Theresa had seemed so strong the night before, and it had given Giovanni hope. She lay in the back of the hearse listlessly, her face pale and her eyelids drooping. Giovanni sat beside her, stroking her hair, biting his lip worriedly and waiting for Rene to return. He wished that he at least knew what Rene was doing; the hearse had come to a stop and Rene had told them not to leave it.
The door swung open and Rene climbed up into the back of the hearse. He was carrying something, and when he drew closer, Giovanni saw that it was a bottle of milk. "There's a farmhouse nearby," said Rene, "I was able to buy this from them. It's for Theresa."
Giovanni took the bottle, examining it. Milk was expensive. The farmers he'd worked for in Lyon wouldn't even share it. "It'll help her regain her strength," continued Rene. He reached for Theresa now. "Come on, help me sit her up."
Giovanni pushed Rene's hands away. Regardless of Rene's intentions, he didn't want him touching Theresa. Giovanni slipped his hands under Theresa's arms and gently pulled her into a seated position. She groaned, and he shifted her, trying to put as little weight as possible onto her wounded leg. Rene uncapped the bottle and held it to Theresa's lips. She reached for him, her hand shaking, and helped him hold the bottle. She drank slowly, consuming half the bottle. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, staring sleepily at Rene.
"Thank you," she said. Despite her tiredness, Giovanni could hear the sincerity in her voice and see the adoration in her eyes. She loved Rene, and this suddenly frightened him. True, Rene had saved her life, and she was indebted to him; any woman would worship such a man. Still, what did Rene want from her? What would he do to get it? Would he take her, claiming that she owed him her life, that she had to repay him? Worse, would she let him? Were her eyes so clouded by love that she wouldn't be able to see his true intentions until it was too late?
Giovanni would find some other way to repay Rene for his kindness. He would not let him have Theresa, would not let him hurt her. Rene was rummaging through his pack, pulling out some bread and breaking it into pieces. He handed a piece to Theresa and she ate it slowly, gratefully.
"How much further is Lyon?" asked Giovanni.
"Another day at least," said Rene. He finished his own piece of bread. Giovanni nodded. "Do you think you could drive for a bit? I didn't sleep well last night…"
It would be unfair to deny Rene his sleep, but Giovanni hated the idea of him alone with Theresa. "If he touches you, I want you to scream as loud as you can," whispered Giovanni. Theresa looked up at him, frowning.
"I don't intend to do anything improper," said Rene, his voice angry.
"I can't help it if soldiers are known for their wandering hands."
"I saved both of your lives, and this is how you treat me?"
"Giovanni, stop it." Theresa's voice was faint, but she sat up, lifting her head off of his shoulder. "I trust Rene. He's a good person."
Giovanni sighed. Arguing was pointless; it only slowed them down. Arguing took up precious time that could be spent getting home. "I'm sorry," said Giovanni. He climbed out of the hearse, shutting the door carefully. He went to the mule and re-hitched it, forcing himself not to think about Rene and Theresa.
~xXx~
He'd woken up with a pounding headache, but he'd gotten up and started working without complaint. The tents would not pitch themselves, and the crisp morning air made him feel better, if only a little bit. Heracles pounded the stakes into the ground, listening to the chatter of the other roustabouts. Their conversations seemed to drift closer and closer to the events of the previous night, and he found himself wishing he'd never left his caravan.
"Heracles?"
He'd been too lost in thought to notice Rosalie's approach. "Oh. Hello." Heracles was suddenly aware of the dirt that covered his hands and wiped them on his pants.
"I need to talk to you."
"Of course." He glanced around, suddenly wondering where they could go for privacy. Would it be improper to bring her back to his caravan? Well, he'd had Frieda there the other night; Frieda was only a friend, though. He harbored no desires for her.
"Here, Heracles." Quasimodo was approaching, motioning for Heracles to hand him the stakes and the hammer. "I'll finish this." He nodded to Rosalie. "Good morning, Rosalie."
"Good morning."
"Thank you." Heracles led Rosalie to his caravan, desperately hoping that it wasn't a complete and total mess. "We can talk in here," he said, opening the door for her and following her inside. He lit a lamp, relieved to see that he'd had enough sense the previous night to put away the brandy bottle. He dragged a few stools out of the corner where they were stacked. "How are you?" he asked.
Rosalie sat down, and he sat opposite her. "I…I have no idea," she said, shaking her head. "This is happening too fast."
"I know. Listen, though, if you need any help – "
"Actually, I do." Rosalie was fiddling with her hands. It made him remember Marie, the way she'd wrung her hands in anxiety. "Dmitri and Marie need a place to live," said Rosalie. "I want to give them my house."
"But where will you live?"
"Well…I was wondering…if perhaps you'd like to stay in Lyon for a bit…"
Heracles could only stare at her. Did she really want him to stay with her? Did she really want to build a life with him? Abandoning the circus would be difficult at first; it would be hard to adjust to a stationary life. Of course, Hans would be upset, but Frieda would understand. They could always find another strong man; Heracles knew that he wasn't irreplaceable. Besides, he was getting older and the weights seemed to be getting heavier. Maybe it was time for him to retire.
"Just until the baby comes," continued Rosalie, "I – I'd go with you if you didn't want to leave the circus. I'd just like to stay with Marie until the baby comes."
"Of course," said Heracles. He reached out and took her hands. She did not pull away, but wove her fingers between his. "I would love to stay with you."
"Thank you," she said, "oh, thank you so much!"
She hugged him. He wrapped his arms around her. He could feel the curves of her body even though she was pressed flat against him. He could feel her heart beating, he could smell her. He closed his eyes, wishing the moment could last forever.
~xXx~
The back of the hearse had frightened her at first, but she'd grown used to it. It really wasn't so bad. It was dark, yes, but warm. The pain in her leg and shoulder seemed to come and go; there were moments when she felt nothing, but they were often followed by moments of pure agony. Rene was sitting in the back of the hearse with her, holding the lantern. His head drooped forward, resting against his chest as he attempted to get comfortable enough to sleep.
"Lie down," said Theresa. The back of the hearse was far bigger than it had initially looked. She'd moved over, her uninjured shoulder touching the wall, to create space for Rene.
Rene shook his head. "No," he said, "your cousin…I mean, I don't want to appear improper…"
"Giovanni's being stupid," she said, "stupid and unreasonable."
Rene lay down, but he did so with reluctance, and he pressed himself against the opposite wall, creating a huge gap between them. Theresa watched him as he set the lamp down carefully. "How are you feeling?" he asked.
"I'm all right," she said.
"The wounds, do they hurt at all?"
"It comes and goes." She was tempted to edge closer to him. She wanted to hold his hand again. Giovanni would disapprove, though, and she refrained. "Thank you."
He looked at her, turning his head. "What?"
"You know what I'm talking about," she said, "you pulled the arrows out and sewed the wounds shut. You saved my life. Thank you."
"You don't need to thank me," he said. He closed his eyes, smiling faintly, drifting into sleep. "I wouldn't have let you die. You're far too pretty to be a corpse."
She watched him, not knowing what to say. She liked him enough, liked talking to him, liked being with him. Part of her wondered if he really did feel something for her, if he did indeed have a heart. Perhaps he did, and perhaps there was love in it for her. Theresa closed her eyes, wishing that she could hold Rene's hand as she drifted into sleep.