The French Girl

by Felicia Donovan

  “Look at you!” Giselle said turning. Her arms were filled with jars of what looked like tomato sauce. “You look beautiful!” she said smiling widely. “Do you like it?”

  “Yes, very much,” I said. “What is this place?” I asked.

  “It is our back porch. It is also where I store the things I sell and where I paint when the weather is not so good.”

  Giselle placed the jars on top of the counter and gestured me over to the windows. They were very tall, so I was able to see far out over the gardens. Giselle pointed.

  “This entire place will be filled with color in a few weeks,” she said. If you look far across the fields, you’ll see the stream,” she said pointing towards the back of the garden. “Jean likes to sit in this chair and read while I paint.”

  Giselle tugged at one of my curls and watched it bounce back. “Women would pay good money for those curls,” she said laughing. “You are both very beautiful and very lucky.”

  I do not know what happened but once she said the words, I felt a strangeness come over me. I could not understand why all of these words came so easily to Giselle and why they made be both happy and sad at the same time.

  “Come on,” she said, “Jean will be home soon. We must get ready for dinner.”

  Giselle reached for a large bundle wrapped in wax paper and unrolled a large piece of dough onto the wooden counter. It was shaped in a rectangle. She pulled pans from the oven and quickly dusted them with corn meal.

  “What are you making?” I asked.

  “Nothing fancy tonight. Just pizza. Jean loves my pizza.”

  I shook my head and felt the strangeness of the curls bouncing around.

  “But it is not round,” I said.

  Giselle laughed. “Pizza is not always round, Cherie.”

  It was in Cote Nouveau. Once in a while, the school cafeteria would make pizzas but they were always round and not very good. I was not so sure about eating pizza.

  “There are many things different here than in Cote Nouveau, non?” she said lifting the dough and carefully setting it into a baking pan.

  I did not answer but watched as she dribbled a little olive oil onto the bottom of the dough, opened one of the jars and poured fresh tomato sauce over it using the back of the spoon to spread it around. She then grated some fresh cheese and let me sprinkle the cheese over the top.

  “Not too much,” she said, “or you will spoil the other flavors.”

  When the cheese was all on, she topped the pizza with onions, mushrooms and small pieces of ham. Finally, she brushed a little more olive oil on the crust.

  I waited for her to put it in the oven, but instead she turned to the fireplace and struck a match. The fireplace immediately came to life and within seconds, a fire was burning in the hearth.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Getting the fire ready. This will not take long to cook.”

  “You are going to cook it in the fire?” I asked. I had never heard of such a thing and could only imagine a blackened, charred pizza.

  Giselle laughed. “It gets baked in the hearth and is very good. Trust me. You may set the table tonight, okay?”

  She instructed me on what to put out but I already knew where everything was. The air had cooled down, but the kitchen was very warm from the fire. Once again, Giselle set fresh flowers out, pulling a few out that were not so fresh, and stood back to inspect the table.

  Neither of us heard Jean come in, but as I stood inspecting the table alongside Giselle, we were both suddenly aware of her standing in the doorway of the kitchen. She stood there, but her gaze was on me.

  “Hi Sweetie,” Giselle said going over to her and giving her a hug. Jean planted a kiss on the top of Giselle’s head, but she continued to stare at me the whole time.

  “We have had a very exciting day and much to tell you…” Giselle began but then stopped and stepped back. “What is it, Jean?”

  Jean kept her eyes steadily on me as she quietly said, “She looks just like you.”

  ***

  Several times during dinner, I glanced up and caught Jean looking at me. Giselle brought out a big salad bowl filled with onions and tomatoes and olives, followed by a plate of steamed green beans that I did not care for.

  “As long as you try it,” Giselle said and I did, but I still did not like them.

  I watched anxiously as she slid the pan with the pizza out of one of the openings of the oven. I was beginning to get afraid that I would not like that either.

  “Etoile met Eppy and Carol today. Eppy said she is in great shape but needs to gain a little weight. They asked about Saturday night, but we can talk about that later.”

  “What is Saturday night?” I asked watching her cut the pizza up.

  “We have friends over some Saturday nights. Eppy and Carol and some others,” Jean explained. Turning to Giselle, she said, “I don’t see why they shouldn’t come over, do you?”

  Giselle paused. “No, but…”

  “No reason to change our routine,” Jean added.

  Giselle brought the pan over to the table. I had to admit that it looked very good. The cheese was all melted and bubbly and the onions, ham and mushroom were just slightly browned. I handed my plate to Giselle and she put a slice out for me. I started to eat it with my hands, but she stopped me.

  “This is the kind of pizza you eat with a fork and a knife,” she said, “but you must wait until everyone is served.”

  I waited for Giselle to sit back down before diving in. The sauce was very sweet. The crust was crispy but soft underneath and all of the things on top were crunchy. I had never had pizza like this before.

  Giselle sipped at her wine and shook her head. “Please, Etoile, I beg you to slow down tonight, okay?”

  I set my fork down and took a sip of my milk. She winked at me.

  “The principal said Etoile was several grade levels ahead in reading,” Giselle told Jean.

  Jean had just taken a mouthful of the pizza and stopped chewing. “Really?” she said after she swallowed. “Good for you, Etoile. That’s very good indeed.”

  I ate two more slices of the pizza, leaving my stomach feeling quite full. We all helped clean up. I stood on one side of Giselle and Jean on the other as Giselle passed dishes to us to be dried. It reminded me of the old house in Cote Nouveau when Maman and Papa would work on things side by side.

  “Look at us,” Giselle said, echoing my thoughts. “It’s like we have been doing this forever,” she said as she cupped some bubbles in the palm of her hand and wiped them on my chin. She then tried to do the same thing to Jean, but Jean shifted out of her way and we all laughed as Giselle jumped up and plopped a pile of bubbles on her hair. Jean surprised me by setting the plate she was drying aside and scooping up a bunch of bubbles in the palm of her hand. She grabbed Giselle by the waist. Giselle tried to get away, yelling “No, No” but Jean did not let her go. Jean very easily lifted Giselle off her feet and with one hand, covered her face with bubbles. I could not help but laugh as Giselle grabbed the towel from my hands and wiped her face off. It had been a long time since I could remember laughing. Jean held her hand up very high and I jumped up and slapped it.

  “Ha ha,” Giselle said, “You two just wait. I will have my revenge,” she said. Pointing to me she said, “You will wake up covered in bubbles and you,” she said as she grabbed the faucet sprayer, “You will get the bubbles rinsed off!” she said as she let loose a quick spray at Jean’s head.

  “Truce!” Jean yelled. Giselle took a dry towel and rubbed Jean’s hair roughly as Jean bent forward. Jean smiled at her and for a moment, they touched their foreheads together.

  Dessert was more of Giselle’s ice cream covered with walnuts and a home-made caramel sauce that was better than anything I had ever tasted, not too sweet but drizzling warm and smooth. Giselle was smiling as she watched me eat and had just brought a spoonful to her own mouth when I said, “Giselle, your ice cream is ever better than Monsieur
Segal’s.”

  Giselle’s hand paused at her mouth and she immediately lowered her spoon. I saw the sudden change in her expression.

  “Etoile,” she began, “do me a favor and do not wreck our nice dinner by mentioning that man’s name.”

  Jean glanced up sharply and looked at her.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

  “It is alright,” Giselle said. “I just do not want to hear his name, okay?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “Finish up. It is almost time for bed.”

  After we cleared the dishes, Jean nodded at me and said, “Good night, Etoile. And good luck at school tomorrow.”

  In the middle of it all, I had forgotten about school. My stomach gave a little twist. Giselle wrestled with the window in my room to get it open.

  “I always like to sleep with the window open just a little to get fresh air, but if that is too much,” she said, “just shove it back down.”

  I suddenly thought about the kitchen window in Cote Nouveau.

  Giselle sat down on the edge of my bed and touched my hair.

  “Do you think we look alike?” she asked fingering my curls.

  “I guess. Jean says so. I thought so when I looked in the mirror.”

  Giselle smiled. “Then I must be very beautiful,” she said as she leaned forward and kissed my forehead.

  “Giselle?”

  “Oui, Cherie?”

  “I am sorry if I upset you at dinner, but I did not think that...”

  Giselle touched my chin. “It is alright, Cherie. We all carry memories with us no matter where we go. Some are good and some are not so good, non?”

  I thought about this for a moment.

  “Slide over,” she said as she slid into the bed next to me.

  She took my hand in hers. “Do you still want to know about Anais?”

  “Yes! Please!”

  “I am not sure with school tomorrow that this is the best time to talk, but if you want me to tell you what I know, I will.”

  “I do, Giselle, please!”

  Giselle patted my hand and let it drop. “You must understand that this will all work out and that most importantly, Anais is safe and no one will hurt her. Comprenez-vous cela ? Do you understand that?”

  “Oui.”

  “The police are still not sure what happened to your Maman. They know she fell, but they are not sure if she fell on her own or if someone may have accidentally pushed her.”

  “But surely they do not think that Anais…”

  “Etoile,” she said putting her arm around me, “they have Anais in custody until they figure out what happened, but she is safe.”

  “Where is she?”

  “She is in a special school for children who have problems in their lives. She lives there now.”

  “You mean bad children?”

  Giselle shook her head. “No, I do not think any children are bad. They may make the wrong choices sometimes, but I have never met a bad child. These children are sometimes there because they have nowhere else to go or like Anais, the police want them where they can go to school and be safe.”

  “But Anais would never hurt Maman,” I said. “It was Maman who…”

  I stopped because I did not want to speak of those things.

  “Etoile,” Giselle said drawing me very close, “There were many things that happened to you, too – good and bad, non?”

  I nodded because I could not speak.

  “I am so sorry for you and for Anais. If ever you want to talk about it, I am here to listen.” She waited for a little while and for a moment I almost told her everything, but I could not find a way to say the words.

  “Do not worry about Anais. This will all work itself out. It may just take some time.”

  “How much time?”

  “It may be a while.”

  “But couldn’t Anais come and live here?” I asked.

  “Non, Cherie, that is not possible.”

  “But why not?”

  “Because she is where she needs to be right now.”

  I drew away from her. “But Anais took care of Maman, even when she had…bad days.”

  “I know. She was very, very brave. You both were.”

  “So Anais will not be coming for me soon?”

  “Non, but I have the address where she is staying at. Perhaps you would like to write a letter to her?”

  “Do you think she would write back?”

  Giselle squeezed my shoulders. “Of course she will. And in the meantime, you will stay with Jean and I for as long as you like. We are family after all.”

  “But Jean is not family.”

  “Of course she is. You are my family and Jean is my family, so we are all family.”

  “But you and Jean are not even related.”

  “No, but believe me, we are family.” She held out her left hand and displayed a silver ring with a very pretty green stone shaped like a heart on it. I had noticed that both she and Jean always wore the same ring. “Do you see this ring?”

  “Yes.”

  “One year, Jean and I were walking along a beach near her parents’ house when we stumbled across some sea glass in the sand. It was a large piece and had such pretty colors in it. I took the piece of sea glass home with us and always treasured it because it was such a pretty color and because I had such fond memories of that weekend. That Christmas, Jean took the sea glass to a jeweler in Boston and had them make the two rings from it. We wear them, always, because we are family. You do not have to be related to someone for them to be family.”

  Giselle stood up and pulled the covers up under my chin. “I will wake you in the morning,” she said as she kissed me on both cheeks. “Bonne nuit, Cherie.”

  I laid in the bed staring at the ceiling as a soft breeze seeped through the crack of the window and touched my nose, my cheeks and my chin, as if the wind were kissing me goodnight. A secret wind, I thought to myself…

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Se réveiller. Wake up, Sleepy Head,” I heard Giselle say as I turned over in the bed. The bed seemed so big compared to sleeping on the sofa. “Come on, it is a school day,” Giselle said shaking me by the knee. “Hurry up and come down and I will make you breakfast.”

  I took my time getting up. I was suddenly not so sure about any of this. I pulled the white blouse and plaid skirt on and went very quietly and very slowly downstairs.

  “I am worried for her, Jean,” I heard Giselle say quietly as I was coming down. I stopped and did not move further.

  “She’ll be fine, Giselle. She’s a bright girl.”

  “But what if they ask questions? What if they want to know everything?”

  “If they do, she’ll tell them whatever she chooses to. Children are naturally curious. They are bound to ask questions.”

  “Perhaps I should have told them she was not ready until Monday?”

  “Giselle, the principal was right. It’s always better for children to get back into a routine as quickly as possible. You’ve got to stop worrying so much.”

  “I cannot help it, Jean. I feel so…responsible for her.”

  “Etoile!” I heard Giselle call, “Please come down so you do not miss your first day!”

  I waited a second or two before strolling in.

  Jean lowered her newspaper and nodded to me over her coffee cup as Giselle primped at my hair. “There,” she said brushing the curls behind my ears and setting a plate of poached eggs and a glass of orange juice down in front of me. “You look lovely. Please do not spill any breakfast on your clean clothes.”

  Jean folded the paper, stood up, rinsed her cup at the sink and reached for her backpack hung on a hook in the back hallway.

  “Where are you going?” Giselle asked rather surprised.

  “To work.”

  “But I thought…”

  “You thought what?”

  Giselle glanced at me. “I thought you would want to wait for Etoile to get on the school bus.”
/>
  “Giselle…” Jean began.

  “It is a very long walk down the end of the driveway. I thought we could drive her down and wait for her in the car. It is her first day after all.”

  Jean shook her head and turned to me. “Etoile, how old were you when you started school?” she asked.

  “Six.”

  “And how old are you now?”

  “Eleven.”

  Jean raised her eyebrows at Giselle. “She’s been going to school for five years, Giselle. You can hardly call this her first day.”

  Giselle bit her lower lip. “But the road is so far down.”

  “Etoile,” Jean said, “would you like us to wait with you in the car?”

  I looked between them and did not know what to say. I did not want to make Jean late for work and I did not want to upset Giselle, but I also did not want the children laughing at me.

  “I will be fine to get on the bus by myself,” I announced.

  Jean smiled. “I’ll see you tonight,” she said kissing Giselle on the cheek. “Have a good first day of school, Etoile,” she added laughing.

  Giselle was not happy. “She does not understand,” she said after Jean left. Her hands moved quickly as she cleared the plates and set them down heavily into the sink. “Fine, but if it is raining out, I will insist that you be driven down. I won’t have you walking into the school looking like un rat noyé, a drowned rat. And remember to eat slowly when you get there, Cherie.”

  I did not have the heart to explain to Giselle that there was no time to eat slowly at school.

  ***

  I stood on the edge of the road holding one of Jean’s book bags. In it were some brand new pens, pencils and paper and a huge brown bag lunch that Giselle had spent much of last night preparing.

  “Can I get one of those?” Jean had asked as she watched Giselle slice tender roast beef and layer it on pain rustique along with gorgonzola cheese, fresh greens and onions.