STILL 1505…

Giovanni was going to Paris, and she found herself wishing she could go with him. Though Theresa had been born in Paris, her memories of the city were vague. She wondered if it had changed at all. Was the beautiful Notre Dame cathedral still standing? Did the Seine still sparkle in the sunlight? She'd begged Giovanni to take her, but he'd shrugged and looked uncomfortable.

"Ask your father," he'd said, "if you get his consent, I'll bring you with me."

Theresa raced to find her father now, darting through the crowd around the circus tents. Hans's circus had arrived a few hours ago, and the tents were already assembled. Everyone was laughing and chattering, having a good time. The circus would draw a big crowd; there was plenty of money to be made. Right now, though, the circus and its promise of audiences and coins barely mattered. The circus came through Lyon frequently. An opportunity to go to Paris did not.

"Papa! Giovanni's going to Paris!"

"I know," he said. "He's received a letter from his grandmother."

"Can I go with him?"

Her father looked at her. "What?"

"Please, Papa, I'd like to go with him. I can barely remember Paris, and I'd love to go back – "

Her father beckoned to her, and she sat down beside him. "What did Giovanni say?"

"He said he'd bring me if I got your consent."

Her father nodded, stroking his beard. "Go and fetch him, will you?"

Theresa sprang to her feet and tore off through the crowd, weaving through the mass of people with ease. Giovanni was talking with Heracles, Katarina by his side. Heracles had both Dante and Musetta balanced on each shoulder. They giggled, clinging to him; he talked and moved as though they weren't even there. "And just think," he said to Katarina, "you're about to bring more little tomboys into the world! When will you name one Carlo?"

Katarina laughed, rubbing her belly. "Well, perhaps if this one's a boy…"

"Giovanni – " Theresa felt guilty for interrupting, but her father's decision seemed to rest entirely on Giovanni now, " – my father needs to see you."

"Is that little Theresa?" Heracles turned to her now, "my, how you've grown! Come give your old uncle Heracles a hug!"

She laughed as he embraced her, lifting her up off the ground. He was strong enough to lift her and her two younger cousins. "You should balance children as part of your act," said Katarina.

"Oh, they'd all run away to join the circus," said Heracles, putting Theresa back down. He turned to Dante, still perched on his shoulder. "What about you, Dante? Will you join the circus when you get big?"

Dante nodded. "Me too!" squealed Musetta.

"Come on, Giovanni, my father's waiting for you," said Theresa impatiently,

"All right, all right."

Giovanni followed her through the crowd. He sat down beside her father, and Theresa turned to let them have their privacy. "Theresa," called her father, "you should be included in this discussion."

She sat down, puzzled. It had always seemed to her that her parents never included her in their discussions about her and her siblings. These conversations were always held in private, behind closed doors, after sunset. It was strange and somewhat thrilling to be part of the discussion.

"Theresa says that you will let her accompany you to Paris."

"Yes, Uncle. If I have she has your consent." Her father was quiet. "She was born in Paris, you know," continued Giovanni, "but she can't remember it. I'll only be there for a few days, anyway."

Her father nodded. "Paris is a beautiful city," he said, "and Theresa may go with you." Something in his voice told her not to rejoice just yet. There was something very serious in his tone. "Paris can be a dangerous place for a woman, though. I want you to protect her."

"Of course, Uncle."

"And Theresa," he turned and looked at her, "promise me that you will not dance in Paris."

"I promise." It seemed such a strange thing to promise. She would only be there for a few days anyway; she did not intend to spend her time dancing. She wanted to explore the city, to see all the sights and relive what few memories she had of it.

"This is serious, Theresa," he said. "A long time ago, before I'd even met your mother, a very good friend of mine got into trouble for her dancing."

"What happened?" Could dancing be illegal in Paris? It seemed like such a silly thing to outlaw.

"There was a man who saw her dance," said her father. He spoke slowly, choosing the words carefully. "He was a very powerful man, and when he saw her, he became overcome with lust." Theresa did not like the way the story was headed. It was beginning to remind her of the soldier who'd propositioned her earlier. Perhaps she shouldn't go to Paris after all. "He forced her to marry him, and held her prisoner for thirteen years. She was only able to escape him after he died."

The story sounded to strange and terrifying to be true, but she knew that her father wouldn't lie about such a thing. He put his arm around her. "I don't want anything like that to happen to you," he said. "I want you to promise me you won't dance."

"I promise."

"I'll keep her safe, Uncle. I swear it."

Her father smiled at Giovanni now. "I know you will," he said.

~xXx~

She was more than surprised to see Heracles when she woke up. She sat up, puzzled, staring at him. He was sitting in a chair beside her bed, his arms folded across his chest, asleep. Rosalie rubbed her eyes, trying to piece together bits and pieces of the previous night. She remembered circus and the bonfire, but it all grew blurry after that. She looked around. Marie was standing at the table, laying out plates with food.

Rosalie got up and approached her. "Why is Heracles here?" she whispered.

Marie stared at her. She moved her hands slowly, but still didn't make any sense; Heracles had come over to chase something away?

Rosalie shook her head. "I don't understand."

Marie pointed at her now, making the motions that meant 'bad' and 'sleep.' The nightmare did not spill back into Rosalie's mind right away. She looked over at Heracles. Had she asked him to sit with her to prevent her from having nightmares? Had she woken up screaming, and had he comforted her? She groaned; she had a dim, strange memory of Heracles stroking her hair.

She did not sit down at the table, but ate her breakfast standing up. She had work to do, and she had probably overslept. The Russian woman, Anja, was due to have her baby today. Rosalie would go and sit with her until it was time, then she would help her deliver the baby. She finished her breakfast and washed her face in the basin of water that Marie had provided. The cold water stung her face, but she welcomed it. She headed for the door; Marie reached out and grabbed her arm, pointing to Heracles.

"The Russian woman is supposed to have her baby today," said Rosalie, "I have to go and help her. I'll see Heracles when I get back."

Marie sighed and nodded, but Rosalie could see the disapproval and worry in her face. She left. She could feel Marie's eyes on her even after she had shut the door. She walked to the Russian Gypsies' camp, pausing and trying to remember which caravan Anja had been in.

"Rosalie mother-of-Marie!" Dmitri was rushing over to her, "I am glad to have found you. Anja is saying that baby is hurting."

"Where is she?"

"Come, I take you."

She let him grab her hand and lead her to the proper caravan. This time it was not crowded. Anja was lying on the bed, groaning and staring up at the ceiling. Rosalie went to her, pulling the blankets back. The baby would be coming soon, perhaps in an hour, and she would need hot water and towels. She turned to Dmitri. "I need hot water and towels." He blinked, staring dumbly at her. "Go and fetch hot water and towels," she said, stretching the words out.

"What is 'towels'?"

Anja let out a cry of pain. "Go ask Marie, she'll help you," said Rosalie, "but you have to hurry."

"Da, da, I will to hurry." Dmitri fled.

Rosalie sat by Anja now, taking hold of her hand. "Almost," she said, aware that Anja probably couldn't understand her. "You need to wait a little longer." Anja moaned, saying something in Russian. Rosalie shook her head. "I don't understand you." Anja pointed to her belly, her face full of pain. Rosalie moved down towards her feet, gently pushing her legs open to examine her. The baby seemed to be coming much faster than she'd thought.

"You have to push," she said. She couldn't wait for Dmitri to return with the water or towels. The baby was coming. She knew that Anja didn't understand her, but she could tell that she was pushing nonetheless. Rosalie reached for the baby, unaware of the door behind her opening or Dmitri coming into the room.

She focused on the baby, watching as it slowly slid out of Anja. She managed to grab the baby, pulling on it, helping Anja as best she could. She ignored Anja's cries of pain; the baby was wailing now, and it would need to be washed and bundled. Rosalie cut the cord and turned, startled to find Dmitri standing behind her. He was holding a bucket and a flimsy white towel. His eyes were wide with shock; Rosalie would have found his expression funny in a different circumstance. She took the bucket from him wordlessly and bathed the screaming baby, gently wrapping it in the towel. She shoved the baby into Dmitri's arms and turned back to Anja.

She cleaned up the afterbirth quickly, then helped Anja sit up. She wiped the sweat from Anja's face, smiling at her to assure her that the birth had gone well. Dmitri stepped forward now, handing the baby to Anja. He was saying something to her in Russian, and she nodded and smiled at him as she took the baby in her arms. She looked down at the baby, speaking to it in Russian and kissing its cheeks.

"Thank you," said Dmitri, "for to helping with the baby." He stared at her. "I am to go get Piotr now, to tell to him he has a son."

"Yes," said Rosalie. "Go and tell him." She sat down beside Anja, watching as Dmitri left. She would take her bucket and leave once he returned with Anja's husband. She thought about Heracles now; he was undoubtedly awake and wondering where she was. Part of her did not want to see or talk to him. He probably pitied her, and she did not want pity from anyone. He probably saw her as a weeping, damaged woman, and she wondered if she was one.

Were those soldiers watching her from Hell, cackling because they'd succeeded in ruining her life? They'd invaded her dreams, making it impossible for her to sleep without first drinking herself stupid. Lately the dreams had grown worse; sometimes she wasn't the one being raped. Sometimes it was Marie, and this frightened her more than anything. She remembered lying on the ground, trying to ignore the man who was violating her, staring at the woods across the road and desperately praying for Pierre and Marie. Praying they would stay safe, praying they wouldn't be found, praying they'd never know how she was suffering. It seemed that God had answered her prayers, but were the nightmares some sort of horrible price to pay for it? Now she feared for Marie, and prayed that she'd never know the seemingly unending pain that came with rape.

She was shaken from her thoughts when Dmitri came into the caravan. He was leading another man – a man who was unmistakably his older brother – and speaking to him in Russian, pointing excitedly at Anja and Rosalie. The man approached her, and she stood up, unaware that her hands were shaking. He smiled at her, bowing his head to her. "Thank you," he said slowly, "for helping Anja with the baby."

"It's nothing – "

He shoved a large burlap sack into her arms, saying something in Russian. "He say you are to have potatoes," said Dmitri. "There is not much for money." Piotr handed her a few silver coins.

"Thank you." She slipped the coins into her pocket and shifted the sack of potatoes in her arms. "Thank you very much."

"I will to come for you if there is problem?" asked Dmitri.

"Yes." She nodded.

"Da, good. Thank you again, Rosalie."

~xXx~

The house reminded him of his father. It was almost exactly like the home he had grown up in as a child, and it made him hate his mother and sister even more. They had destroyed his life, but he was more than determined to regain it. It didn't matter what became of them. They could live the rest of their lives in filth and sin and poverty. Katarina could keep producing little Gypsy children who'd only grow up to become liars and thieves. Jean-Claude didn't care. They wanted nothing to do with him, and he was relieved. They were far too proud to come to him asking for money or favors, and he would not have to deal with the embarrassment of turning them away. Cosette and her parents would never know about his mother and sister.

He sat beside Cosette in the dining room of her grandparents' house, listening politely as they talked. Cosette's father, it seemed, had risen up from poverty to gain wealth, power, and respect. They were quite pleased that Jean-Claude had succeeded in doing the same, and they seemed to approve of him. There was not much to disapprove of, at least not in Jean-Claude's mind. He was honest and hard-working, his father had had an immaculate reputation, and he loved their Cosette with all his heart. His love alone should prove him worthy of her!

"Jean-Claude," Cosette's father, who had been silent during most of the dinner, turned and spoke to him now.

"Yes, sir?"

"I have known you for four years," he said. "During that time, you have risen from a mere soldier in the King's army to the Captain of the Guard." Cosette's grandparents nodded with approval. "You have been polite and respectful towards both my daughter and myself, and Cosette has spoken fondly of you." Jean-Claude glanced quickly at Cosette now. She was watching her father, her blue eyes wide with anticipation. "And I have decided that you may have my daughter's hand in marriage."

For a moment, Jean-Claude was too stunned to speak. Cosette gasped with delight, bringing one small, pale hand up to her cheek. "Thank you, sir," said Jean-Claude finally, "I swear, I won't disappoint you."

Cosette's father laughed. "It's not me you have worry about disappointing," he said, "it's my Cosette."

Cosette blushed, her pale cheeks growing pink. "He won't father." She looked over at him now, smiling behind her hand, "I know he won't."

The dinner was elegant, and Jean-Claude found that he enjoyed it even more now that Cosette was his bride-to-be. Every so often she would glance over at him. Her shy little looks made him love her even more, made him long for their wedding day. He imagined himself standing before her at the altar, lifting the veil from her face, staring into those beautiful blue eyes as he declared his love for her.

He had brought her a gift just for this occasion. He'd sold most of his mother's old jewelry; the smaller pieces, the ones that didn't matter quite as much to him. He had, however, saved a gold necklace just for Cosette. The pendant was a small gold disk covered with shining white pearls. It would look so beautiful around Cosette's slender neck.

He walked beside Cosette now, wishing he could hold her hand as they watched the sun set together. He knew full well that her father was watching them from the house, though, and he would have to be content to stand at her side. Her grandparents had a lovely garden, filled with sweet-smelling flowers. The flowers seemed brighter and more vibrant near Cosette's pale skin, but their color only made her more beautiful.

"I have a gift for you," he said.

"Jean-Claude, you shouldn't have!"

He was smiling as he handed her the little black box containing his mother's necklace. She opened it, gasping at the beauty of the necklace. "Oh, Jean-Claude," she whispered, still staring into the box, "it's too much!"

"Nonsense," he said. He took it out of the box, holding it up to the waning sunlight. It seemed to sparkle in the light from the setting sun. "It belonged to my mother." She turned away from him, motioning for him to place it around her neck. He glanced back at the house. He knew that her father was watching them, but he couldn't see the old man from the windows, and this bothered him. He placed the necklace around Cosette's throat, trying not to touch her as he did so. His fingertips brushed against the nape of her neck, and he had to fight the urge to lean in and kiss her. He finally succeeded in working the clasps, and Cosette turned to him.

The necklace seemed to glow against her deep blue dress. She looked so beautiful. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you so much."

"She would have wanted you to have it." Jean-Claude had lied about his mother, and had once felt ashamed for doing so. Now knowing that she had willingly abandoned him, that she didn't love him or want anything to do with him, he felt no guilt, and let the lie flow more freely. He had told Cosette that his mother had died in childbirth. There was nothing he could say about his father's death; it was common knowledge that he'd been robbed and murdered by Gypsies.

"I'm so happy," said Cosette. She clasped her hands in front of her; it was as if she wanted to reach out and take his hand but was restraining herself.

"As am I," he said, "and I'll be even happier after I've married you."