When Feuilly first learned that Combeferre had left him, he remained in denial for quite some time. Of course Combeferre would be back; he wouldn't leave him all alone like this when they were about to start a family together. They'd been so happy. True, Feuilly hadn't much liked being the talk of the town, but he'd been able to put up with it as long as he was with Combeferre. He would do much for love's sake. And Combeferre had accepted him as he was, never trying to make him more outgoing, or pressuring him into doing things that were uncomfortable for him. So, he had thought that everything was fine.
Accordingly, he convinced himself that this was only a temporary leave of absence. Combeferre had many obligations. Maybe this time, he'd had to play a concert in an excessively crowded place, and he hadn't told Feuilly about it, because he didn't want to guilt him into going. Surely that must be it. Feuilly kept the house in good shape, cleaning every day, and cooking more food than he could eat by himself in hopes that Combeferre would be back in time for dinner.
Only after the landlord came to evict him for not making that month's rent, did he realize that Combeferre was not coming back. He was well and truly alone.
It was during this time that the baby was born. Feuilly couldn't afford a hospital, and he had no one to assist him with delivery. So he did it all by himself, hidden in the back corner of the alley behind Devoll's liquor store. He cried the whole time, less from the pain of delivery than from the pain in his heart.
When the child was born, Feuilly could hardly stand to look at him. Here he was, a symbol of a broken promise and a love that would never be again. Once, this child had been his hope and pride. Now, it was just a reminder of how lonely he was. He couldn't bear to hold it, so he set it beside him in the alleyway while he tried to get a few hours of sleep. It was no use. The baby's hungry cries kept him awake all night.
The next day, Feuilly cleaned himself off as best he could, wrapped the baby in his one extra shirt, and set off to find a place to give it away. There was no way he could provide for this child, especially when even just holding him hurt. No doubt about it, he would have to find someone else to give him his best chance. He deserved love, and Feuilly knew he could not unguardedly give that.
Not being in the business of dealing with babies, let alone giving them up for adoption, Feuilly had no idea where to deposit his little bundle. A hospital, maybe, or a church, but then there would be questions, and well-meaning people, and it would all be too difficult. Feuilly couldn't deal with difficult. He could barely even stand up.
He was just beginning to despair, when he caught sight of a garden, charming and spacious, partially enclosed by a low fence, and easy to access. It was cool and shady-looking, and on this hot day, Feuilly wanted nothing more than to rest. He pushed open the gate (of course it was unlocked– rich people had no fear) and went inside. There, he collapsed under one of the trees to rest for a minute.
He had caught his breath and was ready to leave, but suddenly an idea came to him. This garden belonged, no doubt, to a very rich person. Judging by the careful attention to the trellises, and the neatly pruned borders, it was a person with a lot of free time. Why shouldn't he leave the baby here? Surely this person, whoever it was, was lonely and bored, seeking solace in their garden, where they could at least peer over the wall into the street. Yes, surely they would be a good candidate to take the baby.
Feuilly smiled for the first time in weeks. He set the baby down under the tree (he was sleeping fitfully now, and seemed unlikely to wake), and took a quick moment to say goodbye. He looked like Combeferre, really, something about the eyes, and the hands. Maybe, this child could grow up to be a great musician one day. He laid a kiss on the baby's head in blessing– it wasn't his fault that his father's heart was too broken to care for him. Then, quiet as he could, he slipped out of the garden and back out to the street.
Enjolras had never liked gardening before his marriage. It was dirty and uncomfortable, and it had seemed unimportant when there were so many other things requiring his attention. But after Felix, he had had to seek refuge in whatever manner he could. The library, which had been his haven in his parents' house, was now unsafe, as Felix could come in at any time and berate him, or worse, demand his attention and time. Thus, he had turned to the garden. He could escape here, at least for a little while, and among the flowers and fragrant spears of grass, he felt almost content.
Now that Felix was gone, there was no need to escape, but Enjolras still often went out to primp and prune his now-beloved plants. He had become so used to living in fear that the house felt oppressive sometimes, even when the source of his oppression was away. So, whenever he found himself instinctively ducking his head as he entered a room, or flinching away when someone talked to him, he would take a breath, put on his biggest hat, and head out to the garden to destress.
Today was one of those days. He had been feeling itchy and nervous all morning, to the point that even Azelma's bright and normally welcome chatter was giving him a headache. He tried to give her books to read to keep her quiet, but she had never been a quiet child, and soon she was back, clinging to his skirts and clamoring for attention. So, it was really as a last-ditch effort to keep his sanity that he took her out to the garden and told her to look for insects while he weeded the flowerbeds.
It worked for awhile. He was picking the grass out of the roses, and the noise in his head had faded to a quiet hum, and for a second, everything was almost all right. And then, Azelma screamed.
Azelma screamed a lot. Enjolras was used to it. He figured it was something that children did (not that he knew– he had been forcibly discouraged from making noise in his own childhood), and he never reprimanded her as long as she wasn't bothering anyone. Still, though, he now turned around sharply.
"What is it, Azelma? What's the matter?"
"Look!" Azelma pointed with round eyes. "Enjolras, look!"
Enjolras came over to look where she was pointing. At first, he didn't see anything. Then…
"A baby. There's a baby under our peach tree."
"A baby," repeated Azelma solemnly.
Enjolras didn't know if he wanted to laugh or cry. Was this real life? He cautiously approached the baby, as if it might suddenly grow up and come over to him.
"Hello?" he ventured.
"It can't talk back," said Azelma. "It's a baby."
Well, she had a point there. Enjolras bent down and gingerly picked up the baby. He had held babies before, of course, but he had never gotten used to it. They were so small and strange. Azelma, showing none of the same hesitation, peered at it with great curiosity.
"Enjolras, its skin is all dark. It's a little black baby."
"It is."
"Why?"
It was too much. Enjolras sank to the ground and began to laugh hysterically. It was easier to laugh than cry, after all, and right now, he felt that he had to do one or the other. Azelma looked at him in concern.
"Are you all right?"
Enjolras wanted to say something, he did, but he couldn't catch his breath, and now there seemed to be tears streaming down his face, which was really most inconvenient. The world faded out around him, subsumed by the feeling of too much that wouldn't cease no matter how hard he tried.
This happened sometimes. His parents had called it hysterics, and had locked him in his room whenever it happened, and Felix always tried to beat it out of him, but truthfully, he really didn't know what it was. He didn't have occasion to wonder about it now, as he was too absorbed in the moment.
Dimly, he was aware of someone taking the baby, and a kind hand guiding him into the house. It was only after a few minutes that he came back to reality to find himself on his bed, with Matelote bending over him in concern.
"You wore yourself out, dearie, that's what's happened. It must be that time of the month for you, or maybe you're getting sick. You need to take better care of yourself, you really do!"
Enjolras didn't think he'd worn himself out. It was the opposite, really. If he had more to do, maybe his brain wouldn't overheat in this way. He couldn't tell this to Matelote, though, so he just nodded, trying not to look weak.
"Where is the baby?" he asked. "Did you bring it inside?"
"Yes, Gibelotte is taking care of him right now. But where on earth did you get him? A little black baby in the garden. What on earth?"
"I don't know."
Enjolras frowned, trying to guess at the answer to this puzzle. Most likely, the baby had belonged to a poor working mother, too destitute to care for it herself. She had probably put it in the garden in hopes that he would take it in and care for it with all the privilege that his station allowed. It wasn't a bad idea, really. If he had been in such a situation, it was not inconceivable that he might have done the same thing.
"We should take care of it," he said. "The poor thing evidently needs a home, and that is something that we can provide."
"Yes." Matelote paused carefully. "But your husband, my dear. What will he have to say about it?"
Enjolras knew exactly what Felix would have to say about it. He could practically hear the screaming and feel the blows against his skin. Felix would be angry, no doubt about it. But was that any excuse to deprive this poor child of help?
"We can keep him until my husband returns," he said. "By then, maybe we can find another place for him to stay."
Matelote didn't seem convinced, but she didn't say anything else, just pursed her lips and turned to the closet.
"Your dress is all covered in grass stains," she said. "Let me help you change."
Enjolras allowed her to help him into another dress and fix his hair. He had long since ceased to protest that he could dress himself; Matelote loved to help him, and would never be dissuaded. She knew how dreary his life was, and she seemed to think that his beauty was the only weapon he had in the constant battle for survival. He mostly agreed with this, and though he still felt bad to make her play dress-up with him, he couldn't disagree with the results. Certainly, it was reassuring to have her on his side.
She was just putting the finishing touches on his coiffure when Gibelotte came in, all a-flutter. Granted, she was usually all a-flutter, but right now, it was much worse than usual.
"Police," she said, twisting her hands together in anguish. "There's police at your door, Miss Angelica!"
Enjolras had asked her not to call him this, but Felix had overridden his requests. Now, even while he was temporarily out of his husband's reach, Enjolras couldn't expect to be called by his proper name.
"Police?" Matelote crossed herself. "This is trouble, sure enough. What do they want?"
"I don't know. They're asking for you, Miss Angelica."
"All right."
Enjolras stood up and calmly left the room, much to the astonishment of Matelote and Gibelotte. They were afraid of authority and anyone with the power to harm them, and to some extent he was, too, but he had never been one to back down from a challenge. So the police were here. So what? He could handle a few uniformed control freaks.
He went to the sitting room where Gibelotte said they would be, and walked in with all the dignity he could. Sure enough, there were two police officers there, sitting rather stiffly on the floral-printed couch. As soon as he came in, they stood.
"Hello," said the taller one. His name tag read J. Javert. "I'm sorry to bother you, ma'am, but we have some questions."
"Of course." Enjolras sat down and gestured for them to join him. "Please ask me anything you want."
"All right." Javert gave him a level glance, all business now. "Is it true that you are harboring an unknown child in your house?"
Enjolras didn't know how the news of his ad hoc adoption had gotten out so quickly, but he answered with a simple "Yes."
"Where did you get this child?"
"I found him in my garden."
The officers didn't look convinced, but they nodded all the same. Javert turned to his companion.
"Go get the suspect."
"What? Suspect?" Enjolras fixed Javert with his best steely look, even as the other officer left the room. "Sir, what is going on here?"
"We have apprehended a suspect," said Javert, which really didn't illuminate much. Enjolras frowned at him.
"I don't understand. Why are you bringing this suspect to me?"
"I have reason to believe that he is the one who put the baby in your garden."
Enjolras didn't know what to say to this. He had no idea how Javert could know this, or how they had caught the suspect in such a short amount of time. So he sat quietly and waited until the other police officer brought him into the room.
Upon seeing the suspect, Enjolras understood at least how they had caught him. He was thin, and he looked sick and exhausted. His eyes were defeated, as if he had accepted that something terrible was going to happen, but he couldn't really find it in himself to care. Enjolras knew that look very well. It was the same one that he'd worn on his wedding day. Maybe that was why he stood up and went to clasp the man by the hand.
"My dear, how are you? I haven't seen you in weeks and now you come to me in police custody? This is a fine turn of events."
The man started in surprise, but fortunately, he went along with Enjolras's fiction.
"I apologize, my friend. I seem to have gotten myself into a problem."
"It is no problem." Enjolras turned to the police officers. "I think there has been some misunderstanding here."
"Ma'am." Javert shifted uncomfortably, obviously hesitant to contradict whom he thought was a high-class lady, but eager to do his duty to the law.
"This man is a suspect," broke in the other officer. "Can he really be a friend of yours?"
"He is." Enjolras drew himself up to his full height (which admittedly wasn't very tall), shoulders back and head up. "I thank you for doing your best to keep the peace. However, I can handle things from here."
Something in his tone must have convinced the officers, because they nodded and took their leave, murmuring a faint apology for intruding upon his time.
Now left alone, Enjolras gestured to the man to sit down. He did, though he now looked wary, as if he was afraid that this was a trap.
"Not that I don't appreciate it," he said. "But you and I know very well that we have never met in our lives. What's your angle here, miss?"
Enjolras shrugged. "I have no angle. I just didn't think you deserved to be hauled into police custody."
"Why not? You don't know what I've done."
"What have you done?"
"It's awful." The man took a deep, shuddering breath. "I've left my child alone in a garden. Now he's gone forever."
The man's name was Feuilly, and he was 26 years old. He had been living in Harlem with his boyfriend Combeferre, but when Combeferre had left him, he had been evicted, and had had to wander, sick and broken-hearted, until…
"I acquired the baby," said Feuilly, glancing off to the side. Enjolras gave him a look.
"Tell me."
"It's difficult to explain." Feuilly tugged at his ear and scratched at his hair, nervous and uncomfortable. "I don't think you would understand, miss."
"All right." Enjolras knew there was no good in prying. He respected people's secrets as much as he could. "Let me tell you something of my own, then."
Feuilly looked at him in cautious curiosity. "What is it?"
Enjolras told him. He was never one to mince words, and he thought he could trust this man. True, they had met under questionable circumstances, but there was something about him that spoke to Enjolras's heart. Definitely, he thought, they were kindred spirits.
"And so, my appearance is deceiving," he finished. "I may wear dresses and heels, but I am a man, and I always have been. Society's malefactions should not determine our worth."
Feuilly's eyes sparkled. "Enjolras," he said. "I have never been a believer in luck or chance, but I know as sure as the sun shines that some higher power has brought me to your door today. You see, you and I are two of a kind."
For a second, Enjolras didn't know what he meant. But as soon as he realized, he sat up straight, eyes lit with excitement.
"Really? I had no idea!"
Feuilly nodded. "Yes. And as such, the baby is my own."
"You poor man." Enjolras clucked his tongue in sympathy. "It must be so hard."
Feuilly gave him a rueful grin. "Well, it's not easy."
"All right!" Enjolras clapped his hands, decisive. Finally, here was something he could do. "Feuilly," he said. "Why don't you stay with me? You and your baby both."
"But I don't have the baby," Feuilly explained patiently, though with an edge of hurt. "I left him in a garden. Please, Enjolras, don't make fun of me like this."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Sometimes my thoughts move faster than my mouth. Your baby is here. It was my garden that you left him in. I think that's why the police brought you to me."
Feuilly was silent, transfixed. Then, he spoke in an awestruck whisper.
"Can it really be true? I know now that it is indeed the case that a miracle has brought me here. How else could such a thing be?"
Enjolras smiled and stood. He extended his hand to Feuilly, and Feuilly took it. For the second time, they were connected. Something was growing here, something important, and they both knew it. In this moment, their worlds were beginning to change.
