Tape recorders were switched on.
Pencils were poised in readiness to be used.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the press, I’ve called you here to make an announcement. As you know. I have been actively campaigning for the governorship of the state of Georgia on a platform of honesty and reform. But I am considering withdrawing myself as a candidate, and I want to let you know why.”
After a roar of surprise and shouted questions, Rasch lifted his hand and asked for silence. “I’m certain that you remember the incident with Party Time where Ms. Savannah Ramey and I were accused of being sexually involved.”
“Yes!”
“We remember, are you suing?”
“No, I’m wooing. I want to marry Savannah Ramey, and I want you to be the first to know that I intend to do everything in my power to convince her to become my wife.”
“A circus performer as our first lady?” A reporter asked incredulously.
Rasch’s gaze found the reporter and silenced him with its intensity. “Why not? If I’m elected, you’ll have the son of a drug addict for a governor. I am what I am, and my background is what it is. I can’t change that. I wouldn’t want to. I wouldn’t want to change Savannah either.”
“But doesn’t she have a questionable background?”
“That’s what I want you to know. Her brother, Tifton Ramey, was arrested on a DUI accident charge. He was tried and found guilty. I sentenced him to jail, where he got into a fight with another inmate and was killed.”
“That Ramey kid. Yeah, we remember,” one of the reporters said.
“Savannah’s mother died when she was a child. There is only her father left. The Ramey Circus, over my objections, has been sold, but if it hadn’t, and if Savannah wanted to continue to perform, I would be pleased to have her do so.”
This time there was a stunned silence in the room. Then, from the back corner, a journalist began to clap. Soon she was joined by a host of others. And as the clapping intensified, Rasch felt the vest of ice he’d worn around his heart for weeks begin to melt.
His pulse quickened. There was no guarantee that the public would agree, but the press seemed to understand and support his position. He felt a lightness sweep over him, and an ever so intense longing.
Savannah, he wanted Savannah, and he was going to her. He’d let himself be pushed away, let her protect him with her rejection, let her disappear from his life when he needed her beside him.
Success and prestige had been his goal, what he’d worked for all his life, but without someone to share it with, success was empty. Both his mother and Savannah’s mother had found their personal lives too painful to continue, but they’d left a legacy behind, their children.
He and Savannah belonged together. Rasch nodded to the reporters, expressed his thanks for their support, and backed into his office and out the back corridor to escape from their questions.
A clatter in the hallway behind him told him that the media people had guessed his intentions and were following. He cut through an occupied courtroom and took the exit stairs to the basement.
Sliding behind the wheel of his truck, he drove away, singing loudly:
“Oh, Savannah, don’t you cry for me. I’m headed for the circus with my heart a-flying free.” And that’s what he was doing, just as fast as the speed limit would allow.
From the highway he could see the smoke. From the dirt road across the field he could see the flames. One corner of the big top was on fire.
Savannah! Her flaming batons.
He parked the car and broke into a run. The entire corner of the tent was engulfed. “Savannah! Niko!”
The flap of the tent was open, just as it was when Savannah was rehearsing. Clouds of smoke billowed from inside. Curls of flames danced across the sawdust. He could barely see. Ripping off his coat and tie, Rasch covered his face with his jacket and ran inside. Where was she? On the high wire. He began to climb the ladder.
He didn’t feel the beam when it toppled over. He never knew what hit him when he fell. There was only the heat of the fire, and his fear. “Savannah!”
Inside her trailer Savannah came suddenly awake. “Rasch!” Something was wrong. She felt the paralyzing fear of separation as if half of her had been cut away. He was hurt. He needed her. She sprang to her feet and looked out the window. Then she saw it—the fire, Rasch’s truck, and his tie on the ground between.
“Niko!” But Niko had gone into town. There was no one but her, and the man she loved was inside.
Savannah wet a towel, flung it over her shoulders, slid her feet into her shoes, and raced across the compound and into the tent. “Rasch, where are you?”
Everything seemed to be burning, even the sawdust curls on the floor. She could see nothing but smoke. Her eyes began to water, and she could hardly breathe. Then she saw him, in the net. One end of it had been hit by a falling support beam. The net and the beam were hanging at a crazy angle, slanting downhill to the floor. And beside the beam was Rasch. He wasn’t moving.
Little flames were licking the curls of sawdust below, and the supposedly fireproof tent was in flames everyplace it had been patched. Savannah looked for a way to reach the man she loved.
“Rasch!”
Savannah couldn’t get across the floor, but she leapt for the metal ladder. It didn’t quite reach the floor, and the portion of the tent over the ladder and platform was still intact. She began to climb. The air at the top was unbreatheable. Savannah covered her mouth and nose with the wet towel, took a deep, smoky breath, and held it. At the top she loosened one of the ropes once used by Tifton when he did his rope-spinning act. With a prayer that the rope was still intact, she lowered herself to the net.
“Rasch!” She let out the air she’d been holding and took in another breath, choking and gagging. “Please, you have to help me!” She made her way to his side and looped the rope beneath his arms, around his upper body. At that moment the frame for the net began to creak. The extra weight on one end was pulling the other side in. They were four feet off the ground. Maybe—
Savannah put her arms around Rasch and held on tight. The frame collapsed, but they were swinging in the air. Savannah began to use the motion of her body to increase the distance of their swinging. The fire beneath their feet was beginning to die down. Thank goodness for poverty. If they’d been able to afford fresh shavings, both she and Rasch would have roasted toes by now.
She alternated the wet towel between them. But it was drying rapidly in the heat. Her feet finally hit one of the surviving support poles. She gave a big push. If they didn’t suffocate; if she could get the rope to swing out far enough. If the rope didn’t burn. If Niko would come.
Too late. The rope broke, dropping them to the smoldering floor just inside the doorway, away from the worst of the glowing coals but still inside the burning sawdust.
Quickly Savannah came to her feet. “Rasch! Rasch, please, you’ve got to get up.” Her pleas urged the groaning man to his feet. After a few anxious moments he stumbled after her.
Around the tent and onto the edge of the woods they struggled until Rasch collapsed. He didn’t appear to be burned anywhere. But he was very still. She wiped away the soot on his face and found an egg-size lump over his right eye. Laying her head against his chest, she heard his heart beating, though his breathing was shallow and uneven.
“Don’t die, Rasch. I won’t let you! I need you!”
There was a time when she’d set out to kill him, to take revenge for her brother’s death—before she’d begun to understand the man, to know how important he was in her life. Since she was a child, she’d closed off her own needs in order to take her mother’s place. She didn’t need to do that anymore.
All she needed for her entire life was in her arms, her crusader who’d charged to her rescue again.
At least Rasch was still breathing. It was the lump on his head that she was worried about, and the cold, clammy feel of his skin in all the heat.
&nb
sp; “Oh, Rasch, you crazy, wonderful fool. You’ve gone and hurt yourself on my account—bad.”
“Gyp … Gypsy … love you.”
She heard his gravelly whisper. At least she thought she did, but he lapsed into unconsciousness again, and this time she thought he had died.
Climbing to her feet, Savannah raced back to her trailer. She had no phone and no transportation. She couldn’t call for help. “Oh, Niko, please hurry.”
Gathering up blankets and wet towels, she started back across the compound. Just as she reached the woods, she heard the sirens. In amazement she watched as a fire truck, two police cars, and an ambulance raced across the field. Savannah began to wave her arms. The rescue van screeched to a halt, and the paramedics piled out.
In less than five minutes the fire was under control. Rasch had been loaded into the wagon, and they were racing down the highway to the hospital. The paramedics recognized the man they expected to be the next governor, and worked feverishly on him all the way.
The emergency room was waiting for them, personnel standing by to take Rasch in to the waiting doctors, who set events in motion. Savannah collapsed in the waiting room, covered with soot and paralyzed with fear. The admissions clerk came over and sat down beside her, clipboard in hand.
“Could you answer some questions, Ms. Ramey?”
“Ms. Ramey? You know who I am?” Savannah was confused. Had Rasch regained consciousness?
“After the judge’s press conference today, everybody in the state knows who you are.”
“What press conference?” The woman was talking about press conferences when Rasch might be dying.
“Honey, he told the world today that he was going to marry you. If that meant he wouldn’t be governor, he’d do something else. If they don’t want him to be a judge anymore, that’s fine too. I think it’s wonderful, offering to give up everything for love.”
“Rasch stop being a judge? No, I won’t allow it.” She charged to her feet and paced angrily back and forth. “How dare he even consider such a thing! He’s fair, and kind, and he’s honest. What else would you want in a judge?”
“Not a thing, honey. Nobody’s going to let them throw him out of office. The people elected Horatio Webber as judge, and the people are going to elect him governor. And you’re going to be the governor’s lady.”
The doctor finally decided that except for a mild concussion and some sore ribs, Rasch would be as good as new after a full night’s rest. He was half asleep when Savannah opened the door to his hospital room. He didn’t have to open his eyes; he recognized her exquisite smell.
“Tea olive blossoms. Gypsy? Gypsy, you’re all right?”
His kind gray eyes struggled to open as Savannah leaned over him.
“Of course I’m all right, you insane, beautiful man. What did you think you were doing?”
“Saving you. I thought you were inside, with your batons. The tent was on fire.”
“And you climbed up the ladder to rescue me.”
“Of course. We’re going to get married, you know.”
“I know. The entire world knows, Horatio Webber. You held a press conference, remember? It’s on the front page of the evening paper, and on every newscast from here to the state line.”
Rasch smiled. “Well, I thought it would be easier that way. Have I told you that I love you?”
“I think you did.”
“Did I ask you to marry me?”
“No, I think you just told me that I was going to.”
“Did you say yes?”
“I haven’t yet.”
“But you will. We belong together, Savannah. I think we ought to get married right away. Send for a judge.”
“You’re a judge, darling, couldn’t you marry us?”
“Not legally, but if you’ll crawl into this hospital bed with me, I’ll perform a temporary ceremony, just till we can do it right.” He unsuccessfully fought back a yawn, and felt his eyes closing in spite of his attempts to stay awake.
But they were connected. Savannah was there, holding his hand, and even in sleep he felt her presence.
Savannah considered his request. She might have joined him, but he needed his rest. Besides, she didn’t need anybody’s approval. Rasch wanted her, and she wanted him.
That was all either of them needed, even without a Gypsy spell. They’d known that from the beginning, hadn’t they?
The chrome clock chimed the hour: midnight. A wall of blooming tea olive trees planted in big tubs edged the patio, saturated the air with their sweet fragrance. There were tiers of candles casting crazy shadows on the floor and sending little puffs of smoke into the June night air.
Savannah stood on the patio in a blaze of moonlight, gazing into the eyes of the man she was about to marry. Her black hair was as fine as gossamer silk, woven with lace and silver ribbons. Her wedding dress, made of chiffon, draped her body like a hundred shimmering veils, sprinkled with moondust and stars. She carried a bouquet of pink roses interspersed with dark green leaves and the tiny clusters of blossoms from the tea olive trees behind them.
Rasch stood proudly beside her in his white suit. There was one sweetheart rosebud and a green stem filled with tiny tea olive blossoms tucked into his lapel. She allowed her eyes to feast on the picture of this beautiful man whose hair had grown long again, curling along the top of his collar, its pale color catching the light of the moon and turning into spun gold in its illumination.
Free and wild.
The past touched the present.
Silver melded to gold.
The judge and the Gypsy joined their lives forever in a ceremony they wrote themselves. They promised honesty and commitment, love and devotion, and a lifetime of enchantment to each other.
Afterward, Niko, Jake Dalton, the Vandergriffs, a few judges, and Rasch’s election committee joined the members of the press in toasting the bride and groom. There was a wedding cake with fig icing and punch flavored with pomegranates. “Fit for the gods,” Rasch insisted before making a second toast to the absent Alfred Ramey and Zeena, who had telegrammed their best wishes from Hungary.
The next night, beside Shadow Lake, beneath a sky filled with glittering stars, Savannah and Rasch pledged their love in the light of a Gypsy moon. Savannah donned her red print skirt and peasant blouse and shyly danced for her chosen mate around the open campfire, speaking the words of the heart with her body as she made her pledge of eternal love.
The only music was the sound of her ankle bells, the wind in the trees, the water lapping at the shore, and the castanets she carried in her hands. With time-treasured moves she wove her spell of love and desire, until at last Rasch reached out and caught her hand, bringing her into his arms, against his heart.
“My Gypsy woman,” he whispered as he covered her mouth with his lips. “Mine. It was here, that first night, that I fell in love with you. I wanted you then, but never more than now.”
Rasch removed their clothes, checking his impatience to feel her bare skin against him. Threading his fingers through the strands of hair across her shoulders and down her back, he took her lips gently, his tongue moving lightly inside her mouth.
Savannah moaned as Rasch pulled away and nibbled along her jaw and down her neck. Every touch was a slow, seductive movement, as if he were choreographing it to music—touching, building, then pulling back. She shivered deliciously as he caught her nipple inside his hot wet mouth, then released it over and over again, then moved down her body in lazy, delicious exploration.
As he touched her, it was as if he’d joined her dance. Slowly, sensually, with his body and his heart he loved her. And every part of her was responding; a tingling weakness changed into a jolt of sensation as he slipped his hand between her legs and parted her, dipping into the trembling valley now arching to meet his touch. His other hand found her breasts and brushed her nipples gently with his fingertips while the lower hand slid away to allow his lips to caress the core of her desire.
“Rasch …”
“What, sweetheart?”
But she didn’t answer. Instead, Rasch heard a low, sweet moan as she began to tremble. He was only now beginning to understand what it meant to give pleasure, to find joy in giving joy.
“Oh, Rasch,” she said hoarsely as his lips began to move back up her body, leaving her hot and aching. “What kind of magic have we found?”
“It isn’t magic, Gypsy, it’s love. Everlasting love.” Rasch moved over her. “Tell me that you love me, Savannah Webber, as much as I love you.”
“Oh, yes.”
As if in a dream, they joined and soared to the heavens, surrounded by midnight sky and stars so close that they could reach out and touch them. There was a heat that grew ever more intense, releasing into a shuddering arc of pleasure that showered the night with fire. Then, in a dreamlike state of fantasy, they fell back down, down, down, to earth and reality.
The lake took form once more. They were lying on the open sleeping bag, naked bodies entwined, sated with the rhapsody of their love.
How much he loved this woman, how right they felt together.
“Oh, Rasch, look!”
Two shooting stars fell dramatically across the heavens, followed almost immediately by a virtual shower of iridescent light.
“A rocket,” Rasch said, “releasing a barium cloud.”
“Oh, no,” Savannah corrected him. “It’s the North Star. She’s been freed to follow her heart. Don’t you see? All the heavens are celebrating.”
“Of course. They’re watching us.” Then, growing serious, he said softly, “You won’t regret closing the circus?”
“Perhaps,” she admitted, folding her arm across his chest. “But the loss of one part of life opens a door for the next part to begin. You’re going to be the best governor the state has ever had. And I’m going to teach children who need to learn to dream.” She sighed. “Oh, Rasch, you’ve made me feel so cherished. I never knew that love could be like this. The only regret I have is that Father and Zeena aren’t here.”
“On our honeymoon?” Rasch gasped.
“Of course not! You know what I mean. I want them to know how happy we are.”
The Judge and the Gypsy Page 14