| "Second Chances" by Christy Chapter 7 On Christmas Morning, Notre Dame's bells rang with more joy and splendor than anyone had ever heard before. The townsfolk below could not believe it was even possible to get that much energy out of the bells. "I swear, those bells are alive!" a woman said. "Listen, they are singing like angels!" said a man. "Are these the same bells we always hear?" a woman wondered. "The very same," said another, "but the bell ringer is giving them new life on this Christmas Day." Indeed, the bell ringer was giving the bells more life today than even he thought possible, for today was a once-in-a-lifetime event. His first Christmas in freedom. As the bells rang out, Esmeralda danced around the gypsy camp, her feet so light she felt like she was flying. The events from the night before kept running through her head like a happy dream. She would have to break the news to the other gypsies somehow, but that could wait until later.....much later. It was a good thing Melenie was away: that gave Esmeralda plenty of time to figure out how to explain it to her. "My my, look who's here. You're certainly in a good mood this morning." Esmeralda knew the voice. This voice belonged to one of the gossip-spreading troublemakers. She turned around and sure enough, it was Rossanna. "Why the joyous smile this morning?" Rossanna continued. "It's Christmas Morning, isn't it?" said Esmeralda, "Everyone has a joyous smile this morning...except maybe for you." "Dreaming of your sun god, aren't you?" snickered Rossanna, "And your intimate meeting with him last night?" Esmeralda quickly looked the other way so Rossanna wouldn't see the hint of color in her cheeks. "So what was so important that you had to leave the celebration last night?" said Rossanna. Esmeralda turned back around and glared at Rossanna. "Did he invite you to his bed?" teased Rossanna. "NO!!!!!!!" Esmeralda shouted. "Ah, so you suggested it, then!" Esmeralda bared her teeth at the gossip-loving gypsy. "If it weren't Christmas Morning, I'd hit you so hard you'd be out for two days!!!" "Don't think that'll save you," said Rossanna, "Everyone's talking about you!" "Because you and Mirrette and Lennorra make up wild stories!" Esmeralda shot back. "Oh sure," snorted Rossanna, "like how we made up the story of how you ran off with Phoebus last night, right?" Esmeralda took a deep breath. "Look, I don't have time for this. I have Christmas Morning worship to attend." Unwilling to hear Rossanna's response, she turned sharply and ran to Notre Dame. Quasimodo felt a little nervous as he rang the bells to close the Christmas Morning service. Christmas in freedom was a new concept. Freedom in general was still a relativly new concept. At times he still couldn't believe he was now living his own life without Frollo commanding him. He decided to begin Christmas like he would any other morning. He landed on the platform and headed toward the balcony for his usual ritual of feeding the birds. Sure enough, there was that same little pigeon waiting for his breakfast. Quasimodo smiled at the bird. "Merry Christmas!" he said tenderly, "I've got something extra-special for you this morning!" He hurried into the tower and returned with a small cake in hand. The bird squealed with delight as he crumpled up the cake and sprinkled it on the rail. "You're welcome," said Quasimodo. He leaned against the rail as he watched the pigeon eat. "Wish me luck," he said. "Today I'll be able to fully experience Christmas for the first time!" The bird looked up from his food and chirpped happily. "Thank you," said Quasimodo. He gazed down at the square and sighed. "I also have two friends I need to congratulate. You know, it's finally happened. Last night, Phoebus asked Esmeralda to marry him!" The bird chirpped again. "Don't tell them I know," said Quasimodo. "I think they probably want to surprise me with the news." The bird gave an assuring peep. "Okay, I think you can keep a secret," smiled Quasimodo. "It's probably about time for me to begin the day." He deeply inhaled the frosty air. "Enjoy your breakfast. Merry Christmas!" He waved at the bird and lept over the rail, taking the journey down to the square in the quickest way possible. "Merry Christmas, Quasimodo!!" "Merry Christmas to you too!" replied Quasimodo, waving at the weaver. "Merry Christmas, Quasimodo!!" "Merry Christmas!" Quasimodo piped at the candlemaker. "Merry Christmas, Quasimodo!!" "Merry Christmas!" Quasimodo said to the chestnut vendor. "Would you like some hot chestnuts?" the vendor asked. "They'll warm you up, and they're at a reasonable price." Quasimodo inhaled the tantalizing smell of the chestnuts. "Thank you," he said, "I think I'll have some." He was only a few feet away from the vendor when yet another voice called out "Merry Christmas, Quasi!" This voice was high-pitched and energetic, for it belonged to a small girl who was running up to him. "Marie!" Quasimodo exclaimed, smiling at the girl. "Merry Christmas!" He opened his bag. "Would you like some chestnuts? They're fresh." "Oh, thank you!" said Marie. She reached into the bag and pulled out a handful of nuts. "Take as many as you want," said Quasimodo. "Are you sure?" asked Marie, her blue eyes giving an unsure expression. "Yes," said Quasimodo reasuringly, "I owe you at least a little something for setting that example for the people." Marie smiled at him. "Marie!!" "Oh, it's Mother," said Marie. "I should be going. Thanks for the chestnuts. I'll see you again soon!" Quasimodo waved after the girl as she disappeared into the crowd. "Merry Christmas, Quasimodo!" This very familiar voice lifted Quasimodo's spirit even more. He ran up to the caller and threw his arms around her. "Merry Christmas, Esmeralda!" Esmeralda hugged Quasimodo back, her soft gloves caressing his hair and offering him refuge from the gelid air. "So, how has your day been so far?" she asked as she let go. "Wonderful," answered Quasimodo. "More than wonderful, actually, but I can't think of any other words to describe it. Who would have thought I'd ever experience the whole city showering me with greetings?" "I would," smiled Esmeralda. "Well anyway," said Quasimodo, "how has your Christmas been so far?" "Wonderful," sighed Esmeralda, "More than wonderful, actually, but I can't think of any other words to describe it. I have the most spectacular news..." "Chestnuts?" Quasimodo quickly offered, unwilling to hear about what he already knew. "Oh, no thank you," said Esmeralda. "I'm too excited to eat." She looked around. "I wonder where Phoebus is. He should be here when I tell you. Did you know he returned early?" "Yes....I saw him around yesterday," Quasimodo said uneasily, hoping she wouldn't ask where he saw him. "Are you talking about me, or is there someone else in Paris who shares my name?" a deep voice chimed in. There was only one man to whom that voice could belong. Quasimodo turned his head and sure enough, it was Phoebus. "Hey Quasi!" he said, "Merry Christmas!" "Same to you," replied Quasimodo, "You're home early." "And I'll tell you the reason for my early return later," said Phoebus, "Right now, Esmeralda and I have more important news." Esmeralda grinned widely. "May I do the honers?" "Of course," said Phoebus. Esmeralda took Phoebus's hand. "Quasi," she said, "something wonderful happened last night." She and Phoebus exchanged glances, barely able to contain themselves. Quasimodo gritted his teeth behind his lips as he prepared to hear the news. "We're going to get married!!!" Esmeralda and Phoebus announced together. There, it had been spoken. Esmeralda and Phoebus would be one now. Quasimodo gazed at the two as Phoebus gently ran his fingers through Esmeralda's thick black hair sprinkled with dots of white snowflakes. How lovely they looked together. Quasimodo could see all too clearly that they belonged together. No tears formed in his lonely eyes: all of his tears had been shed long ago. He felt so foolish to have even imagined the possibility of her ever loving him. The more he looked at them, the more obvious it seemed that he was so inferior to the former soldier. Inferior. No matter what sort of praises he got, that word seemed permenently planted in his head. Inferior. What sort of mess had Frollo done to his mind? He didn't wish to ponder about his deep scars now. At this moment, there was only one thing he could do for the couple. He smiled. It wasn't a forced smile, no, it was warm and honest, for he shared their happiness. He gently reached over and took Esmeralda's hand. After he carefully peeled off her leather glove, he slowly leaned over and kissed her soft hand: the only place where he could ever place his lips. He would never feel her lips against his. "Congratulations," he whispered, "When is the wedding?" "We're hoping for spring," replied Phoebus. "You're invited, of course," smiled Esmeralda. The smile on Quasimodo's face grew wider. "I am honored." He wrapped his arms around the couple. "Good luck, my friends." Clopin removed his mask and stepped out of the puppet wagon. He had been entertaining children all morning, hoping the painted faces of his puppets would hide the growing concern in his mind. He was all too aware of the rumors that had been spreading around the tribe, and Esmeralda's behavior the previous night seemed to aggravate the situation. He intended to locate her right now and straighten this out. She was down the street, dancing with a pair of children as she hummed a Christmas tune. Clopin stood in the shadows of a building as he observed this simple moment of pure joy. Why did he, the King of the Gypsies, feel so threatened by her obvious happiness? Why was he hiding himself and hesitating to approach her? No answer stood clear, yet still he waited for Esmeralda to finish dancing and step closer to the shadows before he attempted to talk to her. "Esmeralda," he said, "might you spare a few moments out of this joyous day to talk?" Esmeralda's green eyes narrowed slightly. "I know what you want to talk about." "Can you blame me?" said Clopin, "Are you aware of how your recent actions are affecting the tribe??" "I realize there are whispers about me," replied Esmeralda, "And I'm sorry to discover that some of my people are as blind as Frollo was." "Blind??" Clopin exclaimed, "Whom are you referring too?? Am I blind??" "I wouldn't know," said Esmeralda, "You hide your eyes behind a mask." "Not so: my mask has eyeholes!" said Clopin. "How is it that you've known me since you were young and you still don't understand me?" "The same way you've watched me grow up and still don't understand me," said Esmeralda. Clopin sighed heavily. "Esmeralda, please grant me the honer of coming to my wagon. I have a feeling there is something I should know." Esmeralda complied to his request, for it was pointless to delay the telling of something he would inevitably have to know. Clopin and Esmeralda sat facing each other at a small table in his wagon, underneeth the shelves where many puppets were kept. "Esmeralda," Clopin began, "you know why I want to talk, don't you." "I have strong suspisions," said Esmeralda, "so I'll just tell you. Last night Phoebus asked me to marry him." She searched his face for a reaction, but there was none. It almost seemed as if he had known all the time. "And did you accept his proposal?" he asked. "Your Highness knows the answer to that," Esmeralda sighed. "Obviously if I had said no, there wouldn't be a problem." "No, there wouldn't," agreed Clopin. "I'm glad to see you are aware there is a problem." "I'm aware there is a problem, but I'm not entirly sure what the problem is," replied Esmeralda. Clopin sighed. "You know what people are saying about your recent decision. Some are afraid you will become corrupted like Frollo. But most think you will leave us for the reason you made your action. Aren't you afraid marrying this man will only confirm their beliefs?" "So you believe it too?" Esmeralda glared. "You know better than to think I do!" said Clopin. "Indeed, I'm probably the only gypsy who thinks it's a wise decision on your part! I could see you were a lost soul long before you were aware of it yourself!" "Lost???" Esmeralda exclaimed, "Well what would you expect when I had to look after myself at age thirteen??" "That was not because you were lost: it was because you were capable!" snapped Clopin. "Would I have declared you on your own if I thought you couldn't take care of yourself? You have grown stronger from it." "I may have gained strengh, but what have I lost?" mulled Esmeralda. "You didn't have a family anyway!" stated Clopin. "And you know I tried like heck to get you one!! I certainly didn't want you to grow up at such a young age, my child." "Yes," Esmeralda said softly, "You called me your child, but you couldn't be my father." Clopin's face again showed no reaction, but inside he was weeping. For it was true: he loved Esmeralda like a daughter, but he could never be her father. He could never be anyone's father. He had to be a leader, a fighter, and a protector. But a father? No. A father would have to devot his heart to one person, and place that person above everything else. The King of the Gypsies could never be so attatched to anyone. If he grew so attatched, then in the event of losing the one he was attatched to, he would crumble away and neglect his kingdom. The gypsies needed a leader who would protect them, not someone who would put them in danger for one person. Never was it so difficult to not be a father than with Esmeralda. The emerald-eyed little girl with no identity needed a family so desperately, but no family ever needed her. Or as with Melenie's parents, if a family did need her, then death would strike them. Finally at age thirteen it was decided to be a hopeless cause. She was old enough to take care of herself and quite familiar with the ways of the world. It was better for her to take care of herself than for Clopin to neglect his tribe for her. Yet still, his heart ached when he remembered how those beautiful emerald eyes had silently begged him to be her father. He wasn't entirely sure if she forgave him even now. Now those emerald eyes belonged to a fully-grown, strong, capable, cunning, but lonely woman. "Esmeralda, my child," he said at last, "let's not dwell on the past. This is about your future." "Fine," said Esmeralda, "let's talk about my future." "Yes," said Clopin. "Do you really want a future as that man's wife?" "Why would you object to me being 'that man's' wife??" exclaimed Esmeralda. "He has helped our people greatly, even after we tried to kill him! You remember the rebellion, do you not?" "Yes," replied Clopin, "and I certainly owe him grattitude for that. But you know it isn't just me." "Don't you realize that this could be for the good of us all??" Esmeralda argued. "It may be for the good of us if he were still a soldier," said Clopin. "But now he's been reduced to a position where he can barely afford to keep himself alive." "Then he is all that much closer to us!" retorted Esmeralda, her brow furrowing slightly. "Like me, he has suffered while trying to help people. And like me, he has no family. Not anymore, anyway." "What do you mean?" asked Clopin. "Are his parents dead?" "His mother lives, but she has dismissed him," replied Esmeralda, "In some ways, one could argue that that is worse than his parents being dead." "Yes, and do you wish to find out if they're right by experiencing it yourself?" Clopin said in a halfway flippant, halfway threatening attitude. Esmeralda decided his remark didn't deserve a reaction. "I was the reason for the dismissal," she said softly. "You certainly have a talent for making people get dismissed!" remarked Clopin. "Don't you see???" Esmeralda almost shouted. "He needs me!!!!" Clopin glared at her. "And I suppose you feel like you need him as well?" Esmeralda sighed. "We both need a family," she muttered. "Perhaps we can both find one in each other." Clopin's face still showed no emotion, but his mind was whirling with thought. He could see what she was implying with her words. This grown woman again seemed like the little girl who so needed love. "Sweet Esmeralda," he said gently, "I realize that you need a family, and I regret with all my heart that I was unable to be one." "Then you should rejoice that I have found one," retorted Esmeralda. "Do not be pariochal like Frollo was." Clopin gazed at her for several moments. "You really are the bravest of us all," he murmered. Esmeralda couldn't think of any words with which to respond. She looked at Clopin for several moments, her emerald eyes silently telling him to accept her decision. Finally Clopin broke the silence. "Esmeralda, my child," he announced, straightening the brim of his hat, "here is my Christmas present to you." "What?" Clopin gave a slight grin. "A blessing for your marriage!" he declared. He reached over and touched her shoulder. "Perhaps God really is leading you in the right direction. I know nothing for certain, except that our tribe needs to support one another." His left hand massaged her shoulder as his right hand reached over and gently grasped her wrist. "Tonight I will toast your engagement!" Esmeralda's eyes widened as her lips curled up. "Why do you look so surprised?" said Clopin in his high-pitched voice. "Do you not know that it is a king's duty to look after all his subjects?" The edges of Esmeralda's mouth slowly turned upward. "I guess I have a lot to learn." She bowed her head. "My sincerest grattitude, Your Highness." Quasimodo gazed down at his miniature city. The buildings, the decorations, the figures...they were all exactly the same as he saw them every day, yet now they appeared to be closer to perfection than he'd previously thought. He leaned over and breathed in the sharp aroma of pine needles. Never did they smell so sweet. Strange, how on this Christmas morning everything appeared the same, and yet...different. He could feel the freedom he'd gained a year ago more intensely today. Was it nerves, or did this day really offer blessings? Whatever the answer, now he headed to the other side of the table to admire three very special figures. The first figure was a man wearing a simple brown robe. Thought his face showed a hint of exhaustion, he stood tall, ensuring that no harm would come to his family. The second was a woman adorned in blue. She kneeled over her percious treasure with a serene expression delicately painted on her face. The third was an infant, wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. Quasimodo smiled down at the figures. Surely, he thought, that infant must have blessed him and his friends. How else could he be standing here today, not only alive but free? "Quasi?" The voice jolted him out of his thoughts. He turned around and there was Phoebus standing at the top of the steps. "Oh, I didn't hear you coming," said Quasimodo. "Well, I've been here for a while," replied Phoebus. "You sneeked into my room to startle me?" "No," grinned Phoebus, "I've just been admiring your lovely decor. Did you do it by yourself?" "Not all by myself," said Quasimodo. "Esmeralda helped quite a bit. I think she made the tower prettier this year. She wanted you to see it so much. Good thing you returned early." "Funny you should say that," said Phoebus. "That's exactly what I wanted to talk with you about." "My decorations?" "No, my early return," said Phoebus. He leaned against the table. "I didn't come back early just to see your greenery. Rather....I was kind of forced into it." "What do you mean?" Phoebus took a deep breath and the whole story about his visit and his banishment came pouring out. "...so that was that. Now I'm without family as well as without rank." Quasimodo didn't know what to say. He thought again about his own mother and how he once believed she had abandoned him. True, it turned out to be a lie, but he never forgot what it was like to feel unwanted by everyone, even the one who bore you. He never imagined he'd be standing face-to-face with someone else who had been abandoned by the one who bore him - and this one had really been abandoned. Yet another thing brought Phoebus closer to him. "I'm sorry," he whispered. Phoebus shrugged. "If you think wallowing in grief changes the ways of the world, you've really spent too much time in the tower. If you really want to help me, then here's something you can do." "What?" Phoebus fingered the doll of himself. "I've got a wedding to plan, and one of the groom's duties is to make sure he has a best man by his side." "Well, I don't think I'd be very good at helping you choose someone," said Quasimodo. "I'm not finished," said Phoebus. "As I was saying, there aren't too many people who could be my best man. Battle comerades are far away. I have a little brother who might be interested, but he's loyal to his mother." Quasimodo lifted his brow slightly. "So, to come directly to the point," continued Phoebus. "I think someone who stuffs you under a table certainly deserves to be your best man, even if he did inflict serious injuries while he was at it, don't you?" How dare he suggest such a thing! Quasimodo couldn't believe the sudden surge of anger he was getting. Phoebus was asking him to be his best man and this was his reaction? How could it be that jealousy still hadn't ebbed, even though he had long been accepting his loss? "Quasi? Don't you have something to say?" Quasimodo blinked a few times at the former soldier. "I'm....I'm honored!" he finally managed to say. "So you'll do it?" "Of course I will!" Quasimodo practically shouted. The surge of anger was suddenly vanquished. Phoebus smiled at him. "Thank you, my friend." He reached over and touched Quasimodo's shoulder. "You have been more like a brother to me than my real brother ever was." Quasimodo smiled as widely as his cheeks would allow. How lucky he was, he thought. How lucky he was. That night, a light snow flurry showered the city. The flakes danced around in the wind, swooping up there, twirling around there. Some flakes took as long as five minutes to reach the ground, for they so enjoyed dancing with the air. Others wanted to hurry down as quickly as possible to the ground, so the could join the people in their festivities. These flakes swooped down to the square, where practically the entire city of Paris was gathered for the celebration of Christmas. The scent of roasted goose, pine boughs, mince pies, plum pudding, and hot ale (among other delectible scents) delighted every nose and made every mouth water. The strumming of lutes, the beating of drums, the ringing of bells, and the singing of carolers combined into one big angelic harmony. Even the most downhearted souls couldn't help but smile on this joyous night. Quasimodo strolled leasurly down the streets, taking in the atmosphere of the night. How often had he imagined the magic of this day when he had observed it from above, but no fantasy his mind was capable of could live up to the reality. He stopped periodicly to watch the entertainers sing, dance, or tell stories. He heard the familiar tale of the first Christmas five times, with each storyteller giving it a new demension. Marie joined the bellringer's side as he was watching a group of handbell musicians. She swayed from side to side keeping the beat with the music. Her little voice could occasionaly be heard singing along with the bells. "They have nice syncopation," Marie said after the song had finished, "but your bells have better tone." "Thank you," said Quasimodo. "Quasi, guess what?" Marie said excitedly, "Esmeralda and Phoebus have asked me to be a flower girl at their wedding!" "Congratulations!" said Quasimodo. "You know, I'm going to be in the wedding too. I'm going to be the best man." "Really?" said Marie. "So that's why Phoebus said I should be a flower girl because I led the best man into the street!" Quasimodo smiled at the girl. "I probably owe it to you that I'm enjoying the festivities tonight instead of observing them from above." He took her hand and led her down the street. "Attention everyone! Attention!" Clopin's voice boomed over the outdoor tables where the people were savoring a Christmas feast. "I have an announcement to make!" His mouth full of mince pie, Quasimodo turned his head towards the Gypsy King, speculating that this announcement might be the reason why he'd been unable to locate Esmeralda all evening. "On this joyous day," Clopin continued, "we have yet another event to celebrate. One of our bravest comrades has found someone with whom to share her life, and the feelings of love are mutual." No gasps were heard, but a few mouths could be seen hanging open. "So now," Clopin continued, "I am pleased to annouce the engagement of Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers' to our own sister La Esmeralda!!" Esmeralda and Phoebus rose out of their seats near the head of one of the tables as the crowd broke into applause. It's difficult to read the feelings behind a clap, but Esmeralda was certain she could detect some resentful applause, probably coming from her fellow gypsies. "And now," Clopin shouted after the applause had ceased, "a toast!" He raised his glass and struck it with a spoon. "To Esmeralda and Phoebus, wishing them a long and happy life together. A toast to love!" Quasimodo stood up and raised his glass. "To love," he replied in unison with the crowd. He could not tell if his voice was reluctant or not: it was lost in the mass of voices. After everyone had taken a sip of wine, Phoebus again lifted his glass. "I would like to propose another toast!" he announced. Everyone eyed him curiously. Phoebus cleared his throat and raised his glass higher. "A toast...." he proclaimed, "...to Quasimodo! He brought us together, and has supported us in every way possible. It is because of him that we are alive today. Let us lift the glass to our hero. To Quasimodo!" "To Quasimodo!" Esmeralda repeated. "To Quasimodo!" the crowd echoed. Quasimodo's mind was ablur. For a moment he was back in the square on the first truely uplifting moment of his life. He could hear Clopin's shout of "Three cheers for Quasimodo!" and the cheers of the very people who tormented him. Previously a nonentity, now he was a hero, and being toasted by the city. When he sipped the wine, it was sweeter than ever before. It was after midnight. Exactly how long after midnight it was, Esmeralda couldn't tell, but she reasoned it must be very late, for she appeared to be the only soul awake. The festivities had ended long ago, and the singing of the carolers had faded away. She shivered from the biting cold of this lonely hour, knowing fully-well that she probably shouldn't be doing this. She should be in her tent underneeth her warm blankets, dreaming about the joyous Christmas day that had past, but uneasy feelings hadn't been letting her sleep. "Love your enemy" she had been taught. How strange this concept was. It seemed illogical, unnatural, and in fact, impossible. Love your enemy? How could the human mind that was so consumed by anger and desires for revenge ever be so pure of heart? It was against nature. Yet here she was carrying a small basket of food - in the middle of the night - and not exactly trying to love her enemy, but at least trying to show some kindness to someone who hated her. There was the house. The run-down, deriorating one-room house that sheltered the mad creature. The last thing Esmeralda would ever want to do was approach the forbidding window. If the creature lived underneeth the gravestones her house could not have appeared more eerie than this tiny structure hidden in the shadows. She reached back and pulled the hood of her cloak over her face in hopes that the inhabitant wouldn't recognize her, then she breathed deeply and slowly headed towards the barred window, making each step as small as possible. "Who's there??? What fool comes at this hour??" "Go back," a silent voice told Esmeralda. "You don't have to go through this." Her right foot involuntarily stepped back into one of her tracks. "What devil is haunting me???" Her left foot followed, digging itself into the warmth caused by her imprint in the snow. "Who's there??? I demand you show yourself!!!" She was frozen, half from the cold and half from fear. Thick clouds of air puffed out of her mouth. Her boots were firmly rooted into her footprints. The silent voice came again, stronger than before. "Go back. Run away. You don't want to do this." Every nerve within her wanted to obey the voice. Her right foot slowly rose out of her print and took another step. Foreward. Yes, foreward. Whether it was her own willpower or some outside force, she was moving foreward. Toward the window of the house which sheltered the mad creature. "Madam," she whispered with frozen lips, "I have brought you some food and drink to cheer your soul on this Christmas night." She thought she would die right then when she heard the sound of footsteps within the house. Indeed, her heart stopped beating for a second as the ghastly face of Sister Gedule slowly appeared in the window. Her skin shone in the moonlight, pale as a risen corpse. The bars in the window cast dark shadows over her eyes, making her expression unreadable. Esmeralda preferred it this way, for the sight of those eyes threatening her at this hour might make her heart stop completely. "Who are you, and what hellish provisions have you brought??" the mad one demanded. Esmeralda set her basket on the snow-cover windowsill. "Madam," she whispered under her breath, "I brought you some cake from tonight's party." "Cake???" the woman snarled, "CAKE???? How dare you???" "All right," Esmeralda quickly replied. "If you don't want cake, then try some of this wine." She pulled a bottle out of the basket. Gedule glared at the wine as if she had just been offered poison. "Water," she growled. Esmeralda could tell from the heavy rasp in her voice that the woman must have had nothing to drink for a long time. "Please Madam," she whispered, "the wine will cheer your spirits." "Water," the woman repeated. "Madam," Esmeralda whispered in a nearly inaudible voice, "please try what I have offered." Without warning, the woman's gnarled hands shot through the bars, dug her clawlike nails into Esmeralda's collar, and dragged her to the window. "WATER!!!!" she yelled. The thrust of the pull flung Esmeralda's hood back, exposing her dark skin, black hair, and green eyes. "And then, I could have sworn I saw the fury of Hell burning in her eyes," Esmeralda later said. "It seemed that by her very stare she could have sucked all the life out of me. Even now I wonder how I survived." "So it's you!!!!!!!" the woman screamed, tightening her grip. "Daughter of Egypt!!!!!! Muderous flesh-eater!!" Her nails dug right through Esmeralda's collar and began tearing away at her skin. Esmeralda's face went pale as she felt Gedule's cold nails tearing at her flesh and her own warm blood trickling down her chest. She would have attempted to pry the madwoman's hands away...if her own hands could move. Where were her hands, anyway? She could feel nothing in them. Her sense of everything except the sharp pain of the woman's grasp had been lost. She was paralyzed. "Damn you, gypsy!!!" the old woman spat. "DAMN YOU!!!!!!" In another unwarned move, her foot shot up and kicked the basket off the sill. At the same time, her left hand swiped across Esmeralda's face like a wild beast clawing her prey, and her right hand suddenly released the gypsy from her grip, sending her tumbling into a heap on the ground. Esmeralda lay still for several moments, her upper chest throbbing with pain, her face awash with blood and tears, her every bone aching. She panted ferociously with long heaves of breath. The only thought in her head was the wretched face of that woman. Perhaps that woman had mudered her. Perhaps now she was lying in the last moments of her life. She closed her eyes and consciousness left her. Esmeralda woke to the feeling of something soft nuzzling against her face. She slowly batted her eyes open and the comforting sight of Djali's soft eyes came into view. The little goat had been licking his owner's face in an attempt to revive her. "Djali...." Esmeralda murmered. She slid her hands up to her waist and carefully pushed herself up into a sitting position. "You came looking for me, didn't you?" Djali bleated happily to see Esmeralda awake. She stroked his fur with great relief. "You have no idea what I've been through tonight." How long had she been out? A quick glance upward told her that it couldn't have been an extremely long time: the moon was in about the same position. She hugged Djali tighter at the realization that if she had stayed unconscious for a long while, freezing to death would have been inevitable. After a lingering moment of settling herself with this embrace, Esmeralda slowly bent her knees up to her chest and and unevenly struggled to her feet. It ached to do so, but at least it was a sign that the madwoman hadn't inflicted any serious damage. The house of Sister Gedule stood facing her in the eerie moonlight. Esmeralda gazed coldly at the house, wondering if she had passed out from injury or just from fear of that woman. "What is your secret," she whispered into the night. "Something must have hurt you badly." She had seen the fury of Hell burning in those eyes. And yet, she sensed that deep down there was something else. She wasn't sure if she had really sensed it or if her fear and weariness was causing her to imagine things, but something in those eyes had seemed lost, vunerable, and alone. She might have taken pity on the woman had she not been tearing her flesh apart. "Perhaps someday I'll understand," she whispered to herself. She looked around at the area where the woman had kicked her gift. The snow had soaked the cake beyond recognition, but the bottle of wine appeared to be undamaged. She picked it up and examined it. Amazingly, the glass bottle was free of cracks and the tight cork had prevented leakage. "What luck," she muttered. Perhaps she could still find some use for the wine. She moaned at the thought of walking back to the gypsy camp with her aching bones and the heavy fatuige on her eyes. She would have laid down and slept right there had it not been freezing cold. Where could she stay? Was there another camp close by where she could spend the night? Her teeth chattered as the winter wind blew through her hair. She tried to conjure up a mental map of Paris, but lack of sleep was preventing her from thinking straight. I know not how long she would have remained in this state had she not glanced upward. The two towers of a building where she knew she was always welcome came into focus against the black sky, and security returned to her. "Come on, Djali," she breathed. With the wine bottle tucked under her shoulder, she staggered toward Notre Dame. "Quasimodo? Quasimodo, wake up!!!!" Quasimodo drowsily opened his eyes, waking out of a dream about Esmeralda pounding on his door and calling his name. Except...the sound of her voice wasn't ceasing. First he thought he was still dreaming. Then as the real world came into focus he realized he wasn't. With a slight groan, he struggled out of bed, pulled on a robe, and sleepily headed downstairs toward the door. "Esmeralda?" he said when he opened the door. "Quasimodo!" Esmeralda breathed, staring at him as if she were lost in the desert and he was an oasis. "You don't realize what a joy it is to see your face. I've just had the most horrible experience. Please, may I spend the night here?" "Of course," said Quasimodo. He didn't need any further explanation for Esmeralda's calling him in the middle of the night; her desperate tone of voice and blood-stained face were enough. He gently took her cold hand and led her up the steps. "Were soldiers after you?" he asked. "No," gasped Esmeralda, "Worse. I can handle soldiers, but....not her." "Oh," was all Quasimodo could say. He didn't proceed to ask whom she ment by her. Any amount of logic would tell him. As soon as they reached his room, he hurriedly brought in the most comfortable pallet he had available and set it up on the floor. "You can sleep here," he offered. Esmeralda fell onto the pallet. "I can't thank you enough, my friend. A dear brother who always has his door open for his sister." It appeared that she would fall asleep at any moment. Quasimodo took a quilt off his own bed and gently wrapped it around Esmeralda's half-slumbering body. As he pulled the quilt over her shoulders, his hand suddenly touched something cold and hard. "What's this?" he asked, pointing at the frosty wine bottle. "This?" Esmeralda said drowsily, realizing she had forgotten about the wine. "Well....I guess you could call it a bit of Christmas cheer." She gave a slight yawn and looked up at Quasimodo. "We could share it if you want." Quasimodo picked up two glasses from his shelf. "I think that's a great idea," he said. "Merry Christmas." Later, Quasimodo lay in bed, watching Esmeralda sleep, and thinking about her earlier words. "A dear brother who always has his door open for his sister." That statement confirmed that the brotherly love Quasimodo felt was mutual. Esmeralda considered him her brother. He had been called a brother by two people that day: something he never would have dared dreamed of in his Frollo years. Impossibility had occured. He gazed down at the beautiful sleeping form of Esmeralda, his dear sister who would soon be Phoebus's wife, and wondered about the other impossibility. Was he ment to have a platonic relationship with a sister, but never the ajoining of two souls with a wife? If Esmeralda - the most caring, compassionate person in the world - could not love him, then who could? Perhaps it simply wasn't ment to be. And perhaps he shouldn't be wasting time worrying about it. After all, he had been blessed with freedom, acceptance, and friendship. In that context it seemed silly to long for anything else. How selfish the human mind was, to never be satisfied. Such were his thoughts as he drifted off to sleep on his first Christmas as a free man. 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