She had not immediately realized that Heracles and Marie had left, and as she let go of Pierre, she looked around, wondering where they had gone. Pierre was wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands, shifting uncomfortably, trying to make it seem as though he hadn't been crying. She was about to turn and speak to him when she heard the footsteps.
Much to Rosalie's surprise, Marie and Heracles were accompanied by Dmitri. Dmitri nodded to her and moved past her, approaching Pierre. "Pierre," he said, "I am having a question to ask of you, because you are the brother of Marie."
"Oh…well…fine, ask it." Pierre looked thoroughly confused, and Rosalie saw Marie wringing her hands out of the corner of her eye. Marie looked absolutely terrified; Heracles had his hand on her shoulder, trying to be reassuring, but it looked as though Marie wasn't even aware of it. Rosalie looked back at Dmitri, noticing that he was staring at Pierre with intensity and confidence.
"I am wanting to marry Marie," he said, shifting his shoulders, standing up straighter.
"What?" Pierre was staring at Dmitri as if he'd suddenly sprouted wings. Marie was rubbing her forehead, shaking her head in embarrassment. "Why are you asking me?"
"Marie does not have father," said Dmitri. "You are…" he paused, frowning as he groped for the correct words, "only man in her life for to give her away."
Pierre turned away from Dmitri, looking at Rosalie, thoroughly puzzled. "Is it even my decision?" he asked.
"Of course not," said Rosalie. "It's Marie's." She went to Marie. Marie bit her lip and wrung her hands nervously. "Marie," she said, "do you want to marry Dmitri?" Marie nodded. Rosalie glanced back at Dmitri. He was watching her, his eyes no longer confident by desperate. She didn't dislike Dmitri, she didn't hate him. She supposed that if Marie loved him that should be enough…but could he care for her? He didn't have a proper trade; his missing fingers branded him a thief in Lyon, and no one would bother listening to his explanation. Could Marie and Dmitri survive based on what little she made minding a rich woman's children?
"I don't have much for dowry," said Dmitri, "but if you give me time, I can to repay you."
Perhaps it wasn't the best match. Perhaps Marie was just being young and silly and too in love to see that Dmitri couldn't provide for her. They were both young, they could certainly afford to wait until Dmitri found steady work, or until someone better came along. Marie deserved better. Marie was staring at her, wringing her hands, biting her lower lip so hard she'd drawn blood. She pulled a kerchief from her pocket and pressed it to her mouth.
"Rosalie," said Heracles, "I know it's none of my business, but I think they would be happy together."
She sighed. It was happening much too fast. The night was spiraling out of her control, becoming too wild and hectic. She would need to think about Marie and Dmitri. The sudden desperation in Dmitri's eyes bothered her, as did Marie's nervousness. Rosalie rubbed her forehead. Somewhere inside of her, a small voice was telling her to let go. Marie was no longer a child. She was a grown woman. She could make her own decisions. She could fall in love and marry whom she wanted to. If she chose Dmitri, it was because she loved him, and he loved her back.
Marie grabbed her hand suddenly. She had dropped the handkerchief, letting it flutter to the ground like a wounded bird. Marie was staring at her, her dark eyes frighteningly intense. Marie began to move her hands, making familiar motions; motions that meant 'pregnant' and 'baby.' Rosalie stared, unaware that her mouth had fallen open. Marie – her daughter, her only daughter – was pregnant out of wedlock? It explained her nervousness and Dmitri's desperation; they wanted to get married quickly for the baby's sake.
The world seemed to spin unpleasantly, and Marie was shaking. Rosalie combed her memories frantically, struggling to find the place when this had happened. Had she been too absorbed in her own pain to see Marie and Dmitri? How could she have let this happen? Hadn't she taught Marie about men? Hadn't she told her to remain pure until her wedding night?
"You got my sister pregnant?" Pierre was approaching Dmitri, his hands balled into fists, and Rosalie suddenly wanted everyone to leave. The confusion and desire to be alone overwhelmed her; it was as though her brain was filling too quickly, as though she was drowning in information. "You stupid, filthy, pervert – "
"No, please," said Dmitri, backing away, holding up his hands, "I am to honoring Marie, I am to loving her most very much, I am wanting to marry her – "
"God damn Russian pervert! You took advantage of her! What, you couldn't keep it in your pants, so you had to ruin her like this? You God damn, stupid – "
Marie was glaring at Pierre, reading his lips, understanding every hateful word that he was now screaming at Dmitri. She grabbed him, jerking him back roughly, and slapped him. Pierre's head snapped to the side, and Rosalie suddenly noticed that a crowd had gathered, undoubtedly attracted by the yelling. Heracles was trying to shoo them away, trying to make them leave, demanding privacy. Marie was moving her hands, making signs that meant 'stop it,' 'I love him,' 'I consented,' and 'you have no right.' Pierre was rubbing his cheek, staring at her in disbelief. Marie continued, 'he loves me,' 'he wants to marry me.'
"Pierre." Rosalie had found her voice, and the sound of it surprised her for a moment. She put her hand on Pierre's shoulder. "If Marie and Dmitri wish to get married, then…then they can." She looked at Marie and Dmitri, suddenly feeling exhausted, as though she would pass out. "We will talk about the wedding in the morning," she said.
Dmitri nodded. "Thank you," he said, "I will come back tomorrow." He looked at Marie, and Rosalie could see the love in his eyes. She found it comforting. Dmitri was marrying Marie because he loved her, not simply because he had gotten her pregnant. He turned and left, and Rosalie could hear voices asking him questions in Russian. Marie hugged her. Rosalie closed her eyes; she could feel Marie's relief, could feel her the weight being lifted from her heart.
~xXx~
Giovanni wondered how far off dawn was. The full moon, combined with a lantern, cast enough light on the road. The mule could make its way, and it did so slowly. Giovanni was far too tired to urge it to move faster, and he feared that bumping the hearse would cause Theresa pain.
He did not like the idea of her back there with René. He doubted that René would do anything inappropriate; after all, Theresa was still in pain. If he even so much as touched her, she'd scream reflexively. The roadway was completely and totally silent. Giovanni thought he could hear René snoring in the back of the hearse. He wondered if he should stop for the night. No one was pursuing them, and they would make their way to Lyon unharmed.
He tugged the reins, and the mule stopped. Giovanni unhitched it, wondering what he should do with it. It would wander off if he just left it untied, but what was there to tie it to? He led it to the side of the hearse, making sure it was near the grassy side of the road. He tied the reins to one of the front wheels; the mule wouldn't wander away, and hopefully, no one would come and steal it.
Giovanni opened the back of the hearse and was stunned to find René holding Theresa's hand. He was sitting about a foot away from her, his knees curled to his chest. He blinked sleepily, looking at Giovanni, letting go of Theresa's hand quickly. "What's wrong?" he asked.
"It's too dark," said Giovanni, climbing into the back of the hearse. He gently nudged Theresa, creating space between her and René. He lay down between them, putting his arm around Theresa. "We should rest for the night anyway," he said. Theresa groaned in her sleep and shifted. Her hand seemed to reach out, searching for René's. René looked away, busying himself with shutting the hearse's door. "Don't touch my cousin," said Giovanni, tightening his grip on Theresa as they were plunged into darkness.
"I'm sorry," said René, "she was frightened. I was only trying to comfort her."
"Keep your hands off her," said Giovanni, "or I'll cut them off."
~xXx~
"You're back awfully early."
Heracles sighed. He'd hoped to slip into his caravan unnoticed, but Frieda was sitting on the steps, waiting for him. He was surprised to see her alone; for the past six months or so, she and Quasimodo had been nearly inseparable. He wondered if she knew about the argument. After all, Pierre had had no qualms with shouting at the top of his voice, and Heracles had recognized some of his fellow roustabouts in the crowd that had gathered.
"I could use a drink," he said.
She nodded to his caravan, and he climbed the steps, scooping her up as he did so. He opened the door and stepped inside, setting Frieda down on the floor. He lit a lantern and sat down beside Frieda. He reached for the trunk near him and opened it, pulling out a bottle of brandy. "I heard shouting," said Frieda, watching as he uncorked the bottle and drank, letting the bitter scorching liquid pour down his throat.
"It happened too fast," he said. "I was with Rosalie, and I was kissing her, but…Pierre and Marie saw…"
"Oh dear."
"Pierre started shouting and Marie fled," he continued, taking another swig. "I went after Marie, and she was crying. She was so frightened and upset…"
"Because you were with Rosalie?"
He shook his head. "Marie is pregnant," he said. "There's this Russian boy she's been hanging around, he's the father. She didn't know what to do, so I went with her to find him and tell him. He said that he would marry her…and then decided that he needed Pierre's permission…"
Frieda was shaking her head, and she reached for the bottle. He handed it to her. "Sweet of him to marry her," she said. "What did Pierre say?"
"Pierre can't tell Marie who she can and can't marry," said Heracles. "But he was furious when he found out that Marie was pregnant."
"He's always been protective of her. Ever since they were little. Remember, he used to hold her hand everywhere they went?"
"He was afraid she'd get lost."
"How does Rosalie feel about Marie?"
"Well, she's disappointed that she's pregnant, of course. But she says she'll let them get married. They seem to love each other."
Frieda took a long swig from the bottle, grimacing at the taste of the brandy. She handed it back to him. "Hans says that the Russian Gypsies are leaving in a few days. Is Marie going with them, or is the boy staying here?"
Heracles shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't know that they were leaving. I doubt Rosalie will let Marie leave…" He sighed, staring down at the bottle, suddenly feeling exhausted. Too much was happening. It swirled around, thick as smoke, and Heracles felt as though he was suffocating. He wished that Rosalie was with him. Holding her, kissing her, would make him feel better. Thinking about her seemed to help, to ease the pressure within him. He barely noticed when Frieda left. He laid out his bedroll and lay down, extinguishing the lantern. He lay there in the darkness, wishing that Rosalie was beside him, longing for her. The moment he'd shared with her had been too brief, too fleeting, but he recalled it perfectly, and he replayed it in his mind.
~xXx~
René woke before daybreak and climbed out of the back of the hearse as quietly as he could. Giovanni stirred and Theresa groaned in her sleep, but neither one woke. René found the mule and hitched it up to the hearse. He urged it on, ignoring the chill that hung in the air. He had destroyed his coat to make bandages for Theresa and hadn't thought to bring another one. He hunched over, wishing that his soldier's uniform was warmer.
The sun rose slowly, and the mule plodded forward slowly but surely. They would reach Lyon in a few days at this rate, and René found himself wondering what he would do once they arrived. Giovanni and Theresa would go back to their families, but René had nothing waiting for him in Lyon. Everything he'd ever really known was in Paris, and he couldn't return. He thought of his mother; she was probably reading the letter he'd left her. He wondered if she was ashamed of him, if she was disappointed that he'd rescued a Gypsy girl and been kicked out of the army. Would she come to Lyon to look for him? Or was she so ashamed of him that she'd never search for him? Was he dead to her?
He found himself thinking of Jean-Claude. He would be waking up beside Cosette, kissing her cheek as he left her to go to work. He would be patrolling the streets of Paris, his head held high; he would undoubtedly be proud of killing Theresa. In the evening, he would return to Cosette, and they would make love. What if she conceived again only to miscarry again? Would Jean-Claude realize that he'd been wrong about Theresa? Would he feel repentant? Or would he continue to blame her, accusing her of cursing him from beyond the grave?
If René stayed in Lyon, he would see Theresa more often. The thought made him happy, if only for a few moments. Perhaps she'd make a full recovery; perhaps she'd even be able to dance again in time. It would be most disappointing if the wound in her leg prevented her from dancing. She was so lovely when she danced, so happy and graceful. René remembered the way she'd held his hand the night before, gripping it, smiling at him. Perhaps she loved him as much as he loved her. He knew that the idea was too outrageous, that she'd never love him, but he clung to it nonetheless. If she did love him, perhaps he would marry her; perhaps her father would give his consent. He could spend the rest of his life in Lyon with Theresa by his side. The idea was too farfetched, too fantastic, but he loved it almost as much as he loved Theresa.
~xXx~
Dmitri looked ragged and exhausted, and Rosalie noticed that he was wearing the same clothes he'd had on the night before. He looked as though he'd slept outside, but he smiled at her and nodded politely when she opened the door to let him in. He sat down at the table beside Marie, reaching out and taking hold of her hand.
"I am not having much for dowry," he said. He reached into a pocket and withdrew something too small for Rosalie to see. He stared down into whatever was in his palm. "This used to belong to my mother," he said, "it is made of real silver, and you may have it for part of dowry."
He handed her a small, silver ring. It was a plain, ordinary band with a pale blue stone set in it. Rosalie stared at it, then shook her head. "No," she said, "I can't take this from you – "
"Please, is all I have for dowry."
She shook her head again. "No, Dmitri. I don't want a dowry." She spoke slowly and clearly, making sure that both Dmitri and Marie could understand her. They were both staring at her, their eyes wide with shock. It was unheard of to turn down a dowry, and Rosalie wondered if it was improper to do so. Still, Dmitri had practically nothing. Why should he give anything to Rosalie if it was Marie he needed to take care of? Why would Rosalie need a ring? "Give the ring to Marie," she said.
She herself had never had a wedding band. It was far more common to see wealthier, more respectable members of society with them. She liked the idea of Marie having one. Dmitri turned to Marie now, handing her the ring. She took it, slipping it onto her finger. It looked natural, as though it belonged there. Marie was smiling at Dmitri, making the hand motions that meant 'thank you.'
"Where will you be living once you're married?" asked Rosalie.
The smile faded from Dmitri's face, and he looked away. "I am not having proper house right now," he said. "I used to be living with Piotr and Anja, but they are leaving next day. I am not wanting to go with them. Piotr says terrible things, and we are arguing. I can…how do you say? I can to make proper house for Marie. I am needing some time…"
Building a house would take time, not to mention money. While Dmitri had all of nine months to build a house, he didn't have the money to do it. Rosalie looked around her own house, thinking. Her house only had one room that she and Marie currently shared. She supposed that Dmitri could live with them, though she didn't particularly like the idea. Dmitri and Marie deserved their privacy, and she had no desire to see them being intimate with each other. Besides, Marie would be having a baby. The shack was barely big enough for three people. It would be downright uncomfortable once the baby came.
Heracles had his own caravan. He owned it outright, and if he left the circus, he could take it with him. Rosalie wondered now if she wanted him to stay here with her. She liked him enough; seeing him every day would be wonderful. He liked his life, though. He liked traveling. She didn't want to be the one to take it away from him. She didn't want to force him to abandon the only life he'd ever known just for her.
Perhaps she could go with him. Marie and Pierre were the only reasons she stayed in Lyon, and they were both grown now. Marie was getting married. She didn't need her mother to care for her, not when she had a husband. Still, Rosalie didn't like the idea of leaving Marie while she was pregnant. What if something happened? What if Marie miscarried or had an accident? She had to stay for Marie, at least until the baby was born.
"Dmitri, you are going to live with us for now," said Rosalie. He started to protest, saying that it was improper, but she held up her hand and he was silent. "I'm going to talk with a friend of mine."