| "Second Chances" by Christy Chapter 5 In the dark chambers of the Palace of Justice, with a roaring fire blazing in his hearth, and a bottle of wine on his desk, Jehan Frollo sat listening to the news his Captain was delivering. "The gypsy woman has been baptized, Your Honor," the Captain reported, "She must be attempting to lead you astray; that would be my bet! I certainly wouldn't want be her when she faces the Lord!" He laughed at the notion. "She may be able to save her skin doing this, but she certainly can't save her soul!" Jehan raised his hand to quiet him. "Nothing changes. Guilt is guilt." He took a sip of wine. "From what I've heard, sir, she's being shunned by even the other gypsies! I wonder, are they not in on her plan? Perhaps this is the first in a whole string of Gypsy convertions!" "Plan or no plan, she'll be brought to justice!" Jehan said firmly, but with a slight slur. "Do you suppose she feels guilty about Claude, and that's why she's done this?" wondered the Captain. "A creature with inablility to feel anything certainly can't feel remorse," Jehan said with a greater slur as he took another sip of wine. "She thinks she can fool God as well as escape with blood on her hands, the damn fool. Claude knew what poison she was, and he would have done the world a service if she hadn't gotten him first! So help me, that wretch shall burn!" His voice had grown quite fierce during these last few sentences. The Captain thought it would be best to retreat from the room-before he angered the Minister even more. Jehan pounded his fists on the table after his guard left. He might have shouted after the soldier had he not noticed his glass was empty. He poured himself another serving of wine. Annette knew Phoebus must be devestated. He hadn't shown it. As Annette told him about how a high fever killed Minerva nearly ten years before, not a single tear had crossed his eye. He'd stared blankly, as if he refused to accept what he was hearing. He barely ate anything at dinner and wouldn't speak to anyone, then after dinner he told Annette he was tired from his journey and wanted to go to bed early. A sure sign that the army had done a good job teaching him not to be emotional, thought Annette. She considered the ability to shun emotions to be a valueable character trait, thus she applauded her son's lack of expression. Still, she wanted to offer her son some comfort and assurance on her way to her bedroom: no mother likes seeing her child depressed, even her adult child. She opened the door to her guest room and found Phoebus lying in bed with his breath slow and his eyes closed, yet not sleeping. She set her candle on the nightstand, then she sat on the edge of the bed and ran her fingers through his hair. "Phoebus honey, are you awake?" she whispered. He opened his eyes slightly and gazed solemnly up at his mother, revealing a hint of tears. "You don't have to say anything," said Annette, "I know perfectly well how much Minerva ment to you. I could see the bond between you and her every day of your lives." She sighed. "Well, every day of your lives until you left us. She missed you something awful after that." Annette wasn't accustomed to giving counseling speeches, but Phoebus seemed to be giving approval, for he lifted his head a few inches off the pillow to listen. "This is very hard on you," she continued, "but you will be able to move on." He'd heard these words many times before and knew they spoke the truth, but they made nothing easier. This certainly wasn't his first encounter with death. Countless times in the army had he formed close friendships with his fellow soldiers, and then those fellow soldiers been killed in battle. Death was common on the battlefield, and a soldier always had to be prepared for it. But still, no one on the front ever had a blood connection to him. Annette gently set his head back on the pillow, then she wrapped the covers around his neck and kissed his cheek, as if he were still a little boy. "Get some sleep. Things will look better in the morning. And if you want to talk about it, I'm in the first bedroom on the end. I'll listen to whatever you have to say." With that, she rose from the bed and left the room. Phoebus closed his eyes, although he was certain he'd never sleep. Fatuiged as he was, sleep seemed impossible in the midst of this grief. He thought about his mother's words. Like a small child, he felt like his mother would make everything right with her unconditional love. Perhaps it was that thought which allowed him to eventually forget about Minerva for a while and slip into empty, thoughtless darkness. Echoing through the mighty walls of Notre Dame's sanctuary, a female voice could be heard singing with such joy and exubrance that if people had been around, they would have surely stopped to listen. "The holly and the ivy, when they are both full grown, of all the trees that are in the woods, the holly bears the crown!" The voice did not belong to any choir singer, but rather to a young gypsy woman who was helping to decorate the church for Christmas. Esmeralda danced around the pews with a bundle of holly in her arms. She continued singing as she arranged the holly around the sanctuary. Within a few moments, a young male voice could be heard joining her. "Oh, the rising of the sun, and the running of the deer. The playing of the merry organ, sweet singing in the choir!" Quasimodo skipped over to Esmeralda with a bundle of holly in his arms. They continued singing together as they decorated the sanctuary. "The holly bears a berry, as red as any blood And May bore sweet Jesus Christ To do poor sinners good Oh, the rising of the sun And the running of the dear The playing of the merry organ Sweet singing in the choir!" At this point they burst into laughter when they realized how silly they probably looked. "You learn the carols fast," said Quasimodo after he caught his breath. "Thank you," said Esmeralda with a smile. She continued humming the song as she arranged the holly. Her moods had quite changed since her baptism. She was now almost always joyful, and her eyes sparked with that same energy Quasimodo had seen on the first morning. "So Quasimodo," she said after a few minutes, "are you excited about your first Christmas out of the tower?" "Not as excited as you are about your first Christmas since you've been reborn!" said Quasimodo, "Don't deny it: it's written all over you. And you have no need to deny it: you have a right to be excited!" "Do you see me denying it?" Esmeralda almost squealed, "I couldn't deny it if I wanted to!" "Okay then, let's feed that anticipation," grinned Quasimodo, "After we finish this, how would you like to help me decorate the tower?" "How about it, Djali?" Esmeralda asked. Although Djali didn't seem particually interested, Esmeralda immediately stated that they would love to help. "Well don't let him eat anything!" joked Quasimodo, "Remember, you still owe me some new sheep!" Esmeralda laughed, but quickly hushed herself when she saw the Archdeacon entering the sanctuary. "How are you two coming along?" he asked. "We're almost finished," said Quasimodo. "You've done a marvelous job," beemed the Archdeacon. "It's Esmeralda who deserves most of the credit," said Quasimodo, extending his arm to Esmeralda. "Quasimodo, please," muttered Esmeralda with a scrunched face, "I didn't do that much." The Archdeacon put his arm around her. "For someone who hasn't done that much, it sure looks like you've done a lot. And I don't mean just with decorations." Esmeralda couldn't think of anything to say except "I am honered that you would allow me to help prepare your church for Christmas." "No, I am the one who is honered to have you here," the Archdeacon smiled. He touched her cheek and left. "He is right to consider himself honered," said Quasimodo. "Quasi, please," Esmeralda said through her teeth, then quickly added "Didn't you want me to help you decorate the tower?" "Oh, yes," said Quasimodo, "Come on, follow me." "I know the way," said Esmeralda. The two friends ascended up the many steps to the tower. Or rather, one ascended regularly while the other flew. When Quasimodo got up to the tower, Esmeralda was already seated at the table waiting to get started. "Eager, aren't we?" teased Quasimodo. "Maybe a bit," grinned Esmeralda. "Well, stay where you are," said Quasimodo, "We can start on the villiage." He reached behind a statue and pulled out a small box. "Every year I would observe how the citizens decorated their houses and I'd try to recapture it in my villiage," he explained as he set the box on the table, "But now that I've seen it from the ground, I find that I've been off on a few things." "Like what?" asked Esmeralda. "Well, for example," said Quasimodo, pointing to the window of a house, "I always thought that the woman who lives here put up garlands in her windows. It turns out she actually puts up green curtains. And here.." He pointed to another house. "This family puts up wreaths on their door that I never noticed." "You've done a good job rebuilding the city since Frollo destroyed it," said Esmeralda. "It's not as good as it used to be," said Quasimodo, "Now I carve wood merely as a hobby, but then....then I carved wood because I had to. It was one of my escapes. Back when I knew nothing but isolation, this was my world. It was the only community I had, thus every detail had to be perfect. But now....now my world has expanded. This little model is now just that: a little model of a bigger city, thus my passion for making it perfect isn't a strong." "Well I wouldn't have noticed," said Esmeralda. She reached into the box and pulled out a tiny garland made of dried holly leaves. "Where does this go?" "Be careful with that," said Quasimodo, "It goes around the roof of Notre Dame." He took the garland from her and gently draped it around Notre Dame's roof. "I have to replace most of my garlands every year, but this one has lasted a good three years." Esmeralda smiled admiringly at the city. "Quasi...." she asked after a few minutes, "...what was Christmas like with Frollo?" "Nothing like this, that's for sure," said Quasimodo. "Tell me," said Esmeralda. Quasimodo thoughtfully closed his eyes. "He would sometimes help me decorate the tower, but not like how you are helping me now. We wouldn't laugh or have warm conversations. I don't think that man ever laughed. While he helped me decorate, he would go over lessons with me. Or he might talk to me about how at this time of year I should give thanks for how fortunate I am." "Fortunate??" Esmeralda exclaimed, "The..." she almost said "bastard," but decided against it on account of where she was and what time of year it was, "...the brute! He imprisons you and treats you no better than a slave and then tells you to be thankful for how fortunate you are??" "Because he took me in and gave me food and shelter," said Quasimodo, "Otherwise I would have died." "Otherwise your mother would still be alive and you would be with us, a free man!" Esmeralda said bitterly. "Or maybe I would have been driven out of Gypsy society!" argued Quasimodo, "There's no way of telling what might have happened." Esmeralda sighed. "I think you still haven't gotten over Frollo." "What makes you say that?" said Quasimodo. "You still feel loyalty toward him," said Esmeralda, "And you would rather live here in your old prison than with me and the other gypsies." Quasimodo sighed. "Esmeralda, we've been through this. This isn't just my old prison: this is my home. I belong here. You yourself said I was lucky to have all this space to myself!" "I know," said Esmeralda, "but you are still one of us by blood. Besides....I would have liked to have you living with us." "Like I said before, it was gracious of you to offer, but this is where I belong," said Quasimodo. "Anyway, on Christmas Day we would share a feast. Not a huge feast, but a good deal larger than my regular meals. We would talk about various things. Indeed, I think he talked more on Christmas than any other day. He seemed a bit more open on Christmas, like...I don't know...maybe even he could be touched on that blessed day..." "Or maybe you're imagining things because you still feel loyalty toward him!" said Esmeralda. Quasimodo sighed again. "I don't know what to think. You don't understand what it's like to call someone 'master' for your whole life. It was all I knew. I never saw the other side. Even now, after I've known you, after I found out he killed my mother, after he tried to kill you, even after he tried to kill me, I still feel like....like...I don't know. My anger at him still burns, and I don't know if I'll ever get over it, but at the same time I feel....I wouldn't call it loyalty, but I feel like....like...." he couldn't find the right words. "Well he is dead now, and you have a new life," said Esmeralda. "I know, but I can't help thinking about him sometimes," said Quasimodo, "Occasionally I wonder what I would say to him if he came back." "I know what I'd do," Esmeralda said with clenched fists, "I'd kill him so he'd be dead again!" "Esmeralda??" exclaimed Quasimodo, "How could you say such a thing??" "It's the truth," Esmeralda said coldly, "He has caused nothing but suffering. We are fortunate to be rid of him." "Esmeralda, didn't your biblical studies teach you 'love your enemy'?" said Quasimodo. Esmeralda narrowed her eyes. "I dare you to find one soul on earth who actually keeps that commandment!" Quasimodo exhaled lightly. "I wonder what he would say about your decision." "Nothing could have clensed my image in his eyes," said Esmeralda harshly. "Let me tell you, it's a good thing he is dead, or else I wouldn't be able to convert because my heart would be too full of hatred for him!!!" Quasimodo let out a whistle. "It sounds like I'm not the only one who hasn't gotten over Frollo." Esmeralda lowered her head. "I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't be talking like this," she said, "I just get so angry at him." "Believe me, I understand," said Quasimodo, "But we should both try to make peace with the past." "I know," said Esmeralda, "And Frollo is dead, anyway." "Jehan's still alive." "Jehan," said Esmeralda with a tremble, "Please don't mention Jehan. I don't want to think about him right now. I won't be persued at Christmastime, so please let me settle myself at least for now." "All right," said Quasimodo, "Come on, we've got decorations to put up." Neither of them mentioned Frollo again for the rest of the day. "Quasi, where does this wreath go?" "Hang it on the nail in that beam over there." Esmeralda walked over to the beam and hung up the wreath. "This tower is looking as good as the city." She then walked over to the model city. "And this city looks as good as the real thing." She took the figure of herself and placed it in the square. "Will you be able to see me when I dance on Christmas Eve?" "What do you mean?" "The gypsies are having a celebration on Christmas Eve." She took the figure of Quasimodo and placed it next to the figure of herself. "You will come, won't you?" Quasimodo shook his head. "I'd love to see you dance, but..." He took the figure of himself and placed it in the bell tower. "...I'll be needed here. Christmas Eve's the busiest night of the year for a bell-ringer." Esmeralda looked at the figure in the tower with disappointment. "All right, I understand," she said, "I certainly don't want to keep you from your duties. But I'll be thinking about you when I hear the bells." She then reached behind a building, pulled out the figure of Phoebus, and placed it in the square next to the figure of herself. "Will you leave the decorations up for when he comes back?" she asked. "That depends on when he comes back," said Quasimodo. "He said he was staying until the New Year," said Esmeralda, "Would you leave the decorations up until then? He should see the tower like this." "Well, I can't make any promises," said Quasimodo, "You can never predict when your greenery will go brown. But if all goes well, I'll certainly leave them up for him." "Thank you," said Esmeralda. She gazed at the Phoebus figure. "Boy Phoebus," she muttered, "why on earth do you have a living mother?" "What's that supposed to mean?" asked Quasimodo. "She's rich, don't you know?" said Esmeralda, "Rich people want their children to marry well. They want their children to marry nobility, not....." She gave a long sigh. "...not street performers who have to dance for coins." "But Esmeralda, you saved his life!" said Quasimodo, "Surely his mother will want to show grattitude for that!" "Showing grattitude is different from allowing marriage," said Esmeralda, "and even showing grattitude is unlikly. She probably thinks gypsies are poison, just like most every other person in the world." She looked at the Phoebus figure again. "Oh Phoebus, why couldn't you be an orphan?" She then turned to face Quasimodo. "I want you to know I can handle this," she said, "It won't ruin my life." "Esmeralda," said Quasimodo, "don't give up so easily." "I never said I was giving up," said Esmeralda, "I just..." then she realized how openly she had been talking all of a sudden. "....I-I mean....I....never mind." She turned sharply and walked over to the beams to hang up another wreath. "Esmeralda," Quasimodo said softly, "you don't have to hide it from me. I know what you feel for him." "What do you mean 'what I feel for him'??" Esmeralda said a little too quickly. "Well, why would you worry about Phoebus's mother allowing him to marry you if you felt nothing for him?" Quasimodo said slyly. An embarrassed look crept across Esmeralda's face. Quasimodo gently touched her shoulder. "It's nothing to be ashamed about. He's a good choice for you." "It was never willful," said Esmeralda, "If I were obeying my better judgement I would have nothing to do with him." "So you would let him drown?" said Quasimodo. "Let him drown??" Esmeralda almost shouted, "How dare you assume such a thing! My better judgement would still tell me to save his life!" Her voice grew soft. "It just wouldn't tell me to spend all my time thinking about him." She walked back to the table and fingered the Phoebus figure. "No one understands it. Not even Melenie understands it. I don't even understand it. I certainly never wanted this to happen, but he was just so...so..." "Handsome?" Quasimodo said with a hint of sadness. "I can't deny that he looked good," said Esmeralda, "but that wasn't it. I've seen many handsome men who were foolish and heartless. But Phoebus...I sensed from the very beginning that he was different...he was funny...interesting...and then I found out he was sincere and caring too. It was almost perfect....but then he turns out to be the son of a rich woman." Quasimodo struggled to hide how her words were piercing his heart. How tempting it was to say something like "Well I'm available and I'm an orphan!" For a moment he actually considered saying that. Then he looked at Esmeralda-his dear sister Esmeralda. Her happiness was more important to him than anything. He could never offer her anything but support in what she wanted. He looked into her eyes. "Phoebus loves you," he said, "Of this I am certain. Even if sharing a life is forbidden, you can at least rest assured that he loves you." Esmeralda smiled at him. "Thank you for being such a good friend." "It's all my pleasure," said Quasimodo, then he turned away and muttered to himself, "You're lucky that there's someone who loves you!" Esmeralda had meanwhile shifted her attention back to the Phoebus figure. "Hmm..." she said, "...I wonder what Phoebus is doing now......" "How does this go again, Uncle Phoebus?" "Squat down with your back against little Pierre's and link your fingers to his." "Okay," said Rachel. She turned to her cousin little Pierre, Thalia's six-year-old son who bore his grandfather's name. "Come on, let's stand back to back, and when I say "now," we squat down!" "I'm not so sure about this," said Pierre as he pressed his back against Rachel's. "Oh come on, it'll be fun!" said Rachel, "Now!" The two children squatted down and giggled as they struggled not to fall. "I feel like a duck!" squealed Pierre. "Link your fingers to mine," said Rachel. "How?" said Pierre, "I can't even see you!!" "Now what?" Rachel asked between giggles. "Now choose a topic and take turns saying words that have to do with that topic," explained Phoebus, "The winner is the last one to speak before you fall over!" "Uh, how about you choose the topic the first time?" asked Pierre as he shifted his weight. "Well, since it's Christmas, why not have the topic be Christmas?" suggested Phoebus. "Okay," said Rachel, "I'll start. Holly!" "Mistletoe!" said Pierre. "Pudding!" "Carols!" "Yule log...whoa!" shouted Rachel as she lost her balance and fell, pulling Pierre down with her. "I believe you win," said Phoebus. Pierre laughed and scrambled to his feet. "That was great! I've never played that game before!" "Well, that's because your aunt Minerva and I made that game up when we were about your age," said Phoebus. "Aunt Minerva," said Rachel as she stood up, "I never got to know my aunt Minerva." "She would have liked you," said Phoebus, "Well, at least I think she would have liked you. She was younger than you are when I last saw her. You remind me of her." "Mother says you and Aunt Minerva almost ruined her wedding," said Rachel. "Taking Diana and Eric's wedding rings and hiding them somewhere was her idea," said Phoebus, "I was merely the one who suggested putting them in the cooking pot!" Rachel laughed. "I wish I could have been born to see that!" "I don't think that would have been possible," said Phoebus. "Well," said Rachel, "maybe when Jonah comes home from the wars he'll get married, and I could play that trick on him!" "I don't think your brother would appreciate that." Rachel grinned. "I guess not. Mother would give me a paddling, anyway." "Minerva and I got paddlings all the time, and that didn't stop us!" said Phoebus. "Are you married, Uncle Phoebus?" asked Pierre, who hadn't really been listening to the conversation. "No, I'm not," said Phoebus. "Well, maybe I could play that trick at your wedding!" Rachel said mischievously, "It would be more fun, actually, since in the last week I've gotten to know you quite a bit better than my brother. I barely remember him. I was only four when he joined the army." Phoebus appeared surprised. "You're nine, right?" "Right," said Rachel. "And your brother is sixteen?" "Yes," said Rachel. "Then he was three years older than I was," sighed Phoebus. That thought seemed to hit him like a blow. He turned away suddenly and wiped his eye. "Uncle Phoebus?" asked Pierre. "Are you all right?" asked Rachel. Phoebus turned back to look at them. "I'm fine..." he said, "...I was just thinking I could have used those three extra years." "Are you jealous of my brother?" "Maybe a little," said Phoebus. He walked across the room and sat down in a chair. "Three more years as a child sure would have been nice. And....it would have been three more years with Minerva." Rachel walked up to him and gently touched his hand. "I was always told that I had an aunt and an uncle who were twins, and I hadn't met either of them because the uncle was in the army and the aunt was dead." "It's so ironic," Phoebus said softly, "I remember one night a few days before I left she was crying in the middle of the night because she was afraid I'd be killed in battle. Who would have thought I'd outlive her?" "It must be awful," said Rachel, "It probably feels like she died a child, even though you know she was eighteen." "Still so young...." said Phoebus, "....and I never got to see her as a woman...." Pierre didn't like seeing his uncle like this. "I think you should get married!!" he suddenly exclaimed, "It would make you feel better!" "Pierre?!?!?!" shouted Rachel, "Don't you know that's extremely rude???" Pierre hung his head in shame. "I'm sorry." But Phoebus didn't seem at all offended. In fact, he grinned at the little lad. "So, you think I should get married?" "Well..." Rachel said awkwardly, "...if you ever met the right woman for you, I think it could be good for you." Phoebus looked down at his niece and nephew. "Can you two keep a secret?" "I can," said Rachel, "but I'm not sure about him." "Yes, I can keep a secret!" said Pierre. He stood up as tall as he could make himself (which wasn't very) and gave a salute. "Anything you say, Captain!" Phoebus laughed. "All right, you two. Come closer." He leaned over to whisper to the eager children. "Let me tell you about what happened after I was summoned to Paris to serve as Captain of the Guard...." Go to Chapter 6 Back to Fanfic Back to Index |