“Thank you, sir. I apologize for my stubbornness. Maurice and Bobby Lee wanted me to talk to an adult. I understand now how my refusal encouraged Leonard. I blamed myself for Leonard’s bullying. I thought that because I sometimes got angry about how I lived, God punished me by making Leonard bully me and by taking baby Yvette to heaven. I believed I was a bad person and caused problems that happened. I got afraid I’d go to hell and hid inside myself.”
Pain flickered in Jack Landry’s eyes. He put a hand on Remy shoulder and said, “Son, never again allow another person to push you around.”
“I promise I won’t, sir. I’ve learned my lesson.”
“Good,” he said and turned to Bobby Lee and Maurice. “Leonard’s actions created a situation from which you didn’t retreat. I admire your loyalty. Thank you for protecting Remy. I apologize for Leonard’s behavior,” he said, shaking hands with Maurice and Bobby Lee.
Maurice faced Remy and squared his shoulders. “Remy, I owe you an apology. You were right. I didn’t understand what you tried to tell me. I thought if I wore a crucifix around my neck, served as an altar boy, and prayed for poor people, I was a good person. When my parents gave food to your family, daddy wanted me to include a present for you. I refused.
“Remy, I lied when I said I didn’t want you to feel poor. The truth is, I considered you my friend, but I didn’t want a poor friend to get too close to my world. I’m ashamed of myself for blaspheming God’s holiness to protect my selfishness. Please forgive me.”
Remy fell into Maurice’s open arms.
As the boys returned to their desks, students sniffled and wiped tears. Jack Landry stared through the middle window. Pecan trees stood like sentinels, battered testimony to the havoc the rain and wind had produced. A faint winter sun struggled behind clouds.
He rubbed greying temples. “Where is Madeleine?” he asked. His eyes scanned the classroom.
Madeleine raised her hand. “Here, sir,” she said and stood. Strands of black hair matted a tear-stained face. Bits of cookie and bile dotted the party dress. The pink bow clung to the side of her head.
As Mrs. Guidry dropped soiled towels wrapped around broken glass into the trashcan near her desk, Jack Landry approached Madeleine and said, “Young lady, you are a Christmas angel.”
“Sir?”
“If you hadn’t had the courage to report Leonard’s bullying to your teacher, your parents, and your priest, the nightmare would have continued. You knew people gossiped, but without regard for personal safety—if Leonard heard you had reported him—you trusted adults to work together in a discreet manner to solve the problem. Your integrity is an example for others and a compliment to your parents.”
“Sir, I did what I thought Jesus wanted me to do.”
The tension in Jack Landry’s face faded. “Young lady, you really are a Christmas angel. Thank you. I shall never forget what you did.” He tightened his posture, as if in military uniform, and said to the combined classes, “On behalf of the Landry family, I apologize for the pain my nephew caused. We are saddened and embarrassed by Leonard’s behavior. After visiting with my sister-in-law, I will return to New Orleans tomorrow. Leonard will accompany me. He will live with his aunt and me while he attends a private school with resources for students with emotional problems. His family prays his behavior changes before his father returns from the war in Korea. We also pray you will one day forgive Leonard.” When students nodded and clapped, Jack Landry raised his hand.
“Remy also suffered from rumors within the community about his father. Mr. Broussard endures headaches caused by shrapnel inflicted during a battle on Iwo Jima during World War II. A doctor at the Veterans’ Administration denied authorization to remove a piece of shrapnel on the side of Mr. Broussard’s head.
“I’ve arranged for Mr. Broussard to undergo the simple operation he desperately wants, in January, at a private hospital. Mr. Broussard served in my Marine Corps unit on Iwo Jima. The Marine Corps’ motto is Semper Fidelis, Latin for ‘Always Faithful.’ I am forever grateful to Mr. Broussard and intend to honor that faithfulness. During a bloody battle on Iwo Jima, Remy’s father risked his life to save mine, and got hit with shrapnel in the process. I lost contact with Mr. Broussard when the war ended. Now that I’ve found him, I will do whatever it takes to help my Marine Corps brother.”
He faced Mrs. Guidry and said, “I apologize for Leonard’s behavior and thank you for the work you’ve done to coordinate efforts to resolve this situation. As I drove here, it comforted me to know you monitored Leonard through an opening in the stacks of books on your desk. Like you, I worried Leonard would harm Remy before the Christmas holidays began.”
Mrs. Guidry wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and students stood respectfully as Jack Landry walked to the first workstation for his hat and crossed to the second workstation, where Leonard waited. “Leonard, do you have anything to say to your teacher and your classmates before we leave?”
Leonard stood and stared at a sea of expectant faces. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Guidry, that I insulted you and caused trouble. Remy, I promise I will never hurt you again. I’m sorry for what I did.” When he shuffled his feet, Jack Landry placed a gentle hand on his nephew’s shoulder. Leonard blinked back tears and said, “Merry Christmas.” The students responded with forgiving smiles and cries of “Merry Christmas” as Leonard and his uncle departed.
Mrs. Guidry glanced at the Christmas tree and said, “I need volunteers to carry pitchers of milk and glasses to the workstations.” Eager voices clamored to help, just as Bobby Lee blurted out, “Car doors are slamming. The volunteer parents are here!”
“Turkey!” Jake cried. “We’re going to eat turkey”
“And ham!” Georgie exclaimed.
“Mashed potatoes with butter,” Madeleine added.
“Sweet potatoes,” Louis announced, licking his lips.
As she greeted and thanked the parents, a twinkle had returned to Mrs. Guidry’s eyes. Within minutes, a Christmas feast covered the workstations. Classmates agreed Madeleine should say the blessing. According to numbers pulled from the emptied Crayon basket, students formed a line and sighed with anticipation as volunteers filled plates with generous portions. Students returned to desks grouped like round tables and tucked into food that nourished the body and the soul.
After many had enjoyed second helpings and tummies filled, parents divided leftovers into containers. As students lingered at desks, the classroom door opened. “Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas,” Santa Claus bellowed. Students squealed and rushed to hug the jolly fat man.
While parents pulled Mrs. Guidry’s desk to the opposite side of the room, Santa laughed his merry laugh and placed a wrapped gift on desks. By the time he reached the Christmas tree, students bubbled with excitement and twittered about whether or not to open presents.
Santa reached behind the Christmas tree where parents had placed presents hidden in the bookroom, and read names on gift cards. Students screamed, clapped, and jumped up and down. Unable to contain excitement any longer, they tore into gifts. “Shampoo!” Madeleine cried. “Santa gave me shampoo. How did he know?” As the feast of presents continued, Christmas paper and bows flew. Girls caught bows for their hair.
Merriment mellowed when Mrs. Guidry announced parents had cookies and pecan pies at the workstations. Dollops of whipped cream crowned slices of pie. “Mrs. Guidry’s cookies are delicious,” Remy said to Georgie, selecting a cookie from each platter.
Madeleine, who stood behind Remy, said, “I don’t understand why I got sick. I can’t stop eating now.”
Remy gave Madeleine a sweet look. “Your tummy was nervous because you thought the weather would keep Mr. Landry from coming.”
“I was afraid Leonard would hurt you.”
“Thank you, Madeleine, for what you did,” he said, putting one of his cookies on her plate. “You’re my Christmas angel.”
“All right,” Luke said. “Stop the gushy talk so I can fill my dessert plate.” Madele
ine and Remy laughed as they joined Maurice, Bobby Lee, and Jake. Between bites of cookies and pie, stories grew about Santa’s visit. “Santa knows everything, even how many presents to bring,” Bobby Lee said.
Madeleine stared at the bottle of shampoo with dreamy eyes. “How did he know?”
Jake tossed his baseball up and caught it. “I can’t believe Santa brought me a new baseball. And mama will be happy when she sees the leftovers. I can’t wait to see mama smile.”
“You don’t have to wait long,” Maurice said. “I think I hear school buses parking out front.”
Bobby Lee glanced at the clock. “Wow! It’s 3:45.”
“Christmas is wonderful,” Remy said, clutching his unopened presents.
“Boys and girls,” Mrs. Guidry said, standing beneath George Washington’s watchful eyes. “The time has come to straighten desk rows, pick up paper on the floor around you, fill your satchels, and prepare to go to the school buses. I’m sure you’re as grateful as I am for Santa’s visit and the delicious food volunteer parents prepared.” Students with bright, happy faces applauded and cried, “Thank you!”
When the classroom returned to order for January’s re-opening, Mrs. Guidry said, “As most of you know, Father Lorio has a list of those who requested holiday food. Mr. Landry worked with Mr. LeBlanc to fill this list with boxes of food. There are also boxes of food for students in this classroom and the other two classrooms whose families need help but aren’t on Father Lorio’s list. When you enter your school bus, please tell the driver if your family would like a box of food. All students should tell the drivers if they have a neighbor or know of someone in need of food. Mr. Landry ordered 400 hundred extra boxes.”
“Oh, God, thank you,” Jake said and burst into tears.
“Please tell your parents school buses will begin deliveries at 8:00 in the morning. I’m sure word will spread, as the school bus gets closer to each house.”
Mrs. Guidry and parents stood near the classroom’s door and gave containers of leftovers to those who requested the food and wished each student a “Merry Christmas.” When Remy, Madeleine, Maurice, and Bobby Lee walked outside, Mr. Laurent waited at the end of the walkway. “Remy, your father asked if I would drive you home,” Mr. Laurent said.
“Sir?”
“Your father requested I purchase bananas for him at Mr. LeBlanc’s store.”
“Bananas?”
“Come, son,” Mr. Laurent said, leading Remy to his Ford sedan and putting Remy’s satchel into the trunk. When Remy opened the front door and sat down, Mr. Laurent said, “Perhaps we should wait until the buses leave. I don’t want mud to splash the car.”
“Yes, sir.”
When the buses departed, Mr. Laurent switched on the car’s headlights. After he had purchased the bananas, he navigated the bayou road with care. “Did you enjoy the Christmas party?” Mr. Laurent asked.
“Yes, sir. Two Christmas dreams came true. We had lots of turkey to eat, and I have presents to open on Christmas morning. I hope mama’s at home so I can tell her.”
“Don’t worry. Your mama returned home this afternoon.”
“Sir?”
“Mr. Landry arranged for your mama and Madeleine and Bobby Lee’s mamas to go Christmas shopping in Baton Rouge. The ladies left early this morning, after drinking coffee at Madeleine’s house.” Mr. Laurent turned into the lane that led to Remy’s house. As he rounded a slight curve, he tooted the car’s horn. A deer standing near the thicket of pine trees skittered to safety.
When the curve straightened, Remy burst into tears. “Sweet Jesus! Oh, Sweet Jesus, thank you.” He turned to Mr. Laurent and stammered, “H—How?”
“Someone provided the batteries,” he said, shutting off the car’s engine. “Your father was busy in the woods. The mothers returned from Baton Rouge with shopping bags filled.”
When Madeleine, Bobby Lee, and Maurice emerged from the thicket of pine trees, Mr. Laurent nodded in their direction. “Look, son,” he said. Remy screamed with joy and opened the car’s door. He raced to join his friends. Remy, Madeleine, Bobby Lee, and Maurice clasped hands and spread like cutouts, as they ran toward three houses with brightly lit Christmas trees.
THE END
AUTHOR’S NOTES
When America’s Civil War ended in 1865, a system of farm labor for little money in exchange for rented housing and other amenities, including a share of profits from crops, emerged. Many of the slaves freed by the war and those displaced by the war had no place else to go but to a farm. Segregation prevailed in the Old South, with sharecropper housing on farms separated by race.
Too many landowners found ways to avoid responsibilities to sharecroppers, and, as time passed, these workers slipped deeper and deeper into poverty and illiteracy. Now, I want to stress that many landowners fulfilled responsibilities and, like others concerned with how the sharecropper system affected families, worked tirelessly, sometimes at personal and/or economic risk, to change what had become entrenched in the Old South. The Federal government also attempted to unravel the sharecropper system upon numerous occasions. It wouldn’t be until the passage and enforcement of the 1964 Civil Rights Act that the sharecropper system in place would disappear.
Now, Remy is a child and could handle only so many weighty issues. I had a choice between mentioning African-American sharecroppers and moving on or writing another Remy story that involved those who often lived far worse than white sharecroppers, a life that sometimes had sinister overtones or direct harassment or dire consequences. The KKK comes to mind. I have chosen to write another story. Hemingway, I’m not. But stories from another era beg to come out.
Although the characters and Christmas events are fictitious in “Remy Broussard’s Christmas,” the schoolhouse is not. The placement of windows, doors, blackboards, workstations, bathrooms, and the bookroom is as accurate as I can remember. The schoolhouse was demolished years ago. The empty land merged with the pasture behind the school. The railroad tracks remain operational.
I would eventually sit in Remy’s chair, then a first- and second-grade classroom. Because of time my parents and grandparents spent with me before I entered school, I would ask to do second-grade work. This enabled me to skip the second formal year of school and enter university at the age of sixteen.
I lived with my family on my grandfather’s farm while my father completed law school at Louisiana State University. There were no sharecroppers on my grandfather’s farm, as he did not believe in the system. My father later worked to help desegregate our area in the Old South.
Bullying continues to exist. As public awareness grows about an insidious problem (that has caused some students to commit suicide) and more states pass anti-bullying laws with stronger enforcement, parents gain hope their child or children have a degree of recourse if bullying occurs. Bullying is sneaky and downright mean. As with others, bullying is one of my ‘hot buttons,’ and I’m passionate about stopping bullying. I blog at www.kittiehoward.blogspot.com and know of countless bloggers who have the same passion.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Rachel Morgan designed the beautiful cover for “Remy Broussard’s Christmas.” The candle on the cover is Rachel’s candle. Rachel and I met through blogging. I am truly blessed that we did, not only because Rachel is an amazing writer with incredible skills in many arenas, but also because she is one of the kindest and sincerest persons I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing. Rachel is a joy to work with. From the heart, Rachel, thank you for so much!
Rachel is a dedicated teacher who lives in South Africa. Her blog is at https://www.rachel-morgan.com/
Susan Fitzgerald and I met many years ago, through a comedic situation we still laugh about (as we both love to laugh!). The years deepened the initial encounter into a friendship that is now a sisterhood. Susan is smart, sensitive to the needs of others and is a problem-solver with an intuitive sense for what works. Thank you, Susan, for your encouragement and warm-hearted support, but most of all
, thank you for being you. Your friendship is a treasure.
I take full responsibility and apologize for any errors encountered in “Remy Broussard’s Christmas.”
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