Lady Gypsy

by Crooks, Pam

  Appalled, Liza gasped. Putzi's eyes widened, his mouth quivered, and Liza gave him a swift, tight hug of comfort. Could the Gaje not teach their children better than to hurt another? Gypsies would not tolerate such behavior in their own kind. Respect toward one another was paramount and enforced.

  “Give her a basket, Liza,” Paprika said tersely. “Then make her go away.”

  Liza had always loved children, but this one tested her tolerance. She searched within the cart and found the smallest basket, the one made from bark and yucca leaves.

  “You may have this. It is just the right size for you.” Liza handed the basket to her and hoped she would not throw it to the ground, too.

  A bright smile erupted on the little girl's perfect face, and squealing in delight, she took the basket.

  “Margaret Michelle!”

  At the panic-stricken shriek, Liza jumped. The little girl's mother rushed through the crowd toward them, her husband and the man with a pipe close on her heels.

  “Oh, dear God! Stay away from those people” the mother cried and snatched her away, as if fearful Liza would gobble her up at any moment.

  Stay away from those people!

  The words stung deeply, and Liza fought the hurt. Her back stiffened, her chin tilted upward, and her gaze lifted to clash with the Gajo woman's husband.

  Tawny eyes, flecked and ringed with black, locked with hers. Framed with thick lashes the color of rain-wet earth, they reminded her of a tiger's, sharp and alert, missing nothing. Magnetic, intense, he held her suspended for a fraction of time. Her heart tripped an odd beat, but she matched his intensity with defiance, silently challenging him to echo his wife's words, to show the same contempt and revulsion.

  She saw only a guarded wariness. Veiled irritation tautened his jaw, and Liza was unsure if she was the cause of it, but she sensed he kept his impatience tightly under wraps.

  His gaze dragged to his wife. “The child's come to no harm, Rebecca Ann. Calm down.”

  “But they're dirty, Reese. All Gypsies are,” she said, embracing her daughter protectively. “They steal children. Everyone knows that.”

  A small, choking sound escaped from Paprika. Liza's nostrils flared from her own fury; her chin jerked higher. Guilt twinged her subconscious, reminding her of the flag she had stolen for Putzi, but to be accused of stealing a child--a Gaje child, no less--was too much. Once more, those tiger-gold eyes burned into her, singeing her with threads of suspicion.

  Paprika's hand lifted to her scalp. She began to scratch, first one side of her head and then the other. The movement drew the Gajo's attention. He frowned, and Liza secretly applauded her sister's performance.

  It was an old Gypsy trick. Scratching a nonexistent itch, or feigning disease or lice effectively kept the Gaje away. And Liza wanted nothing more than to send the tall Gajo with the disturbing eyes, his whining wife, and spoiled daughter as far away as she could.

  “Ooh!” The woman gasped in horror at Paprika. Her nose wrinkled in shocked distaste, and she plucked the basket from the little girl's grasp. As if it were a piece of rancid meat, she held it with her fingertips and tossed it toward the cart. She missed, and the basket fell to the ground.

  The child howled in protest. A tantrum was imminent.

  “Come on, Reese. Daddy. Let's get away from them.” The woman seemed on the verge of tears, but she held her squirming daughter fast.

  The incident drew curious stares from the crowd. The man with the pipe studied Paprika, his features kind and sympathetic, yet Liza noticed he carefully kept his distance. He took another step away and tried to console the squalling little girl.

  The tall Gajo's glance skimmed over Paprika and Putzi, but lingered on Liza before he bent and picked up the basket. Silently, he held it toward her, his eyes seeming to pierce her very soul.

  Did he know the game they played? It did not matter. The Gaje would think whatever they wanted of the Gypsy, and they would always think the worst. Lowering her gaze, she pulled the gold-and-crimson striped kerchief farther over her forehead and refused to take the basket. She did not want to see his mockery or disdain.

  After a long moment, the basket dropped into the cart with a slight thud. He took his wife's elbow in a firm grasp, and they all disappeared into the crowd.

  Paprika stopped scratching and heaved a relieved sigh.

  “Thank goodness they're gone,” she said, setting her hands on her narrow hips and shaking her dark head. “That little girl needs a sound thrashing.”

  “She is only a child, Paprika. I remember you behaving the same way a time or two.” Liza refused to tum around to search the throng of people for one last look at the tall Gajo, to feel the heat of his gaze upon her or hear the low, smoky tones of his voice.

  “I never!”

  “Yes, you did. All children do, one time or another.”

  “Did I, Liza?”

  Putzi's sweet face appealed to her, soothing the lingering traces of anger stoked by the Gaje. She managed a smile. “No, little one. You are always very good.”

  Paprika rolled her eyes. “Why do you favor him so, Liza? He's forever getting into scrapes, and Mama must give him a swat--''

  “Paprika, hush.” Liza was in no mood to bicker with her sister. She had had enough of Niobrara City. How could she have been so excited to come anyway? She should have stayed at the camp with Mama and the rest of their kumpania .

  Her actions brisk and irritable, Liza gathered the last of her baskets and tossed them into the cart.

  “Are we leaving, Liza?” Putzi asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Now? Why?” Paprika's tone revealed great disappointment.

  “It is time. We have been here long enough.”

  “But I haven't done a single bit of begging. And Putzi has been looking forward to hearing the train's whistle.”

  “He will hear the whistle from our camp clear enough.”

  Liza cared little about a big, noisy train. What use was it to her and her people anyway? Let the Gaje have their extravagant toys and foolish pleasures. She wanted to go home.

  “Have you forgotten Mama's kerchief?” Paprika demanded. “And we must bring back candy for Tekla and the others.”

  Liza nearly groaned. She had forgotten her intention to buy the kerchief. Was it not the whole purpose for their trip to Niobrara City, to sell her baskets and do just that?

  Remembering a store they had passed earlier, one that had a lovely display of women's clothing in its window, Liza clucked her tongue and grasped the cart's handles. “We must hurry, then. Hanzi has probably already found a hen for Mama to stew. We cannot be late.”

  “Wait, Liza. Look.” Paprika gestured toward the crowd and slanted her sly glance. “The handsome Gajo must be famous. Everyone knows him.”

  Liza could not have stopped herself from looking for him to save her soul. She found him almost immediately, a head taller than most of the men surrounding him. He did not take a step without someone thumping his broad back or pumping his hand with exuberant enthusiasm.

  His smile shone with pride. He had something to say to everyone, and he made his way with a relaxed ease through the crowd, drawing closer and closer to the mighty train engine.

  What was it about this Gajo that made him stand out among his own people? Though she knew she must leave, Liza tarried one minute and then another, watching him with a forbidden fascination, at times forced to stand on tiptoe to keep a clear glimpse of him.

  “For that one, you will stay, eh?” Paprika teased knowingly.

  “I will not stay for him!” Liza exclaimed. “He is a Gajo!”

  “Yet you watch him like he is one of us.” Paprika cocked her head, her features considering. “He is better than the other Gaje, I think. Tall and strong. Rich, too.”

  Liza's gaze inched back toward him. He did indeed appear to have a modest wealth. His tailored black suit clung to his masculine frame with perfection, unlike the thread-worn, ill-fitting suits of the men in
her kumpania . The fabric laid against his skin and accentuated the flow of muscles whenever he moved. Hair the shade of rich coffee hung beneath his hat and past the collar of his white shirt, gleaming crisp and bright against the tanned column of his throat.

  While Liza stared, someone gave him a bottle of champagne. Taking his daughter and handing her to the man smoking a pipe, he gently nudged his wife before him, and together they climbed onto a narrow platform on the train's engine.

  The crowd grew quiet. Liza found herself holding her breath with everyone else, an odd fluttering deep within her breast. He began to speak, his words clear and precise, his manner dignified and composed. He welcomed his people, thanked them for coming, and spoke of the importance of the Nebraska-Dakota Railroad for Niobrara City.

  Liza hung on his every word as though hearing the English language for the very first time. This man drew her like none other before him, and the knowledge troubled her. He was not of her world. Worse, he was another woman's husband. How could he hold this power over her?

  She fought the power, squelched it down, forced it away. She knew a sudden need to return to their camp, to smell the smoke of the scattered campfires, to see Mama and the familiar high-wheeled wagon she called home.

  Liza took Putzi's hand and turned, only to find Paprika gone. She darted an anxious glance about the depot and found her with a Gajo, perhaps in his twenties, who appeared nervous and uncomfortable.

  Exasperated, Liza shook her head at her sister's stubbornness. With her manner humble yet proud, Paprika would tell him a sad story and persistently beg until he parted with his money. Liza had no choice but to wait until she succeeded with the ploy.

  She sought the tall Gajo once more. What else did she have to do while she waited for Paprika but watch him? He carried a champagne bottle in one hand, and his arm lifted and shattered the glass against the train's smokestack. A roar of delight rose among the crowd, and the air filled with cheers of celebration. Men tossed their hats into the sky, women waved lace handkerchiefs, and inexplicably caught up by their enthusiasm, Liza laughed with them.

  A gust of wind fluttered the ends of her kerchief about her face. Thunder growled on the horizon, and the air hung heavy with the scent of rain. Ominous-looking clouds rolled and tumbled, restless with the storm soon to come. Her laughter died. The need to return to camp increased tenfold, and she searched for Paprika again.

  A mammoth horse blocked her view, his rider swathed in buffalo hides and a raccoon-skin hat. He clenched a rifle in his meaty fists. He was the Wild One--the Gajo who had nearly run them down on the road outside Niobrara City. Fear welled up inside Liza, and she pulled Putzi closer to her side. The man would bring trouble. She could see it in his bearded face, in the crazed look in his eyes, in the way his mighty chest heaved beneath the huge buffalo coat.

  He cocked the rifle and shot into the sky. The crowd did not seem to notice, but Liza flinched and squeezed Putzi's hand tighter. He shot again, and this time, the Gaje listened.

  “Carrison!” he boomed. “Reese Carrison!”

  Murmurs of alarm rippled through the men and women. The tall Gajo halted. There was no mistake he bore the name Reese Carrison. Even with the distance separating them, Liza recognized the tension in him, in the taut slope of his shoulders and in the rigid, alert way he stood. She imagined his mind racing as he calculated the danger the Wild One presented.

  “Now's not the time, McCrae.” The terseness in his voice reached over the crowd. “We'll talk later.”

  “Talkin’ won’t help. Too late fer it.”

  “The N & D is here to stay. You have to accept that.”

  “I told you before, and you didn't lissen. You're ruinin' God's land with your damned railroad, Carrison! I ain't gonna stand fer it.”

  “McCrae, you can't--”

  The Wild One leveled the rifle at the train and shot into the smokestack. The bright red, white, and blue bunting jerked from the force of the bullet. Women screamed. Reese ducked, dragging his wife with him and pushing her into the arms of the man with the pipe.

  Another shot followed, and then another. Bullets pockmarked the sleek engine. Chaos erupted. Reese jumped from the train into the crowd. Frenzied mothers grabbed for their children and ran for cover. A group of men lunged at the Wild One, trying to pull him from his horse.

  Liza had had enough. Hugging Putzi protectively, she pushed the cart at a half-run away from the Gaje's hysteria and frantically searched for Paprika.

  “Liza, what's happening?” Paprika emerged from the blur of faces and bodies, her dark eyes wide with fear.

  “God's saints! I found you!” Liza had to shout above the cries of the crowd. “We must get away from this!”

  “I'll help push the cart. Putzi, give me your other hand and run as fast as you can.”

  Keeping their brother safe between them, Liza and Paprika dodged panicked townspeople and hastened down the length of the long train stationed beside the depot. Pausing in the shadows of the caboose, Liza glanced behind her. The Wild One kicked free from the men who hoped to restrain him, rode past the train and away from Niobrara City at a full gallop, his empty rifle held high in the air.

  Liza was certain he was possessed by the devil. She pressed a hand to her breast and sighed in great relief. He was gone. They were safe.

  But why had he threatened Reese Carrison? What was it about the Nebraska-Dakota Railroad that inspired his hate?

  With his departure, the chaos ended, and so did the Nebraska-Dakota Railroad's celebration. Joyous smiles were replaced by somber frowns, and Niobrara City's disconcerted citizens began to return to their homes. Buggies and horses filtered into the streets, and Liza hesitated about returning to their camp just yet.

  The other Gypsy women with their children had long since left. She glanced at the sky and tried to gauge the storm's arrival. If they hurried, they could find the store that sold the pretty kerchiefs.

  “We will take a shorter way.” Liza veered into a narrow street. Only a couple of blocks to the store, a few moments inside, and they would be on their way back to the kumpania . They did not have a minute to waste.

  “Basket! My basket!”

  She halted at the sound of the child's voice. Alone, Reese Carrison's daughter toddled toward them from the depot, her blond ringlets mussed from the wind. Her parents were nowhere to be found, nor was the man who smoked the pipe, and Liza clucked her tongue in concern.

  “Not her again,” Paprika groaned.

  “Maybe she is lost,” Liza reasoned. The child obviously had been separated from her family in the fray. Her mother would be frantic.

  “I want my basket back.” The child peered inside the cart, searching for the basket Liza had given her.

  “Where is your mama?” Liza asked for the second time that afternoon.

  The child's shoulders lilted carelessly. “I don't know. Do you have my basket?”

  Liza could not help remembering Mrs. Carrison's animosity toward Gypsies. What would she think if she found her daughter with three of them now? Given her dramatic, high-strung nature, Liza shuddered. She did not want to find out.

  She plucked the bark-and-yucca-leaf basket from the cart and gave it to the child. “Here it is.” Placing her hands on the little girl's shoulders, she turned her around in the direction of the depot and gave her a pat on her pink ruffled backside. “Now, go. Your mama is worried about you.”

  The child remained, entranced with the small basket.

  “Go,” Paprika urged more forcefully, flinging her arms outward. “Shoo, shoo.”

  Still she made no attempt to leave.

  “Stubborn little thing, isn't she?” Paprika muttered.

  Liza wallowed in indecision. She did not have time for a lost little girl. Her instincts told her to walk back to the depot, find the child's parents and return her safely, yet the impending storm forbade it. Already, the wind had grown stronger, colder. Besides, she had no desire to risk another confrontation with the chi
ld's mother or hear her stinging accusations.

  “Let's start walking. Maybe if we ignore her, she'll go away,” Paprika suggested.

  Liza nibbled on the inside of her lip. Perhaps that would be the best way. The child had no fear among strangers, showed no worry about the loss of her parents. Her independent nature would sustain her well. Most likely, Reese Carrison would turn the corner at any moment and find her safe and content.

  Feeling guilty with every step, Liza pivoted and pushed the cart along the wooden boardwalk, despite Putzi's protests to stay. The women's clothing store waited on the next block, but the Gajo child's footsteps sounded plainly behind them. Exasperated, Liza halted again.

  “Can you play?” the little girl asked Putzi, taking his hand as if they'd been friends for years.

  Putzi turned wide, hopeful eyes toward Liza. “Can I?”

  “No, you may not play,” she hissed.

  Paprika gasped. “Oh, Liza.” Horror sounded in her voice. “We have trouble. Look over there.”

  A horde of Gaje, with Mrs. Carrison in the center, her husband at her side, appeared in the street next to the depot.

  “There she is! They're trying to take her away! Stop them!” she cried. Contempt and suspicion was evident on the Gajes’ expressions as they increased their pace to a near run. “Oh, Margaret Michelle! Baby!”

  In an instant, Liza knew what Mrs. Carrison thought, what they all thought. Gypsies had long been accused of stealing children, and this time would be no different. Having the beautiful child in their midst through no fault of their own would look incriminating enough. The Gaje would ask few questions, show little mercy.

  Liza knew of the Gaje jails. More than once, Gypsies had camped out in front of a local police station or sheriff's office when one of their own had been arrested. Too often, she had heard of the treatment Gypsies received, the disdain, the swift convictions. Was it any wonder they had quickly learned to flee arrest?

  And Liza did not want to be arrested, did not want Paprika and Putzi to endure the fear of the Gaje jails.

  Taking their hands into each of hers, she abandoned the cart and broke into a run, darting between buildings, into an alley and sidestepping boxes of trash overturned in the wind. They found refuge behind an old, weather-beaten shed.