D. Michael Beil by The Red Blazer Girls (v5)

Author:The Red Blazer Girls (v5)
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9780375891571
Publisher: a cognizant original v5 release october 14 2010
Published: 2009-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

In which we learn that teachers are actually

human beings. Who knew?

On Sunday mornings, Dad makes me my favorite breakfast of crepes with Nutella and bananas, along with this totally decadent coffee, chocolate, and whipped cream concoction that he claims he invented. After a night of tossing and turning imagining Leigh Ann and Raf having a fabulous time at the dance, it is just what I need. She thinks he's funny. Grrrr, again.

Dad sets a perfectly folded crepe on my plate and my mind drifts back to the museum and the legend of the ring.

“Dad, what's the name of the town where you grew up?”

“Ste. Croix du Mont. Pourquoi, mon petit chouchou?”

I giggle. I love it when he calls me his “little cabbage.”

“Oh, I'm just wondering. Me and Margaret are doing this project. Have you ever heard of a place called Rocamadour?”

“Ah, oui. It is maybe one hundred kilometers east of Ste. Croix du Mont. A very famous place.”

“Do you know anything about some rings from there? With special powers, supposedly.”

“Of course. Les bagues de Rocamadour? St. Veronica, like your school, n'est-ce pas?”

“That's right! So, it's true? The legend, I mean?”

Mom lowers the Arts section of the Sunday New York Times. She looks quizzical. “What legend?”

“The rings were a gift from Veronica,” I begin. “You know, from the Bible. They're wedding rings, and—”

“Legend says that if a person wears the ring and prays to St. Veronica, she will appear in a dream and will answer their prayers,” Dad finishes.

“Nice. And where is this ring?”

“One of them is in the Met,” I say. “But that's the man's ring. The other one is, well, that's what we're kind of trying to find out.”

“It disappeared a long time ago,” Dad says. “There are many theories, but no one knows for sure where it is. Probably still on someone's finger, dead and buried.”

Or in a church on the Upper East Side.

“Mom, if the ring was for real, and you had it, what would you wish for?”

“Sophie, it is not a wishing well.” Dad takes his legends seriously.

“All right, what would you pray for?” I stick out my tongue at Dad.

“Nothing. I have everything I need right here at this table.”

Geez—that is such a Mom answer.

It is a perfect New York City September afternoon. After I finish breakfast, I go to meet Margaret's babcia. The doorman lets me go up without buzzing the Wrobels. Outside their apartment door, I hear Margaret playing the violin, so I wait until she gets to the end of the piece. After the clapping and the shouts of “Encore!” I knock quickly.

Mr. Wrobel answers the door. “Sophie! So good to see you! Come in, come in. Margaret is entertaining us with a little Chopin. He was Polish, you know.”

“Um, yeah, I think I heard that. It sounded great, Margaret.”

“One day soon—Carnegie Hall!” Mr. Wrobel practically shouts.

“Papa! That's a long way off. Besides, Sophie doesn't want to hear you bragging about me, do you, Soph?”

“Ummm, no, it's okay. He's right, you'll be playing in Carnegie Hall, and I'll be in some smoky dive in the East Village.

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