| "Second Chances" by Christy Chapter 8 Well, dear readers, it is time to move on. We'll be moving on to another place and another time. The place will be a small town in Germany, near the French border, and the time will be three months later, when the first buds of spring begin to show. Of course, things did happen during those three months, but it would slow the story down if I told you about them. We have already done seven chapters of lingering, after all, so it is time to move on. Some of you may be wondering why we have waited seven chapters to introduce a major character. Well, should you re-read the story after we are done, you will find that those seven chapters were nescessary for rich storytelling, and besides, you did enjoy reading them, didn't you? But now it is time to move on, and here is where our story really begins. A gypsy woman who appeared to be somewhere in her fourties pushed her way through the crowded streets of the German town. No one knew who she was, so everyone mostly ignored her. She didn't know anyone, so she mostly ignored them. She would only acknowledge someone's existence when she ran into them, which happened frequently. Everyone was in a great hurry today, but perhaps it only seemed that way because she was in a great hurry herself. She had news for an old friend. At last she reached her destination: a large two-story house where the town dressmaker resided. With sudden excitement she knocked on the wooden door and in a few moments the tailor answered, with a yard of fabric draped around her neck and a sewing needle stuck in her golden blonde hair. "Brigetta?" the tailor exclaimed when she saw the gypsy. "Brigetta! So nice to see you! How have you been? No wait, don't answer that. I know that no matter how bad things are going, you're going to say 'fine,' right? Well come on in. I've got some tea brewing and it's far more than I could finish by myself!" The tailor led Brigetta into her living room, where she fetched a steaming hot cup of tea for each of them. Once they were both seated, the gypsy began speaking. "I have news about the family," she announced. "Let me guess: they've all dropped over dead," said the tailor. Brigetta rolled her eyes. "No, you're thinking about the wrong end of the cycle of life. Ulysses and Danelle have had their baby!" "Yet another neice or nephew I'll never meet," sighed the tailor. "Neice," said Brigetta. "Little Angelique. Very cute, very healthy baby." "I'll bet she is," the tailor sighed again. "My dear, one baby is pretty much like any other...unless it's yours, of course. My advice is to not get depressed and listen to my other news." "I'm listening," said the tailor, "And I'm not an easy one to get depressed." "Even you might get depressed from this news. It involves Phoebus." The tailor stopped short. "Phoebus?" she repeated softly. "Yes," said Brigetta, looking the tailor in the eye. "Prepare yourself." "Brigetta, I'm prepared," the tailor said without making eye contact. "If he's been killed in battle, there's no reason to hide it from me. I've had myself prepared for that news since he left." "No, he hasn't been killed in battle," said Brigetta. "He's alive. I don't know if he's well, but he's alive." The tailor gave a sigh of relief and looked back up at Brigetta. "You don't know if he's well? Does that mean he's deathly ill?" "No," said Brigetta with a grin. "He's just madly in love and soon to be married." The tailor gave another sigh of relief and a wide grin. "Brigetta, you tease! I should be driving you out of my house for that! But I won't if you tell be who the lucky woman is!" "I wasn't entirely joking," said Brigetta. The hint of concern returned to the tailor's eyes. "What do you mean?" "You'll understand when I tell you who the lucky woman is. She is La Esmeralda, a gypsy vagabond who was once tried for witchcraft." The tailor was silent. Hundreds of thoughts were dancing through her head at once, each of which was jogging a hundred memories - memories she'd long been trying to forget. "This...this Esmeralda's a gypsy?" she finally said. "If that's so, Phoebus couldn't marry her. The mother would never allow it." "I know..." Brigetta said softly. The tailor looked at Brigetta. "The mother didn't allow it, did she?" The gypsy lowered her head. "No. He...he pleaded with her, but she was insufferable. She demanded that he either break away from his lover or be broken off from the family. And he.....he stood his grounds and......" "Go on," the tailor demanded. "What happened to him?" Brigetta took a deep breath. "He was excommunicated." The tailor took a long sip of tea to calm herself down. More thoughts were dancing around in her head. "So....he won't have any family at his wedding?" she asked. "None." The tailor ruffled her brow. "If only......" Her words drifted away. Brigetta sighed. "I know what's on your mind." The tailor looked at her. "Really? Well what is on my mind, then?" "You're thinking about attending his wedding." The tailor took a few moments to answer. "I....I couldn't possibly," she finally said. "Not with Claude Frollo around." "Then you haven't heard?" Brigetta inquired. "Haven't heard what?" "That Claude Frollo is dead." The tailor stared at her in disbelief. "What?" "Claude Frollo is dead." A smile crept across the tailor's face. "Oh great, Brigetta, now you've done it!" she squealed. "You've made me happy about a death!" She leaned back in her seat. "I can return to Paris! I'll be safe! I can attend the wedding!" "Quit your daydreaming," Brigetta said firmly. "If you really think you can ever show up in Paris again..." "What makes you think I couldn't?" said the tailor. "Claude Frollo is dead!" "One death doesn't erase a memory," Brigetta said firmly. "Perhaps I've failed to mention who took Frollo's place. It was his brother. I'm sure he's heard about you. And how about the soldiers? True, many have died since then, but there are probaby still a few who remember you." The tailor's smile faded into a scowl of being hit by reality. "And even if there were no danger," Brigetta continued, "would you really want to return to the city that has caused you so much pain?" Now the tailor could utter only one word: "Phoebus..." "I doubt he's thought to invite you to his wedding," said Brigetta. "And furthermore, you are still young, and the emotional pain might surprise you." "What sort of pain would come from seeing Phoebus again?" the tailor sighed. "I suppose he believes I'm dead." "I would imagine so," said Brigetta. "He believes I'm dead..." the tailor repeated. "If you want my advice," said Brigetta, "I think things should stay that way. Remember, he's been a soldier. He could have evolved into a completely different person." "He believes I'm dead..." the tailor said again. Brigetta sighed, realizing that there would be no getting through to her. "All right," she gave in, "it is your decision. I can help you get back to Paris...if you're sure that's what you really want." The tailor closed her eyes for a few moments, silently pondering issues that she had been trying to brush out of her mind for years. "I will go..." she finally said. "Are you sure?" asked Brigetta. "Yes," the tailor said. "You're willing to face any risks, physically or emotionally?" The tailor took a deep breath and gave a small nod. "All right," the gypsy sighed. "However foolish this may be, I'll help you get back to Paris." "Could you also do me another favor?" asked the tailor. "What?" "How long would it take your caravan to deliver a letter to Paris?" "I'd say about six days, if the weather's good." "Okay, thanks!" the tailor said quickly as she rose from her seat and headed to her writing desk. "I'm coming, Phoebus!" she muttered to hereself as she picked up her quil pen and began to write. "My dear brother Phoebus..." Paris, France, Six Days Later "I think Esmeralda's coming back today," said Quasimodo as he scanned the shelves of the bakery. "Mmm-hmm," muttered Phoebus, who was concentrating on the ball of dough he was kneeding away at. "According to word from Clopin," Quasimodo continued, "her caravan should arrive this afternoon. It may even be here now!" Phoebus looked up from his work. "Are you going to make a purchase or not?" "Sorry," shrugged Quasimodo. "There's so much variety to choose from." "I take it: you're looking for rolls that weren't made by me. Well, this certianly wouldn't be my first choice for a job. It's not as glamorous as being a soldier, but next to starvation it looks pretty good." "Hey, you're not so bad," said Quasimodo. "You know, your bagguettes are better than the baker's." "Don't tell him that," said Phoebus, "or he might fire me for fear that I'd take over." "I doubt good bagguettes would enable you to take over," grinned Quasimodo. He looked over at Phoebus. "Is something wrong?" "What?" "It's just that you don't seem very excited that your fiancee's returning." "It's not a lack of excitement," replied Phoebus. "It's just a matter of not being ready." Quasimodo gave a small sigh. "Please don't worry about that. I'm sure you'll find a house you can afford." Ever since Esmeralda's caravan had left Paris a few weeks ago, Phoebus had been trying to find a place for them to live, but every empty house had been too expensive. "In case you haven't noticed, Quasi, the room at the boarding house is not ment for a couple. I doubt it's even ment for one person. Maybe it's ment for a dog." "Phoebus, she's used to living in small places," said Quasimodo. "I'm sure she..." he was cut off by the sound of the small bell above the bakery door ringing. Both men turned to find their favorite gypsy woman standing in the doorway. "Pardon me, gentlemen," she said, "but would either of you know the whereabouts of a Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers' or a bell ringer who goes by the name of Quasimodo?" Quasimodo laughed. "Esmeralda!" He ran up to the dancer and threw his arms around her. "How was your journey?" "It's the best thing about being a gypsy: traveling," said Esmeralda. She released herself from Quasimodo's grasp and turned to Phoebus. "Your bride to be has returned! And she's staying here until we are married." "Welcome back," said Phoebus, not looking up from his work. "Sorry if I've disappointed you by not tackling you in a hug and smuthering you in kisses. I'm working." "Okay, that's it," said Esmeralda, pretending to be angered. "I want to break up our engagement!" "You'd really want to break it up if I got flour on your dress," grinned Phoebus. "No, I'd just send Djali after you and cause you to drop that dough and have to start over," Esmeralda grinned back. "All joking aside, I have something for you." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a letter sealed in wax. "No, this isn't a love note from me. It's a letter from Germany that my caravan has been asked to deliver." "Germany?" exclaimed Phoebus. "Yes," said Esmeralda. "You know anyone in Germany?" "No," replied Phoebus, brushing flour off his hands. "Are you sure it's for me?" "Pretty sure," said Esmeralda. "I'd suggest you read it. But if it's from a woman I'm breaking our engagement for real." Esmeralda handed the letter to Phoebus, who hastily broke the seal and began to read. As he read, Quasimodo watched with great intrest. Who would be sending letters from Germany? Apparently someone very important, for Phoebus didn't normally whisper exclamations to himself when he read. "Oh my god...." Phoebus whispered, "...oh my god.....Minerva...." "Minerva?" exclaimed Quasimodo. "Your sister?" said Esmeralda. "The one who died?" "Minerva...." Phoebus said again. "I think that letter has whisked him into another world," said Esmeralda. "Minerva..." Phoebus repeated. "Hello?" said Esmeralda. "Phoebus? Are you still in this bakery, or have you traveled back in time? Wake up, I see a ball of dough here that the baker's not going to be happy about when he sees in unfinished!" It appeared that Phoebus barely heard her teasing. "She's alive!!!!!!!!" he shouted as he slammed the letter on the table. "Minerva?" said Quasimodo. "That's who I would imagine..." said Esmeralda. "You imagine right," replied Phoebus. "She's alive, and she's coming to our wedding!" "Our wedding???" exclaimed a stunned Esmeralda. "You mean, she's coming here?" said Quasimodo. "We'll get to meet her?" "Yes indeed," said Phoebus. "Prepare yourselves for the treat of a lifetime. Read the letter if you want. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a loaf to finish." "Well, I hate to cut this short," said Esmeralda, "but if I'm to have the treat of a lifetime soon I'd better make sure I have food for then. The people will be glad to find that the dancer La Esmeralda has returned. I shall see you two later." Quasimodo heard neither her goodbye nor the bell sounding as she left. He was gazing down at the letter on the table. "My dear brother Phoebus," it read, "Please forgive me for allowing so much time to pass without reaching you. I never would have wanted to be a little more than a year away from thirty before I spoke to you again. I imagine Mother has told you I am dead. No, this is not a ghost writing to you; I am alive and well. I've resided in Germany for the past ten years, making a decent living as a dressmaker. I'll explain the details to you when I see you again. Yes, you read that last part correctly. I heard that you are getting married, and I heard about what Mother did to you. Many congratulations! Well, not about what Mother did to you, but about your engagment. As for Mother, I hope you and your new wife give her nightmares. Anyway, I was wondering if you would be interested in having one family member at your wedding. I understand if you do not want me at your wedding, but I am still coming to Paris. It's been long time for us to meet again. I can't give an exact date, but if all goes well I should be arriving on the first of April. I'll be traveling with a Gypsy caravan. I can't wait to see you. With much love, Minerva." The first of April seemed to arrive without any time passing. Quasimodo, Esmeralda, and Phoebus were all in the street at sunrise to await the gypsy caravan that would bring Minerva. As the day progressed, breakfast consisted of a bag of rolls fresh from the bakery (which Phoebus insisted he did not make), a few comments were made about how this was wasting a perfectly good spring day, and restlessness eventually caused all three to scatter. Quasimodo peered up at the sun for what seemed to be the hundreth time. It had to be almost noon by now. He paced down the street in a zigzag manner to avoid running into the crowds. He was a patiant individual by nature, but even he was starting to grow anxious. Then suddenly, a peculiar language brushed at his ear. "Weirden Se mir bitte Hilfin?" Quasimodo widened his eyes; he had never heard this tounge before. He snapped his head around to get a glimpse of the source. A tall blonde-haired woman was leading a chestnut mare down the street. A heavy-looking bag dangled from her arm, yet she still managed to tap random passerby's shoulders to (apparently) ask for help. She spoke in an odd language that was completely new to Quasimodo. "Weirden Se mir bitte Hilfin?" she said to a man who could not understand her, so he turned away. She growled in annoyance. Quasimodo cocked his head: this peculiar language had bred a peculiar growl. He stepped closer to the woman. "Weirden Se mir bitte....oof!" The woman ran into Quasimodo. "Oh...I-I'm sorry.." Quasimodo stammered. "Oh, entschuldigung..." the woman began, then she cut off when her eyes met Quasimodo's. Quasimodo gazed intensely at the woman. She had the plainnest face he had ever seen: entirely one shade of light peach, with the only traces of color being in her golden eyebrows and her deep blue eyes. A line highlighted the edges of her chin, and her nose was so short it gave the illusion that someone had cut off the end of it. Her lips were shaded a very light pink: they were barely distinguishable from the skin that surrounded them. Her golden blonde hair brushed around her shoulders in thick waves, nearly hiding the two tiny silver hoops that pierced her earlobes. She stood tall, wearing a white blouse covered by a vest that was some shade of magenta. This same shade of magenta seemed to flow down from her vest to her matching skirt, which draped down to just above her ankles. A hint of the same color also showed up in her hair: in the form of the matching hairband that connected her ears. Her torso, waist, and hips were nearly indistinguishable from each other: her shape appeared to be nearly rectangular. The most intruiging attribute was her eyes. Royal blue irises surrounding deep black pupils, topped with creased lids and golden brows. Her eyes didn't spark like Esmeralda's, rather they held back, like they were consealing something. These eyes gazed at Quasimodo with an expression that was difficult to interpret. It wasn't fear: the expression Quasimodo would expect. It wasn't even disgust. It almost seemed to be.....facination. Then.....what was she doing now? No, it couldn't be what he thought....that would be impossible.....but it still seemed like she was. Was she.....smiling at him? "Guten Tag," she said. Was that a greeting? How could he respond? Even if he could speak the language, he doubted that he would be able to respond. He gazed at her eyes, which now almost seemed to be absorbing his every detail and growing more intruiged by the moment. Quasimodo was beginning to grow a bit uncomfortable. At this moment Phoebus was turning around a corner, unnoticed by either Quasimodo or the stranger. "Quasi," he said, "have you seen Esmeralda? She..." then he cut off when he saw the blonde woman. The figure was much taller than he remembered, with a more mature face, holes in her earlobes....yet he was certain he had gazed into those eyes before. The longer he looked at her, the more certain he felt. This could be no one else. "Minerva?" Meanwhile, the stranger had released Quasimodo from her gaze and was now pointing her royal blue eyes at Phoebus. The figure was much taller than she remembered, with a more mature face, a beard around his chin...yet she was certain she had gazed into those eyes before. The longer she looked at him, the more certain she felt. This could be no one else. "Phoebus?" The two stared at each other for a long moment each absorbing the moment for which they had waited so long. How unreal it seemed for each to be staring into the face of their fully-grown twin, whom they long imagined to still be eight years old. Finally the initial shock passed, enabling one of them to speak. "PHOEBUS!!!" the woman yelled. She put her bag down and tackled Phoebus in a hug, causing him to fall over backward. "Oh my gosh, I can't believe it's you!" the woman screamed, still squeezing his neck. "I can't believe it's you!!!" She spoke French, but with a strange accent that was completly unfamiliar to Quasimodo. It sounded as though she swirled the words around in her mouth before spitting them out. He found it very difficult to believe that French was her mother language, but then he supposed that if she hadn't spoken it for ten years her tounge would have to readjust. "This had better not be a dream!" the woman continued. "I've waited too long for this to be a dream! All this time! Twins shouldn't be apart for twenty years!" She pulled back to examine his face. "My goodness, how you've grown! Of course, you're probably thinking the same thing about me, aren't you? Oh by the way, don't look now," She pointed at his beard. "but there's a big hairy rodent nesting on your chin; you might want to do something about that." "Ah Minerva, I see you haven't changed," Phoebus said once he got a chance to speak. "Still the cheeky brat you always were, aren't you?" "Still the bumbling jerk you always were, aren't you?" Minerva retorted with a grin. "I'm still so angry at Mother for what she did to you. Just for following your heart! For heaven's sake, the woman you're engaged to had nothing to do with Father's death! By the way, where is the lucky woman, anyway?" At this moment Esmeralda turned around a corner to find Phoebus on the ground with his sister on top of him. "What on earth??" she exclaimed. "Ah, the lucky woman has arrived!" announced Phoebus as he and Minerva scrambled to their feet. He proudly extended his arm to Esmeralda. "Minerva, this is..." Minerva didn't wait to be introduced. "Guten Tag, soon to be sister-in-law!" She grasped the edges of her skirt and curtsied deeply. "I'm Minerva de Chateaupers', Goddess of Wisdom." Esmeralda rolled her eyes slightly at the obvious family resemblance. "Guten Tag," she replied, "Ich heisse La Esmeralda." "Ah, sprechen Sie Duietch?" said Minerva. "Uh.....Ich.....spreche...kline....Deutch..." Esmeralda fumbled, then finally added "Sorry, German's not my strongest tounge." "I could tell that simply by your accent," replied Minerva. Esmeralda might have insulted Minerva then, but she was beginning to get a strange feeling that she had seen this woman before. "Have we met?" she said, her eyes widening. "I don't precieve how," said Minerva. "Why do you ask?" "I don't know," said Esmeralda. "You just....seem so familiar...." "I didn't realize I resembled my brother so much," Minerva grinned. Esmeralda gave a halfhearted grin back, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she had met this woman before. "Anyway," said Minerva, "let me introduce my horse." She began heading towards the chestnut mare. "Her name's Penelope, and she's swift as lightning. I believe she'd be a good war horse, so if you ever need a new one, she's available." "I have my own, Achilles," replied Phoebus. "And he's...very well trained, let's say. Has....unusual talent." "You don't say," said Minerva. Quasimodo froze. They were headed right in his direction. What would she say about him? Would he be discussed like an odd species? "And who's this?" asked Minerva. Quasimodo's heart began beating so hard that it seemed to want to escape out of his chest. Phoebus walked up to them and extended his arm to Minerva. "Quasimodo," he said, "this is my sister Minerva." He then extended his arm to Quasimodo. "Minerva, Quasimodo. He helped us in the rebellion against Frollo." Minerva approached Quasimodo and offered her hand. "Guten tag, Quasimodo." Her mouth was smiling at him, but her eyes were again piercing him with facination. Quasimodo hesitantly shook her hand. "Hello..." he said, his voice coming out in almost a whisper. "So, you assisted in the revolution?" said Minerva. "I-I didn't do much..." Quasimodo said as he glanced downward. "Saving my life isn't much??" Esmeralda exclaimed. "You saved my soon to be sister-in-law's life??" said Minerva, her smile growing so wide that dimples appeared on her cheeks. Quasimodo found he couldn't answer, either from embarassment or shyness, or both. "Yes, he did," said Esmeralda, momentarily casting a confused look at Quasimodo. "I'll tell you the story sometimes, unless your brother wants to tell you." Quasimodo breathed deeply and made an attempt to overcome his shyness. "So...w-which one of you is older?" he stuttered. "I-I mean...I know you're twins...b-but you c-couldn't have been born at the same time, so who's older?" "I am," replied Phoebus. "But only by five minutes," replied Minerva. "I guess you could call him my big brother, but we were born on the same day, so we are generally considered the same age, despite our five minute difference." "I-I see," said Quasimodo. "Anyway," said Phoebus, picking up Minerva's bag, "I should probably be escorting my sister to where she'll be staying. We have twenty years to make up for, as well." "You're right, we do," agreed Minerva. She turned to Esmeralda. "I hope to see you again shortly, soon to be sister-in-law. Let's get to know each other before the wedding." She turned to Quasimodo. "And that goes for you as well. Auf Weiderzehn to you both!" With that, she turned around and began following Phoebus down the street, with her horse close behind. Quasimodo stared at the two blonde heads as they disappeared into the crowd - particually the blonde head with uneven waves draping down her back. The mysterious Minerva had treated him like she would anyone else. On first meeting! Even Esmeralda had gasped when she had first realized his face was real and not a mask. He could hardly believe it. He felt strangely energized by her spark and somewhat unusual friendless, and was finding himself looking foreward to seeing her again. "I like her," he said. Thanks to Sonja for correcting my German. Go to Chapter 9. Back to Fanfic Back to Index |