by Pam Crooks
Mama had not. Mama tortured herself with the disgrace. Mama wanted to protect her from the humiliation she endured.
“Come back hungry,” Mama said, tying the kerchief beneath Liza's chin. “Hanzi promised me a fat hen for supper.”
“He is craving a stew, I think,” Paprika piped up, her bare feet rushing across the tree-shaded ground with a twelve-year-old's enthusiasm. She picked up Tekla, planted a loud kiss on her chubby cheek, then set her down again. “We must hurry, Liza. I want to see the big train in Niobrara City!”
“Me, too!” Putzi grunted with the effort of pushing the cart forward by himself. “Will I get to hear the whithle?”
“Yes, little one,” Liza said, laughing. “It will be very loud. Everyone will hear the whistle.”
With waves and good-byes, Liza left the camp with her brother and sister and joined a group of Gypsy women and children on the road toward town. As they walked, Paprika's excited prattle lifted Liza's spirits, dulled from the somber conversation with Mama.
“I will do some begging today,” Paprika decided with adult-like confidence. “So many people will be there! I could easily make a fortune.”
“Oh, Paprika.” Liza frowned, her tone showing disapproval. Begging was not her favorite thing to do. She had always secretly thought it was hardly more than glorified stealing and certainly did little to improve the Gaje's impression of the Gypsy. “You have plenty of money. Sit with me and help sell baskets. I will split the profits with you'“
“And what if you do not sell many?” her sister challenged. “We do not get an occasion like this often. I cannot let it pass without a little fun.” She cocked her head, her black eyes alive with mischief. “How about you, Liza? Will you tell fortunes today?”
With one hand helping Putzi push the cart, the other toyed thoughtfully with the strands of gold beads around her neck. “Maybe.”
Mama claimed she had a gift. Liza was not always sure. There was a certain skill in hand-reading, of interpreting the moles on one's body, or divining with sticks and stones, but she was wrong as often as she was right. The Gaje were gullible, though. They would believe anything she told them if she told them what they wanted to hear.
Liza smiled to herself. Yes, the Gaje were gullible. Paprika spoke the truth. It would be easy to take their money today.
“I want to buy something special in Niobrara City,” Liza said.
“Like what?” Paprika asked, skipping slightly ahead.
“A new kerchief for Mama. Silk, of course. In the color of the brightest sunflowers. It will make her feel pretty. And maybe some perfume.”
Liza thought of the bottle she had found in an alley once. The crystal stopper had been chipped and broken, but the fragrance inside smelled wonderful, and in her weaker moments, she dabbed a little--just a little--on her wrists and on the tip of her nose.
The Gaje enjoyed such frivolous pleasures, but material possessions were not important to the Gypsy. Her people needed only the basic necessities to be happy in life, yet Liza found a certain fascination with all those things that made her feel . . . like a woman.
Mama never spoke of the frills and lace and lavish dresses of the Gaje world. Paprika was yet too young to dwell on it, but sometimes Liza had a yearning for them so strong--.
It was the curse of the Gajo whose seed had given her life that made her feel that way. His lust had ruined Mama. He was responsible for making Liza different, and she would blame him forever.
“What will you buy me, Liza?” Putzi asked, working so hard to push the cart that her heart swelled with love for him.
“She will buy you a big piece of coal. How about that?” Paprika answered impishly. “Or maybe a bag of broken sticks to play with.”
Putzi looked so aghast that Liza scolded Paprika for teasing him. “I will buy you anything you want, little one. But you must be good and help me sell many baskets.”
“He will not sit still long enough to sell even one,” Paprika chided. “And he will always be hungry.”
“Will not!” Highly offended, Putzi stopped pushing and took off after his older sister, who suffused into giggles and more teasing. They tussled on the road, alternating between tickling and poking each other, until Liza took up the cart and began pushing it alone.
She left them to their banter and gazed at the countryside, alive and golden with fields of swaying wheat. Wisps of clouds, grayish-white like dirty cotton, dotted a vibrant blue sky. Trees fanned a light, summery wind that tugged at the hems of Liza's skirts and flapped the ends of her kerchief. She took in a slow breath, inhaling the sweetness of freedom. Nebraska was a peaceful place, she decided. No wonder so many Gaje lived there.
An unusual-looking bridge broke into the horizon and snared Liza's attention. She lifted a hand, shading the sun from her eyes, and, in her curiosity, she took a few moments to study it.
A trestle bridge, Hanzi had told her when their wagons rolled past. The Gaje built such a thing so that the big train could cross over the canyon beyond the river. Liza had never seen one before, and she was forced to admit to a grudging fascination at its construction, a complex maze of lumber and steel that rose from the bowels of the canyon and seemed to reach for the sky.
But in the next moment, she chided herself. It was only one more expensive toy the Gaje enjoyed. She would not give it another thought.
The ground shimmied through the thin leather of her shoes, and for a few moments, she did not comprehend the reason for it. A slight frown pulling at her brows, she turned and glanced at the road behind them.
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.