The Snow Gypsy

by Lindsay Jayne Ashford

  Those words, penned nearly a thousand years ago, had been a touchstone for Rose since her student days. The note at the front of the book said that Julian of Norwich had not always been a nun, that there were hints in her writing of an earlier life as a wife and mother, and that she had possibly lost her family in the plague epidemic that had swept through England the year before she had taken her vows.

  If that was true, how could she have gone on believing?

  Rose opened her eyes, gazing up at the blur of leaves and sky above her head. It hadn’t occurred to her until now that this was the same tree whose wood Nathan had used to carve the little wooden horse he had given to Maria. She tried to imagine him sitting beside her now, working away with a knife while he talked to her. What would he say? What would he want to tell her?

  She must have drifted into sleep pondering the answer. When she opened her eyes again, the sky had turned from bright blue to indigo, and a sprinkling of stars could be seen through the silhouette of leaves and branches.

  The vestige of a dream drifted across the edge of her mind. She tried to catch it before it slipped away. Nathan was in it—she could see him riding across a meadow on Pharaoh, his favorite stallion, laughing as the wind tugged at his clothes. He pulled on the reins suddenly, bringing the horse to a standstill. He jumped off and knelt on the ground, pointing to something white.

  What is it? What are you trying to tell me?

  But as she grasped at it, the image faded.

  A sudden cry had her jumping to her feet. The horribly familiar sound of Nieve calling out in pain had a new intensity—loud enough to penetrate the walls of the cottage. Rose ran inside. Lola and Zoltan were both by the bedside. They looked up with tortured faces.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Lola wailed. “She’s in agony.”

  Rose couldn’t reply. The sight of Nieve thrashing around, her eyes wide with terror, was unbearable.

  “I’ve tried to give her some more of that stuff Maria brought,” Zoltan said, “but she just spits it out.”

  Rose nodded. “It’s so hot in here.” She went to unlatch the window.

  “What about the flies?” Zoltan said.

  “They don’t seem to be so bad at night—and they can’t make her any worse than she already is,” Rose murmured. “Let’s at least get some air into the place.” As she pulled the window open, she saw the garden lit up by the rays of the moon, which was just rising. Something caught her eye, glowing white on the edge of the garden, where bare rock rose up from the grass. She had a sudden sense of her mind grasping at something fleeting and elusive—something of potent significance that she couldn’t pin down.

  “I have to go outside,” she said. “I won’t be a moment.”

  As she made her way toward the pale shapes hovering beneath the rocks, a fragment of memory drifted into her mind’s eye, merging with what she was looking at. It was an image from the dream of Nathan. Now she knew what he had been pointing at when he jumped off his horse. The ghostly white shapes were the petals of flowers she had never seen growing this close to the cottage—flowers she’d spotted when she had been gathering herbs for Maria high up on the mountain. They were poppies. Opium poppies.

  Are you telling me I should give her that?

  Rose whispered the words into the night air, as if Nathan were standing there beside her.

  But she’s just a child.

  It was a desperate, dangerous remedy. Not a remedy at all—just a way of easing the pain. But Nieve was dying, slowly and in agony. Surely Rose should do anything in her power to ease that suffering?

  She crossed the grass to the rocks, bending over the swaying poppy heads, breathing in their bitter scent. She had written down what Maria had told her. A handful of the gray-green heads brewed in water over the fire. The liquid sweetened with honey and administered on a teaspoon. Reaching out, she dug her nails into one of the slim, pliable stems.

  Rose didn’t tell Lola what was in the brew she prepared that night. It would only add to the trauma she was already suffering. When Lola asked what it was, Rose simply said it was something to deaden the pain.

  Zoltan, who had come into the kitchen as she was stirring the mixture, had simply nodded when she said what was in it. “If it helps in any way, it’s got to be worth a try,” he said.

  When it came to getting the liquid into Nieve’s mouth, Rose was afraid she would either spit it out or vomit it up. But to her relief the child did neither. Perhaps it was the honey that did the trick. Rose didn’t know. But within minutes of taking the opium mixture, Nieve lay still and peaceful on the pillow, her breathing regular and her skin much cooler to the touch.

  Rose managed to persuade Lola to try to get some sleep in the armchair by the fire. Zoltan offered to sit with Nieve, but Rose could see how exhausted he was.

  “I’ll watch her,” she said. “You can take over in the morning.”

  He gave her a sad, soulful look. Neither of them could say it out loud: that tomorrow would be the third day—the day the doctor had predicted would be Nieve’s last.

  Rose lost track of the hours as she watched Nieve hover between life and death. She sat on the edge of the bed, gazing at her sleeping face, thinking that she would give anything to swap places, to be the one to die instead of this child who had never had the chance to fulfill the promise her sweet, bright, playful little soul contained.

  She repeated a single, silent prayer, over and over, like a mantra. Please, God, let her live. It felt hopeless, futile. But praying was all that was left to her now.

  The moon could no longer be seen through the window. The poppies, which had stood out so clearly earlier on, were lost in shadow. Rose thought how strange it was that she had never noticed them before. It was as if they had sprung up overnight.

  When dawn tinged the sky outside, Rose reached out to touch Nieve’s forehead. She felt very cold. The first rays of the rising sun revealed that the ugly red rash had disappeared. Her skin was as white as the petals of the opium poppies. Rose’s heart began to race. She bent down low, listening in vain for the whisper of Nieve’s breathing. She pressed the tiny wrist with her fingers, desperately feeling for the flutter of a pulse. There was nothing. No beat of life. Just cold, cold flesh.

  “Oh, cariño, don’t leave me!”

  Tears spilled down Rose’s face. She heard the choking sound of her own sobbing. Impossible to stop.

  Don’t cry.

  Whose voice was that inside her head, tormenting her?

  Please don’t cry.

  She blinked. Saw Nieve’s face through the blur of tears. Her eyes were open. And she was smiling.

  Half an hour later Nieve was sitting up in bed, feasting on goat cheese and ripe figs.

  “Are you sure you can eat all that?” Lola glanced from Nieve to Rose, her eyes glassy with emotion.

  “I’m absolutely starving, Mama!” The cheeky grin was the same as ever. The only sign of the illness that had ravaged her body was the pallor in her face and the stringy look of her unwashed, unbrushed hair.

  When the meal was finished, Nieve lay back on the pillow and dozed off. Zoltan took the plate into the kitchen, leaving Lola and Rose to gaze in wonder at the sleeping child.

  “I still can’t quite believe it,” Rose whispered. “Can you?”

  Lola shook her head slowly. “I thought I was going to lose her.” She turned to Rose, tears streaking her face. “As punishment for taking a life.”

  Rose reached for her hand. “I don’t believe God works like that. What about the life you saved? Nieve wouldn’t be here at all if it wasn’t for you. You put your own life on the line for another woman’s child—and gave her all that love. What does a person deserve for that?”

  Lola shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, I think I do: a miracle. And you got it.”

  Zoltan and Rose left Lola with Nieve while they went to tell Maria the good news.

  The old woman’s eyes widened when she heard
what Rose had done. “That was a big risk you took. If the brew was too strong, it would have finished her off. How did you get the right dose?”

  “I’d written down what you told me. I figured that if I halved the amount, that would be safe for a child of Nieve’s age. It’s what I do when I’m treating animals—the dose is always worked out according to the weight, whether it’s a horse, a dog, a sheep, or whatever.” Rose turned to Zoltan. “I was terrified of giving it to her, though, wasn’t I?”

  “But seeing her suffer was just as terrifying,” he replied.

  Rose nodded. “I knew how dangerous it was. And at one point I really thought she’d died. That I’d killed her. She was stone cold and completely still. I couldn’t hear her breathing, and there was no pulse.”

  “You took her to the gates of death,” Maria said. “Shut the body down to allow it to heal itself. Sometimes that works—sometimes it doesn’t. She must be a strong little thing.”

  “She is.” Rose smiled. “When we left, she was sitting outside on the grass, making a daisy chain for Gunesh. She wouldn’t let him come with us—she said she wanted to see him wearing it when it was finished.”

  “You haven’t left her all alone?” The wrinkles gathered on Maria’s forehead.

  “No—she’s with her . . .” Rose checked herself. “She’s with the friend I told you about—the one who used to live in Capileira. She lives in Granada now, but she came back to visit.” She glanced at Zoltan, wondering if she’d given away too much.

  Maria nodded and disappeared into the house.

  “She won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Zoltan said.

  “Are you sure?”

  He nodded. “She risked her life, providing food for the partisans. She and Lola were on the same side.”

  Maria came back with something in her hand. It was a gift for Nieve—a silk purse with dried lavender sewn into the lining.

  “You must be tired,” Zoltan said to Rose as they made their way back through the orchard.

  “Not really,” she replied. “I should be, I know. But I feel as if I could run a marathon.”

  He stopped walking, shading his eyes as he scanned the hillside. “We could go for a walk up the mountain if you like. You can show me where you saw those badger cubs.”

  “Yes, I’d like that.”

  It felt good to be out in the sunshine after the trauma of the past few days. There was a cooling breeze blowing down from the glacial lake at the top of Mulhacén. It rustled the branches of the trees and sent orange blossoms drifting onto their heads.

  “They have names for the wind in Spain,” Zoltan said as brushed away a petal that had landed on his nose. “An old boy at the market was reeling them off one day. There’s the dry, hot wind that blows from Morocco and covers everything in red dust; the one from the southwest that always brings rain or snow; a cold one from the northeast that kills the almond blossom if it comes too early . . .” He trailed off with a shrug. “Don’t ask me to remember their names—there are half a dozen or more.”

  “You’ve picked up so much about this country—considering you’ve only been living here for a year or so.” Rose smiled. “Do you think you’ll stay?”

  Zoltan looked away. “Maybe. I’m not sure. I’ve heard there are opportunities in Argentina. They speak Spanish there, so I’d be off to a good start.”

  “That’s a long way away.” She shivered as the breeze caught the bare skin at the back of her neck. Why did the thought of his leaving make her feel so desolate?

  “It’s only an idea,” he said. “I haven’t really thought it through.” He brought his hand sharply up to his eyes. “Look! Up there on the ridge. Ibex—can you see?”

  She followed his gaze. At first, she saw nothing but rocks. Then a flicker of movement revealed the shape of an animal, its gray-brown body perfectly camouflaged by the landscape. Then she spotted another. And another. They were chasing each other along the edge of an impossibly sheer cliff face, springing from rock to rock like children playing tag.

  “They’re amazing, aren’t they?” Zoltan said. “How they don’t fall . . .”

  They stood watching until the wild goats disappeared over the top of the ridge.

  “It’s a good thing Gunesh isn’t with us,” Rose said. “He’d probably have tried to chase them.”

  “What did he do when you spotted the badgers?”

  “He’d dozed off. There was water between us and them—I don’t think he could smell them.”

  “Was it that stream?” Zoltan pointed to the left. Rose caught a glimmer of silver—the sparkling torrent of a waterfall tumbling over rocks.

  “I’m not sure,” she replied. “I’ll recognize it when I see it. Shall we go and have a look?”

  They walked along the banks for a while until they reached the spot Rose remembered. Lying facedown among the reeds, they watched and waited. The sound of the water was soporific. Rose found herself struggling to keep her eyes open. She was almost asleep when she felt the touch of Zoltan’s fingers on her wrist. Looking up, she caught a glimpse of white among the vegetation on the opposite bank. A pointed snout with a black button nose emerged from the reeds, glistening with droplets of water.

  Zoltan’s fingers pressed her skin as they saw another badger cub scrambling down to the water. She heard him catch his breath as a third one joined them. For a few precious seconds, the trio gamboled about in the sunshine. Rose wasn’t sure why, but the sight of them brought tears to her eyes. A sob rose in her throat before she could swallow it back.

  “Oh, Rose!” Zoltan rolled onto his knees, crouching beside her, cupping her face in his hands.

  “I’m sorry—I’ve frightened them away.”

  “Come here.” He lifted her into a sitting position. “It’s no wonder you’re feeling fragile. You’ve been through hell these last few days.”

  She felt the warmth of his skin on hers as he drew her close. Her head was tucked against his collarbone, her mouth touching his neck. Without really knowing what she was doing, she found herself kissing the soft, pale flesh below his chin. She heard a murmur—a low groan, as if she’d touched a bruise. Then his mouth found hers, hungry and urgent as he eased her back down onto the bed of reeds.

  The protective wall she had built around herself was swept away on a flood tide of pent-up emotion. She couldn’t remember taking off her clothes or his. But when it was over, they were both naked, lying with their limbs entwined. She snuggled into him, breathing deeply. The scent of him mingled with the sharp fragrance of wild garlic and the earthy smell of the stream. She was afraid to open her eyes because the sky was too blue, the sun too bright. She felt like a dragonfly emerging from the shell of its old body. Tender, vulnerable, but aware of an awesome transformation. Ready to take to the sky after only ever glimpsing it through a tangle of weeds.

  Chapter 33

  Rose felt as if she had stepped outside the bounds of time and reality into an enchanted realm where there was no past and no future. The days were long and warm, and she was with the people she loved: Zoltan, Lola, and Nieve. She shut her mind to what lay ahead. To decisions about going back to England. And to what Lola was going to do when Nieve was strong enough to travel.

  If Lola suspected what was going on with Zoltan, she said nothing. She rarely left Nieve’s side. Hardly surprising, Rose thought, after being starved of her company for all that time and then almost losing her. And it was no hardship, taking on the daily tasks of getting food and firewood. It gave Rose and Zoltan the excuse they needed to slip away for an hour or two.

  There was no need now to make the daily journey to the village to take Nieve to school. By the time the child had recovered enough to make the trip, classes were over for the summer. Nieve wanted to go and see her friend Pilar, but Rose was afraid to take her. They’d had no news from the village since the doctor’s visit almost a week ago. Maria was the only other person they’d seen—and she rarely ventured down the mountain.


  “Pilar is still poorly,” Rose said, feeling horribly guilty for deceiving Nieve. “Uncle Zoltan’s going to market tomorrow—he’ll find out if she’s well enough for you to visit.”

  Zoltan glanced at her over the child’s head. They were both dreading what he was going to discover when he got to Pampaneira.

  “You’ll be going to a different school in the autumn, when we move to Madrid,” Lola said. “You’ll make new friends there—that’ll be good, won’t it?”

  “What about Pilar? Will I still be able to go to her house?”

  Lola darted a helpless look at Rose.

  “Shall we take Gunesh for a walk?” Rose took Nieve’s hand. “He’s been so lazy this morning—he doesn’t like going out anymore unless you’re there throwing sticks for him.”

  Lola and Rose followed as Nieve scampered off with the dog.

  “I’m going to miss her so much.” Rose bit her lip, trying hard not to well up. “When are you thinking of going?”

  “I thought maybe the day after tomorrow. We’ll get the bus to Granada, sort out our things, then head off to Madrid after the weekend.”

  Rose nodded. The lump in her throat made it hard to speak.

  Lola glanced at her, her face taut with emotion. “I feel awful, taking her away from you. You’ve been like a mother to her. I wish you could come with us.”

  Rose had a fleeting vision of making a new life in Madrid instead of going back to London. Apart from her job, there was nothing to make her want to return to England. She could speak Spanish well enough now to open a practice in this country if she chose. But what about Zoltan? They hadn’t talked about the future. She knew him well enough, though, to be certain he would hate city life. He loved the peace here on the mountain, far removed from the crowded, claustrophobic conditions he had endured in Mauthausen. How could she ask him to leave it all behind to follow her to Madrid?

  “Do you have to go so soon?” Rose stared at the ground as she spoke, too churned up to look at Lola. “Couldn’t you stay a little longer?”