CHAPTER 10
Gaston patted the neck of the dappled grey filly as she carried him across the meadow. Her name was Cerise. She was a far cry from Tristan, his big, spirited black stallion at home. Cerise was a small, pretty, gentle horse; a child would have been safe on her back. But it felt good to be riding any horse, after so long. He had thought that as a dwarf, all his physical activities were lost to him. He was glad to learn it wasn't true.
He looked over at Genevieve, riding a white filly named Fleur. If anyone had ever told him that he would want to keep company with a disfigured girl - or for that matter, any girl who was less than breathtakingly gorgeous - he would have been insulted. But he felt so...comfortable with Genevieve. He'd never known a girl like her. She wasn't silly and giggly and flirty like the blonde triplets back home, or pretentious like Celeste, or dreamy and intellectual like Belle, with her nose in a book and a faraway look in her eyes. Genevieve was practical and down-to-earth and straightforward. She was warm and kind, and fun to be with, and laughed easily. And she liked all the same things he did. They had been seeing a lot of each other over the past month, and each time he left her, he couldn't wait to see her again. He felt as though he had always known her.
She saw him watching her, smiled mischievously, and called, "Race you to that grove of trees!", then took off before he could react.
Gaston grinned, spurred Cerise on, and managed to overtake Fleur seconds before she reached the grove. "The winner and still champion!" he bragged.
She laughed. "Well, you don't have to rub it in." The horses walked side by side through the woods. Gaston breathed deeply, taking in the scent of pine needles. Riding through a forest on horseback, with a girl by his side who admired him...he felt almost like himself again. He realized, with some surprise, that he was close to being happy.
Suddenly he stopped, and motioned to Genevieve to do the same. "What is it?" she asked.
"Shh," he said, holding up a hand. He dismounted, and she followed suit, watching him curiously. She saw him examine a leafy bush, look at the ground, then lick his forefinger and hold it up. "We're downwind," he told her in a low tone. "That's good. Our scent won't carry."
"I don't understand," she whispered, puzzled. "What's going on?"
"Just watch," he whispered back.
They stayed still and silent, waiting. For a minute, nothing happened. Then a majestic stag stepped into the clearing, not more than five feet away. It was huge, with an impressive rack of antlers. Gaston wished he'd brought his gun. At such close range, he was sure he could have brought it down, even without his former abilities. He heard Genevieve's sharp intake of breath. The stag stood for a moment, paused as though suspended in time. Then, seeing them, it leaped through the underbrush and was gone.
Genevieve whistled in admiration. "That was incredible. I've never seen one so close before," she said. "How did you know?"
Gaston took hold of a bush and showed it to her. "These leaves have been nibbled," he explained. "And there--" He pointed at the ground. "See those tracks? They're fresh, not more than a few minutes old. And he was walking, not running, when he made them. I figured that if he was just ambling along, nibbling at the bushes, he was probably still nearby."
Genevieve was impressed. "I bet you were an amazing hunter."
He nodded. "I was."
She sighed. "I wish you still were," she said wistfully. "I love venison, but I hardly ever get the chance to eat it. The last time was at my friend Nathalie's wedding four years ago."
When I'm myself again, I'll get you all the venison you can eat, he thought. He imagined how delighted she would be.
They stopped in a clearing to eat a picnic lunch. Afterward, Gaston leaned back against a tree and closed his eyes, feeling full and content, enjoying the warm sunshine and listening to the birds chirping.
Genevieve lay on her back on the grass with her hands behind her head, watching the clouds drift overhead. They stayed that way in comfortable silence for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts.
Suddenly Genevieve spoke. "Have you ever been in love?" she asked thoughtfully.
Gaston was startled. He stole a glance at her. She was still lying on her back, looking up at the clouds.
He followed her gaze up to the sky and considered the question. "I thought I was, once."
"Really? What was she like?" Genevieve pushed herself up on her elbow, looking interested.
"She was beautiful," replied Gaston, remembering how Belle's long dark hair shone in the sunlight.
"Oh," Genevieve said, musing on this. "What else?"
Gaston looked at her, puzzled. "What do you mean, 'what else'?"
"Well, you loved this girl - or, you thought you did," Genevieve corrected herself. "What did you love about her?"
Gaston thought about it. "Well, nothing, really," he admitted. "She was very odd. She used to read all the time - and I mean all the time. She would actually walk around the village reading, holding a book in front of her face. We were all amazed she didn't bump into things."
Genevieve laughed. "Sounds like a match made in heaven," she teased. "Did she love you?"
"No," he answered. "I asked her to marry me, but she turned me down."
Genevieve's smile vanished. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "That must have been painful for you." She was silent a moment. "But the way you described her...maybe it was for the best. It doesn't sound like you would have been very happy together."
"No, I guess not," Gaston said, and it was a revelation to him. Hearing himself describing Belle aloud...what had he seen in her, anyway? Why had it felt so vitally important to marry her, by any means necessary?
He tried to remember just how his obsession had started. At first he had simply wanted the prestige of having the most beautiful wife in town, he recalled. And then, when she had rejected and humiliated him so publicly, he had been angry and embarrassed. His reputation was at stake. He was determined to prove to everyone that he hadn't lost after all - that he always got what he wanted in the end. That was all that mattered to him.
But, it occurred to him now, if his schemes had worked, and he had succeeded in forcing Belle to marry him against her will...well, right now he'd be spending his life with a woman who hated him. Why had he thought that was a good idea? It was actually pretty stupid, now that he really thought about it. He had never looked beyond the triumphant moment of wedding her and showing the world that he had won.
What a waste, he thought. So many women had adored him, but he had insisted on pursuing the only one who couldn't stand him. And he'd ended up cursed as a result.
Genevieve's voice brought him back to the present. "Are you all right?" she asked with concern. "You look so serious! I'm sorry - I didn't mean to bring up painful memories."
"It's all right," he reassured her. "I was just figuring something out." He looked at her curiously. "Anyway...have you ever been in love?"
She smiled, a bit wistfully. "No, not really," she said. "When I was younger, I used to dream about falling in love, and getting married, and having lots of children. I guess all girls do. There were some boys who were friendly to me - they're not all nasty like Etienne. But they didn't think of me romantically." She was quiet a moment, remembering. "It's funny...in a way, that was how I became a seamstress."
Gaston was puzzled. "How's that?"
"When I was 16, there was a big dance at the village hall," she explained. "Everyone was very excited about it - we don't get much entertainment here. My friend Nathalie was upset because she didn't have money to buy a new dress, and she can't sew to save her life. I've always made my own clothes, so I made a dress for her." Genevieve smiled at the memory. "It was so beautiful - deep violet, to match her eyes. She showed it to some of the other girls, and they asked me to make dresses for them, too. It was a revelation for me. I found that I enjoyed being creative and coming up with designs. And the girls were so excited and so eager to wear the dresses...It made me feel like a part of things, you know? Even though I didn't have a beau like most of the other girls."
"Did you go to the dance too?" Gaston asked.
She nodded. "Oh, yes. The whole town went. No one asked me to dance, and I was sad about that...but then I saw the girls in my dresses, whirling around the floor, and they looked so wonderful. Everyone congratulated me on my talent. Then all the women in town started coming to me with their business. And I realized that, even though I'll never be beautiful, I can make things that are beautiful, and that's a rare gift. It made me feel better about myself."
Gaston was impressed by her positive attitude. Instead of being bitter about what she didn't have, she'd made the best of what she did have. Not like me, he thought ruefully.
Then he thought of her at that long-ago dance, standing alone while the boys chose other girls, and he suddenly felt protective of her. "The boys at that dance were fools," he told her. "You're more special than any of those other girls."
She smiled, touched. "Thanks, Gaston. That's nice of you to say."
They packed up the picnic leftovers and rode for the rest of the day. As the sun went down, they headed back toward town. When they got to the lake, they stopped and dismounted to let the horses drink.
As they waited, Genevieve looked up and groaned. "Look, it's that idiot Etienne," she whispered to Gaston, pointing to an approaching figure. "I hope he doesn't see us. It's been such a pleasant day - I really don't feel like dealing with him right now."
But Etienne did see them. He lurched toward them, clearly drunk, and laughed. "So, Genevieve, you finally found another freak to hang around with!" he taunted. "Smart move. No real man would ever be seen with you."
Gaston tensed. Genevieve put her hand on his arm. "Let it go," she said in a low tone. "It's not worth it."
Etienne looked at Gaston. "But even a shrimp like you could do better than her, couldn't you? I mean, look at her! She's so ugly. Just imagining making love to her - ugh, it makes me want to puke!"
Gaston stepped forward, his fists clenched. Genevieve bit her lip nervously. She didn't want him to get hurt. "It doesn't matter, Gaston. He's been spewing garbage like that my whole life. It's all right."
"It's not all right," said Gaston, his eyes still on Etienne. The lout was big as an ox and could easily pound him into mincemeat, but he didn't care. Genevieve didn't deserve to be treated this way. "Leave her alone," he said icily.
"Are you kidding me?" said Etienne belligerently. "Who do you think you are?"
Gaston's steely blue eyes bored into him. "I'm Gaston," he said dangerously, as though that said it all.
Startled by his intensity, Etienne stepped back uncertainly. Then he caught himself. This was just a puny little dwarf! Angry that he had been intimidated, even for a moment, he glared at Gaston. "Boy, are you gonna be sorry," he threatened, making a fist.
Gaston sized him up. He was huge, but he was clumsy, and drunk to boot. Maybe that could work to Gaston's advantage.
"Just try it," Gaston dared him.
Enraged, Etienne lunged forward. Gaston took a careful step backward, putting himself right on the edge of the embankment. Just as Etienne reached him, leaning forward with his arms outstretched, Gaston quickly ducked under his arm.
Etienne swivelled sharply, making a grab for Gaston, and lost his balance. He fell backward and tumbled down the embankment, landing in the lake with a splash. He came up sputtering. "I'll get you for this!" he yelled.
Genevieve grabbed Gaston's hand. "Come on, let's get out of here!" she said, pulling him toward the horses. They mounted and raced back to the village, Etienne hurling curses after them.
They were both laughing like naughty children as they reached Genevieve's house. Genevieve jumped off Fleur. "You are amazing!" she exclaimed.
Gaston shrugged as he dismounted, but he was grinning. "I know."
She turned suddenly serious, her grey eyes sober. "No one has ever done anything like that for me before," she said quietly. "And the way you stood up to him! He's twice your size, and incredibly strong. And mean as a bull. He could have killed you." Her voice was full of awe. "You're the bravest person I've ever met!"
Her eyes were shining as she looked at him, as though he were her hero. Back when he was strong and handsome, all the girls had gazed at him adoringly, and he had taken it for granted. But he had never dreamed anyone could ever look at him that way as a lowly dwarf.
In that moment, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
He stared at her, momentarily unable to speak. Then he said softly, "Genevieve, will you marry me?"
She gasped. "Really?"
He nodded. "Really."
She was dying to say "yes" instantly and throw her arms around him. But it was all such a shock. She needed time to process it. "This is so sudden," she said, feeling unexpectedly shy.
"Can...can I think about it? Come for dinner tomorrow night," she added.
"Of course," he said. He wasn't offended. She would say yes - he could see it in her eyes.
She smiled. "Till tomorrow then, my knight in shining armor."
He kissed her hand. "Till tomorrow, fair lady."
He was whistling as he returned to the inn, happier than he could ever remember feeling. Everything was coming together. He loved her, and she loved him. Tomorrow at this time, his nightmare would finally be over. She would declare her love aloud and kiss him, and the spell would be broken. At last he would be himself again: tall, powerful, irresistibly handsome, the greatest hunter and fighter and marksman anyone had ever seen. He would have his life back. And then he would marry the woman he loved, and they would live happily ever after.
He went to the peddler wagon, took out the golden hourglass, and sat outside on a bench on the porch of the inn, watching the glittering, multicolored sand shift and flow. As the sand slipped through from the top to the bottom, it magically disappeared. He had been told to find true love before all the sand was gone, or be cursed forever. But right now, there was still a fair amount left. Take that, Enchantress, he thought smugly. I'm going to beat your curse after all. Didn't think I could do it, did you?
He thought of Genevieve and smiled. What a wonderful surprise it would be for her to find that she was marrying not a puny dwarf, but the strongest, handsomest, most desirable man imaginable. It would be like every Christmas and birthday of her life rolled into one, he thought. He pictured taking her back to Molyneaux with him. What a reception they would get! The legendary Gaston returned, and with a bride! The villagers would treat her like a queen - he would make certain of that. No one would ever dare say anything unkind to her again, not with him around. All the village men would insist their wives order their dresses from Madame Gaston. Her business would thrive.
And Gaston would be himself again, magnificent and awe-inspiring. All the villagers would look up to him and admire him. He would finally be able to hunt again. He would bring Genevieve all the venison she could eat. She could come with him on his hunting trips and cheer him on. Life would be perfect.
A shadow fell across the hourglass. Gaston looked up. Etienne stood over him, glowering. "It's payback time, pipsqueak," he growled.
Then a gleam caught his attention, and he noticed the golden hourglass. "What's that?"
Seeing Gaston tense, Etienne instantly realized that the object was important to him. Grinning evilly, he snatched the hourglass out of Gaston's hands before the dwarf could stop him. He stepped backward, out of range.
Gaston leaped up. "Give it back," he demanded.
"Come and get it," taunted Etienne.
Gaston grabbed for the hourglass, but Etienne easily held it out of reach. Gaston tried to jump up to get it, but he was just too short. Etienne laughed and tossed the hourglass from one hand to the other. Gaston's heart was in his mouth. His future, his whole life, was encased in the magical object.
Then it happened. The hourglass slipped from Etienne's hand and crashed to the ground, the glass bulbs shattering into a hundred pieces. The magical sand spilled out onto the ground, and vanished.