"I need to speak with you right now."
She let Giovanni into the house, though she would have done this regardless of the rushed tone in his voice. "What's the matter?" her mind flew to Katarina and her grandchildren immediately. Katarina was pregnant again, and it was not an easy pregnancy; she was in constant pain and could barely move. Esmerelda hated seeing her this way. She hated knowing that her daughter was hurting and that there was nothing she could do to ease the pain she felt.
"It's about your son, Jean-Claude."
She had not thought of Jean-Claude in years, had practically forgotten him, and hearing his name shocked her. "What?"
"He's here," said Giovanni, "and he's looking for you."
Esmerelda felt her legs tremble and had to fight to stand. Giovanni took her by the hand, leading her to a chair, but she pulled away from him. She knew he meant well, but she could stand on her own, even if it felt difficult. "That's impossible," she said.
"He was asking Katarina about you," said Giovanni, "he told her he wanted to ask you some questions – "
There was a sharp knock at the door, and Esmerelda felt her blood run cold. She knew instinctively that her son was on the other side of the door, that she would open it and see him. Giovanni turned to the door. "I'll send him away," he said.
"No." She did not want to see Jean-Claude. She wanted nothing to do with him or the painful memories that his mere presence dredged up, but if she didn't see him now, she would have to see him later. He would be stubborn and persistent, just like his father, and he would force her to speak with him. She went to the door. "Thank you, Giovanni," she said, "but I…I need to see him."
She took a deep breath and opened the door. Jean-Claude was standing on the doorstep, and he seemed to recognize her as instantly as she recognized him. He was tall and thin, and wore a soldier's uniform; his armor bore the crest of the Captain of the Guard. They stared at each other. It felt like time had slowed, like the earth had come to a complete and total stop. The seconds ticked on, passing with infinite slowness.
"Mother…" Jean-Claude shattered the stillness, stepping towards her. She backed away from him, letting him into the house.
She glanced over at Giovanni. "You…you can leave now, Giovanni," she said.
He nodded and left, glancing back at Jean-Claude. Esmerelda watched him go; he was heading back to his own house, probably to sit with Katarina. Esmerelda closed the door, imagining Giovanni sitting with his arm wrapped around her daughter, holding her close and rubbing her swollen belly. She turned back to Jean-Claude, and the image faded from her mind.
Jean-Claude bore too strong a resemblance to his father, and this made Esmerelda's stomach knot painfully. Memories of Claude – memories she had successfully banished years ago – came tumbling back into her mind. It was as if a great dam had broken inside of her head. Memories of Claude's greedy kisses and rough hands, memories of lying trapped beneath him while he moaned her name over and over again, making her hate it…the memories made her shudder.
"What do you want?" she asked. She had to force herself to look at him. She'd never been able to look at Jean-Claude, not even when he was a child. Seeing him had always reminded her of what his father had done.
"I…I wanted to find you…" Jean-Claude stepped towards her, staring at her with the same blue eyes that his father had had. He was looking at her the same way he had when he was a child, when he'd been hurt or done something wrong and wanted her love and sympathy. She had always obliged, had always held him in her arms and stroked his hair and kissed his cheek, but she had never loved him. She couldn't bring herself to even think about touching him now.
"Why?"
"I – I need to know why you never came back for me," he said, "you left after Father died, and you never came back for me…"
"I knew you would be well cared for," she said. Telling him the truth would only hurt him. It would only stir even more painful memories, bringing them to the surface of her mind.
"They made me a blacksmith's apprentice," he said, "I had to live with him – "
"It's a good profession," she said, "and all apprentices have to live with their masters."
"He used to touch me! He used to give me wine and get me drunk and put his hands on me!" Jean-Claude sounded as though he would begin to cry, but he looked furious, his hands balled into fists as though he would strike her at any moment.
"Jean-Claude, I'm sorry."
"Why did you leave me?"
She sighed and motioned to the table and chairs. "Sit down," she said. He sat, and she took the seat across from him. "Jean-Claude, your father forced me to marry him against my will. He raped me – "
"That's a lie!" he slammed his fist against the table. "That's a lie! He fell in love with you and took you in and gave you a better life – "
"That's the lie he told you, Jean-Claude."
"He married you because he loved you!"
"He raped me, and you were the product of that rape," she said. "I couldn't come back for you. I couldn't look at you without remembering what he did to me. I couldn't love you as a son."
"You're lying!" he stood up, knocking the chair over. It hit the floor hard, and Esmerelda winced at the loud crack it made. Jean-Claude ignored it. "My father was a good man! He loved you, and you murdered him!"
She shook her head. "No, Jean-Claude. He forced me – "
He turned and stormed out of the house, slamming the door so hard it shook on its hinges. Esmerelda sat in the sudden silence. She took a deep breath. She desperately wanted to find Phoebus now.
~xXx~
Lies. She had told him nothing but lies. He shouldn't have expected the truth from her. She was a Gypsy, and Gypsies all lied. They didn't know what the truth was! Still, sitting across from his mother, listening to her tell him that she couldn't love him because his father had raped her, had been too much. Jean-Claude made his way into the city of Lyon, heading for the nearest tavern. He put a coin down on the counter and the bartender handed him a beer.
He drank it quickly and ordered another one. He did not drink often; it had been a vice his late father had been vehemently against. Still, the alcohol would wash away the memory of the conversation he'd had with his mother. He was aware that he could not spend too much of his money, that he would need to pay for his room for the rest of the week. He forced himself to stop after his third beer and left the tavern.
He wandered along the main road, unconsciously heading towards the inn where he was staying. He paused. The crowd of people who had gathered to watch the dancing Gypsy girl was beginning to disperse. The Gypsy girl was bowing to them, thanking them as she stooped to pick up the coins that had landed around the hat. Jean-Claude watched as René approached her. He found himself smiling as he watched René talk to her in hushed tones; René would undoubtedly bed the little whore in an alley later.
The Gypsy girl's eyes widened and she gasped, probably in shocked response to whatever lewd thing René had said to her. She slapped him. It was a quick, sudden movement, and it made Jean-Claude laugh. René was staring at the girl in surprise, rubbing his face where she'd struck him. He had never been struck by a woman before, or even rejected by one; René was handsome enough to charm his way into almost any woman's skirt. The Gypsy girl turned on her heel and started to storm away from him, clutching the hat filled with coins to her breast.
"Well, if you shake your hips like that, of course men will think you're a harlot!" René shouted after her.
She did not turn to reply to or even acknowledge him. Jean-Claude made his way over to René, still laughing at the whole thing. René, with his good looks and devastating charm, had been rejected by none other than a Gypsy harlot. "It isn't funny," said René.
"Oh, yes it is," said Jean-Claude.
"I can't help it if she dances like a whore," said René, still rubbing his face.
"I just can't believe she slapped you!"
"Well, should we arrest her for it?"
"Of course not," said Jean-Claude, "I should go give her a medal. And besides, we're the guards of Paris, not Lyon. We can't arrest anyone here."
"No, I suppose not," said René. He was staring in the direction where the Gypsy girl had stormed off. "I thought you'd be with Cosette right now."
"Tomorrow," said Jean-Claude. Tomorrow he would see Cosette and meet the rest of her family. Her father would host a grand dinner and would announce their engagement. Wedding plans would be finalized, and he would return to Paris with Cosette. They would be wed in Notre Dame. He would finally have the life he desperately wanted; it wouldn't matter that his mother had been a lying Gypsy whore. He would have a life with Cosette, and it would be wonderful.
~xXx~
"Hello, mother-of-Marie!"
She groaned inwardly. She did not want to have to deal with Dmitri right now. She already had Marie's questions to deal with. Marie was still frightened and confused about having to hide in the trunk. She kept asking about the soldiers, and Rosalie did not want to discuss them with her. She turned, looking at Dmitri. "Rosalie," she said, pointing to herself.
"Da, Rosalie! Marie is telling me that you had to have hide her from soldiers?"
"It doesn't concern you, Dmitri."
"Nyet, I am not understanding you," he said. "The soldiers are looking for man. They have letter to deliver. They are not wanting hurting Marie like you to say."
"I'm busy," she said, "please, go away."
He shook his head. "There are only two of soldiers," he said, holding up two fingers, "they come with letter and that is all. They are not wanting hurting Marie, and even if they are, there is hundred Gypsies to protect her!" he looked at her, "I am not letting anyone to hurt Marie, not even soldier. I am to keep her being safe."
Rosalie sighed. Dmitri was right; it had been stupid to worry about two soldiers. Marie was in no danger, and it was sweet and somewhat comforting to hear Dmitri offer to defend her. "Thank you," she said. "You're a good boy, Dmitri."
He smiled. His teeth were large and crooked. "Marie is good girl," he said, nodding to her, "and you are good lady for helping Anja with the baby."
Rosalie nodded. The baby was due to arrive the next day; she would spend the entire day with Anja, waiting for the baby. She hoped that it would be an easy birth, and suddenly wondered if she should bring Marie along with her. Marie couldn't really help in any way, but she could communicate with Dmitri better than anyone else. Rosalie would need help, and Marie and Dmitri could translate for her.
"Is Anja well?" she asked.
"Da, Anja is good," said Dmitri.
"I will see her tomorrow," said Rosalie.
"Da, tomorrow." Dmitri nodded at her, then turned and left, heading back towards where Marie was playing with the three children. She'd made flower crowns for them, and they wore them as they ran about in circles. Marie was chasing them, occasionally scooping one up into her arms. She watched as Dmitri entered the game, smiling at Marie as he took the child from her arms.
~xXx~
She was still furious over the soldier's remark when she finally reached her home. Theresa sat down outside the caravan and began to count the coins in her hat. No one had ever spoken to her that way before, and it angered her.
"So, do you use an alley or do you have a room somewhere?"
"I'm afraid I don't understand – "
"Come now, my dear, there's no need to be so coy. Where do you take your customers?"
She had struck him completely by accident; it had been as though her hand moved on its own. She didn't regret it, though. It served him right! She didn't care if he was a soldier or not, he had called her a harlot in front of everyone and he had no right to. He had insulted her and her dancing, and she would not allow that. His comrade had thought it funny; he'd laughed. Theresa wondered what he'd been laughing at, the fact that his comrade had called her a harlot in front of everyone, or the fact that she'd struck him after doing so. She supposed it was a combination of both. Well, the soldiers were both equally horrible.
She tossed the coins back into the hat. She was far too angry to count them, and she didn't have much anyway. She supposed that she could always go back into town later and dance some more, but she did not want to see either of the soldiers. The one she'd struck was probably angry with her. They would only insult her and drive her audience away. No, she would not go back into town, at least not today.