By Laurie Graves 
 

 At Sacred Heart School, lunch was served in the basement, in a dim cafeteria with long tables and wooden benches, in a room that smelled like green beans and sour milk.  As nuns patrolled the lunchroom, the children either waited in line or sat hunched over their lunches as they talked in low voices to each other.
 Janine Bourque and Susan Roy were usually first in line.  Because they brought their own lunches, all they had to do was buy milk.
 "What do you have for lunch today?" Susan asked as they sat down.
 Janine opened her blue lunchbox, pulled out her sandwich, and peeked inside.  The she sighed.  "Spam."
 "Me, too," Susan said.
 Everyday it was the same thing.  Spam.  With margarine.  Whenever Janine would complain, her mother would say, "And what's wrong with Spam?  It's cheap, it tastes good, and it's meat."
 But Janine didn't think it tasted good.  To her, it was all salt and gristle.
 "Would you rather have Vienna Sausages?" her father would ask.  "Or Kippered Snacks?"
 "No," Janine would answer, shuddering at the thought of eating those stinking little hotdogs and that smelly fish.  "No!"
 And so Spam it was, with an occasional peanut butter and fluff, but mostly Spam.  With a shrug, both girls took out their sandwiches and began to eat.
 "We could get hot lunch," Susan said, but then Karin Poulin sat down next to them and they looked at her tray.
 "Dried fish sticks," Janine said later.
 "Rubbery carrots," Susan added.
 "And watery chocolate pudding."  Janine shook her head.  "I guess we better stick with Spam.  At least we get chocolate chip cookies once in awhile."
 Across the table from them, Linda Davidson, the new girl in their class, sat down and opened her lunchbox.  The sandwich she took out didn't look like anything Janine had ever seen.
 The bread was brown with little dark flecks, and there was a slice of creamy, white cheese.  "Not American cheese," Janine would say later.  "That cheese had holes."  Between all of this, there was some kind of thin, reddish meat.  Janine and Susan just stared.
 "What's the matter?" Linda asked.
 "What kind of sandwich is that?" Janine asked.
 "Pastrami and cheese on rye.  Why?"  "I was just wondering," Janine answered, not having an idea what either pastrami or rye was.
 "Want a bite?"  Linda smiled, holding out the sandwich.  She was not a pretty girl.  Her brown hair was too thin and straight, and she had too many freckles.  But, she had deep, blue eyes and a nice smile.
 Janine shrugged.  "All right."
 She took a small bite, and the spices from the meat and bread tingled her tongue in a way it had never been tingled before.  Janine reluctantly passed the sandwich back to Linda.
 "Do you like it?" Linda asked.
 "Yes," Janine answered, "it's good."
 "How about you?" Linda asked Susan.  "Do you want a bite?"
 Susan shook her head.  "No, thanks."
 "She's a picky eater," Janine explained and Linda nodded.  "Would you like to play with us at recess?  Debbie Blanchette plays with us too, but she's in Mother Maria's class and can't sit with us at lunch."
 Linda smiled.  "Sure."
 That afternoon, when Janine came home from school, her mother was scrubbing the woodwork.  "I like to do it once a week," she would say.  "I want a clean house.  You never know when Memere Bourque is going to come over."
 Memere Bourque lived just next door, in a gray ranch that was even smaller than their white one.  She came over once, sometimes twice a day.  "To inspect the house," Janine's mother said, although Memere always said it was for coffee.  Whenever Janine looked out the window and saw Memere, stout and small, coming across the lawn, she would yell, "Memere's coming!"  And Janine's mother would rush around the house for a last minute check, to make sure it was clean enough for Memere Bourque.
 It always was, but just barely, and her mother spent most of her days polishing, scrubbing, and dusting.  "You don't have to keep up with my mother," Janine's father would say, stepping carefully across a newly waxed floor.
 "Oh, yes, I do!" her mother would answer.  "Just think what she'd say if the house was dirty.  My God, she's clean."  And that, Janine knew, was the highest compliment her mother could give.
 "Mom?" Janine called as she came into the house.
 "What?"  Her mother was scrubbing the woodwork by the bathroom.
 Janine came over to her.  "The next time you go shopping could you buy some pastrami and rye?"
 "What the heck is that?" her mother asked.
 "It's a kind of sandwich.  Linda Davidson had one.   She let me have a bite and it was so good."   Janine jiggled up and down.  "Please?"  "We'll see," her mother said.  "But I bet Lemieux's Market doesn't even have that stuff.  And who is Linda Davidson?"
 "She's the new kid in class.  She played with us at recess and it worked out great.  Before it was Susan, Debbie, and me and somebody always felt left out."
 "Well, three is a crowd."
 Janine nodded.  "What are we having for supper tonight?"
 "A casserole?"
 "What kind?"  Janine expected the worst.
 "Noodles, Veg-All, and hamburg," her mother answered.
 "Oh," Janine answered, her suspicions confirmed.
 Her mother stopped scrubbing to frown at her.  "And what's wrong with  that?"
 "Nothing," Janine said quickly.  Her mother was touchy about her cooking and Janine didn't want to start and argument.  As she went into her room, Janine tried to imagine what someone who had pastrami and rye for lunch would have for supper.
 "Where does this Linda Davidson live?" her mother called from the hallway.
 "I don't know," Janine answered.
 "14 Roosevelt Avenue," Linda said the next day at recess when Janine asked her.  They were waiting in line to jump rope.
 "That's a pretty street," Janine said, thinking of the elm trees and the large, brick houses.  "Which church do you go to, Sacred Heart or Saint Frances?"
 "I don't go to either one," Linda said.  "I'm not Catholic."
 "Not Catholic?" Janine heard herself say, and Susan, who was in front of Linda, turned and stared at her.  "Not Catholic?" Janine said again.  She couldn't imagine it.  Everyone she knew was Catholic.
 "Nope," Linda answered, "we're Protestants.  We go to the Congregational Church."
 "Well, why are you coming to school here?" Susan asked.
 "Because Daddy thinks it's the best school in town," Linda answered, looking from Susan to Janine.  "And he should know, he's a professor at Colby College."
 "Come on, Susan!" Debbie yelled.  "It's your turn to jump."
 Susan bounded away.  Linda smiled at Janine and Janine tried to smile back.
 "Poor thing," Janine said to Susan as they walked home from school. "Imagine not being Catholic."
 "I can't," Susan answered, and for the rest of the way home, they talked about Linda Davidson.
 "Mom!" Janine called as she burst through the door.  Then she stopped short.  Her mother and Memere Bourque were sitting at the kitchen table. "Guess what?" Janine asked.
 "What?" her mother answered.
 "Linda Davidson is a Protestant!"
 "Who's Linda Davidson?" Memere Bourque asked, dipping a piece of doughnut into her coffee.
 "A new kid in my class."
 Memere dropped her doughnut and coffee spattered onto the gray Formica table.  "They're letting them into Sacred Heart, now?"
 Janine's mother lit a cigarette.  "Maman Bourque, it's 1965.  With Pope John, things have changed."
 "And why does Linda Davidson go to Sacred Heart?" Memere asked.
 "Because her father said it's the best school in town," Janine answered. "And he should know.  He's a professor at Colby College."
 "Lo," Memere sniffed, "he may be a Protestant but at least he has good taste.  Now, come here and give Memere a kiss."  She held out her arms and Janine climbed into Memere's small, wide lap.  As Memere kissed her cheeks, once, twice, three times, making a loud smacking sound after each kiss, Janine thought about Linda Davidson the Protestant who ate pastrami and rye sandwiches.
 "She's the most interesting person I know," Janine said solemnly to her father as he tucked her into bed that night.
 "She sounds like quite a kid," her father agreed, stroking her check with an oil-stained finger.
 "Do Protestants go to heaven or do they wind up in Limbo, like the little pagan babies?"
 "Oh, they go to heaven, too."
 With a frown, Janine squirmed in bed as her father sat down next to her. "I wonder what it's like to be a Protestant?" Janine asked.
 Her father shook his head and took a book from her nightstand.  "I don't know.  Are you ready for the next chapter in "Peter Pan?"
 "Yes," Janine answered, reluctantly turning her thoughts from Linda Davidson to Wendy, Captain Hook, and Peter.
 As the weeks went by, Linda brought different sandwiches to school, sometimes roast beef on a bulky roll with sesame seeds, sometimes smoked turkey with cranberry sauce, and once even something called pate.  "But I don't like pate very much," Linda said.  "My mother made it for a party and there was some left over."
 Janine liked them all, even the pate, and she stared so longingly at Linda' s sandwiches that it wasn't long before Linda was sharing them with Janine. In return, Janine would give Linda half of her sandwich, even though she knew it wasn't a fair trade, and that Linda didn't even like Spam and margarine sandwiches.  But Linda would just shrug and say, "We're friends."
 "Friends with a Protestant," Memere Bourque said, shaking her head.  She was in her usual seat at the head of the table.  "When I was young, I wasn't even allowed to talk to one."
 "It's all right," Janine's mother said, patting Janine on the back.  "In the new church group that Father Bolduc started, we've been going to different churches, attending their services, and they're coming to ours. Next week, we're even going to the Synagogue."
 "Well," Memere said, helping herself to another cookie, "I'd be careful, Alphonsine, if I was you.  The next thing you'll know, she'll be marrying one."
 "Oh, Memere!" Janine said and Memere winked at her.
 But one thing Janine's mother did not like about her friendship with Linda Davidson was the way Janine just picked at her food at suppertime.  Janine had never really liked her mother's cooking, but until she met Linda, she hadn't realized how good food could be.  Now, she could hardly stand to look at the slimy, canned spinach sitting in a green mound on her plate, much less eat it.  Or the canned asparagus.  The main meals were a little better, but somehow the American chop suey was always watery and bland, and the pork chops tough and dry.  All Janine could think about, as she pushed her food into little piles, was how good Linda's sandwiches were.
 "What's the matter with you?" Janine's mother asked one night while they were eating supper.
 "I'm just not very hungry," Janine said.  "You give me too much food."
 "Maybe Janine should serve herself," her father said, "since you insist that she clean her plate."
 "Maybe Janine should stop eating Linda Davidson's fancy sandwiches."  Her mother lit a cigarette and closed the lighter with a snap.  Janine just stared at her.  "You didn't think I knew, did you?  Well, for one thing you' re always going on and on about how much you like Linda's sandwiches.  For another, Susan told her mother that Linda gives you half of her sandwich and you give her half of yours."
 'That little snitch,' Janine thought.
 "Now, Alphonsine," her father said, "you're making too much of this."
 "No, I'm not!" her mother said, stabbing out her cigarette in the ashtray. "I don't care if Janine plays with a Protestant, but I won't have her turning up her nose at my food.  I work hard to fix a good meal.  It's like a slap in the face when she just pushes it around her plate."  She pointed a finger at Janine.  "And just keep in mind that Linda's father is a college professor and your father is a mechanic."
 Janine could not see what her father's job had to do with her mother's cooking, but her mother's voice was sharp and shrill.  Janine felt her eyes sting and she looked down at her plate as tears slid down her cheeks. "No more trading with Linda!" her mother said.
 Janine's head came up with a snap.  "But, Mom!"
 "No, buts!"
 "Please!"
 "No!"
 Janine gripped the edge of the table.  "Maybe Linda's mother could teach you how to cook."  The words burst out before she could stop them and "Go to your room!" her mother shrieked.
 "Thanks a lot," Janine said to Susan as they walked to school the next day.
 "For what?"
 "For telling your mom that Linda and I trade sandwiches.  Your mom told my mom and now I can't anymore."
 Susan stopped and traffic roared past them.  "Janine, I never knew your mother would do that.  Honest!"
 "My mother cooks such lousy meals," Janine said bitterly as they started walking again.
 "They're not that bad," Susan said.
 "They're terrible!"
 As they turned the corner and went past Mister Donut, they could see Linda waiting for them on the edge of the playground.  She was jumping up and down and waving to them.
 "Janine!" she called.  "Susan!"  Janine and Susan ran to meet her.  "Guess what?  Mummy said I could have you guys over for dinner.  You this Friday," she said to Janine.  "You next Friday."  This was to Susan.  "And Debbie the Friday after that."
 "I don't think my mom will let me go," Janine said in a low voice.
 "Why not?"
 "Because she's mad that I like your food better than hers."
 "You could ask," Linda said, twining her arms through theirs.
 "All right," Janine said, knowing what her mother was going to say.
 "No."  Janine's mother sat at the kitchen table.  Janine stood before her and she twisted the skirt of her navy blue uniform.
 Memere Bourque sat at the other end of the table.  "Why not?" she asked. "As you said, with Pope John things have changed.  You don't think they'd serve her meat, do you?  They must know that she's a Catholic."
 "It's not the meat I'm worried about," Janine's mother snapped.  "I'm afraid that if she goes over to Linda's for supper, then she'll never eat what I cook.  She's bad enough as it is just on sandwiches.  Imagine what she'd be like after a full meal."
 "But, Alphonsine," Memere said, "she eats my cooking all the time and she still eats what you cook."
 Alphonsine's head was high.  "Your cooking is not anything like Linda's mother's cooking.  Don't forget, Linda's father is a professor at Colby."
 "Humph," Memere said.
 "Please can I go?" Janine asked softly.
 "No!" Janine's mother said.
 'Yes!' Janine thought as she trudged to her room and scuffed the shiny floor with her shoes.  'Yes!'
 "You're coming?" Linda said, the next day at school.  "That's great!  Maybe you can ride home on the bus with me."
 "No!" Janine said quickly.  "I have to go home first.  But I'll be over later.  What time do you eat?"
 "Oh, around 6:30 or 7:00.  But I was hoping you could come over earlier, so we could play."
 "I'll be over as soon as I can," Janine said, even though she wasn't sure how she was going to manage it.
 But on Thursday, Janine's mother said, "Our church group is having a pot luck supper tomorrow, and your father and I are going.  I'm making a molded Jell-O with fruit cocktail in it."
 'Ugh,' Janine thought.
 "You'll have to eat with Memere Bourque," her mother said, giving Janine a sharp look.  "That should please you.  You'll get a night off from my cooking."
 Janine didn't dare say anything; she just nodded.  But she did like Memere Bourque's cooking.  The food was plain, but somehow it tasted better than her mother's.
 "We'll be out late, so you'll have to spend the night there."
 "Tomorrow's Friday, isn't it?" Janine asked suddenly.
 "It sure is," her mother answered.
 Janine looked away from her mother and smiled.
 "Susan, wouldn't you like to have me over for supper tonight?" Janine asked as they sat on the stools at Mister Donut.  On Friday mornings, their mothers gave them doughnut money and they always left a little earlier, so they'd have plenty of time to eat their doughnuts.
 "Sure, but you're going to Linda's.  Aren't you?"
 "But if I wasn't, wouldn't you like to?" Janine persisted.
 "What are you planning?" Susan asked.  There was sugar around her mouth and a spot of jelly on her nose.
 "I'm planning on going to Linda's house for dinner," Janine said, "and I was wondering if you would call me at Memere's house at five."
 "Just remember what happened the last time you tried to trick your mother. Your hair turned orange."
 "Nothing is going to happen to my hair this time," Janine said.  "And besides, I'm going to trick my memere, not my mother.  Will you call?"
 Susan sighed.  "All right."
 That afternoon, as Janine sat in her memere's small, shining kitchen, the phone rang.  Memere jumped.  "Now who could that be?"
 She answered the phone and turned to Janine.  "Lo, it's Susan from just down the street," she said as though Janine didn't know where Susan lived. "She wants to talk to you."
 Janine picked up the phone.  "Hello?"
 "Hi," Susan said, "I'm calling just like I said I would.  I hope you're happy."
 Even though Memere was standing by the stove and stirring soup, Janine knew she was listening.  "Yes," Janine said, "and thank you.  I'll call you if I can't come.  All right?"
 "Sure," Susan said, "anything you say."
 Janine hung up the phone.  "Susan would like to have me over for supper tonight."
 Memere frowned.  "But I was looking forward to eating with you."
 Tipping her head to one side, Janine batted her eyes.  "Please, Memere?  I' ll still be spending the night here."
 The frown on Memere's face gave way to a smile, as Janine knew it would. "All right, you.  Come give me a kiss.  Will somebody bring you home?  Her house may just be down the street, but I don't want you walking alone in the dark."
 Janine kissed Memere.  "Oh, yes," she said, even though she wasn't sure who it would be.
 Janine slipped out of her memere's house.  The sun was setting and there was a low bank of clouds on the horizon.  The air was cold, and as Janine ran up the sidewalk, fall leaves swished beneath her feet.  Roosevelt Avenue was about two miles from her house, and if Janine hurried, she could just make it there before dark.
 As Janine ran up the street, past Susan's house and around the corner, she began to feel guilty.  Poor Memere had been so easy to trick.  'I didn't tell any lies,' Janine thought somewhat desperately.  She had been careful about that.  But, she had deliberately misled Memere, and Janine was sure that must be a sin.  'Mortal or venial?' Janine wondered.  'Big sin or small?'  And she thought about the black mark on her soul.
 But even though she felt guilty, she didn't feel guilty enough to turn around.  'Memere will never know,' Janine thought.
 'But God will,' a voice inside her said.
 'Why would God care if I eat at the Davidson's?'
 'He doesn't care about that,' the voice said.  'He cares about you disobeying your mother.'
 'That's what confession is for,' Janine said crossly.  'Now be quiet!'
 And the voice went away.
 It was starting to get dark, and cutting through backyards, Janine dodged swing sets, picnic tables, and dog poop.  By the time Janine reached Roosevelt Avenue, her hands were cold and she was out of breath, but she marched up to number 14, a large brick house, and rang the doorbell.
 Linda's mother answered the door.  For a moment she just stared at Janine. "Well, my goodness," she finally said.  "We had just about given up on you. Linda's been calling your house, but there's no answer."
 "My parent's are out," Janine answered.  "I was at my memere's."
 Linda's mother stepped aside.  "Come in.  You look cold.  Did you walk all the way?"
 "Yes," Janine said and then added quickly, "but I like to walk.  I walk all the time."
 Linda's mother raised an eyebrow.
 Janine shifted from one foot to the other.  "Linda's sandwiches are so good.  I just had to come over and see what supper was like."
 Linda's mother shook her head and laughed.  "Well, come this way.  Linda's in the kitchen helping me get things ready.  I'll make some hot cocoa to warm you up."
 As Janine followed Linda's mother through the living room and into the kitchen, she could see right away that this was not what her mother would call a "clean house."  There were books and newspapers everywhere, in bookcases, on the floor, on the coffee table.  Linda's shoes and book bag lay in a heap by the door, and Janine had to step over them.  'Mom would have a fit if I left mine like that,' Janine thought.
 Coffee cups and glasses, some still half-full, sat on top of the papers, and a large black dog lay on the couch.  He thumped his tail at Janine as she went by.
 The kitchen was even worse, with a sink full of dirty dishes and pots and bowls from one end of the counter to the other.  In the middle of this mess, on a stool, stood Linda, calmly tearing lettuce into a bowl.
 "Look who's here," Linda's mother said.
 "Janine!" Linda squealed, jumping from the stool.
 "Sorry the place is such a mess," Linda's mother said.  "But I've been cooking all day.  I write cookbooks and I'm always testing some crazy recipe.  My poor family!  The things they've had to eat."  Linda and her mother laughed.  "Now, I'll make you some hot cocoa and you can help Linda with the salad."
 And the next thing Janine knew, she was standing on the stool beside Linda and chopping vegetables for the salad.  At home, Janine was never allowed to help in the kitchen.  Her mother was afraid she'd make a mess.  Here it didn 't matter.  Linda dropped a whole tomato on the floor, and her mother didn't say a word.  She just stood by the stove and stirred the hot cocoa as Linda scooped up the tomato with a paper towel.
 "There," Linda's mother said, "the cocoa's done.  Would you like a mug, Linda?"
 "Sure," Linda answered.
 "How's the salad coming?"
 "Almost done."
 Linda's mother brought them each a steaming mug of hot cocoa.  It was richer and smoother than anything Janine had ever tasted.  "It's the Dutch chocolate," Linda's mother said.  Janine just sipped it and sighed.
 Dinner was even better than Janine had imagined it would be.  She hadn't really known what to expect, and nothing in her eating experience at home could have prepared her for the crusty French bread, still warm, a mushroom quiche, thick with cream and cheese, a salad with a homemade vinaigrette, and for dessert chocolate mousse and crisp butter cookies.
 Janine had never had quiche or mousse or French bread.  She had never even had butter.  "Would you please pass the margarine?" she asked, reaching for a piece of bread.
 "Butter," Linda corrected.
 Janine blushed.  "Butter," she repeated.
 Linda's mother smiled at Janine.  "Butter or margarine.  It doesn't matter. We knew what you meant."
 But Janine knew it did matter, especially since before tonight, she hadn't known there was anything else.  Margarine was what they ate at home, on Wonder bread, on their popcorn, on their Spam sandwiches.  Janine spread the butter thick on her bread.  'After all,' she thought.  'Who knows when I'll get butter again?'
 Janine ate and ate and ate.  She had seconds on everything, even dessert.
 "Someone likes your cooking," Linda's father said.
 "Maybe I should have you over more often," Linda's mother said as she sipped her coffee.  "You could help test my new recipes."
 "That would be wonderful!" Janine said, knowing it would never happen.  "My mother never cooks anything like this.  All we ever get is some disgusting casserole or a dried piece of meat.  I wish my mom could cook like you do."
 Linda's mother and father looked at each other.  "Well," Linda's mother said, "not everybody is into cooking the way I am.  Which is probably just as well.  I never seem to get anything done around the house."
 "That's all my mother ever does," Janine said.  "Clean, clean, clean."
 "Speaking of cleaning," Linda's mother said, "I've got to clean the kitchen.  Do you two want to play for a bit before it's time for Janine to go?"
 Both girls nodded and Linda said, "Come on, I'll show you my room. It's upstairs."
 Janine would have had fun, if her stomach hadn't felt so full and heavy. Linda's room had a canopy bed, a window seat, and bookshelves crammed with books.  She had Barbie, Midge, Skipper, and Ken, and a complete kitchen set for them.  As Linda and Janine had Barbie and Skipper cook dinner, Janine's stomach felt worse and worse.
 When, from the bottom of the stairs, Linda's mother finally called them, Janine was almost relieved.  Although she loved playing with Linda, all she really felt like doing was to lie down.
 'Why did I eat so much?' Janine thought as she sat in the back seat with Linda.  She had one hand pressed to her head and one hand on her stomach.
 "What's the matter?" Linda asked.
 "I don't feel good," Janine whispered.
 Pressing her warm cheek against the cool window, she could just barely tell Linda's mother where her memere's house was when they turned onto her street.  "Thank you," Janine said weakly, getting out of the car.  "Supper was wonderful."
 "You're welcome," Linda's mother said.  "Come any time."
 As the car pulled out of the driveway, Janine looked toward her memere's house, and she could see a familiar face peering out the window.  'Well,' Janine thought, 'what am I going to say to her?'
 "Did Susan's mother drive you home?" Memere asked as soon as Janine was in the house.  "Lo, they live just down the street."
 "No," Janine said, swallowing.  Her mouth hand an odd, sour taste.  "Susan' s mother didn't drive me home."
 Memere put her hands on her hips.  "Well, who did then?"
 Janine opened her mouth, but instead of answering, her stomach retched and she was sick, gloriously sick, all over her memere's shining floor.
 "Mon Dieu!" Memere shrieked as vomit hit the floor and spattered her apron, the cupboards, and the refrigerator.
 With a gasp, Janine gripped the table.  Her throat burned, her eyes watered, and her nose was running.
 In a flash, Memere had her out of the kitchen and into the bathroom.  Susan 's mother was forgotten.  Memere washed Janine's hands and face and helped her into her pajamas.  She tucked Janine into the bed in the spare bedroom and put a bucket by her side.
 "Poor baby," Memere said, stroking Janine's clammy forehead.  "Call me if you need me."
 Janine just nodded.  She was too weak to talk.  Memere kissed her cheek and left.  As Janine lay in the dark room, she could hear the sound of running water and of her memere scrubbing the kitchen.  'Poor Memere,' Janine thought.
 Closing her eyes, Janine tried to sleep, but couldn't.  All she could hear was the sound of Memere scrubbing.  Shivering, Janine opened her eyes, climbed out of bed, and tiptoed through the small living room into the kitchen.  Memere was on her hands and knees, washing the floor.
 "Memere?" Janine called.  Memere didn't hear her.  "Memere?" Janine called again, this time louder.
 Memere jumped and turned her head.  "What are you doing out of bed?"
 "I have to tell you something."
 "Can't it wait until tomorrow?"
 "No," Janine said, "it can't."
 "All right, all right."  Grunting, she struggled to her feet, hobbled to the couch in the living room, and sat down.  She patted the spot beside her, and Janine snuggled against Memere's warm side.
 "Memere," Janine said in a low voice, "I've been bad."
 "Aside from throwing up all over my kitchen, what have you done?"
 "I went to Linda Davidson's house for supper."
 "Linda Davidson?  The Protestant?  How come?  Especially since your mother told you not."
 "I just had to see what they ate for supper.  Linda's sandwiches are so good."
 "And was supper good?"
 "It was wonderful.  But I ate too much.  That's why I was sick."
 "And Linda's mother brought you home afterwards."  Janine nodded.  "I see. It begins to make sense now.  And you tricked me into thinking you were going over to Susan's house for supper.  That wasn't very nice now, was it?"
 Janine shook her head, pressed her face against her memere's soft arm, and began to cry.  "There, there.  Beau baby, don't cry.  Memere's not mad at you.  But what you did was not good."
 Janine gulped.  "I know."
 "On the other hand," Memere said, "your mother, she is not such a good cook.  She keeps a clean house.  But her cooking!  Mon Dieu!  Who can blame you for liking Linda's sandwiches?"
 "Are you going to tell Mummy and Daddy?" Janine asked.
 Memere shook her head.  "No, this one is between you, me, and God."  By the couch, there was a small table with a drawer.  Opening the drawer, Memere pulled out a black case and lifted the lid.  Janine saw the gleam of crystal as Memere took out her best rosary, the one with the sterling silver cross.
 "Here," Memere said, handing her the rosary, "you go to bed and say this all the way through.  And no falling asleep until you're done!"
 Janine nodded, carefully holding the rosary in cupped hands.  As she rose slowly from the couch, Memere patted her back.
 "When you're done, put the rosary on the nightstand by the bed.  I wouldn't want anything to happen to that rosary."
 "Yes, Memere."  Janine was taking baby steps across the living room floor.
 "And Janine?" Memere said.  Janine stopped and turned her head slightly. "Next time, don't eat so much."