The French Girl (6 page)

“It is very nice,” I said as I did the same.  The bread was very crusty on the outside, but soft on the inside, much like I remembered it to be in
Cote Nouveau
. The combination of the warm chewy bread soaked with oil was wonderful.

“I think she likes our red door,” Giselle said nudging Jean by the arm and giving me another small wink.

Jean picked up her wineglass with her left hand and it was then that I noticed she had the exact same ring with the silver band and unusual green stone cut in a heart shape, as Giselle’s.  Jean took a sip of wine and tilted her head towards Giselle, giving her a doubtful glance.

“I do like it,” I said.

After a while, Jean shook her head, smiled and said, “Fine, Giselle.  The door can stay red.”

Giselle leaned her head against Jean’s shoulder, looked up at her grinning and said “Thank you, Jean.” She turned and gave me a very satisfactory look before diving into her salad.

“It was not red before?” I asked.

“No, it was ugly brown,” Giselle said.

“But the picture over the fireplace…”

“Giselle painted that last summer after she went and painted the door red,” Jean explained.

“You painted that picture?” I asked.  It was really very good and looked just like the house.

“
Oui
.  Do you like it?” Giselle asked.

“Yes.”

Turning to Jean, Giselle said, “You see it has to stay red now, Jean, because I cannot repaint that picture again.”

“Did you paint the picture in your room of the stream and leaves?” I asked Giselle.

“You mean the one in our room?” Giselle asked and before I could respond, she said, “Yes, I painted that too. Perhaps we can work on a painting for your room this summer when everything is in bloom again.”

I did not plan on being here for the summer but did not want to hurt her feelings by saying so. Still, I felt my stomach twist a little at the thought.

“Giselle was an art major at the University,” Jean explained.  “She’s a very talented artist, among many other things.”

“That is where we met,” Giselle said patting Jean’s arm.  “I took one of Jean’s classes.”

“You…you were Jean’s student?”

They turned and smiled at each other but did not answer me. I could not imagine a student and a teacher ever living together.  It was all very strange.

A little while later, Giselle passed a platter filled with cheeses, sliced apples and grapes.

“Jean picked out some books for you to read, Etoile,” she said. “They are by your bed.”

“Thank you,” I said as I reached for a slice of cheese with my hand.

Giselle made a noise and held up a fork to me.  I picked my fork up and used it to take the cheese and some apple slices.

“I think you’ll enjoy
Black Beauty
,” Jean said.

“Thank you, but I have already read it.”

Jean raised her eyebrows slightly.

Giselle refilled their wineglasses.  “See, Jean?  She is ahead of you already.”

“There’s also
A
Little House on the Prairie
,” Jean offered as she stabbed at the cheese and grapes with her fork.

I sipped my milk.  “I have already read that, too.”

Jean tilted her head to the side and studied me for a moment.  Giselle watched her do it and smiled.

“What about
Anne of Green Gables
?”

I thought for a few minutes.  “I do not think that is one I have read,” I answered.

“Good,” Jean said satisfactorily.

“Jean says it tells a lot about someone’s character if they read a lot,” Giselle said. “Jean reads all the time,” she said as she passed around a dish with a strange looking melon cut in half that smelled sweet.

“What is that?” I asked.

“Acorn squash with butter and brown sugar,” Giselle said.

“Acorn squash?” I asked.

“Here, watch,” Giselle said as she put one on her plate, scraped the stringy contents around with her fork and dipped it in the buttery sauce.  “See?” she said. “Go on, Etoile. Be a brave Frenchwoman and try it.”

I did as she had and scraped out some of the spaghetti-like pulp and dipped it in the pool of melted butter and brown sugar.  I had never tasted anything so delicious before and without realizing it, closed my eyes.  Giselle laughed and nudged Jean on the sleeve.

“See? She even eats like me. Savor every bite of it, Etoile,” Giselle said.

Jean pushed herself back from the table a bit and I thought that the meal was over, which was a relief because my stomach was still feeling a little strange.  Giselle got up and began to take dishes away.  I picked up my own plate to carry it to the sink, but she stopped me.

“
Non, Cherie
,” she said smiling, “we have not even had the main course yet, but you can help me put these other things away, okay?”

We cleared many of the dishes from the table while Jean refilled their wineglasses and poured me more milk.

When everything was tucked away, Giselle brought over a large pan from the oven. I looked at the strange contents.

“What is that?”

“
Saumon en Marinade de Vodka.
Salmon in Vodka Marinade,” Giselle announced.

Jean patted her stomach.  “It’s a good thing I ride my bicycle to and from the University everyday,” she said as Giselle took a piece of salmon and carefully set it down on Jean’s plate then dribbled cream sauce over it.  She did the same for me, then for herself before sitting down and carefully placing her napkin back on her lap. I watched as Jean ripped a small piece of bread off and dipped it into the sauce before popping it in her mouth.  She nodded satisfactorily to Giselle.

I stared at my plate for several seconds, remembering what Giselle had said about not having to try everything, but it looked so good with the cream sauce resting on top.  I did want to be a brave Frenchwoman, so I used my fork to break away a small piece of the tender salmon, dipped it into the cream sauce and brought it to my lips.

I had never tasted anything so rich before. The salmon slipped down the back of my throat before the taste of the peppercorns hit and I felt warmth rising in the back of my throat. I opened my eyes to see them both watching me, Giselle smiling.

“You like?” Giselle asked.

“
Oui
,” I said as I took another forkful and shoved it in.

“
Ralentissement
.  Slow down,” Giselle said. “It is very rich.”

But I could not.  I had never tasted anything so unusual before.

I finished long before Giselle or Jean and watched as Giselle took a bite, chewed it very slowly sometimes shutting her eyes, sat back and sipped some wine before taking another bite.  I had never seen anyone eat so slowly.  The children in the cafeteria shoved the food into their mouths as fast as they could to either go back for seconds or to be the first ones out on the playground. Even Anais and I ate very quickly when it was the two of us because we never knew when Maman would wake up.

Jean pushed her plate away though it still had some of the salmon on it and stretched her long legs out.

“Enough?” Giselle asked.

“Enough,” Jean said, “but delicious, as always.”

My stomach began to feel very strange again, as if it were about to burst.

Giselle finally finished, stood up and began to clear the plates.  This time, Jean got up with her. I picked up my plate, but Giselle stopped me again. I could not imagine there was more food coming.

“Tonight, you get to sit and enjoy,” she said taking the plate from my hands. “Tomorrow night I will ask for your help with the dishes.  For now, you rest. We will have dessert after the dishes are all done.”

She opened the door to the freezer and pulled out three parfait glasses filled with layers of ice cream, strawberries and chocolate syrup and set them out on the counter.  I stared at the colorful layers and licked my lips.

“It is homemade ice cream,” Giselle explained as she set the dirty dishes in the old porcelain sink. “Jean bought me an ice cream maker last year for Christmas, so now I can make my own.”

Surely it could not be as good as Monsieur Segal’s.

I watched them for some time as they stood side by side, Giselle washing and Jean drying each dish. Giselle sometimes passed a dish to Jean and then spotting the slightest trace of food on it, took it back and rewashed it.  They worked together for sometime chatting mostly about Jean’s classes and some woman named Gloria Steinem until all of the dishes were cleaned and the leftovers tucked away in the refrigerator.

Jean carried the three parfait glasses over while Giselle brought out a bowl from the refrigerator and began to scoop its contents into a piping bag, just like I had seen Monsieur Segal do with frosting.

“Who wants fresh whipped cream on top?” Giselle asked.

She spiraled the fresh cream round and round into my parfait glass. I could not help but pick up my spoon and dive in.  The whipped cream was very different from Monsieur Segal’s and not nearly as sweet, but the ice cream tasted even better and my tongue was soon coated with cream.  I shut my eyes as the layers of ice cream and chocolate melted in my mouth leaving pieces of sweet strawberries behind.

I was more than half way through the glass dish when I realized Giselle and Jean had barely begun theirs.

“A little pig,” I suddenly heard Maman say.  “A little stuffed pig.”  The words stirred around in my head.  It was all true. I would end up like Mrs. Lavasseur for certain. My stomach began to swirl around so quickly.  I clutched at it to try and get it to stop, but it would not.

“What is it, Etoile?” Giselle asked.  I looked up at her, but the room began to spin around and the two flames from the candles suddenly become six.

I made it to the sink just in time. Giselle stood behind me, speaking quietly to my ear while she held back my hair.

“
Ne t'en fais pas, Cherie
.  Don’t worry.
Ce n'est pas grave
. It is no problem.”  Turning to Jean she said, “Do you think we should call Eppy?”

”Jean, who stood at the far end of the counter with her arms folded tightly against her chest said, “She and Carol drove to Portsmouth tonight. Besides, it’s probably just all the food.”

“Poor Etoile,” Giselle said as she rubbed my shoulders.

When I was done, I felt Giselle’s arm around me holding me steady.  “Come on,
Cherie
.  We will get you cleaned up and into bed.”

Jean waved a hand at me.  “I hope you feel better, Etoile,” she said.

***

Giselle tucked me into the bed with the spongy mattress, leaned over and felt my forehead and cheeks.

“There is no fever,” she said in a relieved tone.  “Perhaps Jean is right.  I should not have made all of that food.  It was too much.”

“But it was very good,” I said.  “And I am feeling better now.” I really was.

“I am glad, but if you feel sick again, just knock on the door, okay?  Even if it is the middle of the night.”

I nodded feebly.

“Is there anything else I can do for you,
Cherie
?”

“Giselle,” I said grabbing her arm, “do you know about Anais?”

Giselle sat down on the bed and brushed back my hair. “Tonight you get a good night’s rest and tomorrow we will talk about Anais.  Okay?”

“But Giselle,” I said again.  She put a finger to my lips, bent forward and kissed me on both cheeks just as Papa used to.

“
Bonne nuit, Etoile
,” she said.

CHAPTER SIX

I did not know what time it was when I woke up the next morning, but I came down the stairs to find Giselle sitting cross-legged at the kitchen table wearing a man’s shirt reading an article about different kinds of fondue and sipping a cup of coffee. Her hair was clipped back, framing her triangular face.

She looked up at me and smiled. “Good morning,
Cherie
,” she said as she gestured me towards her. I bent forward and she planted a kiss on my forehead.  “Good. Still no fever,” she said cupping my chin with her hand.

“How do you feel?”

I wanted to say “hungry” because I was, but I didn’t dare.

“Fine.”

“Do you think you can manage some breakfast?” she asked. “I have fresh eggs.”

“Maybe, thank you.”

Giselle took out a pot and pan.  “You will need to eat carefully today.”

“Giselle?” I asked.

She broke open an egg using only one hand into a bowl. “Yes, Etoile?”

“You said you would talk to me about Anais today.”

She glanced at me for a second before turning back to the stove.  I watched her grab a whisk from an old pottery jar on the counter.  Her hands became a blur as she whipped the eggs into a creamy froth.

“Yes I did and we will, but not now.  We have a very busy day today.”

“We do?” I asked as she dropped butter into the pan and swirled it around in circles before pouring the egg mixture in.

“First, we will go to visit our friend.  She is a doctor.  A real doctor. You must get a quick checkup before we can register you for school.”

“School?”

I froze.  No one had ever mentioned my going to school here.

“But I will not be here that long…” I began.

Giselle took the spatula, slid it carefully under the eggs and gently flipped them over.

“Etoile, you must go to school for as long as you are here. Even so, there are only a few more weeks before summer vacation, I think.  We’ll find out later on when we visit.”

“Visit?”

“Yes, to register you. But first, you must have a quick checkup. You will like Eppy.  She is a wonderful doctor and a very nice person. She is a good friend of Jean’s and mine.”

I began to think about going to a strange school with new children and my stomach began to knot up.

“But I’m only staying until Anais comes for me,” I said.

Giselle glanced back at me and smiled. “I know.”

But I wasn’t so sure she understood that. “Giselle, there was a boy at school, Emile Dupuis, who was very sick and his Maman taught him at home. Couldn’t you just teach me here for a little while?”

“I am not a teacher,” Giselle said.

“But Jean is.  She is a real teacher and she loves to read.”

“And she works many hours,” Giselle said as she set a plate down in front of me. The omelet was a perfect golden color. Giselle brought out some of the crusty bread she had made the night before and placed it on the table.

“Etoile,” she said picking up her coffee cup, “we will get through all of this together but you must be strong. It will be good for you and good for me for you to go to school.  You don’t want to fall behind, do you?”

“No, but…”

“Eat very slowly,” she said as she set a glass of orange juice on the table in front of me.  “I am going upstairs to get dressed.”

***

The Eastern University Medical Clinic was located in a small brick building off the main path of the campus. A woman around Jean’s age with short brown hair that was streaked with gray throughout it, sat behind the reception desk.

She smiled widely when she saw us. “Giselle,” she said as she leaned across the counter and kissed Giselle on the cheek.

“Carol, this is my cousin, Etoile Toussaint.  Etoile, this is our friend, Nurse Carol.  She comes to visit us often at the cottage.”

“Hello, Etoile,” she said.

The woman was taller than Giselle and had green eyes and a slightly protruding chin, but a pleasant smile. She wore a white nurse’s uniform with slacks.

“Hello,” I said.

“How do you like it here so far?” Carol asked.

“Very nice, thank you,” I said, “but I am only staying for a little while.”

She raised her eyebrows and looked at Giselle. Giselle bit her lip.

“Did you and Eppy have a nice time in Portsmouth?” Giselle asked.

“Yes.  We went to see
Saturday Night Fever
then went disco dancing.  You and Jean should…” she stopped, looked at me and smiled.

“That is alright.  Jean does not dance disco. Jean does not dance, period.”

“I’ll let Eppy know you’re here,” she said as she picked up the phone and spoke into it.

Glancing around the room, I saw several children in the waiting room, some sitting, some running around while their mothers tried desperately to corral them.  One boy around my age with bright red hair seemed to be staring right at me. Or perhaps he was staring at Giselle.  I could not quite tell.

The mother, whose hair was the same color as her son’s was dressed in a polyester bow blouse fastened tightly around her neck and a long gray skirt. She was reading
Woman’s Day
magazine but glanced at her son to see what had caught his attention.  She looked across the waiting room at us and her eyes narrowed when she saw Giselle, then rose curiously when she saw me.

Giselle spotted the woman, leaned further over the counter and lowered her voice.  “This is quite a surprise,” she said quietly to Carol.

Carol shook her head.  “Believe me; she’s not here by choice.  Their regular practice is booked and he needs to be seen. We don’t turn people away, Giselle. You know that.  Go ahead and have a seat.  Eppy will see you soon.”

Giselle looked around the room as if she was trying desperately to find other seats, but the only ones available were opposite the woman and her son. I heard Giselle give a small sigh as we sat down.  The woman immediately lowered her magazine and looked at us.

“Miss Simone,” she said slowly.

“Mrs. Batchelder,” Giselle said with little enthusiasm in her voice.

The woman gestured towards me with her head.  “And who is this?”

Giselle touched my arm. “This is my cousin, Etoile.  Etoile, this is Mrs. Batchelder.  Her husband is a professor of Morals & Ethics at the University.”

“Hello,” I said.

The red-haired boy let out a cough in our direction. Giselle grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled me towards her.

“Poor Dale,” Mrs. Batchelder said running her hand through her son’s wiry hair.  “We’re only here because our regular physician is booked and he needs to be seen.  He’s running a terrible fever.”

“Of course,” Giselle said.  I could see the tightness of her jaw, which reminded me of Maman’s when she got angry.  Giselle’s hand was still on my shoulder when the boy let out another cough.

“And how old are you, Etoile?” the woman asked as her son continued to cough.

“I am eleven.”

“Same as Dale. And where is your family staying while they visit?”

Giselle squeezed my shoulder even harder.

“Etoile did not come with family, she came by herself. Her mother recently passed away.”

“I am so sorry,” the woman said and for a second. “Father?”

“A fisherman lost at sea several years ago.”

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Batchelder said. Her expression was contrite and she tilted her head to the side.  A second or two later she glanced up sharply at Giselle. “But surely you’re not thinking…”

“Thinking of what, Mrs. Batchelder?” Giselle asked with a planted smile on her face.  Her hand was still squeezed tightly into my shoulder.

Nurse Carol called Dale’s name and without another word the mother grabbed her son by the arm and yanked him away. The boy turned back and stared at me as he was led down the hallway.

“Oh
Cherie
,” Giselle said as she finally realized how hard she had been squeezing my shoulder. “I am so sorry.  I did not mean to…”

“Giselle,” I asked, “What did that woman mean when she said, ‘But surely you’re not thinking…’ You’re not thinking of what?”

“We will not worry about anything that woman says,” Giselle answered as she quickly picked up a
Family Circle
and flipped haphazardly through the pages.

Giselle flipped so quickly through the pages that I knew she could not possibly be reading them. Finally, she reached over and took me by the chin and held it for just a second and smiled.  She dropped her hand and went back to the magazine and began to read it again from the beginning.

As I sat in the waiting room with Giselle, my eyes fixed on a poster showing two children getting on a school bus. It said, “Immunizations Save Lives.”

“Giselle!”

“What?”

“I will not have to get a shot, will I?”

Giselle lowered the magazine.  “Of course not. This is just a checkup.”

Carol came over to us and said, “Room Two, your favorite.”

Giselle smiled, but I could not imagine why she would have a favorite room at a doctor’s office. As we stood up, Carol called Giselle’s name.

“Are we still on for Saturday night?”

Giselle opened her mouth, and then glanced down at me.  “Oh
mon Dieu
, I completely forgot,” she said.  “It was this Saturday, wasn’t it?  I will have to talk to Jean. I am not sure if we…”

“It’s no problem at all,” Carol said.  “Everyone would certainly understand if you want to cancel.”

The room we waited in was painted in a light green shade and had a mobile of smiling fish with rainbows painted on them dangling over the examining table.  The fish swam around happily under their own power.  Above the table on the wall was a very large, colorful painting of two bears walking along a wooded path, holding hands.  One was looking up and reaching for a falling leaf descending from the sky.  The other wore glasses and was holding a copy of
Little Women
very close up to its face.  The bear that was reading seemed oblivious to the large green turtle that was crossing the road directly in front of it. There was something about the painting that made me smile.  I was still looking at it when the door suddenly opened up and a young woman dressed in a long gray skirt and white coat with a stethoscope draped around her neck, stepped in.  She had long, blonde hair pulled back in a twist and very light blue eyes. She was very pretty.

She stepped forward and kissed Giselle on the cheek.

“Hi Sweetie,” she said.  “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.  I had an unexpected emergency.”

“So I saw,” Giselle said with a bitter tone.

The woman shrugged. “And the sick will be treated without prejudice, or so the oath says.” Holding out her hand to me she said, “And who is this beautiful young lady?”

“Eppy, this is my cousin, Etoile Toussaint. Etoile, this is Dr. Gloria Epstein, but you may call her Eppy because she is a good friend.”

I froze.  Epstein.  This was most definitely a Jew’s name, but surely this woman could not be a Jew?  She was much too pretty. Her eyes, though pale in color, crinkled up along the edges when she smiled, just like Giselle’s.  Her lips were quite full and red and covered with clear gloss. Her hair was silky and wisps of it hung down from where she had it pulled back. Surely Maman had never worked for a Jew like this.

“Etoile?” Giselle asked giving me a small nudge on the back and I realized the woman was still holding out her hand to me.  I shook it and she laughed.

“You even look like Giselle. How lucky are you?”

Giselle patted my shoulder.

Giselle stayed in the room with me while Eppy weighed and measured me, looked at my eyes and down my throat and in my ears.  While she listened to my chest and back, Eppy asked me many questions about when I had last been to a doctor, which had been years; whether I had been to a dentist recently, which I hadn’t; and what I liked about school. The only thing I could think of was reading.

“She has already read half the books Jean brought home for her,” Giselle said.

Eppy laughed.  “Spoken like a proud Mamma,” she said. “I’m sure Jean’s thrilled.”

“Yes,” Giselle answered.

“And no period yet, right?”

I looked over at the picture of the bears and shook my head.

Eppy touched my knee.  “Isn’t that a great picture?  Your cousin is so talented.”

“You did this?” I said turning to Giselle, who smiled.  Looking more closely, I saw “Giselle” painted in the lower right-hand corner.

“The children who come in all love it.  Several of them have written stories about what happened next,” Eppy said.

“What did they write?”

“In one story, the reading bear trips and falls and ends up right here in this room, but is fine.  Nothing broken and the turtle’s hard shell saves it from being hurt.  In another story, the bear reaching for the leaf drags the reading bear over to help her catch more leaves and the turtle crosses unharmed.  But that’s not my favorite.”