Grand’maman was stirring a big pot of soup on the stove while Papa sliced a loaf of homemade bread into thick, crusty pieces. Zephram sat in his high chair, banging his tray with a wooden spoon in time to Maman’s music.
“Good,” Papa said when he saw Sophie and Arthur. He handed Zephram a crust. “You two are just in time for supper. Wash up and call Joseph and Henri and we’ll start. And, Sophie, you can let Maman know we’re ready.”
After washing her hands, Sophie went into the living room where Maman was hunched over the piano keys, her eyebrows knitted into a frown.
“Supper’s ready?” she asked, finishing the hymn with a flourish. “I’ll be right there.”
“That sounded good, Maman,” Sophie said.
“Not good enough yet. It has to be perfect for High Mass tomorrow.”
As Sophie sat at the table, her skirt pocket jerked under her wrist. Monsieur Croak! She had almost squashed him! She needed ajar to put him in, but she’d have to get one without Maman finding out. She had a feeling Maman didn’t approve of her frog collection.
After supper Grand’maman washed the dishes and Sophie dried them.
“Can I have this pickle jar, Grand’maman?”
“What do you want it for?”
“To add to my new collection.”
“A collection of what?”
Would Grand’maman tell? Sophie decided to trust her. “I caught another frog today,” she whispered. “But don’t tell Maman.”
“Mmm. Frogs are good. We like them in the garden because they eat the flies and mosquitoes. You really shouldn’t keep them in the bedroom, though. If you move them out to the garden, I won’t tell a soul.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Don’t forget to put plenty of holes in the lid so your frogs can breathe.”
When Sophie went into her bedroom to get her other frog, she noticed the piece of curtain fabric she was going to use for a Star Girl cape. Suddenly a marvellous idea flashed into her mind. “I know exactly where I’ll try out that cape,” she muttered to herself.
5
Sophie jumped out of bed the next morning. She would try out her plan as soon as she had a chance, but first she had to go to the eight o’clock Mass with Papa. He liked to go to Mass early so he’d have plenty of time to make his special pot roast for Sunday dinner, and Sophie liked to be his helper. It was the one day of the week they could have the kitchen to themselves.
When they got home from Mass, Maman was still in the kitchen with a big apron tied around her Sunday dress. She had a smudge of flour on her chin and was putting the finishing touches on three large cherry pies.
“There,” she said, crimping the edges. “This will be a special Sunday treat for us. Fresh cherry pies with the last of the cherries from our own tree.”
“Yum!” Sophie said. “Can’t wait.”
“You know what would make them perfect? A dollop of ice cream on top. Could you go to Young’s Market and buy a brick of vanilla ice cream, Sophie? They’re usually open by eleven o’clock on Sundays.”
“Sure.”
“Here’s some money and come straight home. Monsieur le Curé will be coming here for dinner after Mass, so I want everything to be perfect.”
“Okey-dokey.”
Papa tied a dish towel around his waist and started peeling potatoes and carrots at the sink. “My special pot roast should be ready when you all get back from High Mass.”
“Great,” Maman said as she kissed his cheek. “See you both later. Don’t forget to use the good dishes when you set the table, Sophie.”
Grand’maman and Maman left in a flutter of music books. Arthur went with them so he could turn the pages of Maman’s music while she played the organ for the choir. Joseph and Henri were the altar boys. Even Zephram was all dressed up in his Sunday best in a little blue sailor suit. Grand’maman would look after him during the service.
In the kitchen Papa chopped the onions and, in his deep baritone voice, sang one of Sophie’s favourite songs, “Au clair de la lune.”
When he came to the end of the song, Sophie said, “You should have been a professional singer, Papa. Either that or a cook.” The silverware clanked against the good china as she hurriedly set the kitchen table.
Papa’s moustache twitched as he grinned at her. “Cooking is good fun all right. But I like being an engineer, too.”
“Is it fun building roads all day long?”
“I do more than build roads, Sophie. I plan where they’ll go and where some buildings will go, as well. The best part, though, is when I get to build a bridge. Now that’s really fun.”
She laid the last fork down and said, “I’ll go to Young’s now and get the ice cream. See you later, Papa.”
“Remember to come straight home, Sophie. Dinner will be ready right after Mass.”
“Okey-dokey,” she said. On her way out she slipped into her bedroom and picked up her Star Girl cape. She felt a surge of excitement as she rolled it up and tucked it under her arm.
Mr. Young was a tall, jolly man with a fringe of grey hair around his ears. “A treat for your Sunday dinner, is it?”
“It’s for Maman’s special cherry pies. Monsieur le Curé is coming for dinner and she wants everything to be perfect.”
“You’d better hurry home then before this ice cream melts.” He put the brick of ice cream into a paper bag and she hurried out the door.
She had plenty of time before Maman and the others would be home for dinner, so she took a detour along the trail Arthur had shown her the day before. Here was her chance to check out that rope swing. She squeezed the Star Girl cape that was under her arm and felt her body tingle.
As soon as she entered the woods, it was cooler. She took a deep breath. It smelled damp and earthy. The shady path led downward, gently at first, then more and more steeply until she was skidding along. She could hear the creek at the bottom of the ravine before she could see it babbling between the moss-covered rocks and twigs, rushing its way downhill to the Fraser River.
The ferns were so thick near the edge of the creek that at first she couldn’t see the row of stepping stones she and Arthur had used the day before. Then she saw them near where they’d spotted the herd of deer. She strained her eyes to peer into the dark shadows under the bushes and the trees but couldn’t see any deer today. There was no sign of any other animals, so she balanced her way across the stream on the stepping stones.
Without stopping to dangle her bare toes in the inviting clear water, she hurried up the hill. She could see the long rope hanging from a high branch of a tall evergreen tree. Now was her chance! The end of the rope was wrapped around the trunk, just waiting for her to swing on it.
Sophie carefully put the grocery bag on a flat rock beside the tree.
Then she tied the Star Girl cape around her shoulders and unwound the rope. It was thick with a big knot at the bottom and another knot a little higher. She would hold on there.
Sophie carried the rope up the hill as far as it would reach to a spot where the ground had been cleared of bush. She patted her Star Girl cape down over her shoulders, gripped the rope with both hands, and wrapped one leg around it. Then she took a quick breath and jumped.
Down, down toward the bubbling stream she plunged, leaving her stomach behind. Her silk cape fluttered behind her back. She was flying like Star Girl through the air! The wind rushed past her cheeks and her ears, streaming through her hair and flapping her cape. “Star Girl!” she whispered to herself as she swung down and across the lush green of the ravine and up the other side.
For a heart-thudding second the rope stopped. She gasped. Then she swung back across the ravine, swishing past the bubbling creek and up the other side. As she swung backward, the silk cape flipped over her head and covered her face. She couldn’t see where she was heading but felt herself swing down again. Back and forth she glided with smaller and smaller pulses until, at last, the rope came to a stop. She wiggled her eyebrows and her s
houlders to get the cape off her head, but the more she twisted the more tangled it became. She couldn’t let go of the rope to pull off the cape. She’d fall for sure.
Sophie could hear the creek bubbling directly below her feet. She tried to peer down but couldn’t see anything through the silky fabric. It was as if she were blindfolded.
How was she supposed to get off the rope? If she let it go, she would tumble into the water and get her Sunday clothes wet and dirty. Maman would be furious, especially with Monsieur le Curé coming for dinner.
Maybe she’d have to wait until someone came along and she could yell for help. But what if no one came by? Maybe she’d have to spend all night in the middle of the ravine, hanging on to the rope with a blindfold over her head. She began to feel really silly.
Then she heard someone with a dog. The dog barked and whined.
“Bunny! Come back here, boy! Come back!”
Elizabeth! Oh, no! She couldn’t let Elizabeth see her like this. It was way too embarrassing! What would Star Girl do? Yell for help? Never! She had to help herself.
Sophie started pumping. She pumped and pumped, putting all her strength into it, imagining she had to get away from some rotten crooks who were ganging up on her. But nothing happened. The rope just hung there, dangling her over the creek like bait at the end of a fishing line.
Her arms were aching and her face was wet with sweat, but she held on, anyway, throwing her body forward and back. The cape jarred a little, then a little more. She could see a slit of greenery. She swayed harder.
“No, Bunny,” she heard Elizabeth say. “Get away from that bag. That’s dirty!”
Bag? The ice cream! Sophie swung harder. The rope moved a little. She pumped and pumped until, finally, she was swinging over the ferns and past them. Now all she had to do was jump. She took a quick breath and let go, pushing herself away from the rope. As she fell, a prickly bush grabbed her, clawing and scratching at her legs and her dress. But she landed safely on a bed of moss. She yanked off the cape and scrambled to her feet.
Elizabeth was on the hill right above her, staring at her with huge eyes. “Sophie! It’s you! I was wondering who that was!”
“Hi,” Sophie muttered, her face burning. She clambered back up the hill to where she had left the ice cream. She snatched it up, but the dog wouldn’t stop licking it. “Tell your dumb dog to quit licking my ice cream,” she demanded. She tried to hold the bag out of his reach, but he leaped at her.
“My dog’s not dumb,” Elizabeth said, patting his back. Her blue eyes snapped as she looked at Sophie. “Don’t you dare call him dumb.”
“Well, he should leave other people’s stuff alone,” Sophie said, wrapping the bag in her Star Girl cape. A stream of melted ice cream trickled down her arm. “Now look what he’s done! The ice cream’s melting! I’ve got to get it home before it melts completely.”
She pushed past Elizabeth and Bunny and raced along the trail and all the rest of the way home. She tried to hold the ice cream away from herself, but it dripped through the cape and down her arms and onto her Sunday dress. She was breathing hard when she clattered up the back steps and burst into the kitchen.
Sitting there around the big wooden kitchen table was her whole family: Papa, Maman, Grand’maman, Joseph, Henri, Arthur, and Zephram. And at the head of the table where Papa usually sat scowled the pastor of their parish, Monsieur le Curé. He was a husky man with grey hair, no moustache, and a hooked nose. In spite of the warm day, he wore a black robe with long sleeves and a tight clerical collar.
Everyone gasped and stared at Sophie. It was as if they had all turned to ice. No one moved or spoke.
“Aha!” Monsieur le Curé said, breaking the silence. “This must be your little daughter, Madame LaGrange.”
Maman cleared her throat and said stiffly, “This is our Sophie, who will apologize for being late for dinner.”
Her mother was really mad. Sophie blinked and tried to brush the leaves and twigs off her Sunday dress. “V-very sorry,” she stammered. Rivulets of melted ice cream dripped down her arms.
“Put that on the counter,” Maman told her, “then go wash up and come and join us for dinner.”
Sophie unwrapped the bag and put it beside Maman’s three beautiful golden cherry pies, then hurried into the bathroom. She stuffed the Star Girl cape into the laundry hamper and, turning on the tap, washed the sticky ice cream off her arms. Next she splashed water onto her face and glanced at herself in the mirror above the sink. Her long, curly hair was sticking up all over and was coated with twigs and dried leaves. She looked like a dishevelled scalawag. No wonder everyone had stared at her.
She pulled out the twigs and leaves and, since she couldn’t find a brush, ran her damp fingers through her hair and patted it down as well as she could. “There. That will have to do.”
After giving her hands and arms a quick swipe with a towel, she hurried back into the kitchen and slipped into her seat across the table from Arthur. He looked at her and crossed his eyes behind his glasses to make her laugh. Not even daring to smile, she avoided looking at Maman’s scowl as she helped herself to some pot roast, potatoes, and vegetables from the serving bowls in the middle of the table.
Sophie picked up her fork and was about to dig into the delicious-smelling dinner when Arthur kicked her knee. She looked up at him and he nodded toward the priest.
Oh, right! She’d forgotten to say grace. She put her fork down, clasped her hands, closed her eyes in what she hoped looked like a prayerful manner, and whispered a quick “Bless us, oh Lord, and this food...” Then she picked up her fork again and shovelled the food into her mouth. Papa’s pot roast was delicious and she was famished.
Sophie wanted seconds but everyone else was finished and Maman and Joseph were clearing the plates from the table. She slipped one last slice of the pot roast off the serving plate as Joseph removed it. She hoped her mother wouldn’t be able to tell that Elizabeth’s dog had been licking the ice cream.
Monsieur le Curé was telling Papa how pleased he was with the progress of the new French Catholic school they had been building for the past year next to the church. “We’re all finished now. Even the painting is finished. Everything is brand-new. Our teachers have been hired and we’re set to open after Labour Day. The only thing we lack now is students. We need every student we can get, so I’m going around the parish talking to families like yours. Our students will be receiving the very best education. They’ll learn their catechism and practise their French every day. It’s very important for our children to keep their religion and their language.”
Papa nodded. “Yes, yes.”
Maman lifted the brick of ice cream from the puddle it had formed on the counter. A white stream dripped down her arm. “Sophie!” she hissed. “What happened to the ice cream? It’s all melted!”
“Sorry, Maman,” Sophie said, bowing her head. Now Maman was doubly mad at her. “It’s so hot outside today.”
Maman tut-tutted. “Oh, Sophie, I don’t know what we’re going to do with you!”
Papa’s pot roast didn’t taste as delicious now. It was like a tough piece of sponge that Sophie could barely swallow. When she took her plate to the counter, she saw that Maman had cut the pies and was serving big triangular wedges onto her fancy dessert plates with the gold borders. Maman sighed as she dribbled a stream of melted ice cream on top of each serving.
“No ice cream for me,” Sophie said. Maybe Bunny hadn’t actually licked the ice cream, but she wasn’t going to take any chances.
She helped Joseph serve the plates of dessert around the table, giving Monsieur le Curé the biggest piece with the only lump of unmelted ice cream on top.
“Ah, fresh cherry pie à la mode,” he said. “Comme c’est magnifique!” He didn’t notice that he had the only unmelted bit of ice cream. He just went on eating and talking about his new school. “We’ll have grades one to six. I hope some of your children will be able to attend.”
“
That would only be Sophie,” Papa said. “The boys will all be in high school in September. And our Zephram won’t be ready for school for a few years yet.”
“Ah, well,” the priest said. “Then we must all work extra hard to preserve our French. You boys won’t forget your language and your culture, now will you?”
“No, Father.” They shook their heads and muttered into their desserts.
“But, Sophie, to have you come to L’école Notre Dame de Fatima. Now that will be splendid indeed. Magnifique!” He clapped his big hands together.
Sophie swallowed hard. “I am?”
“What a good idea for Sophie to go to a school that will teach her some good manners!” Maman said. “And if you ever need a music teacher, I’d be very happy to help out.”
“Well, that may be exactly what we’re looking for. Merci, madame.”
“Would you like another piece of pie, Father?”
“I won’t say no, Madame LaGrange. It’s been a long time since I’ve tasted such delicious cherry pie.”
Maman beamed. Her cherry pie was certainly a hit, in spite of the melted ice cream.
Sophie’s stomach churned. She didn’t want to go to a new school. She would have to make friends all over again just as she had when the family moved from Montreal in the spring. But she didn’t dare protest in front of Monsieur le Curé. One look at Maman scowling at the melted ice cream silenced her.
“But, Maman, I don’t want to go to the French school,” Sophie said when Monsieur le Curé had left. “You know what all the kids from Alderson Avenue School will call me if they see me going to a French school? Frenchie pea soup.” Arthur was washing the dishes and she was drying them while Maman swept the floor. Arthur nodded. He knew all about being called Frenchie.
“Now, now, Sophie,” Maman said. “It won’t be so bad. You’ll make lots of nice little friends at the new school. You’ll see. And maybe you’ll learn to act more ladylike, as well. Next week we’ll go downtown to New Westminster and buy you a tunic and some new school shoes. Maybe we can go to that fancy beauty parlour that’s opened across the street from Eaton’s and you can get a proper haircut. Something certainly must be done with your hair. The barber didn’t really do a very good job last time.” She sighed and picked a dried leaf out of Sophie’s mound of curls.
Criss Cross, Double Cross Page 4
