She had seen the two Parisian soldiers on the road and now raced to find Marie. She didn't bother wondering why the soldiers were approaching, why there were only two of them; all she saw was the armor bearing the insignia of the Parisian guard. These men were monsters, just like their comrades, and she would not let them near her Marie. Marie was sitting outside with Dmitri and the three children. She was laughing and smiling, weaving a chain of flowers into a crown. She placed it onto the older child's head, and began plucking more flowers.
"Marie!" She reached down, grabbing hold of Marie's shoulder. Marie looked startled and let the flowers fall from her hands. "Come on," she said, pulling Marie to her feet. "We need to go."
Marie was pointing to the children, telling her that she couldn't leave them. Rosalie shook her head. "Dmitri will watch them," she said, "come on, we have to go."
She pulled Marie now, and Marie stumbled after her. "Hey! Where you are to going?" she heard Dmitri shout. He started to follow her, but one of the children had begun to cry and was now tugging on his pant leg. He stooped, lifting the child. "Come back!" he yelled. Rosalie ignored him, shoving open the door to her shack and dragging Marie inside.
"You must hide," she said, looking around frantically. The shack was sparsely furnished; there weren't many places to hide. She opened a large trunk and began removing the clothes that were neatly piled within, throwing them to the floor. She pointed to the trunk. "Inside," she said, "right now."
Marie shook her head, moving her hands now, demanding to know why. Rosalie pointed to the trunk; the soldiers were coming, they didn't have much time, and she would not let her daughter endure the suffering she had. "I saw two soldiers on the road," said Rosalie, "they are coming to Lyon. You have to hide."
Marie gasped, but instead rushed to the door. Rosalie grabbed her wrist, pulling her back before she could open it. Marie stared at her, her free hand moving now. She was more concerned with Dmitri and the children than with herself. Such a sweet, selfless girl, thought Rosalie, pulling her back towards the trunk. "Dmitri will be safe," she said. "He is a boy." She knew for a fact that the three children would be safe; after all, they were not Gypsies. Dmitri could very well be killed, but it would be best not to tell Marie. She gripped Marie's hands now, "those soldiers will rape you," she said. "Because you are a woman, because you are a Gypsy, they will rape you."
Marie only stared in disbelief. "Soldiers have no hearts," said Rosalie, "you are young and pretty, and they will hurt you. Now please hide in the trunk."
Marie made a low, guttural noise. Generally, she was silent, and it always surprised Rosalie when she made noises. Marie turned to the trunk and climbed inside of it. The trunk was not as big as Rosalie had thought, and Marie had to curl herself tightly to fit. Rosalie picked up the clothes she had thrown to the floor and piled them on top of Marie, hiding her completely. She closed the trunk and went to the door. Perhaps she could find Pierre and warn him about the guards. Marie would be safe in the trunk.
She was reaching for the door when suddenly there was a knock on it. Rosalie stared. It had been a stern, hard sound, the kind of sound soldiers made. They were here. She glanced over her shoulder at the trunk. Hopefully they would not find Marie. Hopefully they wouldn't find Pierre either. With any luck, he and the other Gypsies could come to her aid. She opened the door slowly.
"I'm looking for a man named Giovanni Trouillefou." The guard was young, probably no older than Marie. Rosalie shook her head; why on earth was he looking for Giovanni?
"You don't know him, then?"
"No," she said. "I'm afraid I don't."
The guard left. Rosalie watched him. He was approaching Dmitri now, who was standing with the three children. Dmitri was shaking his head, trying to explain that he couldn't understand. The soldier turned and left before Dmitri could even finish talking. He was heading towards the Russian side of the Gypsy camp. Rosalie waited until he had disappeared among the caravans before turning and rushing over to Clopin and Cassandra's caravan.
~xXx~
"Hey, Giovanni!"
He recognized Pierre's voice and turned. The heat was brutal, and Giovanni reached for his canteen. He took a long swallow of water. The farmers all said that the heat was due to break soon, that once the rains came it would cool down. So far, the sky was cloudless and bright.
Pierre was coming towards him, and he was followed by a boy wearing a soldier's uniform. "He says he has a letter for you," said Pierre, pointing over his shoulder at the soldier.
"Yes." The soldier stared at him, looking somewhat surprised. He handed Giovanni a folded envelope. Giovanni took it. The soldier was staring at him, as though he expected something.
"I don't have any money," said Giovanni, reaching into his knapsack. "I can give you a turnip – "
"Keep it," said the soldier, wrinkling his nose in disgust. He did not leave but continued to stare at Giovanni.
"Thank you," said Giovanni. He turned away from the soldier and opened the envelope. He heard the sound of clanking armor as the soldier turned and left.
"Who's it from?" asked Pierre, looking over his shoulder. Pierre was illiterate, and Giovanni let him stare at the words, knowing he couldn't understand them.
"Hey, who gave you this letter?" asked Giovanni, turning and rushing after the soldier. The letter was supposedly from his grandmother, his mother's mother; in it she claimed to have been searching for him for years.
"A woman in Paris," replied the soldier, "some old Italian lady."
Giovanni looked back down at the letter. His grandmother was in poor health and wanted to finally meet him before she died. She had inherited all of her daughter's money after her death, and she wanted to give some to Giovanni.
Giovanni was by no means poor, but he was not a rich man either. Katarina was pregnant with their third child; extra money would help a great deal. He knew nothing of his mother, or his grandmother for that matter. He suddenly wondered if Clopin knew anything about his grandmother. He couldn't remember his parents, and Clopin had really only told him that his mother had drowned after his father had died. Clopin had not been close with his brother, and he'd never really said why. Giovanni now wondered if they were related at all. He looked nothing like his uncle, or any of the Gypsies for that matter. What if he wasn't really Clopin's nephew?
The thought was a silly one; why would Clopin have raised a child who wasn't related to him? Giovanni looked down at the letter, ignoring the questions that Pierre was bombarding him with. The farm work could wait. It was far too hot anyway, and he had questions that needed to be answered.
~xXx~
Once they reached the Lyon, he and René went their separate ways, at least for the time being. Cosette's grandparents had not offered to let Jean-Claude stay in their house for the duration of his visit in Lyon. He supposed that he didn't mind. After all, if Cosette's father refused to let him marry her, staying with her family would be awkward. He found an inn and rented a room. It was clean and cheap, and the window overlooked the bustling street below.
Jean-Claude put his pack down and went to the window now, watching the people milling about in the street. A small crowd had formed, and he now saw that its members were watching a Gypsy girl dance. She smiled as she twirled, tapping her tambourine. Her dress was a deep yellow color, almost gold, and was trimmed with purple. Even from the room, Jean-Claude could hear the tambourine and the ringing of the tiny bells on the girl's belt.
She was beautiful, and Jean-Claude turned away from the window. He pulled the curtain closed. He was here to see Cosette, to convince her family that he was worthy of marrying her. He was not here to watch some Gypsy harlot dancing in the street; he could see plenty of that in Paris. Besides, the dancing Gypsy girl couldn't hold a candle to Cosette.
The innkeeper had provided him with a basin of water and some towels, and Jean-Claude washed his face. Cosette, pale and perfect, floated before his mind's eye, and he allowed himself to think of her. She was stunningly beautiful, with curly brown hair and sparkling blue eyes. Her skin was nearly the color of milk, and he was certain that it was soft to the touch. He had always longed to touch her face, to trail his fingers lovingly against her cheek. He had never done this, of course; to touch her before they were married would be improper.
Sweet, pure, chaste Cosette was far superior to the dirty Gypsy harlot who was dancing across the way. She undoubtedly sold herself in the alleyways after dark, like so many of the Gypsies of Paris did. How Jean-Claude could even think her beautiful baffled him now, and he laughed.
His room came with a mirror, and he stood before it and shaved. He always tried to appear clean-shaven; he found that his facial hair was as unruly as the hair on the top of his head, the black Gypsy hair that he had inherited from his mother. His hair was thick and seemed to grow too fast; Jean-Claude was forever cutting it. He nearly found himself longing for his father's baldness. Katarina was supposedly somewhere in this town. He wondered if he should bother finding her. What if she wanted to become a part of his life? She could certainly pass for a normal, respectable member of society, but he knew that she would not act like one. No, Katarina had run off with the Gypsies, and she would behave like one. She would lie and cheat and steal, and it would cause him endless disgrace. Still, perhaps she could give him some answers. Perhaps she knew what had become of their mother. Perhaps she would tell him why she had run away; perhaps she was repentant of it. Perhaps she would come back to Paris and lead a respectable life.
Jean-Claude doubted this. Katarina had been anything but respectful as a child, and she would not change her ways now. He would find her and get his answers from her, and he decided he would do this before seeing Cosette. Cosette's family wasn't expecting him until tomorrow anyway. He dried his face, running his hand over his chin to make sure he'd gotten every last unruly hair. He left the room, locking it behind him, and set out towards the Gypsy camps.
~xXx~
"What do you know about my mother?"
The question caught Clopin off-guard. Giovanni had rarely asked questions about his parents; he'd somehow been content without them for all these years. Clopin looked at him. Giovanni did not bear much resemblance to Maurice, though he bore enough of one to Gratiana. "Why do you ask?"
"I got this letter," he said, "from my grandmother." He took a piece of paper out of his pocket. "It says she's been searching for me and that she wants to meet me."
"It must be Gratiana's mother," said Clopin, "mine died in childbirth."
"I…I don't look like you…I mean, I don't look like a Gypsy…"
"You're only half-Gypsy," said Clopin, "your mother was Italian."
"Do I look at all like my father?"
Clopin shook his head. "No, but then, Maurice didn't look much like a Gypsy either." He sat down, patting the bench beside him. Giovanni sat. "Your father was…" he paused, looking for the right words, "blessed, you could say. He had fairer skin and hair than the rest of us. If he wore the proper clothes, he didn't look at all like a Gypsy. He…he left when he met your mother. He tried to hide the rest of us from her, thought she wouldn't love a Gypsy. He was ashamed of what he was."
Giovanni was staring down at the paper in his hands. "So he just left you?"
Clopin nodded. "I was a little younger than you, twenty, maybe. He married your mother and I never saw him again."
"How did my mother know to find you?"
"She met me once," he said. "Completely by accident, of course." He remembered the day with bitterness and decided not to tell Giovanni about it. He remembered the look of embarrassment in Maurice's eye, the way he had quickly turned to Gratiana and told her that his mother had been molested by a Gypsy, that his younger brother was the product of rape. Clopin remembered watching them, too stunned to speak; Gratiana had looked at him with disapproval, shaking her head. "She must have remembered me when your father died," said Clopin quickly. "Or perhaps he told her about me. I'm not sure."
"But she gave me to you before she…drowned?"
"Yes."
"Why wouldn't she give me to her mother?" asked Giovanni.
Clopin shrugged. "I'm not sure," he said. "Perhaps she thought her mother was too old. You would have worn her out, you know. You were an absolute devil when you were little."
Giovanni laughed. "What should I do about the letter?"
"Well, do you want to meet your grandmother?"
"I suppose so."
"Then you pack up and go to Paris for a few days," said Clopin. "You're a charming young man, I'm sure she'll love you. Bring Katarina."
"I don't know if she can travel in her condition," said Giovanni, "we'll have to ask Rosalie."
Clopin nodded. Katarina was pregnant with her third baby. Clopin was not sure of how far along she was; she looked as though she would have it any day now, though. "Maybe I shouldn't leave," said Giovanni, "she'll need help with Dante and Musetta, and the new baby…"
"And she has us to help her," said Clopin. "You know that Esmerelda won't leave her side for a moment, and I'll look after Dante and Musetta."
"Uncle, you've got your own family, you don't need to – "
"I like to think of it as practice for when I have grandchildren," said Clopin, interrupting him. He could see little Dante and Musetta approaching them now, running as fast as their short legs could carry them. Giovanni smiled at them, scooping them up onto his lap.
"Papa, will you tell us a story?"
"Does your mother know where you are?"
"She said to play outside," said Musetta, "her tummy is hurting because the baby won't stop kicking."
"Here," said Clopin, taking Musetta and pulling her onto his lap. "Let your old uncle tell you a story while your father goes to see if she's all right."
"Tell it with puppets!" Dante scrambled off of Giovanni's lap, sliding next to Clopin.
Clopin nodded to Giovanni. "Go see her," he said, "tell her about Paris. I'll watch them."
"Thank you." He left, rushing back to the little two-room house he shared with Katarina.
Clopin pulled a hand puppet out of his pocket. "Well," he said, "what sort of story would you like to hear?"
~xXx~
She knew that it was not time for the baby to come, but her stomach was hurting her, and she couldn't find the strength to stand up. She'd been getting pains like this for a little less than a week; Rosalie assured her that it was normal. She also seemed to think that she might be expecting twins, and this frightened Katarina. The house was starting to get too small for four people, adding two more would only crowd it further. Giovanni didn't make much money, though he was always able to bring home enough food for everyone. He would have to work harder than ever if she had twins; he was already exhausted when he came home at sunset. She hated to think that he was working himself to death.
She heard a knock at on the door and struggled to stand, but the pain was too great. "Come in!" she shouted.
The door opened quickly, and a boy wearing a soldier's uniform entered her house. He was polite enough to take his hat off, but his presence unnerved Katarina nonetheless. There was something about him that made her incredibly uncomfortable; something about him chilled her, as though a cloud had covered the sun. "Excuse me," he said, "I'm looking for a woman named Katarina Phoebus."
She stared at him. No one had called her 'Katarina Phoebus' in years. This boy was beginning to look familiar now, as though she might've seen him somewhere before. She found herself beckoning to him, and he stepped towards her, coming into the sunlight that poured in through the window. This boy was the near-spitting image of her false-father, the Judge. "Who are you?" she asked. She glanced at the window, wondering who else was about. Hopefully if she screamed someone would come rushing in.
"My name is Jean-Claude Frollo," he said.
Katarina gasped. "Jean-Claude?"
He sat down in the chair across from her. He had his father's piercing blue eyes, and their gaze made her uncomfortable. "You…you are Katarina, my sister?" his voice sounded as confused as she felt, and it eased some of the tension within her. At least he was as confused and uncomfortable as she was.
"Yes."
He was staring at her stomach now. "You…you're married?"
"Yes. This will be our third baby."
"I…I…why did you run away?" he asked.
Memories of the Judge came flooding back to her, and she shuddered. Memories of being trapped in a dark house, memories of shouting, memories of endless scolding and criticism, memories of her mother weeping…she shook them off. They were too much for her. "Jean-Claude, I had to," she said.
"Why?" he asked, "why did you? He gave you a good life – "
"No, Jean-Claude, he didn't. He wasn't my real father – "
"But he raised you as his own!"
"And he threatened to send me away!"
"Out of love, Katarina! Your immortal soul was in danger, and he feared for it. Would a nunnery really have been so terrible? Is living with Gypsies any better?"
"Jean-Claude, we are Gypsies."
He glared at her. "I don't live like one, Katarina. I…I'm living the way Father intended for me to." His expression softened somewhat. "Do…do you know what happened to Mother?"
She nodded. "She lives near here," she said. She was about to say more when the door swung open. She was relieved to find Giovanni standing in the doorway. He came to her, staring at Jean-Claude warily. "Giovanni," she said, "this is my brother, Jean-Claude."
Giovanni put his hand on her shoulder. "Hello," he said after a moment.
Jean-Claude nodded to him. He rose now. "I'm glad you're well, Katarina," he said. He paused, staring at her. "Is…is Mother…well?"
Katarina nodded, confused. "She's quite happy," she said. She now sincerely hoped that Jean-Claude would not ruin this happiness. His presence had certainly startled and unnerved her. It would only be worse for her mother.
He was looking at her now, watching her as though he could read her feelings. "I just want to ask her a few things," he said reassuringly. "I plan to leave Lyon at the end of the week."
He left, closing the door behind him. Giovanni sat beside her now, putting his arm around her shoulder and letting her lean against him. "Should I go tell your mother he's here?"
"Yes," she said.
"All right." He kissed her forehead. "I'll hurry back."