

“And she is not married?”

Giselle sped up again and passed a van with painted bugs on the side of it.

“No,” she said.

I looked at Giselle’s arms.  They were thin, but I could see muscles moving beneath them as she shifted the car’s gears.  Her fingertips did not have the yellow stains that Maman’s had.

She drove the little green car with great determination. I lost count of how many other cars and trucks we passed as she sped along and zipped in and out of lanes. The circular gauges on the dashboard flew up and down.

A few minutes later, she said, “Etoile, I want you to know how very sorry I am about your Maman.”

“I did not know Maman had cousins,” I said because I did not want to talk about it.

“Yes.  Your grandmother and my grandmother were sisters, so we are actually second cousins but the families weren’t particularly close.  My family moved away from Cote Nouveau when I was a young girl, so I never saw your Maman much after that though I would hear about her on occasion.”

“Your family lives here?”

“No. They live in Connecticut.  I am the only one here in New Hampshire. I have not seen them in some time.”

“Why not?

“They…” she began, “I just do not. We are all busy.”

A few minutes later, she looked over and smiled at me and asked, “How are you doing?”

I studied the constant line of trees passing by. “Okay,” I said as a road sign announced “Eastern University – one mile.”

“We are almost there,” Giselle said.  “I hope you like our house.”

My mind settled on the “our” and wondered what she meant by that. Was it an “our” for she and this woman, Jean? Surely two women could not own a house together.  Or, did she think I was going to stay with her permanently?  My stomach shifted.

We pulled off the highway and came to a road that wound around a main street lined with many large brick buildings with big white pillars in the front and signs outside that read, “Tuttle Hall” and “College of Science,” and “College of Social Studies.”  Students strolled around, many carrying leather bags.  Many of the girls wore tight Jordache jeans with peasant blouses, a few with halter tops.  Some stumbled awkwardly along in six-inch platform shoes.  A young man wearing very short Addidas shorts jogged by.

“This is the main campus of Eastern University where Jean teaches,” Giselle explained.  Pointing to a much smaller building, she said, “and that is Jean’s office, but she is lecturing right now.  You will meet her tonight.”

I did not like the sound of “lecturing.” I remembered Madame Duvais complaining that Monsieur Duvais was always lecturing her about what meats to buy for the shop and where to place things on the shelves.

We turned away from the campus down a dirt road that was lined with trees on either side.  I grabbed onto the leather seat as the car lurched over a pothole.

Giselle tossed back her head just like Maman and laughed.  “Je suis désolé. I am sorry. This road is unforgivable.”

I watched as a small stone house with a bright red door suddenly appeared at the end looking like something out of a fairy tale with its pitched roof, stone porch and windows filled with so many small panes.

“Welcome to Stone Cottage,” Giselle announced as pebbles skidded out from under the tires.

I had never seen such an odd little house before. Two front windows were set deep inside the stone openings, as was an old wooden door that looked freshly painted in bright red, the same color as Maman’s polish.  It looked as if someone had built it, forgot it was there, and then remembered it again.  Giselle gathered up my small blue bag.

“It used to be the caretaker’s cottage when the University was first built,” she explained.  “I fell in love with it the first time I saw it and when I heard the University was selling it because it was too much to maintain, I begged Jean to buy it.”

“Jean owns it?”

“We own it together,” Giselle said.  “But she does not like the door,” she added grinning.

“Why not?” I asked.

“She thinks it should be gray or white or brown, but I like it red.”

I liked it red, too.

“It looks like a fairy tale, doesn’t it?” she asked gesturing widely.  “Wait until all the gardens are in bloom and you see the beautiful stream that runs down the back.”  Turning to me, she said, “I do hope you’ll like it here, Etoile.”  She opened the front door, which was unlocked and said, “Welcome home.”

I felt a quiver in my stomach.  Surely she did not think I was going to live with her and this woman Jean long enough to see the gardens bloom? I was only there until Anais could come for me.

I glanced back anxiously at the road while Giselle stood waiting in the open door, but I could not move. The thought of being so far from Anais when I didn’t even know where she was… And what if Mrs. Galloway didn’t tell Anais how to reach me?  I squeezed my eyes tight against the pain that was starting up in my stomach.

Giselle shut the front door, came over and knelt down beside me.

She reached out and stroked my hair just the way Anais did. “Etoile,” she said, “I cannot imagine how hard this must be for you, but you and I are family and you must trust me that you will be safe and cared for here. No one will ever hurt you. That I promise.”  Her eyes glistened and I thought she was going to cry, and then I thought I was going to cry, too. “Can you try and do that for me?”

I nodded, but wasn’t so sure. She took a finger and wiped at my cheek and I realized I was crying. I looked back at the red door.

“Come along, I will show you your room,” she said as she opened the door again.

We entered into the living room. It had a very high ceiling with old beams running across it and a small loft area that looked down over the living room.  The walls were all freshly painted off-white. A stone fireplace filled an entire wall with stones of all shapes and colors.  Above the fireplace hung a large picture of the Stone Cottage, complete with its bright red front door. It must have been painted in the summer because the cottage was surrounded by colorful gardens. Several couches and chairs made of leather were arranged around the fireplace. The opposite wall was filled with built-in bookshelves that were stacked high with books. The room smelled like berries.

We went through to the kitchen. I had never seen a fireplace in a kitchen before. Black iron pots hung by hooks in several openings. The cabinets were painted a deep rust color and an old porcelain sink stood in the middle surrounded by wooden counters with loaves of bread rising on them.  That gave me some relief, but then the yeasty smell that filled the room reminded me of Le Gateau and I suddenly wished I was back there even if Monsieur Segal asked me all of his questions. My hand grazed the stone fireplace as we passed through.

I followed Giselle up a set of narrow stairs.

“My room,” she said as she opened the door. The room had two over-sized windows that faced out to a garden, though the flowers were not in bloom yet. The large wrought iron bed was neatly made and covered in a gold comforter with matching pillows.  An old-fashioned full-length mirror in a frame, sat beside the bed.  Above the bed hung a large painting of a stream with red and gold leaves floating around in it.  I liked the colors of the painting.

Giselle walked down the hall and opened a door.  “And this will be your room.  I know there isn’t much in it now, but we can go to the thrift store if you need anything.”

The wooden bed was covered with a blue and yellow quilt of moons and stars. An old dresser stood in one corner with a vase of fresh flowers on top.  The whole room smelled like Mr. Cavelle’s flower stand.  Beside the bed was a small table with several books and a flashlight. In the corner, right under the window overlooking the gardens was an old desk and chair with a brand new paper, pens, pencils and markers.

I spotted a small rectangle wrapped in pink tissue on the pillow.

“Go ahead,” Giselle said, “It’s a little something I made just for you.”

I sat down on the bed. The mattress was so soft; I thought I would sink into it.  The package smelled wonderful.  Inside was a bar of soap. A label on the outside read, “L’Etoile, The Star,” and had a hand-drawn picture of a star with a smiley face on it. Its surface was not smooth at all like the soaps I was familiar with, but flaked with little pieces of purple throughout. It smelled wonderful.

“It is made with lavender and oatmeal,” Giselle explained. “I grow the herbs in my garden.”

“Thank you,” I said.  I could not find the words to tell her that no one had ever made me anything before.

Giselle walked over to a closet and opened it up. “I know you brought some of your own things, but I picked up a few things for you when I was over at the thrift store.  I hope you like them. If not, we can find something else.”  I looked at the sweaters and skirts neatly hung.  She walked over to the dresser and pulled out one of the drawers.  “And since I know you weren’t able to bring much, I thought you might need some underwear and socks. Everything is in here.”

I looked down and realized I was still wearing the dress from Maman’s funeral and it had several spills on it that I had not noticed before.

“Are you hungry?” Giselle asked.

I was a little.  “No, thank you.”

“Well then,” Giselle said as she smiled at me, “You have had a very long day.  I thought you might like a nice hot bath and to try out your new soap before Jean gets home,” she said.

As she led me down the hall I asked, “Where is Jean’s room?”

Giselle kept walking ahead of me as she answered, “We share a room.”

I stopped for just a moment, because I had never heard of two women sharing a room before. Even Anais and I did not share a room because there was only one bed in it. I was going to say so, but decided not to.

“Come on,” Giselle said as she opened up a door to reveal a bathroom with a stone floor and a big old porcelain tub set by a window.  The outside of the tub was painted the same gold as the bedroom. A dark wooden cabinet took up most of one wall with many drawers and openings that were stuffed with gold towels. On another wall was what looked like an old table, but it had a copper sink set in it. The dark wood, gold towels and stone floors made it feel very old.

“Be careful the water does not get too hot,” Giselle said as she turned on the faucet and tested it. She showed me how to work the stopper. “And here is some green tea shampoo to wash your hair with,” she said pointing to a yellow-greenish bottle. “And this is a beer and egg rinse.  I just mixed it up this morning if you want to put some in your hair after you shampoo.”

“Beer and egg?” I asked staring at the glass jar with the strange contents in it.

Giselle laughed.  “I know, it sounds crazy, but it really works. Trust me.  Just do not drink it,” she said. “I will call you when dinner is almost ready.”

The tub was so deep it covered me up to my chin. I had never been in such a deep tub before and my body seemed to float above the water.  I pushed my arms down, but they floated back up to the surface all on their own. I scrubbed using the new soap and let it float in the water for a while.  There was a small tray next to the tub that had a bunch of bottles on it. I picked each one up and read them.  Bonne Femmes (Good Woman) Lemongrass Shampoo,” read one.  “Bonne Femmes (Good Woman) Lavender Rinse,” read another. Each label had a picture of a woman carrying a basket of flowers on it.  I stared at the woman’s almond-shaped eyes, curly brown hair and high cheekbones for some time.

My hair was knotted in tangles after I shampooed it. All I could think of was how Maman used to hold onto me from behind, her long fingernails digging deep into my shoulder as she ripped the brush through my hair.  I did not want to go through that again, so I opened the jar Giselle had mentioned and poured the strange mixture over my head.

“Etoile, we will be eating soon,” I heard her call from below.

Leaning my head way back, I ducked below the water and rinsed it all out.

I chose a prairie skirt just like the one Giselle had on and a light green sweater.  The sweater was a little big, but I liked it. There was a brand new comb and brush in one of the dresser drawers. The comb glided through my hair.

“Look at you!” Giselle said as I came into the kitchen.  She reached for my hand and spun me around.  “Très beau.”

“Merci.”

“Now you can you help me set the table.”

Giselle showed me where everything was.  I was amazed at how many things there were to put out. At home, Anais and I often ate on napkins but Giselle insisted on placemats, two different forks for each person, cloth napkins, salad bowls, a big plate and a little plate.  I could not imagine washing all those dishes.

“We like a big meal at least twice a week,” Giselle explained. “If it were up to Jean, she would have a sandwich, but I insist on eating the French way.”

“The French way?” I asked curiously.

“We eat very slowly and savor each bite.  Food should bring pleasure, non?  If it is enjoyed slowly, you will never get fat.”

I had never heard of this before, nor had I ever watched other people eat to see if they were eating fast or slow.  Perhaps Mrs. Lavasseur was a fat pig because she ate too fast?

“Giselle?” I asked as I set three plates out.

“Yes?”

“Where did you get all of those bottles of shampoo and rinse?”

“Oh those,” she said as she diced up a clove of garlic, “I make them. Many of the students do not have cars and cannot get to a store to buy their toiletries so I earn some extra money by making and selling them in the University store.”

“But the picture of the woman on the labels…”

“That is my Grand-mère,” she said as she tossed the garlic into a glass container filled with olive oil.  She looked over her shoulder.  “Why do you ask?”

“Because… she looks like my Maman,” I said.

Giselle stopped cutting and turned to me.  “Really? Do you think so?”

“I thought for a moment…” I started to say, but then I could not go on.

Giselle, who was washing her hands, quickly dried them and came over to me. She offered her hand and led me to the living room where she pulled out a photo album. She quickly ruffled through the pages and handed me a very old photograph.

“This is my Meme, Josette Simone.  Jean made copies of her picture at the University so I could make the labels.”

I took the picture and studied it for a long time.  The nose, eyes, mouth, and cheekbones were all the same, still there was something different between the two.  I stared at it for some time before I realized that the woman in the picture was smiling. Her smile was kindly, but very proud, the same as Giselle’s.  I tried to hand it back to her, but she stopped me.

“Would you like to keep that?” she asked. “I have many copies.”

I looked back down at the smiling woman and thought if I pretended hard enough, it could be a picture of Maman when she was happy.

“Thank you,” I said as I carefully tucked the picture away in my sweater pocket.

“Come on,” Giselle said as she put the album away, “we must finish getting dinner ready.”

***

Giselle showed me which side to set the wineglasses on while she uncorked a bottle and set it out on the table.  It was dark red, like the kind Maman drank.  My stomach started to turn at the smell, but then Giselle brought over a vase of cut flowers that smelled very sweet and placed it on the table next to the basket of freshly sliced bread. Finally, she brought over two silver candlesticks and lit the candles. It was the fanciest table I had ever seen even if the table was old with lots of scratches on the top.

She studied the table for several seconds like an artist studying a canvas.  Leaning forward, she rearranged the flowers again, stood back and nodded.

“Voila!” Giselle said.  Looking at me, she said, “Why don’t you run upstairs and wash your hands one more time before we eat, okay?  Jean should be home any minute.”

I went back up to the bathroom and found a different bar of soap by the sink. This one smelled sweet, like honey. As I looked up at my reflection in the mirror, I saw that my tangled hair was now hanging down in loose curls, just like Giselle’s.  I liked how it framed my face and made my cheeks look less fat.

I heard murmuring voices as I came down the stairs. Looking towards the kitchen, I saw Giselle standing close to a very tall, thin woman with short blonde hair and wire-rimmed glasses.  I had never seen such a tall woman before.  Giselle’s hand was on her sleeve and the woman was listening intently as she spoke.

“It will take time,” I heard Giselle say.  “She has been through so much.”

The tall woman looked up and spotted me on the stairs.

***

“Etoile,” Giselle said, “this is Jean.”

She looked older than Giselle and had very blue eyes beneath her glasses and an angular face.  She was dressed in trouser pants with a long white shirt hung out loosely over them and a dark vest over the shirt, much like I had seen in the ads for Annie Hall.

She looked at me as curiously as I looked at her, then smiled, put out her hand and said, “Hello, Etoile.”

“Etoile has had a very busy day and deserves a good meal,” Giselle said as she motioned me to a seat.  Jean sat at the head of the table and Giselle and I sat down on either side of her.

“You will always have a good meal with Giselle around,” Jean said.

Giselle brushed Jean’s shirtsleeve and smiled.

“Are you hungry now?” Giselle asked as I surveyed all the dishes.

“A little,” I said.

Giselle passed a salad bowl with cranberries and walnuts in it.  I started to put some on my plate, but Giselle pointed to a bowl and winked at me.

“Tonight, because this is our first night together,” she said, “you may eat or not eat whatever you choose.  Tomorrow night I will ask that you try everything just to taste it, okay?”

I could not imagine eating this much food all the time and thought no matter how slowly I ate, I could not avoid turning into Mrs. Lavasseur.

“So what do you think of our little stone house?” Jean asked as Giselle set out small dishes in front of us filled with olive oil, garlic and fresh grated cheese.  I watched as Jean tore off a small pieced of steaming bread and dipped it into the oil before popping it into her mouth.

“It is very nice,” I said as I did the same.  The bread was very crusty on the outside, but soft on the inside, much like I remembered it to be in Cote Nouveau. The combination of the warm chewy bread soaked with oil was wonderful.

“I think she likes our red door,” Giselle said nudging Jean by the arm and giving me another small wink.

Jean picked up her wineglass with her left hand and it was then that I noticed she had the exact same ring with the silver band and unusual green stone cut in a heart shape, as Giselle’s.  Jean took a sip of wine and tilted her head towards Giselle, giving her a doubtful glance.

“I do like it,” I said.

After a while, Jean shook her head, smiled and said, “Fine, Giselle.  The door can stay red.”

Giselle leaned her head against Jean’s shoulder, looked up at her grinning and said “Thank you, Jean.” She turned and gave me a very satisfactory look before diving into her salad.

“It was not red before?” I asked.

“No, it was ugly brown,” Giselle said.

“But the picture over the fireplace…”

“Giselle painted that last summer after she went and painted the door red,” Jean explained.

“You painted that picture?” I asked.  It was really very good and looked just like the house.

“Oui.  Do you like it?” Giselle asked.

“Yes.”

Turning to Jean, Giselle said, “You see it has to stay red now, Jean, because I cannot repaint that picture again.”

“Did you paint the picture in your room of the stream and leaves?” I asked Giselle.

“You mean the one in our room?” Giselle asked and before I could respond, she said, “Yes, I painted that too. Perhaps we can work on a painting for your room this summer when everything is in bloom again.”

I did not plan on being here for the summer but did not want to hurt her feelings by saying so. Still, I felt my stomach twist a little at the thought.

“Giselle was an art major at the University,” Jean explained.  “She’s a very talented artist, among many other things.”

“That is where we met,” Giselle said patting Jean’s arm.  “I took one of Jean’s classes.”

“You…you were Jean’s student?”

They turned and smiled at each other but did not answer me. I could not imagine a student and a teacher ever living together.  It was all very strange.

A little while later, Giselle passed a platter filled with cheeses, sliced apples and grapes.

“Jean picked out some books for you to read, Etoile,” she said. “They are by your bed.”

“Thank you,” I said as I reached for a slice of cheese with my hand.

Giselle made a noise and held up a fork to me.  I picked my fork up and used it to take the cheese and some apple slices.

“I think you’ll enjoy Black Beauty,” Jean said.

“Thank you, but I have already read it.”

Jean raised her eyebrows slightly.

Giselle refilled their wineglasses.  “See, Jean?  She is ahead of you already.”

“There’s also A Little House on the Prairie,” Jean offered as she stabbed at the cheese and grapes with her fork.

I sipped my milk.  “I have already read that, too.”

Jean tilted her head to the side and studied me for a moment.  Giselle watched her do it and smiled.

“What about Anne of Green Gables?”

I thought for a few minutes.  “I do not think that is one I have read,” I answered.

“Good,” Jean said satisfactorily.

“Jean says it tells a lot about someone’s character if they read a lot,” Giselle said. “Jean reads all the time,” she said as she passed around a dish with a strange looking melon cut in half that smelled sweet.

“What is that?” I asked.

“Acorn squash with butter and brown sugar,” Giselle said.

“Acorn squash?” I asked.

“Here, watch,” Giselle said as she put one on her plate, scraped the stringy contents around with her fork and dipped it in the buttery sauce.  “See?” she said. “Go on, Etoile. Be a brave Frenchwoman and try it.”

I did as she had and scraped out some of the spaghetti-like pulp and dipped it in the pool of melted butter and brown sugar.  I had never tasted anything so delicious before and without realizing it, closed my eyes.  Giselle laughed and nudged Jean on the sleeve.

“See? She even eats like me. Savor every bite of it, Etoile,” Giselle said.

Jean pushed herself back from the table a bit and I thought that the meal was over, which was a relief because my stomach was still feeling a little strange.  Giselle got up and began to take dishes away.  I picked up my own plate to carry it to the sink, but she stopped me.

“Non, Cherie,” she said smiling, “we have not even had the main course yet, but you can help me put these other things away, okay?”

We cleared many of the dishes from the table while Jean refilled their wineglasses and poured me more milk.

When everything was tucked away, Giselle brought over a large pan from the oven. I looked at the strange contents.

“What is that?”

“Saumon en Marinade de Vodka. Salmon in Vodka Marinade,” Giselle announced.

Jean patted her stomach.  “It’s a good thing I ride my bicycle to and from the University everyday,” she said as Giselle took a piece of salmon and carefully set it down on Jean’s plate then dribbled cream sauce over it.  She did the same for me, then for herself before sitting down and carefully placing her napkin back on her lap. I watched as Jean ripped a small piece of bread off and dipped it into the sauce before popping it in her mouth.  She nodded satisfactorily to Giselle.

I stared at my plate for several seconds, remembering what Giselle had said about not having to try everything, but it looked so good with the cream sauce resting on top.  I did want to be a brave Frenchwoman, so I used my fork to break away a small piece of the tender salmon, dipped it into the cream sauce and brought it to my lips.

I had never tasted anything so rich before. The salmon slipped down the back of my throat before the taste of the peppercorns hit and I felt warmth rising in the back of my throat. I opened my eyes to see them both watching me, Giselle smiling.

“You like?” Giselle asked.

“Oui,” I said as I took another forkful and shoved it in.

“Ralentissement.  Slow down,” Giselle said. “It is very rich.”

But I could not.  I had never tasted anything so unusual before.

I finished long before Giselle or Jean and watched as Giselle took a bite, chewed it very slowly sometimes shutting her eyes, sat back and sipped some wine before taking another bite.  I had never seen anyone eat so slowly.  The children in the cafeteria shoved the food into their mouths as fast as they could to either go back for seconds or to be the first ones out on the playground. Even Anais and I ate very quickly when it was the two of us because we never knew when Maman would wake up.

Jean pushed her plate away though it still had some of the salmon on it and stretched her long legs out.

“Enough?” Giselle asked.

“Enough,” Jean said, “but delicious, as always.”

My stomach began to feel very strange again, as if it were about to burst.

Giselle finally finished, stood up and began to clear the plates.  This time, Jean got up with her. I picked up my plate, but Giselle stopped me again. I could not imagine there was more food coming.

“Tonight, you get to sit and enjoy,” she said taking the plate from my hands. “Tomorrow night I will ask for your help with the dishes.  For now, you rest. We will have dessert after the dishes are all done.”

She opened the door to the freezer and pulled out three parfait glasses filled with layers of ice cream, strawberries and chocolate syrup and set them out on the counter.  I stared at the colorful layers and licked my lips.

“It is homemade ice cream,” Giselle explained as she set the dirty dishes in the old porcelain sink. “Jean bought me an ice cream maker last year for Christmas, so now I can make my own.”

Surely it could not be as good as Monsieur Segal’s.

I watched them for some time as they stood side by side, Giselle washing and Jean drying each dish. Giselle sometimes passed a dish to Jean and then spotting the slightest trace of food on it, took it back and rewashed it.  They worked together for sometime chatting mostly about Jean’s classes and some woman named Gloria Steinem until all of the dishes were cleaned and the leftovers tucked away in the refrigerator.

Jean carried the three parfait glasses over while Giselle brought out a bowl from the refrigerator and began to scoop its contents into a piping bag, just like I had seen Monsieur Segal do with frosting.

“Who wants fresh whipped cream on top?” Giselle asked.

She spiraled the fresh cream round and round into my parfait glass. I could not help but pick up my spoon and dive in.  The whipped cream was very different from Monsieur Segal’s and not nearly as sweet, but the ice cream tasted even better and my tongue was soon coated with cream.  I shut my eyes as the layers of ice cream and chocolate melted in my mouth leaving pieces of sweet strawberries behind.

I was more than half way through the glass dish when I realized Giselle and Jean had barely begun theirs.

“A little pig,” I suddenly heard Maman say.  “A little stuffed pig.”  The words stirred around in my head.  It was all true. I would end up like Mrs. Lavasseur for certain. My stomach began to swirl around so quickly.  I clutched at it to try and get it to stop, but it would not.

“What is it, Etoile?” Giselle asked.  I looked up at her, but the room began to spin around and the two flames from the candles suddenly become six.

I made it to the sink just in time. Giselle stood behind me, speaking quietly to my ear while she held back my hair.

“Ne t'en fais pas, Cherie.  Don’t worry. Ce n'est pas grave. It is no problem.”  Turning to Jean she said, “Do you think we should call Eppy?”

”Jean, who stood at the far end of the counter with her arms folded tightly against her chest said, “She and Carol drove to Portsmouth tonight. Besides, it’s probably just all the food.”

“Poor Etoile,” Giselle said as she rubbed my shoulders.

When I was done, I felt Giselle’s arm around me holding me steady.  “Come on, Cherie.  We will get you cleaned up and into bed.”

Jean waved a hand at me.  “I hope you feel better, Etoile,” she said.

***

Giselle tucked me into the bed with the spongy mattress, leaned over and felt my forehead and cheeks.

“There is no fever,” she said in a relieved tone.  “Perhaps Jean is right.  I should not have made all of that food.  It was too much.”

“But it was very good,” I said.  “And I am feeling better now.” I really was.

“I am glad, but if you feel sick again, just knock on the door, okay?  Even if it is the middle of the night.”

I nodded feebly.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Cherie?”

“Giselle,” I said grabbing her arm, “do you know about Anais?”

Giselle sat down on the bed and brushed back my hair. “Tonight you get a good night’s rest and tomorrow we will talk about Anais.  Okay?”

“But Giselle,” I said again.  She put a finger to my lips, bent forward and kissed me on both cheeks just as Papa used to.

“Bonne nuit, Etoile,” she said.

CHAPTER SIX

I did not know what time it was when I woke up the next morning, but I came down the stairs to find Giselle sitting cross-legged at the kitchen table wearing a man’s shirt reading an article about different kinds of fondue and sipping a cup of coffee. Her hair was clipped back, framing her triangular face.

She looked up at me and smiled. “Good morning, Cherie,” she said as she gestured me towards her. I bent forward and she planted a kiss on my forehead.  “Good. Still no fever,” she said cupping my chin with her hand.

“How do you feel?”

I wanted to say “hungry” because I was, but I didn’t dare.

“Fine.”

“Do you think you can manage some breakfast?” she asked. “I have fresh eggs.”

“Maybe, thank you.”

Giselle took out a pot and pan.  “You will need to eat carefully today.”

“Giselle?” I asked.

She broke open an egg using only one hand into a bowl. “Yes, Etoile?”

“You said you would talk to me about Anais today.”

She glanced at me for a second before turning back to the stove.  I watched her grab a whisk from an old pottery jar on the counter.  Her hands became a blur as she whipped the eggs into a creamy froth.

“Yes I did and we will, but not now.  We have a very busy day today.”

“We do?” I asked as she dropped butter into the pan and swirled it around in circles before pouring the egg mixture in.

“First, we will go to visit our friend.  She is a doctor.  A real doctor. You must get a quick checkup before we can register you for school.”

“School?”

I froze.  No one had ever mentioned my going to school here.

“But I will not be here that long…” I began.

Giselle took the spatula, slid it carefully under the eggs and gently flipped them over.

“Etoile, you must go to school for as long as you are here. Even so, there are only a few more weeks before summer vacation, I think.  We’ll find out later on when we visit.”

“Visit?”

“Yes, to register you. But first, you must have a quick checkup. You will like Eppy.  She is a wonderful doctor and a very nice person. She is a good friend of Jean’s and mine.”

I began to think about going to a strange school with new children and my stomach began to knot up.

“But I’m only staying until Anais comes for me,” I said.

Giselle glanced back at me and smiled. “I know.”

But I wasn’t so sure she understood that. “Giselle, there was a boy at school, Emile Dupuis, who was very sick and his Maman taught him at home. Couldn’t you just teach me here for a little while?”

“I am not a teacher,” Giselle said.

“But Jean is.  She is a real teacher and she loves to read.”

“And she works many hours,” Giselle said as she set a plate down in front of me. The omelet was a perfect golden color. Giselle brought out some of the crusty bread she had made the night before and placed it on the table.

“Etoile,” she said picking up her coffee cup, “we will get through all of this together but you must be strong. It will be good for you and good for me for you to go to school.  You don’t want to fall behind, do you?”

“No, but…”

“Eat very slowly,” she said as she set a glass of orange juice on the table in front of me.  “I am going upstairs to get dressed.”

***

The Eastern University Medical Clinic was located in a small brick building off the main path of the campus. A woman around Jean’s age with short brown hair that was streaked with gray throughout it, sat behind the reception desk.

She smiled widely when she saw us. “Giselle,” she said as she leaned across the counter and kissed Giselle on the cheek.

“Carol, this is my cousin, Etoile Toussaint.  Etoile, this is our friend, Nurse Carol.  She comes to visit us often at the cottage.”

“Hello, Etoile,” she said.

The woman was taller than Giselle and had green eyes and a slightly protruding chin, but a pleasant smile. She wore a white nurse’s uniform with slacks.

“Hello,” I said.

“How do you like it here so far?” Carol asked.

“Very nice, thank you,” I said, “but I am only staying for a little while.”

She raised her eyebrows and looked at Giselle. Giselle bit her lip.

“Did you and Eppy have a nice time in Portsmouth?” Giselle asked.

“Yes.  We went to see Saturday Night Fever then went disco dancing.  You and Jean should…” she stopped, looked at me and smiled.

“That is alright.  Jean does not dance disco. Jean does not dance, period.”

“I’ll let Eppy know you’re here,” she said as she picked up the phone and spoke into it.

Glancing around the room, I saw several children in the waiting room, some sitting, some running around while their mothers tried desperately to corral them.  One boy around my age with bright red hair seemed to be staring right at me. Or perhaps he was staring at Giselle.  I could not quite tell.

The mother, whose hair was the same color as her son’s was dressed in a polyester bow blouse fastened tightly around her neck and a long gray skirt. She was reading Woman’s Day magazine but glanced at her son to see what had caught his attention.  She looked across the waiting room at us and her eyes narrowed when she saw Giselle, then rose curiously when she saw me.

Giselle spotted the woman, leaned further over the counter and lowered her voice.  “This is quite a surprise,” she said quietly to Carol.

Carol shook her head.  “Believe me; she’s not here by choice.  Their regular practice is booked and he needs to be seen. We don’t turn people away, Giselle. You know that.  Go ahead and have a seat.  Eppy will see you soon.”

Giselle looked around the room as if she was trying desperately to find other seats, but the only ones available were opposite the woman and her son. I heard Giselle give a small sigh as we sat down.  The woman immediately lowered her magazine and looked at us.

“Miss Simone,” she said slowly.

“Mrs. Batchelder,” Giselle said with little enthusiasm in her voice.

The woman gestured towards me with her head.  “And who is this?”

Giselle touched my arm. “This is my cousin, Etoile.  Etoile, this is Mrs. Batchelder.  Her husband is a professor of Morals & Ethics at the University.”

“Hello,” I said.

The red-haired boy let out a cough in our direction. Giselle grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled me towards her.

“Poor Dale,” Mrs. Batchelder said running her hand through her son’s wiry hair.  “We’re only here because our regular physician is booked and he needs to be seen.  He’s running a terrible fever.”

“Of course,” Giselle said.  I could see the tightness of her jaw, which reminded me of Maman’s when she got angry.  Giselle’s hand was still on my shoulder when the boy let out another cough.

“And how old are you, Etoile?” the woman asked as her son continued to cough.

“I am eleven.”

“Same as Dale. And where is your family staying while they visit?”

Giselle squeezed my shoulder even harder.

“Etoile did not come with family, she came by herself. Her mother recently passed away.”

“I am so sorry,” the woman said and for a second. “Father?”

“A fisherman lost at sea several years ago.”

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Batchelder said. Her expression was contrite and she tilted her head to the side.  A second or two later she glanced up sharply at Giselle. “But surely you’re not thinking…”

“Thinking of what, Mrs. Batchelder?” Giselle asked with a planted smile on her face.  Her hand was still squeezed tightly into my shoulder.

Nurse Carol called Dale’s name and without another word the mother grabbed her son by the arm and yanked him away. The boy turned back and stared at me as he was led down the hallway.

“Oh Cherie,” Giselle said as she finally realized how hard she had been squeezing my shoulder. “I am so sorry.  I did not mean to…”

“Giselle,” I asked, “What did that woman mean when she said, ‘But surely you’re not thinking…’ You’re not thinking of what?”

“We will not worry about anything that woman says,” Giselle answered as she quickly picked up a Family Circle and flipped haphazardly through the pages.

Giselle flipped so quickly through the pages that I knew she could not possibly be reading them. Finally, she reached over and took me by the chin and held it for just a second and smiled.  She dropped her hand and went back to the magazine and began to read it again from the beginning.

As I sat in the waiting room with Giselle, my eyes fixed on a poster showing two children getting on a school bus. It said, “Immunizations Save Lives.”

“Giselle!”

“What?”

“I will not have to get a shot, will I?”

Giselle lowered the magazine.  “Of course not. This is just a checkup.”

Carol came over to us and said, “Room Two, your favorite.”

Giselle smiled, but I could not imagine why she would have a favorite room at a doctor’s office. As we stood up, Carol called Giselle’s name.

“Are we still on for Saturday night?”

Giselle opened her mouth, and then glanced down at me.  “Oh mon Dieu, I completely forgot,” she said.  “It was this Saturday, wasn’t it?  I will have to talk to Jean. I am not sure if we…”

“It’s no problem at all,” Carol said.  “Everyone would certainly understand if you want to cancel.”

The room we waited in was painted in a light green shade and had a mobile of smiling fish with rainbows painted on them dangling over the examining table.  The fish swam around happily under their own power.  Above the table on the wall was a very large, colorful painting of two bears walking along a wooded path, holding hands.  One was looking up and reaching for a falling leaf descending from the sky.  The other wore glasses and was holding a copy of Little Women very close up to its face.  The bear that was reading seemed oblivious to the large green turtle that was crossing the road directly in front of it. There was something about the painting that made me smile.  I was still looking at it when the door suddenly opened up and a young woman dressed in a long gray skirt and white coat with a stethoscope draped around her neck, stepped in.  She had long, blonde hair pulled back in a twist and very light blue eyes. She was very pretty.

She stepped forward and kissed Giselle on the cheek.

“Hi Sweetie,” she said.  “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.  I had an unexpected emergency.”

“So I saw,” Giselle said with a bitter tone.

The woman shrugged. “And the sick will be treated without prejudice, or so the oath says.” Holding out her hand to me she said, “And who is this beautiful young lady?”

“Eppy, this is my cousin, Etoile Toussaint. Etoile, this is Dr. Gloria Epstein, but you may call her Eppy because she is a good friend.”

I froze.  Epstein.  This was most definitely a Jew’s name, but surely this woman could not be a Jew?  She was much too pretty. Her eyes, though pale in color, crinkled up along the edges when she smiled, just like Giselle’s.  Her lips were quite full and red and covered with clear gloss. Her hair was silky and wisps of it hung down from where she had it pulled back. Surely Maman had never worked for a Jew like this.

“Etoile?” Giselle asked giving me a small nudge on the back and I realized the woman was still holding out her hand to me.  I shook it and she laughed.

“You even look like Giselle. How lucky are you?”

Giselle patted my shoulder.

Giselle stayed in the room with me while Eppy weighed and measured me, looked at my eyes and down my throat and in my ears.  While she listened to my chest and back, Eppy asked me many questions about when I had last been to a doctor, which had been years; whether I had been to a dentist recently, which I hadn’t; and what I liked about school. The only thing I could think of was reading.

“She has already read half the books Jean brought home for her,” Giselle said.

Eppy laughed.  “Spoken like a proud Mamma,” she said. “I’m sure Jean’s thrilled.”

“Yes,” Giselle answered.

“And no period yet, right?”

I looked over at the picture of the bears and shook my head.

Eppy touched my knee.  “Isn’t that a great picture?  Your cousin is so talented.”

“You did this?” I said turning to Giselle, who smiled.  Looking more closely, I saw “Giselle” painted in the lower right-hand corner.

“The children who come in all love it.  Several of them have written stories about what happened next,” Eppy said.

“What did they write?”

“In one story, the reading bear trips and falls and ends up right here in this room, but is fine.  Nothing broken and the turtle’s hard shell saves it from being hurt.  In another story, the bear reaching for the leaf drags the reading bear over to help her catch more leaves and the turtle crosses unharmed.  But that’s not my favorite.”

“What is your favorite?”

“One patient wrote that the two bears stop and stare at each other for a few minutes because they are so in love, giving the turtle plenty of time to cross.”

I liked that ending.  “Is that how it goes?” I asked Giselle, but she shrugged.

“The story is whatever you want it to be,” Giselle said.

“And what do you like to eat?” Eppy asked as she felt around my neck.

“I ate everything Giselle made last night.”

“Yes, but her tummy did not like it so much,” Giselle added.  “I should not have made so much food.”

“Oh?” Eppy said.  She had me lie down and felt my stomach and listened to it with a stethoscope.  “Do you get tummy aches often?”

“Only when I…” I began to say.

“Only when you what?” she asked sitting me back up.

“Sometimes, if I get …upset.”

“Hop on down,” she said smiling.  “I think you’re fine.”

“Really?” Giselle asked.

“She looks great,” Eppy said as she made notes on my chart.  “Her ears, eyes, lungs, everything looks fine.  My only concern is her weight.”

***

I had been leaning down tying my shoe and stopped as the words floated down to me. I suddenly felt the breakfast eggs stirring around in my stomach.

Eppy turned a chart around for us both to look at. “She’s in the sixtieth percentile for her height, but only the thirtieth percentile for her weight.”

“Meaning what?” Giselle asked.

“Meaning,” Eppy said as she leaned over and poked me in the belly, “that you need to gain some weight.  But I’m quite confident that staying with Giselle will take care of that.”

***

Gain weight?  This could not be true.  I could not believe my ears.

“Are you sure?” I asked her.  “Because Maman …”

“Because Maman what?” Giselle asked.

I shook my head. “Nothing.”

“I’m quite sure,” Eppy said.  “Remember, I’m the doctor.  We’ll check it again in a few weeks.  Eat whatever Giselle asks you to and you’ll be fine.  Now the only other thing we need to do is get your immunizations up to date.  The records they gave you,” she said speaking to Giselle, “are a bit incomplete.  She’ll need a quick booster to enroll in the school.”

Giselle glanced anxiously at me.  “But I thought…” she said pulling me closer to her.  “I told her…”

“It will be just a quick pinch, Etoile,” she said as she took a long needle from a tray.

“Oh, Eppy, does she have to have that today?  I told her she did not…”

“She does to get into school.  They can’t let her in without record of her immunizations being up-to-date.  Come on, Etoile; let’s roll up that sleeve…”

“Eppy, is there anyway…”

Eppy stopped, looked at Giselle and laughed.  “Etoile, do you see what’s happening here?”

I shook my head.

“Your cousin is afraid, but I bet you are very brave.  Maybe you need to hold Giselle’s hand while I give you this.”

“Oh Eppy, please,” Giselle said as I grabbed onto her hand.  Before she could protest further, I felt a small pinch.

“There, all done. Do you think you’ll be alright now?” she asked turning to Giselle.  Giselle looked a little pale around the mouth. She nodded.

Eppy laughed and rubbed my head.  “You must take good care of Giselle now, okay Etoile? Let’s hope she never needs a shot.”  Eppy began to wash her hands at the sink. “Are we still on for Saturday night?”

“I told Carol I am going to have to check with Jean. We did not expect…” she began.

“Of course.  Just let us know.” Shaking my hand, she said, “Etoile, it was so nice to meet you.  Take good care of Giselle, alright?”

“I will,” I said.

***

I liked this Eppy.  Jew or no Jew, I liked the way she asked me to take care of Giselle. I never had anyone else to take care of before.  I thought for a minute about how Anais used to take care of Maman when she could not get out of bed, but this was somehow different.  I did not think I would ever need to care for Giselle like Anais had to care for Maman.

“So what did you think of Eppy?” Giselle asked as we drove away.

“I like her a lot.”

“Good.”

***

Giselle tapped the folder of papers in the palm of her hand over and over while we waited.  Unlike the school in Cote Nouveau, this school was very modern looking with walls that were colorfully painted.  There were several displays along the walls opposite the principals’ office including “Student of the Month” which was all about a girl named, “Winnie Wickham,” and a “Can You Dig It,” display about pyramids.  A picture of President Carter was framed with a sign that read “Our Thirty-Eighth President” below it mounted next to a flag.

An older woman dressed in a blue jumper came in.  Her hair was mostly white.  The buttons going up and down the front of her jumper were shaped like crayons, pens and pencils.

“I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.  I’m Mrs. Darby, the principal.”

She shook both of our hands.

“Welcome, Etoile,” she said.  “What a lovely name.  French, is it?”

“Yes,” Giselle answered for me.

“And you are Mrs. Toussaint?”

“No, I am her cousin, Giselle Simone. I have temporary guardianship of Etoile.”

The woman glanced quickly at the papers Giselle handed her and nodded. “I see.  Very nice to meet you, Mrs…

“Ms.”

“Ms. Simone.  I understand you would like to enroll Etoile in our school.”

“Yes.  The caseworker said it was important that her school year not be interrupted.”

“I agree. That is very important.  Do you have any idea how long she’ll be staying with you?”

Giselle gave me an anxious glance.  “We do not know for certain, but I know it will be for at least the remainder of the school year.”

This was news to me.  Giselle quickly looked away from me and turned back to the woman.

“Very well.  We’ll need to do some testing to make sure she is placed correctly and get some baseline assessments.” Turning to me, she said, “Don’t worry at all, Etoile, these are some very fun tests that I think you’ll enjoy to make sure we put you in the most appropriate class.”

“When will you do that?” Giselle asked.

The woman glanced at her watch.  “If you have time, we can do it right now.”

Another woman, Mrs. Blakely, took me into a room with a big computer in one corner, and a long table in the other. She was very friendly and asked me about my school in Cote Nouveau.

I do not know how long we were in the room.  She passed me booklet after booklet filled with questions on all different subjects. I struggled with the math part, but the reading questions were very simple. As I finished each booklet, the woman typed quickly into the computer. She also had me finish some half-drawn pictures of objects and place several puzzles together.  Finally, the printer whirred as long sheets of paper spit out. Folding the stack of papers up like an accordion, she brought me back to Mrs. Darby’s office.  As we approached the door, I heard Giselle speaking with Mrs. Darby.

“I have not had a chance to tell her everything, but my biggest concern is that she not be ostracized in any way because of…”

The woman, Mrs. Blakely, cleared her throat loudly and handed the papers over to Mrs. Darby.

Giselle smiled and took my hand.  “How did it go?” she asked.

“It was fine.”

“Well!” Mrs. Darby said as she flipped through the pages. “It looks like we have a scholar on our hands.” Glancing up, she nodded to me.  “Etoile is actually several grade levels ahead in reading.”  Giselle smiled and squeezed my hand. “And she’s just slightly behind in math, but I’m not at all concerned about that.  A strong reader can often compensate in many ways.”

Mrs. Blakely returned with a sheet and handed it to Mrs. Darby.

“Thank you, Mrs. Blakely,” she said as she glanced up and down the sheet. “Very well, then, Etoile.  We’re going to place you in Mrs. Spenser’s class. All of the fifth graders love her.  She has a very strong reading program that hopefully, will keep you challenged.”

“When would she start?” Giselle asked.

“She’s welcome to start tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow!” Giselle answered, glancing anxiously at me.  “But she just came to me yesterday.”

“I understand,” Mrs. Darby said, “but trust me that from my experience, it’s better for the student to get back into a routine as quickly as possible.  For you and for her…” She glanced at the forms Giselle had filled out. “I will notify the bus company this afternoon and they’ll put your address on the route.  She’ll have to wait at the end of the road.”

“Yes, but tomorrow...” Giselle said again shaking her head.  “I did not think it would be so soon.”  She bit her lower lip and looked at me. “What do you think, Cherie?  Could you do this tomorrow?”

I shrugged my shoulders because I did not want to do this tomorrow anymore than I wanted to do it on Monday or the day after that but it did not seem to matter.

Mrs. Darby glanced at her watch and stood up. “Why don’t we take a walk down and I’ll introduce you?  We’ll catch the class just before they head out for lunch.”

I stayed very close to Giselle as we walked down the long corridor to the fifth grade wing. A thin band of cork in a silver frame ran along the entire edge of the hallway and all along, papers, drawing and projects were stapled to it.

Mrs. Darby paused at the door to a classroom and peered in the small window.  She waited a few seconds before knocking and opening the door.  A black woman, who was standing at a blackboard, stopped and smiled.

“Please, come in,” the woman said.

The entire class fell into silence as Giselle and I stepped in.

“Excuse the interruption, Mrs. Spenser,” Mrs. Darby said, “but I’d like to introduce your class to a new student.  Her name is Etoile Toussaint and she’ll be starting tomorrow.”

Surely this could not be right.  I had never met a black teacher before. The only black people I knew were Mr. and Mrs. Jackson who helped out at Lamont’s dry cleaners back in Cote Nouveau. They worked only in the back and lived in a tiny apartment above the store.  Maman once said that if les noirs were in the front, no one would go in.  Maman also said that they only reason people went to Lamont’s, la chèvre avare, the stingy goat, in the first place was because he was the only one who was able to get the smell of fish off of things.

Mrs. Spenser came over and offered her hand to me. I could not help but stare at the contrast of her brown skin and her white nails for a second or two.  I had never seen a black person’s hand up close before.  I suddenly felt Giselle nudging me from behind.  Glancing up at her, she flashed her eyes at me towards Mrs. Spenser.  I shook Mrs. Spenser’s hand.  It felt very smooth and for some reason, that surprised me.  I could not imagine what Maman would have said had she been standing there watching me touch a black woman.

“Welcome, Etoile,” she said.  “What a lovely French name. And is this your mother?” she asked offering her hand to Giselle.

Giselle smiled and shook Mrs. Spenser’s hand.  “Actually, I am her cousin, Giselle Simone. Etoile will be living with me.”

I did not bother to correct Giselle because I did not want to be rude.

A bell rang. The students all stood up.

“Have a wonderful lunch, Children,” Mrs. Spenser yelled out as they shuffled quickly out the door.  “Would you like to stay and look around the classroom for a few minutes?”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Mrs. Darby said, “I need to get down to the cafeteria for duty.”

Turning to Giselle and me, she said, “It was so nice meeting you both.  Feel free to call my office if you have any questions or concerns.  I know you’ll enjoy it here, Etoile.”

I nodded and strolled around looking at the classroom. On one wall was a poster on “The English Colonies” with a map of New Hampshire and Maine. Below it was a sign that said, “The New Government.”  My eyes ventured to a wall of built-in shelves filled with books including Little Lord Fauntleroy, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, Rebecca, All Creatures Great and Small and several different, but well-worn copies of Anne of Green Gables.

“Do you enjoy reading, Etoile?” Mrs. Spenser asked.

“Yes.”

“Mrs. Darby just said she tested several grade levels ahead,” Giselle quickly added and I felt a funny feeling, but a good feeling, in my stomach when she said it.

“Excellent.  As you can see, I have many books for you to borrow. We also have a wonderful library.  In fact, we have library tomorrow as our special, so you will get a chance to see it then.”

“Is there anything she will need to bring?” Giselle asked.

“Pencil, pens, a book bag and lunch or lunch money,” Mrs. Spenser said.  “We’ll supply everything else.”

I looked all around the classroom and it seemed so much bigger than my class back in Cote Nouveau, with its sparse shelves and flaking walls.  But thinking about Cote Nouveau made me realize that I knew every single student back there and here, I would not know anyone.  My stomach shifted a little.

Giselle touched Mrs. Spenser on the arm.  “Her stomach sometimes gets upset.”

“Oh?” Mrs. Spenser asked.

“She just had a checkup and she’s very healthy, but sometimes when things upset her…”

“I’m glad you told me,” Mrs. Spenser said.  “Come here, Etoile,” she said.  I followed her over to her desk and she took out a piece of heavy yellow construction paper and cut it in half.  She took one half and folded it and handed it to me.  I tried not to stare at her hands as she handed it to me, but they were so different from any hands I had ever seen before.  She led me to an empty desk near the door.

“This will be your desk beginning tomorrow,” she said.  “I want you to keep that card in your desk at all times and should you ever feel that your stomach is going to get upset, just take the yellow card out and place it on top of the desk.  I will see it and let you go immediately to the nurse’s office. That’s Mrs. Whitham’s office.  She is a very nice lady. That way the other students will not know. Will that work for you?”

I looked at the yellow card and nodded.  I thought back to Mrs. Gordon and the times my stomach had felt upset and tried so hard to hold it in while I tried to get her attention and how sometimes, the other students would laugh at me which would make it all worse. Then I thought of Frankie Lavasseur calling me “Toilette Toussaint” and thought perhaps it would be better to start somewhere new where I was not known.

“Etoile?” I heard Giselle say.

“Yes,” I said.  “Thank you.”

***

We got back to Stone Cottage and Giselle glanced at the clock in the kitchen. “You must be hungry…and perhaps tired, non?”

“A little, but…”

“We will eat a quick lunch and you can take a nap or a bath if you like.”

“But Giselle?”

Giselle pulled out a wrapped bag of cheese from the refrigerator and some tomatoes and some leftover bread. “Yes, Cherie?” she said as she took out a pan and melted butter in it.

“You said you would tell me about Anais today.”

Giselle sliced the cheese and tomatoes onto the bread and placed them very gently into the pan.

“So I did,” she said without a pause, “but today is not over yet and there is still much work to be done.  We must make sure you are ready for tomorrow morning.”

“But Giselle…” I protested.

“Vitement. Quickly,” she said, “run upstairs and wash your hands and your face and I will have lunch ready for you when you come down.  Oh dear,” she said looking around.  “We will need to pack your lunch for tomorrow.”

“I could just buy lunch in the cafeteria,” I said.

“Hmph!” Giselle said, “I will not hear of you eating that food.”

“But I am sure it is better than the food in Cote Nouveau.  The school looks much newer and…”

“I will not hear of it.  You will take a good lunch, a healthy lunch with you.  Remember what Eppy said, you must gain some weight.”

“Giselle?”

“Yes?” she said as she took a spatula and turned the slices over revealing a golden brown side.

I wanted to tell her what Maman had called me.  I wanted to ask her if she knew why Maman would have said such a thing, but somehow I felt like I would be getting Maman in trouble. I didn’t know if it was possible to get dead people in trouble or if it mattered or not, but when I went to say it, the words would not come out.

“What is it, Cherie?” Giselle asked, studying me.

“Can I use my special soap?” I could not think of what else to say.

Giselle crinkled her eyes. “Of course. You do not have to ask for that.”

After lunch, Giselle came up to my room and together we went through all of the clothes hanging in the closet.

“How about this?” she asked pulling out a pink blouse and pink floral skirt.

I shrugged my shoulders. “I guess.”

“Too much pink for the first day,” she said making a small clicking sound in her mouth.  “What about this?” she said grabbing a white blouse and a plaid blue and tan skirt.

“Fine.”

She grabbed the clothes.

“What are you doing?”

“I am going to iron them,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because you must look neat and presentable for your first day. And while we are at it,” she said as she reached behind me and pulled my hair back, “I have an idea.”  She led me to the mirror over the dresser. “How would you feel about a quick trim?  Nothing too drastic, just a little off the ends to get rid of some of those tangles.”

“But there will not be time,” I said.  “Surely the beauty parlor is not open this late and it would be expensive.”

Giselle laughed. “Cherie, this beauty parlor is always open. Come with me.”

Giselle wet my hair in the big kitchen sink, then sat me down on a tall stool while she took out a pair of scissors and a comb.

“You have done this before, yes?” I asked nervously.

She laughed. “Of course. Who do you think cuts mine and Jean’s hair?”

“You cut Jean’s hair?” I wasn’t so sure this was such a good idea anymore.

“Yes, but she likes it short.  I will not make yours short,” she said.

“Can you tell me about Anais while you are cutting?” I asked.

She stopped and put her finger to my chin.

“Would you like me to concentrate on your hair so I don’t make any mistakes or would you like to talk about Anais and come out looking like un coq fatigué, a tired rooster?”

I could not help but laugh.

Giselle cut my hair with the same intensity as when she cooked or set the table. She studied my face intently turning it back and forth before cutting here and there. It seemed to me that there was a lot more hair than I expected on the floor and I was almost afraid to think of what I would look like until she stood back, nodded to herself and announced, “Voilà. Now go up and tell me what you think.”

She gave me a gentle swat on the fanny as I climbed the stairs.  I went into the bathroom that had the bigger mirror and squinted my eyes a little, so afraid was I to see what she had done.  But then I unsquinted them when I saw the image staring back at me. My long, matted hair fell softly in cascades of curls around my face. I never knew my hair could be so curly.  It looked very grown up.  And it looked just like Giselle’s.

“Giselle!  Giselle!” I said racing down the stairs.  But Giselle was not in the kitchen. “Giselle!” I called again.

“I am out here, Cherie,” I heard her call back.  I had never noticed the small door at the back of the kitchen before.  I stepped out into a large back porch whose walls were lined with knotted pine planks. The wood smelled wonderful giving the whole room a rich, smoky scent. One of the walls was lined with shelves filled with bottles and jars. One of the walls abutted the kitchen and had a small sink and counter.  The other wall was filled with windows that looked out onto the gardens. A large easel stood between the windows.  A canvas with a garden scene was propped on it.  A well-worn green couch was set behind the easel looking out the windows.

“Look at you!” Giselle said turning.  Her arms were filled with jars of what looked like tomato sauce. “You look beautiful!” she said smiling widely.  “Do you like it?”

“Yes, very much,” I said.  “What is this place?” I asked.

“It is our back porch.  It is also where I store the things I sell and where I paint when the weather is not so good.”

Giselle placed the jars on top of the counter and gestured me over to the windows.  They were very tall, so I was able to see far out over the gardens.  Giselle pointed.

“This entire place will be filled with color in a few weeks,” she said.  If you look far across the fields, you’ll see the stream,” she said pointing towards the back of the garden. “Jean likes to sit in this chair and read while I paint.”

Giselle tugged at one of my curls and watched it bounce back.  “Women would pay good money for those curls,” she said laughing.  “You are both very beautiful and very lucky.”

I do not know what happened but once she said the words, I felt a strangeness come over me.  I could not understand why all of these words came so easily to Giselle and why they made be both happy and sad at the same time.

“Come on,” she said, “Jean will be home soon.  We must get ready for dinner.”

Giselle reached for a large bundle wrapped in wax paper and unrolled a large piece of dough onto the wooden counter. It was shaped in a rectangle.  She pulled pans from the oven and quickly dusted them with corn meal.

“What are you making?” I asked.

“Nothing fancy tonight.  Just pizza.  Jean loves my pizza.”

I shook my head and felt the strangeness of the curls bouncing around.

“But it is not round,” I said.

Giselle laughed.  “Pizza is not always round, Cherie.”

It was in Cote Nouveau.  Once in a while, the school cafeteria would make pizzas but they were always round and not very good.  I was not so sure about eating pizza.

“There are many things different here than in Cote Nouveau, non?” she said lifting the dough and carefully setting it into a baking pan.

I did not answer but watched as she dribbled a little olive oil onto the bottom of the dough, opened one of the jars and poured fresh tomato sauce over it using the back of the spoon to spread it around.  She then grated some fresh cheese and let me sprinkle the cheese over the top.

“Not too much,” she said, “or you will spoil the other flavors.”

When the cheese was all on, she topped the pizza with onions, mushrooms and small pieces of ham. Finally, she brushed a little more olive oil on the crust.

I waited for her to put it in the oven, but instead she turned to the fireplace and struck a match. The fireplace immediately came to life and within seconds, a fire was burning in the hearth.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Getting the fire ready.  This will not take long to cook.”

“You are going to cook it in the fire?” I asked.  I had never heard of such a thing and could only imagine a blackened, charred pizza.

Giselle laughed. “It gets baked in the hearth and is very good.  Trust me.  You may set the table tonight, okay?”

She instructed me on what to put out but I already knew where everything was.  The air had cooled down, but the kitchen was very warm from the fire.  Once again, Giselle set fresh flowers out, pulling a few out that were not so fresh, and stood back to inspect the table.

Neither of us heard Jean come in, but as I stood inspecting the table alongside Giselle, we were both suddenly aware of her standing in the doorway of the kitchen.  She stood there, but her gaze was on me.

“Hi Sweetie,” Giselle said going over to her and giving her a hug.  Jean planted a kiss on the top of Giselle’s head, but she continued to stare at me the whole time.

“We have had a very exciting day and much to tell you…” Giselle began but then stopped and stepped back.  “What is it, Jean?”

Jean kept her eyes steadily on me as she quietly said, “She looks just like you.”

***

Several times during dinner, I glanced up and caught Jean looking at me. Giselle brought out a big salad bowl filled with onions and tomatoes and olives, followed by a plate of steamed green beans that I did not care for.

“As long as you try it,” Giselle said and I did, but I still did not like them.

I watched anxiously as she slid the pan with the pizza out of one of the openings of the oven.  I was beginning to get afraid that I would not like that either.

“Etoile met Eppy and Carol today.  Eppy said she is in great shape but needs to gain a little weight.  They asked about Saturday night, but we can talk about that later.”

“What is Saturday night?” I asked watching her cut the pizza up.

“We have friends over some Saturday nights.  Eppy and Carol and some others,” Jean explained. Turning to Giselle, she said, “I don’t see why they shouldn’t come over, do you?”

Giselle paused.  “No, but…”

“No reason to change our routine,” Jean added.

Giselle brought the pan over to the table.  I had to admit that it looked very good.  The cheese was all melted and bubbly and the onions, ham and mushroom were just slightly browned.  I handed my plate to Giselle and she put a slice out for me. I started to eat it with my hands, but she stopped me.

“This is the kind of pizza you eat with a fork and a knife,” she said, “but you must wait until everyone is served.”

I waited for Giselle to sit back down before diving in.  The sauce was very sweet.  The crust was crispy but soft underneath and all of the things on top were crunchy.  I had never had pizza like this before.

Giselle sipped at her wine and shook her head. “Please, Etoile, I beg you to slow down tonight, okay?”

I set my fork down and took a sip of my milk.  She winked at me.

“The principal said Etoile was several grade levels ahead in reading,” Giselle told Jean.

Jean had just taken a mouthful of the pizza and stopped chewing. “Really?” she said after she swallowed. “Good for you, Etoile. That’s very good indeed.”

I ate two more slices of the pizza, leaving my stomach feeling quite full.  We all helped clean up. I stood on one side of Giselle and Jean on the other as Giselle passed dishes to us to be dried. It reminded me of the old house in Cote Nouveau when Maman and Papa would work on things side by side.

“Look at us,” Giselle said, echoing my thoughts.  “It’s like we have been doing this forever,” she said as she cupped some bubbles in the palm of her hand and wiped them on my chin.  She then tried to do the same thing to Jean, but Jean shifted out of her way and we all laughed as Giselle jumped up and plopped a pile of bubbles on her hair. Jean surprised me by setting the plate she was drying aside and scooping up a bunch of bubbles in the palm of her hand.  She grabbed Giselle by the waist. Giselle tried to get away, yelling “No, No” but Jean did not let her go. Jean very easily lifted Giselle off her feet and with one hand, covered her face with bubbles.  I could not help but laugh as Giselle grabbed the towel from my hands and wiped her face off.  It had been a long time since I could remember laughing.  Jean held her hand up very high and I jumped up and slapped it.

“Ha ha,” Giselle said, “You two just wait.  I will have my revenge,” she said. Pointing to me she said, “You will wake up covered in bubbles and you,” she said as she grabbed the faucet sprayer, “You will get the bubbles rinsed off!” she said as she let loose a quick spray at Jean’s head.

“Truce!” Jean yelled. Giselle took a dry towel and rubbed Jean’s hair roughly as Jean bent forward.  Jean smiled at her and for a moment, they touched their foreheads together.

Dessert was more of Giselle’s ice cream covered with walnuts and a home-made caramel sauce that was better than anything I had ever tasted, not too sweet but drizzling warm and smooth. Giselle was smiling as she watched me eat and had just brought a spoonful to her own mouth when I said, “Giselle, your ice cream is ever better than Monsieur Segal’s.”

Giselle’s hand paused at her mouth and she immediately lowered her spoon. I saw the sudden change in her expression.

“Etoile,” she began, “do me a favor and do not wreck our nice dinner by mentioning that man’s name.”

Jean glanced up sharply and looked at her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

“It is alright,” Giselle said.  “I just do not want to hear his name, okay?”

“Yes, but…”

“Finish up.  It is almost time for bed.”

After we cleared the dishes, Jean nodded at me and said, “Good night, Etoile. And good luck at school tomorrow.”

In the middle of it all, I had forgotten about school.  My stomach gave a little twist. Giselle wrestled with the window in my room to get it open.

“I always like to sleep with the window open just a little to get fresh air, but if that is too much,” she said, “just shove it back down.”

I suddenly thought about the kitchen window in Cote Nouveau.

Giselle sat down on the edge of my bed and touched my hair.

“Do you think we look alike?” she asked fingering my curls.

“I guess.  Jean says so. I thought so when I looked in the mirror.”

Giselle smiled.  “Then I must be very beautiful,” she said as she leaned forward and kissed my forehead.

“Giselle?”

“Oui, Cherie?”

“I am sorry if I upset you at dinner, but I did not think that...”

Giselle touched my chin. “It is alright, Cherie.  We all carry memories with us no matter where we go.  Some are good and some are not so good, non?”

I thought about this for a moment.

“Slide over,” she said as she slid into the bed next to me.

She took my hand in hers. “Do you still want to know about Anais?”

“Yes! Please!”

“I am not sure with school tomorrow that this is the best time to talk, but if you want me to tell you what I know, I will.”

“I do, Giselle, please!”

Giselle patted my hand and let it drop. “You must understand that this will all work out and that most importantly, Anais is safe and no one will hurt her. Comprenez-vous cela ? Do you understand that?”

“Oui.”

“The police are still not sure what happened to your Maman.  They know she fell, but they are not sure if she fell on her own or if someone may have accidentally pushed her.”

“But surely they do not think that Anais…”

“Etoile,” she said putting her arm around me, “they have Anais in custody until they figure out what happened, but she is safe.”

“Where is she?”

“She is in a special school for children who have problems in their lives. She lives there now.”

“You mean bad children?”

Giselle shook her head.  “No, I do not think any children are bad.  They may make the wrong choices sometimes, but I have never met a bad child.  These children are sometimes there because they have nowhere else to go or like Anais, the police want them where they can go to school and be safe.”

“But Anais would never hurt Maman,” I said.  “It was Maman who…”

I stopped because I did not want to speak of those things.

“Etoile,” Giselle said drawing me very close, “There were many things that happened to you, too – good and bad, non?”

I nodded because I could not speak.

“I am so sorry for you and for Anais.  If ever you want to talk about it, I am here to listen.” She waited for a little while and for a moment I almost told her everything, but I could not find a way to say the words.

“Do not worry about Anais.  This will all work itself out. It may just take some time.”

“How much time?”

“It may be a while.”

“But couldn’t Anais come and live here?” I asked.

“Non, Cherie, that is not possible.”

“But why not?”

“Because she is where she needs to be right now.”

I drew away from her. “But Anais took care of Maman, even when she had…bad days.”

“I know.  She was very, very brave. You both were.”

“So Anais will not be coming for me soon?”

“Non, but I have the address where she is staying at.  Perhaps you would like to write a letter to her?”

“Do you think she would write back?”

Giselle squeezed my shoulders.  “Of course she will.  And in the meantime, you will stay with Jean and I for as long as you like.  We are family after all.”

“But Jean is not family.”

“Of course she is.  You are my family and Jean is my family, so we are all family.”

“But you and Jean are not even related.”

“No, but believe me, we are family.”  She held out her left hand and displayed a silver ring with a very pretty green stone shaped like a heart on it.  I had noticed that both she and Jean always wore the same ring.  “Do you see this ring?”

“Yes.”

“One year, Jean and I were walking along a beach near her parents’ house when we stumbled across some sea glass in the sand.  It was a large piece and had such pretty colors in it.  I took the piece of sea glass home with us and always treasured it because it was such a pretty color and because I had such fond memories of that weekend.  That Christmas, Jean took the sea glass to a jeweler in Boston and had them make the two rings from it. We wear them, always, because we are family.  You do not have to be related to someone for them to be family.”

Giselle stood up and pulled the covers up under my chin. “I will wake you in the morning,” she said as she kissed me on both cheeks. “Bonne nuit, Cherie.”

I laid in the bed staring at the ceiling as a soft breeze seeped through the crack of the window and touched my nose, my cheeks and my chin, as if the wind were kissing me goodnight.  A secret wind, I thought to myself…

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Se réveiller.  Wake up, Sleepy Head,” I heard Giselle say as I turned over in the bed. The bed seemed so big compared to sleeping on the sofa.  “Come on, it is a school day,” Giselle said shaking me by the knee.  “Hurry up and come down and I will make you breakfast.”

I took my time getting up. I was suddenly not so sure about any of this. I pulled the white blouse and plaid skirt on and went very quietly and very slowly downstairs.

“I am worried for her, Jean,” I heard Giselle say quietly as I was coming down.  I stopped and did not move further.

“She’ll be fine, Giselle.  She’s a bright girl.”

“But what if they ask questions? What if they want to know everything?”

“If they do, she’ll tell them whatever she chooses to. Children are naturally curious.  They are bound to ask questions.”

“Perhaps I should have told them she was not ready until Monday?”

“Giselle, the principal was right. It’s always better for children to get back into a routine as quickly as possible.  You’ve got to stop worrying so much.”

“I cannot help it, Jean.  I feel so…responsible for her.”

“Etoile!” I heard Giselle call, “Please come down so you do not miss your first day!”

I waited a second or two before strolling in.

Jean lowered her newspaper and nodded to me over her coffee cup as Giselle primped at my hair. “There,” she said brushing the curls behind my ears and setting a plate of poached eggs and a glass of orange juice down in front of me. “You look lovely.  Please do not spill any breakfast on your clean clothes.”

Jean folded the paper, stood up, rinsed her cup at the sink and reached for her backpack hung on a hook in the back hallway.

“Where are you going?” Giselle asked rather surprised.

“To work.”

“But I thought…”

“You thought what?”

Giselle glanced at me.  “I thought you would want to wait for Etoile to get on the school bus.”

“Giselle…” Jean began.

“It is a very long walk down the end of the driveway.  I thought we could drive her down and wait for her in the car. It is her first day after all.”

Jean shook her head and turned to me.  “Etoile, how old were you when you started school?” she asked.

“Six.”

“And how old are you now?”

“Eleven.”

Jean raised her eyebrows at Giselle.  “She’s been going to school for five years, Giselle. You can hardly call this her first day.”

Giselle bit her lower lip.  “But the road is so far down.”

“Etoile,” Jean said, “would you like us to wait with you in the car?”

I looked between them and did not know what to say.  I did not want to make Jean late for work and I did not want to upset Giselle, but I also did not want the children laughing at me.

“I will be fine to get on the bus by myself,” I announced.

Jean smiled.  “I’ll see you tonight,” she said kissing Giselle on the cheek.  “Have a good first day of school, Etoile,” she added laughing.

Giselle was not happy. “She does not understand,” she said after Jean left. Her hands moved quickly as she cleared the plates and set them down heavily into the sink. “Fine, but if it is raining out, I will insist that you be driven down.  I won’t have you walking into the school looking like un rat noyé, a drowned rat.  And remember to eat slowly when you get there, Cherie.”

I did not have the heart to explain to Giselle that there was no time to eat slowly at school.

***

I stood on the edge of the road holding one of Jean’s book bags. In it were some brand new pens, pencils and paper and a huge brown bag lunch that Giselle had spent much of last night preparing.

“Can I get one of those?” Jean had asked as she watched Giselle slice tender roast beef and layer it on pain rustique along with gorgonzola cheese, fresh greens and onions.

“No, Jean, it is not your first day of school,” Giselle replied, but later on I did see her make another sandwich and slip it into the refrigerator.

I stood at the end of the road waiting for the bus to come. Giselle stood on the front porch in front of the red door, her arms folded across her chest, watching me. When I saw the long yellow bus come down the road, I suddenly felt my knees grow weak.  I looked back at Giselle.  She gave a big wave and blew me a kiss. I quickly turned away.

***

Mrs. Darby greeted the buses and spotted me right away.

“Good morning, Etoile.  Do you remember the way to Mrs. Spenser’s classroom?”

I was not sure.

“I think so.”

Mrs. Darby gestured to another girl about my age with white-blonde pulled back in a ponytail wearing an off-white Gunne Sax dress.

“Winnie,” she said, “this is Etoile. Etoile, this is Winnie Wickham who is in your class.  Winnie, would you mind showing Etoile the way to Mrs. Spenser’s class?”

I remembered the girl’s name from the poster in the hall. She looked at me curiously for several seconds before breaking into a big smile.

“Come on,” she said taking off.  I raced through the throng of children to try and keep up with her.

“What kind of name is that?” she asked me on the stairs.

“French.”

“I like it.”

“What kind of name is yours?”

“English. It’s really Winifred, but please don’t ever call me that or I’ll have to kill you.”

She looked dead serious, but then she broke out in a wide grin, tilted her hair back and laughed.

“In that case,” I said, “do not ever call me Toilette or I will have to kill you, too.”

She grabbed me by the arm and dragged me up the stairs. Mrs. Spenser introduced me to the class again. I glanced around the room and my eyes paused at the boy with the bright red hair from the doctor’s office, Dale Batchelder. He was chewing on a pencil eraser when our eyes met.  Before I could look away, he took the pencil out of his mouth and snapped it in half.

***

School was very different here than in Cote Nouveau.  Instead of the entire class sitting quietly and listening to Mrs. Gordon as she told us about things, Mrs. Spenser broke us into different groups and let us do a lot of work on our own.  I was grateful that Winnie Wickham and I were in all of the same groups except for math.

My math group was with two other students, a shy girl with braces named Lisa, and Dale Batchelder.  Dale scowled when Mrs. Spenser led me to his table.  I could not imagine what I had done to him to make him dislike me so.

Mrs. Spenser came over and sat down with us to show us how to work some of the problems in our workbook.  As she spoke, I could not help but study the creases of her hands again with the dark black lines running through them.  I looked down at my own hands to see if the creases were a different color, but they were not.

“Etoile? Did you understand that?”

I stared at the problem for several seconds as I tried to make sense of it all.

“I think so.”

She laid her brown hand on my white arm and said, “Why don’t you try some problems on your own while I help the others?”

Without even realizing what I was doing, I took my other hand and placed my fingertips on her skin and traced the creases to see if the dark color felt any different.  She did not pull away.  I suddenly realized what I was doing and quickly withdrew my hands to my lap.  As soon as Mrs. Spenser left, Dale Batchelder leaned forward and said, “Are you going to kiss her, too?”

My face flushed as the heat rose in my cheeks.

I could not wait for math to be over with and was grateful when we switched to reading.  Winnie was in my group and we soon realized that we had both read many of the same books.

“I have read all of Anne of Green Gables,” Winnie announced.

“I am starting them.”

“And Little House on the Prarie.”

“So have I,” I said.

“Which do you like better, the show or the books?”

“I used to like to watch the show at my Maman’s, but now I don’t think I’ll get to see it much.”

Winnie twisted her ponytail and looked at me.

“Why not?”

“Jean says TV does little to stimulate the mind.”

“Who’s Jean?”

“She is… my cousin’s friend.”

Winnie shook her head.  “I really dig The Bionic Woman.  Have you ever seen that?”

“No.”

“She has all these far out super powers.  And, she’s the girlfriend of Steve Austin, The Six Million Dollar Man.  She’s sort of like Wonder Woman, but different.”

Again I shook my head.

“You’ll have to come to my house,” Winnie announced.

I rarely went to my schoolmates’ houses in Cote Nouveau but stayed close to Maman. Winnie let me try on her mood ring. We both watched as it turned a gold-amber color.

“That says you are a little nervous.”

I looked at the ring, amazed.

“I guess I am a little nervous.”

“See? They really work.  Here, watch.  Give it back to me.”

Winnie slipped the ring back on her finger and we both leaned over and stared at it as the colors went from gold to a dark blue, the color of blueberries.

“Isn’t that the grooviest thing?  Blue means relaxed, happy.  You should ask your mother…” Winnie paused… “I mean your cousin for one.”

I did not say anything because I did not want to have to explain that I could not ask Giselle or Jean for things. They had already been very generous to me, though I did think it would be okay to mention that Winnie had let me try hers on.

A few times, I looked up to see Dale Batchelder staring at me.

“Do you know that boy, Dale?” I asked Winnie when we were at recess.

“Yes.  Why, do you like him?”

“Like him? No, I do not like him at all.  He keeps staring at me.”

Winnie Wickham peeked over her shoulder to where Dale was standing with some other boys.  Dale was wearing blue and brown plaid pants and a brown polyester shirt with a wide collar.  Without giving me any warning, she walked straight up to him and said, “Why are you staring at the new girl?”

Dale kicked the toes of his boots into the dirt beneath him. “I am not.”

“She says you are.”

Dale shrugged. Winnie walked back to me.

“He says he isn’t.”

“Why did you do that?” I asked aghast.  “I could have asked him myself.”

“Then why didn’t you?” she said striding off.  I ran to catch up with her.

“Because I did not want him to know I knew he was staring at me.  I only wanted to know if you knew why he was staring at me.”

“Oh.”

We stopped before the entrance of the school and Winnie dug deep into her dress pocket and pulled out a Yardley Pot O’Gloss.  “Want some?” she asked.

I was not sure if Giselle would consider this makeup and if she would approve. Still, I could not resist the strong fruity scent as I dipped my finger in and wiped some of the pink gloss across my lips. Winnie did the same and made a smacking sound with her lips.  I made the same sound and we both laughed until we saw Dale Batchelder staring at both of us from around the corner.

“I think he likes you,” Winnie said.  “My sister, Missie says boys that stare at you, like you.  Of course, she is much older and wears halter tops, so the boys stare at her all the time.”

“Your sister wears halter tops?” I asked.

“She does when my mother isn’t around.  She wears hot pants, too.  Sometimes she sneaks out wearing them under her regular clothes.  I know, because I saw her sneak in from a date wearing hot pants and a halter top.  If my mother had seen her, she would have been grounded for a year. Mother says girls who wear halter tops want only one thing.”

I was too embarrassed to ask what that one thing was, but wondered if Anais had ever worn a halter top.

***

Giselle was waiting for me as I got off the bus and began the long walk down the dirt driveway.

“Hello, Cherie,” she said giving me a hug.  “How was school?”

“I met a girl named Winnie Wickham.  She is very nice.  She let me wear some of her Yardley lip gloss.  I hope that was alright.”

Giselle set me at arm’s distance and inspected me. “I think it looks very nice as long as it is clear.  Perhaps we can get you some of your own next time we are in town.”

“Really?”

“As long as it is clear.”

“She also let me try on her mood ring and it turned gold when I had it on. Winnie said that meant I was nervous. Then Winnie put it back on her finger and it turned blue which means you are happy.”

“I know,” Giselle said.  “But they are not always accurate.  Mine is not.”

“You…you have a mood ring, Giselle?”

“Sure. Would you like to have it?”

“Yes! Please!”

I followed Giselle upstairs as she rummaged through a small jewelry box and took out the ring.  I slipped it on and it immediately turned a bluish-green color.

“Well, now you are almost relaxed,” Giselle said.  “But they are not always accurate, you know.”

“Winnie said that but they mostly are.  She said it was groovy.”

Giselle laughed.  “Yes, they are groovy.  You may keep that.  I do not need a ring to know what mood I am in.”

“Winnie is in many of my groups, but not math.  Dale Batchelder is in my math group.”

“Hmmm…”

“Giselle, why does he not like me?  I do not know him at all.”

“I know, Cherie. His mother does not like me and she does not know me either.”

“But why, Giselle?  How can you not like someone when you do not know them?”

“Come on,” Giselle said taking my hand.  “You have had a long day. I think you should go into a hot tub and relax for a while before supper.”

I made sure to take the mood ring off and set it carefully on the edge of the sink before soaking in an extra-long bath. I still could not get over the wonderful feeling of having my body almost completely immersed in warm water.  I was just thinking that I never wanted to get out when I heard Giselle call for me. Reluctantly, I pulled the stopper and watched the whirlpool that formed near the drain as it swirled round and round in circles like a tiny tornado. The cool air nudged at my body.

“You will start to grow fins and a tail if you stay in that water for so long,” Giselle said as she peeled potatoes over the sink. “You will look like Jean.” The sink was lined with newspaper that caught the peels as they went flying.  Giselle’s hands were a blur of motion as she swiped at the sides of the small red potatoes.

Jean sat at the table with a newspaper in her hands, a glass of untouched wine in front of her. She rifled through the paper several times.

“Giselle, have you seen the Op Ed section?” she asked.

Giselle picked up the edge of the paper in the sink and winked at me.  “You want it back?” she asked.

“I guess not.”

“Jean does not have fins and a tail,” I said.

“You have not seen her swim,” Giselle said in between the thwack, thwack, thwack of the peeler. “You will know what I mean when you see her swim.”

“Do you like to swim, Etoile?” Jean asked lowering the paper.

I shrugged my shoulders.  “I…I do not know how to swim.”

Jean cocked her head to the side, a gesture I’d grown used to whenever something took her by surprise. “But surely having grown up on the coast…”

“Oh Jean,” Giselle said as she scooped up the peeled potatoes, put them in a big plastic bag and dribbled olive oil, salt, and other seasonings over them, “Cote Nouveau is not like your beloved New Hampshire Seacoast with sandy beaches and beautiful houses.  Cote Nouveau is a fishing village. The water is filthy and contaminated by the fuel from the diesel boats and the dumping of fish guts and God only knows what else, back into the ocean.  There are no beaches, just fishing piers and processing plants.”

“But where do they learn to swim?” Jean asked.

“They do not,” Giselle said.

“But all those fishermen…”

“Most fishermen from Cote Nouveau never learn to swim,” Giselle said.

“But what if they go overboard?  Wouldn’t they…” Jean stopped mid-sentence as Giselle abruptly slammed the oven door and gave her a sharp glance. A silence immediately filled the small kitchen, broken only by a hissing sound from the oil coating on the potatoes as they met the heat from the oven.

Giselle came over to me and put her hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“I am sorry, Cherie,” Giselle said. “Jean did not know about your Papa.”

“No,” Jean said rising from her chair.  “I’m the one who should be sorry,” she said as she tossed the paper down and walked out the front door. I went quietly into the living room and saw them both standing on the porch. The windows were wide open and I had to strain a bit to hear what they were saying.

“Relax, Jean,” I heard Giselle say as she stood behind her touching her on the shoulders. Jean stared out towards the road, her arms folded squarely across her chest. “Most people do not realize about the Cote Nouveau fishermen…”

“I always say the wrong thing.”

“Give it time, Jean.”

“It all comes so naturally to you, Giselle.”

“Not really.”

“You always know what to say to her.  You even speak her language.”

“Her language is English, Jean, and you speak that, too. Better than me.”

“But you have so much in common with her.”

“Do you really think so?  I do not.”

“You even look like her.”

“We are not in competition here, Jean.  You will find your common ground with her.  Just give it time.”

“How?”

“You are a very smart woman.  You will figure it out.”

I ran back into the kitchen so they would not know I had been listening.

As we sat down to eat, Jean looked at me even more intently than she usually did.

“Voila!” Giselle announced as she brought the dish over and scooped some out onto our plates. “Roasted red potatoes and chicken in a balsamic marinade.”

“How was school today?” Jean asked.

“I met a very nice girl named Winnie Wickham.”

“Wickham,” Jean said tilting her head. “I don’t think I know the Wickham’s.”

“Dale Batchelder is also in my class.”

“Ahhh,” Jean said as she met Giselle’s glance.

“He does not like me.”

“I am not so sure it is you he does not like,” Giselle said.

“What do you mean, Giselle?”

Jean cleared her throat loudly as Giselle dished more potatoes onto her plate. “Thank you, that’s plenty,” Jean said, nodding.  “So, Etoile, what books have you read recently?”

“I just finished Little Lord Fauntleroy.”

“Did you like it?”

“I liked it better in French.”

“I see.  Have you finished Anne of Green Gables?”

“I just started it.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yes, very much. I feel like Anne Shirley when she arrives at her new home.”

Jean smiled.  “You and Anne are quite brave and adventurous.”

I took a bite of the chicken. It was very tangy and tender.

“Did you know there were other books in the series?” Jean asked.

“Yes.”

“If you’d like, I can look in the University library to see if they have any.”

“The school has them.”

Jean made a small “hmmm” sound and went back to eating. Later on, Giselle washed dishes and handed them to Jean who dried, then handed them to me to be put away.  I went to take a plate from Jean’s hands but she held on to it and tilted her head.

“Etoile?”

“Yes?”

“Would you ever like to learn how to swim?”

Giselle stopped washing for a moment and looked at us.  Jean raised her eyebrows and waited for my response.

“But where? I did not think there was an ocean…”

“The university pool has just been repaired.  I swim there several times a week.  I used to be on the university’s swim team while I was a student and then coached it for a while. I could pick you up after school and bring you to the pool with me someday.”

“But I do not even own a swim suit.”

“Giselle?” Jean asked.  “Can we find her a suit?”

“Of course, Jean, but this pool, it is deep?”

I had never been in a deep pool before. In fact, the only pool I had ever been in was when we lived in the old house by the coast and our neighbors bought a small, plastic pool for the local children.  There were so many of us in it at a time, there was no chance of anyone drowning, let alone trying to swim.

“It is deep, but I would be with her the entire time.”

“Oh Jean,” Giselle began to protest, “maybe we should wait until the town pool opens. It has a shallow end.”

“It won’t be open for weeks, Giselle.  I said I’ll be there with her.”

“I know, but…”

“Giselle, didn’t you just say…”

“Yes, but…”

“I would like that,” I announced though I was not sure why I even said it.

“Fine. Giselle will get you a bathing suit and I will pick you up someday after school and teach you how to tread water.”

“But I thought you were going to teach me how to swim?”

“I will, but you must learn how to tread water first. Then you will learn how to swim.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Three days later, I waited anxiously outside the front of my school for Jean to pick me up.  That morning, Giselle had packed my new bathing suit which I was not overly fond of because of the purple flowers on it.  I almost missed the bus because of her lengthy lectures.

“Stay with Jean at all times,” she said.  “If you go under, do not panic. Jean will be there.  And remember to drain the water from your ears afterwards or you will get an earache. And Etoile, do not eat at least an hour before you swim.”

We drove in Jean’s little green car back to the campus to a building I had not seen before, a very tall, squarish looking building with “Greybolt Gymnasium” on the side.  Jean led me to a small room that said “Faculty Showers.”

The big purple flowered suit fit me snugly. I stepped out of the stall and saw Jean standing in her blue Adidas suit with white stripes on either side.  I would have much rather had a suit like that. Her long, angular, nearly flat body looked even longer because of the stripes.  I could barely keep up with her lengthy strides as she led us to the pool. When she opened the door, the tropical air hit me in the forehead and the chlorine smell snuck up my nose.

It was the largest swimming pool I had ever seen with many lanes going up and down its length.  A few swimmers with white caps on their head were in the middle swimming laps.  Jean led us to the edge of the pool and gestured for me to sit down.  She took her glasses off, and then hopped into the pool holding one arm on the edge.  I had never seen Jean without her glasses before.  Her blue eyes matched the color of her suit.  She looked much younger without them. It occurred to me that I did not really know how old she was. I dipped one toe in the water. The pool may have been heated, but this was not like the big gold tub.

“Here are the rules,” Jean began.  “You must never go in the water without me knowing about it, even if you become a good swimmer.  When you go under the water, and you will go under at some point, do not panic.  The best thing you can do is to relax your entire body and it will naturally float to the surface. If you fight it, you will forget which way is up.”

“But I know which way is up, Jean.”

“Now you do, but trust me, Etoile, I’ve seen champion swimmers panic and forget which way is up under certain conditions.  If you can remember to relax your body, it will know which way is up.”  Jean looked around at the other swimmers.

“Can you stay right here for a few minutes while I take a few quick laps to warm up?”

Jean pushed off the side and began to swim away from me.  Her whole body glided through the water as she pumped her arms forward in front of her, alternating turns of her head as she did so.  I watched in absolute fascination as she rhythmically stroked the water leaving little wake behind her.  As one arm touched the far end of the pool, she ducked her head down into the water and resurfaced in the opposite direction. She looked like a seal the way her body slid through and came back up head first.  Some of the other swimmers were watching her and began to fall into strokes with her, but she easily pushed ahead of them.  Each time one would catch up, she’d nudge ahead, her long arms and legs stretching further than any of theirs ever could.  One young woman with very thick shoulders stayed beside Jean the longest and touched the end of the pool just as Jean did, but Jean ducked her head down and came up far ahead of her.  I watched as the young woman stroked and kicked twice as fast as Jean and began to edge up to her.  They were head to head coming down the lane towards me.  The other swimmers came over and watched.

“Go Dr. Becker!” one of them yelled.

“Come on, Lisa!” another one said.

I pulled my feet in and stood up with the others as we lined ourselves parallel to the end of the pool.  Jean continued her long, even strides while the young woman stroked and pumped her body with all she had.  We all crouched down to see Jean’s long arm touch the end of the pool a second before the girl’s.  I applauded with the others.  Jean stopped and quickly whipped around to see where I was before swimming over to the young woman to give her a congratulatory slap on the back.

“Nice job, Lisa.”

“Thanks, Dr. Becker.  Not bad yourself… for an old lady,” she added.  Everyone laughed as Jean swam towards me.

“Jean!” I said leaning over the edge, my hands on my hips.  “Can you teach me to swim like that?”

Everyone laughed and a few patted me on the back before heading to the showers. Jean’s flat chest was heaving and her cheeks were flushed as she reached her arms out towards me.

“Sure, come on in.”

I could feel the strength of Jean’s muscles as she held onto the edge with one arm and gently lowered me into the cold water. I suddenly realized I could not touch the bottom and grabbed for the edge, kicking my feet.

“That’s good, Etoile,” Jean said, her arm snug around my waist.  “You’re already doing the right thing by kicking your feet.  The first thing I want you to do is to hold onto the edge with both hands and kick your feet up and down.

“But Jean,” I said.  “I will not go anywhere.”

“You will when you’re ready. Try it.  I’m right here.”

I did as she said and began kicking against the edge of the pool.  I could feel my body moving forward, but held back by the extension of my arms.  A wave of water came up to my nose and without realizing it, I inhaled.

“Just blow it back out,” Jean said as I coughed.  “It’s only water.”

“It stings.”

“You’re not a real swimmer until you’ve swallowed water,” she said.

I still had much to learn about being real things.

Jean showed me how to tread water by waving my arms around and kicking my feet.  She held onto my waist as I tried. A few times I felt like I would slip below the water, but each time I could feel her hand on the back of my swimsuit dragging me back up and I did not go under.  The water began to warm up.

“How do you feel?”

“Fine.”

“Okay, let’s move on to step two,” she said. “Using the same motion, you’re going to tilt forward and reach out towards the other end of the pool.”

“But I will go under,” I said.

“Maybe, but if you do, it will be for just a second and I’ll be right beside you. Come on, Etoile, reach out.”

I stretched my body out and tried to swim like Jean had, but I immediately began to slip under the water.  For a brief second, my eyes were open and I could see clear to the bottom of the pool.  I felt Jean’s hand under me as she lifted my chin up out of the water.  I choked for several minutes.

“Let’s leave some water in the pool for the other swimmers, okay?”

I nodded and tried to wipe my eyes because they stung.

“Just blink.  We’ll find you goggles next time.”

I was not so sure about next time. She placed a hand under the flat of my belly and I kicked and waved my arms wildly.

“Keep your hands and feet below the water otherwise you’re just wasting energy.”

I lowered them and realized that we were beginning to move.  I kept kicking and paddling like a dog and was about to ask Jean to let me try for a little while on my own when I realized that Jean was swimming beside me, grinning. “Congratulations, Etoile,” she said.  “You are now a real swimmer.” We went up the end of the pool together, Jean swimming right beside me.  My body began to feel lighter and lighter, as if the water was taking more and more of my weight.  We stopped and treaded as Jean showed me the breaststroke.  For a while, I tried it just by treading water until I leaned forward and reached out.  Right away, my head began to sink under the water.

“Take wider strokes,” Jean said.  I tried again, but still, I could not keep my upper body from sliding down.

“I’ve got you,” Jean said as she placed a firm hand beneath my belly.  “Try it now, but push the water out of your way.  That’s it, Etoile, really push it.”

With the confidence of Jean beside me, I cupped my hands outward and pushed the water away as hard as I could.  It worked.  I could feel forward movement and my upper body was no longer sliding down as I matched the rhythm of my strokes against my kicks.  I swam the whole length of the pool with Jean beside me.

“Good job, Etoile,” she said as we stopped at the end.  “Very good.”

“Jean, will you let me swim down to the end on my own?” I begged.

“Do you think you can do that?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be right here watching you.”

I pushed against the side of the pool and began to swim away from her. As my body glided through the water, I began to feel a sensation of freedom like I had never felt before as I settled into the rhythm of stroking and kicking and the feeling of the water sliding across my body and propelling me along.  I was about ten feet from the end of the pool when out of nowhere; a sharp cramp came into my left calf muscle, squeezing it in a ball of pain. I grabbed for it. The water slipped over my head. I was suddenly aware of the strangeness of all the sounds around me and how muffled some of it was, yet how clear the sound of bubbles and the water’s movement was.  I had never experienced such strangeness before, as if one-half of everything was completely distorted, and the other half was completely clear.  I opened my eyes but saw only slices of blue and light and thousands of bubbles as I flailed my arms around trying to get my bearings. I thought I heard the muffled sound of my name being called but could not tell which direction it was coming from.

For a brief moment, I thought of my father.  What must it have been like for him to have been tossed into the frigid cold December water?  Would he have seen any light in the depths of the darkened sea? Would he have heard the muffled sound of anyone calling his name or would each man have grown silent, realizing there was nothing to be done other than to accept their fate?  Was he able to reach any of the other men and cling to them for comfort, or did he die alone?  Did he flail his arms wildly, trying to find where the sea began and where it ended or did he surrender to the water?

***

I suddenly felt an arm around my neck as I my head broke through the surface of the water. I gasped a huge gulp of air and began choking violently as Jean grabbed onto the edge of the pool and with her powerful arms and shoved me over the edge onto the cold, wet cement. I collapsed like a limp dog for several minutes as I gagged and choked.  She easily hoisted herself up and over and knelt down beside me.

“Is she okay?” I heard someone ask.

“She’ll be fine, thanks,” Jean replied as the group moved off. The coughing subsided and I sat up, clutching at the pain in my cramped leg. “Here, give me your leg,” she said. Jean positioned herself on the wet cement in front of me, took my leg and draped it over hers as she began to rub the muscle.  At first, it made it hurt even worse and I tried to pull back.

“Try to relax,” she said as she worked her hand up and down the taut muscle. I winced at the pain, but Jean seemed to know exactly where to touch it to get it to stop.  The pain began to ease up.  Jean placed her hand against the flat of my foot and put pressure on it to bend it back.  “This will help stretch the muscle that cramped,” she explained.  “But before we go back in, I’ll show you some stretching exercises just for swimmers to prevent these cramps.”

“I am not so sure I want to go back in.”

Jean stood up.  “You must, Etoile,” she said holding out her hand to me. “Never let the water defeat you.”

I watched as Jean bent over and stretched her arms out to me, the muscles of her flat back flexing as she leaned over. She placed me at an angle against the side of the wall with my arms outstretched. I could still feel the cramped muscle in my leg.

“That’s it,” she said. “Stretch it out for a few minutes.”

After a while, it did feel much better but I was still not so sure about going back in.  This was not like the warm tub at all.

“Come on, Etoile.  I’ll swim in the next lane right beside you, but let’s do one more lap.”

“Jean, I am not so sure…”

“You’ll be fine, Etoile.  You’re a natural.”

“I am?” I asked as she took my hand and led me to the edge of the pool.

“Yes, but you forgot the one rule.  Relax your body if you slip under.  Here, watch,” she said as she jumped straight off the edge and shot like a bullet feet first, into the water.  A brief moment of panic struck me as I watched her body go deep into the water.  She did not kick. She did not wave her arms.  Sure enough, her body began to rise back up to the surface.  She did not even cough or choke as her head bobbed back up.

“See?  It really does work. Do you want to try it?”

“I do not know.”

“Take a good, deep breath before you go down and blow it out as you rise up.”

I hesitated.

“Etoile,” she said touching my feet.  “There isn’t a swimmer on this school’s team that hasn’t cramped up and gone under at least once. The important thing is to control the water and not let it control you.  Now come on. I’m right here.  I didn’t let anything happen to you before, did I?”

I was not so sure how to answer that, so I took a very deep breath and aimed for as close to Jean as I could as I plunged feet first into the water.  Do not panic, I kept telling myself.  Do not panic. With all my strength, I fought the temptation to wave my arms as my body descended through the water. Instead, I tried to pretend I was asleep.  I opened my eyes briefly and saw Jean under the water right beside me, waving.  She gave me a thumbs up as my body slowly rose back up to the top.

“There you go,” she said as my head broke the surface. “Now the only other thing you need to learn is how to catch me,” she said as she took off in the lane ahead of me.  I pointed my body towards her and swam as hard as I could.  She flipped herself over on her back and easily stayed just ahead of me, grinning the whole way.

***

“And then Jean and I jumped in from the side and just floated back up.” I told Giselle that night at supper.  Giselle squeezed Jean’s arm.

“And Etoile left just enough water in the pool for the other swimmers.”

“And a young student told Jean she did not swim badly for an old lady.”

Giselle threw her head back and laughed.

“How old are you, Jean?” I asked.

“Thirty-nine.”

“How old are you, Giselle?”

“Thirty-two and you should not ask a woman her age.”

Maman was only thirty-five when she died and yet Giselle seemed so much younger.

“I am sorry.  Can we go again tomorrow, Jean?  Can we?  Please?”

“It looks like you have found your common ground, non?” Giselle said as she kissed Jean on the top of her head and began to clear the dishes.

“Not tomorrow, Etoile, I have a meeting after my classes.  But soon.”

I frowned.  Giselle saw me and frowned back. “Perhaps it will cheer you up when I tell you that there is a letter from Anais on your bed.”

“Anais!” I yelled as I ran up the stairs. I snatched the plain white envelope from my pillow and ripped it open.

***

“Dear Etoile,

I am glad to hear from your cousin that you are doing so well. I understand that you are in a new school and like your teacher very much.

I am at a special school for a while. It is run by the Sisters of Mercy.  The nuns are very strict.  I do not want to say anymore because I do not know if they will read this or not. I hope they do not because that would be grossier, rude. (That is for Sister Frances who does not like me anyway if she is reading this which would not surprise me.)

There are many girls here around my age.  One girl is from Cote Nouveau, Aimee Marceau.  Do you remember the Marceau’s from when we lived in our house?  Monsieur Marceau went down with La Christiane.  Aimee’s family still lives on the coast but she has had some trouble with a boy from Scituate and must stay here a while. Her Maman does not speak to her. We have become good friends.

Every day we are woken up very early to go to Mass.  Sometimes Aimee and I do not go to Mass, but remain hidden in a storage shed by the gardens. (Now I really hope Sister Frances does not read this or our goose is cooked.) I cannot see the point of wasting my time at Mass praying if we have nothing to pray about.  Some of the girls here do pray a lot, but Aimee and I are just biding our time until we are able to leave.

We spend most of our days in classes.  The nuns are all teachers.  Sister Frances teaches algebra. I do not do well in that class. She does not speak French, thank God, so Aimee and I can at least have some private conversations.  When Sister Frances calls upon Aimee in class, Aimee smiles very sweetly at her and answers, “Oui, mon petit pingouin.”  “Yes, my little penguin,” and Sister Frances smiles back. We both think she is une gouine, a lesbian.  I suppose if she is reading this, we are both doomed to go straight to hell, non?

The rest of the day we spend doing chores and homework. I do not mind the chores as much as I mind wasting my time in classes trying to learn things like exponents and variables that mean nothing to me.  At night, we are all très fatigué.  The food is okay and at least the bread is baked fresh every day.

Etoile, I hope you are happy and safe where you are now.  There are many things I want to tell you, but I cannot put them in a letter. I am not sure when I will see you again.  It may be some time, but we can stay in touch by letter in the meantime and I will try and be good and write back.  Aimee has a plan to glue Sister Frances’ chair down to the floor now, so I must go.

Love always,

Your sister, Anais

***

I set the letter down and looked up to see Giselle leaning against the doorway, looking at me.

“You wrote to her?” I asked.

“Oui.  I knew she would be worried about you.”

She came in and sat down on my bed and stroked my hair.

“And how is Anais?” she asked.

Part of me wanted to hand the letter to her, but another part did not.  I quickly folded the letter back up and tucked it into the envelope and put it in the nightstand drawer.

“She is fine.  She says she will be there for some time.”

“I know.”

“She said I should keep writing to her and she will try to write back.”

Giselle touched me on the knee.

“Why don’t you come back down and I will make you a special dessert, okay?”

But for some reason, I did not feel like dessert or eating.

“I think I would like to go to bed instead,” I said.

Giselle put her hand to my forehead. “Are you all right, Cherie?” she asked.

“Yes, but I am very tired from swimming.”

“Then I will make you an extra special dessert tomorrow night.  Bonne nuit and puits de sommeil. Good night and sleep well.”

***

After Giselle left, I got up and dug out the small blue bag that I had brought with me that I kept in the back of my closet.  It still had Anais’ key chain with her engraved initials and Maman’s nail polish in it.  I withdrew Anais’ letter from the nightstand and tucked it deep down into the bag and set it far back in the closet before climbing back into my bed.

I laid there with the open window and thought for a long time about Anais’ letter and how she was not going to be able to leave the school for a while and her comment about there being much she wanted to tell me.  Tell me about what?  About Maman? About the police?  About where she was?  Was it possible that I did not want to know about these things now?

I could hear Giselle and Jean come up the stairs and after a while, I climbed back out of bed because I wanted to ask Giselle if she knew exactly how long Anais would be at that school.

Their door was open and the light was still on. As I neared their room, I could see their reflections in the tall mirror that stood next to Giselle’s side of the bed. Jean was sitting up against the headboard in a t-shirt reading a book while Giselle leaned against her in her nightgown, her eyes shut as she rested her head against Jean’s chest.

“Two hearts in love need no words,” Jean read.

“That is beautiful,” Giselle said.  “Who is that?”

“Marceline Desbordes-Valmore. I’m reading the translation.”

“Valmore? We used to read her in class. She led a very sad life and lost several of her children. Still, the words are so beautiful.

“How would you say it in French?” Jean asked.

“Entre deux coeurs qui s'aiment, nul besoin de paroles.”

“I think I like that even better.”

“It is beautiful no matter what the language.”

“And so are you,” Jean said as she leaned forward and kissed the top of Giselle’s head.

Giselle traced her finger up Jean’s arm.  “Shut the door,” she said.

CHAPTER NINE

I was awakened the next morning to a thudding sound followed by the sound of a vacuum cleaner. Giselle was in her room wearing one of Jean’s old denim shirts with the sleeves rolled way up, moving furniture around and vacuuming in every corner.

“What are you doing?” I asked rubbing my eyes.

She jumped. “Oh! I did not hear you, Cherie.  It is Saturday.  It is cleaning day for the party tonight.”

The last party I could remember having been to was when Papa turned thirty-five and Maman had made a big cake decorated with a picture of La Dominique out of frosting on the top of it.  Many of the other fishermen and their wives came to our small house by the sea.  I remember the house being filled with the sounds of laughter and the smell of tobacco and wine.

“Is it someone’s birthday?” I asked.

“Non, it is just friends getting together,” she said as she grabbed a cloth and sprayed the glass on the tall mirror that sat beside their bed.

“What do you do?”

“Mostly talk, laugh, drink. Have good times. Sometimes we watch an adult show called Saturday Night Live. It is very funny.”

“Who will be there?”

“Eppy and Carol and a woman named Susan and some others.  I never really know how many will be there.”

“Are they all women?”

“Yes.”

“Can I come?”

Giselle smiled into the mirror.  “Of course you may, but just for a short while. You will meet everyone, but then you must go to bed.  We will pick out a special dress for you to wear.”  She tossed the cloth my way.  “You can help clean, too.”

“Where is Jean?”

“Jean is cleaning downstairs. You may start by going back to your room and making sure everything is dusted.”

“Who is Susan?”

Giselle paused, then switched the cloth to her other hand.  I watched the muscles of her arm twitch as she swirled the glass round and round with the cloth till the glass sparkled.

“She is one of Jean’s friends.  She is a lawyer and a teacher.”

“She is your friend, too?”

“She is Jean’s friend.  She teaches some classes in the Women’s Studies Department about law and equality.”

“Why isn’t she your friend?”

Giselle sighed.  “Because she is Jean’s friend.  It is okay, you know, for people who live together to have different friends.”

“But you do not like her?”

Giselle turned her back to me.  “Etoile, I have too much to do to answer all of your questions right now. Go on now, go clean your room then you may come down and I will make you some breakfast.”

I was very careful dusting around the picture of Giselle’s grandmother.  I had placed it against a pile of books on the dresser and sometimes if I had trouble sleeping, would look at her face and pretend it was Maman smiling back at me.

We all worked very hard getting ready, especially Giselle. She took up rugs and made Jean drag them outside and hang them over the porch railing.  Giselle gave me a broom to hit them with, sending dust into the air while she scrubbed the floors clean with Murphy’s oil soap.

Giselle had Jean do all of the high-reaching chores like wiping down the light bulbs on the wrought-iron chandelier that hung over the kitchen table, and dusting the tops of the shelves neither of us could reach. Many times, Jean would begin to protest, but Giselle would go over and rub her shoulders or squeeze her hand and Jean would reluctantly go on.

When the house was spotless, Jean and I retreated to the back porch to read while Giselle began cooking.

“You watch,” Jean said to me as we carried an old chair out to the back porch so I could sit with her, “she’ll cook enough for an army.”

“More for us,” I said opening my book.

Jean gave a small laugh. “Indeed. More for us.”

We read in silence except for the sound of Giselle banging pots and pans and occasionally swearing in French. Jean, who was sitting diagonally in the old couch with her long legs dangling over the sides, glanced over the top of her book when Giselle let out a few choice words about the quality of the meat.

“She takes her cooking very seriously,” Jean said.  “Ignore the rest.”

I nodded and smiled to myself. When Giselle swore, and she only swore in French, it was funny. It was not at all like when Maman got upset and swore.

“What are you reading, Jean?”

“It’s a book called The Hite Report.”

“What is it about?”

“It’s…it’s an adult book about adult things.”

I shrugged.

“What are you reading?” Jean asked.

“Nancy Drew.”

“Really?” Jean said lowering her book.  “I loved Nancy Drew growing up.  Which one?”

“The first one, The Secret of the Old Clock. I found it at the school library.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yes. Very much.  This Carolyn Keene is a very good writer.”

“You do understand, Etoile, that there is no such person as Carolyn Keene?”

I held the front cover of the book to her.  “Yes there is, Jean.  She wrote all of the Nancy Drew’s.”

“It’s a pseudonym.”

“A what?”

“A pseudonym.  An assumed name.  In the case of Nancy Drew, most of the books in the series were written by one particular woman, but several of the other books were written by other authors over a period of time.  They used the name Carolyn Keene to be consistent with the readers.”

“I still like them.”

“They’re still very likeable,” Jean said.

“I would like to read them in order, but the school library did not have many.”

Jean set her book down and stood up.  “Come with me, Etoile,” she said as she led me back through the kitchen.

“Oh Jean, there you are,” Giselle said, her face dotted with spots of flour.  There were several empty piecrusts sitting out on the wooden counter. “Can you please bring me some blueberry preserves from the back porch?”

“In a minute,” Jean said as we walked past her.

***

Jean led me back upstairs to the hallway just outside my bedroom.  She went in my room and grabbed my wooden desk chair and placed it in the middle of the hallway, then climbed onto it and reached up.  I had never noticed the doorframe in the ceiling before. Jean pulled heavily on a long cord and the doorframe opened up and a set of wooden stairs began to slide down.

“Do you still have your flashlight?” she asked.

I handed her the flashlight Giselle had set beside my bed the first day I had arrived.

She shone it up the stairs as we went up. Jean pulled on a cord and the room was suddenly bathed in yellowish light.  The air was hot and stuffy and smelled very old.  There were piles of boxes everywhere.  I saw the glimmer of shiny trophies spilling out of several boxes in one corner.  Another corner had some old wooden chairs piled end on end.  In another corner there were boxes of books, still others had clothes and tennis rackets in them. On one side, a pile of paintings leaned up against an old metal bed frame. I picked up one of the paintings and looked at it.  It was a portrait of an old rotted fishing boat named “La Camelia” sitting on the grass.  The boat was blue and white with holes scarring its side. It was lazily tipped over as if it had been forgotten and left to rot away. In the background was water. Across the water was the pier with the faint silhouette of men lifting big bins of fish to bring to the processing plant.  I recognized the scene immediately.

“Are these Giselle’s?” I asked.

“Yes.  She has a bunch of them that she’s done.  I keep telling her she should show them, but she doesn’t think they’re good enough.”

I picked the others up.  One was of a beautiful garden scene with a fountain in the middle of it. Many were of water scenes.  I took the last one out and carried it towards the light.  It was a street scene. I immediately recognized the front of Madame Duvais’ market with the wooden bins of fruit and bread underneath each window and the faded blue awning that hung over them.  Inside the store, Madame Duvais could be seen behind the counter near the fryers, helping a woman customer.  The likeness was excellent, yet there was something about the picture that left me shaking my head because it seemed right in many ways, yet wrong somehow and I could not figure out why.  Was it because Madame Duvais was smiling cheerfully as she helped the woman? I had not seen Madame smile at her customers many times.

“Here we go,” Jean said as she lifted a heavy box up.

I carefully set the picture back as Jean carried the box back downstairs.

Jean folded the stairs back up and secured the latch. We went into my room.  Jean found a damp towel from the hamper and wiped the dust and dirt off the top of the box.  I waited with much anticipation as she opened the box up and began to hand me piles of Nancy Drew books.  I read the titles as she passed them along, The Secret of Red Gate Farm, The Bungalow Mystery, The Mystery at Lilac Inn. I touched each one as I set them on top of the dresser.  I had never seen an entire collection of books before.  Soon, the top of my dresser was filled end to end with books and there were still more in the box.

“Are these all yours?” I asked Jean.

“They were. They’re yours now,” she said patting me on the shoulder.

“Giselle! Giselle!” I yelled running down the stairs clutching some of the books in my hand.  “Giselle, look at what Jean has given me!”

Giselle was whisking some yellow creamy mix in a bowl as I ran in.

“Look, Giselle! Jean has given me all of these books to read.  They are all Nancy Drew!”

Giselle glanced up briefly and kept whisking.  “That is very nice, Cherie.  Did you thank her?”

Jean walked in behind me.

“Thank you, Jean,” I said.

Jean patted me on the head.  “You’re very welcome, Etoile. It’s nice to know they’ll be with someone who appreciates them. In fact, I might give them a quick re-read if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not.”

“Jean,” Giselle said pushing at a piece of loose hair that had fallen across her face, “could you please go back now and get me the two jars of blueberry preserves from the porch that I asked you for?”

Jean paused and tucked the hair back from Giselle’s face as she passed through to the back porch.

“I am going to read them all in order,” I told Giselle.  “See, this is number two. Jean has all of them in a series.  It is always more fun to read them in the series because then you get…”

“That is nice, Cherie, but I do not have time for this right now,” Giselle said as whisked with one hand and reached for some salt with the other.

“What are you making?”

“It is lemon custard. Go on, now.  Go read your books or something, okay? I have too much work to do right now to chit-chat.”

I could not be disappointed with such a treasure in my possession.  I took the second and third book of the series with me into the porch and plopped down on the opposite end of the couch.  Jean and I settled comfortably back into reading.

***

It was not until much later that Giselle finished cooking and joined us out on the porch.  She collapsed onto the couch across Jean’s lap, threw her head back and shut her eyes.

“Ready for the invasion?” Jean asked.

“You do not understand how difficult it is to prepare for something when you do not know how many people will show up.”

“Giselle, you could have made just one of your dishes and everyone would be happy.”

“They had better be.”

“Be thankful we have all these friends.”

“Your friends,” Giselle said.

“No, our friends.”

“They are not all our friends.”

“Giselle…”

“Please, Jean.  Do not make me pretend she is my friend.”

Jean glanced over at me, but I stuck my head into my book.

“Giselle, you’ve never given her a chance.  The two of you have been like oil and water from the day you first met.”

“I could cook for you right now and make oil and water into something nice, Jean. It does not have to be rude and brash.”

Jean sighed. “Fine, but you just remember that she is one of our top advocates.  She’s done more work on our behalf than…”

“I do not need anyone to advocate on my behalf, Jean,” Giselle said as she stood up. “And now I am going upstairs to take a long hot bath.  Etoile, when I am done, it will be your turn and then we will get dressed.”

A few hours later, I could hear the sounds of doors being opened and closed and of laughter drifting up the staircase when Giselle came into my room wearing her taffeta off-white robe with the flowers down the front.

“Giselle, the people are here!”

Giselle stopped in front of my mirror and slipped on a pair of dangling silver earrings.

“I know. We will go down in a few minutes.”

“But shouldn’t we be down now to greet everyone?”

“Jean can greet them.  You and I have to make an entrance.  But first, we will pick out a special dress for you.” Giselle rummaged through my closet until she found a sleeveless pink voile dress with a ruffled skirt. “This will look very pretty,” she said handing it to me.

“Rapidement, quickly, put it on.”

I liked how the dress fit my blossoming body.  I brushed my hair and went over to Giselle’s room, but stopped in her doorway when I saw her. Giselle was wearing a sleeveless, v-neck linen dress with big, bright red geraniums against a white background.  Her hair was partially pulled away from her face and secured in the back with a clip with a red flower on it.  Her fingers, toenails and lips were all painted bright red.  She turned my way and I was aware of the strangest feeling in my chest as if Maman was standing there.

“You look beautiful, Cherie,” she said coming towards me. “Do you like that dress?”  I kept staring at her. “Etoile?” she said leaning her head closer.  “Is there something wrong?”

“I have never seen you wear polish before,” was all I could think to say.

Giselle closed the tube of lipstick and placed it back in a small case on top of her dresser.

“I do not usually, but sometimes I like to. Would you like a dab of lipstick?”

“No thank you.”

Giselle put her hand out to me and brought me over to the long mirror in front of her bed. I stood in front of her.  We looked at each other for several seconds, her hands resting on my shoulders.

“You could be mine,” she said quietly.

***

As we descended the stairs, I was aware of heads turning our way and conversations coming to a halt.  My feet grew heavy, but Giselle took my hand and led me down.

“Everyone,” she announced as we reached the bottom step, “I would like you to meet Etoile.”

Jean came over wearing tan bell bottom chinos and a blue chambray shirt and kissed Giselle on the cheek.

“You look beautiful,” she whispered.

Eppy broke from the crowd and came over.  “Don’t you both look stunning,” she said as she kissed Giselle on the cheek.  Giselle cupped her hand and whispered something into Eppy’s ear.

“Sure, I’d love to,” Eppy said.  Turning to me, she asked, “How are you, Sweetie?”

“It’s amazing,” another woman said, “She looks just like you, Giselle.”

Giselle put her arm around me and beamed. Many of the women shook my hand as Giselle introduced me to them.  The women were of all different ages.  Some were dressed up and some were dressed very casually.

“I’ll be damned,” a very large woman carrying a bottle of beer said as she approached.  “How the hell did you pull this off, Giselle?” she asked gesturing towards me with the bottle. She was nearly as tall as Jean with very short, nearly buzzed dark hair, and green eyes.  She wore a purple t-shirt that was stretched across her wide frame that read, “Join the Lavender Parade” in big letters across the front.

“Etoile,” Giselle said, “this is Susan Weatherby.  Susan teaches with Jean.”

The woman switched the beer to her other hand and extended it to me. I shook it and then a young, thin, blonde woman with a string of beads tied around her long, straight hair came over. She was wearing elephant bellbottom jeans with a macrame belt and a roach clip dangling from it. She stood next to Susan Weatherby, who wrapped her arm around her.  Susan drew her in and said, “This is Star Mathers.  She and I met a couple of weeks ago at a rally in Boston.”

Star nodded up and down many times and said, “What a groovy pad you have.”

Giselle winced.  “Thank you.  This is my cousin, Etoile.  You and she share the same name.”

“Huh?” the blonde girl said.

“Etoile. It means ‘star’ in French.”

“Far out,” she said looking at me.

Giselle shook her head. “If you will excuse me, I need to get some things from the kitchen. Come along, Etoile. You can help.”

“Is that her, Giselle?” I asked as soon as we were inside the kitchen.  “Is that Susan the woman you do not like?”

Giselle handed me a tray of appetizers and said, “Sshh. Please, Etoile.  Take this tray out and offer them to people.”

Before I took them out, I tried one.  It was delicious.

“What is this, Giselle?

“Quiche Lorraine.”

I popped it in my mouth and let the flavors melt. “And that?” I said pointing to another.

“Chicken croquettes. Now go on and let everyone else try them before you eat them all up yourself.”

Giselle grabbed several bowls and filled them with Cheeze Its and Bugles and set them around. I wove through the crowd and offered the tray to everyone.  The women were all very nice and asked me about school and what I liked to do.

“I like to read and swim with Jean.”

Jean, who had been leaning against the fireplace sipping a glass of wine, came over and patted me on the shoulder, but many times that night, I saw her eyes search the crowd until she found Giselle, at which point she would break into a smile.

Giselle went out and came back in with Jean’s new Kodak Polaroid camera and gestured to Eppy. Eppy carefully positioned Jean, Giselle and I by the fireplace and took several pictures of us. We all watched as the image slowly appeared on the small square of paper, Jean and Giselle with one arm around each other, their other arms on either of my shoulders.

“Looks like your average American family,” Susan Weatherby said in a loud voice causing everyone to break out in laughter.

Giselle circled around offering drinks and making conversation. Occasionally, she and Jean would end up side by side.  At one point, Jean bent forward and whispered something into Giselle’s ear that made her blush.

“It’s an outrage,” I heard a loud voice say and everyone turned to Susan Weatherby, who was standing, beer in hand, addressing a group that had gathered around her. “Two hundred thousand sisters and brothers march through the streets of San Francisco and this chick Anita Bryant gets more air time than all of them combined.”

Many of the women shook their heads.

“Robert Hillsborough is stabbed just steps from his own home and the four kids declare they’ve killed him in Bryant’s name, yet the media is more interested in covering her singing career. This is 1977, for God’s sakes. We’re supposed to have made progress.”

Susan Weatherby stabbed at the air with her beer bottle as Star came and rested her hand on her back. “They can’t catch the Son of Sam, they can’t get a handle on this supposed energy crisis, but two hundred thousand voices are silenced in an instant by the media.  And meanwhile, on the home front, our very own myopic Dr. Batchelder continues his lectures to the hundreds of eager and impressionable young minds about the sinking moral decline of society in general, and the campus in particular. I have it on good word from a student that he went so far as to drop the line, ‘sex, drugs and rock and roll’ in the same sentence as ‘moral ineptitude and other perversions of the sordid type.’”

Many of the women shook their heads.

“I do hope you’ve all remembered to keep the orange juice boycott going.”

I glanced at Giselle who just that morning, had served me a large glass of orange juice with my breakfast.

“It’s the only power we have,” Susan continued, “to hit them in their pocketbooks and make corporate America understand we are a force to be reckoned with.”

Giselle broke away from Jean and brought a tray over to the group gathered around Susan Weatherby.

“Would anyone care for hors d’oeuvres?” she asked.

“And unfortunately for us, Betty Friedan continues to warn of the Lavender Menace,” Susan went on. “This chick should be afraid alright. When she cuts us off from the National Organization of Women and tries to segregate our rights from women’s rights, she’s waging battle. Our only recourse is to continue to infiltrate the bastions of conservatism to make our voices heard.”

“It sounds as if you are going to war with all this infiltrating,” Giselle said as she offered the tray around.

Susan Weatherby was clearly annoyed at having been interrupted mid-stream.  She glanced up and down at Giselle for a moment.

“This IS war, Giselle.”

“Have you not heard the new slogan, “Make love not war?” Giselle asked and some of the women snickered.

“Perhaps it’s not as apparent to you, the well-kept wife, that we are indeed at war,” Susan retorted.

I saw the flash in Giselle’s eyes as her comment sunk in.  Some of the women awkwardly cleared their throats.  Jean immediately withdrew from the group she was with and went quickly to Giselle’s side.

“I think what Giselle is trying to say, Susan, is that…”

“That she’s clueless?”

Giselle’s shoulders stiffened and she searched the crowd for me.  She saw me standing there, watching the exchange, and clenched her jaw tightly.

“Not true, Susan, and not appropriate,” Jean said nodding towards me. “It’s a difference of opinion. Surely you can tolerate a difference of opinion without making it personal?”

“It is personal,” Susan said.  “That’s the whole point.  It is personal to each and every one of us who has to live segregated from society because of the lifestyle choices we’ve made.”

Giselle broke away from Jean and came towards me.  “Come along, Cherie, it is time for you to go to bed.  Say goodnight to everyone.”

The women all said goodnight and several patted me on the back as I moved through the crowd.  Eppy gave me a small hug and whispered in my ear, “You are a very lucky girl.”  I nodded and went up the stairs.

“Come on, I will tuck you in,” Giselle said as she had every night.  I could not imagine going to bed now without her saying good night to me.

Giselle shook her head and tucked the sheet up around me.

“Do not mind them,” she said.

“She said unkind things to you, Giselle.”

“She does not mean it that way.  Besides, Jean says she is very jealous.”

“Of what?”

“Of us.  Of Jean and I because we will be together forever and she has never had that in her life.”

“But that woman, that Star girl…”

“She brings a different person each time.”

“Oh.”

“It is alright.  Everyone is entitled to their opinion.  The world would be very dull if everyone saw things the same way, non?”

Her words reminded me of something.

“Giselle?”

“Oui?”

“Jean took me to the attic today to get the books and I saw your paintings.  They are very good.”

Giselle squeezed my knee.

“Merci, Cherie, but I am afraid they are not that good.”

“You should sell them.  Jean thinks so and I think so.”

“I do not think it would be fair to ask someone to spend their money on those.”

“But they really are good, Giselle.  I especially liked the one of Madame Duvais’ shop.”

She gave a little laugh.

“You like that one?”

“Very much, yes.”

“Then would you like to have it?”

“Oh yes!”

“I will ask Jean to bring it down and you can hang it in here if you like.”

“There was another one of Cote Nouveau.  It had an old boat in it.”

“La Camelia.”

“Yes.”

“That was my father’s boat before he stopped fishing and became a businessman.”

“But I thought you left Cote Nouveau when you were just a young girl?”

“I did.”

“Then how did you paint the picture when you were grown up?  Did you go back?”

Giselle smiled.  “Non, Cherie.  I painted it from here,” she said tapping her head.  She leaned forward and laid her chin on my knee. “We carry memories with us all of our lives, Etoile.  Some are good and some are bad.  I have tried to remember the good memories like going into Madame Duvais’ shop with all of the different kinds of cheese and the candy counters.  She always gave me extra candy.  She was a very kind woman.”

I could not imagine Maman ever thinking of Madame Duvais as being kind.

“Do you ever want to go back?”

“To Cote Nouveau?” she asked sitting straight up.  “I do not plan on ever going back to Cote Nouveau,” she said rather abruptly.

“But why not?” I asked.

“I…I just do not.  I must get back to the party now,” she said as she kissed me on both cheeks.  “Good night, Cherie.”

***

In my dream that night, I was walking along the seashore of Cote Nouveau when I stumbled upon La Camelia, Giselle’s father’s boat, lying lazily on its side.  There was no one else in sight as I walked all around the half-buried vessel.  Tracing my hand along the wooden planks, I let my fingers slip through the holes on its side to explore its inner parts. I could see a little light shining through the other side and I cautiously avoided the ragged edges of the splintered wood as I reached in. Something suddenly grabbed my hand and yanked it back.

I was abruptly awakened by the sound of raised voices.  I sat up for a moment and tried to remember where I was. Many times I woke up in the night thinking I was back on the sofa in Cote Nouveau.  I tiptoed out of bed and crept down the hallway towards Giselle and Jean’s room.  Their door was partially tipped open and I could see their reflections in the long mirror as Giselle took off her earrings and placed them in a box.

***

“I agree she was rude,” Jean said.

“Rude?” Giselle said.  “That is an understatement, Jean.”

Jean began to unbutton her chambray shirt and paused.  “I know and I’m sorry.  I realize you don’t see anything redeeming in her, but she really is a brilliant lawyer and an excellent teacher.  She has such energy in her classroom.  Her students are so engaged….”

“Oh I am certain they are engaged.  And what is up with those girls?  What in heaven’s name do they see in her, Jean?”

“I’ll be darned if I can figure it out, but she’s with a different one every week.”

“Well I hope they are all having a good time,” Giselle said, “because it will be short lived, no doubt.  I am sorry, Jean, but I do not think she and I will ever be friends…”

Jean came over and stood behind Giselle as she began to slip off her necklace.  Jean pulled her hair back, leaned down and kissed Giselle in the small of her neck.  I watched as Giselle shut her eyes and leaned back towards Jean, who slipped her arms around the waist of Giselle’s dress.

“I don’t care if you’re ever friends with her as long as you’re always friends with me,” she said as she nestled her head in Giselle’s neck.

“Jean…” Giselle said very quietly.

“Did I tell you how beautiful you look in that dress?”

“Only a hundred times.”

Jean drew her closer to her.  “Can we be very good friends right now?”

“Shut the door,” Giselle said.

***

The next day, Jean went up the attic and dug out the Cote Nouveau painting and hung it on the wall across from my bed. That night when I went to bed, I somehow felt I had both a happy Maman and a kind Madame Duvais watching over me.  Still, there was something strange about the painting that I could not quite figure out…

CHAPTER TEN

“Look,” I said catching up to Winnie. “My mood ring is dark blue.”

Winnie took my hand in hers, studied the ring and announced, “Etoile, that means you are in a very romantic mood,” she said giggling. I quickly pulled my hand away and felt my cheeks redden.

“I think it means I was chasing you too hard around the playground.”

“And you still cannot get me.  Catch you on the flip side,” she said taking off ahead of me. She had long legs like Jean.  I tried to catch up with her but stopped abruptly when Dale Batchelder emerged from behind a tree and blocked my way.

“Chasing after your girlfriend?” he asked, his eyes pinched against the sun.

I turned and ran the other way back towards the school.  Winnie saw me and came running up beside me, throwing her arm around my neck the way she always did and tugging at me.

“How come you stopped chasing me?” she asked.

“I just did not feel like it anymore.  It is too hot.”

Winnie punched me in the arm.  “Don’t be such a spaz,” she said.

“I am not a spaz,” I said frowning.

“You are a spaz,” Winnie said as she broke away from me and headed towards another group of girls near the brick wall of the school that were playing “Miss Mary Mack.”  Winnie had tried to teach it to me but for some reason, I could not get the coordination down of when to slap left and when to slap right.  I wondered if Jean or Giselle knew how to do it.  Disappointed, I walked slowly back into the school to find a book to read.

The classroom was empty as I rummaged through my desk.  I pulled out my copy of The Hidden Staircase and noticed a small slip of paper sticking out of the end that I had not noticed before. I took it out and unfolded it thinking perhaps Giselle had slipped me a note, which she sometimes did wishing me a good day or saying how much they loved me.

I unfolded the paper and quickly read the word clumsily scribbled across it and felt my stomach immediately flip into a knot.  Just then, the bell rang and the other students began to filter back in. I turned to see Dale Batchelder watching me.  He sat down in his seat and began gnawing on the end of a pencil, all the while staring at me. I looked at my mood ring which had turned nearly blood red and knew it probably matched my cheeks.

My legs could not keep up with the rest of my body as I flew down the long driveway towards Stone Cottage. Giselle was stooped over the vegetable garden wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat, a sleeveless blouse and a long skirt.  She looked up as I sailed past her.

“Hello, Cherie.  How was school?” she asked, but I ignored her and ran straight to my room.  “Etoile!” I heard her call after me.  I climbed the stairs, shut the door and rummaged through my closet until I found the small blue bag. Opening drawers, I realized I had far more now than when I had originally arrived and that I would take only what was absolutely necessary.

I heard Giselle’s feet on the stairs and a small tap on the door.

“Etoile?” she said.  “May I come in?”

I did not answer her.  She opened the door anyway and stood there looking at me with a look of great concern on her face.

“Etoile, what is wrong?” She spotted the blue bag and her mouth parted.  “Etoile, please answer me.”

“I want to go.”

“Go where?”

“Back to Cote Nouveau.”

Giselle crossed her arms. “Why?”

“Because…because I do not belong here.”

“Of course you belong here.  We are family.”

“I want to be with other family.  I want to go and find Anais,” I said as my stomach squeezed even tighter.  I ignored it.

“Etoile,” she said as she came forward and placed her arm on my shoulder, but I pulled away.

“Do not touch me!” I shouted.  “I do not want you to touch me!”

“Etoile, please tell me what is wrong!”

“Why can’t you just be…” I began to say.

“Be what? Be what, Etoile?”

I slammed the drawer shut.

“Normal!”

She took a step back, folded her arms back across her chest and studied me for some time before asking, “What has happened?”

I continued to ignore her as I shoved several Nancy Drew’s that I had not read yet into the bag. I did not think Jean would mind. Giselle came towards me and spun me around.

“Etoile, what is wrong?”

I was not planning on answering her, but I saw the look of concern on her face and realized that I did not want her to worry about me when I was gone. Without a word, I walked over to my bed and dug out the book with the slip of paper still sticking out and handed it to her.

Her shoulders stiffened as she read the word and folded the slip of paper back up.

“Where did you get this?”

“It was left it in my book at school.”

She slipped the paper into her skirt pocket. “And you understand what this word means?”

I nodded.

“I am so sorry, Etoile.”

“I do not want to go back to that school.”

“But Etoile, you love school.”

“Please Giselle,” I pleaded, “You are so smart and you know about so many things, so does Jean. You could teach me from home. Please, Giselle, I do not want to go back there.”

“But you have made friends.  What would Winnie think if you did not show up at school anymore?”

“Winnie does not like me either.”

“Of course she does.  You talk about her all the time.”

“They all hate me. I can’t even play Miss Mary Mack.”

“Why do you have to be like them?”

I could not think of an answer.

“Come with me for a moment,” she said.

Giselle led me outside to the flower garden and sat down on the ground.  She gestured to me to join her.

“It is not you they hate, Cherie.  It is that we are different.  Here, do you see this soil?” she said digging her hands into the dirt.

“Yes.”

“Do you see how loose and open it is?”

“Yes.”

She took my hand and dribbled some of the dirt into it.

“Now look here,” she said as she tried to dig her hands into the hard soil of the walkway. “Nothing grows in this because it is hard and dense. You must have openness in order to grow.”

I shook my head, confused.

“The people who write those things are like the dense, hard soil that new ideas and new thoughts can never grow in.  It takes room and space and sometimes courage. It is impossible for them to ever embrace anything that is different unless they are willing to turn over their own soil.  Does that make sense?”

Explaining it that way, it did make sense.  I nodded.

“There will be people you meet all your life whose minds are already as hard as this packed soil and there is very little you or I will be able to do to change them other than to try and be the best person you can be. Do you understand that?”

“Yes.”

“Good.  Now come on, I will teach you Miss Mary Mack.”

We sat on the steps of the front porch facing each other as Giselle began to chant the rhyme, “Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack.  All dressed in black, black, black.”

I tried to meet her hands, but got confused.  She stopped.

“You just need to get the rhythm,” she said.  “Here, do it in your lap first.”

It was easier that way.  She walked me through the entire rhyme and then we began again. This time, it was much easier and I was able to match her hands each time, even when she began to speed up.

“With silver buttons, buttons, buttons,” Giselle said very quickly, “All down her back, back, back.” Our hands flew at each other until we dissolved into a fit of giggles.  Just then, Jean pulled up on her bike and came over towards us.

“I’ll bet Jean even knows it,” Giselle said.

“Knows what?” Jean asked as she leaned down and kissed Giselle.

“Miss Mary Mack.”

Jean rolled her eyes.  “If I could do Miss Mary Mack, I could probably dance, too,” she said.  “You know I’m not that coordinated.”

“But you are a wonderful athlete,” Giselle observed.

“Large motor skills, fine motor skills.  Two completely different things,” Jean said.

Giselle turned to me. “Cherie, would you please go and water the tomatoes for me? I never finished watering them.”

I watched Jean and Giselle disappear inside the house before creeping around to the kitchen window.

“Someone stuck this in her book today at school.”

“What does it say?”

“It says gouine.  It means dyke,” Giselle said with a heavy sound of disgust.

“Does she know who it was from?”

“No, but I have my suspicions. The little bastard...”

“Giselle…” Jean replied with a reprimanding tone, “You must remember that it’s the parents who are narrow-minded, not the children.”

“I do not care. They made fun of her because of us.  She is very upset, Jean.”

“Good.”

“What?  What do you mean by good?” Giselle asked, her voice rising.  “How can you say such a thing, Jean?”

“Because, Giselle, we all knew this wasn’t going to be easy.  I’d rather she find out now how people might treat her rather than have her think everyone was going to be accepting of our situation.”

“You said just the other day how glad you were to have her in your life, Jean.”

“And I meant that, but we can’t always stop these things from happening. I know it’s hard to see her suffer because of us…”

“Suffer because of us?” Giselle asked in an outraged tone.  “Suffer because two people love her?  Suffer because she’s cared for?”

“Suffer because of the pain others can inflict with their words.  Suffer because it will always be perceived as different.  Suffer because at her age, she doesn’t have the strength to deal with the intolerance and ignorance that you and I deal with everyday as adults.”

“You forget one thing, Jean.”

“What’s that?”

“She is French.  Real French women are a lot tougher than most.”

***

The next morning, I got up early and came downstairs ready for school. Giselle raised her eyebrows at me as Jean lowered the newspaper she was reading.

“What is this?” Giselle asked.

“I am ready to go back to school,” I announced.

They looked at each other.

“Etoile,” Jean said folding the paper neatly and setting it aside, “Giselle showed me the note and I’m very, very sorry that someone left that for you.  It’s not your fault that…”

“I know,” I said interrupting her.  “They are dense and have no room in their heads for new ideas.”

Jean cocked her head and looked over at Giselle.

“Come on,” Giselle said pushing me to the table.  “It is the start of a new day.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The end of the school year was winding down. I ran down the driveway towards the Stone Cottage with the blue and white mimeographed assignment sheet Mrs. Spenser had handed out to us as we were being dismissed.

“Giselle!” I called as I ran through the front door, which was almost always kept unlocked.

“I am out here, Cherie.”

I cut through the kitchen to the back porch. Giselle was standing in front of a canvas propped up on an easel.  Her left hand was folded under her chin as she studied the work in front of her.  I moved closer and came to a halt when I saw it.  She turned and smiled.

“Do you like it?” she asked.

I gazed at the picture for a long time before answering.  It was a portrait of Jean, Giselle and me standing in front of the fireplace, their arms resting on my shoulders.

Giselle picked up the small Polaroid picture from the corner of the easel and showed it to me.

“Do you remember when I asked Eppy to take our picture?  I want to surprise Jean for her birthday.  You will keep it a secret, yes?”

“Yes, of course,” I said, but I kept staring at the picture. In it, Jean’s head was slightly tilted to the right.  Giselle had her head tossed back. I sat in between them but thought I looked much older and even more like Giselle.  We looked as if we had been together forever. Somehow that made me feel like I was going to cry. I was glad that Giselle had her back turned to me.

Calling over her shoulder, she asked, “How was school?”  She leaned in and very lightly placed a tiny stroke on the fireplace mantle. I cleared my throat.

“It was fine.  Winnie and I played Miss Mary Mack at recess and then Mrs. Spenser gave us our final project assignments.”

“Really?  If you will let me work on this for a few more minutes, we will go over everything at dinner, okay?  But you must promise not to mention this to Jean.”

“I promise, Giselle.”

“Thank you.  Now there are some freshly baked chocolate chip cookies on a plate in the kitchen but you may only have two before dinner.  And be careful, they are still quite warm.”

I quickly recovered upon hearing this news and raced back into the kitchen.  Giselle made the best chocolate chip cookies of any I had ever tasted.  They were crisp on the outside, but soft and chewy inside with lots and lots of chocolate chips.  I poured myself a large glass of milk, took two of the cookies and went back out to the porch sinking deeply into the denim beanbag chair beside her. I watched Giselle as she painted, dabbing away at the colors, often picking up the small Polaroid and studying it before returning to the canvas.  A small dab here and the candlesticks on the mantle suddenly cast a soft glow behind our heads.  Another dab and a glint of light reflected off of Jean’s glasses.

I sat there and watched Giselle for a while. She had a habit of leaning forward on her toes, then drawing back on her heels. In and out she went, over and over until she suddenly stopped and glanced up at the clock.

“Oh mon Dieu,” she said as she hastily grabbed the canvas very carefully by the edges and tucked it in a closet.  “Jean will be home any minute.”

As we sat down to eat that night, Jean read the blue and white mimeographed sheet I had brought home several times.

“First of all,” she said, “we need to decide which book the project will be on.”

“I was thinking of Anne of Green Gables.”

“Yes, I suppose you could do that,” Jean said rubbing her chin, “but it would be interesting to do something a bit more…visual.”

Giselle twirled her spaghetti around in the homemade sauce and looked at Jean.  “Don’t you think it is best to let Etoile decide which book she will choose for her project?”

“Of course,” Jean said rereading the paper one more time, “but because it’s a diorama, it should have some visual interest. I thought perhaps…” but Jean saw the look Giselle was giving her and stopped.

“Perhaps what, Jean?” I asked as I reached for another slice of the homemade garlic bread, drenched in oil and garlic.

“I just thought it would be a lot of fun to do Nancy Drew.”

“Nancy Drew?” Giselle asked.  “What redeeming literary value does Nancy Drew have?”

Jean passed the paper over to her. “You misunderstand the assignment, Giselle.  The teacher isn’t looking for some great diatribe on literary value, she’s merely asking the students to visually convey what books they enjoy reading.  Very different, indeed,” Jean said as she picked up her spoon and twirled her spaghetti.

“Fine,” Giselle said, “but remember this is Etoile’s assignment, so she should make the decisions.”

“Of course she’ll make the decisions.  Now here’s what I was thinking…” Jean began.

***

That weekend, Jean carried an old wooden wine box outside and painted it all white with a can of spray paint.

“Here you go,” she said carrying it into the back porch once it had dried.  She set it atop a shelf for Giselle.

“Jean, I really think Etoile should be the one…”

“Come on, Giselle,” Jean pleaded.  “Just paint us the Stone Cottage with the red door.”

“But isn’t the title, “The Secret of the Red Gate Farm?”

“Yes, but that’s the whole point.  That’s the secret.  Not only will it be a diorama, it will have its own little mystery for the others to figure out.  A mystery within a mystery you see…”

Giselle shrugged and painted a picture of Stone Cottage with its red door on the inside of the box.  After it had dried, Jean and I worked on setting tiny clues within the picture. She dabbed a brush in red paint and very slowly painted over the gate to make it red.  She showed me how to sharpen a pencil and take the fine lead shavings leftover to dust a fingerprint and set that on the front door.

“I did not know you could make a fingerprint appear like this,” I said, watching over her shoulder.

“It’s a trick I learned growing up. Now here, we need to add the final touch.”

Jean took a small magnifying glass and hung it from the top of the diorama so that as it swung around, it magnified everything behind it.

Giselle watched her and shook her head.  “Etoile, you still have the written part to do, non?”

“Oui.”

“Then why don’t you go up to your room and work on that and do not let Jean do it for you.”

I started up the stairs. “And Etoile?” Giselle called.

“Yes?”

“Do a very good job on it, will you?  I do not think Jean could handle getting anything less than an A.”

***

Parent’s Night caused quite a bit of discussion between Jean and Giselle.

“Maybe it would be best if I didn’t go,” Jean said.

“Do not be silly, Jean.  You should be there.  Besides, you did all that work on the project…”

“I know, but I’m just thinking it might be awkward.”

“Awkward for who?” Giselle asked.  “For them or for you?”

“You know how it is, Giselle,” Jean replied.  “People can accept one of us being there, not both of us.”

“Then that is their problem.  Why don’t you ask Etoile if she would like you there?”

I was dreading this, because I was not so sure if I wanted them to both be there, but then I felt terrible thinking that Jean would not be there after all the help she had given me. In all the time I had been hanging out with Winnie Wickham, I spoke often of Giselle but rarely spoke of Jean.  I did not know why, really.  Somehow it just seemed easier that way.  I was hoping, though, that if Winnie’s parents were there, that they would let her come over and visit Stone Cottage during the summer.

“Etoile, would you like me to come to your Parent’s Night?”

“I guess.  Yes.” I said, but my stomach was already feeling a bit funny just thinking about it.

***

That night, we walked into Mrs. Spenser’s classroom and Jean immediately broke away to find my project. Giselle, who looked very pretty in her white sleeveless dress with the red geraniums on it, smiled at many people as we caught up with Jean, who bent down to read the note taped to its side with the grade posted on it.

“Hmm…,” Jean said tilting her head.

“What is it, Jean?” Giselle said bending down to read the note.  “I think a B+ is very admirable.”

“Hmm…,” Jean said again.  “I’m just curious as to why your teacher didn’t find it worthy of an A.”

My stomach took a little dive. Giselle turned to me and rolled her eyes.

“Come on, Etoile. Let’s go look at some of the other projects.”  Giselle smiled at many of the parents, mostly couples, who meandered around the room.  “Look,” Giselle said stopping in front of one of the more decorative dioramas. “This one is about Anne of Green Gables and it got an A+.  Let’s hope Jean doesn’t…”

“That’s mine,” Winnie said as she came up behind us with her mother.  Winnie’s mother was very pretty and shared the same wide smile, white blonde hair and light blue eyes.

I introduced them, saying “This is Giselle,” without any explanation.

“How do you do, Mrs. Toussaint,” Winnie’s mother said offering her hand.  “I’m Barbara Wickham.” Mrs. Wickham glanced quickly around the room.  My husband is around here somewhere.”

“It’s Giselle Simone,” Giselle said as she shook Mrs. Wickham’s hand. “Etoile is my cousin who lives with me.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Wickham said with a bit of surprise.

Giselle turned to Winnie and said, “You should be very proud, Winnie, for your project.  Etoile says you are an excellent student.”

Mrs. Wickham smiled and touched Giselle’s arm lightly.

“And Winnie speaks of Etoile all the time. What a lovely French name.”

“Thank you,” Giselle said. “Actually, I am very glad to meet you.  It appears the girls have become close friends.  We were hoping Winnie could come over this summer and visit.”

“The feeling is mutual.  Winnie comes home talking about Etoile all the time.” Mrs. Wickham stopped when Jean came up behind Giselle and stood there. Giselle smiled, turned and said, “And this is Jean Becker.”

“Barbara Wickham,” Mrs. Wickham said offering her hand.

“We were just trying to arrange for the girls to get together over the summer,” Giselle explained.

Winnie grabbed me by the arm and said, “Here comes Mrs. Spenser.” Introductions were made all around and Mrs. Spenser looked at Winnie and me and said, “These two young ladies have become thick as thieves.”

Mrs. Spenser asked, “Are you Dr. Jean Becker from the University?”

“Yes.”

“I believe my daughter is in your Women’s Studies class.”

An instant of recognition crossed Jean’s face when she said, “Dorothea Spenser?”

“That’s my Dottie,” Mrs. Spenser said and Winnie and I looked at each other with open mouths because we had no idea that Mrs. Spenser had children.

“She’s an excellent student,” Jean said.  “Very focused and insightful.  I’m enjoying having her in my class.”

“And she’s enjoying having you as a teacher,” Mrs. Spenser said kindly.  “In fact, she shared one of the articles you had written on the influence of gender in young adult literature with me just the other day.  Absolutely fascinating and very well written. I may apply some of your theories in my classroom next year.”

All this time, Mrs. Wickham was watching the exchange.

“I’m honored,” Jean replied. “And as a fellow teacher, I’m sure you’ll appreciate the constant need for self improvement and was wondering what Etoile could have done differently to have achieved a better grade,” Jean said as she drifted off with Mrs. Spenser towards my display.

Giselle rolled her eyes and leaned towards Mrs. Wickham and said very quietly, “Jean does not like to get less than an A.”

Mrs. Wickham smiled and said, “Nor does Mr. Wickham.  He worked for hours building the diorama for Winnie,” and the two women laughed.

“We really would love to have Winnie over,” Giselle tried again. “And you’re more than welcome to visit too, if you’d like.  We live at the Stone Cottage.”

“The Stone Cottage?” Mrs. Wickham asked.  “I’ve always loved that place.  It has such lovely gardens.”

“Etoile has been helping me with them everyday,” Giselle began.  “Of course we could weed the lilies everyday and there would still be more weeds, but the forsythia have already bloomed, so I am encouraged that we will have a good season.”

“Do you have hydrangeas?” Mrs. Wickham asked.  “I’ve been having the darndest time trying to get good blossoms from them,” she said.

“Do you know about sticking rusted nails in their beds?” Giselle asked as the two women drifted off discussing deadheading and compost recipes.

Winnie squeezed my arm.

“Look,” Winnie said pointing to my mood ring and its blue stone.  “It says you are calm and relaxed.”

“I guess I am!” I said with great relief and we both laughed.

Giselle wandered back over a short while later and gave me a small thumbs up.

“Really?” I asked. “Really,” she said.  “And Mrs. Wickham will come, too, to look at the gardens.”

“Thank you, Giselle,” I said giving her a hug.  “Thank you so much.”

She kissed the top of my head.  We both looked up to see Dale Batchelder, standing across the room beside his parents, staring at us.  Giselle broke off and headed straight towards them with a very intent stride.  I glanced anxiously around the room looking for Jean, but she was still talking to Mrs. Spenser, her head tilted to the side as it always was when she was deeply engrossed in something.

I followed Giselle.

“Hello Mrs. Batchelder,” Giselle said as she set her feet firmly in place and tossed her head back slightly.

Mrs. Batchelder was wearing a blue and white checked seersucker shirtdress that was buttoned all the way up to her throat.  I wondered if her dress collar was too tight because she looked very uncomfortable.

I had never met Dr. Batchelder before.  He was tall, but rather plump with thick, horn-rimmed glasses that made his brown eyes look very small.  He wore a white shirt and a dark-colored, very thin black tie that reminded me of what the men at Maman’s funeral who carried her casket, had worn.  He turned and his eyes held for just a second upon the v-neck of Giselle’s dress but he quickly shifted his gaze back to her face.

“Miss Simone,” Mrs. Batchelder said as if she were sucking on something very sour. She, too, glanced up and down very quickly at Giselle’s dress.  She did not offer her hand.  Realizing she had no choice, she forced a smile and said, “Have you ever met my husband, Dr. Batchelder?”

“I do not think so,” Giselle said as she extended her hand.

Mr. Batchelder’s gaze again shifted ever so briefly downward as he shook Giselle’s hand.

“This is Giselle Simone.  You know, Jean Becker’s…friend.”

“Ahhh,” he said making the connection, “and how is Jean these days?  I barely see her at the University.”

“You can ask her yourself,” Giselle said, “She is here.”

“How quaint,” Mrs. Batchelder began.

“I beg your pardon?” Giselle asked.

“I mean it’s just…interesting… for the two of you to be here on Parent’s Night.”

I was very relieved when Jean suddenly appeared by Giselle’s side.

“Evening Frank,” Jean said waving to Dr. Batchelder, “I hardly ever see you around campus anymore.”

“I was just saying the same thing, Jean.”

“Mrs. Batchelder,” Giselle said turning to Jean, “was also just saying that she thought it was… quaint… that we were here together on Parent’s Night and I was curious as to what she meant by that.”

Mrs. Batchelder immediately flushed, which seemed to give Giselle great satisfaction.

“Yes, well, it’s obvious the children have worked hard on their projects,” Mr. Batchelder said clearing his throat.

“I simply meant that it must be very awkward for you two be here when it’s clearly a night meant for mothers and fathers,” Mrs. Batchelder said, determined not to let Giselle get the upper hand.

“Perhaps it is awkward for other people who are less open-minded,” Giselle replied succinctly.

It was Jean’s turn to clear her throat as she said, “The students certainly have worked hard.”

“Yes, they certainly have,” Frank Batchelder said as he placed his hand on his wife’s back and tried to steer her away.

“Some people may feel it is not a matter of open-mindedness, but heeding God’s word,” Mrs. Batchelder threw back.

“Is this Dale’s project?” Jean asked as she grabbed Giselle by the arm and yanked her over.  We all looked at Dale’s diorama, a crudely drawn picture of a gargantuan shark emerging from the water, mouth gaped open displaying severe-looking teeth as it sat poised to chomp down on a small fishing boat.

“Nice job,” Jean said as she glanced over to see the “C” grade. Satisfied, she stood back up.

Giselle, whose hands were clenched in a tight ball, leaned over to look at the project, then spun around on her heels and said, “Yes, and it proves my point.”  She tossed her head back just as Maman would have and said, “It can be very dangerous to open your mouth” and walked off.

CHAPTER TWELVE

I had never had such a busy summer. Winnie and her mother came over the first time and Mrs. Wickham spent a great deal of time looking around the house, asking many questions about Giselle’s paintings before moving out to the gardens where the two women discussed ways to improve the quality of the soil to harvest the best crop of tomatoes and which varieties were the hardiest.  Before they left, Mrs. Wickham took Giselle’s hand and said, “I’m a little nervous, but very excited.  I can’t wait until next time.”

They came back the next week. Mrs. Wickham was wearing a very pretty red dress and had a great deal more makeup on. Giselle set a huge covered pitcher of lemonade and butterscotch cookies out on a bench and very sternly said, “Winnie’s mother and I want to talk in private.  You may not come back in until you are invited or unless someone is bleeding.”

“But Giselle,” I began to protest, but she shushed us away with her hand and went inside.  This went on several times when they visited and Winnie and I, who often took shelter under the cool shade of the crabapple trees, began to grow bored with playing outside.

“What do you think they’re doing?” Winnie asked.

“I do not know.”

“You don’t suppose…” Winnie began.

“Suppose what?” I asked.

“You know. That your cousin and my mother…like each other?”

“Of course they like each other,” I said.  “She would not be here if they did not like each other.”

“You’re such a spaz,” Winnie said.  “You know what I mean…that they really dig each other.”

I blinked several times.  “You are a spaz,” I said back. “Giselle is with Jean.”

“Then why do they kick us out of your pad each time?”

“I…I do not know but I am sure there is a reason.”

“Let’s find out,” Winnie said jumping up.

“Winnie!  Giselle said not to disturb them.”

“Don’t you want to know?” Winnie asked and I had to admit that I did want to know very badly what it was that they did for hours on end inside Stone Cottage.  “Come on,” Winnie said, “we’ll sneak under the windows.”

Before I could stop her, she took off back towards Stone Cottage.  We practically crawled on all fours as we slunk around the house, only popping our heads up enough to see what room they were in.  As we neared the back porch, we heard voices. Winnie, who was ahead of me, turned and I grabbed her by the foot to get her to stop.

“Right there,” I hear Giselle say.  “That is perfect.  That is exactly where I want it.”

My mouth began to feel very dry and I almost wanted to grab Winnie and yank her and drag her back, but she crawled towards me and gestured for me to peek in the window.

My stomach began to feel loose again, but I did raise myself up on my knees and look in.  There was Giselle, poised in front of a large canvas, painting a portrait of Mrs. Wickham, who sat on the old leather couch, her chin resting in her hand.

“That is very nice,” Giselle said.  “Hold it right there.  The shadows of the light really emphasize the lovely bone structure of your face.  George is a very lucky man.”

Mrs. Wickham smiled.  “I’m the one who is lucky, Giselle, to have found such a talented artist.  I do hope George will be surprised.  And you’re sure it will be done by Christmas?”

“Because we have such cooperative girls,” Giselle said, her voice getting louder, “it will be done well before then.  That is if…” she said throwing her head towards the window, “…they stay out of our hair and do not ruin the surprise.”

***

Several times, I was invited over to Winnie’s house.  Giselle did not stay other than to take me over and pick me back up because she said it gave her time to paint uninterrupted.

I met Winnie’s seventeen-year old sister, Melissa “Missie” Wickham, who had her hair styled just like Farrah’s with many layers blown out that bounced around as she spoke or when the wind stirred.  I was intrigued by her hair and wondered if I could ever get my hair to look like that, but knew there was no point given my curls got tighter and tighter the shorter it was cut.  Melissa made no effort to hide the fact that we were bothering her.

A few times, Winnie and I snuck into her room when she was out.  Her room was covered in posters of shirtless boys torn from the covers of Teen Beat Magazine. I could not help but gaze with some fascination at the pinned up, half-naked bodies of Davy Jones, Greg Brady, Keith Partridge and The Hardy Boys.  She had an entire drawer full of makeup and an impressive stack of LPs and cassettes including every Paul Simon album, The Beatles, The Bee Gees and Manfred Mann’s Earth Band. In one corner was a huge lava lamp that flowed upward in non-stop globs, and a big yellow smiley face beanbag chair.

Once I stayed over quite late when Missie came home from a date with a boy Winnie described as a “total spaz, but kind of cute in a Shaun Cassidy sort of way.”  We both waited expectantly at the top of the back stairs as Melissa snuck up wearing a red halter top and black hot pants.  She saw us, gave us a glare that clearly indicated she would hurt us both badly if we said anything, and tiptoed up to her room before coming back down in a short-sleeved sweater and knee-length skirt to say goodnight to her parents.  One day, when she was supposed to be keeping an eye on us while Mrs. Wickham was out picking up Mr. Wickham’s laundry, she retreated up to her room and reappeared wearing the tiniest, strapless bikini that barely covered her breasts, of which we were both quite envious, and proceeded to sunbathe in their backyard.

Most of the summer, I worked with Giselle in the garden weeding and picking the many fruits and vegetables she grew and preparing them for freezing or canning.  She would often bring a small portable radio with her out in the garden.  One day, we picked fresh strawberries to the sound of Abba’s, Dancing Queen and Giselle began to dance right there in amongst the rows of strawberries while she sang at the top of her lungs.  She was a good dancer, but not a very good singer, which made it all that much funnier.  I soon joined her and she grabbed my hand as KC & the Sunshine Band’s, I’m Your Boogie Man, came on.  She showed me some disco moves and we danced among the strawberries before collapsing down to the ground in laughter.  It wasn’t until Janis Ian’s At Seventeen came on that she grew very quiet and gazed absentmindedly out at the gardens.

Giselle also played the stereo while we shucked peapods, which was one of my favorite chores.  Giselle set out three large bowls, one filled with the pods, one for the peas and one for the empty shells.  We would race to see who could shuck them the fastest, sometimes sending peas skittering across the grooves of the old wooden table.  I would catch them and pop them in my mouth, their sweetness erupting as soon as I bit into them.  I never knew vegetables could taste that good.

But my favorite vegetable of all was the sweet corn she grew in the tall, open field near the bulb garden.  We shucked the husks into brown bags that were then added to the compost pile that Giselle turned so devoutly, every day.  It was with great fascination that I watched the pile of trash turn into a rich, dense black soil that she would soon return to the garden.

One night, I watched eagerly as Giselle boiled the first crop of early sweet corn in a large pot hung over the fireplace. She sliced fresh potatoes into very thin slices along with onion slices, butter and salt and wrapped them up tightly in tin foil and set them in the small openings of the fireplace. I took an ear of the golden corn and bathed it in melted butter, salt and pepper and using tiny little corn cob holders, bit into the hot cob.  Never had I tasted anything so good before. The melted butter dripped down my chin as my mouth bit into the crisp sweetness.  I ate three ears all by myself and barely touched the potatoes.

Jean had fewer classes to teach during the summer and often came home early.  She would settle into the chair in the back porch and read until it was time for dinner.  Sometimes I joined her when Giselle did not need my help.  Many evenings, Jean took me back to the University pool for a long swim and I would quickly fall asleep exhausted, but cooled off.

It was on a lazy morning in late July, the kind where the sun is already bright in the sky and its heat felt as soon as it has made its rise, that I was awakened by the sounds of people calling my name.

“Bon anniversaire, Etoile!” Giselle said as she sat down on the edge of my bed.

“Happy Birthday,” Jean said as she stood beside her.

“What?” I asked as I rubbed my sleepy eyes.

“You are twelve years old today, Cherie.  It is your birthday. Come on, we want to celebrate.”

In the midst of settling into all these new things, I had completely forgotten about my birthday.  It had been a long time since anyone had celebrated my birthday although last year, Anais had brought me home a paper bag from Madame Duvais’ filled with candy buttons, Turkish Taffy and Bottle Caps.

Giselle shook my knee.

“We have a surprise for you, Birthday Girl.  That is if you can drag your sleepy head out of bed.”

I looked over and Jean was grinning at me and tilted her head to the side.  I threw back the covers and followed them both down the stairs.  Giselle went behind me and kept her hand over my eyes the whole way down while Jean guided me from the front.

“You may open them now.”

There, in the middle of the living room, was the most beautiful bicycle I had ever seen.  It was a Schwinn StingRay, all purple with a long white banana seat with purple and green flowers on it, big monkey bars with a small silver bell and caps at the end that sprouted white fringe, and a white woven basket mounted in the front.  I stood at it and just stared.

“Do you like it?” Giselle asked.

For a moment I could not speak.

“I think she likes it,” I heard Jean say.

“Happy Birthday, Cherie,” Giselle said as she put her arm around me and squeezed me tight.  “You must promise to ride it very safely, okay?”

Jean leaned over and kissed the top of my head.  “Happy Birthday, Etoile.”

I kept staring at the shiny new bike and without realizing what was happening, I began to cry.  Jean glanced anxiously at Giselle, who drew me even closer as the tears slid down my cheeks.

“It is all right, Cherie.  It is okay to be happy and sad at the same time.  This is just the first part of your surprise.  The other one will take longer to get to you.”

“But I…”

“You what, Cherie?”

“I love it, but… I do not even know how to ride.”

I glanced anxiously at them both, afraid I had ruined everything.  Giselle put her arms on my shoulders.  “We wondered about that.  I tell you what.  If Jean can teach you how to swim, I think she can teach you how to ride a bike, non?”

I glanced at Jean and she came over and put her arm on my shoulder.  “I would be honored, Etoile.”

I nodded and looked back at the pretty lavender bike.

“When could we do that?” I asked anxiously.

“Today, if you’d like.”

“But don’t you have to go to work today, Jean?”

“I have the day off,” Jean said.

“But first,” Giselle interrupted, “you must eat a very good breakfast and then you may have your lessons.  You two will be on your own today for lunch and then we will have a special birthday dinner.”

“Where will you be for lunch?” I asked.

“Sshh… It is all part of your birthday surprise,” she said placing her finger on my lips.

I ate my breakfast of crepes, fresh blueberries and cream very quickly and ran back upstairs to get dressed and make my bed as fast as I could.  Jean had already carried the bike outside and had a wrench and a few other tools in her hand when I got back downstairs.  Giselle sat on the porch swing sipping her coffee as she watched us.

“Please be very careful,” she yelled.  “I do not want to have to bother Eppy today.”

Jean had me sit on the bike while she adjusted the seat height and the tilt of the monkey bars.  I wondered what all of the children from Cote Nouveau, many of whom did not have bicycles, would think if they could see me now.

“Jean, please do not let go of her.  She is new at this.”

“Giselle, don’t you have somewhere to go?” Jean called back.  Giselle scowled and waved her off.

“Etoile, you must listen to Jean’s instructions very carefully.”

“Giselle, aren’t there any dishes to clean?” Jean said as she turned and winked at me. Inside, the phone rang and we were both grateful when Giselle got up to go inside and answer it.

“Okay, Etoile, this is all very simple.  You’re bound to take a few spills once in a while, but if you start to tip over, which you will, just try and set your feet back on the ground.  No one ever died of a skinned knee and believe me, I’ve had my share so don’t worry about falling, okay?”

“Yes, Jean.”

I liked the way Jean always told me the facts straight out, as if she understood that I was old enough to handle the truth.

“I’m going to hold onto you so you get a sense for the bike’s balance and motion and the brakes. I won’t let you go, okay?”

“Yes, Jean.  Will you teach me that trick where you get off before the bike even stops?”

“How about we work on getting the bike to stop first?” Jean said laughing.

We pushed off and the bike moved much more quickly than I expected.  Jean, with her long legs, was able to keep up with it and held on as I wavered unsteadily back and forth.  I liked the way the plastic fringes flew in the wind as soon as the bike started moving.  I was distracted by them and did not see the hole coming up in front of us, even as Jean yelled, “Steer!”  The front wheel of the bike lurched into the hole and the back end veered abruptly as I tried to set my feet on the ground.  Jean, who had been running beside me, holding on, landed on the ground next to me.

She looked at me and laughed.  “Etoile, we try to steer around the holes, not head straight into them.”

I laughed back, dusted myself off and got back on.  A few minutes later, Giselle emerged from the house wearing a denim wrap skirt, a sleeveless gingham shirt and carrying her macramé purse.  Jean steered me back towards her. She looked at the patches of dirt stains on our clothes and shook her head.

“I do not want to know what happened.  Jean, you must promise me to have her spotless by the time I get back.”

“I will.”

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“I told you, it is part of your surprise.  I will be gone for a few hours and then we will get ready for supper.  You must be very careful, okay?  And do not go on the main road.  Jean she is not ready for that.”

“Yes, Giselle.”

“I love you,” Giselle said as she put her hand on Jean’s face and kissed her on the lips, “but I will kill you if she gets hurt.”  Turning to me, she said, “And that goes for you, too.” She kissed both of my cheeks.

As soon as the little green car was out of sight, Jean looked at me and said, “Come on, Etoile, let’s turn you into a rider.”

For some time, Jean ran beside me up and down the driveway holding onto the big metal frame on the back of the banana seat.  It took longer than expected for me to get my balance.

“Keep your head straight,” Jean said.  I could see the collar of her Eastern University t-shirt filling with sweat from running beside me.  We paused to catch our breath and I turned and realized we had gone all the way down the end of the driveway and were now down by the main road.

“The problem,” Jean said in her analytical tone, “is that the driveway is too rutty.  You’ll never gain confidence riding on that.”

“But Jean, you promised.”

“I promised not to let anything happen to you and I won’t.  What do you say, Etoile?”

“But if another car…”

“There are very few cars on this road.”

I shrugged and remounted the bike.  Jean pushed me off and we took off in the direction of the University.  Riding on this road was very different than the dirt driveway and the bicycle zoomed along.  I could hear Jean’s labored breath as she ran beside me.  I did not have to worry about steering around potholes and finally found my balance on the bike. I was going to tell that to Jean, but realized she was not beside me anymore and I was pedaling on my own.  I applied the brakes, stopped and turned the bike around by lifting it between my legs.  Jean was standing there, watching me and broke into applause as I rode back up towards her.

“Congratulations, Etoile,” she said.  “You’re not only a swimmer, but a bicyclist as well.  It’s a good thing the Olympics were last year.  That’ll give you three more years to train.”

“You let go of me, Jean.” I said riding up.

“Yes.”

“You said you would not.”

“It was very hard to do, but you were ready.  Sometimes, that’s the hardest thing to do.”

“What is?”

“Knowing exactly when to let go.”

She put her hand on the handlebars and said, “Come on, I’ll race you home.”

I was much better at steering now around the potholes in the driveway, or so I thought, until I was distracted by Jean running past me and hit one straight on.  The bike went one way and I went the other.  Jean abruptly stopped and came running back towards me.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I said dusting the dirt off my hands and knees and righting the bicycle.

“Then I guess I’ll still win!” Jean yelled as she took off again.  I mounted the bike as fast as I could and took off after her, but she did beat me back to the porch.  I put the brakes on and as soon as the bike slowed down, rang the bell for the first time.  It made the funniest, muffled “ching-ching” sound I’d ever heard.  I kept ringing it.

“I’ll have to get one of those for my bike,” Jean said laughing.  “Then all of my students will know when I’ve arrived on campus.”

Jean got out her ten-speed racing bike with its drop handlebars and toe-clip pedals and we went for a very slow ride together, me in front and Jean behind, down the road again. Jean made me stop when we came to a hill.

“Let’s turn back now,” she said.

“But Jean, do we have to?”

Jean looked towards the hill and shook her head.  “You’re not ready for the hill yet,” she said.  “It’s very steep coming down the other side.”

I reluctantly followed her home.  We washed our hands and Jean made us both cheese and ham sandwiches which were okay, but not as good as Giselle would have made them.  We read Nancy Drew together in the back porch for a bit before Jean glanced at her watch and said, “I think you need to go take a bath.  Giselle wants you nice and clean for supper.”

“For what, Jean?” I asked, but Jean just shook her head and laughed.

“You won’t get it out of me, Kiddo. Up you go and don’t come back down unless you’re squeaky, shiny clean.”

I could not imagine what all the fuss was about but I took extra care in washing my hair and making sure the tangles were all out, although since Giselle had been cutting my hair, it rarely tangled.  Emerging from the tub, I opened my closet and took out a patchwork skirt of green and orange and an orange knit shirt and put it on.  I paused at the mirror and realized that I did look older.  My face was beginning to fill out a little and my flat breasts were no longer as flat as they used to be.  The training bra that Giselle had bought me one day was so uncomfortable at first, but I had grown used to it.  Jean’s breasts were so flat; she rarely wore a bra and mostly wore a t-shirt or tank top under her clothes, unlike Giselle whose breasts were quite full.  I was not so sure about having breasts or if I wanted them to grow anymore.

I looked over and saw Giselle standing in the doorway, smiling at me.

“You look very nice,” she said as she came towards me.

“You are back.”

“Yes and your surprise is downstairs.  Come along.”

Once again, Giselle covered my eyes as Jean led me forward.  This time, they guided me towards the kitchen and it was not until I was through the doorway, that Giselle took her hands away from my eyes.

“Anais!” I yelled as I ran towards my sister who was seated on a chair at the old wooden table.  Anais stood up and I was almost to her when I stopped abruptly and stared down at her swollen belly.

“Come on, Silly,” she said holding her arms out to me, “it is just a baby.”

I slowed down and very gently hugged her.  She squeezed me, and then let me go and we both stared at each other for several seconds, taking the changes in.  Her face was much fuller, her cheeks even a little puffy.  I had never known Anais to be heavy but clearly she had gained quite a bit of weight.  Her eyes had dark circles underneath them and her hair was much longer than before, well past her shoulders.  She had it pulled back in a red bandana.

She seemed to be taking my changed appearance in as much as I was hers.  She touched my shortened hair and made the curls bounce.  She shook her head and said, “You and Giselle look alike with your hair like that.”

Giselle came over and put her arm around me.  “Well we are all related, so why not?”

“But I do not understand,” I began, “I did not think you could get away…”

“I wrote to Mother Superior and explained to her that it was your birthday and that I would take personal responsibility for Anais while she visited,” Giselle explained.  “I assured them we were all family, so they gave her a special reprieve, but Anais must take the train back tomorrow.  She will spend the night with us to help us celebrate your special day and I will take her back to the station in the morning.  Etoile, why don’t you take Anais upstairs and show her around while Jean and I get dinner ready?  Make sure you show her where the bathroom is.”

Anais rubbed her belly. “Yes, that is important these days,” she said as she followed me up the stairs.  I could not help but stare at how slowly she moved, her hand clutching the railing as she went up.

“Anais,” I said as soon as she was in my room.  “I do not understand.  You are having a baby?”

“Oui.”

“But how? How did you get a baby?”

“Who is this?” Anais said ignoring my question as she picked up the picture of Giselle’s grandmother.

“That is Giselle’s Meme, Josette Simone.”

Anais studied the picture for several seconds before placing it back down on the dresser.  She sat down on the edge of the bed and bending awkwardly over her large belly, took off her shoes.

“The Sisters do not let us go barefoot except when we are in our beds,” she said. She let out a satisfactory sigh at getting them both off.

“I do not think Giselle or Jean will mind. Giselle goes barefoot all the time.”

“You should have seen Sister Frances checking her out when she came to pick me up. Aimee Marceau and I know Sister is really une gouine.”

“Anais!” I said lowering my voice.  “Please do not say that here.”

Anais shook her head.  “Maman would flip if she knew one of her own…”

“They are very kind to me.”

“Still, you need to be careful.”

“Of what?”

Anais glanced anxiously towards the door.  “Believe me, Etoile.  Whenever we are around Sister Frances, we are on guard.”

“It is not like that here.”

Anais turned towards the picture of Madame Duvais’ shop hanging on the wall across from my bed.  She walked towards it and studied it for several seconds before moving back.

“Giselle painted it.  She is a very good artist,” I explained.

“She is not that good,” Anais said.

“What do you mean?”

Anais turned away from the painting.  “She forgot Le Gateau.”

I stared at the painting and realized, for the first time, that she was right. Le Gateau should have been directly across the street from Madame Duvais’ market, but Monsieur Lamont’s dry cleaning shop was there instead.

***

Anais plunked herself down in a kitchen chair as she watched the elaborate preparations for supper. Giselle made my favorite, pizza.  Several times, I caught Anais watching Jean and I was pretty certain Jean was aware of Anais staring at her because she seemed particularly quiet that night.

Giselle brought the pizzas to the candlelit table along with a large bowl of fresh salad from the garden.  One pizza had fresh peppers, tomatoes and big slices of cheese melted on top.  Another had ham and onion, which was my favorite.  As Giselle sat down, I saw Anais fold her hands in her lap and look at all of us expectantly.  Giselle cast a glance towards Jean, then looked back at Anais and nodded her head.

“Did you want to say Grace, Anais?” she asked.

It had been years since I had said Grace before a meal.  Jean, who was not even Catholic, folded her hands in front of her lap and put her head down while we all crossed ourselves and said Grace out loud.

Giselle smiled.  “Well then, I suppose the food will be extra good tonight,” she said as she passed out slices.

Anais seemed to like the square pizza very much and ate three slices and drank two glasses of milk before pushing her chair back from the table and rubbing her swollen belly.

“Thank you,” she said.  “That was very good, but Sister Frances would probably say I had just committed the sin of gluttony.”

“Do you feel as if you have just committed a sin?” Giselle asked, her brown eyes peering at her.

“It was very good.”

“Then you could not have sinned if you enjoyed it that much.”

“Sister Frances says it is a sin to enjoy anything so much.”

“Sister Frances sounds like someone of great conviction,” Jean said sipping a glass of wine.

“Sister Frances sounds like a miserable woman,” Giselle announced.

“I think she probably is,” Anais responded.  “She’s just a frustrated old…”

I threw her a sharp glance, but she deliberately turned away from me and looked at Jean when she said, “nun.”

“Etoile says you have made a good friend there,” Giselle said.

“Yes.  Aimee Marceau.  Her people are from Cote Nouveau.  Do you know them?”

Giselle considered the name.  “I do remember a Pierre Marceau in my class at one point.”

“I think that is her cousin!”

“He was very handsome.  We went to many dances together.”

“You… you went with a boy?” Anais asked.

“Of course.  I think he is married now.”

Anais considered this for several seconds before adding, “I do not know how I would have survived Sister Frances without Aimee.  She is brilliant.  Well, perhaps a little naughty, but they take themselves so seriously and she does not.”

“No one should take themselves so seriously,” Giselle agreed.

“Perhaps what you’re interpreting as being serious is actually being devout,” Jean offered, causing Anais to frown.

“Either way, they are no fun and Aimee makes it fun.  Did I tell you about the time we snuck out late at night and caught a bunch of crickets?”

Giselle smiled.  “No, you did not.”

“Sister Frances insists that all prayer time be silent.  The only sound she will tolerate is the clicking of the rosaries, so one day, when we were headed over for morning Mass, Aimee took the paper bag filled with the crickets and dropped it unnoticed on a pew as she passed by.  She made sure the mouth of the bag was wide open.  You should have heard the squeals and screams of all the girls once the crickets started to make their escape.  Of course, Sister Frances immediately blamed Aimee and made her get on her knees for three days and catch each one.  I helped her.  We never did confess, but I do not see the point of confessing if God knows everything.”

Giselle threw back her head and laughed at the story.  Jean tilted her head and did not react, but I could tell that she was thankful that this Aimee Marceau was not one of her students.

“My only regret is that she will have the baby in a month and then return to her regular school, but we have promised to stay in touch even if she is a grade ahead of me.”

“What happens to the babies?” I asked Anais.  She was just about to eat a big spoonful of Giselle’s ice cream when she paused, her hand at her mouth and lowered it for a second before responding.

“The babies are given to the Church to be adopted by good families who can give them what they deserve.”

I knew very little about having babies, but I could not imagine handing a baby over to someone else.

“Do they ever get to see the babies after that?” I asked.

Anais shoved the spoon in her mouth.  “Non,” she said. “It is God’s will that they go to good Catholic families who can raise them as they should be raised.”

Giselle began to say something, but clenched her mouth tightly and sipped at her wine.

“This ice cream is very good,” Anais said.  “What flavor is it?”

“Apple pie.  I had some leftover pie and mixed it in.”

“It is very good.  Better than Le Gateau’s,” Anais said and I watched as Giselle glanced up sharply at her.  For several seconds, they stared at each other until Anais finally turned her head away and shoved another spoonful in her mouth.

***

I waited until Anais had gone back upstairs to use the bathroom before going to Giselle and throwing my arms around her.

“Thank you so much, Giselle, for my wonderful birthday surprises.”

“You are welcome, Cherie, but much of this was Jean’s idea.”

“Thank you, Jean,” I said as I went over and hugged her tall frame.  As I was hugging Jean, I glanced up and saw Anais watching us from the top of the stairs.  Jean saw her too, and quickly pulled away and began gathering the dirty dishes.

Later on, Giselle tucked both Anais and I into my small bed.

“Another few months and I do not think you would fit,” she teased Anais.

“Another few months and I hope to be able to fit into anything again.”

“Is that when you will have the baby, Anais?” I asked.

“Oui.”

“Get some rest, Girls.  Bonne nuit, Cherie,” Giselle said as she hugged me and kissed me on both cheeks.  “Good night, Anais.”

“She is nice,” Anais said as soon as Giselle walked out, “but I do not trust the tall one.”

“Jean is very nice, too.  We are all family.”

“They are not your family, Etoile.”

“But they take care of me like family. Better than…” I began to say but stopped.  I saw her studying me, but she said nothing.

“Anais?”

“Oui?”

“Are you still in trouble with the police?”

Anais laid on her back, her large belly protruding from underneath the sheets, and looked at the picture of Josette Simone on my dresser.

“Not anymore.  Not since…”

“Not since what?”

“Not since they figured out what really happened that day.”

I turned on my side and looked at her.

“What happened that day, Anais?  I would like to know.”

Anais rolled over on her side and snugged her back against mine.  “I am too tired to talk right now,” she said.  “Perhaps another time.”

“But Anais!” I protested.  Her breathing quickly grew very deep and I knew she was asleep.

It was some time before I fell asleep.  I lay quietly watching Anais’ chest rise and fall with each breath.  Her long brown hair cascaded across the pillow just like Maman’s.  It felt strange for her to be there and I felt a momentary twang of guilt over the fact that we had both changed so much, as if our lives had, in just a short few months, grown very separate.

I listened to the sounds of the peepers in the vernal pond that emptied at the end of the small stream, and the crickets calling for each other.  A light breeze drifted through the open window and in the moonlight, I watched the soft tendrils of Anais’s hair flutter against it.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I woke up the next morning to find Anais gone from my bed.  Panicked, I threw on my slippers and ran down the stairs.  Surely she would not have left without saying goodbye.  I got to the bottom of the stairs and was relieved to hear soft voices coming from the kitchen.  I almost barged in, but as I got closer, I saw Anais and Giselle seated across from each other and stopped.  Their hands were both clasped tightly around their coffee cups, their heads lowered, almost as if in prayer, so I stopped and waited. I crept closer to the entrance of the kitchen and listened.

***

“She kept her stash of money under the mattress,” Anais said. “I found it one day and realized that is how she always had money for her wine.  Madame Duvais would not sell it to her anymore but there were others who would, and Maman knew exactly who to ask and how to get them to buy it for her.”

“I had split from school early that day.  What was the point?  I did not care about what they were teaching me anyway.  She was lying alone in her bed when I got there, breathing very deeply.  I nudged her several times to make sure she would not wake up.  When she did not stir, I reached under the mattress and grabbed as much of it as I could because we had no food.”

“She had caught me stealing from her before, but then again, she knew I knew how she got the money in the first place.  She was still sound asleep when I grabbed the money, but when I turned, he was standing there in the doorway, just looking at me.  I did not even realize he was in the apartment.”

Anais paused and rubbed the back of her hand on her face. Giselle leaned forward and touched her arm.  Anais did not pull back.

“I could see in his eyes what his intentions were as he narrowed them on me. Oh, those eyes… Eyes that are empty and full at the same time…”

“I remember,” Giselle said quietly.

“He squinted them and said, “Do you always steal from your mother?”  I did not know what to say.  Then he gestured to the door and said, “Where is your room?”

Giselle shut her eyes and bit her lower lip.

“It happened very quickly.  He got up afterwards and went to go out through the back door of the kitchen, but she was sitting there, smoking her cigarette and clutching a glass of wine.  She saw me fumble at the buttons on my blouse and her eyes grew very wide.  They would go almost black when she got upset.  She looked at both of us for several minutes before things began to register.  She kept looking from me to him and then her hands began to shake terribly.  I tried to step away from her, but she knocked the glass over and lunged towards me, wrapping her hands around my throat.  Even though she was shaky, she was still very strong.  I waited for him to do something, but he did not.  I tried to get her arms unclasped, but she was strong with rage and just kept squeezing.”

Giselle took Anais’ hand in hers and held it for a moment.  Giselle looked as if she was about to cry.

“Finally, I saw him step behind her and he was able to pry her hands off of my throat.  I suppose, for that one small gesture, I should be grateful.  As soon as I was clear of her hands on my throat, I stepped back, hoping to make it to the back door.  The kitchen window was open as it often was.  My hands were shaking as I tried to get the door open but the latch had broken months ago and was very difficult to undo.  I glanced over my shoulder because I thought he was holding her, but he had let her go.  She came running towards me.  I stepped towards the window thinking she would keep going towards the door.  Just before she reached me, I flattened my body up against the cabinets.”

“Perhaps her foot caught the leg of the table or perhaps she was just too off balance, but I saw her, almost in slow motion, as she began to stumble forward.  The distance between her and the window narrowed and I watched the look on her face as she passed inches from me, the blackness of her eyes, the hatred in them.  I did not reach for her.  She was still running forward, stumbling. I do not think she ever even realized what was happening until she was actually out the window.”

“We stood in the kitchen, he and I, waiting for a sound, but there was none.  No scream, no cry, no loud thump as she hit the ground.  It was silent.  Everything had grown very silent.  We looked at each other and he put his finger to his lips and came towards me again.  I backed as far away and he seemed to realize this was big trouble, so he made me swear not to tell anyone and left by the front door.  I sat down at the table and smoked a cigarette.  Monsieur Dumont found her in the alley minutes later.”

Anais stopped and Giselle leaned forward and touched Anais’ hair.

“At first, they did not believe me.  They suggested all kinds of things and for three days, made me repeat the story over and over.  He was well known in town.  He gave to their charities.  They had no reason to doubt his word, but every reason to doubt mine when they found out I had been with others.  I did what I had to do for me and for Etoile.  Finally, enough people came forward to say they remembered the Closed sign on the window because it was so unusual.  Then, they came back to the apartment and took away my bedclothes.  They said they would run some tests and finally confronted him.

But it was Madame Duvais who told the police that she specifically remembered going to his shop to get more bread and finding him in it, scrubbing his hands and acting very nervous.  He tried to burn his clothes in the brick oven, but they found them too and got to them before he could.  Otherwise, I would be in jail.”

“I am so sorry, Anais,” Giselle finally said.  “He should have been stopped years ago.  I tried to tell them too, but my mother refused to believe me.”

“I figured that when I saw the painting.  You would not have left Le Gateau out unless there was a reason.”

“I could not bear to give permanence to something so vile.”

“He is the one in jail now.”

“Thank God for that.”

“Many have come forward since.  He will be there for a long time.”

Giselle nodded.  “You were very brave, Anais.”

Anais put her head down and her shoulders began to shake.  Giselle pulled her close and nuzzled her head in her hair.

“It is all right, Cherie,” she said.  “It is all over now.”

***

I thought of Monsieur Segal and all of his questions and how strongly Giselle had reacted when I had first mentioned his name.  Then, I remembered racing from the school to the apartment building that day and there being a closed sign on his shop and how for just a second, it crossed my mind that I had never seen Le Gateau closed in the middle of the day.

I stood there motionless, trying to take it all in.  It felt like the times when the wind blew so strong that it knocked the power out and we would all suddenly be aware of how very quiet the house was.  It was the absence, not the presence of something that sharpened everything, yet of what I did not know.

I retreated back upstairs to my room and climbed back in my bed.  I waited until Giselle came up and shook me, calling “Wake up Sleepy Head,” because I did not ever want her to know that I knew.

Anais’ eyes looked puffy and she quickly looked away from me.

“We will have a good breakfast then we must drop Anais back at the train station.”

“May I come?”

“Of course.”

Giselle let me have Cap’N Crunch cereal while she made Anais a large egg omelet. Anais finished off the eggs, the toast, the ham and drank all the orange juice.

The train station was about an hour away.  We arrived a few minutes before the train and sat in the waiting room with Anais, who carried a small bag with her.

“Jean was sorry she could not come to say goodbye, but she has classes this morning.  She asked me to wish you good luck.”

“Thank you.”

“You must let us know everything going on and keep us posted on Sister Frances.”

“It will not be the same without Aimee,” Anais said, “but she swears she will not go without a bang.”

Giselle laughed.  “Then we will most certainly look forward to hearing everything.”

Anais slid her bag off her shoulder and said, “I almost forgot.”  She unzipped the top and took out a small, flat box wrapped in yellow paper with bright orange flowers on it and handed it to me.  “Happy Birthday, Etoile.”  I took the box from her and opened it up.  Inside was a very old silver picture frame just the right size to fit the picture of Josette Simone.

“Thank you, Anais, but how did you know?”

“Giselle gave me the idea,” Anais explained.

“It will fit perfectly, I’m sure.”  I hugged Anais just as the train was called.

Anais stopped and faced Giselle, who touched her hair and said, “Soin de prise de vous-même.  Take care of yourself, Cherie.  If you need anything, all you have to do is ask.”

“Merci.”

Giselle pulled Anais towards her and kissed her lightly on both cheeks.  We watched her walk very slowly towards the train, never looking back.  Giselle slipped her arm around my shoulder and I knew it would be a long time before I saw my sister again.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

One Sunday morning, while Giselle was busy cleaning the leftovers from one of their Saturday night gatherings, I begged Jean to take me for a bike ride.  We rode down the main road towards the big hill when Jean abruptly stopped and said, “Let’s turn back now.”

“But Jean…”

“It’s a lot steeper than it looks, Etoile.”

“But you do it, Jean.”

“I have ten speeds on my bike, Etoile.  I can downshift and use my handbrakes.”

“But I have brakes, too, Jean.  Please!  We can go very slow and if it is too steep, we can dismount and walk down.  Please, Jean!”

“I don’t know…”

“Come on, Jean, last one down is a rotten egg!” I said racing past her.

“Etoile!” I heard her yell, but I was already ahead of her.  The trees seemed to fly past me.  It was exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time as things blurred past.  I heard Jean call my name and soon she was behind me.

“Slow down, Etoile,” she called, but the ground became steeper and steeper.  My feet began to slip off the pedals.

“Slow down! Use your brakes!” Jean called again, but I could not get my feet secured on the pedals to apply the brakes. The trees became a blur as I suddenly felt the front wheel hit something and lurch to the side.  My whole body seemed to shift to the right as one foot hit the ground momentarily and the bike began to spin out from underneath me.  I tried desperately to get my feet down, but I was going much too fast and I went one way hitting the ground hard with my knee, while the bike went another.  I lay there dazed for several seconds, only aware of a flame of pain that shot through my right knee like a hot poker was being held against it. I closed my eyes against the pain and clutched at it.

Jean skidded her bike out on the back wheels sending a cloud of dust my way.  I covered my eyes against it as she ran towards me.

“Etoile, Etoile!” she said kneeling down beside me.  “Are you alright?”

“Je suis si désolé. Je ne pourrais pas m'arrêter.”

“In English!” Jean said, but I did not hear her until she took me by the shoulder and gave me a shake. “En Anglais, please!”

I stopped and nodded and caught my breath. “I am so sorry, Jean.  I could not stop.”

Jean very gently touched my knee, which was bleeding and covered in dirt.  “Can you bend it at all?” she asked.

I slowly brought my knee up.  It was painful, but I could bend it.

“Good.  That’s a very good sign.”

I looked back at my bicycle with its twisted handlebars.

“Don’t worry about the bike, Etoile,” Jean said.  “We can always repair it,” but I was not so sure it could be repaired.

Jean placed her hands under my arms and lifted me up. I tried to stand and bare weight on the knee, but it gave way.

“It’s swelling,” Jean said.  “We need to get you home and get ice on it as soon as possible.”

“I think I can walk,” I said, but as I tried to take a step, the knee gave out.

Jean looked around and scratched her head.  “We need to get you back home.”

“But how, Jean?”

“I’ll push you on my bike,” she said.

“But the hill,” I said.  “You cannot push me all the way back up the hill?”

Jean looked at the steep hill.

“I see your point.”  She glanced up and down and said, “Etoile, have you ever had a piggy-back ride?”

Jean hid our bikes in the trees and kneeled all the way down on one knee while I climbed aboard her shoulders.  Jean was very careful not to touch my right knee as she very slowly stood up.  I could not believe how high up I was.

“Are you okay up there?” she asked.

“I am taller than you, Jean.”

“How’s the pain?”

I was too busy looking at everything from so high up to think about it.

“It is okay.”

“Then we’re off.”

If Jean was bothered at all carrying my weight, she did not say so, though I could see drops of sweat forming at the back of her neck as we went up the hill. Once we reached the crest, Jean quickened her pace.

“How are you doing?” she called.

“I am fine, Jean.  How are you?”

Jean laughed and patted my foot.  “You gave me quite a scare, you know.”

“I am sorry.”

“It’s okay, Etoile.  As long as you’re alright, it’s okay, though I doubt Giselle will think so.”

Giselle was crouched down weeding a patch of iris when she glanced over and saw us coming up the road.  At first, she smiled and waved, then she must have spotted my knee, because she suddenly threw down her trowel and came running towards us at full speed.

“Oh mon Dieu! What happened?”

“She slipped a little on the hill.”

“The hill!” Giselle said looking up at me. “What in heaven’s name were you doing on the hill?”

“I was with Jean,” I answered.

Jean carried me all the way into the house and up into my bed.

“Call Eppy,” Giselle said. “See if she can come over right away.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary, Giselle,” Jean began.  “It’s just bruised.”

“Call Eppy, I said!” Giselle demanded.

“But Giselle…”

Giselle spun around.  “Fine, if you will not call her, then I will,” she said as she stormed out of the room.  Jean looked at me with raised eyebrows.

“Are we in trouble?” I asked.

“Not you, me.”

“But you did not do anything wrong, Jean.”

***

Eppy arrived an hour later.

“Well, well, where’s the little Evil Kneivel?” she asked as she came in carrying a wide black bag.  “You didn’t hurt the hill, did you?” she asked as she set the bag down beside me and opened it up.

Giselle and Jean stood behind her.  Jean went to touch Giselle’s arm, but Giselle pulled away.

“I do not think so, Eppy.”

“Good,” Eppy laughed.  She very carefully lifted my knee and rotated it around.

“Does that hurt?” she asked.

“No, just on top where it is scraped.”

“How about that?” she asked bending it towards my chest.

“No.”

She took out a bandage and dabbed at the surface.  “You have a little gravel in there,” she said.  “I’m going to pull it out with these tweezers so it doesn’t get infected.”

“Oh, Eppy,” Giselle said coming forward, “won’t it just work its way out on its own?  Is that absolutely necessary?”

Eppy threw back her head and laughed. “Oh no! Here we go again, Etoile.  You had better take Giselle’s hand and squeeze it very tightly.”

Giselle sat on the edge of the bed and I took her hand.  She looked very pale.  Jean came down and sat on the other edge and squeezed my other hand.  A few times, it stung quite a bit as Eppy pulled several pieces of gravel and dirt out and I was glad to be holding their hands, but I thought Giselle was going to be sick at one point.  She shut her eyes and shook her head.

“Hang in there, Giselle,” Eppy said.  “Etoile is being very brave and we’re almost done.”

Finally, Eppy laid a towel beneath my knee and poured a rinse over it.  That stung more than anything and I could not help but squeeze their hands very tightly while I squirmed, though I tried to squeeze harder on Jean than Giselle.

“Sorry, Tootsie,” Eppy said.  “That’s the worst part.  We’re almost done.  I’ll just wrap it up now and it will have to be changed each day for a few days.  She’ll be fine. Nothing is broken, just bruised and scraped and some swelling which will go down after a few days.”

Giselle wiped her hand across the back of her neck.

“Are you okay?” Jean asked touching her arm.

“Excuse me a minute,” she said as she went to the bathroom.

“Poor Giselle,” Eppy said.  “She wouldn’t make a very good nurse, now would she?” she asked smiling.

“But she makes a good mother,” I said.

***

That night, Giselle brought me dinner in bed on a tray with a small vase of flowers and a bowl of creamy potato soup with sausage, bacon, kale and onions in it.  Then she brought me an extra-large bowl of chocolate chip ice cream for dessert.

I was so tired from all that had happened that soon after I finished the last spoonful of ice cream, I drifted off to sleep.

I was awakened some time later by raised voices coming from down the hallway.

***

“She was not ready for the hill, Jean,” I heard Giselle say.  “What were you thinking?”

“She was doing fine up until then.”

“You should have known better.”

“Giselle…”

“Honestly, Jean, she could have been killed.”

“Giselle…”

“I promised her that she would not get hurt when she got here, Jean.  I promised her that.”

“You should have promised her that no one would hurt her.  There’s a big difference.”

“Not to a child.”

“Of course to a child, Giselle.  Falling off a bike and bruising a knee is part of life.  She’ll recover from this and she’ll be fine.”

“I cannot bear for her to be hurt with all she went through,” Giselle said and then I heard her cry softly.

“Come here,” Jean said.

Giselle’s cries quickly became muffled.

“I don’t ever want her to get hurt,” Giselle whispered.

“I know,” Jean said.  “I know.”

***

The next morning, Jean came into my room before going to work.

“Good morning, Etoile,” she said smiling.  I put my arms out to her and she came over and gave me a hug.

“Thank you for taking care of me yesterday, Jean,” I said.  Jean drew back and looked at me.

“You’re very welcome, Etoile.”

“I am sorry if I got you in trouble with Giselle.”

“You didn’t…” Jean began to say, but she cocked her head to the side and studied me for a second.  “We worked it all out last night.”

Planting a kiss on the top of my head, she said, “Do you think you can manage the stairs this morning?”

“Oh yes.”

I started to get up, and then had an idea.

“Jean?”

“Yes?”

“Can you give me one more piggy-back ride?  Just down the stairs?”

Jean laughed and crouched down as I hopped aboard her back.

***

Giselle was standing in the kitchen cooking breakfast in a very pretty off-white bathrobe with cranberry flowers laced through it when we came down the stairs.  She smiled.

“Well, look at you two.  Jean will not be able to carry you around forever, you know,” she said as I climbed off of Jean’s back and slid into the kitchen chair.

“And how is your knee this morning?”

I tested it.  It was sore and swollen and very bruised.  “It is getting better,” I said.

“Good. We will take it slow anyway.  First we will eat breakfast…”

“I know,” I said interrupting her, “The French way.”

She laughed.  “Oui.  You have learned well.”

Jean touched Giselle on the sleeve.  “I need to get in early for a faculty meeting.”

Turning to me, Jean said, “Etoile, be extra careful with that knee today,” as she ruffled the top of my head.

Giselle reached for Jean’s sleeve and drew her close.  “Jean,” she said quietly, “I am sorry.”  She leaned forward and kissed Jean on the mouth.

***

Giselle and I were in the kitchen. She turned to get a glass for me and stopped.  She reached into her apron pocket and withdrew a letter.

“I almost forgot,” she said, “This is from Anais.”

I grabbed the letter and tore it open.

“Dear Etoile,”

How are you?  Before I forget to say this, please thank Giselle and her friend for sending the money.  It has come in quite handy now that I am no longer with the Sisters of Mercy.

It is a long story and has much to do with Aimee Marceau.  You do remember me telling you when I came and visited that Aimee would not leave without a bang?  Well, she certainly did and it has caused us both to be expelled from the Sisters of Mercy.

The girls who are very close to having their babies are taken during the day to a special class where the nuns instruct us on what to expect.  Of course, it was our luck to have Sister Frances for this class.  She derived much pleasure in telling us we would experience great pain and that we should welcome that because God wanted us to learn from our sins by suffering.  She also made the point that no Sister would ever have to suffer that kind of pain because they were ‘pure of carnal knowledge.’ I should probably not write that, but if you have any questions about it, ask your cousin.  Anyway, some of the girls were quite frightened to the point of being sick and this made Aimee very, very angry and she vowed to get revenge.  Aimee said we already sinned enough to be damned, so why not go all the way?

Aimee made it her point to ask many detailed questions about bodily functions and parts during these classes because it was fun watching Sister Frances turn red.  She looks like a matchstick when her face gets bright red against her black and white habit.

Aimee learned how to concoct this thing from the same boy that got her in trouble. He was also expelled from his school after setting it off.  I will not go into much detail for fear you will foolishly try it yourself, but it involves a chemical found in a cleaning product and tin foil.  I do not understand the science behind it, but I can assure you, it most certainly makes a huge bang when shaken up in a closed container.  Our first task was to secure the ingredients.  That was easy.  Finding a suitable container that would not shatter and send shards of glass everywhere was far more difficult because we are not allowed to drink soda of any kind.  However, Aimee has many connections and one of the girls, whose parents still allow her to visit on the weekends, brought back a big plastic soda bottle and we knew we were on a roll.

Aimee had the brilliant idea of adding flour to the mix at the last minute, though we were not sure if that would somehow interact with the other chemicals.  We skipped classes that morning, our intention being to set it off in the school courtyard just before lunch.  It was never our intention to actually set it off inside the school, but circumstances were that we were caught sneaking through the auditorium which also serves as our gymnasium, by none other than Sister Frances herself, just after we had placed the ingredients inside the bottle and capped it off.

Aimee and I tried desperately to hide the bottle and knew it was not meant to go off inside a building, but Sister Frances stood there berating us about what sinful girls we were and how she had ‘prayed long into the night for our souls.’ Aimee says Sister Frances probably does something else long into the night, but I should not say that.

Sister Frances insisted on seeing what it was we had behind our backs.  Of course, she thought we were sneaking a bottle of soda, which in Sister Frances’ mind is a sin, in and of itself.  We are allowed very little sweet things, sugar apparently being next to the Devil.

Aimee reluctantly withdrew her hand and showed Sister Frances what she had.  It is my word against Sister Frances’ but I will swear to you, Etoile, that we tried to warn her not to shake or move the bottle but she was quite insistent that we were trying to make a fool of her.  I do not think she realized how serious it was until she heard the fizzing sound and saw the sides of the bottle begin to puff up and we both began to yell and scream at her to throw it away.  Aimee and I were both pretty amazed at how far Sister Frances could throw.  Aimee says it is because she is une gouine and they have strong arms, no offense to your cousin.

She launched it, but it was in an enclosed room and within seconds there was a huge bang as the contents began to fly through the air.  Sister Frances began to scream as the white flour cloud drifted towards her.  I looked over and saw Aimee doubled up.  At first, I thought she was going to drop the baby right then and there until I realized that she was doubled up laughing at the little black and white nun whose face was bright red underneath, and now completely covered in white powder.  For as long as I live, I will never forget that sight.

It took hours for the flour to settle enough for them to clean it up. Sister Frances, whose thick glasses could have used little windshield wipers, dragged us over to the rectory but Father Thomas was gone for the night, called away because of an unexpected death.  That made her even angrier, so she dragged us back to her own office where she began to tell us for the next hour, that we were both going straight to hell and that we were not worthy of God’s presence.  Aimee told her that she would probably know more people in hell than in heaven, so that was okay with her, which made Sister Frances even madder. At one point, Sister Frances raised her arm and I thought for certain she would strike us both when Aimee suddenly doubled up again.  I could not imagine her laughing at such a moment until I realized that this time she was doubled up because she was going to have the baby.  Sister Frances came over very cautiously, her habit still coated in a white powdery dust and just as she got near her, Aimee’s water broke.  That means that the liquid the baby is in spills out.  You can ask your cousin to explain that more, but it was pretty funny to watch the horrified look on Sister Frances’ face as Aimee’s water emptied out all over onto her ugly black nun shoes.

Aimee was taken to the hospital by another nun, a much kinder Sister Immaculata, for which I was very grateful.  I was led back to my room by Sister Frances and told to wait.

It was a long wait and I guess she was on the verge of calling your cousin to come and get me when she was able to get through to Madame Duvais who agreed to let me come and stay with her for a while.

So I am here, happily settled in one of the tiny rooms over the market.  Since Le Gateau has closed, people are in desperate need of fresh bread, so Madame Duvais has removed one of her big fryers and bought the big oven from Le Gateau.  We get up very, very early and we are both learning how to make some decent bread.  Business has gotten quite busy and Madame Duvais says I can stay with her for the time being as long as I am willing to pay for my rent by working for her.

I am not sure what will happen when I have this baby, but it cannot come out of me soon enough.

At night, I sometimes visit with Madame Duvais and she feeds us supper while we watch television on her little black and white set.  She likes to watch Happy Days and I think she actually likes the Fonz, but do not repeat that.  She says she does not like Barney Miller because he is un Jouif, a Jew, but she watches it anyway and sometimes I catch her laughing at the tall one, Fish.  I am trying to convince her to get a color television set, but I think we will be watching black and white for some time.

That is all the news. I am glad to be back home in Cote Nouveau.  Not much has changed.  Mrs. Lavasseur was in the other day asking about you.  Madame Duvais said I must be extra nice to her because she is one of our biggest customers.  Get it?

Aimee came in the other day.  She has returned to school.  Her baby has been adopted, though she does not know by whom.  She was a little sad about it until she realized she could fit into miniskirts again and then she seemed much happier.  Madame Duvais said she might even give Aimee a job but she’s not sure yet because she says we are “wild girls in need of taming.” We will wait and see how much business picks up first.

I hope you are having a good summer and having fun swimming and biking.

Remember what I said about the tall one...

Love your sister,

Anais

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

It was a very warm August day and Giselle and I were weeding through the beds of lilies that had become quite overgrown along the low stonewall when the edge of a dry, hot wind cut across our faces.  We both turned away from it.  In the distance, I saw a silver sedan turning into our driveway very slowly.  In the heat that clung to the surface of the road, the car appeared like a wave. Giselle wiped her hands on her apron and stood up.

“Who is it, Giselle?” I asked.

“I am not sure,” she said as we both walked back towards the house.

A woman with dyed blonde hair cut in shag stepped out, shielding her eyes from the sun and dust.  There was something vaguely familiar about her, but Giselle must have recognized her because she drew me closer to her.

“Who is it, Giselle?”

“It is the county woman,” Giselle said very quietly.

“Hello, Ms. Simone,” the woman said as she walked up and extended her hand.  “I don’t know if you remember me.  I’m Christine Donaldson from New Hampshire DCYF.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Is this Etoile?”

“Yes.”

“My, how you’ve grown, Etoile.” Nodding to Giselle, she said, “She looks wonderful.”

“She is wonderful,” Giselle said playing with my hair.  “She helps me in the gardens all the time.”

“They’re lovely,” the woman said looking around.

“Would you like to come inside for some lemonade?” Giselle asked.  “We were just going to take a break.”

***

The woman sat down at the old wooden table as Giselle sliced several lemons and mixed them with a bottle of her homemade ginger ale and a frozen can of lemonade mix.  She swirled it around until condensation appeared on the outside of the glass pitcher and carried it over to the table.

The combination of sweet, bitter and cold flowed down the back of my throat as I gulped eagerly at the drink.

The county woman watched me and smiled.  “This heat is unforgivable,” she said. “They don’t think it’ll let up for some time.”

“It is bearable as long as it gets cool at night,” Giselle said.

“I’m spoiled,” the woman said taking a long drink, “I work in an air conditioned office.”

“What would make you want to leave the sanctity of air conditioning on a day like this?” Giselle said, but the woman’s face suddenly grew very serious and she glanced over at me.

“Etoile,” she said slowly, “I wonder if you would give me a few minutes to speak to your cousin alone.”

I saw the furrow of Giselle’s brow as she turned to me and said, “Go on, Cherie.  Please go water the tomato plants for me, but remember, do not get their leaves wet.”

I started towards the garden, but turned back and remained hidden underneath the protection of the open kitchen window.  The air had grown quite still.

***

“She looks very healthy,” the woman said.

“She is.”

“I’m sure you know why I’m here, Ms. Simone.”

“I do not.”

“This is very difficult, but when you signed the paperwork, it was spelled out quite clearly that it was a temporary guardianship due to the unusual circumstances.”

“Yes, but…” I heard Giselle say.

“I know how hard this is, but we need to find her a permanent placement.”

“What? But she is my family. This can be her permanent placement…”

“Unfortunately, it cannot.”

“Why not?”

“The law is very clear, Ms. Simone.  It says that a single, unmarried person is not eligible for permanent placement or adoption. Technically, you should not have been given temporary guardianship but there were exigent circumstances because of the mother.  I am so sorry.”

“You cannot just walk in here and take her from us,” Giselle said, her voice rising.  “She belongs here.  We love her.”

“I’m sure you do, but under the circumstances…Your living arrangements were just recently brought to our attention.”

“By whom?”

“I can’t say.”

“This is 1977.  Surely people can accept…”

“It’s not a matter of what people can or cannot accept.  It’s a matter of law. Technically, I could take her with me right now, but I’m not going to do that.  However, there is an older married couple looking for an older child and as soon as I’m done with their background…”

“No!” Giselle said.  I heard a chair being pushed back.  “Please, I beg you. No!”

“Ms. Simone, it will only make the transition more difficult for her if you can’t accept this.  I’ll let you know as soon as the background is complete but I expect it will only be a matter of a few days.”

“A few days?  But surely there must be some way…”

“I’m sorry.  Without a court order...”

“Then we will get a court order.”

“Ms. Simone, please do not take this personally, but given your…lifestyle…there isn’t a judge in this state that would grant you…”

“There must be!” Giselle said her voice frantic.  “There must be. I will not give her up.”

The wind suddenly picked up sending a cloud of dry dust into my face.  I gasped for air and tried not to choke.

I watched the silver car drive off into the distance, looking like a bullet slicing through the air in slow motion.  It was some time before Giselle came back outside.  She came to me very unsteadily.  For a moment, I thought she was going to faint, but then she shut her eyes and tilted her head back before opening them again.  Tears began to form as she grabbed me and pulled me tightly to her.  We went to the front porch and clung to each other.  I did not cry.  I held her while she sobbed into my shoulder.

“I am so sorry, Cherie,” she said over and over again.  Then, she suddenly stopped crying and grabbed me by the shoulders.  “I will not let them take you,” she said between gritted teeth.  She shook her head back and forth.  “I will never let them take you.  You are mine.”

***

We waited in the kitchen as Giselle paced back and forth across the floor, her hands touching everything along the way – the wooden counters, the rising bread, the old porcelain sink – as she muttered away in French.  I was not even sure she knew I was in the room with her.

I glanced out the window and saw the tall figure of Jean pedaling furiously down the long dirt road.  Her bike skidded to a halt sending a huge cloud of dust into the air.  She swung her leg over the seat long before the bike even stopped, threw the bike to the ground and bolted up the steps two at a time.

“What’s wrong?” Jean said gasping for breath as she ran through the door.  “I got your message.  What’s the emergency?  What’s happened?”

“Oh mon Dieu,” Giselle said pacing back and forth biting her nails.  “C’est impossible.  Je ne comprens  pas. Ceci ne peut pas se produire.”

“Giselle, please.  In English,” Jean pleaded, but Giselle continued to pace back and forth, muttering in French.  Jean watched her for several seconds before turning to me.

“Etoile, do you know what’s going on?”

I stood up.  “The county woman is going to take me away,” I said before walking up the stairs to my room.

***

“We’ll think of something,” Jean said. They were both seated at the kitchen table.  Jean clutched a tall glass of iced tea. “There must be something we can do.”

“I cannot do this, Jean. I cannot bear to lose her.  They will take her over my dead body.”

“Giselle, you need to stay calm.  It won’t help the situation for you not to.”

“To hell with staying calm!” Giselle yelled.

Jean gave a heavy sigh. “We’ll petition the courts.”

“How? How do we do that?”

“We’ll have to file a motion.  We’ll have to hire an attorney.  We could ask…”

“No,” Giselle said.  “Please, God, no.”

“She’s the best attorney in the state for our rights, Giselle.  She knows more about discrimination law…”

“Jean, this is too important to me to have that woman...”

“Giselle, it’s too important not to.”

***

I lay in bed that night, my stomach tossing and turning just like it used to, and stared at the picture of Josette Simone.  It was not my Maman, I told myself.  It had never been Maman.  Maman was gone.  Tears began to well up and I buried my head against the pillow as I realized that this too, would all be gone soon.

A dry wind crept through the open window and it suddenly dawned on me how much my life was driven by the wind, carried from one place to another against my will, setting down here and there, carrying the secrets and souls of those that had been carried before me, always at the will of the wind.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The four women sat around the fireplace as Susan Weatherby scribbled notes on a pad of paper.

“Do either of you have any criminal convictions in your past?”

“No,” Jean said.

“What do you mean by criminal convictions?” Giselle asked.

“Were you ever in court about a crime? Ever arrested?”

“There were some unpaid parking tickets when I was living in Boston,” Giselle said.

“How bad?”

“About four hundred dollars in fines.”

“Four hundred dollars?” Jean asked cocking her head.

“Did you pay them?” Susan Weatherby asked.

“No, they took the car.  It was a junker, so I let them.”

Turning to Jean, Susan said, “Find out what court it was and get them paid immediately just in case.  And pray they didn’t issue a warrant.”

“A warrant?” Jean said turning towards Giselle, but Giselle quickly turned away.

“Anything else?” Susan asked.

“No.”

“What about ex-lovers?  Anyone with a violent past? Drinking problems? Gambling? Promiscuity?”

“Why is everyone looking at me?” Giselle asked. “No” on everything.”

Turning to Eppy, Susan said, “I’ll need you to document the kind of shape she was in when you first saw her and what kind of shape she is in now.  Also, the fact that you saw her very soon after she arrived.  That’s important.  We’ll need you to testify to their character.”

“Of course,” Eppy said patting Giselle on the leg.

“Same thing with the schools. We’ll need her school records to show you enrolled her right away.  It shows you took initiative.”

Susan stopped and paced up and down the living room.  “As long as there are no other nearby living relatives…”

“But there are,” Giselle said.  “She has a sister.  An older sister.”

“How old?”

“Seventeen.”

“Not old enough. It would be highly unusual for the court to give her any rights given her age. Where’s the sister?”

Giselle glanced at Jean for a moment before clearing her throat and saying, “She is back in Cote Nouveau.”

Susan saw the hesitation and pounced.  “Giselle, this is not the time to hold back.”

“The sister is pregnant.  She is due very soon with her baby.  She was with the Sisters of Mercy but was expelled for a prank gone bad, thank God.”

“Good, that will work to our advantage.  We can show the courts what could have become of Etoile if you hadn’t taken her in.  We’ll use the sister as an example.”

“She was raped, for God’s sakes,” Giselle said sharply.  The word hung in the air for the longest time.  “She does not need to be a victim anymore than she already has been and she will not be anyone’s example.  Leave her out of it.”

Susan gave a heavy sigh.  “Fine.  We’ll leave the sister out of it.  But I have to warn you that the law is not in your favor, nor are the previous courts’ rulings.”

Giselle shook her head.

“Jean, I need you to get any letters of reference from your colleagues testifying to your character, that you’re a responsible person, a wonderful teacher, caring, etc. And if you possibly can, get as many from men as you can.”

“Why men?” Jean asked.

“Because we’re going to have to break the court’s perception that we’re the lesbian militia.  I would even go so far as to say the day of the hearing, you’re going to wear a skirt.”

“A skirt?” Jean asked scrunching up her face.  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m not. How the court perceives you is very important. The more feminine you look, the better.”

Eppy laughed.  “Now that will be a first.”

“Is that really necessary?” Jean asked wiping her hands on her pants.

“Yes. And lipstick.”

Eppy clapped her hands as Jean scowled.  “This I’d pay admission to see.”

“But aren’t we creating false impressions?” Jean asked.

“Damn right we are,” Susan replied.  “We’re going to show two very feminine, nurturing women who will raise a child with a woman’s gentle, soft touch. Hopefully it will gain us some points.”

Giselle patted Jean’s leg.  “I can loan you one of my skirts.”

Jean shook her head slowly back and forth.

Susan Weatherby leaned against the fireplace mantle.  “There’s only one other thing that could make or break this…”

“What is that?” Giselle asked.

“Etoile’s testimony.”

“Oh no, she will not…”

“She’ll have to, Giselle.  It’s the only way.  If she does a good job, it could gain us a lot of ground…”

“I will not make Etoile testify.  Her stomach gets upset easily and I do not want to…”

“The trick will be to rehearse but not make it sound rehearsed.  They’ll ask her anyway, did anyone tell you what to say, so we must rehearse only in generalizations.”

“I will not have her go through that,” Giselle said.  “It is not fair to her to…”

“I will do it,” I said as I crept down the stairs.

“Etoile!” Giselle said standing up and turning to me.  “You were supposed to be in bed.  Have you been listening all this time?”

“Yes.  I am sorry, Giselle, but I could not help but listen.  I will speak to this judge.  I do not mind doing it if it means I can stay here with you and Jean.”

Giselle came to the stairs and hugged me. “We will talk about that in the morning.  Now you must really go to bed this time and I am coming up to check on you in five minutes.  Vitement!” she said swatting at my fanny.

“Giselle?” I said as I paused at the top of the stairs.

“What?”

“Will Jean really have to wear a skirt?”

***

Later on that night, I could hear Giselle and Jean talking in their room.  I snuck down the hallway and listened outside their door.

“We will need to talk to her and make sure she understands what this means.  Susan says there could be a lot of reporters there.  I do not want her traumatized by having someone shove a camera in her face.”

“Yes, that’s a good idea.”

“Jean?”

“What?”

“Do you think we have a chance?”

After a long time, Jean said, “Honestly, I don’t know, Giselle.”

“I could not live without her.”

“Giselle, we will always have each other. No matter what.”

“I know, but we always talked about having a family and then she came along and we were a family.  What kind of God would bring such a blessing into our lives and then take it away?”

“It’s the law, Giselle.  I’m not sure it has anything to do with God.”

“It has everything to do with God, Jean…”

“What are you doing?”

“Praying for a miracle.  It might not hurt if you tried too.”

***

“So you see,” Giselle said the next day as we walked between the paths of the garden, “there are many people who do not think two women should be raising a child. Some think only a man and wife are capable of that.”

“But Jean is like a man,” I said and Giselle shook her head.

“If you mean someone who is strong of character with deep convictions and great integrity, then yes,” she said, but I think she knew that wasn’t what I meant at all. “There will be some who will be very upset about this, angry in fact. Some may even get angry at you for no reason at all.  But you must promise me you will be strong, Etoile. Do you think you can do that?”

“Yes.”

Giselle looked over towards the small stream that supplied the water for the gardens.  “Do you remember the day you fell off your bike and scraped up your knee?”

“Yes.”

“That was pain that you could feel because it reached beneath the surface of your skin.”  She touched my arm and rubbed it.  “Some of the things you may hear may be mean, but they cannot hurt you.  You must remember that.  They are only words.”

But her voice was carried off by a sudden wind that blew out of nowhere bringing dark clouds that gathered one on top of the other like a collision in the sky.  Giselle did not seem to be aware of what was happening as she sat on the bench, gazing towards nothing.  Or maybe she knew what she was looking at, I did not know, but I watched anxiously as one thunder clap rolled into the next one.  In the distance, I could see lightning strikes forming brightly against the dark canopy of black clouds. It was not until a gust of wind slapped Giselle’s hair against her face that she seemed to realize we were very close to a storm.

She stood up quickly. “Come, quickly, Cherie,” she said as we ran hand-in-hand back down through the garden paths to the safety of Stone Cottage.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“Oh, mon Dieu,” Giselle said as Jean pulled up in front of the courthouse. Crowds of people with signs lined both sides of the street.  Reporters with microphones and cameras interviewed several people in the crowds on both sides.

“That’s them!” someone said pointing towards Jean’s car.

Giselle glanced anxiously at Jean who said very matter-of-factly, “We were warned.”

A group on one side, led by Mrs. Batchelder in her silver bow tie blouse and gray skirt, chanted, “Save Our Children, Save Our Children.”  She held a large sign that read, “Stop the Sinning.” Dale stood beside her with a sign that read, “God’s Math = One Man + One Woman.”

On the other side, a crowd of men and women, some of whom I recognized from Jean and Giselle’s parties including Star Mathers, held signs that read: “Human Rights = Parental Rights” and “Good Parents Come in All Shapes and Sizes,” “We WILL Save Our Children,” and “They’re Our Children, Too.”

Jean pulled over and tugged nervously at the long green and blue pleated plaid skirt she had on.  Jean had insisted on going out on her own to buy what Giselle referred to as “the Kilt.”  Jean admitted it had a kilt-like appearance, particularly since she wore it with cordovan loafers with a tassel on them.  Giselle told her if she tried to wear knee-high socks with it, she would refuse to walk with her.  Jean succumbed and bought a pair of nylons.  At the last minute, with Giselle reminding her of what was at stake, Jean agreed to a touch of lip gloss and blush, but then began to carry on about “making a mockery of who she was.”

Immediately, a crowd of reporters surrounded the car shoving microphones and cameras at us.  Giselle opened the door against them and wrapped her arm tightly around me.

“Dr. Becker,” one of them yelled, “how do you respond to the charges made by your opponents that a child needs to be raised by a mother and a father?”

Jean was about to answer when Susan Weatherby, wearing a lavender skirt and matching jacket, pushed through the crowd of reporters and grabbed the microphone.

“A child’s future is decided by the amount of love and care they receive growing up, not by whether they are raised by a man and a woman.  Millions of children are raised by single parents, so why not let them be raised by two very loving parents?”

Susan was wearing lipstick, mascara and silver loop earrings.  She still wasn’t pretty, but her appearance was softened.

Giselle, who was carrying a large knitted shawl, draped it over my head and pushed me through the crowds, guiding me by the shoulders.  She glared at Mrs. Batchelder as we passed by.

We climbed the tall steps lined with long white pillars and entered the courthouse.  I had never been in such a fancy building before. There were state and U.S. flags and heavy wooden tables that looked very old.  Susan Weatherby led us to one of the tables facing the big bench and explained where the judge would sit and reminded me to stand up as soon as the bailiff said, “All rise.”  We began to sit down, Jean and Giselle next to each other when Susan said, “Put Etoile between you.”  I sat between them.

“That’s opposing council,” she said tilting her head towards a man in a dark gray suit with thinning white hair slicked over to one side and black-rimmed glasses who was busy organizing papers at the desk across from us.  “His name is Eldon Tripp.  He’s been state’s council for years.  He’s ancient, but he’s good.  He’ll give us a run for our money.”

I saw Eppy and Carol come in and sit down on the wooden benches behind us.  I felt suddenly like I was in Church.  Eppy smiled and waved to me.  Another woman, with straight black hair, sat down behind them and took out a pad of paper.

“I thought this was a closed session,” Jean said spotting her.

“It is because it involves juveniles.  They are checking IDs on the way in.  She might be with DCYF.”

The county woman, Christine Donaldson, came in and took a seat behind the dark-haired woman.  I was shocked to see the doors open again and Mrs. Spenser came in.

“Giselle!” I whispered.  “It is Mrs. Spenser!”

“I know,” she said, then turned back.

“Did you know she would be here, Giselle?”

“Yes.”

Jean leaned across me towards Giselle.  “How are you doing?” she asked quietly, but Giselle just shook her head and stared straight ahead.  I had never seen Giselle look so nervous before.  She reached over and took my hand and held it very tightly.

Giselle had deliberately not given me much to eat that morning and I was glad.  My stomach was knotted enough as it was.

A door opened from behind the judge’s bench and a large woman came in and sat down in front of a very small typewriter and began typing on it, her hands bouncing up and down like a dance. I thought she would be very good at Miss Mary Mack.  The bailiff came through the same door and announced, “All rise!”  We stood up immediately as Jean tugged her skirt.

“The Honorable Theodore A. Chester presiding.”

The judge, who was dressed in a long black robe, sat down.  He had a kind face and had I met him on the street, would have thought he was a doctor, not a judge. He reviewed some papers, nodded towards us and said, “You may proceed.”

Susan Weatherby rose.  “Your Honor,” she began, “the plaintiffs in this case, Ms. Giselle Simone and Dr. Jean Becker, have been in a committed relationship for over ten years.  They own a house together.  Dr. Becker is a fully-tenured professor of Women’s Studies at Eastern University.  They are both law-abiding citizens, have little debt other than their mortgage, and are contributing members of society.  Most importantly, they are loving, caring people.  The subject at hand is Etoile Toussaint, who is Ms. Simone’s second cousin by blood. They have been caring for Etoile for several months now and under their care, she has blossomed and flourished.  We will have witness testimony to that effect, your Honor.”

Eppy was the first one called to the stand.

“Dr. Epstein,” Susan Weatherby began, “can you please tell the court when you first met Etoile?”

“Yes, in May, just after she arrived.  Ms. Simone brought her in the very next day, in fact.”

“Why so soon?”

“Because Ms. Simone wanted to make sure she was healthy and up-to-date on all of her immunizations so she could enroll her in school.”

“And was she healthy?”

“In general, yes. My only concern was her weight.”

“Your concern being?”

“That she was underweight compared to her height.”

“And how is her health now?”

“I saw her in my office just the other day and she’s where she should be percentile-wise. She’s very healthy.”

“Your witness,” Susan said as she turned to Attorney Tripp.

“Dr. Epstein, how long have you know Ms. Simone?”

“I’ve known her for five years.”

“And how did you meet?”

“We met through Dr. Becker.  We were friends and then Giselle and I became friends as well.”

“So is it fair to say you would do whatever you could to help your friends out?”

“Objection!” Susan Weatherby said rising from her chair.  “Your Honor, Dr. Epstein is a well-respected physician, a graduate of Harvard Medical School and a member of Physicians with Ethics.  To insinuate that she would use her position to…”

“Sustained,” the judge said.  “Attorney Tripp, please keep your questions appropriate to the facts of the case.”

“I thought I was,” Attorney Tripp said as he stepped closer to Eppy.  “Very well, then, Dr. Epstein, let’s go back to your testimony about the child’s weight.  Would it be your expert opinion that Etoile was malnourished when you first examined her?”

“No.”

“What other reason could there be that her weight was low?”

“A child has many fluctuations in their weight as they go through different developmental stages.”

“So in other words, Etoile might not necessarily have been underweight because of being malnourished or underfed?”

“Yes, but…”

“No further questions, Your Honor.”

***

Mrs. Spenser was next.

“Mrs. Spenser,” Susan Weatherby began.  “Could you please give the court a synopsis of how Etoile is doing academically?”

“She’s doing very well.  She’s in the top tenth percentile of the class.”

“Was she always in the top tenth percentile?”

“No.  When Ms. Simone first brought her, she tested, in fact, in the lower quadrille in math.”

“And how do you explain her academic gains?”

“Etoile is a very bright young student, but I know for a fact that Dr. Becker, in particular, has been helping her almost every night on her math homework.  We have conversed several times about Etoile’s progress and Dr. Becker has actually solicited additional workbooks for her.”

“And do you have any concerns about Etoile from your perspective as her teacher?”

“Concerns?” Mrs. Spenser said as she turned and looked at me.  “Heavens no, she’s a delight to have in class.”

“No further questions, Your Honor.”

“No questions on our side either, Your Honor,” Attorney Tripp said.

***

Giselle stood up next.

“Ms. Simone,” Susan began, “could you explain to the Court how you heard about Etoile’s situation?”

Giselle’s face looked very strained and I could tell that she had not slept well the night before.

“I received a phone call from someone I once knew in Cote Nouveau, a shop owner by the name of Madame Duvais.  She is the only person in Cote Nouveau I ever stayed in contact with, though we don’t talk often.”

“And what did this Mrs. Duvais tell you?”

“She told me that Etoile’s mother had died.  My grandmother and her grandmother were sisters.  Madame Duvais said that there was no one left to care for Etoile and she felt very badly that she could not do it herself but she is very busy with her shop and had already raised her own children.”

“And why did she think of you?”

“I do not know.”

“Did Mrs. Duvais know that you were in a relationship with Dr. Becker?”

“We never discussed it.”

“Did the State caseworker know when you contacted them?”

“The Massachusetts woman did.  She asked if anyone else was living in the household and I told her about Jean.”

“And she knew Jean was a woman?”

“Yes.”

“But the State of New Hampshire caseworker did not know?”

“I do not know.  I put Jean’s name down on the form when I filled it out.”

“Ms. Simone, can you please explain to the courts why you wanted to take care of your cousin, Etoile?”

“Objection!” Attorney Tripp said rising.  “Your Honor, Ms. Simone is not a direct first cousin of Etoile. They are distantly related at best.”

“Point noted, Attorney Tripp,” the judge said, “but we have already established their familial relationship.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Susan Weatherby continued. “Ms. Simone, you were explaining why you wanted to take care of your cousin, Etoile.”

Giselle shifted in her seat and looked out at me.

“Jean and I had always wanted a family. We were looking into our options when I got the call about Etoile.  My heart went out to her when I heard about the circumstances.  She is my family,” Giselle said looking at Attorney Tripp, “whether it is direct or not.  She is my family and I wanted to help her out because of all she had been through.”

Turning to the judge she said, “What I did not plan on was how much she would fill our lives, how much I would love tucking her into bed every night, watching her read her books so intently, just like Jean; worrying for her every time she got on her bike or walked down to the bus.”  Giselle wiped at her eye.  “I had no idea how much we would love her, but we do love her.  Please,” she said placing her hand on the big wooden desk.  “Please I beg you.  Please understand how much we love her.”  The judge nodded.

“Your witness,” Susan Weatherby said as she handed Giselle a tissue.

“Ms. Simone,” Attorney Tripp said approaching, “when you say that you put Dr. Becker’s name on the forms you filled out with the case worker, did you at all indicate that Dr. Jean Becker was a woman?”

“No.”

“Wouldn’t you agree that it would be easy for someone to make the assumption that Dr. Jean Becker was a man?”

“Yes.”

“No further questions, Your Honor.”

***

Giselle came off the stand, sat down next to me and put her arm around my shoulder and drew me close. I laid my head against her shoulder and she shut her eyes.

Jean was next. She smoothed her skirt several times as she sat down in the witness stand.

“Dr. Becker, how long have you been at the University?”

“Eleven years.  I stayed on to do my graduate work and then was offered an assistant professorship which then led to a full professorship.”

“And is it true that you’ve not only researched, but authored many articles on gender studies and the effects of gender on children?”

“Yes.”

“Could you please explain to the courts what, in your professional opinion as an educator, is in Etoile’s best interests?”

“There are many research studies documenting that children raised by non-traditional families are equally successful as those raised in traditional families.  The mitigating factors in any child’s success are almost always that the child is nurtured, supported and loved.”

“And in your professional opinion, Dr. Becker, what would be the effects of removing Etoile from your home?”

Jean turned and looked at me as Giselle clutched me to her.

For a few seconds, I thought she would not speak. She just stared at us and then finally cleared her throat.

“It would be cruel and traumatic…for all of us,” she said very quietly.

***

When it was my turn, Susan Weatherby waited while I climbed up into the big chair.

“Etoile,” she said, “do you understand about your cousin’s relationship with Dr. Becker?”

“Yes.”

“What do you understand?”

“That they are family.”

“And what does that mean to you, that they are family?”

“That they love each other very much.”

“How is it, Etoile, that you know they love each other so much?”

“Because they take care of each other.”

“How?  How do they take care of each other?”

“They help each other out with things.  We all do chores together and Giselle cuts Jean’s hair and cooks for us and cleans the house while Jean teaches.  Giselle sells things she makes, too, to help pay for things.  And she is a very good painter.”

Susan Weatherby smiled.  “And do you understand what today is about?”

“Yes.”

“Can you explain that to us?”

“It is to see if I can stay with Jean and Giselle.”

“Do you want to stay with them?”

“Yes. Very much.”

“Why?”

We had not rehearsed this part and I did not anticipate the question.  I looked at Susan Weatherby and blinked several times.  She nodded to me.

“Go ahead, Etoile.  Why do you want to stay with them?” she asked again.

I looked over at them both and saw the expression on their faces. Jean tilted her head and nodded, urging me to respond.  Giselle bit her lip and held a tissue to her face.  Jean reached over to her and touched Giselle’s hand very lightly, rubbing the back of it with her hand.

“Because they are like Maman and Papa used to be before Papa died.”

“What do you mean by that, Etoile?”

“That they…they take good care of me. When I fell badly off my bike, Jean carried me all the way up the hill on her shoulders.  It was a very big hill,” I added for the judge.  He nodded and smiled.  “When I got back, Giselle was very upset and worried and sent for Eppy...I mean Dr. Epstein…right away.  She would not let me get out of bed that night and brought food to my room on a tray and fussed over me and let me have extra ice cream. They make sure I do my homework.  Jean brings me books to read all the time.  And every night, Giselle comes in and tucks me into bed.”

“What you’re saying is that they love you.”

“Yes.”

“And you love them.”

I was about to answer when the door in the back of the courtroom suddenly opened up.  It took me a second to realize who it was.  When I did, I leapt from the witness chair and ran down the length of the courtroom to greet Anais who wore a large, oversized dress over her very swollen belly.

Her face was quite puffy.

“Anais!” I said hugging her, but her belly was so big I could barely get my arms around her.  “What are you doing here?”

“Attorney Weatherby,” the judge said, “you seemed to have lost your star witness.”

“Your Honor, we request a five-minute recess unless opposing counsel has any objection.”

“No objection, Your Honor.”

***

“What is she doing here?” I heard Susan Weatherby ask Giselle and Jean.  They both shrugged.  Attorney Tripp came over to Anais.

“May I have a word with you Miss Toussaint?”

“Not without me present,” Susan Weatherby said appearing at his side.

“Court rules allow me to speak to a witness in private.”

“Witness?” Susan Weatherby said.  “We were not advised she was a witness.”

“It was uncertain if Miss Toussaint would be able to make it and if you’ll check your paperwork, it does say, “Miss Toussaint” on the list.”

Susan Weatherby’s mouth dropped open and she stood there looking like she wanted to take a swing at him.  “I’ll object.”

“You’ll lose.”

***

“Anais?” I asked.  “What does he mean witness?  Are you here to ask them to let me stay with Giselle and Jean?”

“I want to speak to my sister alone,” Anais said.

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” Attorney Tripp replied.

Anais turned on her heels at him. “Where can I speak to my sister alone?”

“Right this way,” Susan Weatherby said as she led us into a small room outside of the court.  Both she and Attorney Tripp took up position outside the doors of the room like lions guarding the gate.

***

“Anais,” I asked, “I thought you had the baby.”

Anais looked down at her belly and rubbed it.  “Not yet, but very soon.  Not soon enough.”

“What will you do with it when you have it?”

“I don’t know, Etoile.”

“Why are you here?”

“I cannot let this happen, Etoile. They are gouines.”

“Do not say that!” I said grabbing her arm.

“Etoile, you are too young to understand any of this.”

“I am not too young to understand that they love me and I love them, Anais.”

“But there are real families, normal families, who can care for you.  It is hard to give up something you love, but it is the right thing to do.”

“They are my real family.”

Anais shook her head.   “They are not a normal family, Etoile. Maman would not have wanted...”

“Maman?  Maman?  Of course Maman would not have wanted it. Maman did not like anything that was not French.  She hated everything that was different!”

“It is not normal, Etoile.”

“Jean and Giselle are as normal as Maman and Papa used to be.  They care about each other.  They do things for each other. Sometimes they even fight, but they work it out because they love each other.” I placed my hands on my hips.  “Do you know what your problem is, Anais?  Your mind is like the solid ground.  No new ideas can grow in it because it is so hard and closed.  There is no space for anything new to grow.”

“What are you talking about?  The tall one is not even French. You should be with your own people.”

“I am with my own people.”

“Really?  Well I have news for you, Cherie. Real French women do not like other women.”

“What do you know about real French women?” I asked, my voice rising.  “Real French women like many things.  Real French women care about other people. And…” I said sticking my finger in her face, “Real French women eat very slowly and savor every bite!”

Anais squinted her eyes and looked at me. “Etoile, what has gotten into you?”

“Please, Anais,” I said taking her arms, “please do not do speak against them.  I beg you.”  She shook her head.  “Anais, you used to protect me.  You would do anything for me.  I am begging you to not speak against them.”

***

There was a small knock on the door.

“We need to go back in,” Susan Weatherby announced.

***

“Your Honor, I’d like to call my last witness to the stand,” Attorney Tripp said.  “I call Anais Toussaint, the older sister of Etoile Toussaint.”

Anais stood up, took the oath and was seated in the big wooden chair.

“How old are you, Miss Toussaint?”

“I am almost eighteen.”

“And do you understand what this case is about, Miss Toussaint?”

“Yes.”

“For the sake of the court, can you please put in your own words what this hearing is about?”

“To grant permanent custody of my sister, Etoile.”

“Thank you.  Now Miss Toussaint, is it not true that in your mother’s declining health, you were the primary caregiver to Etoile?”

“Yes.”

“Can you describe to the court some of the things you did to provide care to her?”

“I made sure she got up for school each morning.  I bought us food and made sure she was clean.”

“You were her surrogate mother, in essence.”

“Objection!” Susan Weatherby said rising.  “That’s a subjective statement.”

“I will withdraw the statement, Your Honor,” Attorney Tripp said bowing slightly.  “My point is that you love your sister very much, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Could you then explain to the courts why you are here today?”

“To make sure something wrong does not happen to Etoile.”

“And what would you consider that something wrong to be, Miss Toussaint?”

Anais looked over at the three of us for a while, with Giselle squeezing my hand and Jean with one arm draped around Giselle’s back.  She began to speak, then stopped.

“Miss Toussaint?”

Anais tossed her head back just like Maman would have, let out a sigh and looked at him.  “I cannot do this,” she said as she slipped out of the chair and walked off.

Attorney Tripp shook his head back and forth.  “No further questions, Your Honor.”

There were no more witnesses.  Susan Weatherby and the other attorney each took a turn speaking about the “merits of the case.”  At one point, Susan turned to us and said, “Look at them, Your Honor.  This child is with the people she loves.  Even her own sister knows that.”

“Your Honor,” Attorney Tripp said after she was done, “this case cannot be judged based upon subjective emotion.  The State does not wish to argue this case based on the fitness of these people to raise the child.  The State will argue that the law is very clear…”

“The law is wrong!” Susan Weatherby said interrupting.

“The law is clear,” Attorney Tripp said back.

***

We waited in the courtroom for what seemed like a very long time before the bailiff asked us to rise again.  I looked over and saw that Giselle’s chest rose and fell very deeply and she clutched the table in front of her so tightly that her knuckles went white.

The judge sat down and pinched his nose with his fingers and sniffed.  Looking at the three of us, he nodded.

“This is a most difficult case,” he began.  “It is hard not to sympathize with the plight of all parties involved; however, my job is not to disburse sympathy, but to rule with a balance of compassion and fairness that sustains the laws of our state and our constitution.  In this matter, the law is quite clear.  There is no legal basis within the State of New Hampshire to grant adoption to an unmarried person.  The child will be remanded to the custody of the State’s Family Services Division at nine a.m. tomorrow morning.”  Turning to us, he said, “I am very sorry.  I wish you all well.”

***

I will never, for all my life, forget the sound of his gavel striking the wooden bench followed by Giselle gasping.  She began to shake her head back and forth.  “Non,” I heard her say in a deep tone.  “Non, you cannot do this.”

Jean grabbed her by the arm.  “Giselle, don’t,” she said.

“You cannot do this!” Giselle yelled towards the judge, but he immediately rose and without another word, went back out the door behind his bench.

Susan and Jean grabbed Giselle by both arms and practically dragged her away.  Jean reached over towards me with her free arm and steered me out the back of the courtroom.

***

Susan led us all into the small room that Anais and I had just used.

“I’m very disappointed, though not entirely surprised.  We did our best.  I’m so sorry,” she said.

Giselle kept shaking her head.  “Non,” she said.  “There must be some way…”

“Giselle,” Jean began to say.

“Non.  Non,” Giselle said over and over and then her hands began to shake and for a moment, it reminded me of Maman and how her hands would tremble sometimes.  The room felt very warm all of a sudden and I felt as if I could not breathe.  Eppy rubbed Giselle’s back and tried to calm her down. There was a small tap on the door and the county woman stuck her head in.  I tried to flatten myself against the wall.

“May I come in?” she asked.

Jean stepped between her and Giselle and folded her arms tightly across her chest.

“I wanted to say that I know how difficult this is.  Perhaps it would be easier if Etoile just came with me now.  We could stop by the house to get her…”

“You will take her over my dead body!” Giselle shouted.  Jean tried to grab her by the shoulder, but Giselle flung her hand aside.

“She’s very upset right now,” Jean said.  “If you don’t mind we need time…”

The county woman nodded and backed slowly out the door but stopped and said, “I’ll be by at nine a.m.”

***

Giselle broke away from them and reached for me and pulled me so tight that I felt like I was back in the pool when I got the leg cramp and could not tell which way was up.  I struggled against her, but she held on until I remembered Jean’s words about relaxing my body to let it rise.  Giselle loosened her grip on me and stood there, stroking my hair over and over.

Susan Weatherby patted me on the shoulder.  “I am sorry, Etoile.  We gave it our best shot.”

Eppy came over and took my hand in her chin and said, “I’ll come by tomorrow, Cookie, to say goodbye, okay?”

I nodded, but it did not change the sick feeling in my stomach.  I turned and saw Anais standing in the corner, watching us. Jean saw her too and walked over to her.

“That was a very brave thing you did, Anais.  Would you like to come back to the house with us?”

Anais shook her head.  “I need to catch the train to get back and help Madame Duvais.”

“Some other time, then,” Jean said, but we all knew there would be no other time.  Not at Stone Cottage.

Giselle gathered herself together enough to go over to Anais and kiss her on both cheeks and squeeze her hand.  “Merci,” she said.

“I will be eighteen this year,” Anais said.  “Perhaps she can come back to Cote Nouveau with me then,” she said to Giselle, but I did not want to go back to Cote Nouveau with its decrepit buildings and closed-minded people.  I only wanted to be with Giselle and Jean.

***

We walked out the front door and were greeted again by a throng of reporters. Susan Weatherby stood up on a milk crate and took one of the reporter’s microphones.

“It is a sad day for this State when two loving and deserving, well-respected members of this community are denied a chance to raise a child when so many children are in desperate need of being loved -- all because of an archaic law.  We have no further statement.”

I sat in the back of the car as Jean drove us home. Giselle bit at her nails until Jean reached over and took her hand and held it the rest of the way.

***

Giselle sat at the kitchen table staring out the windows at the summer evening.  Jean had already gone upstairs and changed into her chinos and chambray shirt.  She poured Giselle a glass of wine, but Giselle did not touch it. Jean poured me some milk and offered me a sandwich, but I could not eat anything.  Jean made a sandwich and offered it to Giselle, then ate it herself when Giselle turned it down.

“Why don’t you go up and try to get some sleep?” Jean asked, rubbing her shoulders. She nodded and rose very slowly, like an old woman.  As she passed by my chair, she touched the top of my head.

“I will be in later to tuck you in,” she said to me, her voice cracking.

Jean waited until she was all the way up the stairs before sitting back down, pulling her chair out and patting her lap.  “Come here, Kiddo,” she said.

I climbed up on her long legs as she pulled my hair back over my ears.

“I somehow feel like we’ve let you down, Etoile. I’m so very sorry.”

“It is not your fault, Jean.  You tried.”

She nodded and patted my back.

“Etoile, do you remember the first day you came here?”

“Yes.”

“I knew that day what a brave girl you were to come to a strange place where you didn’t know anyone,” she said touching me on the shoulder.  “And smart, too, when you had read half the books I’d picked up for you…even if you did get sick that first night.”

I tried to laugh, but could only offer a small smile.

“Etoile, you must be very brave again. It will be all right.  I promise you we will stay in touch no matter where you go.”

“Do you think they will send me far away?” I asked, not having thought about that before.  I gulped hard.

“Etoile,” Jean said wiping my tear away with her thumb.  “We would go to the ends of the Earth to see you.  Okay?”

***

I lay in my bed that night dreading having to face Giselle. When I heard her come in, I could not bring myself to turn to her. I lay very still, breathing softly; afraid to change the rhythm of my breath for fear she would know I was awake.  She stood by my bed for a long time, motionless, like a shadow.  I heard Jean whisper behind her, “Let her sleep.  Come on.” Out of the slit of one eye, I saw Giselle cover her mouth with her hand and push away from Jean.

***

Her muffled sobbing evaporated into the sounds of the night, obliterated by the spring peepers squealing from their rain ponds and crickets calling to their mates.  I tried to focus on these sounds that had so often lulled me to sleep on prior nights, but my mind would not rest. As I laid there feeling the coolness of the breeze that stirred across my body, my thoughts drifted to Maman and that open window.

I wondered if her arms had been outstretched as she fell, clutching desperately at the ledges and fire exits as they flew by?  Or were they tucked tightly against her sides in defiance?  Or maybe she folded them across her chest in acceptance of the inevitable?  Did she even realize at any point in her descent, that what was about to happen, could not be stopped?

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

No one could eat breakfast.  Jean brought several bags up to my room and helped me pack my things.  We did not speak much. When we came back downstairs, Giselle was just as we had left her, sitting on a chair in the kitchen clutching a cup of coffee, staring towards the gardens.  Jean touched her lightly on the shoulder as she passed by. Giselle reached for Jean’s hand and squeezed it before letting it go.  It was almost nine o’clock.

The phone rang, but no one bothered to answer it. Reporters had been calling all night asking for a statement.

Giselle suddenly looked up and gave a small gasp and then I heard it too, the wheels of the county woman’s silver sedan as it bumped and jolted across the potholes of the long dirt driveway.  She pulled up in front of Stone Cottage and we, the three of us, walked out together.

“Good morning,” Mrs. Donaldson said pleasantly, as if she had come to chat about the gardens or the heat.

“Good morning,” Jean answered.

Mrs. Donaldson took some papers out and handed them to Giselle, but Giselle just stared at them.  Jean took them instead.

“This is the name and address of the family Etoile will be staying with.  You may contact her at anytime, but it would probably be best for her sake if you gave her a few weeks to settle in.”

Jean nodded.  “Thank you.”

Giselle just stood there, looking vacantly out at the road in front of us.

Mrs. Donaldson turned to me. “These are very nice people, Etoile.  It will be all work out.”  She stepped back to the car, distancing herself from us.  “I’ll let you say goodbye, then.”

***

Jean knelt down on one knee and held out her arms to me.

“Be a good girl, Etoile,” she said, and then she leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek.

Jean stood back up and Giselle, whose eyes were already filled with tears, began to cry again and clutched me to her.  “It does not matter where you go,” she whispered in my ear, “you will always be mine, Cherie.”

I nodded and stepped back.  Giselle reached into her pocket and slipped the polaroid picture of the three of us into my dress pocket.

“But Giselle,” I said glancing back anxiously at Jean for fear she had seen it, but she put her finger to my lip and said, “Keep it so you will always remember your family...”

I squeezed my eyes tight to try and keep the tears from falling down.

Mrs. Donaldson came back over and took me firmly by the arm and led me towards her car, but I broke away just before getting to it and ran straight back towards Jean who scooped me up in one quick motion.

“Please take care of her, Jean,” I whispered in her ear.  “She is not always that strong.” Jean nodded and for the first time, I could see her eyes glistening.  She nodded again and set me back down.  She put her arm around Giselle’s shoulder and drew her close as Giselle sobbed into her shirt.

I got in the car and turned away because I could not bear to look at them anymore.  My eyes stung and my stomach felt loose again, like everything inside was floating around.  I clenched my teeth against the feeling that I was going to be sick even though I had not had anything to eat.

I looked back for just a second and remembered that first day and the funny bright red door and how I thought it all looked like a fairy tale and how perhaps it all was because everyone knows that fairy tales do not come true.

Mrs. Donaldson slid in the car beside me and was about to start the engine when we saw a white Volkswagen Beetle, its lights flashing on and off and its horn honking incessantly, come racing down the road. The little car skidded to a screeching halt in front of us, sending a wild show of dust and gravel everywhere.

The doors flew open and Eppy, who was in her white coat, Carol, dressed in her white nurse’s uniform and Susan Weatherby, in jeans and her “Lavender Power” tee-shirt, came running towards us.

Mrs. Donaldson took her hand off the ignition and opened her door.  I jumped out behind her.  Susan came running towards us waving a paper wildly in her hands.

***

“We’ve been trying to call you!” Eppy shouted.

“What is it?” Jean asked as she and Giselle came forward.  Giselle wiped frantically at her nose and eyes.

Susan stopped in front of Mrs. Donaldson and said, “I have an order giving Giselle and Jean temporary custody of Etoile.”

“What?” Giselle and Jean said at the same time as they rushed over.

Mrs. Donaldson shook her head.  “I’m very sorry but there’s no judge in the state that has the authority to…”

“It isn’t signed by a judge,” Susan said unfolding the paper.  “It’s signed by the Governor.”

Mrs. Donaldson snatched the paper from Susan’s hand and began to read it.  I was too afraid it was not real.

“The Governor has been following Etoile’s case,” Susan explained.  “That dark-haired woman in the courtroom yesterday is part of the Governor’s Executive Council.  She was there to watch what happened and report back.  When the Governor got the report this morning, an Executive Order was granted giving Jean and Giselle temporary custody.”

“And tomorrow the Governor will file a repeal to end this archaic law once and for all.  Effective October third, Jean and Giselle will legally be able to apply to adopt Etoile permanently.”

Mrs. Donaldson shook her head and threw her arms up.

“I’ll need to confirm all of this.”

“You go right ahead,” Susan Weatherby said.  “The Governor’s office is expecting your call. I don’t think Jean and Giselle will mind if you borrow their phone.”

***

“Oh mon Dieu!” Giselle said as she grabbed me away from Mrs. Donaldson and yanked me to her.  Jean reached down and lifted me up and the three of us stood there, holding onto each other for quite some time.  Jean tousled my hair and Giselle kissed me over and over again on the cheeks while the Mrs. Donaldson went inside the house to use the phone.

“Welcome home, Cherie,” Giselle said.

“Welcome home, Etoile,” Jean said patting me on the back.

“Giselle?” I asked.

“What, Cherie?”

“Can we have some of your ice cream for breakfast?  I am very hungry.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Two months later, on a cool fall day, Giselle, Jean, and I drove to the big, gold-domed Statehouse in Concord. Susan Weatherby was there to witness my officially becoming Etoile Becker-Simone. Just after my papers were signed, the doors opened up and Carol and Eppy walked in.  Eppy carried a small pink bundle in her arms.

“Giselle!” I said as they approached us, beaming. “Whose baby is that?”

“It will be theirs in just a few minutes.”

Eppy came over and I looked at the baby’s small, triangular face and the almond shaped eyes, which were so pale to almost be gray.

“We will now all be related,” Giselle said.

“Huh?”

“Look at her,” Giselle said.

And then I saw it, the tiny expression of pride and passion that only a real French woman could have.

“Is that…”

“Oui.  Anais wanted her raised by good parents.  She has chosen well.  You will have to help, you know.  These two,” she said gesturing towards Eppy and Carol, “they know nothing about raising children.”

***

Outside the Statehouse, there was a small group of people assembled carrying the same signs we had seen outside the Courthouse that day.

“Oh mon Dieu,” I heard Giselle say as she searched the crowd.

“Don’t worry,” Jean said, “she’s not here.”

“Are you sure?”

“She’s at Dr. Batchelder’s twenty-fifth anniversary party at the University.”

“Were you invited?”

Jean laughed.  “Are you serious?”  Putting her arm around Giselle, she said, “Come on. Let’s take our daughter home.”

We walked back to the car and while Eppy carefully set the baby in her car carrier, Carol brought over a bright pink balloon that said, “It’s a girl” on it and handed it to me.

***

As we drove back home, Giselle sang “There’s a New Kid in Town” and “You Don’t Have to be a Star” at the top of her lungs.  As we entered the campus area, Jean slowed down as we passed Mrs. Batchelder walking towards Howards Hall gingerly balancing a large tray with a white cake on it.  She was dressed in a navy-blue polyester dress with a gold zipper, zipped all the way up her neck.  Giselle rolled her window down.

“Please don’t,” I heard Jean say quietly.

I leaned forward to see what Giselle was going to do when a sudden gust of wind scooped the pink “It’s a girl” balloon out of my hands through the open window and into the air.

The balloon drifted up and down across campus, as if riding a huge wave.  We sat in stunned silence as the balloon went up, then spiked downward directly into Mrs. Batchelder’s red hair.  Startled, she turned abruptly and in doing so, lost her balance.  No one said a word as the cake went sailing through the air and landed with a great smash of frosting, onto the sidewalk.

Jean threw her little green car in gear, but not before Mrs. Batchelder turned and saw us.  The look of confusion, then outrage was unmistakable. Giselle stuck out her hand, waved and yelled, “It is a lovely day, Mrs. Batchelder!”

THE END

AUTHOR’S NOTE

It was not until May 3rd, 1999, some twenty years after this story would have taken place, that then-New Hampshire Governor Jeanne Shaheen signed a law repealing New Hampshire’s law banning gay couples from adopting and becoming foster parents.

Governor Shaheen was quoted as saying, “For too long, too many qualified families have been denied the opportunity to provide a child in need with a healthy, loving environment. This law will allow more children to be with supportive and nurturing families. New Hampshire will now be able to judge foster and adoptive families based on their fitness, without making prejudicial assumptions.”

-  Felicia Donovan