“I’m playing with them. It’s not my fault they can’t take a joke.”
“Bully!” a student hissed. Classmates chimed in, creating a chant.
Mrs. Guidry raised her hand. Students shifted postures but grew quiet. “Threatening students isn’t a joke. Threatening and name-calling are as bad as hitting and pinching. Bullying can cause classmates to withdraw from families and friends. Bullying can destroy a person. How many times have I told you that?”
“You always take their side,” Leonard said, glaring at his teacher. “Why can’t I have fun doing what I want to do?”
Mrs. Guidry’s body tensed. “You can’t do what you want at the expense of others,” she said. “Now, go with Mr. Jarreau.”
“What happens if I don’t?”
“I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you to my classroom, that’s what will happen,” Mr. Jarreau said. “Don’t mess with me, boy.”
“All right. All right. I’ll go,” Leonard agreed, after scanning the classroom for support and finding none. As Bobby Lee re-positioned his desk for Leonard to pass, Leonard hissed at Remy, “I will get you.” When Mr. Jarreau placed a broad hand on Leonard’s shoulder, he snapped, “Get away from me,” and squirmed to break loose. The muscled teacher tightened his grip. “I don’t like you,” Leonard said, as Mr. Jarreau opened the classroom’s door.
The metallic bounce of rain on the tin roof filled the classroom until Jake said, “Thank you, Mrs. Guidry. I thought Leonard would hit me.”
“I know he would have hit Remy,” Bobby Lee added.
“No one’s hitting anyone,” Mrs. Guidry said and looked at her watch. “It’s 10:45. Since the weather’s uncooperative, the Christmas party will probably begin around noon. In the meantime,” she said, glancing at Remy, “please go to the bookroom and pour a glass of milk from my husband’s dairy and select a cookie from the platters of cookies I baked. Let’s begin with the row nearest the bookroom. Ronnie, please lead the way.” While students stirred into excited action, Mrs. Guidry hurried to Remy’s desk.
“Maurice, get a glass of milk and a cookie for Remy,” she said, pulling a fresh handkerchief from her skirt’s right pocket.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She wiped Remy’s brow and positioned her heavy sweater around his shoulders. As the trembling eased and Remy managed a smile, Maurice returned with the milk. After a few sips, Remy reached for the glass, as if to drink faster. “Drink a few more sips first. I don’t want you to throw up.” When the glass emptied, she unwrapped the cookie. Before he could protest, Mrs. Guidry said, “Eat the cookie very slowly. If not, I’ll send for Mr. Jarreau.”
Remy blinked back tears and accepted the cookie. “Thank you, Mrs. Guidry,” he said, as Maurice ran up the aisle.
When a hint of color appeared on Remy’s cheeks, Maurice offered his cookie and milk. “If you say no, I’ll ask Mrs. Guidry to get Mr. Jarreau,” he said, as the teacher nodded approval.
Remy’s face broke into a wide grin. “Mrs. Guidry, your oatmeal cookies are delicious.”
“Thank you,” she said and turned to Maurice. “If he perspires again, tell me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll take care of Remy.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Gift
Bobby Lee laughed and pounded Remy’s desk. Scattered groups of students absorbed in animated conversations ignored him. “Maybe I could enter you in one of those frog-jumping contests and win some money. After I buy daddy a shotgun for hunting and a wristwatch for mama, I’ll buy a big statue of a frog for your porch.” He raised his hand high above his head.
“Ha! Ha! Very funny, especially if mama chases you into the bayou with her broom.” He made a face at Bobby Lee. “I didn’t jump like a frog. Madeline likes to pester me.”
Bobby Lee, a Cajun Tom Sawyer, grinned and hung a determined chin over the back of his chair. “Oh, yeah! I’d pester you, too, if I saw you jumping like a frog. I’d scoop you up with my net and haul you to mama. She’d throw your skinny bones into the gumbo pot. You’d kick the lid. Boom! Boom! When the lid fell on the floor, you’d hop back to the bayou,” Bobby Lee said, looking at Maurice. The two burst into laughter.
“You’re not being nice to me,” Remy said, picking cookie crumbs off of his jacket.
“You’re right. We’re not,” Maurice admitted. “Let’s throw Bobby Lee into the gumbo pot!”
“Wow! A great idea,” Remy said.
“You’d have to catch me first. I’d shoot marbles under your feet. Plop! Plop! You’d fall into the bayou. The alligators would gobble you up!” Bobby Lee’s hands opened and closed like an alligator’s snout. “But the gator would spit you out. Phooey! Without Tabasco sauce, you’d taste like shoe leather.” Remy covered his mouth and giggled. Bobby Lee and Maurice pretended to shoot marbles at each other. Bobby Lee reigned as the third-graders’ undisputed marble champion.
After the laughter faded, Bobby Lee flashed a conspiratorial smile. “I know a secret about Madeleine.”
“What?” the two boys breathed, nestling forward into a makeshift huddle.
“Well, maybe I shouldn’t tell you. Madeleine might get mad at me,” Bobby Lee said, teasing the moment. “You know how she is, always exaggerating little things.”
Remy poked Maurice on the arm. “When we play baseball in the spring, Bobby Lee’s not on our team.”
“If I remember right, Bobby Lee struck out twice in our last game,” Maurice said.
“You struck out twice, too,” he retorted.
“But I had a base hit and put a runner in scoring position.”
“Ha! I did the same thing!”
“Still, even with your two strike-outs, we beat the fifth- and sixth-graders,” Maurice said, staring at the ceiling and humming.
“Hey, Jake threw wild pitches.”
“No, I didn’t,” Jake interjected, turning around. “Bobby Lee, you can’t hit a curve ball. Your eyes jump around, like Remy does when he thinks he’s a frog.”
“I didn’t jump like—”
“I can too hit a curve ball!” Bobby Lee said, talking louder and hushing Remy. “Your curve balls look like a drunk stumbling down Bourbon Street.” He rotated his head in woozy circles.
“How come I can hit Jake’s curve balls?” Maurice asked, followed by a light laugh.
“I know the answer,” Jake said, a smug look on his face, “But I’m not telling because I want to finish the worksheets.”
“Spoil sport,” Bobby Lee said, as Jake returned to his work.
“Stop messing around,” Remy said, “and tell us the secret about Madeleine.” He nibbled on a fingernail.
“Oh, yeah! I almost forgot,” Bobby Lee said, as the boys resumed their huddle. “Don’t blame me if Madeleine finds out,” he said, glancing at Jake.
“Jake can’t hear. The rain’s too loud,” Maurice said, scowling.
Bobby Lee focused on Remy. “All right. I never said a word to Madeleine about how I thought you liked her, even when she asked if you did.”
Remy’s eyebrows shot up. “Wow! Madeleine asked if I liked her! When?”
“On the school bus last week. She said, ‘Remy’s real nice. Do you think he likes me? I hope so. I like him.’”
“Oh, wow! Wow!”
“I told you Madeleine’s got a crush on you,” Maurice said. “Everybody on the playground knows. Friends back off so you and Madeleine can talk.” He gave Remy an annoyed look. “You always think the worst.”
“That’s because Leonard’s gotten under his skin like poison ivy,” Bobby Lee said. “The more a person thinks about poison ivy, the more the stuff itches. The more Remy thinks about Leonard the more afraid he gets.”
“For weeks I’ve asked you to tell your parents, Mrs. Guidry or Father Lorio about Leonard’s bullying,” Maurice said, “but you’ve refused to talk to anyone. You act as if Leonard doesn’t exist. One of these days, Leonard will really hurt you.”
“Yeah! Reme
mber what happened two weeks ago when Maurice and I went inside to go to the bathroom and left you with Madeleine on the playground? We didn’t see Leonard anywhere. But he snuck up and punched you in the stomach.”
“Madeleine screamed and beat Leonard on the chest until Louis and Ronnie came,” Maurice said, tapping his fingers together. “After what happened that day, you didn’t hide in the classroom and stare at the Christmas tree. There’s another problem.”
“There’s no problem!”
“Yes, there is!”
Bobby Lee jerked upright. “Shhh! Madeleine’s coming. Tell her you’re sorry, Remy.” The three friends sat like choirboys as she navigated the aisle.
“Madeleine, your dress is pretty,” Remy said. She stopped mid-step. The boys’ silence sucked the air out of the aisle.
The party dress rustled around. “What did you say?”
“I—I said your dress is pretty. And your mama fixed your hair nice. You look like Snow White in a pink dress.”
Her black eyelashes fluttered in nervousness. “Why—why, thank you.” She dipped her chin. “I never wore a pretty dress before or had my hair fixed nice. Cousin Elena gave me her dress. She’s married now and has a baby. My clothes come from the poor people’s box at church.”
“Mama found my trousers in the same box. Even if the legs are long, I never before wore clothes this new.”
“You look nice all dressed up.”
“Thank you, Madeleine.”
Madeleine circled the scuffed toe of her boot on the floor. “Maybe next year a nice girl will donate a pretty pair of shoes for me to wear.”
“You look so nice I never saw the boots.”
“Really?”
“Promise.”
Madeleine twirled a curl on her shoulder. “I—I brought you a present,” she stammered, gesturing toward the Christmas tree. “The present’s wrapped in red paper and tied with a green bow. Your name’s on a card I made.” Madeleine wrung her hands and waited.
As if in a meadow bathed by a spring sun, Remy’s face glowed. “Oh, thank you,” he said, voice cracking, and then, after furrowing his brow, “I don’t deserve the present.”
“Why not?” she asked, a puzzled look on her face.
“I—I’ve been bad, real bad.”
“No!” she exclaimed and ran to the Christmas tree.
“Can I help you, Madeleine?” Mrs. Guidry asked.
“I want to give Remy his present before the party starts,” she said, clutching the gift.
“All right. It’s your decision.”
Madeleine ignored the curious looks on classmates’ faces and returned to Remy’s desk. “Merry Christmas,” she said, placing the gift on his desk.
Remy touched the red paper, as if afraid the wrapping would disappear into a poof of disappointment. Moist eyes stared at the bow’s loops and curls. “Thank you, Madeleine, your present is beautiful,” he said, cradling the gift. “No one’s ever given me a Christmas present wrapped in pretty paper with a bow.”
“I hope you like the present,” she said. Her eyes shimmered.
“Last Christmas, I dreamed about opening a Christmas present. But mama and daddy didn’t have any money. Santa Claus skipped our shack because we don’t have a chimney.” His eyes flickered confusion. “But Santa Claus leaves presents for rich kids whose houses don’t have chimneys.”
“I heard Santa wants the door cracked. But I’m not sure. Last year, I slid to the bottom of the mattress, so Lou Ann and Millie wouldn’t know, and tiptoed around Marcus, Jeremy, and Daniel on the floor. I cracked the door, but Santa never came. When I cried Christmas morning, mama said Santa wanted cookies and milk.”
“I wish we had a Christmas tree,” Remy said, holding her gift near his heart. “I wish I could fall asleep staring at the Christmas lights. Christmas lights are so pretty. When the red, blue, green and yellow lights blur, it’s as if there’s nothing bad in the world.”
“Stop thinking about what you don’t have. We don’t have a Christmas tree, like Bobby Lee and half of everybody else in the room. Father Lorio said if poor people like us don’t have electricity in our houses, we can have Christmas lights in our hearts.”
“I don’t want everything to be in my heart.”
“Remy, you dream too much.”
“I wish I had a present for you. Mama can’t—”
“I understand,” she interrupted, rushing her words. “Your mama saves money from selling chicken eggs to buy a car to get your daddy to the hospital for his medicine.”
“Money doesn’t come easy.”
“Nothing comes easy for sharecroppers.”
“Being poor hurts.”
“Don’t think about what hurts.”
“I tried, but I can’t. Too much hurts.”
Madeleine blinked back tears. “Mama worked hard to make my dress fit. You gave me a pretty Christmas present when you said how nice I look.” She took a deep breath. “Father Lorio said Christmas is about Jesus, not fancy presents. Father Lorio said being nice is a present more beautiful than a shiny new bicycle. Thank you, Remy, for my present, for being nice to me.” Madeleine turned in a whoosh of pink and rushed to her desk.
“Wow, that was nice,” Bobby Lee said.
Maurice bit his lip and said, “Yes, really, really nice.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Secret
Bobby Lee twisted out of his desk, knocking his pencil on the floor in the process. “Let’s talk to Luke,” he said, on his knees, reaching for the pencil.
“No way!” Remy said. “Luke gossips almost as much as Madeleine.”
“Don’t worry. What Madeleine said about liking you is safe with me,” he said and brushed his knees.
Remy’s face turned red. “If you tease me about Madeleine, Luke will—”
“—know Madeleine’s sweet on you?” Maurice said, laughing as he stood. “Why worry about what’s already happened? Luke knows.”
“You’re kidding?”
Maurice squeezed behind Remy’s desk. “That’s Madeleine for you. The girl talks to anyone who will listen.” He tugged at Remy’s jacket. “Come on! Leonard’s in Mr. Jarreau’s room.”
“All right. But not a word about Madeleine, just in case.”
“Ha!” Bobby Lee exclaimed, joshing Remy on the shoulder. “Secrets are as rare as friendly alligators. Mama says farmers with telephones have party lines with different rings. Nosey people ease up on a button when the phone’s lifted and listen in. Mama says secrets don’t exist on the bayou road.”
“And Madeleine knows most of the secrets,” Maurice added, glancing at the workstations, as the boys pushed empty desks aside on the second row. “Look at how Madeleine and Antoinette gossip!”
“What does Madeleine know?” Luke asked, pulling Leonard’s desk beneath the window, and then, “Hey, where are you two going?” he asked, as Marianne and Marie Claire stood.
As the girls stepped closer, Marianne giggled. “We’re moving. You boys will talk about sports. You always do.”
“So what? You sit in the middle of the row. You won’t hear us.”
“Yes, we will,” Marie Claire said. “When boys talk about sports, they shout.”
“What’s wrong with sports?” Bobby Lee asked. “Don’t you want to hear about Bobby Thompson and how his home run won the World Series for the Giants?”
“Or Babe Ruth?” Remy asked. “The man who lived in the shack before us gave daddy an autographed picture of Babe Ruth pointing to the right field stands. The picture was in a frame!”
“I know,” Marie Claire said, groaning. “You’ve told the story a hundred times. The picture hangs on the wall, above the sofa where you sleep.”
“Daddy says Babe Ruth will be the most famous baseball player ever, and the picture will be worth a lot of money some day,” Remy said, eyes wide.
“I don’t want to disrespect your daddy,” Marie Claire said, “but who will pay money for a picture of Babe Ruth? It�
�s like where we live, out here in the country. If people from Baton Rouge don’t like to visit, outsiders will never live here for good.” She tightened the rubber band around her ponytail. “A stranger from up north rented Mr. Guillory’s old house, down the road from us. The man lasted two months. The man told daddy he couldn’t take the weather, and people moved too slow.” Marie Claire fiddled with her ponytail, until the dark-brown mane curled on the left shoulder. “I’m always in a rush to finish my chores after school and don’t understand how he could say that.”
“Wow! Maybe the man would have bought Babe Ruth’s picture,” Bobby Lee said to Remy. “Imagine what your daddy could buy with $20.00!”
“See! Everything leads to sports,” Marie Claire said, linking arms with Marianne. “We want to sit at the workstation and hear Madeleine’s secret.”
Bobby Lee gave Remy a sheepish look and said to Marie Claire, “Maybe Madeleine doesn’t know a secret.”
“Yes, she does. Marianne and I heard you boys talking when you messed up the desks getting to the first row,” she said, as the girls walked away.
“What secret? What does Madeleine know?” Luke asked, surrounded by Remy, Bobby Lee, and Maurice. He stared from one to the other.
Bobby Lee shrugged. “You know how Madeleine is. The girl’s got more secrets than arithmetic has numbers.” When the boys laughed, he added, “And every secret is silly.”
“That’s true,” Luke agreed. “Remember the time Madeleine spread the word Frannie was sick, and Frannie turned out to be Mr. LeJeune’s old cow?”
“Yeah,” Maurice said. “People brought Frannie’s mama casseroles to feed a daughter who wasn’t sick.”
“When all Frannie the cow wanted was hay,” Luke said, wiping tears of laughter. “Sit here, Remy, in Leonard’s chair,” he said, changing the subject. “You don’t have to worry about Leonard today.”
“Yuck! I’m sick of Leonard,” Remy said, as he pulled Marie Claire’s desk down the row.
“Me, too,” Bobby Lee agreed, shoving Leonard’s desk aside to position another into the huddle.
“Hey, let’s talk about sports,” Remy said. A bolt of lightning lit up the pasture. “Not again,” he groaned.
Remy Broussard's Christmas Page 3
