Read The French Girl Online

Authors: Felicia Donovan

The French Girl (8 page)

Giselle touched Mrs. Spenser on the arm.  “Her stomach sometimes gets upset.”

“Oh?” Mrs. Spenser asked.

“She just had a checkup and she’s very healthy, but sometimes when things upset her…”

“I’m glad you told me,” Mrs. Spenser said.  “Come here, Etoile,” she said.  I followed her over to her desk and she took out a piece of heavy yellow construction paper and cut it in half.  She took one half and folded it and handed it to me.  I tried not to stare at her hands as she handed it to me, but they were so different from any hands I had ever seen before.  She led me to an empty desk near the door.

“This will be your desk beginning tomorrow,” she said.  “I want you to keep that card in your desk at all times and should you ever feel that your stomach is going to get upset, just take the yellow card out and place it on top of the desk.  I will see it and let you go immediately to the nurse’s office. That’s Mrs. Whitham’s office.  She is a very nice lady. That way the other students will not know. Will that work for you?”

I looked at the yellow card and nodded.  I thought back to Mrs. Gordon and the times my stomach had felt upset and tried so hard to hold it in while I tried to get her attention and how sometimes, the other students would laugh at me which would make it all worse. Then I thought of Frankie Lavasseur calling me “Toilette Toussaint” and thought perhaps it would be better to start somewhere new where I was not known.

“Etoile?” I heard Giselle say.

“Yes,” I said.  “Thank you.”

***

We got back to Stone Cottage and Giselle glanced at the clock in the kitchen. “You must be hungry…and perhaps tired,
non
?”

“A little, but…”

“We will eat a quick lunch and you can take a nap or a bath if you like.”

“But Giselle?”

Giselle pulled out a wrapped bag of cheese from the refrigerator and some tomatoes and some leftover bread. “Yes,
Cherie
?” she said as she took out a pan and melted butter in it.

“You said you would tell me about Anais today.”

Giselle sliced the cheese and tomatoes onto the bread and placed them very gently into the pan.

“So I did,” she said without a pause, “but today is not over yet and there is still much work to be done.  We must make sure you are ready for tomorrow morning.”

“But Giselle…” I protested.


Vitement.
Quickly,” she said, “run upstairs and wash your hands and your face and I will have lunch ready for you when you come down.  Oh dear,” she said looking around.  “We will need to pack your lunch for tomorrow.”

“I could just buy lunch in the cafeteria,” I said.

“Hmph!” Giselle said, “I will not hear of you eating that food.”

“But I am sure it is better than the food in Cote Nouveau.  The school looks much newer and…”

“I will not hear of it.  You will take a good lunch, a healthy lunch with you.  Remember what Eppy said, you must gain some weight.”

“Giselle?”

“Yes?” she said as she took a spatula and turned the slices over revealing a golden brown side.

I wanted to tell her what Maman had called me.  I wanted to ask her if she knew why Maman would have said such a thing, but somehow I felt like I would be getting Maman in trouble. I didn’t know if it was possible to get dead people in trouble or if it mattered or not, but when I went to say it, the words would not come out.

“What is it,
Cherie
?” Giselle asked, studying me.

“Can I use my special soap?” I could not think of what else to say.

Giselle crinkled her eyes. “Of course. You do not have to ask for that.”

After lunch, Giselle came up to my room and together we went through all of the clothes hanging in the closet.

“How about this?” she asked pulling out a pink blouse and pink floral skirt.

I shrugged my shoulders. “I guess.”

“Too much pink for the first day,” she said making a small clicking sound in her mouth.  “What about this?” she said grabbing a white blouse and a plaid blue and tan skirt.

“Fine.”

She grabbed the clothes.

“What are you doing?”

“I am going to iron them,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because you must look neat and presentable for your first day. And while we are at it,” she said as she reached behind me and pulled my hair back, “I have an idea.”  She led me to the mirror over the dresser. “How would you feel about a quick trim?  Nothing too drastic, just a little off the ends to get rid of some of those tangles.”

“But there will not be time,” I said.  “Surely the beauty parlor is not open this late and it would be expensive.”

Giselle laughed. “
Cherie
, this beauty parlor is always open. Come with me.”

Giselle wet my hair in the big kitchen sink, then sat me down on a tall stool while she took out a pair of scissors and a comb.

“You have done this before, yes?” I asked nervously.

She laughed. “Of course. Who do you think cuts mine and Jean’s hair?”

“You cut Jean’s hair?” I wasn’t so sure this was such a good idea anymore.

“Yes, but she likes it short.  I will not make yours short,” she said.

“Can you tell me about Anais while you are cutting?” I asked.

She stopped and put her finger to my chin.

“Would you like me to concentrate on your hair so I don’t make any mistakes or would you like to talk about Anais and come out looking like
un coq fatigué
, a tired rooster?”

I could not help but laugh.

Giselle cut my hair with the same intensity as when she cooked or set the table. She studied my face intently turning it back and forth before cutting here and there. It seemed to me that there was a lot more hair than I expected on the floor and I was almost afraid to think of what I would look like until she stood back, nodded to herself and announced, “
Voilà
. Now go up and tell me what you think.”

She gave me a gentle swat on the fanny as I climbed the stairs.  I went into the bathroom that had the bigger mirror and squinted my eyes a little, so afraid was I to see what she had done.  But then I unsquinted them when I saw the image staring back at me. My long, matted hair fell softly in cascades of curls around my face. I never knew my hair could be so curly.  It looked very grown up.  And it looked just like Giselle’s.

“Giselle!  Giselle!” I said racing down the stairs.  But Giselle was not in the kitchen. “Giselle!” I called again.

“I am out here,
Cherie
,” I heard her call back.  I had never noticed the small door at the back of the kitchen before.  I stepped out into a large back porch whose walls were lined with knotted pine planks. The wood smelled wonderful giving the whole room a rich, smoky scent. One of the walls was lined with shelves filled with bottles and jars. One of the walls abutted the kitchen and had a small sink and counter.  The other wall was filled with windows that looked out onto the gardens. A large easel stood between the windows.  A canvas with a garden scene was propped on it.  A well-worn green couch was set behind the easel looking out the windows.

“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.

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