Heracles did not have time to wait around for Rosalie to return. Marie had explained that she'd gone out to help a woman deliver a baby; she'd be gone for several hours, if not all day. Heracles wanted to wait more than anything, but Hans would be looking for him to help with the tents. The circus would open tomorrow and everything needed to be ready. Heracles was helping Quasimodo and the others with the Freak Tent, moving numbly and ignoring the chattering conversations that filled the air.
"You've been sulking more than usual," said Quasimodo. "What's the matter?"
"It's nothing."
"You didn't come back last night." Quasimodo looked at him. "Did you and Rosalie have a fight?"
"What does Rosalie have to do with any of this?"
"Well, you left the bonfire with her. You were carrying her."
"She was drunk," said Heracles, sounding more defensive than he'd intended. "I brought her home and stayed with her."
"So why are you sulking?"
Heracles sighed. "She was gone when I woke up. I…I wanted to talk to her, but she just left."
"Hm. Did you ask Marie where she went?"
"She had to help a woman deliver a baby."
"Well, that sort of thing takes all day, you know that! She's probably busy with the baby."
"I know, I know."
"And she'll probably come and find you once she's done," said Quasimodo. "She's probably thinking about you right now, wishing that she could talk to you."
"I doubt that."
"Come on, the others can handle the tent. Let's go and wait for her."
Heracles sighed, but he followed Quasimodo towards Rosalie's shack. Perhaps she would be there. Perhaps she was waiting for him to return. Perhaps she wanted to talk to him about the previous night. Heracles wanted to talk to her more than anything. He wasn't even sure what exactly he wanted to say to her, but he wanted to see her, to make sure she was all right.
~xXx~
"Are you certain you want to come to Paris?"
Theresa nodded. "Yes," she said.
"Your father didn't frighten you?"
"No. Besides, we'll only be there for a few days. I have better things to do than dance."
She was relieved when Giovanni laughed. They had one horse and would have to take turns riding it. Giovanni had insisted that she have the first turn even though she felt like walking. She didn't mind, though. The sun was shining, and the fields on either side of the road looked beautiful. They would eventually turn into thick forests; Theresa had dim memories of traveling from Paris to Lyon. She mostly remembered how unpleasant the trip had been. She'd been cooped up inside of the caravan with Martine and Jacques-Clopin.
"What's the first thing we'll do when we get to Paris?" she asked.
"Find a place to stay," replied Giovanni.
"That's no fun!"
"We'll have plenty of time for fun later," he said. "I suppose I'll bring you to Notre Dame first."
She sighed. "Going to church won't be fun!"
"Well, you've never been inside, have you?"
"No."
"It's really quite lovely. You should at least see the inside of it. And besides, who said we'd be staying for mass?" He smiled up at her.
"What do you think your grandmother is like?"
Giovanni shrugged. "I don't really know," he said, "I'm a little nervous about meeting her."
"Why? She's your grandmother!"
"Yes, but I've never even seen her. I didn't even know she was alive until I got the letter."
"Well, if she sent you a letter asking you to come see her, then it must mean she loves you."
Giovanni patted her hand. "I suppose it does."
~xXx~
She did not go home right away. Heracles would probably be there waiting for her, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to see him or not. She would have to eventually; it would be inevitable. But she couldn't remember much of the previous night, and this bothered her a great deal. If she told Heracles that she couldn't remember it, he would think she was a drunkard; she supposed that she was one, and she didn't like the idea at all.
Rosalie found herself sitting with Esmerelda instead, drinking tea and talking about silly, inane things. She liked Esmerelda, thought of her as a sister, and was more than thrilled that she'd finally escaped Judge Claude Frollo. Still, Esmerelda seemed to sense that something was wrong, and Rosalie would not be able to hide it from her forever.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
"I don't think so," replied Rosalie. "I…I had too much to drink last night, and I can't remember anything."
"Well, what happened when you woke up?"
"I was at home in my bed…but Heracles was there."
Esmerelda laughed. "It's too bad you can't remember it! He's so strong and handsome – "
"No, it wasn't like that," said Rosalie, "he was asleep in a chair beside my bed."
"Oh. Well, did he tell you what happened?"
"No. I had to leave before he woke up. Anja – that Russian woman who Dmitri knows – "
"Which one is Dmitri again?"
"The one who's been hanging around Marie."
"Ah."
"Anyway, she had her baby today, so I was with her all day. I haven't seen Heracles at all."
"Well, he's probably still at your home, waiting for you." Esmerelda stared at her, stirring her tea. "Why don't you want to see him?"
"Marie told me why he was in my house," said Rosalie. "She said I asked him to stay because I was having a nightmare. She says I asked him to chase it away. I…the nightmares have only gotten worse."
Esmerelda nodded, reaching out and taking hold of her hand. "I know," she said. Rosalie gripped her hand. "But they won't go away if you don't talk about them."
Rosalie swallowed. She had never talked about the nightmares. She had kept them pressed inside of her for so long, desperately trying to forget them. They would seem more real if she talked about them. She feared that they would spread if she talked about them, that they would taint the air and infect the people she loved. "I can't."
"Yes you can. Here, you tell one nightmare, and I'll tell one."
"Oh…I…I really can't…"
Esmerelda stared at her. "They won't go away if you keep them inside."
Rosalie nodded and closed her eyes. She would discuss the nightmares, but she couldn't bring herself to look at Esmerelda while she did so. "It happens all over again," she said, "but in the dream, it isn't happening to me. It's happening to Marie…and it's worse…" Esmerelda was silent, and Rosalie took a deep breath, opening her eyes to look at her while she continued. "She's screaming and I can't help her. They're raping her and making me watch."
She was not sure if she felt better or not for telling the dream. She felt as though she would begin to cry at any moment. "When Claude married me, he…he made me dance for him," said Esmerelda. "He would watch as I danced, then he would rip my clothes off and rape me. Sometimes I still dream about it. I dream that he's watching me dance, coming closer and closer to me, and there's nothing I can do to stop him."
Hearing Esmerelda refer to him by his first name startled Rosalie. Esmerelda was looking at her, her green eyes perfectly dry. How could she talk about such a horrible dream without crying? Holding back her own tears had become painful, but Rosalie continued to do it anyway. "One of them threw some coins at me," said Rosalie, "he said it wasn't rape if he paid me. The others laughed. They laughed at me while they did it. I can still hear them sometimes."
"Claude used to say my name. Over and over again while he raped me. He would whisper it into my ear. I grew to hate my name as much as I hated him. I won't even let Phoebus say my name when we make love."
It was like exchanging poisons. It was bitter and horrible and painful, but she continued to do it. "I started bleeding," she said, "they laughed at that, too. One of them said, 'she bleeds just like a virgin.' They hit me and pulled my hair. They wanted me to scream, but I didn't."
"That was brave."
Rosalie shook her head. "I knew that if I screamed Pierre would come. They would kill him."
"There's a girl I used to have nightmares about," said Esmerelda. "After Claude arrested us, he had the guards bring a girl into the room. She was thirteen, I think. He told his men that they could rape her, and he just watched while they started tearing her clothes off. She was crying and screaming, and he just watched, like he didn't even care. I begged him to make them stop, and he said I had to marry him, so I did. I agreed to marry him and he made the guards stop, and I never saw that girl again, but I used to dream about her."
"Cassandra."
"What?"
"The girl in your dream, it's Cassandra."
"Clopin's wife?" Esmerelda looked puzzled. "But, neither of them have ever mentioned it…"
Rosalie swallowed, wishing that she hadn't spoken up. "I probably shouldn't have told you – "
Esmerelda shook her head. "It's fine. I guess I'm glad she's all right." She smiled and looked over at Rosalie. "I'm here for you, Rosalie. We're all here for you."
"Thank you."
The urge to cry had subsided somewhat, and the lump in her throat didn't hurt quite so much. She felt hollow, as though something had been drained from her. She wasn't sure if she felt better or not. She supposed that discussing her nightmares should have brought her some relief. She didn't know if she felt it or not, though. Perhaps it would come to her later. Perhaps she'd sleep easily tonight.
~xXx~
"I can't bear to be apart from you."
"Nor I from you," he said, "but we'll be married on Sunday, and then we shall never be parted again."
Cosette smiled at him. He wished that he could kiss her; her father, of course, was standing there beside her. Jean-Claude smiled and shook the old man's hand before mounting his horse. René was already on his horse, waiting patiently. René had bought him several drinks the night before, and Jean-Claude now hoped that he didn't smell of beer. René had had much more to drink that he, but René would not be the one marrying Cosette, and her father didn't even notice him.
"Goodbye, my love," said Jean-Claude, smiling at Cosette as he dug his heels into the horse's flanks. She waved, calling out her goodbyes as he rode away.
"You will have to tell me how the wedding night is," said René once they were a mile or so away from Lyon. "I'm going to want all the sordid details."
Jean-Claude rolled his eyes. "I'll do nothing of the sort and you know it," he said.
René laughed. "Well, you've at least thought about it, haven't you?"
"Of course not!"
"Ha! I know a lie when I hear one!" René was right, and Jean-Claude felt himself blushing. "I'm sure you've planned the whole thing out. You'll take sweet, chaste, virginal Cosette and lay her down on your wedding bed – "
"I'll thank you not to talk about my fiancée that way."
"Will you go to confession after you've made love to her? 'Forgive me, Father, for I have bedded a lovely young virgin'?"
"It isn't a sin when she's your wife!" René was beginning to irritate him, and he wished that he could hit him or at least throw something at him. René, of course, was too clever to ride within striking distance, and all Jean-Claude could do was glare darkly at him.
" 'Oh, Jean-Claude, your sword is too big for my sheathe!' "
"Stop it!"
"Oh, you're no fun."
Jean-Claude urged his horse on, trying his best to ignore René. He thought of Cosette instead, of the life they would build together. He would purchase a house for them when he returned to Paris, he would create a home for her. They would make love, they would have children, his love and adoration for her would be as endless as the ocean. René could laugh and make lewd jokes all he wanted, but he would never have the love that Jean-Claude and Cosette had.
~xXx~
"Do you hear something?"
He looked at Heracles. Quasimodo's own hearing wasn't much good, and he strained to listen. Ringing the bells of Notre Dame had all but shattered his hearing, but now he could hear what Heracles was hearing. It was coming from the woods near Rosalie's shack; they'd been waiting for over an hour, sitting patiently outside in the sunshine. Heralces rose and headed towards the woods. Quasimodo followed him.
The sound was growing louder as they entered the thicket. It sounded a bit like someone moaning; it was a strange, high-pitched sound, not one of pain but pleasure. "Sounds like someone's out here with his wife," he said.
Heracles did not reply but pressed forward, pushing branches out of their path. Quasimodo followed him, stopping suddenly. His eyes widened in anger and surprise, and he felt himself rushing forward before he realized what exactly he was doing.
Marie was lying on the ground, her skirt bunched up around her waist, her blouse open. A boy was on top of her, his trousers down around his knees. Quasimodo did not see that Marie was kissing him or that the boy was running his hands through her hair. All he saw was the silent little girl who'd kept him company while he'd fished, smiling in delight as he pulled one in. Marie, little Marie, the girl he'd carried when she'd hurt her foot, was on the ground, being violated. He grabbed the boy, lifting him off of Marie. He did not hear them cry out in surprise as he shoved the boy, slamming him against a tree.
"What do you think you're doing, pervert?" he demanded.
The boy was sputtering, his voice a garbled mix of unintelligible French and Russian. Quasimodo was dimly aware that Marie was still on the ground, shrieking and attempting to cover herself.
"Quasimodo, wait – "
He did not listen to Heracles but instead jerked the boy forward. He slammed him into the tree again. The boy screamed. "Filthy rapist – I will kill you!"
"Stop it." He felt Heracles's hand on his shoulder and turned to him. Marie was standing beside him, trying to button her blouse and communicate at the same time. She was shaking her head, staring at the boy with love in her eyes. Quasimodo looked at the boy now.
"Please, I am not hurting to Marie," he said. He had a thick Russian accent and was difficult to understand. "I am loving her very much…"
He released the boy now, realizing for the first time that he'd lifted him about a foot or so off the ground. The boy tugged his trousers back up, panting and shaking with fear. "She says he didn't rape her," said Heracles. "She says she loves him."
"I'm sorry." Quasimodo turned to Marie. He couldn't see the little girl she'd once been, and this bothered him. He could no longer see the little girl clutching the wooden figurine he'd carved for her, smiling down at it in wonder. The sad truth – or perhaps it was a happy truth – was that Marie was not a little girl any more. She was a woman now. As much as it disgusted Quasimodo, she was old enough to be with a boy. He watched as she brushed past him, embracing the boy. He held her face in his hands and kissed her.
"Come on." Heracles motioned to the boy and Marie, and they came to him reluctantly. "I won't tell your mother." Marie started to make the hand motions that meant 'thank you,' but Heracles grabbed her hands, silencing her. "But you – you aren't supposed to do that unless you are married. Do you both understand?" Marie nodded, but the boy shook his head. Heracles rolled his eyes. "Do not make love to Marie unless you marry her first. Do you understand now?"
"I do not love Marie unless I am married to her?"
"Yes."
The boy nodded. "Da. I am understanding now."
"Good."
They emerged from the woods and Quasimodo watched as Marie and the boy headed in separate directions. The boy moved quickly, his head down; he looked thoroughly ashamed of himself. Marie glanced over her shoulder at Quasimodo and Heracles, then turned and headed towards the house she shared with her mother. "Do you think it's wise not to tell Rosalie?"
"She has enough things to worry about," said Heracles. "Besides, you scared that boy so badly, I doubt this will ever happen again."