Read The French Girl Online

Authors: Felicia Donovan

The French Girl (5 page)

She reached out and stroked my hair just the way Anais did. “Etoile,” she said, “I cannot imagine how hard this must be for you, but you and I are family and you must trust me that you will be safe and cared for here. No one will ever hurt you. That I promise.”  Her eyes glistened and I thought she was going to cry, and then I thought I was going to cry, too. “Can you try and do that for me?”

I nodded, but wasn’t so sure. She took a finger and wiped at my cheek and I realized I was crying. I looked back at the red door.

“Come along, I will show you your room,” she said as she opened the door again.

We entered into the living room. It had a very high ceiling with old beams running across it and a small loft area that looked down over the living room.  The walls were all freshly painted off-white. A stone fireplace filled an entire wall with stones of all shapes and colors.  Above the fireplace hung a large picture of the Stone Cottage, complete with its bright red front door. It must have been painted in the summer because the cottage was surrounded by colorful gardens. Several couches and chairs made of leather were arranged around the fireplace. The opposite wall was filled with built-in bookshelves that were stacked high with books. The room smelled like berries.

We went through to the kitchen. I had never seen a fireplace in a kitchen before. Black iron pots hung by hooks in several openings. The cabinets were painted a deep rust color and an old porcelain sink stood in the middle surrounded by wooden counters with loaves of bread rising on them.  That gave me some relief, but then the yeasty smell that filled the room reminded me of
Le Gateau
and I suddenly wished I was back there even if Monsieur Segal asked me all of his questions. My hand grazed the stone fireplace as we passed through.

I followed Giselle up a set of narrow stairs.

“My room,” she said as she opened the door. The room had two over-sized windows that faced out to a garden, though the flowers were not in bloom yet. The large wrought iron bed was neatly made and covered in a gold comforter with matching pillows.  An old-fashioned full-length mirror in a frame, sat beside the bed.  Above the bed hung a large painting of a stream with red and gold leaves floating around in it.  I liked the colors of the painting.

Giselle walked down the hall and opened a door.  “And this will be your room.  I know there isn’t much in it now, but we can go to the thrift store if you need anything.”

The wooden bed was covered with a blue and yellow quilt of moons and stars. An old dresser stood in one corner with a vase of fresh flowers on top.  The whole room smelled like Mr. Cavelle’s flower stand.  Beside the bed was a small table with several books and a flashlight. In the corner, right under the window overlooking the gardens was an old desk and chair with a brand new paper, pens, pencils and markers.

I spotted a small rectangle wrapped in pink tissue on the pillow.

“Go ahead,” Giselle said, “It’s a little something I made just for you.”

I sat down on the bed. The mattress was so soft; I thought I would sink into it.  The package smelled wonderful.  Inside was a bar of soap. A label on the outside read, “
L’Etoile
, The Star,” and had a hand-drawn picture of a star with a smiley face on it. Its surface was not smooth at all like the soaps I was familiar with, but flaked with little pieces of purple throughout. It smelled wonderful.

“It is made with lavender and oatmeal,” Giselle explained. “I grow the herbs in my garden.”

“Thank you,” I said.  I could not find the words to tell her that no one had ever made me anything before.

Giselle walked over to a closet and opened it up. “I know you brought some of your own things, but I picked up a few things for you when I was over at the thrift store.  I hope you like them. If not, we can find something else.”  I looked at the sweaters and skirts neatly hung.  She walked over to the dresser and pulled out one of the drawers.  “And since I know you weren’t able to bring much, I thought you might need some underwear and socks. Everything is in here.”

I looked down and realized I was still wearing the dress from Maman’s funeral and it had several spills on it that I had not noticed before.

“Are you hungry?” Giselle asked.

I was a little.  “No, thank you.”

“Well then,” Giselle said as she smiled at me, “You have had a very long day.  I thought you might like a nice hot bath and to try out your new soap before Jean gets home,” she said.

As she led me down the hall I asked, “Where is Jean’s room?”

Giselle kept walking ahead of me as she answered, “We share a room.”

I stopped for just a moment, because I had never heard of two women sharing a room before. Even Anais and I did not share a room because there was only one bed in it. I was going to say so, but decided not to.

“Come on,” Giselle said as she opened up a door to reveal a bathroom with a stone floor and a big old porcelain tub set by a window.  The outside of the tub was painted the same gold as the bedroom. A dark wooden cabinet took up most of one wall with many drawers and openings that were stuffed with gold towels. On another wall was what looked like an old table, but it had a copper sink set in it. The dark wood, gold towels and stone floors made it feel very old.

“Be careful the water does not get too hot,” Giselle said as she turned on the faucet and tested it. She showed me how to work the stopper. “And here is some green tea shampoo to wash your hair with,” she said pointing to a yellow-greenish bottle. “And this is a beer and egg rinse.  I just mixed it up this morning if you want to put some in your hair after you shampoo.”

“Beer and egg?” I asked staring at the glass jar with the strange contents in it.

Giselle laughed.  “I know, it sounds crazy, but it really works. Trust me.  Just do not drink it,” she said. “I will call you when dinner is almost ready.”

The tub was so deep it covered me up to my chin. I had never been in such a deep tub before and my body seemed to float above the water.  I pushed my arms down, but they floated back up to the surface all on their own. I scrubbed using the new soap and let it float in the water for a while.  There was a small tray next to the tub that had a bunch of bottles on it. I picked each one up and read them. 
Bonne Femmes
(Good Woman) Lemongrass Shampoo,” read one.  “
Bonne Femmes
(Good Woman) Lavender Rinse,” read another. Each label had a picture of a woman carrying a basket of flowers on it.  I stared at the woman’s almond-shaped eyes, curly brown hair and high cheekbones for some time.

My hair was knotted in tangles after I shampooed it. All I could think of was how Maman used to hold onto me from behind, her long fingernails digging deep into my shoulder as she ripped the brush through my hair.  I did not want to go through that again, so I opened the jar Giselle had mentioned and poured the strange mixture over my head.

“Etoile, we will be eating soon,” I heard her call from below.

Leaning my head way back, I ducked below the water and rinsed it all out.

I chose a prairie skirt just like the one Giselle had on and a light green sweater.  The sweater was a little big, but I liked it. There was a brand new comb and brush in one of the dresser drawers. The comb glided through my hair.

“Look at you!” Giselle said as I came into the kitchen.  She reached for my hand and spun me around.  “
Très beau
.”


Merci
.”

“Now you can you help me set the table.”

Giselle showed me where everything was.  I was amazed at how many things there were to put out. At home, Anais and I often ate on napkins but Giselle insisted on placemats, two different forks for each person, cloth napkins, salad bowls, a big plate and a little plate.  I could not imagine washing all those dishes.

“We like a big meal at least twice a week,” Giselle explained. “If it were up to Jean, she would have a sandwich, but I insist on eating the French way.”

“The French way?” I asked curiously.

“We eat very slowly and savor each bite.  Food should bring pleasure,
non
?  If it is enjoyed slowly, you will never get fat.”

I had never heard of this before, nor had I ever watched other people eat to see if they were eating fast or slow.  Perhaps Mrs. Lavasseur was a fat pig because she ate too fast?

“Giselle?” I asked as I set three plates out.

“Yes?”

“Where did you get all of those bottles of shampoo and rinse?”

“Oh those,” she said as she diced up a clove of garlic, “I make them. Many of the students do not have cars and cannot get to a store to buy their toiletries so I earn some extra money by making and selling them in the University store.”

“But the picture of the woman on the labels…”

“That is my
Grand-mère
,” she said as she tossed the garlic into a glass container filled with olive oil.  She looked over her shoulder.  “Why do you ask?”

“Because… she looks like my Maman,” I said.

Giselle stopped cutting and turned to me.  “Really? Do you think so?”

“I thought for a moment…” I started to say, but then I could not go on.

Giselle, who was washing her hands, quickly dried them and came over to me. She offered her hand and led me to the living room where she pulled out a photo album. She quickly ruffled through the pages and handed me a very old photograph.

“This is my Meme, Josette Simone.  Jean made copies of her picture at the University so I could make the labels.”

I took the picture and studied it for a long time.  The nose, eyes, mouth, and cheekbones were all the same, still there was something different between the two.  I stared at it for some time before I realized that the woman in the picture was smiling. Her smile was kindly, but very proud, the same as Giselle’s.  I tried to hand it back to her, but she stopped me.

“Would you like to keep that?” she asked. “I have many copies.”

I looked back down at the smiling woman and thought if I pretended hard enough, it could be a picture of Maman when she was happy.

“Thank you,” I said as I carefully tucked the picture away in my sweater pocket.

“Come on,” Giselle said as she put the album away, “we must finish getting dinner ready.”

***

Giselle showed me which side to set the wineglasses on while she uncorked a bottle and set it out on the table.  It was dark red, like the kind Maman drank.  My stomach started to turn at the smell, but then Giselle brought over a vase of cut flowers that smelled very sweet and placed it on the table next to the basket of freshly sliced bread. Finally, she brought over two silver candlesticks and lit the candles. It was the fanciest table I had ever seen even if the table was old with lots of scratches on the top.

She studied the table for several seconds like an artist studying a canvas.  Leaning forward, she rearranged the flowers again, stood back and nodded.

“Voila
!” Giselle said.  Looking at me, she said, “Why don’t you run upstairs and wash your hands one more time before we eat, okay?  Jean should be home any minute.”

I went back up to the bathroom and found a different bar of soap by the sink. This one smelled sweet, like honey. As I looked up at my reflection in the mirror, I saw that my tangled hair was now hanging down in loose curls, just like Giselle’s.  I liked how it framed my face and made my cheeks look less fat.

I heard murmuring voices as I came down the stairs. Looking towards the kitchen, I saw Giselle standing close to a very tall, thin woman with short blonde hair and wire-rimmed glasses.  I had never seen such a tall woman before.  Giselle’s hand was on her sleeve and the woman was listening intently as she spoke.

“It will take time,” I heard Giselle say.  “She has been through so much.”

The tall woman looked up and spotted me on the stairs.

***

“Etoile,” Giselle said, “this is Jean.”

She looked older than Giselle and had very blue eyes beneath her glasses and an angular face.  She was dressed in trouser pants with a long white shirt hung out loosely over them and a dark vest over the shirt, much like I had seen in the ads for
Annie Hall
.

She looked at me as curiously as I looked at her, then smiled, put out her hand and said, “Hello, Etoile.”

“Etoile has had a very busy day and deserves a good meal,” Giselle said as she motioned me to a seat.  Jean sat at the head of the table and Giselle and I sat down on either side of her.

“You will always have a good meal with Giselle around,” Jean said.

Giselle brushed Jean’s shirtsleeve and smiled.

“Are you hungry now?” Giselle asked as I surveyed all the dishes.

“A little,” I said.

Giselle passed a salad bowl with cranberries and walnuts in it.  I started to put some on my plate, but Giselle pointed to a bowl and winked at me.

“Tonight, because this is our first night together,” she said, “you may eat or not eat whatever you choose.  Tomorrow night I will ask that you try everything just to taste it, okay?”

I could not imagine eating this much food all the time and thought no matter how slowly I ate, I could not avoid turning into Mrs. Lavasseur.

“So what do you think of our little stone house?” Jean asked as Giselle set out small dishes in front of us filled with olive oil, garlic and fresh grated cheese.  I watched as Jean tore off a small pieced of steaming bread and dipped it into the oil before popping it into her mouth.

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