“Depart on the first train out,” Frannie said. “Before God could get His hands on Him.”
The Monsignor, whose personal library at the rectory in Magog was well-stocked with Voltaire, Rabelais, and Balzac, and who was something of an iconoclast himself, roared with laughter. “Bien!” he said. “As our beloved Dame Julian of Norwich said, ‘All shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.’ Of this, I am certain.”
“If that is what Dame Julian truly thought, she was in for a very unpleasant surprise,” Frannie said.
Réné looked at Frannie with a degree of awe. Madame pursed her lips and frowned, but Jim could tell that she, too, was enormously proud of her daughter the miracle child.
As for Jim’s own parents, the editor and Ruth had fallen in love with Frannie the day Jim brought her home to meet them. Like Athena Allen, Frannie was the daughter they’d never had. At the same time, Mom surprised Jim, and embarrassed him somewhat, by giving him a package of condoms, “just in case.”
“I guess you know teenage boys,” Jim said.
“I do, sweetie,” Mom said. “Teenage girls, too. After all, I was one.”
* * *
The lake froze over in January. Frannie walked to and from the island over the ice. At school she continued to be deeply intrigued by the story of Pliny Templeton. Why were there no references in Pliny’s great History of Kingdom County to his own history? To his youth in slavery before he fled north to freedom? How did one apply for the Templeton Scholarship awarded each year by the state university? One didn’t, Jim explained. It was presented at graduation to the top-ranking senior at the Academy. Frannie continued to insist that Jim’s great-grandfather Mad Charlie Kinneson had murdered Pliny over the love of a woman. “Mark my words, James,” she said. “It is the way of the world.”
On weekends Frannie helped her father run his trapline along the Upper Kingdom River. Early in January, Réné Lafleur sprained his ankle in a beaver run. For the next two weeks Frannie stayed home from school to tend his traps. One Saturday, Jim accompanied her on her circuit. Trapping had been an important source of cash income for generations of Lafleurs. Even so, Jim was surprised by the matter-of-fact way Frannie, who loved all animals, hauled up the drowned muskrats and beavers in her father’s sets. Near the shore of Pond Number Three, across the ice from the hunting camp, they came upon a snarling fisher, caught in a trap baited with chicken skin at the base of a giant hemlock. In its determination to free itself, the animal had nearly chewed off its own back leg. Dispassionately, Frannie put the fisher out of its misery with a fireplace poker she carried in her pack basket and referred to as “Our Merciful Savior.” “And merci to you, too, Monsieur Fisher,” she told the dead animal. “Your gorgeous pelt will pay for my books at university this fall.”
Gramp would have understood, Jim thought. As a boy growing up on the farm that wasn’t, Gramp had run his own trapline, using the proceeds to buy his books and school clothes.
Late that afternoon, a snow squall came roaring down out of Canada. Jim and Frannie took shelter in the camp. Jim built a fire in the Glenwood, and they made love in the loft where he’d spent so many nights as a boy on hunting and fishing excursions with Dad and Gramp and Charlie. Afterward, Frannie cried a little, Jim hoped from happiness. Then, propped up on her elbow, she said, “Now, James, we are lovers, like Pliny and the secret love of his life, whoever she may have been. Also, we are adversaries for the Templeton Scholarship. Fierce rivals by day, passionate lovers by night. How romantic! But you must know that if you let up in your studies and allow me to win the award, I shall have no choice but to hunt you down with Our Merciful Savior and dispatch you as I did the noble fisher. That would be disagreeable for me and more so yet for you.”
“What about your physician’s oath, Dr. Lafleur?”
“What about it? When I become Dr. Lafleur, I will do no harm.”
“Frannie Flower, I never know when you’re joking and when you’re serious.”
“I have never been more serious in my life. If you let me win the scholarship, out of the pack basket comes Our Merciful Savior. You may depend upon it.”
“I won’t let up, and you may depend upon that,” Jim said, and he took her into his arms again.
* * *
That winter and spring Jim and Frannie made love at the farm that wasn’t whenever his folks weren’t home. Charlie gave Jim the key to his office on the fourth floor of the courthouse and they made love there, inventively and frequently. They went parking in Jim’s pickup on back roads all over the county, especially to the pull-off on the height of land south of the Landing, beside the granite obelisk inscribed with the warning “Keep Away.” Sometimes at night, from the top of the ridge, they could see the rose-tinted reflection of the lights of Montreal on thin clouds above the city, and the crimson and blue, silver and saffron flares of the northern lights far to the north over the Laurentian Mountains. “I think, James, we made that happen. The aurora.”
Once, after school hours, they made love in the science room of the Academy. “Well, Monsieur Pliny,” Frannie said afterward, “as you can plainly see, with us all is well. Is all well with you? Are all manner of things?”
“What did he say?” Jim asked her.
“He said not by a long shot, they aren’t. He said he wasn’t telling us what to do, but in our place he’d gather his rosebuds in the here and now.”
In February, Jim and Frannie ice-fished on the big lake. In March they helped her father sugar off. Late in April an all-night rain swept in on the back of a south wind, and the ice went out of the lake in three booming explosions.
Their senior year was winding down. Like many boys, Jim excelled in subjects that interested him. English, Latin, and history, in his case. In his other classes he did what he needed to do to get by. He finished his high-school career with a cumulative average of 92.5, well behind Frannie’s top-ranking 98. As class valedictorian, she would receive the Templeton Scholarship to attend the state university. Jim was offered a partial baseball scholarship and a part-time job in the university library. He’d never doubted that Frannie would win the Templeton Award and was delighted that they’d be attending college together.
But on the day before graduation, as Jim was helping his father run off programs for the ceremony, George Quinn, chairman of the Academy board of trustees, appeared at the Monitor with stunning news. Francine was ineligible for the Templeton Scholarship. The original agreement between the university and the Academy stipulated that the recipient must be an American citizen. “There’s no birth certificate for the Lafleur girl on file at the county clerk’s office or the Vermont Department of Health, editor,” George said. “Unless she can produce one herself, it looks like Jimmy’s next in line for the award.”
“Goddamn it, George,” the editor said. “Anyone born on Mirage Island is automatically a dual U.S.–Canadian citizen.”
“Actually, Charles, the school never really had to accept her in the first place. I mean, being part Indian and part Negro, too, for all we know.”
“George, are you familiar with the recent Supreme Court ruling Brown vs. the School Board of Topeka, Kansas? The local school district, that’s the Academy in this instance, is legally obligated to accept and offer full privileges to all children residing in the district. Mirage Island is in the school district. Réné Lafleur pays U.S. taxes and Vermont taxes.”
“That’s so,” George said. “But don’t you see, Charles? Without an authentic birth certificate, we don’t have any official record where the girl was born. Our hands are tied. It’s a black-and-white matter.”
“You’re right about that, George,” the editor said. “That’s exactly what it is. Jim, go over to the courthouse and get your brother. I don’t care if he’s in the middle of the trial of the century. Go get him now.”
* * *
The following morning, half the village turned out to hear Charlie’s petition to the new judge, who was still referred to as “
the new judge” after two years, to issue an injunction awarding the Templeton Scholarship to Frannie. The Academy trustees had legal representation, as well. They’d hired Zack Barrows, the recently retired prosecuting attorney of Kingdom County. Jim sat directly behind Charlie and Frannie at the plaintiff’s table, with Frannie’s parents and her uncle, the Monsignor. He’d asked his father to let him cover the special court hearing but the editor had said no. That would be a conflict of interest, or at least give the appearance of one. Dad would cover today’s proceedings himself.
Charlie’s first witness was Prof Chadburn. “Prof,” Charlie said, “I’d like to begin by asking you to state your full title.”
“I’m headmaster of the Kingdom Common Academy.”
“How long have you held that position?”
“Too long. Forty-one, going on forty-two, years. Thankfully, I’m retiring at the end of this term.”
“So for more than four decades, through wind and rain and sleet and snow, you put up with young rapscallions like me. I’m impressed.”
“Well, Charlie, in all honesty, I’m afraid I’d have to say that I never knew any other boys quite as troublesome as you. You were in a league of your own.”
General laughter.
“Well, you know what they say, Prof. Some very bad boys grow up to be very good men.”
“I can assure you from a fair amount of experience that most don’t,” the new judge interrupted. “Mr. Kinneson, make your point.”
It was evident to Jim that the new judge did not care for Charlie or, for that matter, for his assignment to Kingdom County. Charlie himself had said he didn’t blame him. Who’d want to adjudicate in a place whose motto for two centuries had been “Keep away”?
“Certainly, your honor,” Charlie said. “Prof, could you please describe the Templeton Scholarship?”
“It’s a full four-year scholarship, all expenses paid, to the state university in Burlington. It’s awarded annually by the university to the Academy graduate with the highest cumulative four-year average. It’s given in honor of Pliny Templeton, whom the university claims as the first American Negro college graduate.”
“Who is the top-ranking student this year?”
“Francine Lafleur. She ranks first in her class by more than five percentage points.”
“Thank you, Prof. Your honor, I’d like to call George Quinn.”
After the president of the Academy trustees was sworn in, Charlie asked him if there were any additional eligibility requirements for the Templeton Scholarship.
“Just one,” George said. “It stipulates that the recipient must be an American citizen. Miss Lafleur hasn’t been able to prove to the trustees that she was born in the United States.”
“How would she do that?”
“With an American birth certificate. Unfortunately, she hasn’t been able to produce one.”
Next, Charlie called Francine, who was wearing her blue dress with silver constellations embroidered on it. To Jim, she looked more beautiful than ever.
Frannie stated her name and address, Mirage Island.
Charlie said, “Miss Lafleur, is Mirage Island located in the United States or Canada?”
Frannie smiled. “Both.”
“How can it be located in two countries at the same time?”
“Well, Charlie Kinneson, you must know that the international border between Vermont and Quebec, as established by the Webster-Ashburton Treaty, is the forty-fifth parallel of latitude. The forty-fifth parallel of latitude cuts directly through Mirage Island. South of the parallel is the United States. North is Canada.”
“And your family’s farm is located?”
“Directly on the parallel. The line is painted through the middle of our kitchen.”
“Thank you, Miss Lafleur. That’s all. Your honor, I’d like to call Miss Lafleur’s mother, Mrs. Madeleine Lafleur, to the stand.”
Madame Lafleur, in her black church dress, came forward and took the oath.
“Mrs. Lafleur, you heard your daughter testify that the international border runs directly through your kitchen. It’s represented by a painted black line.”
“Oui. I pass from the United States to Canada and back again one dozen, two dozen times a day.”
“Which side of that line was Francine born on?”
“The south. Our bedchamber is off the parlor on the north side. So for the birth of Francine, we move the bed into the kitchen, south of the line. In the United States.”
“Were there any other witnesses, besides you and your husband, that Frannie was born south of the line?”
“Oui. The midwife. But when we come with the midwife to the county clerk here in this courthouse, to have made a certificate of birth for Francine, your clerk refuses to allow the midwife to speak because she is Canadian, not American. So we are never able to receive the certificate.”
Zack Barrows got to his feet. “Your honor, I object to all this hearsay. Without an American witness, the girl and her parents can’t prove where she was born. Therefore, she can’t procure a birth certificate. Without a birth certificate proving that she’s an American, she isn’t eligible for the Templeton Scholarship.”
“Mrs. Lafleur,” the judge said. “You have no other witness who could testify where your daughter was born?”
“Oui. Is one other witness.”
“Besides your husband?”
“Oui. Yes. Besides.”
“And who would this other witness be?”
“God,” Madame said. “The island, Île d’Illusion, this village, your county, it is all, as they say, God’s Kingdom. God is our witness that Francine was born in His Kingdom.”
“Well, I don’t believe God is available to testify this morning,” Zack said.
Beside Jim, Frannie’s uncle, the old bootlegger-Monsignor, got to his feet. “Your honor,” he called out. “As God is my witness, He is here this morning. God is everywhere. This we would all do well to remember.”
The new judge and former marine major looked as if he wished he were back on Pork Chop Hill. He looked as if he wished he were anywhere other than God’s Kingdom.
“Your honor,” Charlie said hurriedly. “There’s a precedent that goes back to a verbal but binding agreement between Daniel Webster and Lord Ashburton that anyone born on Mirage Island is de facto a dual U.S.–Canadian citizen. Neither the school trustees nor anyone else has produced any proof that Frannie Lafleur, the valedictorian of the Academy graduating class of 1956, is not an American citizen.”
“Your honor,” Zack said, “no one can prove a negative. We need proof of citizenship. Until the girl can show the trustees a birth certificate, their hands are tied.”
“Well, I can understand that,” the new judge said. “While I fully acknowledge that there is a great deal, a very great deal indeed, about Kingdom County, Vermont, that I do not, and probably never will, comprehend, I can and do understand why the trustees of the Kingdom Common Academy need to see an American birth certificate for Mr. Kinneson’s client in order to award her the scholarship. And now I will share a little story with you. I can understand this in part because my own parents, Antonio and Rosa Paglia, came to this country from Sicily. I was born the next year and I will assure you that they immediately obtained an American birth certificate for me.”
Jim’s heart fell. When the judge had revealed that his parents had been immigrants, Jim had felt hopeful. But only momentarily. Antonio and Rosa Paglia had done everything according to the letter of the law. Clearly, Judge Paglia was going to rule against Francine.
“So, Mr. Barrows,” the judge continued. “This is your lucky day. It is your lucky day and it is the lucky day of the Academy trustees. Because if all you need to see in order to award Miss Lafleur the scholarship is an American birth certificate, I am going to arrange for you to see one. Mr. Kinneson, I’d like for you to go down to the county clerk’s office on the second floor and bring back the clerk, Mrs. Kittredge. Kindly tell her to bring a
blank birth certificate and her official stamp along with her. I intend to order the county clerk, Mrs. Kittredge, to issue Miss Francine Lafleur a birth certificate stating her place of birth as Mirage Island, Kingdom County, the State of Vermont, the United States of America. Right now.”
“Your honor,” Zack said. “She isn’t even white.”
“Neither, as I understand it, was Pliny Templeton,” Judge Paglia said. “Miss Lafleur,” the judge continued, “I would like to be the first to congratulate you. You are the 1956 recipient of the Pliny Templeton Scholarship. If I may add a personal note, the state university will be most fortunate to have you as a student. You will do them, and us, proud.”
“Your honor, I object. These proceedings are an outrage.”
Bang! Down came Judge Paglia’s gavel. “Mr. Barrows,” he said, “on that point, we are in total agreement.”
* * *
In accordance with a tradition dating back to the founding of the Academy as a Presbyterian institution, graduation was held at the now United Church at the south end of the village green. The following afternoon at precisely two o’clock, the twenty-eight members of the class of ’56 filed into the church to the labored strains of “Pomp and Circumstance” on the ancient organ. Proudly, and a little self-consciously, the seniors seated themselves in the first two rows of pews. Directly behind them sat their teachers and the Academy trustees. Then family and friends. The soon-to-be graduates were aligned in alphabetical order. Frannie sat next to the center aisle in the first pew. Jim sat beside her.
It seemed to Jim much longer ago than just yesterday that Judge Paglia had ordered the town clerk to make out an American birth certificate for Frannie, and the school trustees to award the Templeton Scholarship to her.
Frannie, however, had news of her own. Earlier that year, on the advice of Prof Chadburn, she’d submitted a backup application to McGill University in Montreal. Recently, she’d learned that McGill had offered her a full scholarship to attend its premed program. For the time being, her citizenship status was a moot point. Jim, for his part, was relieved for Frannie, but devastated that they wouldn’t be going to college together.
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