The French Girl

by Felicia Donovan

  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?”