"Hey! Reviens, ton petit voleur! Stop!"
The little boy with black hair that went to the base of his neck and flew in the wind ran for his life with a loaf of bread clamped in his sweaty palm. The boy had a single golden hoop for an ear-ring on his left ear, was barefoot and wore faded purple rag-like clothes. He ran towards the outskirts of the town, where huts were farther apart and separated with tiny gardens and the countryside could be seen up ahead.
He did not look back – he could not afford to trip and fall – he only looked forward and dodged people, carts and horses. He was afraid of facing a soldier, but he was even more afraid of the consequences if he failed. His little heart pumped against his thin chest rapidly as he ran away from the baker who was chasing him.
The little gypsy ran and saw a tall, strong white man with dirty-blond hair walking down the little street, but he was not fast enough to stop or dodge in time; he bumped right into the man and fell right on his hindquarters. The boy looked up at the man he ran into and tried to get up and run away quickly, but the baker had caught up, red faced and swearing under his breath.
"Merde." He panted as he straightened up, furious, and he looked at the man the boy had practically rammed into. The baker steadied himself and said, "Monsieur Glasson, thank you for helping catch the rotten garcon! I shall take it from here."
The baker snatched the bread up with one hand and grabbed the boy's wrist with the other, gangling and holding the thief tightly as to stop him from running away, though hard he tried. The man called Glasson looked down at the little boy with baby-blue eyes and then looked up at the baker.
"What has he done, Monsieur?" He asked calmly.
"The nasty little gypsy stole from my bakery!" The man snapped, looking at the little boy. "He must be punished!"
"He stole." Glasson repeated. "I see."
It seemed to the boy that Glasson was doing some quick thinking, looking at the boy with those baby-blue eyes that seemed to be reading his soul. The boy found it near impossible to look him in the eye, and so, in shame, he let his head hang and his long black hair shield his face.
Glasson, however, did something that surprised the baker; he pulled out his sack of coins and took out two gold coins and held them out to the baker.
"For the bread." Glasson explained. "And keep the change."
The boy looked up so quickly his neck ached, his eyes round at the money in Glasson's pinch fingers, hardly daring to believe what he was looking at.
The baker scowled at Glasson and growled, "And what am I to do, let the filthy gypsy go? He will only steal again!"
"Then he will be caught another day." Glasson said calmly. "But not today. And since the bread is being paid for, you cannot have him arrested, and I am sure he will not bother you any time soon, seeing how lucky he was as to stealing from you once, oui?"
The baker thought about it for a moment. Glasson was giving him nearly double the bread's worth, and the thought of going home to relax instead of going through the trouble of turning the boy in was enough to bribe him.
The baker took the money, gave Glasson the bread, and growled at the boy before throwing him down into the dirt, "Stay away from my bakery, gypsy."
The baker turned and left the boy coughing out dirt from his lungs as he pocketed the money in his apron. Glasson watched the baker go while the boy looked down. He had a feeling the strange man did not want him to leave quite yet, and since he owed him, he was not keen into getting on his bad side.
As predicted, Glasson look down at the boy when the baker was gone, but his words were kinder and softer than imagined.
"Why did you take the bread?"
The little boy still could not bring himself to look at his protector, so he muttered just barely audible over the noise of the town,
"My mother is ill, Monsieur."
Glasson nodded in understanding and knew just what to do. "Come with me, s'il vous plait."
The boy finally looked up and saw Glasson gesture his hand to get up, but he was smiling and his eyes were sparkling. Unsure and surprised his legs could still work, the boy got up and the two started to walk towards the countryside. It wasn't long before the boy saw a small farm in which they were headed, just outside the crowded village. Crops of wheat and hay laid afar from the hut and smaller gardens of food were scattered closer to the home; a little stable was proof that the family owned a donkey and a few chickens.
A young boy at the age of twelve, who looked much like Glasson, was weeding at the small garden by a little house and looked up as they approached. He called into the house for his mom and she and a little girl of four-years-old came out to see the father come home.
"Mon amour." Madam Glasson said and went up to her husband. She was a beefy, but pretty woman with fair skin, jet-black hair, and hazel eyes. She kissed her husband on the cheek and looked down at the little boy. "Who is this?"
"This young man needs some soup, Mary." Monsieur Glasson said with a gentle smile. "And he must be able to take it home. Is dinner almost ready?"
"Oui." Madam Glasson said and smiled down at the boy. "Come, you may sit inside while I spoon you some soup."
"Merci, Madam." The boy said quietly, overwhelmed with the amount of kindness the family was showing.
Monsieur Glasson gestured him to the hut and he followed the wife as she went in to stir a pot over a fire in the fireplace. Monsieur Glasson took out a piece of cloth and started to carefully wrap the loaf of bread up.
The gypsy boy looked around the hut; there were a set of stairs that led to a bedroom for the children to sleep and play in, but on the floor, were a fireplace for warmth, a table, a big bed for the married couple, and a few countertops, cupboards, and an oven to cook with.
The Glasson boy walked in and went to the table and sat, not looking at the boy, but the Glasson girl looked at him and smiled by his side. She wore a little pink dress and bonnet and had baby-blue eyes like her father, but jet-black hair like her mother, that laid flat down her back and to her hips.
She smiled and said, "I'm Amorette. That's my brother, Napoleon. What's your name?"
The boy turned red and looked away, not sure if he wanted to say; the less these people knew about him, the better.
"It's alright." Madam Glasson said kindly and gave her daughter a stern look. "He does not have to say his name if he does not want to. All our welcome in our home."
Amorette nodded and said, "Oui, Mama."
Madam Glasson held out a little pot covered and full of soup and said, "Here you are. Is it too heavy for you?"
The boy was tempted to refuse it, but he did not want to be rude so he took the little pot carefully and tested it against his strength. He nodded to Madam Glasson with a small smile.
Monsieur Glasson went up to him and helped to tuck the loaf of bread under the boys left arm. "To go with the soup." He said warmly with a smile and put a hand on his shoulder. "There is hope; she will get better."
The boy's smile lessened, thinking of his mother, covered in boils and starving on that pathetic bed. He knew she would probably die, but any act that could save her needed to take place. The boy simply nodded at the grown man and said in a low voice,
"Merci, Monsieur et Madam Glasson."
"De rien." Monsieur Glasson said. "Would you prefer to journey home alone, or may I accompany you?"
"Er, I'll be okay, merci." The boy said as he felt his face turn hot.
"That is alright." Monsieur Glasson said kindly and walked the boy to the door, Madam Glasson following them. "We will be praying for you and your family. Au Revoir."
"Au Revoir, Monsieur." The boy called back with a smile as he walked away.
The parents went back inside and Monsieur Glasson sat with his children at the table while his wife spooned out dinner.
"Papa," Napoleon said, "Why did you give that gypsy soup?"
"Because, mon fils, he needed our help and we were only too glad to give it. Everything we have has been given to us by God, and so we must give it to those less fortunate."
"But, Papa," Napoleon said timidly. "If people hear we helped a gypsy, won't we get into trouble?"
"No, Napoleon." Monsieur Glasson said firmly. "We did what God told us to do: love our brothers and sisters."
"Your father is right." Madam Glasson said sternly as she sat down and gave everyone a bowl of steaming veggie soup. "We did what was right; it does not matter if he was a gypsy or a Jew or our own son. We helped him, and we should thank God for the opportunity."
Napoleon thought about it for a moment; he was glad to help, but was scared of what it would cost him and his family. Finally, with no further argument, he said, "Oui, Mama."
"I'm glad we helped him, Papa." Amorette piped in quickly. "He seemed nice!"
"He was." Monsieur Glasson chuckled at his daughter. "And I am proud to have such a family so willing to help others. Just remember, mon petit ange, not everyone will understand why you help others, but if you are capable of doing so, you must help and give what you can. Do you understand?"
"Oui, Papa." Amorette said with a nod.
"Bien." Monsieur Glasson said. "Now let us pray."
The family held hands and bowed their heads as Monsieur Glasson said a prayer before they ate. The children were silent, for children must be seen and not heard, and they listened while their father told the story of how he met the boy and bought the stolen bread. Napoleon may have been unsure of his father's decision, but Amorette was happy and proud of her father and wished to help as much one day as he did.
Sadly, that opportunity came in the worst way for Amorette.
Sixteen years past and Paris was not the same. A man called Judge Claud Frollo had started to hunt down and kill gypsies, as if they weren't persecuted enough. He claimed that all gypsies were nothing more than devils straight from hell, because they did magic and stole and lied, and the world would be a much better place without them.
And so for ten years now, Frollo had led his army on a horrible mission to purge the world of sin. Monsieur Glasson and his family were disgusted by it and did their best to help by giving as much gold and food as they could spare to beggars and performers, but they had to be careful or risk being arrested, or even killed.
Amorette was no longer a little girl, but a grown woman who would soon marry once she and her family found the right one, but if she was honest, she didn't want to marry. Amorette wanted nothing more than to be with her family forever and work on the farm. She would get her wish.
Even though the illness was not as bad as it was long ago, it was still claiming people's lives, and one day, it took her brother, Napoleon, and she woke up to find her brother lying in bed in pain, covered in boils and having a horrible fever that would not go down. By the end of the week, he died in his sleep, a grown man who never even had a family of his own.
His parents were devastated, and Amorette did not have time to mourn for her brother; her mother soon fell ill within another week, and a few days later, her father fell ill, too. By some miracle, Amorette did not fall ill; she counted the days and wondered when she would wake up sick, too, but she never did, and so it was up to her to tend to her parents and continue running the farm so the crops would not spoil and the animals would not go hungry.
Madam Glasson soon died while her husband was ill, and Amorette did not have the heart to tell him that he outlived his wife. One afternoon, Amorette was feeding her father soup in the living room while he laid in bed with a cold, wet cloth on his forehead. He was in pain, but still wished to talk to his only daughter.
"We… your mama and I… are very proud of you…" He said weekly in between spoonfulls of soup.
"Merci, Papa." Amorette said with a little smile.
"When we are gone… I want you to have the farm… and everything on it…" Glasson said slowly. "I would have had you marry… if I knew someone I could trust… but I would rather have you alone… then with someone I do not trust…"
"I understand, Papa." Amorette said gently. "You are very wise."
"People will try to take what you have, Amorette." Glasson warned weekly. "You must stay strong."
"I know, Papa."
"You must keep your faith."
"I will, Papa."
"And you must share what you have."
"I remember, Papa." Amorette promised and placed a cool hand on her father's cheek. "Rest now."
"Have you tended to your mother?" He checked.
Amorette turned to put away the empty bowl and blinked away tears. "She is asleep now, Papa."
Amorette turned back to look at her father and found him asleep, his chest rising and falling slowly. She smiled mournfully, knowing full well they may never talk again, and began washing the dishes in her hand before sitting to work on her patch-quilt.
She was right; the next morning, her father was dead, and Amorette was alone with a farm full of growing crops, an old donkey named LeFou, a two-year-old, white, French Bulldog named Jacque, and a few hens for eggs. She had little time to bury her parents, and when she was home at last, she didn't even have time to change into her pajamas before collapsing into her newly cleaned bed and crying herself to sleep.
The next morning she felt numb. She made herself some tea like always, collected the eggs and fed LeFou as always, had some eggs for breakfast, and then did her chores for the day it was. It was Friday, so that meant it was cleaning day. With little Jacque at her heels, Amorette cleaned the little house top to bottom. She had already cleaned it many times the last few weeks, to get rid of the illness, but she did it again to be safe. Her fear was getting sick, too, and dying alone.
Two days went by, and it was Sunday. Amorette had not been to church in a while, because of her family's illness, and even though she wanted to stay home and mourn, she knew she had to go, and so she wore her Sunday best and walked into town with her own Bible in her gloved hands.
Notre Dame was crowded and just as pure as Amorette always knew it to be. Some may feel judged or unwelcome there, but she always felt at home, like she could be herself without the fear of being accused or arrested. She sat by herself, which felt unusual, but once the music started to play and the chorus began to sing into the luminous church, she felt peace and smiled as she sang along.
The Archdeacon gave his sermon like always, and Amorette sat very still and listened, never once taking her eyes off of him. When he had finished, another song was sung and then the offering plate was passed. When it came to Amorette, she pulled out her money pouch and put in four gold coins. A twinge of pain came when she remembered how each member of her family would put a gold coin in for the church. Amorette simply blinked her aching baby-blue eyes, and passed the bowl to the man on her left.
When the lesson was over, many families left in a big crowd as they discussed the sermon and eagerly waited for lunch. Amorette sat, waiting for the crowd to lessen, and she reread the Bible verses the Archdeacon highlighted.
"Bonjour, Madam." A voice said above her.
Amorette looked up from her Bible and saw the Archdeacon looking down at her with a smile.
"Bonjour, Monsieur." Amorette as she closed her Bible and stood up with a dip of her head.
"My, you look beautiful this morning." He said kindly.
Amorette looked down at her white dress with salmon overcoat and her matching white gloves and looked back up at the Archdeacon with a blushing smile.
"Merci, Monsieur." She replied.
"Where is your family today?" He asked.
Amorette's smiled died and she answered, "They died, Monsieur. They fell ill."
The Archdeacon was off-footed by this, and placed a soft hand on her right shoulder. "I am very sorry to hear of your loss, Madam, but they are in a better place, now."
"Merci." Amorette said to her hands, holding on to one another on her front. "I know."
"I am glad to find you well." He added with a small smile.
"Oui, I am grateful to be in full health." Amorette said to the Archdeacon and nodded.
"Well, I shall be praying for you, child."
"Merci, Monsieur." Amorette said with a dip of her head for respect and the Archdeacon left to greet others.
Amorette decided to leave, thinking of a calming afternoon with Jacque, and walked down the streets of Paris alone. As she walked, her thoughts drifted. Happy memories of working on her patch-quilt for the first time many years ago and being praised by her mother; helping on the farm with her father when Napoleon had a cold; playing anything with Napoleon from "house" to "war".
"SALAUD!" A voice yelled, snapping Amorette out of her thoughts.
She looked up and quickly analyzed her surroundings to see a gypsy who had been playing his trumpet for money being persecuted by two soldiers. The man wore green shorts and a matching shirt that showed his belly; he was starving and tried to fight against the soldiers' grip and get his earned-money back, but it was no use.
"You're coming with us!" One soldier said, and Amorette did some quick thinking.
"What is going on?" Amorette asked as she ran up to them and looked at the gypsy, trying to read his expression. "What has he done?"
"Stolen gold, Madam." The second soldier said coldly. "Step aside."
"Stolen?" Amorette repeated. She was luckily able to see all the gold coins and count them quickly before going on. "You mean that gold? I gave it to him!"
All three men stared, and the gypsy quickly hid his shock.
"You gave him twelve pieces of gold?" The first soldier questioned.
"Oui, I did." Amorette said darkly, daring to investigate further.
He did. "How did you get your hands on such money?"
"My parents died last Thursday and left me their gold." Amorette said boldly, without the slightest trace of fear. "They were only farmers, but they had saved their parents' fortune and left that to my name as well. I saw that man this morning before visiting Notre Dame and felt led to give him that gold."
The soldiers exchanged looks and the second asked, "Can you prove it?"
"Can you disprove it?" Amorette snapped back.
"Is that a threat, peasant?!"
"That is a fact!" Amorette yelled back, her eyes flashing. "You want to look at their graves and check their death certificates, be my guest! However, you will let that gypsy go, since he stole no gold!"
The soldiers looked at each other, talking silently. Amorette took the opportunity to give a quick wink to the gypsy, who was frozen.
"Very well." The first soldier said to Amorette and he and his partner let the gypsy go. "Consider both of you lucky, but order us around again, and it'll be the last thing you ever do." He threatened, and the two walked away.
Amorette went up to the gypsy and asked, "Are you alright?"
"Oui, Madam." The gypsy said hoarsely. "Merci, mais pourquoi?"
Amorette smiled and asked in return, "Pourquoi pas? You look hungry. Would you like to join me for lunch?"
The gypsy was off-footed, not sure if it was a trap or not, but then again, this girl just saved him. Not wanting to displease her, he said,
"Uh, sure. Merci, Madam."
Amorette led the way down the street and the two talked pleasantly. Not much to say, but about things like the weather, the gypsy's family. When he mentioned that he had a wife, Amorette stopped and said,
"Well, why don't you bring her?"
The gypsy stopped and asked in surprise, "Are you sure?"
"Absolutely!" Amorette said with a beaming smile. "And bring some of your friends, as well! I will go home and get the meal started. I live at the farm with a well by the edge, I will leave by door open and my white dog out so you'll know it's me."
Grinning, the gypsy agreed and went off to get his family. Amorette hurried in her step to get home and unchained Jacque once she arrived. She slipped on her apron and started to work at once, slicing up veggies and picking herbs for a delicious soup. It was a simple veggie soup, but it was very filling and hoped it would help all of those hungry people.
As she worked, she ran through her mind to what she had done. She had saved a gypsy, and invited him to dinner. Why? She hadn't thought much at the time, only acted, but now she laughed at herself for acting foolishly, but if it was so foolish, why did it feel so right? Amorette found herself feeling proud. As promised, the gypsies came and Jacque barked at them to know Amorette had come.
"Jacque, arrêtez!" Amorette ordered and the little white dog sat and stared at the guests, who only smiled at him. "I am sorry; he is over-protective."
"It is alright, Madam." The gypsy in green said and patted the dog's head.
They all went inside and Amorette did a quick count to herself. There was the gypsy she saved, his wife, another gypsy girl and three more men. There was plenty of soup for all seven of them, but she couldn't help but smile; she had touched six lives that day.
The gypsies were kind and praised Amorette's home and her cooking. Everyone, even little Jacque, ate all they could hold and there was still some soup left over. Amorette gave the last little soup a stir over the little fire and said,
"I'm afraid I cannot spare any pots, so I cannot send you home with some soup. Can anyone finish it?"
They all shook their heads and one woman said, "No, it is yours."
Amorette put a lid over the soup and said, "Jacque and I can finish it tonight."
The gypsies all stood up and the man Amorette had saved said, "Merci, Madam, but we must head home."
Amorette nodded and said, "I understand. Thank you for sharing a meal with me. Will you come again sometime?"
The gypsies exchanged looks, and the second woman asked, "You want us to return?"
Amorette nodded. "If you want to. I know it is strange, but I want to help you, and it is nice not to eat alone." She added.
The second woman smiled and said, "Well, I would be happy to share another meal with you. Perhaps next Sunday?"
"I look forward to it!" Amorette said excitedly and walked everyone out, waving and exchanging goodbyes.
The next Sunday, the same gypsies came, this time bringing a little bit of bread they had saved up for. Amorette argued that it was not necessary, but the guests pointed out that they all got to enjoy it and that it went well with the soup, so she let it go. They asked Amorette if they may invite a friend or two and she only got excited and highly encouraged it.
Soon, Sunday afternoons became the highlight of the week for Amorette. It was easy to mourn well for her family, with new friends and guests to attend to and look forward to seeing. Soon enough, whenever she went into town, she met at least one of her new friends and would wave or maybe even stop to talk for a while.
Amorette knew the risks that came with serving gypsies in her home, especially since she owned her own farm and was not married, despite being of age for a long time, but she found herself unafraid and uncaring if she was caught; she was proud to help the gypsies and was happy to have a reason to work and live.
Sadly, the months grew cold and a huge winter storm left everyone locked in, so Amorette was left alone most days with no crops to tend to and to do chores inside like pottery, cleaning, or sewing and knitting. She kept herself busy and looked forward to spring, when she could see her friends again and start new crops.
Spring came, and with that, new acuities burst from the ground like the new flowers in the rich grass. Jacque was still a protective, well-behaved pup. Amorette was still a proud, strong young lady. The farm was still thriving, along with all the chickens and old LeFou. Not all was the same, much was new. Though the farm was emptier this year, it was never lonesome.
The first chance Amorette got, she invited all of her friends to come for another wonderful Sunday lunch. Eager to catch up on news, they gathered together for a hearty meal and it was like winter never came. After Gaston, the man Amorette saved, had told a funny story that left everyone nearly covered in soup and short of breath, Amorette asked,
"So, you all are doing well?"
The gypsies exchanged looks, and then sighed in sadness.
"We lost a few people this winter." Gaston's wife informed.
"I am very sorry." Amorette said honestly as she poured out some more tea. "It was Frollo, wasn't it?"
They nodded.
"The usual thing." Gaston said sadly. "It's sad to call it 'normal', but it is."
Amorette nodded. "I know what you mean. I don't like him at all; he gives all Christians a bad name."
One man named Maceo pointed out, "That's not entirely true; most of us are Christians."
"But how many gypsies hate non-gypsy Christians?" Amorette asked gently, praying that they would be honest.
The gypsies exchanged looks, until Gaston finally said, "We do not hate you."
Amorette chuckled. "I know you don't. I am just worried… I mean… I don't want people to hate an entire group of people because of the actions of a few. Anyways, I would like to think more people would take a stand if not afraid of what would happen to them and their families; Frollo has done a good job of using fear to keep people on his side."
"It won't last long."
"What about you?" A beefy man named Sergio asked. "Aren't you afraid?"
Amorette laughed, and it surprised her friends; it even surprised her a little. "You know, I often ask myself why I am not afraid. I guess…" Amorette thought for a moment and then answered, "I suppose I know I'm doing the right thing, and that helps demolish my fear. I have nothing to lose, anyways."
"What about your farm, your home?" Gaston's wife, Pallavi, asked worriedly. "I honestly feel a little guilty putting you at risk, but I know how much these meals mean to you."
"No," Amorette corrected. "You must know how much you all mean to me. And these are only meager possessions; it won't matter in the afterlife."
Pallavi smiled and she said, "True."
"But if you are caught…" Sergio started, but Amorette stopped him.
"Then I shall make it last until I am caught. And I shall argue as to why, and pray for the best, but let us not worry about that now. How is everyone else in the Court of Miracles?"
~
Clopin sat against a wooden rod in the Court of Miracles, a bottle in one hand and his other hand in his long, jet-black hair. Esmeralda had finally fallen asleep and he was left alone to think. Only a ten-year-old girl and she was putting poor Clopin at wits-end. True, she was not as bad as she once was.
Gaston and Pallavi walked in, laughing and talking, and carrying a newly-made pot. Clopin paid attention and looked at them. They walked in and got closer to their king.
"Bonjour, Clopin!" Gaston said happily. "Would you like some soup?"
Clopin gave a little, tired smile, and said, "Oui, Gaston. Merci."
"Rough day?" Pallavi asked softly as she sat with the pot and Gaston went into the next tent to grab spoons and bowls.
Clopin nodded. Gaston returned and his wife spooned out three bowls of the warm soup, leaving a little leftover for the goat, Djali, to lap up from the bottom of the pot. Clopin ate a spoonful of the hot, delicious veggie soup and gave a small sigh through the nose; it seemed to melt away his worries and bring some sort of comfort to him. It also cleared his head, and he suddenly realized that Pallavi didn't make this.
"Where did you get this?" Clopin asked suspiciously.
"A friend of ours gave us some after a nice Sunday lunch." Gaston answered in between mouthfuls. "She's a wonderful cook, hu?"
"What friend?"
"You know Glasson? The farmer outside of town."
"I know everybody." Clopin said dignified.
"Well, you don't know his daughter." Pallavi said with a sneer smile into her spoon. "Her father, mother, and brother struck ill and died last fall; she's all alone with that farm now, poor girl."
"She's no girl, mon amour." Gaston corrected with a chuckle. "I have never met such a brave young woman. Amorette has cared for many of us, despite the risks; I will never forget the day she saved me."
Clopin swallowed a spoonful of soup carefully as not to chock. "Saved you? How?"
"I was accused of stealing one day while playing." Gaston explained. "She stepped in and said she gave me all the money, and so the soldiers let me go. Had to keep a low profile for a while, but it all worked out."
"Oui, I shall never be able to thank her enough for that." Gaston's wife said before kissing her husband's cheek. "I do fear for Amorette. One day, her luck will run out."
Clopin took a swing from his bottle and said point-blank, "Foolish girl. Well, if she is willing to risk her life, so be it."
"We will be for her, when that day comes, I mean." Pallavi said boldly, and Gaston nodded in agreement.
Clopin did not say anymore as he drank the last of his soup, but thought to himself, "Stupid girl. She's going to throw her life away and expect my men to swoop in and save her. She better not, anyways…"