"So you finally met him, eh?", chuckled Fern as I mentioned
my first few
meetings with Claude Frollo. She kept laughing as I helped
her unload
supplies from a wagon. One nice thing about Jacki's
invention was that
we were able to travel back and forth through time and
space with little
trouble.
Fern and I had just returned from a special shopping trip
back home; we had to stock up on things that we couldn't possibly get
in 15th
century France: corn, sweet potatoes, sugar, coffee, and
other foods we
took for granted in our own time. We were getting somewhat
homesick.
We even brought back some recorded music. This was Fern's
idea, though I
was apprehensive about bringing the CDs. Jacki had rigged a
special
device on a boombox so we could listen to recorded music whenever we
wanted. I
never asked Jacki how it worked, must've been
solar-powered, since we
obviously had no electricity. All I knew was it worked.
So now I had
my Motown and R&B, and Fern had her country tunes. We had
to either keep
the volume down or listen with headphones. We would've had
a LOT of
explaining to do if we ever got caught, and I knew what the
charge would
be: Witchcraft.
I never told Fern everything about my encounters with
Frollo nor did I
tell her my true feelings for the Minister of Justice, that
I was
gradually falling in love with him, and he didn't even
know.
Fern just gave me a stern warning. "Please try to stay out
of trouble,
especially if it involves Minister Frollo." She looked at
me intently.
"I'd hate to tell your folks that their darling daughter's --
ahem -- 'tied
up' in Paris and won't be coming home."
She then embraced
me, chuckling
in that southern Indiana twang, "Girlfriend, if you want to
be friendly
with the likes of Claude Frollo, that's your business."
As Fern
settled
herself in the wagon and took the reins in hand, she said,
"It's weird
but it's your business. Just be careful."
"Don't worry
about me, Fern",
I said, "I won't get in trouble."
Fern left for that old chateau where she kept the '59
Chevy. She said
she had to take care of some business.
Odd, I thought, she never let me venture inside that
magnificant
house. I always had to stay outside while Fern readied
the Chevy. The
car remained secure in another building on the estate. How
could she
just
stash the car on private property without permission? Why
hasn't anyone
discovered it by now? Why hasn't anyone questioned our
comings and
goings? And why were these trips always made at night?
I pushed those thoughts from my mind as I pondered Fern's
warning, 'be
careful'. There was no need to be extra cautious around
Claude Frollo
any more, as I encountered him several times since that odd
business in
the cathedral. Just pleasant small talk and a few smiles
passed between
us, nothing more. I really felt that we could finally
become friends.
What happened later that morning proved me right. A nice
compliment and
some homebaking at last helped to break the ice.
Fern had brought back so many pecans that I decided to take
advantage of
the pleasant late-June weather and do some baking. I baked
a variety of
wonderful things: cookies for the kids, a pie for
Quasimodo. I then
packed
some cookies in a pretty tin for Minister Frollo; he should
appreciate
this.
I must've had an attack of ESP, for at that very moment,
Claude Frollo
had just rode past our house. I immediately went to the
door and started
to call out to him. He must've sensed my presence as he
circled back
and stopped.
Oh, he looks so handsome! He wasn't wearing the
splendid black
velvet
judicial robe with its jewel-trimmed yoke and epaulets.
Instead, he wore
a casual, hunter-style outfit complete with tall boots,
tunic,
form-fitting black hose, a sweeping cloak, and the famous
triangular hat
with its long red veil. The entire ensemble fitted his
tall, slender
form perfectly.
Claude Frollo smiled as he greeted me. "Good Morning, my
dear. And what
a good morning it is now that I have seen your charming
face."
I returned the smile and, feeling a little silly, replied
in a
mock-Southern, down-on-de-ole-plantation dialect, "Mornin', Min'ster Frollo, suh. Much
'bliged y'all
kin stop by an' set a spell. I has some pow'ful tasty
pecan cake in
yonder. Y'all sho' is welcomed."
Claude Frollo couldn't stop laughing as he dismounted and
approached me.
"Is this the language of the New World? It's rather odd
and
harsh...", he said as I welcomed him inside. "Coming from
you, my
dear Mlle. Wood, it is
like pure music."
"I would be delighted", continued Frollo, "to partake some
light
refreshment, especially in the company of such a beautiful
hostess."
I tried to keep my nervousness from showing during Frollo's
brief visit,
but here he was, the Minister of Justice himself, sharing a
piece of
cake, a cup of lemonade, and pleasant conversation. Frollo
favorably
commented on my baking
skills and developed a fondness for pecans that persists to
this day.
It was a pleasant, although short, visit. My heart sank as
I showed him
to the door.
"Good looking horse, Your Grace", I said as Frollo mounted
that gorgeous
black stallion.
I handed over the tin of cookies. "Percheron stallion, am I
right?", I
asked.
Claude Frollo grinned. "You are as keenly
observant as you
are
lovely. How did you know?"
"My grandpa owned Belgians",
I replied,
"and
I just like big horses." I asked, "What's his name?"
"I call him 'Snowball'", replied His Grace.
I looked at Frollo quizzically. "Minister Frollo, this
horse is not
white, he's black. Naming a black horse
'Snowball'?...That's like naming
a polar bear 'Midnight'."
I was certain that the good judge would slap me upside my
head, but he
just softly chuckled and said, "My dear, never lose that
special style
of humor. I will admit I am getting used to it..." He
paused for a few
seconds, then adding at last, "And getting used to
you."
His eyes met mine and he grew strangely silent. We looked
at each other
for several moments, then Claude Frollo spoke at last. "I
thank you for
the treats. I'd love to stay longer but I do have duties to
perform."
I offered him a bright smile. "Minister Frollo, you're
welcomed here
anytime. I know you're busy, but, drop by every now and
then." Claude
Frollo returned the smile. "I shall," he said, "Oh yes, one
more thing.
Do call me 'Claude'. I know you have been very polite and
formal, but we
know each other well enough to be on Christian terms, Danisha." He
smiled again,
said good-bye, and rode off.
It was so weird, I thought, that only a few days ago we
were at odds.
Now
Claude and I were growing closer with each passing day, but
only as
friends. I didn't care what people said about him, about
his cruel
nature and cold-heartedness. In those early days of our
friendship,
Claude always treated me with patience and kindness.
Often I would
go to
the Palace of Justice and we would read poetry to each
other.
Sometimes
Claude would show me his collection of tapestries because,
somehow, he
knew of my keen interest in the textile arts.
For several weeks, I had hoped that things would change for
us, but I
didn't have the guts
to tell him that I loved him. I imagined he'd be offended
if I
confessed my true feelings; he never voiced his for me.
Maybe it was all for the best, since, as of August, I would
never see
him again. I decided to treasure the close bond between us
while my
vacation lasted.
But an innocent game -- a game that wouldn't be invented
for another 400 years -- nearly ended a special friendship that was destined
to blossom
into romance and passion.
Copyright©1997 by FrolloFreak®