The next morning, Adam discovered that, despite his best efforts, his days of keeping a low profile in Molyneaux were over. Virtually overnight, word of the wolf attack - and Adam's dubious heroics - had spread throughout the village. From almost the moment he woke, he found himself beset by a seemingly endless parade of well wishers.
It all started when he limped into the tavern's main room, where Clothilde was busy setting out Gaston's breakfast. A large, round tray was balanced precariously in one of her hands, while the other hand carefully transferred several smaller dishes of eggs, bread, and porridge from the tray to the table. She gasped when she caught sight of Adam coming down the stairs. "You shouldn't be on your feet!" she admonished him, with almost motherly concern.
She thrust the tray unceremoniously into Gaston's hands before hastening to Adam's side. "Wha - hey!" Gaston sputtered, narrowly avoiding spilling his meal onto his lap.
Whatever grudge Clothilde had been holding against Adam appeared to be forgotten as she gently took his elbow and led him over to a seat at the nearest table. Then she dragged another chair, this one outfitted with a small stack of cushions, over to him. "Is that all right?" she fretted as she helped Adam to prop up his injured leg. "I can grab another pillow from upstairs if you think it will help."
"Uh, no, this is fine," Adam replied.
"Are you sure?"
"He said it's fine!" Gaston snapped, causing both Adam and Clothilde to jump. "For the love of me, it's just a little scratch!"
"I'm fine, really," Adam assured her quietly, his brow furrowing as she continued to fuss over the arrangement of the cushions. What is going on? It crossed his mind that maybe this wasn't Clothilde at all - maybe she had switched shifts (and dresses too? a little voice in his head surmised doubtfully) with one of her sisters. "Er, Clothilde ..?" he said uncertainly.
"Yes, Étienne?" she responded, raising her eyes to his and smiling expectantly.
So much for that theory. Adam shook his head in bemusement. "Um ... thanks."
Things only got stranger from there. While Clothilde was off fetching Adam some breakfast, Jérôme arrived - with an entourage.
Jérôme's companions huddled behind him as he peeked around the edge of the tavern door. "Are you sure he's in there?" one of them asked.
"Move your head, I can't see anything!" another piped up.
"Yes, he's there!" Jérôme exclaimed. "I see him!" That announcement set off a scuffle as more than a dozen people tried to jockey their way through the door all at once.
Gaston leaned back in his chair and smiled knowingly. "Please, please, one at a time. There's plenty of me to go a..." - his jaw dropped as the group thundered right past him without so much as a glance his way - "...round."
In the blink of an eye, Adam went from sitting alone to being the center of the crowd. Men, women, and children - none of whom were familiar to him - pressed in on him from all sides, and Adam breathed a sigh of relief when Jérôme finally managed to push his way to the front.
"Jérôme, what is all this?" he asked.
"I told these guys about what happened yesterday, but they didn't believe me. So I said they should come and see you for themselves," Jérôme replied.
"Look at his leg!" one wide-eyed young woman whispered excitedly. "It's just like he said!"
"So it's true then!" her friend said. "About the wolves and everything! Just how big were they?"
"They were enormous!" Jérôme exclaimed, before Adam could even open his mouth to respond. He threw his arms out wide to illustrate his point. "The biggest one had to be at least two hundred - no, three hundred livres!"
"I don't know if he was quite that big," Adam demurred, though he found himself smiling at Jérôme's enthusiasm in spite of himself.
"Did he have a long, ugly snout?" shouted a man at the back of the crowd.
"Hideously ugly!" Jérôme confirmed gleefully. "With sharp, cruel fangs to boot!" He curled his index fingers in front of his grinning mouth and snarled playfully at a little girl. She squealed in delight before burying her face in her mother's skirt. Meanwhile, Gaston glowered in stony silence as his fellow villagers continued to pepper Adam with breathless questions about the attack. Every other word Adam uttered - when he was actually permitted to get a word in edgewise - was punctuated by gasps of horror or exuberant cheers from his newfound friends, the circle of which only seemed to grow larger as the morning wore on.
"You should have seen it, Gaston," M. Farine effused some time later. He had come by to bring Adam a pie that his wife had baked as a token of her appreciation. "It was just like something you would have done."
Gaston seized on M. Farine's words of praise like - well, like a wolf pouncing on its prey. "But of course we all know that if I had been there, those wolves never would have gotten away," he boasted, loudly enough for the entire tavern to hear him. His lip curled into a little sneer as he looked down at Adam out of the corner of his eye. "I guess it just goes to show, it takes a real man to finish the job. It's like that time I was out in the forest tracking elk, and the biggest bear I'd ever seen suddenly came charging out of the trees. I only had a split-second to react before he tore me to pieces, but did I panic? No! I came home that day with my elk and a brand new rug for the tavern," he said, pointing with pride to the large bearskin lying in front of the fireplace. "That bear thought he had me, but I made sure that the last thing he ever saw was the business end of my rifle."
"But Étienne didn't have a rifle!" M. Farine interjected, gesturing plaintively to Adam. "All he had was a mop, and he still managed to fight off all three of those wolves. I've never seen anything so daring in all my years!"
Gaston snorted derisively. "That's not daring, that's just stupid." But no one heard him over the renewed round of cheers for Adam's bravery.
Gaston, it seemed, was the only person in the village who wasn't interested in rehashing every gory detail of Adam's death-defying misadventures. In fact, despite the increase in business it had brought to the tavern, he had been downright furious to hear about what had happened at the mill. Whether he was belaboring the fact that Adam had deserted the tavern (it was no use pointing out that Clothilde had still been there to keep an eye on things), bemoaning the doctor's orders that Adam abstain from manual labor ("Don't expect me to pay you to sit around all day," he had grumbled), or berating Adam for breaking his mop (the costs for a new one, were, evidently, being deducted directly from Adam's already measly salary), he didn't miss a single opportunity to express his displeasure.
But beneath it all, Adam sensed that Gaston's true reason for being angry with him had little to do with his abrupt disappearance, or his inability to work, or the damaged cleaning supplies. With every visitor who came to pat Adam on the back, Gaston's mood seemed to become more and more sour. It was obvious that Adam's status as a newly-minted town hero was not sitting well with him.
It's not as if I asked for any of this, Adam wanted to remind him. To the contrary, he had been trying his very best not to be noticed by anyone since he had gone on the run. Although, if he was honest with himself, a tiny part of him was enjoying the attention - just a little bit. To his surprise, the admiration of the villagers actually felt kind of ... nice. It wasn't like the empty flattery he was used to fielding from the sycophants who normally frequented his social circles. The respect of the villagers was genuine, and it was deserved. They weren't being nice to him simply because of who he was; for a change, he had actually done something worthy of the praise being heaped on him, and it was more gratifying than he ever would have expected it to be.
And if Adam harbored any lingering misgivings about the attention, most of them were dispelled by a visit from one admirer in particular. "Belle!" Gaston exclaimed, flashing what was probably his first genuine grin of the morning as she wandered, with an expression full of wonder, into the busy tavern. "What a surprise to see you in here! Do you need a drink? I can send Clothilde to get you something ... er, as soon as I can find her. Why don't you come have a look at my trophies in the meantime?"
"Oh." Belle froze in place like a child caught sneaking sweets. Her eyes darted awkwardly from Gaston over to Adam and then back to Gaston. "No ... but thank you, Gaston. I actually came by to see Étienne."
"I see." Gaston's lips remained frozen in a smile, but something hardened in his icy blue eyes. "Well, he's right there," he replied, with a careless flick of his wrist. "As you can see." The uncharacteristic petulance in his voice was hard to miss. He stomped away to his armchair near the fireplace, and the fall of his heavy boots caused the floorboards to reverberate with each step.
Belle's eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch as she watched him storm off. Then she blinked, shook her head, and hurried over to Adam's table. "How is your shoulder?" Adam asked as she took the seat across from him and set her basket on the floor.
"Much better today," Belle said. "The bruising still looks pretty bad, but it hurts a lot less. How is your leg?" she asked, gesturing toward Adam's bandaged limb.
"It feels all right," Adam replied, giving his leg a little bounce atop the cushions. "M. Sentirbien came by a little while ago to change the dressings. It still looks ... ugly ... and I'll probably end up with some scars, but he says they may actually help me impress a nice girl one day." He gave her a crooked smile, and Belle laughed before ducking her head, almost shyly. She tugged a little on the sleeve of her blouse before looking back up at him, and it dawned on Adam that she hadn't come solely to check up on his injuries. At the same time, he was acutely aware of Gaston watching them from across the room. Gaston had been studying the same spot on the wall since Belle had sat down, but there was an emptiness in his gaze that suggested that his attention actually lay elsewhere. "So, er, what did you want to see me about?" Adam asked quietly.
Belle's cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. She reached into her basket and retrieved a small parcel wrapped in brown paper, which she placed on the table between them. "I wanted to bring you this." Adam looked at her questioningly. "I know I thanked you yesterday, but I just wanted you to know that I really appreciate what you did."
"This ... is for me?" Adam asked in surprise. Belle nodded, and he reached hesitantly for the package. "Should I open it now?"
"Well, you don't have to." Belle's gaze flickered uneasily in Gaston's direction; apparently she, too, had noticed that they were being watched.
"No, no, I'll open it now," Adam said, with a touch of defiance. Gaston and his fragile ego could hang it. He tugged at the string holding the wrappings together, and the paper fell away to reveal some sort of knitted object. He lifted the object, and it unfurled in his hands into a long, irregular length of wool. Que diable ... ?
"It's a scarf," Belle whispered in a rush, turning an even deeper shade of pink.
"Obviously," Adam agreed, without missing a beat.
"I made it last night."
"I ... you made this? For me?" Adam asked in amazement.
"I stayed up all night working on it, so that I could finish it by morning. I know it isn't the prettiest scarf. I tried to follow the instructions, but ...I'm not very good at knitting, to be honest."
That's an understatement, Adam thought. Nevertheless, he was touched by the gesture. The thought that Belle had foregone sleep just to make this for him stirred something within him that he didn't quite understand. It wasn't like the euphoric thrill of a risky wager suddenly paying off, or the pleasant, languid feeling of succumbing to a boozy oblivion, but it was somewhere in between the two. It felt good, and he had the strangest sense as he turned the scarf over in his hands that he had gained something more valuable than just an ugly, misshapen piece of winter wear.
"You said that you were robbed," Belle hurried on, mistaking his silence for contempt. "And I thought that since the thieves took all of your things, you probably didn't have much in the way of warm clothing - or, any clothing, really. And winter is coming, and I don't know if you'll even still be here by then, but it gets very cold, so ... -"
"Thank you." Adam's hand shot out to cover hers, as if that could somehow stop her absurdly apologetic rambling. They both looked down in surprise, and Adam quickly withdrew his hand. He cleared his throat. "Thank you," he said again. "No one has ever done anything like this for me before." That was actually true, he realized with a start. He had been given plenty of gifts before, of course - and most of them had been infinitely more extravagant than this one. But he doubted that any of them had been given in a spirit of such thoughtfulness and generosity. Most often, if not always, they had been given out of obligation, or with the expectation that they would somehow be repaid in the future. "And you're right, I don't have anything like this. I will treasure it."
"Really?" Belle beamed at him, and it felt like the sun had broken through the dusty tavern windows. A warmth spread through him at her smile, starting in his chest and making its way to the tips of his fingers and toes before finally reaching his face. Suddenly, he was seized by a desire to reciprocate her gesture - to do something for her. But he couldn't afford flowers, or chocolates, or any of the usual things he gave to women - and he doubted that any of those things would have impressed Belle much anyway. And then, before he had time to think it through any further, he blurted, "Iwanttoreplaceyourbook."
"I - what?"
"Your book - or, your friend's book, rather," Adam repeated, more slowly this time. "The one that was ruined. I'm guessing you never got to finish your portrait session with Mme. Farine. So let me replace it for you. It was my fault it got ruined anyway."
"Oh." Belle made a pained face. "That's very kind of you, Étienne. But I couldn't possibly ask you to do that, not after everything that's already happened to you. Besides, it wasn't even really your fault," she admitted. "I should have been paying more attention to where I was going."
"And I shouldn't have just barged out the door without bothering to see who or what was on the other side," Adam countered. "It was at least half my fault. So let me pay for half then." Belle opened her mouth to protest again, but he forged on before she could say no. "You're not asking, I'm offering."
Belle bit her lip uncertainly, and Adam was sure she was about to argue further, but then something in her expression softened unexpectedly. "All right," she agreed. "We'll split it. If you're sure, that is."
"I'm sure," Adam insisted. "I'm not certain when exactly I'll be able to do it, but I promise I will. You'll have a new copy of A Midsummer Night's Dream as soon as I can manage it."
"Thank you," Belle replied. "That's really very - wait." She sat up straight and gave him a long, searching look. "How did you know it was A Midsummer Night's Dream?"
"I read it off the cover when I ..." Adam broke off, his eyes widening as he realized that he was about to broach a subject that might still be a bit sore. But he wasn't quick enough to lie his way out of it, and so he continued, reluctantly, with the truth. "When I, uh, when I was in your house ...," he finished lamely. He rubbed the back of his neck and shot her an apologetic look.
Disbelief flashed across Belle's face. "You can read?"
Adam bristled at her incredulous tone. "Of course I can read!" he exclaimed, causing the few people in the tavern who weren't already watching them to look their way curiously. "I'm not stupid," he hissed, leaning across the table.
"I know you aren't!" Belle assured him quickly, looking somewhat taken aback by his outburst. "I didn't mean to suggest that you are. It's just that, well, most people around here can't read."
Adam sat back and crossed his arms. "Well it isn't my fault that you're surrounded by a bunch of illiterate fools," he grumbled, feeling only slightly mollified.
"They aren't fools," Belle said. She kept her voice low, but there was a noticeable sharpness to it. "And it isn't their fault that they can't read - well, it isn't all their fault. Most of them never had the opportunity to learn."
Adam frowned. "Your village has a school, doesn't it?"
"Of course it does," Belle replied. "But very few children are fortunate enough to attend it for very long. Most of them leave once they're old enough to do more useful things, like sow the fields, or tend to the animals, or care for their siblings." There was more than a trace of bitterness in the way she said the word "useful." "If they learn to read and write their own names, their parents consider that good enough."
"No wonder everyone around here thinks Gaston is so great," Adam muttered. "They don't know any more than he does."
Belle sighed. "It's not just here. It's been like that in almost every village I've lived in since I was small. It must be nice to live somewhere where reading isn't considered a waste of time."
"Hmmm," Adam murmured noncommittally, but she continued to look at him as if she expected him to say more. "Uh, yeah, I guess it must be?" he added with a shrug.
"Well don't you know?" Belle asked pointedly.
"Why would I ..." And that was when Adam realized that he had made a mistake - just not the one he thought he had made. All of the furtive remarks he had overheard the townspeople making behind Belle's back suddenly made sense: Belle stuck out like a sore thumb among her peers, and it wasn't just because she liked to read, but because she could. This ability marked her as different from the rest of them, and, Adam now realized, it marked him as different as well. The long, boring childhood afternoons that he had spent glued to a desk while his tutors drilled him on his letters were not the norm for the average citizenry.
Fortunately for him, he was saved from having to concoct some hasty explanation by Clothilde. "Bonjour, Belle!" she chirped, appearing alongside the table. "Are you staying for breakfast?"
"Bonjour, Clothilde," Belle replied cheerfully. "And no, I'm afraid I'm not. Actually," she continued, reaching for the basket on the floor, "I should be going. I still have some chores to finish. I just stopped by to have a word with Étienne."
"Belle!" Gaston called out as she got to her feet. "You're not leaving already, are you?" He swung his legs down from the armrest of his chair and rose from the seat.
"I've got to go!" Belle gasped, her eyes darting quickly toward the exit. "Goodbye!" And with that, she was gone.
Clothilde shook her head as Belle disappeared into the crowd. "Sometimes I wonder what's wrong with that girl," she sighed.
"There's nothing wrong with her," Adam retorted, with more vehemence than he had intended.
Clothilde lifted an eyebrow. "So are you two friends?" Adam didn't respond, and, eventually, Clothilde shrugged a shoulder before flouncing off to greet another group of villagers who had just arrived.
But her question lingered in Adam's thoughts long after she left him. Are Belle and I friends? he wondered. He ran a thumb absently over the edge of the lumpy scarf in his hands. The events of the last twenty-four hours had certainly gone a long way toward helping them bridge their differences. They had risked their lives for each other, which was more than he would have expected of any of the people he had called his friends, back when there had actually been something to gain by earning his favor. He found himself warming to her company despite their initially rocky relationship, and if the fact that she had sought him out that morning said anything, it was that she felt the same. But did that qualify as friendship? He wasn't sure. But maybe - just maybe - there was something there that hadn't been there before.
Thank you to TrudiRose for her advice on this chapter, and especially for helping me see to it that Gaston is suitably Gaston-y (Gastonian? Gastonish?). :)
