Bones to Ashes

Obeline had lied about Evangeline dying in 1972. Why?

Was she truly mistaken? Of course not, she had the poems. She must have known approximately when they were written.

A murmured giggle augered into my musings. I looked up. The room was empty, but a shadow crossed the floor at the doorway.

“Cecile?” I called out softly.

“Can you tell where I am?”

“I think”—I paused, as if unsure—“you’re in the closet.”

“Nope.” She hopped into the doorway.

“Where is Obeline?”

“Cooking something.”

“You’re bilingual, aren’t you, sweetie?”

She looked confused.

“You speak both French and English.”

“What does that mean?”

I took another tack.

“Can we chat, just you and me?”

“Oui.” She joined me at the table.

“You like word games, don’t you?”

She nodded.

“How does it work?”

“Say a word that describes things and I’ll make it round.”

“Gros,” I said, air-puffing my cheeks.

She screwed up her face. “You can’t do that one.”

“Why not?”

“Just can’t.”

“Explain it to me.”

“Words make pictures inside my head.” She stopped, frustrated with her inability to clarify. Or with my inability to understand.

“Go on,” I encouraged.

“Some words look flat, and some words look crookedy.” Scrunching her eyes, she demonstrated “flat” and “crookedy” with her hands. “Flat words you can make round by adding o at the end. I like those. You can’t do that with crookedy words.”

Clear as a peat bog.

I thought about my initial exchange with Claudine. The girl spoke a jumbled Franglais, seemingly unaware of the boundaries between French and English. I wondered what conceptual framework divided flat from crookedy words. “Sparkly” and drole were obviously flat. Gros was crookedy.

“Fat.” I tried my initial word in English.

The green eyes sparkled. “Fat-o.”

“Happy.”

She shook her head.

“Fort.”

“Nooo. That one’s crookedy, too.”

“Fierce,” I said, baring my teeth and curling my fingers in a mock monster threat.

“Fierce-o.” Giggling, she mimicked my fierceness.

Whatever semantic ordering her mind had created would remain forever a mystery to me. After a few more exchanges, I changed topics.

“Are you happy here, Cecile?”

“I guess.” She tucked her hair behind her ears. Smiled. “But I like the other place, too. It has big birds on poles.”

The house in Tracadie. She’d probably been there when Harry and I dropped in.

“Can you remember where you were before you lived with Obeline?”

The smile collapsed.