The Sixpenny Cross Collection

by Victoria Twead

  “I can’t just give you my watch! In exchange for what? None of this makes any sense and it’s time I was going.”

  “Wait.”

  The old woman’s claw shot out and clutched her arm. Her eyes bored into Abigail’s.

  “You can go, yes, and forget this day. You can go and live your empty life, and tell the time by the gold watch on your wrist. Or you can give Bufniță the watch and she will change your life. What is the time now?”

  Abigail glanced at her wrist.

  “Nearly a quarter past three.”

  “Abigail, listen to me.” The old woman gripped tighter, her nails digging into Abigail’s skin through her sleeve. “Give Bufniță the watch and she will give you her promise. You know the woods where we camp?”

  Abigail nodded.

  “Come to the woods when the sun reaches that same spot in the sky tomorrow. Come to the place where we travellers camp, by the Wishing Rock, and all will be revealed. If Bufniță does not keep her promise, you may call the police and report that Bufniță stole your watch from you. Look, the lady in the Post Office sees everything from her shop. She will have noticed that you are sitting with Bufniță and Sergei. She will back you up.”

  Abigail looked across the green to the Post Office in the distance. Jayne Fairweather was sorting a display outside the shop. Abigail waved, and Jayne waved back.

  Abigail wasn’t really the impetuous type. She liked to think about all her decisions, weigh them up, and consider them from all angles. But for some inexplicable reason, she was ready to take a risk that day.

  With one smooth movement, she unclasped the watch and pressed it into Bufniță’s dirty hand. Bufniță’s claw closed round it. Sergei’s fingers resumed their crazy dance on his lap, but his expression never changed.

  “You have done well, Abigail Martin,” whispered the old woman. “You have chosen the right fork of the crossroads.”

  Abigail was in shock.

  As she walked back over the green, past the mothers collecting their children now that the school bell had rung, she shook her head. Had she really just struck up a conversation with a gypsy woman? Had she really handed her the Tiffany watch Aiden had given her last Christmas?

  Crazy!

  The remainder of the day crawled by and that night she slept fitfully, visions of Bufniță’s craggy weather-worn face entering her dreams. The next day was no better, and Abigail kept catching herself checking the time.

  Aiden phoned, as he did most days, although Abigail couldn’t help noticing that his calls had become shorter and shorter.

  Perhaps that’s because he’s coming home very soon, she thought, her stomach flipping with excitement at the thought.

  “So, any news in the village?” he asked.

  “No, not really. Just one strange thing happened when I went for a walk yesterday, but I’ll save it until you come home, then I can tell you about it properly.”

  “Strange thing?”

  “Yes, I met an old gypsy woman.”

  “Sorry, Abs. I have to go. I’m looking forward to hearing the whole story when I come home this weekend. Must go, love you, bye…”

  Abigail leaned back in her chair, her hands around the coffee mug decorated with two intertwined As that Aiden had given her last Valentine’s Day. It was only two-thirty, and her appointment with Bufniță was not for another half hour.

  What was Abigail expecting? A box of treasure? She certainly wasn’t short of money. Did she want some abstract wish granted, like happiness? Abigail wasn’t normally the type to believe in the supernatural.

  No, she told herself, when she met Bufniță in the woods, she’d ask for her watch back, give her some money, and that would be the end of the whole silly business.

  The phone rang again. It was Daisy.

  “Abigail, sorry to be a pest, but can you give me that carrot cake recipe again, please? I can’t find it and I’ve searched everywhere.”

  “Oh, like the lawnmower?”

  “Oh, that was embarrassing!” laughed Daisy. “It wasn’t the gypsies at all! Which reminds me, I saw them leaving this morning.”

  “You what?”

  “The gypsies left Sixpenny Woods this morning. I saw their convoy go past my house. Simon is delighted, and I bet all the villagers...”

  “Daisy, I’ll find you the recipe. Something’s come up. I must fly.”

  Abigail slammed the phone down, her hands shaking.

  Gone? The gypsies had gone? She was furious with herself. How could she be so gullible?

  5

  “Sam! Come on! Walkies!”

  Sam couldn’t believe his luck. He jumped up, thrashing his tail, and together they left the house. At the gate, Abigail turned right, heading for Sixpenny Woods, and Sam’s tail beat even faster.

  Resisting the urge to break into a run, she marched along the track that led into the woods. Soon, the track petered out but Abigail knew exactly where she was heading. She let Sam off the lead and he trotted ahead, occasionally stopping to sniff something irresistible.

  Branches swept at her face, and the canopy overhead largely blocked out the spring sunshine. Her footsteps fell silently on the rotting leaf litter. Then the trees thinned out and she was at the clearing where the gypsies camped. The ancient granite Wishing Rock stood silent.

  Apart from the remains of a bonfire in the centre, with weak wisps of smoke still curling from the charcoal, there was no sign of life. She noticed a tree with the initials CD gouged out, but it didn’t look freshly carved.

  No vans. No vehicles. No people. No dogs. No Bufniță.

  No question. The gypsies had moved on.

  Abigail kicked a tree trunk in frustration.

  “Bufniță! Where are you?”

  No answer.

  “Bufniță! You broke your promise!”

  Her voice rang through the woods but there was no reply.

  How could I be so stupid? Did I really hand over my expensive watch to a complete stranger? To a gypsy woman, no less? And for what?

  “Come on, Sam,” she said, her heart heavy. “Let’s go. We’ll take a walk to the police station and have a word with Stan. Report my watch stolen.”

  She looked around for Sam. He was a particularly obedient dog, not given to ignoring commands. He had been trained as a guide dog for the blind, but he hadn’t quite made the grade.

  “Sam?”

  It was a rare occurrence, but this time he refused to come to her call.

  “Sam! Come on!”

  Silence. Nothing stirred. Abigail squeezed her eyes shut in exasperation and concentrated, listening.

  Then she heard something. A noise coming from her right. Not the noise of a dog snuffling through undergrowth, but a tiny whimper, almost a mewling.

  Oh no! The gypsies have abandoned a puppy!

  She swung round in the direction of the tiny sniffle and spotted Sam. He was sitting quietly beside a small bush at the edge of the clearing, his tail sweeping the ground as he looked at her.

  She approached the bush carefully, and peered round it.

  “Sam, what have you got there?”

  What she saw turned her bones to liquid and her heart nearly beat out of her chest.

  “Ohhh…”

  In a straw moses basket lay a baby.

  Not trusting her own eyes, she squeezed them tight, then opened them again.

  The baby was still there.

  Abigail drew in a long breath, then crouched beside the basket. She touched the baby’s rosy cheek with the back of one tentative finger. The baby fluttered its golden eyelashes but didn’t wake.

  The basket looked new, as did the lacy white coverlet tucked around the baby. The baby’s face was clean and beautiful, flushed by sleep.

  “This is it,” she whispered. “This is the treasure worth more than all the gold in the world. This is the gift Bufniță promised.”

  Legs shaking, she sat crosslegged beside the basket, never tearing her eyes from the baby’s
face.

  “Who are you?” she whispered. “You don’t look like a gypsy baby. Did they steal you? Is your mother looking for you?”

  The baby waved a tiny fist in sleep but didn’t open its eyes.

  Except what she’d learned from having nieces and nephews, Abigail didn’t know a lot about babies. She knew this one wasn’t very old. Maybe a few weeks? As her heart thudded, she knew she had to pick up the basket, with its precious, tiny occupant, and do the right thing. She had to take it to the police station.

  A little distance away something caught her eye. A bag. She leaned over and grabbed it, pulling it towards herself. She fumbled with the fastenings, curious to see what it held.

  Like the basket, it looked new. It was one of those cleverly designed bags that opened out into a changing mat. And it had pockets stuffed full of all manner of baby items: bottles, formula, talcum powder, nappy cream, nappies, a pacifier and a teething ring. Everything was brand new, unused.

  It’s almost like a baby starter pack! she thought. I think I was meant to find the baby and keep it!

  But Abigail wasn’t a bad girl, and she wasn’t stupid. She knew she couldn’t keep it.

  With aching heart, she slung the bag over her shoulder, then carefully lifted the moses basket with its sleeping occupant. Somewhere not too far away, she heard a car door slam and an engine start up and speed away, but her thoughts were only on the little mite asleep in the basket.

  Sam followed obediently behind as she walked out of the woods and down the lane towards home. As she reached her gate, she knew she must continue past, and walk into the village and to the police station.

  Stan might not be on duty. Then what? Perhaps it would be better if I just kept the baby until the morning. It’ll need feeding and changing soon. I can do that.

  Her heart hammered. Straight on to the village, or home?

  Instead of walking past her gate and heading for the village, she turned and followed Sam who had already swung up the path to the kitchen door.

  The decision was made.

  A deep feeling of contentment washed over Abigail and the gypsy’s voice rang in her ears.

  You have done well, Abigail Martin. You have chosen the right fork of the crossroads.

  She would keep the baby.

  For the moment, anyway.

  Just one night wouldn’t hurt.

  As she turned the key in the lock, the baby stirred. The little fists flailed, and the eyes eased open for the first time.

  “It’s okay, baby,” whispered Abigail, “we’re home.”

  6

  Abigail locked the door behind her and placed the moses basket on the kitchen table. The baby was more agitated now, kicking at the coverlet and beginning to screw up its face and turn its head as though searching for milk.

  “Are you hungry? Just hold on, little one, I’ll soon sort something out for you.”

  Was the baby a girl or boy? She realised she didn’t know.

  The first priority was food, so she pulled the tin of formula out of the bag and quickly scanned the instructions. She didn’t have a steriliser, but she boiled the kettle and poured boiling water into the bottle, hoping that would do the trick instead.

  How much formula to make? According to the tin, it depended on the weight of the baby.

  Very carefully, she lifted the baby out of the basket. It felt warm through the little stretch suit it was wearing. A wave of tenderness swept over her as she cradled it in her arms. So young, so perfect, so innocent. She walked slowly to the bathroom and stood on the scales. She knew exactly how much she weighed, and could now calculate the baby’s weight. Okay, so she needed to make about 500ml of formula. She was doing well.

  She placed the baby back in the basket. Using the scoop and following the instructions to the letter, she made up the feed and set it aside to cool.

  Next came the nappy change, and the revelation.

  Boy? Or girl?

  She opened the changing mat and gently lifted the baby into the centre of it. The baby kicked and she sensed it was getting agitated. As quickly and gently as she could, she removed the little sleep-suit and nappy.

  “You’re a little girl!” she breathed.

  First she wiped the baby clean, then fitted a new nappy around her, pressing the adhesive strips to keep it in place.

  “Well, that wasn’t too hard,” she said and lifted the baby into her arms.

  The nappy promptly fell off.

  The second attempt was more successful. Next, Abigail offered her the bottle and the baby sucked enthusiastically. She held her to her shoulder and patted her back as she had done for her nieces and nephews. She was rewarded with a fat burp. An hour later, the baby was clean, fed and drifting off to sleep again. As Abigail tidied the kitchen, a contented feeling enveloped her and she realised that the cold, gnawing sensation, deep inside her, had vanished.

  With the baby asleep, she made herself something to eat and relaxed, always keeping one eye on the basket. In addition to the large table and chairs, there were two easy chairs in the huge kitchen, Aiden and Abigail’s favourite places to sit on cold winter days. Abigail made herself comfortable and reached for the phone. Two messages awaited her.

  The first was from Daisy.

  “Abigail, don’t worry about the carrot cake recipe, I found it. I’ve made a batch so put the kettle on tomorrow morning, and I’ll bring some round. Oh, and is Aiden back early? I thought I saw his car pass our house today.”

  The second message was a puzzle. The caller was female, with an American accent, and the message was baffling.

  “Hah! So that’s how you sound! I was curious.”

  Who on earth was that? Could this day get any stranger? She played it back twice more. It made no sense at all. It must be a wrong number.

  She shook her head, trying to clear it. There was no time to worry about mysterious phone calls, she had to make a plan.

  Bufniță meant me to find the baby, she said to herself.

  There was no doubt about that. But it didn’t mean she could keep it. She couldn’t keep a baby a secret, and Aiden would never allow her to keep it. No, she’d have to report it to the police.

  Or did she? What if she just packed the two of them up and left? Ran away?

  But what about the baby’s mother? There may be distraught parents somewhere, desperate to find their tiny daughter.

  Exhausted, Abigail fell asleep, only to be woken a few hours later by a hungry baby demanding a feed.

  The bathroom door was open, framing Martha as she applied her make-up and brushed her hair.

  Aiden looked at her. Had he ever really been attracted to this woman? What had he been thinking? Risking his marriage for a romp with this cold-eyed, unfeeling ice queen?

  There was no question about it, she was beautiful to look at. But behind that soft skin and those wondrous curves beat a heart of granite.

  “Why are you staring at me?” she asked, looking straight at Aiden. “Are you going to miss me? That’s a laugh! Believe me, I won’t miss you or your horrid little country. Go back to your waiting angel in Ten Cent Dump or whatever your precious village is called. Me? I’m counting the hours until I get back to New York where I do belong.”

  By morning, Abigail had perfected the maternal art of carrying an infant on one’s hip whilst carrying out chores. She had tidied the kitchen and sorted all manner of stuff without needing to put the infant down, but she still hadn’t decided what to do next.

  The problem was, she didn’t want to do anything. She wanted time to freeze and the world to leave her and her baby alone.

  She jumped as somebody knocked on the kitchen door.

  “Abigail? It’s me! Put the kettle on.”

  Abigail took a deep breath and unlocked the door to let Daisy in.

  “Oh my! Who is this adorable little munchkin?”

  “Um, I don’t actually know. It’s quite a story…”

  “Well! I can’t wait to hear this one! What d
o you mean, you don’t know? Is Aiden back?”

  “No, I’m on my own, except for this little sweetie, of course. Aiden will be back this weekend.”

  “Hold on, let me make coffee and cut us some carrot cake, then you can explain.”

  Daisy listened carefully as Abigail told her story, only interrupting when something didn’t seem clear.

  “Hang on, you gave the gypsy your watch?”

  “Yes, I don’t know what came over me really, I just felt I had to take the risk.”

  She continued the story.

  “And there was nobody else in the woods?”

  “Nobody. I didn’t see anybody. All the gypsies and their stuff had gone.”

  “But the baby made a sound?”

  “Yes. Thank goodness I heard her, and Sam had already found her. He just sat there beside the basket, waiting for me to go over.”

  “And were there no clues in the bag? Or in the basket?

  “None.”

  “Abigail, you know you can’t keep her, don’t you?”

  Abigail cast her eyes down. She didn’t answer.

  “Abigail, are you listening?” Daisy’s voice was gentle. “I know how much you want a baby, but this isn’t the way. Imagine the despair of the parents of this little munchkin. You have to report this.”

  Abigail lifted her head and stared back at her friend with hurting eyes.

  Loud banging on the front door made them both jump.

  “I’ll go,” said Daisy.

  7

  Abigail buried her face in the baby’s neck, inhaling, breathing in the scented warmth. She heard Daisy opening the front door and talking to somebody, then she popped her head round the kitchen door.

  “It’s a delivery. Don’t worry, I’ll handle it. No need to disturb the little munchkin.”

  She vanished again and Abigail could hear thumping and moving noises coming from the hall. By the sounds of it, it was quite a big delivery. Perhaps Aiden had ordered something and forgotten to tell her about it?

  At last the noises stopped, the front door closed, and Daisy came back into the kitchen.