Chapter 4- Thirteen (part 2)

...

Gaston lay on his stomach in front of his own door, staring at the padlock until he realized that this situation wasn't as bad as he'd thought.

With a tremendous show of determination, gritting his teeth against the pain racking his body, he struggled to his knees. He raised himself up and gripped the iron padlock with his nearly frostbitten fingers. It felt like ice. There were numbers on the lock. He had to use the combination.

Papa had him use this same lock a few times to secure the house or the horse stable doors, and so he had told him the combination. It was Gerard Legume's own birth date- 3-10-19, for March 10, 1719. Papa's thirty-ninth birthday was soon coming up. Gaston hoped to wrap up a batch of horse dung and tie it with a ribbon for a gift. He thought that would be most appropriate, and would endure any physical pain for the amusement it would entail.

Thankful that he knew the combination, he turned the lock a few times, hissing in pain as his fingers clumsily missed the little marks again and again. The numbers were always difficult for him to read, causing him to get mixed up. Especially the numeral '3.' He blinked his eyes, willing the sting at the back of them to go away. He couldn't cry, he was a man! And not just any man. He was Gaston!

On the ninth try, he missed the '19' mark once again. He screamed, cursed, and pounded on the lock with his knuckles. They cut and bled. Somehow, the sight of his own blood made him feel a little better.

He tried again. He could do it. No beast of a padlock with tiny numbers could stand against him! He had to relax and take deep breaths, and slowly, slowly turn the lock to the exact line of the number. He focused on the number 19, lined it up, and with his tongue hanging out of his mouth in concentration, he pulled on it.

It popped open.

"Yes!" Gaston cried out in victory. He tugged on the heavy, ponderous chains until they fell to the ground, and pushed the door open. He welcomed the warmth as he crawled on the floor- from the front hall to the sitting room to his bedroom, leaving a trail of blood and wet snow on the wooden floor. He reached his own bed and hoisted himself up into it using his less-injured foot, throwing the covers over his head.

He slept, and slept, and slept some more, only waking to crawl to the privy and back, which was torture. He slept the rest of the day, through the night, and late into the next day. Once he was awake enough to stay that way without drifting back into odd dreams again, he realized he was famished.

Those delectable smoked meats he craved were upstairs in the storage room. He recalled that there was a bowl of eggs, baguettes, some apples, and a wheel of fromage left for him in the larder of the kitchen. And probably a pitcher of warm milk. Most of those things were likely spoiled; even the baguettes were hard as rocks by now.

Unable to find any more strength to get out of bed and crawl to the kitchen, Gaston lay in suffering. The effects of injury, hunger, thirst, and cold kept him in his bed for two horrible days, until finally- finally there was a knock on the front door, followed by the sound of it opening on its hinges.

"That's funny- I thought Monsieur had padlocked the door," said a woman's voice. Jeanne-Marie!

"Jeanne-Marie!" Gaston croaked out in a weak voice.

"Did you hear that, Étienne? I thought no one was here! It must be my imagination, because they won't be back until Tuesday! Sweetie, can you please take the brush and shovel and check the ashes in the fireplace? Make sure the flue is clear? Then we'll go back home."

"Sure, Maman."

Gaston's heart was set to explode with relief. "Lefou!" he cried out, as loud as his hoarse voice could carry.

"Gaston? Maman, that sounds like Gaston!"

"But Étienne, I thought he-"

Lefou took off and ran as fast as he could, to the source of the voice calling out his name. When he entered the bedroom, his eyes widened in shock.

"Lefou...you're here..." Gaston croaked, never happier in his life to see his shrimpy best friend.

"Gaston! Why are you here, and not on the trip? You...uh...you...don't look so good."

"I...broke...my leg, and I..."

"Gaston?" Jeanne-Marie had entered the room, and she was shocked to see the boy in such a sorry-looking state in his bed.

"You're back? Where is Monsieur?" she asked.

"I...never went with...Papa," Gaston managed to say.

"You didn't? What have you been doing all this time?" asked Jeanne-Marie.

"You broke your leg?" asked Lefou. He reached out a hand to touch Gaston's legs, first one, then the other.

"Ahhhhh!" Gaston screamed in pain when Lefou touched his right leg. "That hurts!"

"Sorry! I didn't mean to-"

"Oh my God! You're alone? And injured?" Jeanne-Marie exclaimed. "I'll get the doctor! Étienne, stay here and keep him calm!"

While she was out, Lefou listened as Gaston slowly and painfully recounted the events of the past few days- being left behind as punishment for sneaking up to the inn, being locked in his own house, climbing out onto the roof, jumping down, busting his ankle, and finally letting himself back inside on his own. Anger and bitterness boiled within him as he finally got the chance to talk about it. He had no other outlet to take it out on, except for the small boy at his side.

"I called and called you! I yelled out your name so many times! Why didn't you come until now?"

He glared at Lefou with a look as blaming and intimidating as he could, although mixed with abject pain and suffering. He watched his friend's eyes turn red and well up with tears, his lip starting to quiver.

"I'm so sorry! Gaston, I never meant to not come when you needed me! I wish I could have heard you, but my parents made me stay in!"

"Why?"

"I...I had a cough and fever on Friday and Maman and Papa were worried, 'cause they always worry when I'm sick, 'cause they think it could be the plague coming back again!"

Gaston winced through his pain and arranged his face into a sneer. "Your Maman- and your Papa- were worried about you?"

Lefou nodded and sniffled. "Yeah."

"Well, don't you have the charmed life," Gaston spat.

"What do you mean? Charmed life?" Lefou asked, truly confused. He wiped one teary eye with the back of his hand.

"Lucky. Privileged!"

Lefou finally realized what he meant. He was more privileged than the richer boy, but not in status. He still had his mother, and a poor yet kind, humble and soft-spoken father. Not a father like Gaston's.

"I'm sorry. I just wanted to tell you why I didn't hear you and couldn't come over-"

"My father left me alone here to DIE!" Gaston raged, his eyes stinging and burning. Damn, do not cry! Not in front of him!

"I'm sorry!" Lefou sobbed. He put his head down against Gaston's shoulder and reached out to caress his sweaty, messy hair. Comforting, sincere words poured from his mouth. "Is there anything I can do for you? I will never leave you alone like that again! You're my best, best friend, Gaston, and I'll always be here for you! I...I..."

"You what?" Gaston's tone was kinder, back to normal.

"I'll...um, always be here for you." A look of embarrassment crossed Lefou's round little face. Perhaps this was a bit too much mushy sentiment for a now twelve-year-old boy to be expressing to his best buddy.

"Thank you, Lefou. I'm glad...you're here. I'm just so...pissed at my father for not taking me on his trip. And locking me in my house!"

"I know. I know," Lefou soothed him. "You'll be taken care of soon. Just rest, and relax. The doctor's coming. Do you want me to get you something to eat?"

"Yeah. Some eggs, maybe, or apples. There's smoked meat upstairs, that's what I really want. And a glass of water."

"Okay. I'll get it right now!" Lefou said, with the urgency of a life and death situation. He rushed to collect some food and water for his weakened friend.

In a few minutes, the doctor and his assistant arrived with Jeanne-Marie. They examined Gaston's ankle as he yelled in agony, and told him it needed to be set into a splint. The doctor said if Gaston were older, he would have been lame or crippled for life, but since he was so young and still growing, his leg should return to normal.

...

A day passed- a very snowy and sleety one, and then another. Gaston's leg was set and he recovered in bed with the help of Jeanne-Marie, Lefou, the family's cook Madame Noir, and the doctor. Monsieur Legume was supposed to arrive home with his two friends at least by Wednesday. Thursday came, then Friday. It was nearly the second week of March.

On Saturday, the Legume home received a visitor. Jeanne-Marie answered the door, and was relieved to see one of Monsieur Legume's hunting buddies, Monsieur Moreau.

"Monsieur Moreau! You're back from the trip! Where is Monsieur Legume?"

The man took off his hat, a dark and pained expression on his face. He had grown a scraggly beard and his face was red and wind-burned. He didn't look physically well at all.

"May I come in? I need to speak to Gaston."

"Oui...yes, you may," the housemaid said, confused.

Jeanne Marie watched the man enter Gaston's room and shoo his young friend Étienne out, as if he were a troublesome fly. Once the other child was out, Monsieur Moreau closed the door behind him.

"Maman, what's going on?" Lefou asked.

"I- I don't know..." Jeanne-Marie said, worried. "Gaston has been in big trouble with his Papa a lot of times, but why would Monsieur Moreau be the one to..." She trailed off, realizing that babbling would not be of any help.

She and her son could hear the man's pained, grief-stricken voice through the door, explaining something to Gaston. Moreau finally came out, and faced his friend's loyal domestic with a look of sorrow.

"Madame, the blizzard hit the mountains really hard. We...the wagon and hunting party...we were stranded. I decided to turn back and ride home, but Gerard and Jean-Paul wanted to stay and wait it out. They had bagged a lot of game. I went to get help. I found Jean-Paul, he was alive. We looked for Gerard...and we found him with his wagon and horses. He died."

"Oh, no!" cried Jeanne, tears welling in her eyes. She grieved her employer, but most of all her heart went toward his orphaned boy.

"What? His Papa's dead?" said Lefou, stunned.

The two of them went to Gaston's room and opened the door.

The boy sat staring out the window, his back turned to them. His handsome face bore a hard, cold expression, his jaw muscles clenching.

"Gaston?"

"Sit by me, Lefou," Gaston said. It was a command, but a softer command than he was accustomed to. He kept his eyes on the window. Gentle flakes of snow continued to fall outside.

"Sure...sure I will." Lefou went over to his friend and climbed on the bed next to him. He nestled against his shoulder, careful to not touch his bad leg. "I'm so sorry, Gaston," he whispered to him.

"Don't be," he replied, his voice bitter.

Lefou slowly put his hand on Gaston's, first patting it, then holding it. He didn't pull away, so the gesture was all right with him.

"I think I want to go to sleep," Gaston said in a soft tone. He sunk down, careful as to not move his injured leg, until his head was on the pillow.

Lefou moved to a reclined position next to him, still clasping Gaston's hand. He watched over him in a quiet vigil, observing the fierce, fiery hazel eyes he loved so much blink several times. They finally closed, tearless, until his best friend was safe in slumber.

...