The French Girl

by Felicia Donovan

  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 he
r 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.