Chapter 71: The Letter

"Are you determined to make my life difficult?!" Frollo snapped.

"No..." Quasimodo replied shyly.

"Well, that is exactly what you are doing! Why must you do foolish things like this?"

Frollo practically shoved the boy away when he finished bandaging his scraped hands and knees. Quasimodo looked at him pleadingly.

"I just wanted to look at the bells..." The boy explained.

"I'll let you go up there when you're older." Frollo promised. "Right now you're too little. That fall could have hurt you far worse than this!"

Quasimodo looked down sadly. Frollo went on yelling.

"I don't understand you sometimes! Why would you be so reckless? I've taught you better than this, but you always insist on giving me a problem to solve! What have I done to deserve that? I think I've been a good enough father to expect better!"

Quasimodo eyed Frollo with confusion.

"Father?" He asked. "You never said you were my father..."

Frollo rolled his eyes.

"We've been over this." He reminded. "I adopted you."

"But... You never use that word. You always say you're my master. Why can't I call you my father?"

There were reasons. Frollo didn't wish to be called something so familial by a child he never wanted in the first place. But of course, he couldn't say that. He couldn't make his resentment known.

"That is simply my preference." Frollo replied coldly. "I have nothing else to say about that."

"I don't understand." Quasimodo mumbled. "Why-"

"You just CAN'T." Frollo said firmly. "Now don't ask me that again!"

Quasimodo remained curious, but he never did ask again.

Night was falling. The last light of the day revealed the words on the gravestone.

A loving mother and father

Claude was haunted by the words. Here rested two loving parents who would never get to know their child. Claude was sickened by the knowledge that it was his fault.

He collapsed to his knees in front of the grave, heartbeat accelerating.

"I don't suppose you can hear me," Claude exhaled. "But I need to say it anyway. I'm sorry. I truly am."

Claude shook his head at himself. What was he thinking? These people were dead. No words could change that. Apologies were worthless. But he felt for some reason that he had to say something, even if all he spoke to was the ground.

"I wish you could see your son," Claude continued. "He's wonderful. I wish I knew that sooner. I wish I'd raised him better..."

For a moment, Claude wondered what kind of life Quasimodo would have lived if these people had raised him. No life could have been easy for him, given his deformity, but he surely would have been better off with the people he came from. The people who wanted him.

"I know I've done worse than I can possibly make up for," Claude sighed. "But I'll still be trying for the rest of my life. I'll take care of your boy if I can do nothing else. He will be alright. That I promise."

He stood, staring down at the stone intensely.

Claude couldn't believe that he'd previously been so quick to see people as sinners. Even Jean, the very archdeacon of Notre Dame, had not been able to convince him that a Romani life was an innocent one. Only Esmeralda's kind heart had convinced him of that.

Now he could not imagine Paradise without Esmeralda, nor without these people who had died for their son.

"Rest in peace." Claude wished.

He stood, still staring intensely at the stone. After a minute, he finally managed to turn around. But instead of a blank path away from the river, Claude was faced with the silent form of Quasimodo. They stared at each other.

"What are you doing here?" Quasimodo asked.

"Paying my respects." Claude replied.

Although it was an awkward situation, Quasimodo accepted that answer. He unfroze, walking up to Claude's side and looking down at the grave.

"I'll leave." Claude offered.

"It's okay," Quasimodo assured. "I just came to put these down."

He dropped a few flowers in front of the gravestone, then stopped to stare in silence. Claude was eventually brave enough to break the silence.

"I do wish you could meet them." He shared. "They'd be very proud to have you as a son."

"Do you think so?" Quasimodo asked. "I don't think I've done much to be proud of."

"Well," Claude started. "You've done a lot for the church by keeping the bells ringing all these years. You've made the most beautiful model Paris I could dream of laying eyes on. You've been an excellent friend to everyone you meet. You've even defied an insane judge. Surely your parents would be proud of you. I certainly am."

Quasimodo finally began to smile, which he never would have thought possible in this setting.

They walked away together when Quasimodo finished his visit. The night was bringing cold air, which prompted a question from Claude.

"Are you warm enough in the belltower?"

Taken off guard, Quasimodo replied with a confused "Yes?"

"Is there anything you need up there?" Claude asked.

"Nothing I can think of right now." Quasimodo replied.

"Is there anything you want? Are your tools sharp enough? I could always buy more."

"I'll never turn down new tools. But why are you so concerned? I'm fine."

Claude sighed.

"I know I did a poor job of raising you." He confessed. "And I realize I cannot possibly undo my faults. But that won't stop me from trying to correct as much as I can, just to give you some happiness."

Quasimodo remembered that there was, possibly, something he wanted. It was getting more interesting as he thought about it, but he still struggled to bring it up. He stopped in his tracks, prompting Claude to stop with him.

"Actually..." Quasimodo started. "There's something I've been thinking of."

"What is it?" Claude asked.

Quasimodo flushed with embarrassment. How could he admit to considering this idea? Even with Elaine's reassurance, it felt stupid.

"Uh... Never mind." He backtracked. "It's stupid."

"Too stupid to talk about?" Claude asked. "I find that hard to believe."

"It's not a good idea." Quasimodo insisted. "You'll think I'm an idiot."

"Quasimodo, I assure you I am far past the point of thinking such things about you. Surely it can't be that bad."

Being reassured by this man was something Quasimodo had seldom experienced before. Perhaps if that was possible, it was possible that his idea wasn't such a bad one.

"Um..." Quasimodo hesitated. "What if... What if I moved into town?"

Somehow, Claude hadn't expected this. He looked at Quasimodo with surprise.

"Is that what you want?" He asked.

"I don't know... Maybe. I've just been thinking about it, and I sorta like the idea, but I know it would be a big change and..."

Quasimodo felt worse as he looked at Claude's speechless face. He groaned.

"Like I said, it's stupid!"

Claude was quietly mourning the confidence that Quasimodo ought to have. It shouldn't have been such a big deal to bring up something like this, but Claude knew he was the one who had made it a big deal. He was the one who had made Quasimodo think he needed to stay in that lonesome tower, and he was the one who had bullied the poor boy into feeling so uneasy speaking his mind.

Quasimodo grew worried with the silence.

"Master, I-"

"Quasimodo." Claude interrupted.

Quasimodo froze when the judge finally spoke.

"I told you not to call me Master." Claude finished.

All worries were instantly cleared away. Claude stretched his arm around Quasimodo's shoulders.

"Look here," The judge said softly. "You're a man now, Quasimodo. This is your decision to make, so do not feel like you need my permission."

"You don't think it's a bad idea?" Quasimodo questioned.

"I admit, I'd be a bit concerned if you moved out here. But I won't oppose a change that makes you happy. And regardless of that, it isn't my place to interfere with your choices."

Quasimodo's eyes were full of wonder and relief.

"Well," He chuckled nervously. "I guess I'm not used to that."

"I'll see that you are soon enough." Claude promised. "Do let me know if you decide on moving out. I'll certainly be wanting to help."

He smiled. Quasimodo nodded, managing to smile. But soon, he frowned again.

"Is something wrong?" Claude asked.

"I just remembered," Quasimodo started. "I... Understand why you wanted me to call you Master instead of Father..."

Claude sadly remembered those times.

"Ah, yes..." He sighed. "Can you forgive that hostility on my part?"

"I can. I do. But... Well, I was just wondering if I could call you Father now."

Claude was completely stunned. Forgiven or not, he could hardly believe that Quasimodo would think of him as a father at this point.

"You really want that?" Claude questioned.

"Yes." Quasimodo replied. "If you're alright with it."

"It would be an honor, but I'm shocked."

"What's so shocking about it? You are my father, you're the one who raised me. I always wanted to call you that."

"And you still do? Knowing about your parents?"

Quasimodo looked down sadly.

"I wish they were here." He admitted. "I'll always wish that. But I do forgive you for everything, and I don't think I could ever stop thinking of you as family. You took care of me a long time, and you're doing better now than ever. So..."

He nervously made eye contact again.

"You've always been my father. The way that started was horrible, but now that we're on good terms it finally feels right."

It was amazing to be having this conversation. Claude was more flattered than he thought he had a right to be. Being forgiven was more than he deserved, and this was something even more meaningful. He understood why Quasimodo so naturally thought of him as family, but wanting to be a family was something else entirely. And yet, there was one part of this that Claude couldn't disagree with. Despite his guilt and regret, this did finally feel right.

"It does." Claude agreed.

He smiled. Quasimodo smiled back. Nothing else needed to be said.

Claude came home with a fresh feeling of satisfaction. The day had gone unbelievably well, all things considered. The only thing that could make it better would be something to help him with Esmeralda, who was in a worse place than anyone at the moment.

To his surprise, an opportunity presented itself. A servant alerted Claude that mail had been delivered and handed several letters to him. Claude immediately knew what these were. He'd finally received responses to the letters he'd sent out!

Immediately, he started to open them. But unfortunately, one by one, the letters disappointed Claude by answering his question in the negative. He was anxious by the time he got to the last letter, which he held with shaking hands.

Minister Frollo... We have indeed seen a rise in the gypsy population... Word has it that some have come from Paris...

Finally.

Claude went to find Esmeralda, whom he was told would be by the fireplace. That was slightly unsettling, due to both the history of that room and the indication that Esmeralda was walking around alone while injured. But when Claude got there, he was relieved by what he saw. Esmeralda sat peacefully in front of the fire, wrapped in a blanket. Claude approached curiously.

"I didn't think you'd be here," He said when he came close.

"The heat is relaxing." Esmeralda shared. "It helps dull the pain a little."

Claude sat next to her.

"Were you alright today?" He asked.

"I'm getting better at least." Esmeralda replied.

"I have some news to share." Claude informed.

Esmeralda looked at him curiously.

"What is it?" She asked.

Claude nearly answered, but something stopped him.

It occurred to him that he still didn't know much. He didn't know exactly who was contained in the group he'd been informed of. What if Esmeralda's friends were not among them? And if they were, would it be realistic to find them in a town large enough to conceal any individual in a crowd? What if this news didn't lead to anything productive?

The last thing Esmeralda needed right now was more stress. She'd been through enough. Claude was afraid to give her hope for something that might turn out to be a disappointment.

"Quasimodo is thinking of moving into town." He said instead.

Esmeralda smiled.

"That's great!" She approved.

"The thought does concern me a bit." Claude confessed.

"It wouldn't be easy," Esmeralda admitted. "But I think it would be a good thing. We can look out for him."

Claude smiled.

Esmeralda's attitude gave him hope. Unfortunately, her smile faded in an obvious flash of pain.

Naturally, Claude wanted to comfort her, and she let him. Soon she sat between his legs, resting her back against his body. Claude held his arms around her, feeling her pulsate with deep breaths.

Claude questioned if his decision was the right one, but he stopped when he realized how calm Esmeralda was in his arms. She wouldn't be able to relax so easily if she knew about the letter.

She eventually fell asleep against him, and Claude knew he was right not to interrupt such peace.