Chapter 26- Father-Son Chat, and Lefou's Confession
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A.N. -I've been writing in this fandom since 2011, and had a habit of pairing ALL of the characters, having them marry and have children. Joke's on me for making every single character 'straight by default.' My bad!
I've gone back to alter bits of my old stories to reflect the new canon about Lefou. He's a VERY beloved character to me, and I'm overjoyed that he's more complex and a good guy now! So- here's some father-son bonding between a middle-aged Lefou and his 20-year-old son. The year this scene is set is 1792, which works out perfectly for their conversation. I read recently that in 1791, being gay was declared no longer a crime punishable by death in France.
One more chapter left, I think. This horribly meandering, convoluted, "needs-to-be-put-out-to-the-pasture-or-preferably-shot" fanfic is ALMOST wrapped up. -Civilwarrose
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The morning after the festive ball at the castle, Henri-Gaston Lefou realized he never asked his parents' blessing before he proposed to Felicity Cogsworth. He had driven home with his friend Auguste after the party. By the time he arrived home, Papa, Maman, and his three younger siblings were already asleep.
He rose early to take care of the horses in the stable. When he returned to the cottage he found his Papa making tea in a kettle over the fireplace. The tea kettle whistled, and Lefou picked it up fumblingly, turning toward Henri with the pot in his hand. Hot boiling tea sprayed from it, hitting Henri in the leg.
"Whoa! Ouch!" said Henri.
"Sorry!" Lefou replied, giving his son a dishcloth and apologizing for his clumsiness. "Big party at the castle last night, huh?" He poured two cups while Henri wiped his tea-sprayed trousers with the rag. It didn't hurt.
"Yeah," Henri-Gaston said as he accepted a cup of the English tea. English- just like his Félicie. "Um, say, can I talk to you a minute?"
"Sure!" replied the elder Lefou. "You look nervous. What's eating ya?"
Henri's mother Sophie came down to the kitchen and poured herself a cup of tea. "Honey, what is it you want to tell us?" she asked.
"Maman, Papa, I want to ask your blessing. I've decided to propose to Felicity," Henri admitted.
"Wow! Congratulations! It's...sudden, but that's great!" his Papa exclaimed.
Sophie rushed to him and hugged him around the waist. "I'm so happy for you! When's the wedding? What could I help with?" she exclaimed. "If we were to have your wedding at the castle, it would be so beautiful!"
"Maybe," Henri said with a laugh after his mother's loving hug. "I don't know when it'll be. But here's the problem. She doesn't want to move to the village. She wants to stay at the castle with her folks and keep cooking there. And...Monsieur Cogsworth said he's short-staffed with wine-making. So...that means I might start work in the castle full time...is that okay?"
His father's happy bubble seemed to deflate a little. "Oh. Okay." he said.
"I can still come down and work for you on weekends, Pop."
"Can you give us a couple weeks to find some new help for the brewing?"
"Sure. Of course, Papa."
The stouter and older of the two Monsieur Lefous donned his coat and hat and prepared to leave for work at the Tavern. There was brewing to be started, and the prepared beer and ale needed to be poured from vats into wooden kegs. The large distilleries needed to be cleaned out every day.
Henri-Gaston followed his Papa out the door, and they walked across the cobblestone street to the tavern. The crisp winter morning sun had just risen; the sky was a lovely hue of pink and soft periwinkle blue. Henri glanced up to the mountain range that loomed over the village. He saw the top spire of the castle in the distance, and imagined Felicity was already up, preparing breakfast in their bustling kitchen. Her father was surely busy with ordering the staff around in his endearingly pompous, stuffy way, checking his pocketwatch every minute. He silently wished Felicity a 'good morning.'
"You can go up to see her this afternoon if you want," Lefou said, giving his son a knowing wink.
"I can? Thanks!"
They came to the brewing room at the rear of the building. The familiar, sweet-bitter smell of the beer in the distillery greeted their noses, and they set to work with stirring, scooping and pouring it into bottles and jugs. Lefou stood on a sturdy ladder to reach the top of the distillery vat, while Henri-Gaston collected each filled jug and set it carefully on a rough old wooden table.
"I can't wait to marry her, Pop," Henri said. "She's the most gorgeous girl I've ever laid eyes on..."
"How many times have I heard you say that?" Lefou asked with a laugh. "You sure she's the one?"
Henri-Gaston, now twenty, had been girl-crazy since the time he was about eleven. First it was Noelle, then there was Juliette, Camille, and Monique. Henri used up much of his earnings at the flower shop, needless to say. But he was too shy to talk to them. He'd always bought his crushes anonymous flowers and gifts. Felicity was the first girl he'd ever interacted with at a deeper level.
"Yeah. She's the one! Say, Pop...how many girls did you fall for before you married Maman?"
"Uh..." Lefou's upbeat attitude crumpled and he looked a little uncomfortable. "Don't remember."
"I bet you liked Gigi, Mimi and Fifi, right?" Henri said with a grin.
"Uh...sure. The triplets were...always pretty ladies."
"Weren't they in love with Gaston?" Henri-Gaston asked. He saw his father cringing when he uttered those words, but went on. "From what I remember Maman telling me, every girl in town loved him except Princess Belle. She must've known he was nasty on the outside when everyone else couldn't see it, right?"
"I need some more empty jugs," Lefou said in an uncharacteristically flat tone.
"Pop, what's wrong?" Henri asked in confusion as he fetched some glass jugs and handed them up. "You never want to talk about Gaston anymore. I miss all the stories you used to tell, the hunting tales. Why are you so...weird about him now?" he pressed. "I know he was a horrible man and you were blind to that back then. But you had perfect reason to believe he was a great hero. That he 'killed the Beast to protect our town and save the castle.'"
"But we found out the truth."
"Yeah, it was a lie, but they lied to protect His Highness. So now we know the Beast was Prince Adam. Don't feel bad about it. It's all in the past!" he insisted, trying to cheer his father up.
Papa's usually jolly face had a look of sorrow, Henri observed. His eyes seemed to be hiding some sort of inner, hidden torment.
Henri just wanted to understand.
"Henri, can I...tell you something?" Lefou asked in a grim tone after a few moments. "A confession. I finally worked up the nerve to tell Father Guillaume after church last week...but, please don't tell your mother."
"What is it?" Henri was sobered.
Lefou took a deep breath, thought for a moment, and decided to ask his son a question.
"Have you ever loved someone so much...that you would put up with anything just to have them smile at you once in a while?"
"Well, I love Felicity a lot. She smiles at me all the time. And I don't have to 'put up with anything' because she's never made me mad. Not even once!" Henri-Gaston replied.
Lefou took a sample taste of his own fresh beer from the ladle he was holding. He sighed heavily after swallowing it, and spoke again.
"Have you ever loved someone so much...that a slap on the shoulder from them, or a punch to the head, or being picked up and thrown by that person made your insides...melt with happiness?"
Henri gave his father a bewildered look. "Can't say that. Maman's punched you?" He laughed nervously. "She doesn't seem like she could pick you up and throw you. But I'd rather not picture it if she can-"
"I wasn't talking about your mother."
Henri was silent. He stared at his father's round, flushed face. His expression of shame was making Henri squirm uncomfortably. There was something deep and painful in his father's life. It had been stuffed away for over twenty years behind a persona of merriment, cheerful hard work and a happy-go-lucky attitude.
After a few awkward moments, Henri began to understand things.
The portrait of Gaston that used to dominate the wall above the fireplace. The bouquets of fresh red roses his father would always arrange around it. The candles, creating a shrine. The early memories of Papa actually talking to the painting, an expression of pure devotion on his upturned, sometimes tear-glistened face. It seemed like more than just respect and honor for an old friend.
More like worship, awe, and heart-wrenching adoration. One time, little Henri heard him use the endearment 'mon beau' at the portrait, which puzzled him even at that age. Maman always called Papa 'mon beau.' Why would a man call another man that?
It began to dawn on Henri. He wasn't ignorant. For a fleeting second he was struck with a bit of revulsion at the idea. What about Maman?
Henri recalled a book that he'd read at the village library- the library that Princess Belle had established years ago. It was a wartime novel about two men. They were friends, but the bond they shared was honestly the most touching love story Henri had ever read. There had been something more than just friendship between those two brave soldiers of olden days. It could happen. And if this was his father's long-hidden secret, Henri would be okay with that.
"It was him, wasn't it?" Henri asked gently.
"Yeah," Lefou whispered.
"But you always loved Maman, too, right?"
"Yeah."
"Did you fall in love with Maman the same way you fell in love with...him?"
"No." The answer was spoken in a very quiet whisper. Henri saw his father's eyes reddening. He watched him wipe his face with his coat sleeve.
"But isn't how you feel about her a lie?" Henri blurted out, immediately regretting it. "You said Maman lied to you about Gaston killing the Beast, when she knew the Beast was His Highness all along. But isn't this a lie?"
"No! It's not a lie! I love your mother! In a different way- but I do!" Lefou shot back in indignation, stunning Henri.
"I'm sorry. I just...don't understand."
Lefou rubbed his forehead in increasing anguish.
"I've always been different. You know how...when you were eleven or twelve...how your heart started going all crazy about the girls in school? Well, that didn't happen to me as a kid. My heart was going crazy all right, but for the wrong person! I couldn't tell anybody. It was like...a curse."
Henri nodded. "It's okay, Papa. Don't feel bad. Did it...change when you met Maman?"
"I dunno...It kind of did. Not really. I dunno..." He faltered a moment, then spoke more confidently. "She became my best friend. I thought I was gonna die from how much it hurt when Gaston was killed, Henri! She made me happy again. She was kind, and cute, and sweet. She acted like she admired me, and she cared. She let me grieve. You know? I was so used to being treated...like an object."
He wiped his eye with his coat sleeve again before pouring another ladle of beer into a jug.
"I know he was cruel to you," said Henri. "I heard Maman say that lots of times about him. Before you found out the truth, you always defended him."
Lefou climbed down from the ladder, sat down on a nearby chair, and set the jug down. He stared hard at the grubby floor.
"After Gaston died, I met your mother, and yeah, I loved her, too. We got along great, that's why. I knew she'd make the perfect wife. One of Prince Adam's scullery maids- who better to cook for me?" He chuckled lightly. "And I had to fit in! No one could know how I felt..."
"Of course no one could know, Papa!" Henri exclaimed, his eyes stinging from the thought of what could have happened to him. "What they could have done to you back then..."
Lefou gulped and nodded. "Yeah. There- there was no way. I- I wanted a family like everybody else. Marrying her was the best choice I ever made."
"But what about...other men?" Henri cautiously asked. "I don't mean to be curious, but do you ever..."
"Sometimes. I mean, the- the feelings," he whispered, looking extremely uncomfortable as he stared down at the gold buckles on his brown shoes. "But they usually have wives, anyway. I...just look away and let it pass."
"I would never have guessed it, Papa. Does Maman know?"
"No!" he exclaimed, his eyes closed in a sense of relief. "Maman was sheltered. She spent ten years as a chair in the castle. She never learned about stuff like that. She only knows that men marry women, and they have children. She's smart in some ways, but...she's more naive than me in that way."
"Oh." Henri's mind was spinning with this revelation. How could have this been hidden so? He knew his father loved his mother dearly. There had been no doubt.
"Does it...still affect you? Like to this day?" he asked, feeling like he'd crossed a very, very personal line.
Lefou shook his head and sighed. "Not as much. Remember what I always tell Jean about eating cake?"
His tone went back to cheerful at the mention of his younger son, who was practically his clone. Henri took a relaxed breath, now knowing he hadn't offended him. "What do you mean? Yeah, I know Jean loves cake."
"I tell him...when he sees a delicious cake, and he wants to eat it so bad- but it's for a party and it's not for him? What he should do?"
"Look away, and sing a happy song to yourself." Henri replied with a smile.
"Exactly."
Henri was always fond of his father's curious habit of bursting into song while working in the busy tavern. He just assumed it was part of his happy-go-lucky personality. Come to think of it, there had been an extremely high frequency of Papa singing whenever Renaud was present.
"Speaking of Jean, I found out he likes a girl in his class," said Henri. "He takes two cinnamon rolls every morning to school. One for himself and one for Elise."
Lefou's expression was that of extreme relief. "I'm glad he does."
"Were you worried that he'll be...too much like you?"
"Yeah. Kinda. But if he was, I'd tell him that he can do whatever he wants to do. That he can't let other people tell him how to run his life."
"You never had that choice, did you?"
"No. Not back then! Your Grand-Pere Henri-Claude was still alive, too! He would have...Mon Dieu, it would've killed him. And I could've been..." He shuddered at the thought. It was the greatest, most lifesaving grace of God that Lefou's feelings were unrequited and that Gaston's heart was-
Gaston's heart? That monster had no heart at all!
Gaston's lusts, to put it frankly- were for pretty girls- especially for Belle. And on a lesser scale, the triplets, whenever he'd had the urge to take cruel advantage of them. Lefou's younger self had once been madly and shamefully jealous of those pretty sisters, though he never showed it.
It was crazy. That whole year was crazy. Lefou barely escaped being called out for his behavior of declaring adoration to the dead man's portrait out loud, hanging on to his grief so tightly. He was nearly reported to Monsieur d'Arque by his own gossipy and spiteful sister, at one point.
Fortunately, that spring, the allegations were put to rest the moment the other villagers saw him holding hands with Sophie.
He'd just taken Gaston's loss hard, that's all, they opined. All he needed was a nice girl. The other men- the old priest, his cousins, his Papa- they all adored Sophie. Their wedding day had been a joyous celebration, a time of spiritual and emotional cleansing. Henri's birth the next year quelled all the rumors, and they became a happy family from then on. He did everything to be a loving husband to her.
His musings of the past were interrupted by his son's voice. "Times are different now, Papa. Last year there were laws made. Those things aren't illegal anymore."
"Oh. Okay. But...it doesn't matter."
"Do you ever wish you could have lived a different way? Followed your feelings?" Henri asked very cautiously. He felt like he was betraying his mother by asking this. His burning curiosity was going to be the death of him.
"No. Me? Never!" Lefou insisted. "If I did, then you and your brother and sisters wouldn't be here. I love your mother so much. I wouldn't change a thing!"
Henri walked over to his father and put a hand on his shoulder. "Do you know what you have- more than anybody I know, Papa?"
"What?"
"Dignity," replied Henri.
"Thanks." Tearfully, he stood up and reached for another empty jug to collect the beer.
The quiet in the room was disturbed when the tavern's front door slammed open, followed by arguing voices. The other three children- Jean, Sylvie and Aimee, burst into the brewing room.
"Papa! Aimee stole my breeches!" shouted Jean.
"Aimee...what are you wearing?" Henri asked with narrowed eyes.
Aimee, the younger of the two girls, was not only wearing her brother's breeches, but she was dressed in boys' clothes from head to toe. Her white blouse was topped by a burgundy waistcoat, her brother's black breeches, and boys' buckle shoes. At least she wore an elegant, pinkish bow tie around her neck. The short and chubby teenage girl with dark, wavy hair looked like a dead ringer for both her father and her little brother Jean.
"She looks ridiculous, Papa! Make her change!" said Sylvie.
"I'M NOT WEARING A DRESS AGAIN FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE!" Aimee shouted with determination.
"How come, Aimee?" Lefou asked his daughter. He pretended to blow his nose with a pocket handkerchief to hide the evidence he'd been crying.
"I was climbing up on Buddy to ride him," said Aimee. "He started walking backwards, and I fell. Stupid Pierre saw me on the ground, and he started teasing me. He was singing "I see London, I see France! I see Aimee's underpants!"
Aimee sang this ditty in a high, nasal voice to mock her tormentor, the 'stupid Pierre.'
"So? I get teased worse than that, Aimee!" argued Jean. Little Jean couldn't keep up with most other boys due to his diminutive height and portly build, and was always picked last for games.
"I'm sick of pantalettes and dresses and petticoats, Papa! I just want to ride horses in comfort. From now on, I'm only wearing trousers!"
"You can't!" scolded Sylvie. "Maman won't like it. It's not ladylike."
"Sylvie, it's okay," said Lefou. "Aimee, I'll talk to Maman. From now on, Aimee- you can dress any way you want."
"Really? Thank you, Papa!" Aimee said, beaming.
Sylvie crossed her arms in disapproval. "You'll probably be a spinster all your life," she warned.
"I don't care. I want to be a spinster! I'll just go work in the castle when I grow up, like Henri. Preferably as a horse groom," Aimee retorted.
"That horse's name shouldn't be Buddy," said Lefou. "It should be 'Beast!" He laughed lightly. "Glad you're okay, mon petite."
The two girls left the tavern, Sylvie looking appalled. Jean stayed behind. "Can I help?" he asked.
"Jean, do you even have to ask? Of course you can help!" Lefou exclaimed. "You two are gonna be the best brewers and beverage makers in France someday! Henri, you got my blessing to marry Felicity and be the beverage-maker for the royal family."
"Merci, Papa!" said Henri.
"But Papa, I don't want to be a beer brewer," said the eleven-year-old. "I want to be a convert violinist."
"Okay, then. Correction!" Lefou raised his index finger, then pointed it to the smaller boy. "Jean, you'll be the best violinist in France. Maybe even the whole world!"
He ruffled Jean's hair, then glanced out the window to see his two daughters skipping back home- one in her pink dress and pinafore, the other quite fetching in her breeches and waistcoat.
He wouldn't have wanted to live his life any other way than he had.