He had seen the fear in René's eyes, but he knew that René was stubborn. So long as Theresa remained here, so long as she was unmarried, he would be back. Theresa was standing there, staring after René, watching him leave with pain and confusion in her eyes. She was young, she was naïve; he had saved her life, and she loved him, or at least she thought that she did. She was too blinded by her own emotions to see that there was a difference between love and lust, and that René clearly felt the latter for her.
Clopin watched as Theresa hobbled over to him. She'd been using the crutches less and less, though she still favored the wounded leg. Pierre was at her side, walking beside her, ready to help her. There was something genuinely tender in the way he looked at her, as if he cared about her. He certainly cared more than René ever could or would.
"What's happened?" asked Theresa. She was still staring down the road, staring at the place where René had once stood.
"Go inside," he said, moving to let her in. She stared at him, silently questioning him as she obediently climbed the steps and entered the caravan. He closed the door behind her and turned to Pierre, noticing for the first time the gardening tools he was carrying. "Have you found steady work?"
Pierre nodded. "There's a farmer who lets me work for him," he said, "he only pays me half of what he pays the others…" Pierre glanced down at his hand, at the place where his little finger used to be. "But it's better than nothing."
"Hm. Is your mother home?"
Pierre nodded again, using the scythe to point to Heracles's caravan. "She should be with Heracles."
Clopin could see smoke rising from behind the caravan. Rosalie was probably back there cooking. "Come on," he said, "I need to talk to the both of you."
~xXx~
She did find it strange that Pierre wasn't married. She had tried bringing up the subject, but she could tell that it made him uncomfortable. He was vague, saying that he hadn't met the right girl, saying that he wasn't ready. Pierre was twenty-three; Rosalie had been married and pregnant when she was his age. True, it was different if a woman never married. It implied that something was wrong with her, that she was barren. If a man never married, it implied that he just didn't care. She hated to think that her only son would be so apathetic.
Clopin's idea to pair Pierre with Theresa seemed strange and careless; Clopin was usually so meticulous. He thought everything through with perfect precision. He clearly hadn't thought about this union very much. Pierre was a full six years older than Theresa (though the age gap didn't seem terribly important; after all, Clopin and Cassandra had ten years between them). Pierre and Theresa didn't even really know each other; Pierre had begun spending time with her to help her recuperate. He'd said that Giovanni had asked him to help keep René away from Theresa.
Rosalie glanced over at her son now. Pierre was sitting on a stool, staring down at his hands. She couldn't see his eyes, couldn't tell what he was thinking; but he played with his hands when he was nervous. When he was nervous, he focused on the place where his little finger used to be, running his remaining fingers over it as though it would grow back if he did so.
"Pierre," said Rosalie, "would you want to marry Theresa?"
Pierre looked up. "I do care for her," he said quickly. "If marrying her will keep that soldier away from her – "
"Do you love her?"
Pierre nodded. "I suppose so."
"Well, that settles it," said Clopin.
Rosalie watched Pierre. He'd spoken with sincerity and honesty, but he'd been playing with his hands the entire time. He seemed so nervous, as if he had something to hide. She did not like the idea of an arranged marriage. She'd met women who'd been married off to men they didn't love, but she'd also met couples who had benefited from the arrangement. Her own experience had not been a good one, and she had to force herself not to think about it. It had happened long ago, and she'd managed to escape it. It was in the past, it was something that no one knew about, and she would keep it that way.
"I just want them to be happy," she said, thinking of Marie and Dmitri. Though their marriage had been rushed, Marie was happier than she'd ever been. Perhaps her pregnancy had been a sign that she belonged with Dmitri.
"Don't worry," said Pierre. He rose now, picking up his scythe, slinging it over his shoulder. He smiled at her, but it looked forced. "Besides, you're always nagging me to get married."
Rosalie had to bite her lip to keep from saying what was in her heart. She did not want to offend Clopin; he was one of her best friends. However, she wanted Pierre to marry because he was in love, not because Clopin was asking a favor of him. Marry her because you love her, she wanted to say, marry her because she makes you happy. Theresa was a wonderful girl, but if Pierre didn't love her – and if she didn't love him – they would be miserable together.
Pierre was old enough to make his own decisions, though, and if he wanted to marry, she couldn't stop him. All she could do was pray that he was making a good decision.
~xXx~
"I don't love Pierre."
"Love is like a plant," said Cassandra, shifting the pins in her mouth. "It grows." She was not quite sure how she felt about Theresa marrying Pierre, and adjusting the wedding dress took her mind off of it, if only for a few moments. It was the dress that Cassandra had worn, and holding the fabric in her hands as she pinned it reminded her of her own wedding. She remembered the way Clopin had held her hands, remembered the way his hands had shook when he'd lifted the veil from her face.
Theresa sighed. "But what if it doesn't?"
"It will, Theresa." Cassandra now desperately hoped that this was true. Pierre was a good man, he would treat Theresa with love and respect. He'd care for her and provide for her, he'd strive to make her happy. Theresa would undoubtedly see this, and her own affection for Pierre would grow. Cassandra wondered if she could persuade Clopin to push the wedding back, if only to give Theresa more time. He was adamant about it happening as quickly as possible, though. Arguing with him about it would be futile.
"Mama, what did René say to Papa last night?"
"I don't know." She hated lying. Lying to her own daughter made her feel cheap. She would not, however, tell Theresa about René's visit. If Theresa knew that René had been asking to marry her, she'd demand to know why she wasn't told. She'd refuse Pierre, she'd run away with René, and he would only hurt her. If she ran off with him, she'd probably return pregnant, ashamed, and heartbroken. If hiding the truth from her prevented this from happening, then Cassandra would continue to do it until the day she died.
"René said he loved me," said Theresa. She did not look at Cassandra, but stared straight ahead into the cracked mirror. "I love him back."
"Theresa, don't talk like that."
"Mama, if he wanted to marry me – "
"He doesn't," said Cassandra sharply. It pained her to see how naïve Theresa was. She and Clopin had done their best, had taught her that men could be just as dangerous as they were kind. "He's a soldier. He only wants one thing – "
"Well, what if Pierre only wants one thing?"
"Has he tried to take it from you?"
"No, but neither has René."
"Perhaps not by force," said Cassandra. "But Giovanni told me what happened in the hearse." Theresa swallowed, but did not respond. "He says that René held your hand and that he called you pretty. It sounds to me like he was trying to seduce you."
Several minutes ticked by before Theresa responded. "I think that he loves me."
"And I know that Pierre loves you." Cassandra rose now, removing the remaining pins from her mouth. She slid them into the hem of her skirt for safekeeping. Theresa's eyes were full of that sad, defeated look that came with losing an argument. Cassandra hugged her, stroking her hair. Theresa moved her arms slowly, almost reluctantly, to hug her back. "I love you, Theresa. I only want what's best for you."
She felt Theresa nod. "Yes, Mama."
~xXx~
He wanted to return right away, to plead with Clopin, to prove to him that he loved Theresa, but his job managed to prevent him from doing so. When he finally did return to the Gypsy camp, days had passed. The sun was setting, and René marched forward, barely noticing the large crowd that had gathered in a nearby field.
Clopin's caravan was dark and completely deserted. All of the caravans and shacks were empty; everyone had gathered in the field around a large bonfire. René watched, squinting, struggling to pick out individual forms amid the crowd. There was a rustling sound, and he turned towards it. A man was emerging from a shack with a bottle of wine. The man was roughly his own age, and was missing two fingers from his left hand.
"Excuse me," said René, "I need to find Clopin Trouillefou."
The man pointed at the bonfire. "He is at party." He spoke with a thick Russian accent. "Come, I take you."
"What – what's the party for?"
"For wedding," said the man, smiling. "Clopin's daughter is married now."
René felt his stomach clench. Theresa had a sister, didn't she? What was her name? Martine, or something like that. Perhaps she'd just gotten married. Perhaps this man wasn't talking about Theresa. "Oh…which one?"
"Theresa," said the man. "She married my brother-in-law, Pierre. Come on, you can come to party too – "
"No. No, I'll come back later. It isn't important."
René turned away from him. The man called after him, but René ignored him. His voice sounded faded and garbled anyway, it was as though René couldn't hear or understand him. He walked along the main road, pausing and looking back at the bonfire. He could see a slim, limping figure, and knew that it was Theresa. She was holding hands with another slightly taller figure. Their faces were shrouded in shadow, but the taller figure – Pierre, it had to be Pierre – leaned over and kissed Theresa. She did not pull away, did not resist him. She kissed him back.
René found himself staring, watching, even though he didn't want to. The pain in his heart was unbelievable; it was far worse than anything he'd ever experienced before. He wanted to rush forward, to pull Theresa away from Pierre. "I thought you loved me," he whispered, watching as Theresa and Pierre were quickly surrounded by the rest of the crowd.
He remembered the way Theresa had kissed him, the way she'd pressed her lips against his as though nothing else mattered. How could she kiss Pierre like that? Had she loved him the entire time? Had she been lying to René? Had she feigned loving him so that he would help her escape? René felt tears prickling at his eyes, and he finally turned away. He began walking back into Lyon, unable to keep the tears back. He didn't care if anyone saw him cry.
"I thought you loved me," he whispered.