He had to remind himself that Marie was no longer a little girl, that she was old enough to marry. The wedding was a quick one, as all Gypsy weddings were. Rosalie joined her daughter's hand with that of the boy she was about to marry. The couple drank from the same cup, then smashed it against the ground. Marie was smiling, her happiness infectious, and Quasimodo found himself glancing at Frieda. He'd set her on his shoulder so that she could see above the crowd; she cheered with the rest of the crowd, clapping her hands, calling out her congratulations to the new couple.
Food was eaten, wine drunk, and Dierk reached for his fiddle. The music filled the air, and Quasimodo wondered if Marie ever wished that she could hear. She had been deaf her entire life, had never heard a single sound. Did she watch people dancing and wish that she could hear the music? If she did feel that way, she hid it, or perhaps she was too happy to care. Her new husband embraced her, kissing her cheek, looking at her with love and tenderness in his eyes. He danced with her, guiding her along.
"They're a sweet couple," said Frieda.
"I've forgotten his name."
"Dmitri."
Quasimodo nodded, watching as the rest of the crowd began to join in the dance. Brunhilde and Conradine skipped and twirled, laughing as they spun in unison. Other instruments were produced; flutes and drums joined in with the fiddle. Frieda leaned against him, sighing. "They grow up so fast," she said, "it seems like just yesterday you were carrying her out of the woods."
~xXx~
The sun had begun to set, and René insisted that they stop for the night. The mule was tired, and it wouldn't help them if it dropped dead from exhaustion. Giovanni sat in the back of the hearse, holding Theresa and watching René as he toasted bread over the small campfire he'd built. They ate in silence, and Giovanni found that he wasn't terribly hungry. Theresa had regained her appetite; she ate slowly, but ate her share and half of his. She finished the milk that René had bought her earlier.
"Hopefully we'll reach Lyon tomorrow evening," said René. He stomped out the campfire, tossing dirt over the smoldering ashes. He climbed back into the hearse. He shut the door, and the three of them sat around the lantern. "How are you feeling, Theresa?" he asked.
"I'm all right," she said.
"No pain?"
She shook her head. "It comes and goes. But it's getting better."
"Good."
Giovanni could feel sleep threatening to overtake him, and he struggled to stay awake, though he couldn't say why, exactly. René wouldn't do anything to Theresa, especially not with Giovanni between them. Theresa was saying something to him, telling him to lie down and go to sleep. He did so reluctantly, curling against her and holding her close.
~xXx~
He had often wished that Rosalie would dance with him, but tonight, he didn't mind her stillness so much. She stood beside him, holding his hand while she watched Marie and Dmitri. They looked so happy, so lost in each other's eyes. Regardless of the circumstances surrounding their marriage, they were in love, and they would be happy together. Dmitri had done the responsible thing, the right thing, and he'd done it out of love for Marie.
"They do make a good pair," said Rosalie, looking up at him.
He nodded. "I think they do." She moved closer to him, leaning against his shoulder, and he put his arm around her waist. Tonight Rosalie would be moving out of her small house; Marie and Dmitri would be moving into it. Rosalie would be living with Heracles in his caravan. The thought of it thrilled him and made him nervous at the same time. What if she changed her mind? What if she decided she'd rather not live with him? She was looking up at him now, something strange and seductive in her eyes, and he found himself leading her away from the crowd, towards his caravan.
They entered the caravan silently, and Heracles lit a lantern. He hung it from a hook in the ceiling, letting the light fill the room. Rosalie had moved some of her possessions in earlier in the day, and Heracles was momentarily surprised to see her trunk resting in the corner. He went to his own trunk now, pulling out two bedrolls. He spread them out, leaving a space between them. Pushing them together would be improper at this point; Rosalie might think him a pervert and leave if he did.
He looked over at her now, stunned to see that she'd turned away from him. Her back was to him, as though he wasn't even in the room. She was letting her hair down, undoing the carefully coiled bun at the nape of her neck. Her black hair spilled down over her shoulders, and she ran her hands through it. He watched as she undid the buttons on her blouse, sliding it off of her shoulders and placing it carefully on top of her trunk. He felt guilty for watching, but found himself unable to look away. He stepped towards her, and she glanced back at him. She was smiling.
He went to her, pulling his shirt off, letting it fall to the floor without a second thought. He took her in his arms; her body was so warm, so soft, it was almost unreal, like a dream. She closed her eyes as she kissed him. She took his hands and guided them, letting him touch her. He'd wanted this moment for so long, had practically ached for it; he felt her hands on his belt, undoing the buckle gracefully. His own hands slipped to her skirt. He felt a thin row of buttons along her hip and undid them slowly, carefully. They parted, each scrambling out of their clothes.
She stared at him, her eyes wandering over him curiously. Heracles found himself staring back, taking in her curves, wanting to touch her more than anything. She moved past him, sitting down on one of the bedrolls he'd laid out. He went to her, sitting beside her, and put his arms around her.
~xXx~
"René? Are you awake?"
He sat up, peering into the darkness. His eyes adjusted quickly, and he was surprised to see Theresa. She was sitting up, leaning against the wall. Despite the darkness, he could see the outline of her face, the curve of her chin, the bridge of her nose.
"Are you all right?" he whispered.
"I'm fine," she said, shifting. Giovanni lay between them; René could see his back rising and falling rhythmically as he slept. "I just can't sleep."
René climbed over Giovanni as quickly and gently as he could. Giovanni stirred, but did not wake; René was grateful. He sat down beside Theresa, leaving proper space between them. He had sat beside her just this way back in Notre Dame. In his mind's eye, he saw her as she once was. He saw the sunlight spilling through the stained glass windows, creating a kaleidoscope of color across her smile. "You in any pain?" he asked.
"A little. It isn't so bad." She shifted, and he felt her moving closer to him. Part of him wished that she wouldn't. If Giovanni woke, if he saw, he'd be furious, and rightly so. He'd grown up alongside Theresa, saw her as a little sister, and would protect her with the ferocity that only a brother can feel when he thinks his sibling is in danger. Theresa was extremely lucky to have him. "I don't feel tired."
She had spent most of the day asleep. René could feel her leaning on his shoulder and found himself wishing that they were back in Notre Dame. Notre Dame may have been a prison for Theresa, but it had peace and privacy. "Fair enough." He was tempted to stroke her hair, and he grip the wooden floor of the hearse to prevent himself from doing so. "We'll reach Lyon tomorrow evening. Do…do you have a boyfriend waiting there for you?"
"Of course not."
"Don't tell me Giovanni's scared them all away," he said. "You're far too pretty not to have at least ten suitors."
She giggled behind her hand, and even in the darkness he knew she was blushing. He suddenly felt her lips against his. He closed his eyes. Her lips were soft and warm, and he could feel her smiling. He broke away from her, pushing her back as gently as he could. "We shouldn't," he said, and Giovanni coughed in his sleep as if in agreement. "It's wrong."
"No, René," she said, "I love you. That's not wrong."
He wished that he could see her better. He could only see the dim outline of her face, he couldn't make out her features as clearly. He wished that he could see her, that he could look into her eyes and see what she was really feeling. "You – you shouldn't…"
"Why? Because you're a soldier, and everyone knows that soldiers have no hearts?" He felt her hand on his chest, her palm pressed flat against the spot above his heart. "You have a heart, René. I know you do."
He took her hand, bringing it to his face and kissing it. "I love you, Theresa."
~xXx~
He woke up to find René seated against the wall, still slumped over in sleep. Theresa lay beside him, her head resting against his lap. Giovanni shook himself awake and grabbed René by the shoulder. René's eyes flew open, as did Theresa's. René's eyes were startled, like those of a child who's just been caught doing something naughty.
"We need to talk," said Giovanni. He glanced at Theresa. She was sitting up slowly, rubbing her eyes.
"Giovanni," she said, "wait, it isn't what it looks like – "
Giovanni opened the back of the hearse and climbed out. He stood glaring up at René. René followed him, moving sluggishly. He closed the door, throwing a quick glance back at Theresa. "I told you to keep your hands off her."
"Nothing improper happened," said René. "She couldn't sleep. The pain was keeping her awake – "
"Oh? And does molesting her ease it?"
René rolled his eyes, looking irritated. "I didn't do anything to her," he said, his voice firm. "I held her hand until she fell asleep, that's all."
"That isn't what it looked like."
"Ask Theresa! Go ahead!" As if on cue, the rear door of the hearse creaked open. Theresa was struggling to climb down, gripping the doorframe so hard her knuckles went white. Giovanni went to her, putting his arms around her, helping her. She winced, balancing on one foot, trying not to put any weight on her bad leg.
"Theresa, you shouldn't – "
"He didn't hurt me," she said. Her voice was thin and angry. "I couldn't sleep, and I didn't want to wake you. René sat up with me. He held my hand. He didn't do anything to me." She glared at him, suddenly struggling to wrench herself out of his arms. She wobbled, crying out as her bad leg scraped against the side of the hearse. "He didn't do anything!"
"I'm sorry." Giovanni had to force himself to look at René. He hated to admit to failure; it made him look weak and stupid. But still, Theresa was telling the truth. If René had molested her, she would not have tried to protect him. He helped her back into the hearse in silence, closing the door. He and René re-hitched the mule.
"Why don't you trust me?"
"I've already apologized."
"And I don't care." René looked at him, taking the reins and urging the mule forward. The mule moved slowly and steadily. "I would never do anything like that to Theresa," he continued, "haven't I proved it to you?"
Giovanni sighed, squirming. He found himself wishing that he was in the back of the hearse with Theresa; he wanted to be anywhere but here with René. He wished he'd never left Lyon, that he'd never taken Theresa with him. "You're a soldier."
"I love my country."
"I've seen the way soldiers treat my people."
"I'm not like that."
René's stubborn anger was only making the whole thing more difficult. "My aunt and uncle – Theresa's parents – raised me after mine died," he said. He hated dredging up the past, and he had no desire to share the dark secrets of it with René. René was staring at him, silently commanding him to continue. "There's a place in Paris called the Court of Miracles. It used to be a place for Gypsies."
René nodded. "I've been there. The Gypsies still live there."
"No, it used to be a secret. No one knew about it. But there was a judge, and he…he wanted this one Gypsy woman. She didn't want him, she didn't love him. He found the Court of Miracles, and he arrested everyone, and he brought the woman into a room. He told her she had to marry him, and she refused. So…so he had his soldiers bring in this girl…and he told them they could rape her if they wanted to…and they started to. But the woman, she begged them to stop, and the only way they would was if she married the judge. So she did."
René was silent for a long time. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"The girl the soldiers brought in was my aunt, Theresa's mother." Giovanni could feel his own anger rising, and he glared at René. René was staring at him, stunned. "She was thirteen, and that judge told four soldiers that they could do whatever they wanted to her. They held her arms still and ripped her clothes and laughed at her while she screamed. And the only thing that saved her was another woman sacrificing herself."
"I – I had no idea – I'd never, ever – "
"My uncle found those men and killed them," said Giovanni. "And if you ever do anything to Theresa, I'll kill you myself."
"I like Theresa," said René, "I like her, and I respect her. I would never, ever hurt her." He shook his head, suddenly looking angry. "Men like that are monsters. They deserve to die. I…I haven't always treated Gypsies with proper respect, but I'd never do what those men wanted to."
"All right," said Giovanni. The look of disgust and anger in René's eyes was enough to convince him. If his true intent had been to molest Theresa, he wouldn't have reacted so to the story; he'd have rolled his eyes and called it a lie, or worse, he would've blamed Cassandra. "Listen, Theresa doesn't know about this."
"Of course."
"All right."
The sun had succeeded in rising and was shining down on the road. It was slowly growing familiar, and Giovanni knew that they'd be in Lyon by nightfall if nothing happened to slow them down. He found himself thinking of Katarina, aching for her. He'd missed her so very much. He'd missed his children, his babies. He longed for them, longed to hold them in his arms. He would finally meet the twins, Marc and Louisa; he couldn't wait to hold them, to take in the sweet, clean smell that all babies had. He imagined entering his house, imagined Katarina springing into his arms, kissing his face. He would hold her and kiss her, then he would turn to Dante and Musetta. He would hold them and kiss them, and never ever let them go.