Chapter 1: Meeting the Angel
As the sun began dewing the skies of Paris, the town began to come to life and people began bustling throughout markets to do their daily shopping. Amongst all the hustle and bustle, a gypsy began singing the story of a familiar hunchbacked bell ringer who lived in the Notre Dame Bell tower. Children flocked his small caravan as he brought out his puppets to give the story humor. The gypsy was very popular with children because he could tell them stories for hours and they'd never get bored but there was a secret life that no one knew.
He was the King of Truants and a serious one of that. Anyone who entered the Court of Miracles would be hung if they didn't get taken as a spouse. Of course, there was an honor code though; he'd never hang a woman or child unless it meant danger. The king's name was Clopin Trouillefou and he was a sadistic yet good-natured gypsy who loved children. It had been hard since Frollo basically ruled the city and it didn't do the gypsies good because they couldn't wander and be free without needing to worry about persecution.
Of course, Frollo hated the gypsies but if they didn't run into him they were safe so there was no need to worry. The gypsies still resided in the Court of Miracles because they liked having their privacy and besides they couldn't all live in separate houses. A true group stuck together through thick and thin.
"Clopin," said one of the little girls, Michelle, as she sat in front of the caravan, "when will you find a wife?"
That question knocked him off-guard because he never expected anyone to ask him that. "Why do you ask, ma petite fleur?" he asked happily, hiding his unease.
"Well, lots of people get married," said another girl named Martha. "Why don't you?" The little girl cocked her head curiously as if wondering if something was wrong with Clopin.
"Because some women are too irritating and pushy," he answered loftily. "Besides, I have my band of gypsies to look after, little ones. There is no time for a wife." Maybe one day but I don't know right now…
Clopin looked down and saw the youngest girl of the group crying. The little fouriyear old girl looked up at him pitifully so he picked her up and balanced her on his hip.
"Now, Elizabeth, what's wrong?" he asked gently, conjuring up a hankie. "I don't want to see your pretty face streaked with tears." He wiped her eyes and nose with the hankie and smiled at her gently.
"Girls aren't that bad, are they, Clopin?" she asked pitifully, gripping his turban-front with her small hands.
A relieved smile broke the tension on the gypsy's face as he gazed at the little girl in his arms. "Of course not, little one," he answered gently, wiping her tears with his gloved hand. "I just don't like the ones who think they're better than us. Women are fine. They are the ones who bring you children into this wonderful world and they whip men into being civilized beings. Without women, none of us would exist. Take a look over there, petite cherie." He gestured over to the statue of the Virgin Mary in front of Notre Dame cathedral. "That woman is the most beautiful woman and she brought all of you young ones into this world."
Michelle grabbed Clopin's free hand as she stared at the statue of Mary. "Mama says she watches over all the children and is happy when they are good."
Clopin looked down into Michelle's innocent blue eyes and smiled gently at her. "Of course, little one," he said kindly. "Maria is the Mother of Jesus so she would be proud to see the little children being good. Well, look at the time, kids. It's time for you to go home and spend time with your parents. Come back and see me tomorrow, okay?"
All twelve of the children with him groaned in disappointment but his smile widened. He knew how to get them to listen.
"Well," he said in an exaggerated tone, placing a hand on his chest, "I suppose I won't be able to tell you children about the story of the Hunchback because you all will be wrapped up in your family time."
The words didn't even have to leave his mouth because all the children were scurrying away, so they could go home and do what they needed to do. As Clopin began cleaning up, he was approached by Esmeralda and he smiled at her. The gypsy woman walked up to him and greeted him with a hug and a kiss on both cheeks.
"Hello, Clopin," she said in her throaty voice, "I didn't know you believed in Mary." Her big green eyes were inquisitive and suspicious.
"I don't," he said loftily, crossing his arms over his chest, "but they do so I'm just playing along."
Concern etched Esmeralda's pretty tanned face as she asked, "You don't believe there is a higher power out there?"
The puppeteer shrugged carelessly. "I don't know," he said simply. "I haven't experienced any help from the higher power. They don't help while we're struggling with Frollo." Uncharacteristic anger filled Clopin as he thought to that horrible judge who imprisoned gypsies and tortured them so. That monster took away the only woman Clopin ever loved and he would never forgive him for that. God or no God, no one deserved to suffer like his Fleur did.
"Look," whispered Esmeralda gently, placing a hand on his shoulder, "I know it's been hard since Fleur died but the Lord never closes one door without opening another. Maybe there is someone to comfort you and help you through this."
Clopin studied Esmeralda intuitively and placed a finger to his goatee. "Perhaps," he merely said, walking off with his caravan. "I'll see you at home, Esmeralda." With that, he disappeared down the street to go home.
…
Emelia Allen began working on lunch for her daughter and herself, so she could resume working in her bookstore. A few years ago, her husband died to the hands of her uncle Claude Frollo's minions and she was left to raise the baby on her own. Luckily, she had her nanny, Nana, to help her out and watch over the store for her. Since the death of her husband, she closed off all chances for remarriage because she felt like she'd betray her husband if she married someone else.
"Darling," she said to her two-year old daughter Emily, "I made some lunch for you." Despite having a smile on her delicate face, Emelia's tone was permanently a quiet, depressed tone. Since her husband died, her personality changed dramatically and she took on a more serious role in her life.
"Yes, Mama," cooed Emily, sitting her little bottom in a small wooden chair. "Tank you."
Emelia smiled as she placed some eggs and pancakes in front of her daughter. Sure, they had those for breakfast, but food was better than no food at all. Emily devoured the food, took a sip of her milk, and wiped her lips when she was done before smiling up to her mother. A piece of Emelia's heart broke when she saw that smile because that smile was the one that stole her heart when she met her husband.
Emily had dark brown hair and brown eyes like her mother but a smile and facial development of her father. Of course, Emily was small but that was because she was merely two years old. She grew up without a father, but her mother filled both roles pretty well and Nana always was there to help them.
"Mama," she said in her tiny voice, "can we go see that gypsy man? The one with the puppets?"
Emelia smiled. Emily had been totally curious of that gypsy who brought his caravan out in front of Notre Dame to tell stories with his puppets. Despite what most people thought, this gypsy was a tender soul who loved children. He was quite an enchanting fellow, but Emelia kept herself distanced from him. The last thing she needed was to become attracted to the gypsy.
"Maybe," answered Emelia gently. "He might have gone home to eat lunch."
"I wanna go see," said Emily, dashing out the door, leaving Emelia in her wake.
Emelia bolted out the door after her baby so she wouldn't get hurt. There could be some bad people out there and they could kidnap her.
…
As Clopin walked down the road with his caravan, something bumped into him and when he looked down he saw a little girl about two years old peering up at him. His paternal senses took over and he placed his caravan down to focus on the little one. Her big brown eyes were curious and inquisitive as he scooped her up in his arms.
"What are you doing out here, ma petite cherie?" he asked gently, stroking her bangs from her forehead.
"I-I wanted to see you," she answered, hugging him around the neck.
Clopin found her endearing so he returned the hug and smiled as he held the sweet child. Maybe she was an orphan and he could adopt her to become his little girl. Who was her parents, and where were they? He scanned the area to find the parents but found no one around so he just shrugged and hugged the girl again.
"Hey, you," shouted a woman's voice a few yards away, "put my little girl down!"
He looked up to see the woman, but his face got met with a frying pan and he fell backwards in surprise. He was not expecting the hit of a frying pan but maybe it would have been predictable because if his child went missing he would have been anxious too. Rubbing his forehead, he looked up and saw a small woman with a stony frown on her face. As he stood up, he eyed her appearance.
She had dark brown hair in a braid that went down her back and she had big brown eyes just like her little girl. Her skin was paler than her daughter's but maybe that was because the little one took after her father that way. The woman wore a simple pink dress with a white apron tied around her waist and in her small hand was the infamous frying pan he was struck with. She looked incredibly young—probably in her twenties—but her expression was so grave and straight that it made her look beyond her years.
"I apologize, madam," said Clopin, taking off his hat to do a sweeping bow. "I did not know she was yours. What's her name, madam?"
The woman lowered the frying pan to her side and relaxed considerably. "Her name is Emily Allen, and I'm her mother Emelia. Who are you?"
"I am Clopin Trouillefou," he answered, smiling, "pleased to meet you, madam."
Emelia nodded once, took her daughter by the hand, and walked off with her. Clopin watched them leave longingly, wondering if he would ever see that woman and her daughter again.
