"I'm busy right now, Phoebus – "
"This is important," said Phoebus. "It's about Theresa." Clopin had been walking away from him, towards his caravan, and he stopped now. He turned to Phoebus. "I know it's none of my business, but that boy, René, was here last night. He was looking for you."
"Well, he found me – "
"He loves Theresa," said Phoebus. "I talked with him this morning. He really does love her."
Clopin sighed and rubbed his forehead. He suddenly looked tired. "Listen, I know you're trying to help me – "
"Why do you hate him so much?" asked Phoebus. He approached Clopin. "Is it because he's a soldier?" Clopin squirmed uncomfortably, and Phoebus knew he'd struck a nerve. "Do you also hate me?"
"No."
"I used to be a soldier. I threw away what many called a 'promising career' for the woman I loved," continued Phoebus. "I think this boy, René, did the same thing."
Clopin looked flustered. "I was just trying to protect her – "
"From what? Just because a man's a soldier doesn't mean he's a monster, too." Despite Clopin's slumped shoulders, despite his air of utter defeat, Phoebus found himself glaring at him. He felt anger burning within his chest; he knew that there were soldiers who used their power to mistreat others. He knew that there were men out there who did rape and torture simply because they had a suit of armor and their Captain's permission to protect them. It infuriated him that anyone would sink so low, that a man would do what he wanted and then use his uniform to justify his actions. Phoebus knew that his anger shouldn't be directed at Clopin, that Clopin had experienced humiliation and cruelty at the hands of soldiers. Clopin was being unfair, though. He was judging René solely on his former employment, just as so many had judged Clopin based on the color of his skin. "He saved Theresa's life, for God's sake! If that doesn't prove his love for her, then I don't know what does!"
Clopin sighed. "I've made a mistake," he said. "I remembered what soldiers have done to the people I love, and I don't want it to happen to her. You'd do the same for Katarina – "
"I let Katarina marry a Gypsy," said Phoebus. "Because he loved her, and she loved him back. I know Theresa and Pierre are married now, but – "
Clopin shook his head. "They aren't. The whole thing's a sham." He sighed. "If they both agree, we can declare the whole thing null and void."
"Are you certain Pierre will?"
"Yes. He and Theresa, they didn't…it's his blood on that sheet, not hers."
Phoebus glanced back over his shoulder. Theresa was no longer sitting outside. The bucket was overturned, the damp sheet spilling out onto the mud. He remembered seeing Katarina after her wedding, hanging the newly cleaned sheet to dry. Despite her scrubbing, a faint, rust-colored stain had lingered on the sheet. Phoebus stared at the overturned bucket. He found it strange that Pierre had not taken Theresa on her wedding night. As her husband, it was his right to. Phoebus found it hard to imagine them lying side by side, sharing a chaste, awkward wedding night.
"I need to talk to Cassandra about this," said Clopin, turning and heading towards his caravan. Phoebus watched him go.
~xXx~
"You know, you could always run away with him," said Pierre.
He hadn't spoken in well over an hour, and it startled Theresa. She looked at him. "What?"
"René," he said. "If you truly love him, and he loves you back, you should just run away with him."
"He doesn't want to," she said. "He says he wants a proper wedding – "
"He should know that a Gypsy wedding is anything but proper."
"No, Pierre, I mean, he doesn't want to flee. He wants to have a home. He wants my family to be part of our lives."
"But what if you can't have that?"
Theresa sighed. "Why do you keep asking me?"
Pierre shrugged. "I would help you," he said.
This startled her, but then again, just about everything about Pierre seemed to startle her lately. The way he'd purposely cut his hand on their wedding night, his lack of a reaction to seeing her with René; a normal husband would not do such things. A normal husband would have taken her on their wedding night, would have killed another man for talking to her. Pierre was so different, and it frightened her.
"You would?"
He nodded.
"Why?"
Pierre shrugged. "I know that you don't love me," he said finally. "And I don't want you to be unhappy – "
"I…well…" it was true, but the truth was somehow more painful than their farce of a marriage. "I could learn, in time – "
"Theresa, I don't love you either," said Pierre, "at least, not in that way. Making love to you would be like making love to my sister."
His honesty stung her, and she had to struggle to conceal her anger. "Why did you marry me if you don't love me?"
"Your father asked me to."
"My father also asks you to stop picking pockets!" she snapped, "and you continue to do that!"
"I love someone else," said Pierre. "Someone I can't be with."
"Who?"
Pierre shook his head. "It doesn't matter."
"Is she married? Is it one of the girls from the village? Do her parents hate you?"
"It doesn't matter. I couldn't be with her, so when your father asked if I'd marry you, I accepted."
"So I'm your second choice?"
Pierre groaned and rubbed his forehead. "You're like a little sister to me, Theresa," he said, "and I thought that René was only going to hurt you. I married you to protect you from him." He laughed now. "But it looks like we were wrong about him; he does love you."
Theresa stood up and made her way around the table towards him. He stared at her, then stood up. She hugged him, feeling herself smile as he hugged her back. "If my father doesn't give his consent, René and I will run away," she whispered.
"And I will help in any way I can."
~xXx~
"I don't like him," said Cassandra. "I don't want him near her."
"I know that," said Clopin. "But she loves him, and she wants to be with him."
Cassandra shook her head. "She's a child – "
"She's seventeen. She's a woman now." He reached out and took hold of Cassandra's hands. "You married me when you were seventeen."
"That was different," said Cassandra. "I loved you, and I knew that you loved me back. I knew you'd never hurt me. This boy is a soldier! You know what they're like."
"Phoebus was also a soldier, remember?"
"Don't change the subject – "
"He was a soldier, and he still loves Esmerelda."
Cassandra sighed, rubbing her forehead. "What about Pierre?"
"They're not really married." Cassandra looked at him, puzzled. "Last night, they didn't – "
"No, I saw her outside cleaning the sheets."
"It's Pierre's blood, not hers. He said she didn't want him and that he wouldn't force her, so he cut his hand to fool the rest of us."
Cassandra only stared at him, her eyes wide and disbelieving. "Why would he do that?"
Clopin shrugged. "He's always been strange. Perhaps he just cares for her in a different way."
"What if René doesn't love her? What if he only hurts her?"
"That's a risk," said Clopin, "but it's Theresa's risk, and she's willing to take it." Cassandra bit her lower lip, and Clopin squeezed her hands. "She isn't happy with Pierre. She doesn't love him. She loves René."
~xXx~
He was thoroughly surprised to find Pierre on the other side of the door, and he was tempted to slam it in his face. Pierre seemed to sense this, and he put his hand on the doorframe. "What do you want?" demanded René. He suddenly found himself wanting a drink, and he had to push the thought from his mind. He'd spent most of the day staring at a bottle of wine, trying to tell himself that it would not make him feel any better. He'd managed to stave off temptation long enough by convincing himself that Theresa's father could come and fetch him at any given moment, and it wouldn't do if he saw him drunk.
"Theresa wants to see you," said Pierre. "Come on."
"Did Clopin send you?"
"He doesn't know I'm here. Do you want to see Theresa or not?"
As much as René found himself hating Pierre, he followed him. They walked to the Gypsy camp in silence, passing by Clopin's caravan as though it didn't exist. They were headed towards the little house where Theresa now lived with Pierre. René stared at it. He'd expected to see Theresa waiting outside for him, and was startled when he didn't see her. He suddenly wondered if this was a trick. What if Theresa wasn't waiting for him? What if a band of Gypsies, all armed with knives, was waiting instead? What if Pierre had simply lured him out here to kill him? René glanced over at Pierre, but his face was unreadable.
They went to the house but did not go inside. Instead, Pierre led René around to the side. Theresa was standing there, leaning against the side of the house. She reached for him, and he went to her, wrapping his arms around her. René closed his eyes. Theresa felt soft and warm, and he could feel the curves of her body even though she was pressed against him. He inhaled, taking in her scent. Seeing her, holding her, smelling her – he felt whole. He felt complete.
"We don't have much time," said Pierre, and this jolted René from his reverie. He opened his eyes. Theresa slid out of his arms, and he was momentarily disappointed. Pierre approached them, carrying a small, mostly-empty jug of wine in his hands. "Take her hands."
René stared at Pierre. Theresa reached out and took hold of his hands. "What's going on?"
"You're getting married," said Pierre. He set the wine jug down and folded his hands around René's and Theresa's, pressing their hands together. "All right – "
"Wait," said René. It was happening much too fast. Theresa was still married to Pierre. Why on earth was he doing this? Why was he just giving her up? Was it even legal or moral for him to do this? Theresa couldn't have two husbands; wasn't there some sort of procedure that would nullify her marriage to Pierre? "Hold on, why are you doing this?"
Pierre rolled his eyes. "I don't love Theresa the way you do," he said, "we aren't even really married."
Theresa was looking at him, her eyes wide with desperation. "I had to lie to you earlier," she said. "I'm sorry, I truly am – "
"Lie about what?"
"She's still a virgin," said Pierre. René stared, unable to think properly let alone speak. He remembered Theresa scrubbing at the sheet, remembered her holding it up. He remembered the slowly-fading bloodstain. He glanced down at Pierre's hands, suddenly noticing the bandage. "So we aren't really married."
"I'm so sorry, René, I shouldn't have lied – "
"I – it's fine," he said, "I don't care."
"We really don't have much time," said Pierre. "Now if you want to run away together before Clopin comes back, we have to hurry."
The idea of running away, of fleeing, was one that disgusted René. It implied cowardice, and would cause disgrace and a scandal. He, for one, would not flee. He would marry Theresa with her father's blessing, no matter what it took. He and Theresa would build a life together, and it would be a proper one. They would settle down, they would not spend a lifetime together fleeing and hiding. "Pierre, I'm not running away from anyone," said René.
Pierre rolled his eyes. "Listen, if Clopin doesn't give his consent – "
"What's going on back here?"
René felt Theresa tighten her grip on his hands, and he turned to the sound of the familiar voice. Clopin was staring at them, his arms folded across his chest. His wife and children were beside him, as was Phoebus. For a moment, if felt as though time had froze. René stared at Clopin, trying to look respectful, trying to remain brave. He squeezed Theresa's hands, trying to be reassuring.
Clopin broke the stillness, moving forward. He motioned for Pierre to step back, and Pierre did so, releasing René's and Theresa's clasped hands. René wondered if he should let go of Theresa's hands, if holding her hands like this was improper, but he feared losing her. What if this was the last time he saw her? What if this was the last time he ever touched her? He could feel her hands, could feel every line in her palms. Theresa, likewise, refused to let go of him. He felt her hands tremble, and knew that she was frightened, and he wished that there was some way he could comfort her.
Clopin stared down at their hands. "I've given it a great deal of thought," he said. He glanced over at Pierre. "And I assume that Pierre has decided to end this marriage?"
Pierre nodded. "Yes."
Clopin reached out, placing his hands where Pierre's had once been. René heard Theresa gasp, heard the pleasure and surprise in her voice. "René, do you swear to honor and love my daughter, Theresa?"
"Yes. Yes, I do."
"Theresa, do you swear to love and honor your husband, René?"
Theresa nodded. "I do."
Clopin turned to Pierre, extending one hand. "Let's have that wine bottle." Pierre handed it to him wordlessly, and Clopin uncorked it. He handed it to Theresa, and she drank. She gave it to René, and he found himself staring at it. "Drink it," said Clopin. René nodded, swallowing the remaining wine. Clopin stepped back. "Now you smash it."
Theresa reached out, gripping the neck of the bottle. They both raised it. It was a dull, greenish color, and it caught the sunlight. For a moment, it looked as though the empty bottle was filled with light. René let it fall from his hands, and it landed on the ground. It broke, sending shards of green glass spiraling out across the ground.