She did not fully trust René; he was a soldier, after all, and it was common knowledge that soldiers only wanted one thing from pretty Gypsy girls. She did, however, trust Theresa, and it infuriated her that Clopin wanted Rosalie to examine her. If René – or anyone else – had done anything to hurt her, she would not be silent about it. Theresa was still young, but she wasn't stupid.
Cassandra sat outside of the caravan, waiting for Rosalie to emerge. She supposed that having Theresa examined eased Clopin's mind, then it was the right thing to do. Still, Theresa had insisted that René hadn't hurt her; Clopin's distrust of René seemed to be spreading. It seemed as though he didn't trust Theresa either. Cassandra felt hurt by this.
Her memories of the night she'd been attacked certainly hadn't faded. She could still remember the way everyone had stared at her when she'd been returned to the cells. People had looked at her with pity in their eyes, they had screamed at the guards, demanding to know how they could be so cruel. Her parents had held her afterwards, and her brothers had looked at her, shifting uncomfortably, unable to meet her eye. Her mother had ushered them from the room.
"They didn't rape me, Mama!"
"I just need to be sure, Cassandra, I just need to be sure." Her mother had been crying as she spoke, and Cassandra had laid down and let her examine her. It had been humiliating to know that her own parents didn't believe her.
"She would have told us," she said.
"I just want to be sure," said Clopin. She could see the frustration in his face, and she looked away from him. Not knowing for certain what had happened to Theresa in Paris was eating him alive. Rosalie would examine Theresa, would find that she was still a virgin, and Clopin's anxiety would lessen, if only slightly.
The door of the caravan creaked open, and Rosalie emerged. "Nothing happened," she said. "She's fine."
Clopin let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you," he said, "thank you so much, Rosalie."
As much as she wanted to tell Clopin that she'd been right all along, Cassandra held back. She would not ruin his brief moment of happiness. She glanced over her shoulder at the town of Lyon, frowning as a newer, more disturbing thought entered her mind. René hung around Theresa because she was still a virgin; if he had defiled her, he wouldn't be attempting to woo her. He wouldn't leave Theresa alone, not until she gave herself to him. He would ruin Theresa and break her heart, and he wouldn't even care. The thought terrified and angered Cassandra, and she glanced over at Clopin. He reached out and took hold of her hand as though he'd had the exact same thought. There was a certain familiar determination in his eyes; it was a look that Cassandra had seen before Clopin had killed the men who'd attacked her.
~xXx~
Theresa had always been a talkative girl, and Clopin found her sudden fits of silence disturbing. She would stare, her eyes blank, as though she was really somewhere else. Clopin wondered if she was thinking about René. He had seen René more and more. He knew that he wasn't seeking him out, that he wasn't searching for him. Lately, René seemed to be everywhere. He could always be found in the churchyard; when he wasn't burying the dead, he was maintaining their graves, clearing weeds away from the headstones. He hung around the caravan, chatting with Theresa despite Pierre's increasingly hostile presence.
Clopin had heard Pierre and René argue; Pierre was always the one to start the arguments, making rude comments about René's line of work. René didn't seem particularly threatened by Pierre. After all, Pierre was shorter than René, and René had been a soldier. He'd had combat experience. He knew how to fight, and he'd probably fight dirty if given the chance.
"I don't want him near her," Cassandra had said. "I've told Theresa to act responsible, to send him away, but she won't listen." This only made Clopin angrier.
"Theresa," he said, "I don't want René hanging around here anymore."
Theresa tilted her head to the side. She looked hurt and puzzled. "Why?"
"Don't you find it strange that he spends so much time with you?"
She shook her head. "We're friends."
"Yes, but he's a soldier – "
"Not anymore, Papa, you know that!"
"He's a soldier, and you're a Gypsy," said Clopin, trying not to shout at her. "You…you're still young, and you don't know how cruel some men can be."
"René isn't like that."
Clopin rubbed his forehead. He thought of Cassandra and Rosalie, how they'd suffered at the hands of soldiers, men like René. "I don't want you to get hurt." Theresa did not reply. "There are some men who see a pretty girl like you and only want one thing – "
"Papa, René isn't – "
"I am not going to let him hurt you." He was aware that he was raising his voice. Theresa's interruptions were irritating him, he had to silence her to make his point. "I've seen enough men like him to know what he really wants from you, and I will not let him take it. I don't want you to see him anymore, and that is final."
Theresa stared at him, her dark eyes full of pain. She nodded, biting her lower lip, forcing back tears. Clopin touched her shoulder, and he felt her stiffen. She looked down at her hands. "The next time he comes around, you tell him to leave," said Clopin. "And if he doesn't leave, you call for help." Theresa nodded again, but she would not look at him.
~xXx~
As much as she wanted to see René, as much as she wanted to talk to him, she found herself pointing to the road with her crutch and telling him to leave. The hurt, wounded look in his eyes pained her. It was like driving a knife through her heart.
"You need to leave," she said, "my father doesn't want you around here anymore."
"I don't understand."
Theresa glanced around. Pierre was approaching, carrying gardening tools slung over his shoulder. What if her father had asked Pierre to make sure that she didn't disobey him? What if he'd asked Pierre to make sure that René stayed away from her? How far would Pierre go? For a brief instant, Theresa could see the scythe Pierre was carrying swing through the air, could see it sink into René's throat, and the thought made her shudder. "You – you can't stay around here," she said. "Please leave."
René must have seen her looking at Pierre, because he turned. He stared at Pierre, glaring defiantly at him, standing up straight and refusing to back down. He'd never show fear or admit defeat, he'd never leave. What if Pierre did kill him? The thought of René dying, the thought of never seeing him again and being responsible for his death, sickened her. "René please – "
"I love you, Theresa," said René, turning back to her.
"I love you," she said, "but you need to leave. Please. If you do love me, then leave."
René turned again, this time looking over at the caravan. There was a look of stark determination in his eyes, and it made Theresa uneasy, almost frightened. "Is your father home?" he asked.
"I think so."
René nodded. "All right." He left her, walking confidently up to the caravan. Theresa watched as he knocked on the door, unaware that she was holding her breath. Her father answered it, and René said something that she could not hear. Her father looked at him warily, but he stepped aside and let René into the caravan.
~xXx~
"What is it you wanted to talk about?"
René did not like the way Clopin was looking at him, but he held his head high. It felt as though Clopin was trying to dissect him with his eyes, as if he was trying to see directly into his mind. René had nothing to hide. He loved Theresa, and if Clopin could truly read his mind, then he'd see that.
"I want to marry Theresa."
"What?" Clopin stared at him, and René suddenly felt his confidence begin to slip.
"I love her," he said. "I want to marry her. I – I'd gladly pay whatever bride price you ask – "
"Do you think I will sell her to you?" demanded Clopin, "do you think she's an object you can buy?"
"No! No, I had just heard that it's a Gypsy custom to pay a bride price – "
"I want you to stay away from my daughter."
"But, sir – " he had never referred to a Gypsy as 'sir' before, and it felt funny. Gypsies were lower class; René had been taught that they were liars and criminals who simply didn't deserve respect or dignity. Still, winning Theresa's hand in marriage could not be done if he treated her father poorly. He loved Theresa with all his heart; he could probably grow to love her family, too.
"I know what men like you want," said Clopin, glaring darkly at him. "Men like you see Gypsy girls and only want one thing from them. You think Gypsy girls are harlots, you think they've been with so many men already, what's one more?"
"No, no, it isn't like that – "
"Really? Then tell me how it is. Will you marry Theresa and take her home to your parents? Will you introduce her to your fellow soldiers as your wife?"
"I…" he had not thought about his mother. She knew about his exile from Paris. He'd left her a letter, plus Jean-Claude had probably stopped by and told her everything, that he had betrayed the city by trying to help Theresa. His mother had not made any attempts to contact him; he was probably dead in her eyes. Besides, she would not see Theresa for the kind, beautiful girl that she was. She would see her dark skin and call her a thief and a witch.
"No, you won't," said Clopin, as though reading his mind. "You won't even stay with her! You'll leave her the moment you've gotten what you want! Everyone knows that Gypsy marriages don't really count in the eyes of God." Clopin drew the knife in his belt now. It was long and sharp, and René reached for his own knife on instinct. "I've killed men bigger and stronger than you, boy. If I ever see you again, I will personally make sure that no one finds your bones."
"Sir, if you'll just give me a chance – "
"Get out of my home."
"Let me prove to you that I love her!"
"I said, get out!"
The harshness was not just in Clopin's voice; it was in his eyes as well. René was suddenly afraid to turn away from him. He could see Clopin plunging his knife into his vulnerable back, could see him twisting it painfully. He backed away from Clopin, reaching out behind him and grabbing for the doorknob. He felt stupid for being so afraid. Clopin undoubtedly saw his fear and enjoyed it. Still, there was nothing René could do. He left the caravan. He knew that Theresa was watching him, he could feel her eyes on him, but he couldn't bring himself to look at her.
Tears were beginning to sting at his eyes, and looking at Theresa would only cause them to cascade down his face. He couldn't handle any more shame or humiliation. René turned and began walking back into the city of Lyon, his head lowered against the cold night air. In the distance, he heard Clopin calling to Theresa, and knew that she was hobbling over to him.
René's body felt numb as he entered his room, but there was a sharp, twinge in his chest. Was it possible for a heart to break? Was his heart breaking right now? He sat down on his bed, and let the tears fall from his eyes, grateful for the darkness. He pressed the pillow to his face, sobbing into it.