Chapter 10- Relics of an Innocent Time
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I quickened my steps as I approached Lefou. He was clumsily trying to walk two horses by the reins; his own Ami, and a new one. I helped him by taking hold of the second horse.
"Thanks, Stanley!" he said cheerily. "So, how'd your day go? Did you get some sewing done?"
"Oui, only one garment so far," I replied with an exasperated laugh. "It never ends. Nice horse! Did you purchase this one for the Prince, then?"
"Actually, the sale is pending." he replied. He patted the side of the big cinnamon-colored mare. "Monsieur Gagne was able to spare this lady. Her name's Cannelle, because of her color. Michel is going to ride into town at noon, on Phillipe, with the payment from Prince Adam."
"Beautiful animal. Is she the only one so far?" I asked.
"No. I've talked to six other people, but they want the money before they give up their horses. They need to make sure Prince Adam keeps his word."
"I know what you mean," I replied. "So many people remember him as a tyrant who taxed them to poverty. It will take some action from him to earn everyone's trust. My mother is one of them," I explained. "I'm about to head over to my place to take care of Rosie. She hasn't been ridden for three days. Would you like to stable Ami and Cannelle there?"
"Sure, Stanley! Merci." We guided the two horses to my own family home, to our livery stable in the back. It had enough room for a team of six horses, which we did have before my Papa died. My late father, Jean Laurent, had been a miller who ground and sold wheat and oats. His old, defunct grain mill still stood several meters from our stable.
Lefou noticed it as we walked by. "Is that your family's old mill, Stanley? That's interesting."
"Oui! My father was the miller for many years. Do you remember him? He only passed away a few years ago. He used to play cards in the tavern with Dick and I."
"Hmm...Monsieur Laurent," Lefou said, his eyes narrowing as he tried to think. "Why don't I remember anyone named 'Monsieur Laurent,' besides you?"
"He was usually known by his nickname, that's why. 'Jean Oats'," I replied. As soon as I mentioned the nickname, Lefou's face lit up in cheerful recognition.
"Yes! I remember him!" Lefou exclamed. "Jean Oats, the miller! He looked like you, Stanley, except older, of course. And he wore a big mustache. I felt so bad when he passed away...I'm sorry I didn't spend more time talking to him, or you, or Dick or Tom much back then. I was always too distracted with Gaston." Lefou's expression lost its merriment; he seemed remorseful.
"It's okay," I said. "I do remember you and Gaston going to his service, and giving Maman and I your condolences. You were so sincere, I recall. Gaston's condolences seemed...scripted."
"That's how he always was," Lefou said in a quiet voice. "Even when each of my parents died. He'd say the words, but they were just that. Words. As if it were something he had to do, but didn't care about on the inside. Even though my Maman practically helped raise him," he added casually.
"Your mother helped raise Gaston?" I asked, not able to resist putting a hand on his shoulder in comfort. Again, I was admiring the way the man could be so impossibly cheerful and upbeat while in so much pain and anguish. He couldn't always hide it every single moment. Yet, he could express it in front of me, and for that I was glad.
"Uh-huh," he replied, nodding while he tried to take control of Ami, who was in a frisky mood, flicking his tail and neighing. Cannelle, the big girl horse, was much calmer for me.
"What was your Maman like? What was her name?" I asked in curiosity.
"Her name was Jeanne-Marie," he told me. "She was the housemaid for Gaston's parents when we were boys. His Maman, Genevieve, died when he was only eight. She caught the coughing disease. And when she was sick, her room upstairs was quarantined. So for a while, Gaston stayed over at our cottage. Maman took care of him at the time his mother died. And after, while his father was going through his grief. That was how we ended up friends in the first place, Stanley. Because I didn't go to Villeneuve Boys' School."
"I see. It is unfortunate that he lost his mother so young."
"Yes," he replied in a solemn tone. "Speaking of that, I do need to go to his house and go through his stuff. Today." He winced as if he were bracing himself for something difficult.
"I'll go there with you." I said in assurance.
My Rosie was in the stable as we walked the two horses in. As soon as she saw us- with Ami and Cannelle- she whipped her head up and whinnied in excitement.
"Rosie!" I exclaimed, rushing to her and hugging her around the neck. I pet her mane and snuggled it, loving the scent of the brown bay mare I'd owned since I was sixteen, when Papa's horses foaled and I'd claimed her for my own. She was now nine years old.
"Hey! Easy, girl! I know, I'll get you out of here right away."
A louder whinny and stomping of hooves distracted me. It was Lefou's horse, acting obnoxious. "Ami! Stop it!" Lefou shouted at him.
Ami snorted loudly, bucking his head up and down aggressively. Rosie and Cannelle both began to imitate his behavior. While I was letting Rosie out of her stall, she whipped around and- Mon Dieu- took a leak on my right boot.
"Oh, for heaven's sake!" I exclaimed, wiping my boot in a pile of hay. Rosie started nuzzling Ami's nose, and it finally dawned on me regarding matters of horse biology. Of course.
"Uh...Lefou? Was Ami ever- you know- gelded?"
"No," he replied. He began to laugh. "Stanley! This is perfect! If Prince Adam wants more horses-" he grinned at Ami's behavior of flicking his tail and joyfully taking turns nuzzling both Rosie's, and Cannelle's hindquarters- "we'll breed him more horses! Unfortunately, it will take a whole year."
"But it'll be a good start, mon ami!" I said. Rosie hadn't given a colt for five years. When she did, she had two beautiful black ones.
"Stanley," Lefou said with a sweetly sly grin- "Perhaps we should leave this...ahem...threesome in the stable for some much needed privacy?"
"Oui! I think Rosie has changed her mind about wanting to leave- now that Ami is here! I should have allowed Magnifique in this little maison de l'amour as well." I said. I had left him in the public stable with Noel, the town ostler, since it was closest to the tailor shop. "Perhaps I will bring Magnifique in to visit these mares later, that is, if Ami hasn't done his job."
"Ami," Lefou called out before we left- "For a horse with a girly name, there's no stallion in town half as manly as you! Bonne Chance!"
We both laughed as we shut the stable door tight and began to walk to the main street of Villeneuve, to the edge of town. Gaston's family estate was on the hill just east of the bridge where a small stream crossed.
"Stanley," Lefou said after we'd left the earshot of our fellow villagers, "This is a strange question- but do you think there are male horses like us?"
I spluttered in laughter. "I don't know!" I managed to say after recovering from a giggle fit. "It does make you wonder, though."
"Hope I can find one, and have one if there are," said Lefou. "Then we'd all be 'freaks of nature' together."
"Birds of a feather flock together!" I retorted. We laughed again.
"I sometimes wonder why I ended up like this," I admitted to him as I glanced around. We were passing a farm field; Gaston's home was on the left. "Because it sure makes life...difficult. My mother would be happier with me if I wasn't, because I'd be married with a child by now."
"But Dick has Cecile, so it's not as if she doesn't have grandchildren," Lefou pointed out. "But uh, I know what you mean. If I were...uh, normal, I probably wouldn't have devoted my whole life to Gaston. And being a father would've been nice...It's pathetic, really."
"Lefou, you are not pathetic."
He looked at me with pain in his eyes, and took my hand as we walked on the path to Gaston's large manor house. No one else could see us.
The house had an air of rustic charm mixed with the refinement; decorative dark wood trim, once-expensive old furniture, and large, mullioned windows. As I expected, the walls of the main downstairs room were adorned with taxidermy- deer, elk, foxes, and even one wolf with a silver coat; its mouth wide open, bearing sharp white fangs. A glass curio cabinet near the grand stone fireplace displayed Gaston's collection of weapons- muskets, pistols, blunderbusses, and four sets of bows and arrow quivers, all mounted and ready for use. On one wall was a collection of military medals on colorful ribbons. The place was clearly the home of the quintessential 'man among men.'
Out of curiosity, I opened a door nearby and entered a messy bedroom.
"That was Gaston's room," Lefou said. "That's where I need to go through his stuff." He took a deep breath, preparing himself, and went in, opening a chest of drawers. He took out several shirts, stockings, various common articles of clothing. I watched his expression; he seemed well-composed.
"I'll probably throw most of these away. Or burn them." He dug into the bottom of the drawer. After looking a moment, he gave an audible gasp.
"He kept this old stuff?"
"What?" I asked.
"Mon Dieu! I made these!" Lefou took out several wax medallions that were tied with crude rawhide strings. "I made these for him when I was nine or ten years old! They were his...'prizes!'"
"Prizes?" I picked up one of the medallions. It was made of candle wax and still smelled like a candle. It was molded into a circular disc shape with a hole in the center, covered with chipped red paint. It did look like something a child had made.
"When Gaston and I played together, sometimes with others, we used to do target shooting competitions with his slingshot or bow. He would get a perfect bullseye quite often," Lefou recalled. "And whenever he shot five bullseyes in one day, I'd award him with a red medallion. When he made ten bullseyes in one day, I'd make him a gold medallion. Like these two. I loved making this stuff for him!"
He held two of the gold-painted wax medallions in his hands. "I just can't believe he kept them all these years."
"They were fine works of art," I told him, smiling.
Lefou blinked his eyes once or twice, trying to fight back tears again. "Twenty years," he said in a cracked voice.
"Since you saw them last?" I asked.
"It's been twenty years. But holding these medallions makes it feel like yesterday. I remember being just a kid, collecting my Papa's used candles, and melting the wax. And when it cooled off enough to not burn my hands, I molded these and painted them, and tied them with string. Gaston was so happy getting the medallions for prizes. I'd wrap them up in paper, and when he opened them and put them on, he'd smile just like it was Christmas morning!"
Lefou wiped his eyes, trying his best to not weep once again. "He liked getting them, because it was proof he could shoot better than all the other boys. But...I used to believe he liked getting them because they were from me. His best friend."
I stepped forward and embraced him tightly in my arms. "He did. You were his best friend. That's why he kept them, Lefou."
"But he...betrayed me. I didn't mean as much to him as he meant to-"
"Lefou, listen!" I raised my voice, almost in a scolding tone. "You have to believe that there was a part of Gaston that still cared about you. That night, you see, he was overcome with madness. Jealousy. Rage. His demons took over him, Lefou."
"But...Stanley..." His voice sounded tearful, and I could see his head shaking 'no' against my shoulder.
"Here is my belief," I said sternly. "Take it or leave it. I think deep down inside, there was still...a little Gaston- a more innocent Gaston- who treasured your friendship. Who treasured these-" I gripped one of the little medallions in my hand- "because you were important to him. You cannot keep torturing yourself! Believing that one night- one night of unhinged madness- could completely cancel out twenty years of devoted friendship!"
"But it hurts," came his answer in a whisper. "It doesn't hurt as much if I believe he was completely evil, all along!" He was crying again, and my heart was breaking. This precious, kind soul deserved so much better.
"I know, mon ami. It hurts like hell for you. I cannot say I know how you feel. I've...never been close friends with anyone like Gaston. I had my brother, and Tom. They were all I had. Sure, they bore me to death sometimes. But I'd rather have the cozy warmth of boredom in my life, than endure the hot and cold of being with Gaston. As unforgettable...and larger than life as he was."
He nodded. "He was unforgettable."
I grasped the childish wax medallion and put it around his neck, lifting his wavy hair up and out of the way. When it was on, I smoothed his unruly hair back in place.
"And I believe you deserve a prize for befriending this...man all his life. It was truly an act of selflessness."
I bent down and gave him a kiss on the forehead this time.
"Thank you for being...you, Stanley," Lefou said, clutching me around the waist.
"You're more than welcome."
"Stanley?"
"Yes, mon ami?"
"You described your life with Dick and Tom as the 'cozy warmth of boredom.' What's it like with me? Is it the same?" He raised his head to look at me with watery eyes.
I touched his slightly reddened cheek. "It's very, very warm. But not boring at all."
"For me, it's almost like...fire. You make me melt," he said in a somewhat self-conscious whisper. "And I don't know if...that's good. On second thought, it isn't good at all."
"Why?"
A shadow of fear crossed his face. "Because I don't want anything bad to happen to you, on account of me."
"It's this damned village," I hissed.
Lefou gulped. "W-we must only be friends, Stanley. Friends. Nothing more."
Tears pricked the back of my eyes. "I understand. For your safety, as well."
"Gaston is dead, Stanley. He did protect me from what people could've thought. Everybody just assumed the way I acted sometimes- y'know, the singing and dancing in the tavern- was a joke. Just us being best friends and old war buddies. Me being silly, not holding my liquor well. If something starts involving you, people will finally realize something's up. We have to be careful."
I had heard stories from Dick before. My brother, the jovial and friendly blacksmith that he was, heard gossip from talking to strangers from other villages and towns. Juicy, 'harmless' gossip about men who had been shamed. More than shamed, in fact. Men strung up in trees. Nooses tied around their necks.
Because of who they loved.
I wondered who could possibly hurt us if they found out. Or who might tell to someone else who would. Not Dick or Tom! Mon Dieu, it couldn't ever be Dick. My own brother? He couldn't. And certainly not Tom, who was also like a brother.
Pere Robert? Whose authority would be backed up by Scripture? Never. He was too kind and pious.
The bartender? I didn't think so. He was quiet and kept his opinions to himself, content with selling his drinks and not minding anyone's personal business.
His wife, Colette, was more talkative, did know everyone's business, and she tended to wear the trousers in their relationship. But the round-bodied woman with the elaborate hairdo adored both Lefou and I. She was the village's equivalent of Madame de Garderobe. We could do no wrong in her eyes.
Monsieur Durand, the aging schoolmaster who had taught me? The stern man would have a soft spot for me. I was once his favorite student, because I was sharp at arithmetic and reading. The baker, the butcher- every other adult man? Too involved with their own families, wives, children and livelihoods. Why would we offend them?
I found myself feeling paranoid, as if anyone we trusted could turn on us. Friendly faces we hold dear, the good citizens of Villeneuve, flashed before my eyes. It hurt to imagine all of them that way. Wielding torches, ropes, and guns. Forming another angry mob.
One must only tread in safe waters. I embraced Lefou again, loving the feel of his firm grip around my waist.
"My beloved friend...forever." I said, feeling joyous but crushed all at once.
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