Lady Gypsy

by Crooks, Pam

  Hoof beats pounded the packed dirt, thundering louder as a massive horse advanced steadily upon them. Its rider had the wild look of a man possessed, as though the spirits of the dead gave him chase. He charged toward them with no regard to their safety, his mighty arm upraised, his powerful fist clenched.

  A scream of alarm bubbled in Liza's throat, and the cart's handles fell from her grasp.

  “Putzi! Paprika! Get away!” she cried.

  Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Liza feared she could not move fast enough, would not reach her little brother and sister in time to pull them from the road, and her heart froze within her breast.

  The horse and rider loomed ever closer. The roar of hooves bellowed in Liza's ears, shutting out the shrieks and curses from the other Gypsy women. An enormous coat made of buffalo hides magnified the man's size, making him even more formidable, more frightening. A raccoon-skin hat covered his head, the furry tail swinging behind him.

  “Out of my way, you fools!” he boomed, irate fury throbbing in the command.

  He was nearly upon them, and by the sheer grace of God, Liza found the impetus to move. She threw herself against Putzi and Paprika and flung them to the side of the road. The horse veered slightly, missing them by mere inches. Clods of earth flew upward, hitting her in the face, the arms, the legs.

  In a few horrible seconds, it was over. He was gone, galloping onward toward Niobrara City, out of their sight, oblivious to the danger or the scare he had given them.

  Putzi started to cry. Liza hugged him tightly against her, comforting him, soothing his pain from the elbow he had skinned. Paprika trembled and fought tears of her own; Liza found room for her within the circle of her embrace.

  The other Gypsy women hastened toward them, concern in their dark faces, but Liza stared past them, past the cart and the baskets strewn about the road, and glared in the direction the wild man had fled.

  Only a Gajo would behave so abominably, so carelessly. A Gypsy would never have been as thoughtless toward innocent women and children. A Gypsy would never have provoked such fright. A Gypsy would have shown infinitely more compassion.

  The Gaje. It was little wonder the Gypsy despised them.

  Her lip curled in renewed disdain. More than ever, she was ashamed to have their blood coursing inside her.

  “Does she always take this long?” Reese growled. He snuffed out yet another cigarette, wondering when in hell Rebecca Ann would finally come downstairs.

  Amused, Bram Kaldwell, his trusted friend and Rebecca Ann's father, peered over the top of his newspaper. A haze of smoke from the pipe clenched between his teeth curled upward and dissipated throughout the lobby of Niobrara City's Grand River Hotel. He grunted an affirmative reply. “Her mother was always late, too. Better get used to it, Reese.”

  Reese shifted restlessly. He'd spent the afternoon pleasurably enough with Bram, but after waiting almost an hour, he'd grown increasingly impatient. He had things to do, people to see. It was almost time to meet the governor, and he wanted to view the train--his train--decked out in all its glory before the christening and his dedication speech.

  Maybe Bram was right. Maybe waiting was all part of it. Husbands were often left with nothing to do but wait on their wives while they readied themselves for special occasions. And though Rebecca Ann was hardly his wife, he already felt like she was. He had no doubt she would agree to his intended marriage proposal, because she, like himself, needed a spouse.

  Her first husband had died unexpectedly, leaving her with a three-year-old daughter to raise. Bram claimed the death had devastated Rebecca Ann, and she had become somewhat of a recluse in St. Louis. She seemed willing enough to travel to Niobrara City, however, and Reese considered that a good sign she wanted to see him.

  He leaned forward and rubbed the ache in his right knee, wrenched years ago when he'd slipped on an icy rail pulling a switch. The joint had dealt him trouble ever since, flaring up whenever it damn well felt like it. Bram claimed the ache foreshadowed a change in the weather.

  Reese glanced out the hotel's tall, velvet-draped window, and a corner of his mouth lifted. Not today. Only a light breeze stirred the daisies and goldenrods growing wild outside Niobrara City. Few clouds decorated the sky. The temperature was perfect. Not a finer day could be found to celebrate the Nebraska-Dakota Railroad.

  He debated lighting another cigarette until a rustle of petticoats drew his attention. Rebecca Ann descended the stairs, slowed by the child clinging to her hand. Reese rose, unmindful of the stiffness in his knee, and watched her approach.

  She seemed nervous and fragile. So very fragile. She was petite, with milky skin that glowed in all the right places. It would be easy to love her, he thought with some relief. Someday, he would. But for now, he was content to just look at her. Niobrara City rarely had a woman as beautiful as Rebecca Ann grace its streets, and he was proud to have her on his arm when he dedicated his railroad.

  The little girl was a miniature portrait of her mother. A porcelain doll dressed in a confection of pink ruffles and eyelet lace, complete with matching bows in her blond ringlets. Another man's child, but he would learn to love her, too.

  “Hello, Reese,” Rebecca Ann said softly.

  “Rebecca Ann.” Reese moved closer, bent, and dropped a kiss to her ruby lips. Her lashes lowered, and she turned away, giving Reese the vague impression he'd been far too bold in his greeting. He fought the feeling, but vowed to be more careful with her. If he were to ask for her hand, he couldn't have her too leery of him.

  “We were about ready to come up and get you, Rebecca Ann,” Bram said. “Reese was squirming in his seat. He isn't used to sitting still for so long.”

  “Really?” At her father's subtle admonishment, she glanced at Reese. “I didn't know you were in such a hurry.”

  Irritation flickered through him before he banked it. Surely she realized how important this day was to him, to his railroad, to the town of Niobrara City, in particular. Yet her expression registered no chagrin, and he knew she didn't realize it at all.

  “No harm done. We have plenty of time,” he lied and hunkered down to the little girl's level. She stared at him with heavy-lashed blue eyes. “Hey, Margaret. You look almost as pretty as your--”

  “Michelle,” Rebecca Ann said. “Margaret Michelle. She goes by both names.”

  “Oh.” The child whined and tugged her hand from her mother’s. Reese straightened to his full height. “That's a lot of name for a half-pint like her.”

  “Michelle is the feminine form for Michael. My husband was quite pleased that his daughter bore his name. Even though he is no longer with us”--her voice quavered, but she regained her composure quickly--”I intend to keep his memory alive for her. Margaret means ‘pearl’ in Greek.”

  “That so?” he murmured, having no idea what his own name meant. The futility of the conversation frayed his patience.

  Bram came to his rescue. “Well, what do you say, Reese? Ready to head on out to that fancy train of yours?”

  Reese shot him a grateful glance and opened his mouth to voice agreement, but a gasp from Rebecca Ann stopped him short.

  “Where's Margaret Michelle?” She darted a frantic look all around her.

  “There she is.” Bram pointed toward the hotel doors.

  “I'll get her,” Reese said and sprinted in that direction. For a three-year-old, she was damned quick, and she had no fear wandering among strangers. He reached her before she left the hotel altogether and scooped her up into his arms.

  “No! No!” She howled and squirmed against him. Reese tried as best he could to keep a firm grip on her.

  “We're going to have to watch her like a hawk,” Bram said grimly.

  Rebecca Ann was right behind him. “Oh, put her down, Reese.”

  “There are a lot of people out there, Rebecca Ann,” he said, trying to be heard over the child's tantrum. “More than usual. I'll hold her until we get to the train.”

 
“You'll crush her dress. I spent half the morning ironing it. Please.” She pulled her daughter from him and set her down, all the while fussing and fretting, trying to smooth the wrinkles from the fabric. She appeared to be near tears.

  “All right. Sure. I'm sorry. Just hold her hand, okay?” He regretted upsetting Rebecca Ann and wished he could start over with her. Pulling the hat from his head, he raked his fingers through his hair on a wave of rising frustration. He took a slow breath, replaced the hat, and vowed the rest of the day would go better.

  “Are we ready?” Bram asked.

  “Yeah,” Reese said. “Let's go.”

  Outside, Rebecca Ann gazed at the throng of carriages and townspeople crowding the streets.

  “Where did everyone come from?” she asked, her features bewildered.

  “Everywhere,” he said and knew a sense of pride that it was true. To see him and the N & D. “The Nebraska-Dakota Railroad is a positive thing for Niobrara City. This celebration has been a long time coming.” He gestured in the general direction where his train waited on the edge of town. “It's only a few blocks. We'd best walk. We'll never get a buggy through the crowd.”

  Bram agreed, and since Margaret Michelle seemed better inclined to behave herself, they joined the throng on the boardwalk. Bram took the child under his supervision, leaving Reese and Rebecca Ann to follow them.

  Reese glanced over at her. He'd yet to really touch her, he thought. If she was going to be his wife, she'd better get used to the idea that he intended to touch her. Often. He took her hand and curled her fingers in the crook of his elbow.

  Her fair features registered surprise at his show of possessiveness. Her initial stiffening eased, and she allowed him the privilege, though she made no effort to move any closer to him.

  Reese satisfied himself with the small victory. She would warm up to him soon, and he to her. It would only take a little more time.

  As they approached the Empty Saddle Saloon, George Steenson, its jovial owner, stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his apron-covered chest. Reese knew most of the shopkeepers in Niobrara City, and George was one of the best. He took it upon himself to know his customers, and he knew the comings and goings of nearly everyone in town. The Empty Saddle was the nicest place around for a man to slake his thirst, and Reese had given him a fair share of business over the years.

  “Today's the big day, eh, Mr. Carrison?”

  “Sure is, George. Going there now. Seen the train yet?”

  “Yes, sir. She's a beauty. You oughta be real proud of her.”

  “l am.” Reese couldn't help the spread of a grin. “Been busy today?”

  “Yep. Governor was here fer a spell earlier. So was some of them Union Pacific bigwigs. They all went on down to see the N & D. Reckon they're waitin' for you.”

  “We'll get there.” Reese waved and continued walking, but George called him back. Some of the joviality had left his expression.

  “Silas McCrae was in, Mr. Carrison. Thought you might want to know that.”

  Bram halted and turned around.

  “And?” Reese narrowed an eye warily.

  “Lookin' for you, he was. Madder'n a rained-on rooster, too.”

  “So what else is new?” Bram muttered.

  Reese cocked his jaw and fought a stubborn sense of foreboding. The day that should have been perfect had already taken a few troublesome turns. Silas McCrae didn't help matters any.

  Instinctively, he scanned the crowd and spied a group of Gypsy women huddled on the street corner. The sunlight bounced off brilliant hues of gold-and-crimson stripes, a kerchief worn by one of the women. A couple of children were with her, laughing and playing while she arranged stacks of baskets in a two-wheeled cart.

  Reese refused to let an ornery three-year-old, Silas McCrae, or a bunch of Gypsy women dampen his spirits. This was his day. Nothing was going to ruin it for him.

  The thought had no sooner formed in his mind when lightening flashed through the sunshine. Peals of thunder rumbled, signaling the onslaught of rain sure to fall from the wall of storm clouds hovering over Niobrara City.

  Chapter 2

  Endless yards of red, white, and blue bunting hung from evergreen boughs looped along the huge train engine. A sculpture of a proud eagle graced the shining smokestack amid ribbons and gold stars. Miniature flags waved from every car, and Liza couldn't help being impressed from the grandness of it all.

  “Foolish Gaje!” Paprika snorted, blatantly unaffected by the sight. “They waste their money on stupid pleasures. Do you think the train knows how silly it looks?”

  Liza's lips twitched. If the train breathed with life, it would be embarrassed with the extravagant frills, but while Paprika and the other Gypsies were scornful of its splendor, the Gaje were not. It seemed all of Niobrara City crowded onto the depot to see the mighty engine and the long line of cars behind it. Men stood, their hands in their pockets, their hats pushed back on their heads, and stared in wordless wonder. Women oohed and aahed, and children ran about, calling out in excitement.

  The Nebraska-Dakota Railroad. Liza didn't understand the importance of it, but the occasion had been good for selling baskets. Her skirt's pockets bulged with Gaje dollars. Nanosh and Mama would be pleased, and there would be a great celebration when they returned to camp.

  “Liza, I want a flag. Can I have a flag? Pleathe?” Putzi's plea intruded on her musings, and she glanced down at her brother, sitting quietly and eating ice cream while she tended her baskets.

  “Of course, sweetling. You have been such a good boy today.” Hundreds of flags adorned the big train. The Gaje would not miss the one that would make Putzi happy. “Paprika, stay with the cart. I will not be gone long.”

  Liza took Putzi's hand in hers and led him into the crowd. After darting a cautious glance around her, she raised up on tiptoe and plucked a flag from a row above the train's huge wheels and slipped it into her pocket. Certain no one had noticed her theft, she pivoted to make a hasty return to Paprika.

  But Putzi held back, his attention snared by a little girl in pink ruffles and lace. Liza had never seen a child so beautiful, so laden in wealth. Her mother was just as lovely, young and fair-skinned, and garbed in what Liza guessed was the newest in Gaje women's fashion. The woman spoke with two men, one older and smoking a pipe, the other taller, his stance erect, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. An air of importance clung to him.

  For a moment, Liza stood riveted, watching the woman's husband. He had great pride in the train. Liza could see it in his face, browned from the sun, his features rugged, strong, pleasantly handsome. He seemed to explain something to her, pointing to valves near the bottom of the train, and she listened politely, as a good wife should. He bent and rubbed one of the valves clean with the cuff of his coat sleeve.

  Guilt washed over Liza that she watched him so intently. He was another woman's husband, and it wasn't right. Someday, she would have a husband of her own to watch, to stand at his side while he showed her the things important in his life, and she would listen, just as the beautiful Gajo woman did now to hers.

  Liza resolutely pulled her gaze away from him, letting it settle briefly on the child. The little girl's mouth formed into a pout, and she pulled free from the older man's grasp. He appeared not to notice, gesturing instead with his pipe and talking animatedly with the woman and her husband.

  Again, Liza chastised herself for staring at them, and she urged Putzi forward. He protested, his eyes still on the little girl. Wanting only to return to her baskets and Paprika, Liza dipped into her pocket.

  “Play with your flag, Putzi, but do not let the Gaje see you. They will be very angry that we took it without giving them money. See how it waves in the wind?”

  “Yeth.” His attention diverted, he allowed Liza to lead him back to the cart. Paprika greeted him with due enthusiasm for his new treasure, and he plopped into her lap, happy and content.

  Liza counted the baskets she had left and fig
ured a mental total of her profits. Yes, Nanosh would be pleased. Though it was common practice for the Gypsy women to earn the money for the men in the kumpania , today she would keep some of her earnings to buy Mama a pretty kerchief. Nanosh would never know.

  She caught a blur of pink in her side vision and glanced up to find the little girl she'd been watching only minutes ago standing at the front of her cart, engrossed with the baskets scattered inside.

  She was an exquisite child, even prettier up close than she had been from afar. The sun twinkled over her blond curls, each one perfectly formed and shining, and so very different from the dark, wind-blown locks of the Gypsy children. Liza resisted reaching out to touch them.

  “I want a basket,” the little girl said.

  She spoke clearly for her young age, and from the ring of demand in her tone, Liza guessed she was accustomed to getting what she wanted. At the sound of her voice, Putzi, his black eyes wide with surprise, scrambled to his feet.

  “Where is your mama, little one?” Liza asked, sweeping a glance through the crowd. She found no sign of the child's mother or father nearby, or even the man with the pipe. Her brow furrowed with concern. The parents would be very worried when they realized she had wandered away. But the child didn't seem to miss them, absorbed instead with inspecting each and every basket.

  Putzi inched closer.

  “Look what I got.” Proudly, he extended an arm toward her, the flag gripped in his fist.

  The little girl rested her long-lashed gaze upon him. Beside her perfection, Putzi looked like a poor peasant, his shirt too small and missing a button, his feet shoeless, his pants a size too large. Ice cream had dripped and dried on his chin; dirt clung to his hands and beneath his nails. In spite of his ragged appearance, or perhaps because of it, Liza's heart filled with renewed love for him.

  The little girl's lower lip thrust outward. She snatched the flag from Putzi and flung it to the ground.

  “I want a basket,” she demanded again.