Being in love was unlike anything Marie had ever experienced. It was ecstasy, it was bliss, pure and unadulterated. Being with Dmitri – kissing him, holding him, touching him, even just looking at him – filled her with a joy she wanted to last forever. She sat with him in the field of flowers; it was theirs, their own secret place. He held her, and she pressed her cheek against his chest. She felt his heart beating, felt his hand rubbing her back, and she loved him. Oh God, she loved him so much.
She did not feel guilty for being with Dmitri. She knew deep down that she should, that it was wrong to make love out of wedlock. She knew that she'd promised Heracles and Quasimodo that she wouldn't, and she knew that she should feel guilty for breaking that promise. Dmitri certainly did. "I should not," he always said, "we are not married, I should not…" but he did anyway. He held her and entered her, and they made love in the field like animals. She loved him far too much to care about propriety.
Marie wondered if it was the lack of propriety that made it so enticing. She wondered if it would be the same if she and Dmitri were married. Would his touch lose its magic? Would he cease to thrill her in the confines of a wedding bed? She loved him, she loved him so much, and she supposed that they should get married. After all, that was what people did when they were in love. They married. What would her mother say, though? What would Pierre say?
Pierre would be furious if he knew what she and Dmitri were doing. He treated her like she was still a child, and this irritated her to no end. She hated the fact that he saw her as helpless. I'm not a child, she told him. I don't need you like I used to. She knew that this hurt him, that it made him feel useless, but it was the truth.
"You're my sister," said Pierre. "It's my job to protect you."
She sighed. There was nothing to protect her from. There was no imminent danger, no threat to her. Why, she asked him, why do you need to protect me?
"I don't want anything to happen to you," said Pierre, "I don't want you to get hurt." He put his hand on her shoulder. She could feel his thumb and three remaining fingers. He had been caught picking a man's pocket, and had lost his little finger as punishment. Marie remembered the way she and Pierre had stolen together in Paris. She remembered their old routine; she would approach their marks, hands outstretched, begging for coins, while Pierre crept up behind them and cut their purses. She wondered if it was her fault he'd been caught. She had stopped helping him steal when they had reached Lyon; if she hadn't, would he still have his finger or would she be missing one as well?
I'm not little anymore, she told him, I won't get hurt. I'm not stupid.
"It isn't you, Marie." He was talking about Dmitri, and she glared at him. Pierre did nothing to hide his dislike for Dmitri, and it infuriated Marie. "Dmitri is a thief."
She shoved his hand off of her shoulder, slapping it harder than she'd intended to. You are a thief, she told him, grabbing his wrist and holding his hand up, pointing to the missing finger.
"That's different." Pierre managed to pull out of her grasp. He rolled his eyes. "He is dishonest. He pretends to be a cripple and begs for money." Marie only glared at him. She didn't care what Dmitri did to earn money. Besides, Pierre was probably lying to her, trying to get her to stop loving Dmitri so much. If he only knew the half of it; he'd probably explode if she told him the truth, that she and Dmitri had made love. She was half-tempted to, but she realized that Pierre would only take his anger out on Dmitri. He would accuse Dmitri of soiling her honor and probably try to kill him.
Marie shook her head and turned away from him. She did not want to talk to him anymore. She felt his hand on her shoulder, knew that he wanted her to turn around and face him, but she brushed his hand away. Pierre had never been in love before. He had no idea what she was feeling, and she wouldn't let him ruin it.
~xXx~
The vomiting was accompanied by fever and headaches, and she didn't think anything of it. Despite the summer's heat, she felt cold and her skin was clammy; her mother was more worried about her than ever. She tried telling her not to worry so much. After all, she'd gotten sick before. She wasn't a child, and she could take care of herself. The illness passed relatively quickly, though it felt as though she'd spent an eternity in bed coughing and shivering. Any moment that passed without Dmitri seemed eternal and boring. She missed him. She missed holding his hand, talking to him, she missed the way he smiled at her.
The fever died down and the headaches vanished, but the nausea only grew worse. It woke her every morning, practically attacking her. She found herself outside each morning as the sun rose, bent over and vomiting. The sickness vanished by noon and was usually forgotten until the next morning, when it started all over again like a cycle.
Marie knew that such illness often accompanied pregnancy. Her mother was a midwife; she knew all the symptoms of pregnancy. As much as she did not want to believe that she was pregnant, she knew deep down that it was possible. She and Dmitri had been making love; he did not always remember to pull out of her before climaxing. Sometimes he did spill his seed inside of her. Her bloody curse was late, and it would not come despite her prayers. Her clothing suddenly felt too tight. The fabric of her blouses seemed to stretch and strain, and her hips felt wider. Skirts that had always hung loosely on her were suddenly too tight.
She knew that she could not tell her mother or Pierre. Pierre would be more than furious, and he would undoubtedly kill Dmitri. Marie was not sure of how her mother would react. She'd be upset, yes, disappointed, but would she be angry as well? Would she scold her? Her mother seemed distracted and distant; she'd been getting letters from Heracles, and though she couldn't read them, she would hold them and stare at them dreamily. It occurred to Marie that her mother might be in love, and under a different circumstance it would have made her happy. Ever since moving to Lyon, her mother had been frazzled and prone to panic, easily frightened and too wary. Marie wondered if something had happened while she, Pierre, and Katarina had been lost in the woods. She wondered if her mother was keeping a secret from her.
Or perhaps she'd been homesick for Paris. Perhaps she'd been upset about leaving the Court of Miracles. Regardless, something in Heracles's letters was pleasing her mother, making her calmer and happier. Telling her about the baby would only ruin her happiness, and Marie didn't want that. Would it be possible to hide the baby? For how long? Maybe she wasn't really pregnant. Maybe her body was playing a trick on her. She couldn't really deny it, though, as much as she wanted to.
She would have to tell Dmitri, and this frightened her. How would she bring it up? What would his reaction be? What if he didn't really love her? What if he wanted nothing to do with her or the baby? These thoughts terrified her. She loved him so much; she was certain she'd die without him. If he didn't love her back, if he didn't want anything to do with her or the baby, what would she do? How could she care for the baby on her own? She didn't make very much money. What if she had to start stealing again? And what if she was caught? The possibilities were frightening, and though she didn't want to think about them, they consumed her. She lay awake, staring into the darkness, and the thoughts fell upon her like savage beasts.
She would have to tell her mother. Her mother would be upset, of course, but she'd know what to do. Even if her mother was upset, even if she was angry, she would help her. Pierre would find out eventually, and it would be best if she was the one who told him. She could calm him down, make sure he didn't lose his temper or hurt Dmitri. She would find a way to tell Dmitri later. First she would tell her mother and brother.
Marie was more than surprised to find her mother on top of Heracles, straddling him. Her blouse was open, and Heracles was touching her. They were kissing. Marie saw Pierre's mouth move, but it moved too fast for her to properly understand him. He sprang forward, kicking Heracles violently in the shoulder. Marie watched as her mother and Heracles scrambled up; her mother was holding her blouse together and telling Pierre to stop it. Marie stepped back, wishing she'd never seen her mother and Heracles. She couldn't tell her mother that she was pregnant now. She couldn't. She felt tears stinging at her eyes, and she turned and fled, racing towards the woods. She suddenly wanted to be in the field of flowers, the sweet, secret place that she shared with Dmitri.
She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned around. Heracles was staring down at her, resting his hand on her shoulder. "Marie, I'm sorry you saw that," he said, "but…your mother and I…well…" Marie shook her head. That wasn't it. That wasn't it at all. "What's wrong, then?" Heracles's concern seemed so genuine, and it only made her feel more helpless. What could she do about the baby inside of her if she couldn't find the strength to tell her own mother? She let Heracles hold her, and she pressed her face into his shoulder while she cried. He touched her chin, tipping her head upwards so that she could see his face. "Marie," he said slowly, "Tell me what's wrong. I will make it right. Tell me."
Perhaps she could tell Heracles. Perhaps he would know what to do. Perhaps he could help her. She pointed to her belly. "Are you hurt?" She shook her head and bit her lip. She'd come this far. She had to tell him now. She took a deep breath and made the hand motions that meant 'pregnant.' Heracles stared at her, and she saw the shock in his eyes. "Oh God…you're pregnant?"
He was shocked, he was disgusted, he was disappointed with her. He probably thought she was promiscuous, that she'd been with hundreds of boys. The thought made her cry again, and she pressed her hands over her face. If this was what Heracles thought, what would her mother think? What would she say? How would she react? She felt Heracles's hands on her wrists, pulling her own hands down away from her eyes. She lowered her face, and he slid his fingers beneath her chin, tilting her head up so that she had to look at him. "Who is the father?" he asked.
It did not occur to her that he wouldn't know the hand-symbol she'd made up that meant 'Dmitri,' and he looked confused when she made it. "Is – is it that Russian boy? The one missing two fingers?" She nodded, holding up her left hand, mimicking Dmitri's hand. Heracles sighed, "where is he?"
For a brief instant, she thought that Heracles meant to hurt Dmitri, but she saw the concern and sincerity in his eyes. Did he want to help her tell Dmitri? She wasn't sure how Dmitri would react. What if he got angry at her? What if he refused to believe her? Heracles repeated his question, and Marie could see that he wanted to help her. Maybe he could tell Dmitri for her. Maybe he could make Dmitri understand. She let Heracles take her by the hand and she led him into the Russian Gypsies' camp, heading towards the caravan that Dmitri shared with his older brother.
Dmitri and Piotr were outside of the caravan. It looked as though they were arguing about something, and though she could see their lips moving, she couldn't understand them. Dmitri saw her coming and pointed at her, turning to his brother. Marie swallowed, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. Had they been talking about her? Did Dmitri somehow know that she was pregnant? She looked at Heracles. She couldn't tell Dmitri, she just couldn't. Heracles seemed to sense this, and he patted her shoulder reassuringly. He approached Dmitri and said something. Dmitri seemed to ignore him, though, and approached her.
"Marie, what is wrong?" he asked. She suddenly realized that she probably looked disheveled. She could not hide behind her hands and pretend that he wasn't there. She would have to tell him. She took a deep breath. I'm pregnant, she told him, you are the father. Dmitri only stared at her, his eyes wide and uncomprehending. Marie took his hand and placed it on her stomach. He stared at it as though he expected to feel the baby kicking.
"You…you are to be having baby?" he said, "it – it is being my baby?" Marie nodded. Dmitri suddenly turned away from her, letting his hand slide off of her stomach. Marie could not see his face, but he charged at his older brother, knocking him over. Marie stepped back, terrified; Piotr was bigger than Dmitri and stronger, too. Dmitri struck Piotr, his fist colliding with Piotr's jaw. Heracles grabbed Dmitri, yanking him roughly off of his older bother. Dmitri was still looking at Piotr, but Marie could see his mouth moving. "You apologize, Piotr! She is not whore! She is good girl, and I am loving her very much!"
He finally managed to wriggle out of Heracles's grasp, and he approached her now. He had just come to her defense. He really did care about her and the baby. It felt as though a great weight had been lifted from her heart. Dmitri still loved her. He would support her. He put his arms around her. "I am to honoring you," he said, "I am to marry you, and to honoring you. Come, I am to ask Pierre for permission."
She let Dmitri bring her back to her mother's house. Her mother was outside with Pierre. She had re-buttoned her blouse, though she'd done it crookedly, and it looked as though she was about to say something to Pierre. Dmitri approached Pierre, and Marie found herself holding her breath. "Pierre," he said, "I am having a question to ask of you, because you are the brother of Marie."
"Oh…well…fine, ask it." Pierre looked thoroughly confused, and Marie would have found his confusion amusing in a different circumstance. She wrung her hands. Would Dmitri tell Pierre that he'd gotten her pregnant? Pierre would be more than furious if he knew. He'd probably kill Dmitri on the spot. Oh God, thought Marie, please don't let him tell Pierre.
"I am wanting to marry Marie," Dmitri said, shifting his shoulders, standing up straighter.
"What? Why are you asking me?"
"Marie does not have father," said Dmitri. "You are…" he paused, frowning as he groped for the correct words, "only man in her life for to give her away."
Pierre turned to their mother now. "Is it even my decision?" he asked.
Their mother shook her head. "Of course not," she said. "It's Marie's. Marie, do you want to marry Dmitri?" Marie nodded. Hopefully her mother would let it go at that and give her consent. Hopefully she wouldn't pry. Hopefully she wouldn't have to tell her mother that she was pregnant. Marie bit her lip and was surprised when she drew blood. She fumbled in her pockets for a handkerchief and pressed it against her mouth.
Dmitri shifted nervously. "I don't have much for dowry, but if you give me time, I can to repay you."
Her mother was sighing and rubbing her forehead. Maybe she should tell her mother about the baby. Maybe if her mother knew, she'd give her consent. She'd been holding the secret inside of her for over a month now. She couldn't keep hiding it. Her body would begin to change soon; her mother would find out. Marie grabbed her mother's hand, unaware that she'd dropped the handkerchief. I'm pregnant, she said, I'm having his baby.
Her mother's mouth fell open. She stared at her in disbelief and shock, and Marie felt as though she would throw up. She shouldn't have told her. She shouldn't have said anything. She should've just waited. Oh God, what if her mother disowned her? No, no, her mother wouldn't do that. She was just shocked, that was all. It was a natural reaction. Marie glanced over at Pierre. He was glaring darkly at Dmitri, approaching him menacingly, his hands clenched into fists. "You got my sister pregnant?" shouted Pierre, "you stupid, filthy, pervert – "
"No, please," said Dmitri, backing away, holding up his hands, "I am to honoring Marie, I am to loving her most very much, I am wanting to marry her – "
"God damn Russian pervert! You took advantage of her! What, you couldn't keep it in your pants, so you had to ruin her like this? You God damn, stupid – "
Marie grabbed Pierre, digging her fingernails into his shoulder and pulling him towards her. He turned to her, and she could see the hate that he felt for Dmitri. It wasn't fair. He had no right to say such things about the man she loved. Marie slapped him, striking him as hard as she could. She saw the red handprint appear on the side of his face and felt a painful burning sensation in her palm, but she didn't care. He had no right to treat Dmitri like this.
Pierre turned to her, rubbing his face. There was a wounded look in his eyes, but she didn't care. He had no right to insult Dmitri, to call him a pervert. Stop it, she said, I love him. He didn't take advantage of me. I consented. I love him, and you have no right to treat him this way. He loves me. He wants to marry me.
"Pierre, if Marie and Dmitri wish to get married, then…then they can." Marie stared at her mother now. She felt relief wash over her. Her mother would let Dmitri marry her. They would raise their baby together, in a proper home. Marie sighed. "We will talk about the wedding in the morning," her mother said.
Dmitri nodded. "Thank you," he said, "I will come back tomorrow." He nodded to Marie, and she could see the love in his eyes. He did love her, and he would honor her by marrying her. Marie watched him leave, and she felt her mother's hand on her shoulder. She turned to her. Her mother hugged her. It was a swift, sudden movement, but Marie closed her eyes and savored it.
