I sighed again. It was a sound of weariness, frustration, discouragement. I reached out my hand and traced the patterns of the four fleurs-de-lis as I had done so many times before. Cody had told me that if I didn’t stop doing that, I’d wear it out and I wouldn’t have anything to give to my kid on his thirteenth birthday. But maybe he’s just jealous that I got it and he didn't.
The sunlight filtering through the foliage above me dappled the pouch, making it look like there were two different colors of yarn in the embroidery. I liked the effect, and leaned a little closer to examine it once again. The other embroidery on the pouch, so delicately done as to be almost invisible, was what I loved most about my pouch.
My fingers moved slowly across the letters. That day in the canyon, I hadn’t realized that was what they were, but now I recognized them for what they were—individual letters in an elegant French script that spelled out two words. But those two words still puzzled me a little.
Finally, laying the pouch aside, I leaned back and closed my eyes again, trying to push everything out of my mind, at least for a little while.
Chapter 9
“Hey!”
When Ricky spoke, I jumped so fast I nearly fell off the bench. I leaped up, brushing at the back of my hair, turning my head so he wouldn’t see me blinking the sleep out of my eyes. “Hey, yourself. Umm . . . What are you doing here? I thought you were taking care of your sisters.”
“I was. Dad got home early. I was coming in to get a few things at the grocery store. Cody said you were over here in your private place, so I thought I’d say hi before I headed home.”
“Hi,” I murmured. What a nice thing to happen. Perfect timing on his part. I sat down again, picking up my journal and the pouch and setting them aside.
“Whatcha doin’?” He sat next to me on the bench.
“Writing in my journal. Just thinking.” I pulled a face. “Wallowing in a really good case of the ‘poor me’s.’”
His eyebrows came up. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just feeling a little down. Probably just the heat.”
“I’ll buy that. Even up in the pines it was ninety-something.” He peered more closely. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with your sleepover last night, would it? Cody said it went bad.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I snapped.
His hands came up, warding me off. “Whoa. Okay. New topic.” He smiled and reached in his pocket. “Here.”
He held out a magnifying glass.
“What’s that?”
“A magnifying glass.”
“I can see that,” I said in disgust. “What’s it for?”
“Your grandpa told me to bring it out here for you. Didn’t you ask for it?”
I started to shake my head, then jerked upright. “Was that all he said?”
“Yeah. Just, ‘Give this to Danni. She may need it.’” He grinned. “What are you doing? Frying ants like we used to do when we were little?”
“I never did that—you did.” Why in the world had Grandpère thought I needed a magnifying glass? I took the glass from Ricky, an idea forming in my head. “Here. I want to show you something.”
I lifted the pouch and put it on his lap. “You have never had a chance to hold the pouch before, to really look at it. So here’s your chance.”
He gave me a puzzled look, then did as I asked. “What am I supposed to be seeing?” His fingers moved across the flap. “There are the four whatchamacallits.”
“Fleurs-de-lis.”
“Yeah, those things.” His fingers moved down. “Hey, is this lettering? I didn’t see that before.”
“Neither did I. Not until later.” I scooted closer, pushing against his shoulder, and handed him the magnifying glass. “Look at the first one. It looks like a capital L, right? And the next one is definitely an E. That spells le in French, which is the masculine form of ‘the.’”
“Oh.” He barely heard me. He was concentrating hard. He bent over the pouch. “G. A. R. D.” He read the letters of the second word, moving the glass slowly. “I. There’s another E. And finally . . . uh, an N.” He lowered the magnifying glass.
I said the phrase aloud in my best French accent: “Le GARDY-en.”
“The garden?” Ricky wondered. “Why would someone name a purse ‘The Garden’? That’s weird.”
I smiled sweetly at him. “Since I asked Grandpère the same question, I think I’ll let him answer that.”
“No,” Grandpère said, “it doesn’t mean garden.”
“Is it similar to an English word?” Ricky asked.
He smiled. “I think with a little searching you could answer that on your own.”
“Gardening,” Cody blurted.
His buddies had gone, and he was in the thick of it with us.
“No, it has nothing to do with the garden or gardening.” Grandpère turned back to me and Ricky. “I’ll bet it wouldn’t take a lot to find the answer on Google.”
“Grandpère,” I cried. “We worked hard on this. Won’t you help us?”
“Can I give them a hint?” Dad asked.
Grandpère gave a quick nod.
Dad took the pouch, turning it so it faced me and Ricky. Then he tapped the fleur-de-lis in the upper right-hand corner. “It has something to do with these, actually.”
“Flower,” Cody shouted out.
I gave him my best withering look. “That would have to do with gardens too.”
“Oh.”
“Royalty?” Ricky guessed. No response.
“Remember when we were in Horseshoe Canyon?” Dad asked. “Grandpère named several things the fleur-de-lis can represent. But there was one in particular you were quite excited about, Danni.”
“Guards!” Ricky blurted. “Does it mean guards?”
Grandpère gave him a slow smile. “Close, but not close enough.”
Ricky and Cody fired off several more words: Soldiers. Sentries. Keepers. Spears. Cody even threw in “National Guard.” Grandpère watched them calmly through it all, shaking his head. I sat back, thoroughly enjoying the show. Finally, he took pity on them.
“Mack is right. This is actually a title, and it has to do with the fleurs-de-lis. What do you call a person who serves as a guard?”
And then it clicked. “Guardian,” Ricky sang out.
At last the smile was full. “That is correct. Le Gardien means ‘The Guardian’ in English.”
Chapter 10
Hanksville, UT
Thursday, May 28, 2009
“Hi, love.”
I looked up from my journal. “Oh. Hi, Mom. What are you still doing up?”
“Can’t sleep when your dad’s gone.”
“What time is he supposed to be back?”
“He said a little after midnight.”
I glanced at the clock: 11:17.
“And why are you still up? Last day of school leave you too excited to sleep?”
“Right,” I said, making a face. “All we did was sign yearbooks. We didn’t even go to class. It was basically all over by one o’clock, but somebody forgot to tell the bus drivers, so they didn’t come until three.”
“And that’s what you’re writing in your journal?” She was openly skeptical.
She had me. Except for the last hour, it had been a really fun day. “It was okay. I’m just catching up.” I hesitated for a moment, then added, “Wanna talk?”
“Sure. Two insomniac females—we may as well make the best of it.”
As she shut the door behind her, I closed my journal, stood up, and went to the bed. I stretched out, patting the other side of it. “Girl talk?” I teased.
Laughing, she lay down beside me, letting her dark hair spread out across the pillow. “Sure you can stand it?”
I scooted closer to her, turning on my side so we were facing each other. “I’ll try. But if I start to hyperventilate, promise me you’ll stop. Okay?”
She shook her head in mock despair. “Oh, Carru
thers. Where did you come from?”
“Dad says I’m pure you. Sorry, Mom, it’s all your fault.”
She laughed. “Yeah, right. Like I ever wore cowboy boots when I was your age. Or rode horses. Or slept out in the open in a moldy sleeping bag. Or ate mac and cheese with hot dogs.”
“Or went into a tailspin if your mother asked you to put on a dress.”
“Exactly right.” She reached out and briefly touched my cheek. “It’ll serve you right if you get a little girl who’s all frills and lace and dolls and dress-up.”
“Never happen,” I said.
“Oh, yes it will, and you’ll love it.”
I knew she was probably right, but I wasn’t about to openly admit it. After all, I had an image to maintain.
“So, how does it feel to know that your middle school days are over?”
“Like I just had a pardon from the governor.”
Her laugh was a merry tinkle. “Go on. It wasn’t that bad. Come fall, you’ll be a lowly little freshman ninth grader at the high school. No more big woman on campus.”
“If I wasn’t graduating, me and Cody would be in the same school next year. That would be seriously mental.”
More serious now, she took my hand. “I’m really proud of you, Carruthers. Straight A’s.”
“Thank you.”
“No problem,” she murmured, smiling.
“Ha!” I cried.
Her eyes opened wider in surprise. “Ha what?”
“You just said, ‘No problem.’”
“And that’s a problem?”
“Don’t you remember that twenty minute lecture you and Dad gave me a few weeks ago?” I launched into a gruff voice, trying to sound as pompous as Dad had. “What is it with you teenagers nowadays? The proper answer to ‘Thank you’ is ‘You’re welcome,’ not ‘No problem.’”
She looked startled for a moment, then went on the offensive. “It wasn’t a twenty minute lecture; it took about ten seconds.” She smiled triumphantly. “To which you had no answer, I might add.”
There was a flash of headlights on the ceiling for a second or two, and we both raised up our heads to listen. But there was no sounds of a vehicle in the lane. Probably someone just turning around out on the highway.
“Anyway,” she said as we settled back down again, “your father and I are very pleased that you take your studies seriously.”
“Thank you,” I said primly.
“You’re welcome.” She laughed.
It was a warm moment between us, and so I decided that even though it was late, it might be a good time to bring up something I had been thinking about for several days now. “Mom? Can I talk to you about something?”
She propped herself up on one elbow. “Of course. What is it?”
Well, I . . .” I took a deep breath. “Promise you’ll hear me out before you shut me down, okay?”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she nodded. “Okay.”
Another deep breath. I had been practicing this speech for two days now, but suddenly I felt like my mind had been erased and never reprogrammed.
“It can’t be that bad,” she said. Then she frowned. “Is it?”
“No, it’s nothing bad. It’s . . . I think it’s good actually.”
“Good for me or good for you?”
When I had no answer to that, she sat up, crossing her legs and facing me directly. “Okay, let’s hear it. I’m ready.”
“Uh . . . do you remember how earlier this month I left my backpack on the bus on a Friday afternoon? And I couldn’t get it back until Monday?”
“Yes, and it had the pouch in it.”
“Exactly. I felt horrible. Grandpère never said anything, but I knew he was disappointed in me. When he gave the pouch to me last year, I promised I’d always be careful with it and always take good care of it.”
“But it turned out all right.” She laughed softly. “Even if someone had taken it, that thing is so old, it looks like something from the Salvation Army store. No one would take it.”
“Yeah, right. So . . . umm . . . I was wondering like . . . I mean . . .”
“My goodness, Carruthers. Just spit it out. What is it?”
“What if I didn’t take the pouch to school every day next year?” As she started to react, I rushed on. “I mean, for school activities, like football games or a dance or something, then I would, but not every day. Not just for school.”
“But, Carruthers, you know—”
“I wouldn’t just leave it lying around. I could get a little chest, or maybe Dad could put a lock on my closet door. Then I could leave it home and it would be safe.”
“No, Carruthers!”
“Mom, listen to me. High school is different. There’ll be a bigger chance of having it get lost or someone taking it.” Or making me feel even more like Miss Number-One Ditz of Wayne County.
“No, Carruthers,” she said more strongly now. “We already discussed this once. I want that pouch with you every day. That’s nonnegotiable.”
“Mom! You promised to hear me out.”
Her mouth opened, and then she clamped it shut again. “Go on.” But her eyes said it all. The discussion was over in her mind. And that made me mad.
“You don’t know what it’s like, Mom. Even though I keep it in my backpack and never take it out, all the kids know about it. It’s like I’m the freak of the eighth grade. I mean, who else in the entire United States of America carries around an empty, two-hundred-year-old purse? They tease me about it all the time. It’s . . . it’s just weird.”
“Is that why you left it on the bus?”
“No! But thanks for thinking I’d do that.”
“Let me ask you something, all right?”
I sighed. Here came the counterattack. “Yeah, yeah. Go ahead.”
“If your friends thought wearing a seat belt—or a life jacket when you’re on the jet skis—was stupid or childish, and they teased you about it, would you stop wearing them?”
“Of course not. But it’s not the same thing. Those are meant to protect you.”
Mom’s eyebrow raised slowly.
Whoops. Wrong thing to say. “Okay, I know that’s how you see the pouch, but that’s just it. It’s not—”
“It’s called the Guardian, Carruthers. I didn’t give it that name. Neither did your father or your grandfather. It’s had that title for a long, long time. Someone gave it that name for a reason. It can protect you every bit as much as seat belts or life jackets can—just like it protected Grandpère when that plane came at him.”
“He says that was just a stroke of good luck.”
“Yeah, and his mother said it was the pouch that saved him.” She tossed her head in exasperation. “Why would you want to leave something like that at home?”
“Because I’m not in any danger at school, Mom. It’s the same thing every day. Boring. Dull. Safe.”
“Do you remember Columbine High School in Colorado?”
I should have known that was coming. “I was four, Mom. No, I don’t remember. But you’ve told me about it enough times. Even if something like that did happen here, do you think the pouch is going to stop a bullet? Come on, Mom. Get real. I’m not talking about throwing the pouch away. I . . . I just don’t want to take it every day. It’s the biggest joke in school.”
“Well, I worry about you,” she said as she stood up from the bed. “Every day. And knowing you have the pouch with you has been a great comfort to me.”
I shook my head. I knew I had lost. It was like trying to convince her to let me have a birthday party on my actual birthday—I was never going to win that fight.
I had saved my best shot for last, hoping I wouldn’t have to use it, but I had no other choice.
“About two months ago, someone started the rumor that I kept food in my pouch. Since we’re not allowed to have food in the classrooms, I started leaving my pouch in my locker. Greg Kelly somehow got in there, and he filled the pouch with Twinkies. Then
he put it in my backpack without me knowing about it. In algebra, he told Mr. Arnold that I was sneaking food into class.”
Mom frowned. “What happened?”
“Everyone thought it was hilarious, of course. Except Mr. Arnold. I ended up in the principal’s office. And now everyone calls me Twinkie McCallister. I even had people sign my yearbook that way.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? I know the Kellys. I’ll call his mother.”
“Oh, goodie. I’m sure that will help.”
“Sarcasm does not become you, Carruthers. And the answer is still no.”
“Please, Mom! Please!”
She stopped as she reached the door. Without turning around she said, “I’ll talk to your father about it, but if he asks me what I think, you know what my answer will be.” She opened the door. “I’m sorry, Carruthers. Good night.”
Before she could close it, I was off the bed and to her side. “Will you at least do one thing for me, then?”
“What?” she asked suspiciously.
“My birthday is on Saturday this year. You said I could take some of my friends to Provo to the Seven Peaks water park. But if I do it on a Friday or a Monday, Ricky and some of the others won’t be able to come because they work. If I promise to take the pouch, will you please, please, let me celebrate my birthday on my birthday? Just once? I’ll even wear the pouch in the pool if you want.” I tried to lighten the mood. “Along with my life jacket and a seat belt.”
Mom didn’t say anything. I thought I had gone too far, because from her face, I could tell she was either very hurt or very near to throwing me on the bed and spanking my bottom. Either way, I didn’t expect an answer.
I started to turn away, but she surprised me. “You always did have a gift for slipping the blade between the ribs, Carruthers. But be careful. The tongue that bites others can bite you too.” She gave me a fleeting, humorless smile. “But, yes. I agree. You can have your birthday party on your birthday. Good night.”