Red Rider Revolution

by Randall Allen Dunn

  After an awkward silence, I curtsied clumsily. “Good evening, Monsieur Leóne. Thank you for inviting me. May I come in?”

  For a moment, he seemed to consider refusing. “Come in, Helena,” he said with resignation, stepping back to let me pass.

  A small crowd was packed into the Leónes’ dining room. A few people from town that I barely recognized, and even the Denues, with Father Vestille standing beside them.

  Everyone turned toward me and fell silent. Only Father Vestille smiled as the dead hush fell over the crowd. I looked from one pair of eyes to the next, wondering what I had done this time to make them all so uncomfortable.

  I stared down at my plain white dress. When I was hunting the wolves, I didn’t care that anyone found me strange, because I was doing what had to be done. In my hooded cloak and trousers, I looked like a man, scarred from battle and ready for war.

  Now I stood out as the odd girl at a party with scars across her face.

  Father Vestille lifted his cup to me, smiling. “It seems I’ll be joining you after all, Helena,” he said. “The Denues wanted to come by.”

  Madame Denue stepped out from behind him, following suit and beaming at me. “Well, well,” she said. “Our guest of honor has finally arrived.” She raised her glass to me as a toast. Her pockmarked grin put me a little more at ease.

  I gathered my breath as everyone else continued to watch me. Monsieur Verdante forced a smile and nodded to me with a show of respect. Beside him, Celia smiled warmly, staring at me in a surprising way. Was she actually becoming a friend?

  Monsieur Leóne stepped to my side. “Lisette insisted that we invite a few people from the town,” he muttered. “Those who wanted to show you their appreciation. For your actions.” He said it like a curse.

  As if on command, Madame Leóne appeared from behind the crowd, her eyes crinkling with glee. She marched toward me and bent forward, arms extended for an embrace. “Helena! So glad you’ve come!” She nearly lifted me off the ground in her hug. It reminded me of the way our family friend, Francois, used to pick me up and toss me in the air when I was little.

  She released me, still grinning. “Everyone here wanted to let you know how grateful we are, for all you’ve done. You’ve saved us all.”

  I felt as though I had forgotten how to speak. “I – thank you. I –.”

  “Here, come with me.” She took my hand and tugged me through the dining room, weaving between the guests. “You’ll all have to excuse Helena for a moment. I have something to show her.” We passed by the Denues and Father Vestille and the Verdantes. Past Gerard Touraine and Doctor Renoire and Father DuChard, who all smiled at me. Past several others I recognized from town and a few that I didn’t. I glanced back to see Monsieur Leóne still fuming by the front door. Then I turned back to see Pierre standing at the other end of the room.

  “Pierre!” I gasped. He brightened even more.

  “You’ll see him later,” his stepmother insisted. She led me straight to their bedroom and shut and latched the oak door. “Now,” she said with her back against the door. She grinned like a satisfied cat, bursting with excitement. “I’ve been working on something. Here, look!”

  She stepped to the wardrobe and opened it. A blood-red dress with a black floral damask design hung displayed in front of her other clothes. It flared out below the corseted waist, somehow both simple and elegant. Not exquisite enough to be worn at a palace ball, but more than enough to turn a peasant girl into a princess for one night.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said. I didn’t mention that it looked too small for her to wear.

  “I make a new one for myself every season,” she said. “This season, I decided to make one for you instead.”

  I felt the blood drain from my cheeks. She took it down and held it up for me. I studied the black lace against the smooth satin, the gold adornments around the collar and waist. I didn’t want to hold it, fearing I might drop it. “But – you could sell it. To the Verdantes or someone who might wear it to a party. There are dozens of girls in town who –.” I cleared my throat. “Madame Leóne, it’s a masterful gown. It should be worn by someone equally beautiful.”

  She didn’t even flinch. “That’s why I’m giving it to you.”

  I held it for a moment. A moment longer than I should have. Then I handed it back with a firm tone. “I can’t accept it.”

  She didn’t look hurt. Only sad, perhaps pitying me. She turned without taking back the dress I held out and walked to her sewing table, hands folded. “Helena, did you know I have a deformity?”

  I narrowed my eyes, wondering what she could possibly be referring to. Apart from my mother, she was one of the most beautiful women in the province.

  “You might not see it, but I’m well aware of it. I’m blind in my left eye.” She turned to face me. “You see. It’s weak, and can’t quite open right.” Her right eye bulged, opening normally, while the left remained halfclosed. “I was born with it. I used to get stares from other children growing up, especially when I met someone new. Now that I’m old enough that both my eyes look a little tired, hardly anyone notices.”

  I said nothing. She was right. I never would have guessed anything was wrong with her eyes, even after knowing her all these years.

  “Do you know why no one notices? Apart from my age, that is.” She smiled again, her eyes crinkling with humor, as always. Hiding the abnormality, as they always had.

  I shook my head.

  “Because I decided, after plenty of awkward stares and stuttering from new people I met, that I needed to help them look past it. I needed to engage them in conversation, help them talk about what mattered to them, help them laugh and have fun. That’s far more interesting than an eye that won’t open correctly, isn’t it?” She stepped closer and put both hands on my shoulders. “Don’t you think that what you’ve done, for everyone in the village, is far more important and valuable than a few scars across your face? Don’t you think that people – Pierre, especially – see a beautiful, wonderful girl beneath those scars, who is well worth knowing?”

  I felt myself trembling. Felt myself missing my own mother more than ever. As I realized I had a new mother, to love me and accept me as I was. To see far more in me than I could ever see in myself.

  I drew my hands back, cradling the fabric against my chest. “Thank you for the dress.”

  “You’re welcome, Helena.”

  Someone knocked on the door. “Lisette, are you in there?”

  It was Monsieur Leóne. My shoulders tensed.

  Lisette put a hand on me for reassurance. “Don’t worry,” she said. She called to the door. “Yes, come in, Frayne.”

  Monsieur Leóne clomped in, his jowls red. He looked like a bull ready to charge. “Lisette, I need to speak with you.”

  “Certainly, dear. I was just showing Helena the dress I made for her. Isn’t it lovely?”

  He stared at the dress, then at me, then back to Madame Leóne. “Lisette, I’ve invited a houseful of people for this – this celebration. But how much longer will she be here tonight?” He nodded toward me.

  “Be hospitable, Frayne, and grateful,” Madame Leóne said gently. “This dear child may be your daughter one day.”

  Of all the things Madame Leóne might have said, that seemed to be the least constructive. Monsieur Leóne looked like a volcano about to erupt.

  “Not if I can help it,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Why? You should be proud to have Pierre take such interest in a brave sensible girl like Helena.”

  “Sensible?” Monsieur Leóne sputtered. “Don’t you understand she’s brought nothing but trouble to our province?”

  “Oh, don’t be silly, darling,” Madame Leóne said, waving him off with a teasing smile. “Are the wolves here, threatening to devour us? Blame the wolves for our troubles, not the courageous young girl who drove them away.”

  Monsieur Leóne stepped forward, like a lion ready to attack. “She challenged
them, to their faces. She practically invited them to attack her, and attack all of us as well. You see her as a heroine, but would they have even planned a massacre at the royal ball if not for her?”

  “Yes,” I said. I cleared my throat, embarrassed, as Monsieur Leóne glared at me. “They were planning to attack the queen and take over the country. That’s why they invited her here. If I hadn’t been there, then –.” I broke off, as he continued to gape.

  “—then there would have been a massacre,” Madame Leóne finished. “You see, Frayne? She risked her own life to confront them, and saved us all. Pierre was at that ball, along with several of our friends and Father Vestille. They would have been slaughtered.”

  Monsieur Leóne held his tongue, but continued to glare at me. “Very well. So long as it’s truly over. So long as they’re truly gone.” He looked at me with wild eyes, as if demanding assurance.

  “Of course,” Madame Leóne agreed.

  Monsieur Leóne tightened his lips and heaved a sigh. “All right. Finish up here and see to our guests. Pierre’s having trouble keeping up with everything.”

  “Certainly,” Madame Leóne promised. “As soon as you give your blessing to Helena and Pierre.”

  Monsieur Leóne’s bulged. I imagine mine did, too, as I stared up at him. “I’ll do no such thing,” he bellowed. “There are plenty of other girls that Pierre can –.”

  “But no one like Helena,” Madame Leóne broke in. “Just think how proud Henri and Celeste would to see her now, after all she’s done. She’s sacrificed so much. She shouldn’t have to sacrifice love as well. Don’t you think he would have wanted you to honor his only living daughter?”

  Monsieur Leóne quivered, not daring to disagree. He was Papa’s best friend, apart from Father Vestille. Something in him seemed to surrender, softening his features. “I’ll … consider it.”

  “Oh, of course, thank you, Frayne,” Lisette said, squeezing his shoulder. “It’s a big decision, and I don’t expect you to rush into it. I’ll be out soon to take over from Pierre, after I finish helping Helena.”

  He continued to stare at me, now more with pity and shame than rage. “… Very well,” he said before shuffling back out the door and closing it quietly.

  I released a long-held breath.

  Madame Leóne chuckled. “Relax, dear. He just needs time.”

  “Why is he so angry with me?”

  She fell silent, her smile becoming melancholy. “It’s not you, dear. It’s the wolves. And he’s more afraid than angry. I don’t know why. Ever since Francois was attacked, he’s been so agitated whenever anyone mentions them, or even normal wolves. He won’t allow us to discuss it at the dinner table. He needs time to know that it’s over, that they’re not coming back.” She paused, her face growing more sullen. “It must have been so horrific. Those men changing into beasts, right in front of everyone at the ball.”

  I didn’t tell her that I had first seen them transform at their private hideaway, where they conducted their cult rituals and disrobed completely before changing into the wolves. Before racing after me to devour me. “Yes, it was,” I said.

  She smiled again, putting a hand on my shoulder. “But you’re here now. That’s all that matters. Here. Let me help you with that dress.”

  I decided to let her.

  9.

  “You look beautiful, Helena,” Madame Leóne said. I stared at my gaping reflection in her bedroom mirror. And decided she was right. For the first time in my life, I could admit I did look beautiful, even with my scars. How could anyone fail to look pretty in this magnificent dress? Its burgundy satin adorned with an ink black floral pattern, intricately woven through the bodice, sleeves, and high collar. Its bustle skirt blooming like a flower beneath the waistline, making me look like a duchess. The scars across my face paled against this richly adorned gown, to the point that no one could dare call me ugly while I wore it. “– thank you, Madame Leóne.”

  “You’re welcome, dear,” she sa id, squeezing my shoulders and hugging me from behind as she shared my view of the mirror. I smeared away the start of a tear from one eye, as she pretended not to notice. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go show the others.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Madame Le óne said, standing at the bedroom door in front of me. “I’m sorry to keep you all waiting. I would now like to properly introduce you to our guest of honor, the one who made it safe for us to come here tonight – Helena Basque.”

  She stepped to the side of the door. I swallowed and stepped forward, as she had instructed me beforehand. It felt strange, moving in a long flowing gown. I wore one to the ball, but it was only a disguise, not something that truly belonged to me. I moved into the living room, as all eyes focused on my every step. No one spoke, but everyone gaped, and I realized I had been fooling myself about how I looked. The dress was beautiful, but had only highlighted the ugliness of my face.

  Yet as I continued forward, Madame Denue clapped her hands together and seemed ready to gush with joy. “Oh, Helena,” she said. “You look wonderful.”

  “Thank you,” I said in a small voice. The rest of them continued to stare, including Pierre, who stepped toward me for a closer look. “Red,” he said, a little breathless. “You look –.” He glanced about, suddenly conscious of everyone’s attention shifting to him. He smiled and focused back on me, seeming to ignore everyone else. “You look beautiful.”

  That was all I needed to hear. I lifted my hand for him, and he took it, leading me into the room as everyone gradually returned to their conversations.

  “You want some champagne?” he asked.

  “I – I’ve never had any,” I said.

  “I’ll water it down a little for you,” he said, pouring some

  champagne into a mug and then grabbing a pitcher of water to add to it. We passed Father Vestille and Touraine, who appeared to have been deep in conversation. Father Vestille looked like a man giving his daughter away to be married. “You look wonderful, Helena.”

  “Thank you – Father Vestille.”

  I almost called him Papa. Touraine took up their conversation again. “So what you said last Sunday, about drunkenness. Where does that leave me? I mean, some people drink to forget their troubles, like you said. What if someone’s so troubled they get drunk and hurt themselves?”

  “That’s a good question,” Father Vestille said. “In a way, you and I both have a flock we care for. I care for those coming to Mass, to lead them in spiritual truth. You lead people coming to the tavern to make wise choices. They may drink, but you can help them avoid drunkenness, while they’re under your care.”

  Touraine paused. “I wouldn’t have expected you to say that.”

  Father Vestille shrugged. “I might not have, in the past. I see things a little differently now.” He put a hand on Touraine’s shoulder. “People don’t always need a priest. Sometimes they just need a wise friend.”

  “… thank you, Father.”

  I followed Pierre to the liquor table, wondering if I would get drunk tonight. Knowing Father Vestille would think no less of me if I did. Who would have thought I would one day have a priest for a father!

  “Excuse me. Mademoiselle,” someone interrupted from behind.

  I turned to see a tall overweight man with a moustache, who had stepped past Father Vestille and Touraine to follow me. His chin rested against his chest and he held a wide-brimmed hat over his belly, his fingers fidgeting. He looked familiar somehow.

  He cleared his throat. “I, ah – I don’t mix with other folks much,” he said. “But I wanted to come tonight. To see you. And thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said politely.

  “You came around my farm last spring. Saved me. Save my daughter, most of all, from a pack of those beasts.”

  Then I remembered. “You’re Monsieur Favreau,” I said.

  He nodded.

  How could I have forgotten him? I first encountered the wolves on his farm, where they tri
ed to attack his daughter, who looked to be a little younger than Suzette. Of course, it was dark and rain was drizzling and I was terrified as I waited for the wolves in a pen of pigs’ slop. But still …

  He stuck out his hand. “Name’s Henri,” he said.

  I took it awkwardly. He had the same name as my father.

  “Tonight’s the first night I felt I could leave the house, with a neighbor friend watching over my dear Lucille,” he said. “Because of you. I hear you had some serious losses and I’m sorry for that. I just wanted you to know that my Lucille is doing well. We lost her mother a while ago, and I couldn’t imagine losing my little girl, too. So I’m doing all right because of you, too, and I’m not about to forget you for it.”

  I swallowed. “Thank you, Monsieur.”

  He nodded. “I’ll take my leave now. Want to get back and see she’s been tucked in.” He gave Pierre a firm nod. “Young man. You both have a nice evening.”

  He slid his hat back on his head and straightened it, then turned toward the door in large strides.

  Pierre handed me my watered-down champagne, then poured the same diluted mixture into his own mug.

  “What are you smirking at?” I asked.

  “Nice to know you made a difference, isn’t it?” he said.

  I glanced down, hoping I wasn’t blushing too much. “Yes, it is.”

  “Cheers,” he said, tapping his cup against mine.

  “Cheers,” I replied.

  “To the end of the Lycanthru,” he said.

  I would never get tired of hearing that phrase. It was finally over.

  “The Lycanthru?” someone asked. I turned to see Father DuChard, holding his own mug and wearing a look of confusion, next to Monsieur Leóne. “What is that, if I may ask?”

  Monsieur Leóne offered no explanation, his face set like stone.

  “They’re the ones who tried to take over the country,” Pierre said. “A bunch of evil men who changed themselves into wolves to attack people.”

  Father DuChard blinked a few times. Then smiled as if Pierre was telling a joke. “Forgive me. Did you say – Men? Who turn into wolves?”