Odette's Secrets (2 page)

On our way,

we pass a furniture store.

Its windows are broken.

We stand on slivers of cracked glass to peer inside.

Someone has smashed a mirror and slashed a sofa.

“Who did this?” I ask Mama.

“People who hate Jews,” Mama says.

“The owner of the store is Jewish.”

This makes no sense to me.

Are Jews different from other people? I wonder.

How?

I look up at Mama

and wait for her to explain,

but she just shakes her head.

Her Sunday smile has faded away.

She still holds my hand,

but she doesn't swing it.

Her shoulders sag

all the way back to the rue d'Angoulême.

Madame Marie at her sewing machine

My Godmother

Madame Marie's face is as round as the moon.

She's the caretaker in our building.

She lives in a tiny apartment under the stairs

with her beloved Monsieur Henri.

Every day she sweeps the hallways,

polishes the banister of our spiral staircase,

and takes in everyone's letters.

Mama and Madame Marie have been friends

since I was a baby.

They both love to knit.

They both make the best meals

from the cheapest ingredients.

When Mama went back to work in the factory,

Madame Marie began looking after me.

She doesn't have any children of her own,

so she decided to become my godmother.

Now, when I'm not at school,

I help my godmother.

We sweep and polish.

Madame Marie also makes clothes for me

and for other people in our neighborhood

on her Singer sewing machine.

I sit at her feet and sort scraps of cloth for doll dresses,

match up buttons that look alike,

and gather stray pins with a magnet.

Monsieur Henri smokes his pipe,

and the old round clock chimes on the wall behind us.

When customers come for fittings, they say,

“Oh, your little helper is here today!”

My heart glows with pride.

I'm always happy in my godmother's apartment.

It's so cozy and nice there.

“The heart is like an apartment,” Madame Marie tells me.

“Every day you must clean it and make it cheerful.

You must have flowers on your table

and something special to offer guests.

If you make your apartment extra nice,

God will come to visit you too.”

My godmother is like the perfect moon.

Always round.

Always full.

Always there.

Tea with Sugar

I just can't forget the shop Mama and I saw,

the one with the smashed window.

I still want to know why some people hate Jews,

because I'm Jewish!

Everyone in my family is Jewish too.

I decide to ask Madame Marie about this.

One afternoon, I knock on her door.

“Odette!” she says. She smiles her moon smile.

“You are just in time for tea.”

I sit down at my godmother's table

and wait for my tea.

After I drink a big cup with lots of sugar,

I tell Madame Marie

about the smashed-up shop,

about the broken glass

and the ripped sofa.

“Why do people hate Jews?” I ask her.

“Some people in France today are angry,” she tells me.

“They want to take out their troubles on Jews.

We will see the end of these people, I promise you.”

My godmother is not Jewish,

but she seems so sure about things.

I eat another of her thin spice cookies.

I try to feel better.

My First Secret

Charlotte has disappeared!

Mama and I took her to the park.

My friend Camille was there.

“Let's go watch the merry-go-round!” she said.

Lions and tigers and horses whirled by so fast

we forgot about everything else …

but now it's time to go home,

and we can't find Charlotte!

I run and get Mama.

We look everywhere,

but she's gone!

What will I do without Charlotte?

“Such a beautiful doll,” Mama says, shaking her head.

“Someone must have stolen her.”

Oh, no!

What will I tell Madame Marie?

She gave Charlotte to me for my birthday.

Madame Marie worked a long time, I know,

to pay for a doll with a china face and real, curly hair.

I hate it that I lost Charlotte,

but it's almost worse imagining

how I'll tell my godmother about it.

Tears slip down my cheeks.

I hope no one can see.

It's almost dark.

Mama has an idea.

“I know!” she says.

“We'll keep it a
secret.

I'll save money to buy a new Charlotte.

Then I'll knit a dress for her, just like the last one.”

That might work.

But what if Madame Marie asks about Charlotte

while my mother is still saving?

What will I say then?

Lucky for me, Mama is a fast saver and a faster knitter.

Before long, a new Charlotte peeks out at me

from Mama's knitting bag.

This Charlotte has a china face too,

and curly brown hair.

She looks the same as the real Charlotte,

even though I know she's not.

As soon as her dress is finished,

I take my new doll to visit Madame Marie.

“Ah, Charlotte,” Madame says,

“I think you need an apron.”

She lets me guide her sewing machine needle

along the seam in the cherry-red fabric

all by myself.

But I feel nervous.

Will Madame Marie notice that this is a different Charlotte?

My fingers wobble

and the stitches come out uneven.

“Never mind, Odette,” she says.

“Learning to make straight stitches takes time.”

She smiles with pride at me

when I hem the apron.

What if Madame Marie finds out that I lost the real Charlotte?

Will she be angry with me?

I don't think so.

But I don't have to worry about that anymore.

Now I know a new way of solving problems … with secrets.

Different