All the way to Mademoiselle Courbet’s house, step by step, I struggled to comprehend that I was truly on my own, a realization that filled me with alarm and drained the air from my lungs until my legs grew weak and I had to pause to take several deep breaths. Nothing of my current situation matched the rosy future Bridgette and I had imagined all these years; Director Bernard had ruined it all.
Mademoiselle’s two-story French colonial home was located on a lane leading to the river in the French section of town. Eight streets from the orphanage, no more than fifteen minutes’ walking, but a lifetime away. Few people stirred here. Leafy trees sprinkled dappled shade across gardens bursting with colorful flowers, providing a peaceful buffer between neighbors. I’d never dreamed of living anywhere so grand.
Mademoiselle was waiting on the front veranda. Her hair framed her face and set off her remarkable lapis-blue eyes, like deep pools of water. I was, as always, in awe of her beauty, with skin as clear and smooth as Giselle’s porcelain face. At the orphanage we felt sure she couldn’t be much older than us, as she acted more like a student at our lycée than one of the stuffy old teachers.
She looked up as I opened the garden gate and flashed a bright smile, rushing down the path to greet me. “Chérie, I’m so happy you’re here.” She kissed me on both cheeks.
I burst into tears, overwhelmed by her warm welcome. “Oh, mademoiselle, I’m so grateful to you after what’s happened. If only you can forgive me…”
“Hush, hush, poor dear, it will be fine,” she said, patting me on the back. “First, let’s get you settled in your room, then we’ll have a nice chat.”
An older Lao woman with graying hair emerged through the front screen door. She bowed her head in a nop, palms together facing up under her chin. “Sabaidee,” she murmured, the traditional Lao greeting, meaning “be well and happy.”
“This is Mali, my housekeeper,” Mademoiselle Courbet said. “Tell her if you need anything.”
I smiled and nodded. Mali insisted on taking my valise as we stepped into the airy entry hall. A vase filled with purple and white orchids infused the space with their sweet scent as we continued up the staircase and down the hall to the back corner of the house.
Mademoiselle Courbet opened a door, and we entered a bedroom at least four times the size of the cubbyhole I had shared with Bridgette. Sunshine streamed through half-open shutters, framed by organdy curtains. The rosewood furnishings included a four-poster double bed covered with a blue, flowered quilt, nightstands on each side, a large double armoire, a dressing table with a mirror and small bench, and a caned rocking chair with a blue cushion.
“Mademoiselle, it’s so beautiful,” I managed at last.
“First of all, no more ‘Mademoiselle.’ Please call me Catherine.”
My eyes widened. “If you wish. It may be hard at first.”
She laughed and put an arm around my shoulders. “I’m no longer your teacher, and it makes me feel very ancient to be addressed so formally.” She paused. “May I call you Vivi, as your friends do?”
“That would be nice.”
“The toilet and bath are across the hall, and Mali left towels on the bed. After you unpack, join me on the veranda.”
“It won’t take me long.”
She turned to Mali. “Would you please make us fresh coffee?”
I waited until they left to open my valise, embarrassed by the tattered state of my wardrobe—a small hole in the hem of my good blue dress, a stain on my sweater sleeve, and everything worn and faded from a hundred washings, until the fabrics looked like the slightest tug might tear them in half. I hung the dresses, skirt, and nightgown in the armoire and placed my underthings, jewelry box, and Mother’s scarf in the dresser drawers. After seating my doll on the rocking chair cushion, I knelt down to stroke her hair. “We will never be shut away again, Giselle. I promise you.”
I stood at the window a moment, admiring the view of the back garden, a peaceful refuge. Koi fish swam in a small pond below an arched bridge, and lotus plants floated on the water’s surface, the large white-and-pink blossoms unfolding like a sacred offering. I breathed deeply as a sense of relief and well-being filled me.
Mali brought a lacquered tray with fresh cups of café au lait and biscuits on a delicate china plate painted with pink roses.
“Your home is wonderful, Mademoi—I mean, Catherine.” It felt strange to call my teacher by her given name. Former teacher, I reminded myself.
Catherine stirred sugar into her cup as wisps of steam curled into the air. “My parents built this home in 1916, after we moved to Vientiane.”
I had wondered how she could afford such a large, lovely place by herself. “I thought you came to Laos from France, after you finished university.”
“I was born in Paris, but my family moved to Indochine in 1913 when Father was appointed assistant to the Resident Superior of Tonkin. I was seven and my brother five at the time. We moved to Laos three years later, and I grew up here, except for several summers in France when Father had leave. Then I went back to Paris to attend university.”
I sipped my coffee, calculating Catherine’s age at twenty-five, only seven years my senior.
Catherine gave a soft laugh. “I’m giving away my age, but I have no secrets. When Father transferred to Vientiane, Mother wanted to design a home of her own. And voilà. Our family loved Laos, with its warm climate and relaxed pace of life. People are so kind and easygoing. When Father’s commission with the government ended, he took a job with Bonnet’s Imports.” She shook her head. “Some of the French do nothing but complain and can’t wait to complete their assignment and return to France. I don’t understand it.”
“Are your parents here now?” It had never occurred to me she might not live alone.
“They returned to France last June after Father retired. He has health problems, and Mother insisted they go back to France for better medical treatment. It’s a little lonely in this big house, which is one of many reasons I decided to offer you a room.”
“I can’t thank you enough.” She was asking only fifteen piastres per month for the room, with meals—a small sum, considering that a croissant cost twenty cents, or one-fifth of a piastre. But finding a job was urgent if I hoped to pay my rent. The back of my throat grew tight as tears threatened again. “I’m grateful you are still willing to have me. I promise to find a job right away and give you the rent. If you’ll let me explain what happened…” I desperately needed to make her understand my predicament.
“Please don’t worry, Vivi, we’ll work this out.” Catherine lit a cigarette and took a long draw. “I’m not upset with you. Maîtresse said you broke into the director’s office to look at your file. Why don’t you tell me what happened? Take your time.”
I drew in a deep breath and began with what I remembered of my childhood, my few memories of my mother, and the day the Assistance Society took me from her arms. It was like a great spool of thread rolling across the floor and gathering speed; the more I spoke, the faster my story unfolded. “Director Bernard always refused to answer questions about my family, promising to tell me more when I turned eighteen. I waited all these years. Can you understand my anger when he denied having any information about my past, when he refused to show me my file? He looked me in the eyes and lied.” I gripped the edges of my chair, and my voice shook. “How could he not tell me I have a twin brother in Pakse?”
Catherine gasped softly. “I had no idea. How unbearably cruel of the Assistance Society not to inform you and to keep you from your own brother. Whatever is their reasoning?” She sat forward in her chair. “I would have done the same.”
“I don’t regret it. At least I know my parents’ names, that I have a brother, and that we came from Luang Prabang.” I heaved a great sigh. “But now the director has had my teaching assistant job annulled. I don’t know what I’ll do.”
Catherine patted my arm. “I tried to convince Director Bernard to reconsider and told him his punishment was too harsh, but he became terribly angry. He would never admit to being wrong, I fear. And I can’t afford to lose my work at the orphanage. The director holds a great deal of sway among French colons in this town. It’s best we find you another job as soon as possible, and you must stay clear of him. In the meantime, don’t worry about the rent. You can pay me later, when you have an income.”
“Thank you. Do you have any ideas where I might look for work? I don’t know anyone. I don’t even speak Lao.”
Catherine pushed her hair back. “We’ll make a plan. My dear friend Marguerite is secretary to the Resident Superior of Laos. She has endless connections and hears the latest news and gossip. I’m sure she’ll have some leads. Perhaps there are openings in the telegraph service or the customs office. Also, a group of friends is coming for drinks tonight before we have dinner at the Cercle—do you know the French club on the river? I’ll introduce you to a couple who may need an au pair. Would you be willing to do that temporarily, until you find something better?”
“Yes, I’ll do anything.”
“Good. As for the language, Mali and I can teach you Lao, although my pronunciation is atrocious. But Mali will work with you.” She sighed. “It’s so shortsighted, not teaching you girls to speak your native tongue. I’ll never understand.”
“I want to send letters right away to Luang Prabang about my parents, and another to the orphanage in Pakse to reach my brother. Can you…help me?” I asked, beginning to cry. Exhaustion and the tumultuous emotions of the past few days overcame me.
“Of course I’ll help.” She handed me a lacy handkerchief. “Have a good cry, dear, and you’ll feel better. This is an enormous transition for you, but as my mother always says, everything will work out in the end, and you’ll wonder why you ever worried so much. It’s quite exciting, really. You have a brother to meet and your whole life ahead of you.”
I nodded, comforted by her words.
“I almost forgot to tell you,” Catherine went on, “my brother, Julian, is headed back to Vientiane as we speak and will arrive in a couple of weeks. He’s been in France the last four years attending the Sorbonne and finished his degree last month. He plans to start an import/export business.” She smiled. “He’s a bit of a dreamer, but I can’t wait to have him home. You’ll get along famously, I’m sure.”
She stood up. “Come. We’ll walk around the grounds before lunch. Mother devoted a great deal of time to developing her gardens. They’re an excellent place to contemplate life and work through your troubles.”