by Sarah Price
Sahara realized as he disappeared that she was scared. Obviously he had heard the entire conversation she had shared with Duda. He had heard and did not like it. Her hands trembled as she stood there, staring into space. What was he planning, she wondered. What was the Rom Baro going to do to her? His curiosity in her had been frightening. Sahara would look up from the fires and see him watching her. Even after she had noticed his attentions, he wouldn't tear his eyes away.
It wasn't often that Sahara saw the Rom Baro. On the few occasions Sahara had spoken with him, their personalities had clashed. If he wasn't out horse-trading, stealing from neighboring towns, or cheating men in card games, he stayed in his wagon. No one dared to bother him unless Nicolae gave permission. Rarely did the kumpania's problems go that far. Except in title, the gypsies knew that Nicolae was the real decision maker of the kumpania.
Still upset by the Rom Baro's eerie words, Sahara searched for Nicolae. Off in the distance, she could hear the dull smacking of an axe against a log. A couple children chased a small puppy, laughing as it slipped through their fingers each time they tried to grab it. Passing by a wagon, Sahara smiled at two young unmarried girls she had befriended several towns back. They did not return the smile but ignored Sahara, much to her confusion. A horse neighed from the other side of several wagons. A sharp crack and the horse neighed again. The men must be training the horses, she thought as she headed in that direction. Nicolae would certainly be overseeing the breaking in process and making sure the younger men were taking proper care of the horses.
The younger men were standing in a circle, watching as the bare-chested Nicolae held the end of a rope tied around a brown and white mare. Marks, a man around Nicolae's age, cracked the whip near the mare's head while Nicolae tried to steady the horse. The horse jolted forward, trying to escape the nearness of the startling noise. The muscles in Nicolae's arms hardened as his hold on the rope began to loosen. He called out something Sahara couldn't understand and several of the younger boys ran forward, grabbing
two other ropes hanging from the horse's neck. They pulled the ropes tight until the horse couldn't move. The mare continued to fight until the rope Nicolae held snapped. Surprised, Nicolae stared at his empty and bloody rope-burned hands as the horse raced away, dragging the unfortunate weak boys after it.
Sahara started to laugh, covering her mouth so Nicolae wouldn't hear. But his ears had picked up the delicate sound. Looking over his shoulder, Nicolae saw his wife standing beside a wagon, her hair windblown and her face golden brown. He glanced at the horse racing across the grass, dust trailing after the mare and the boys still holding on. Nicolae looked back at Sahara, his face turning from astonishment to entertainment. He laughed, tossing his head back. His dark locks brushed against his sweaty back. He kept laughing as he walked toward Sahara. He pointed toward the boys as they finally let go of the rope, standing up and brushing the dust off their clothing. “Boys trying to hold on to be men, yes?” His dark eyes danced at her, slowly bewitching her heart as he smiled. “You came looking for me, S'hara?”
Sahara tilted her head, staring up at her husband. The flush in his cheeks and glow in his eyes made her heart pound. Had he always been so handsome? A blush tinted her bronzed cheeks. Lowering her eyes, she noticed his hands. Blood. “You're bleeding!” She gently took his hands and looked up at him. “Let me bandage them, Nicolae. Else they'll get infected.”
The concern in her voice touched him. But, just as quickly as it had pleased him, he remembered. Tradition forbade such concern and attention from a pregnant woman. He withdrew his hands from hers. “I will have Duda look after them, S'hara.”
Sahara frowned, wondering why he had denied her assistance. “I said I will do it, Nicolae.”
Nicolae's smile had faded but now he frowned. “Do not argue, bori. What is it you sought me for?”
“I had wanted to converse with my husband, but I see that you are not in the mood for the same with your wife,” she replied, an edge to her voice.
The other men were watching. Both Nicolae and Sahara were aware of it. Always there were people watching, he thought. But tradition was tradition and he could not change it. “I have more important things to do, S’hara.”
“More important?” she repeated, the words sour on her tongue.
Nicolae hated himself for having to be so cold and heartless. It's the way, he argued with himself. It's been done for generations. Only he wished it hadn't happened so soon. Straightening his shoulders, Nicolae mumbled, “You will feel better once we reach winter camp, S'hara.”
“Winter camp? That’s months away, Nicolae!” Perhaps he hadn't told her everything the doctor had said. Perhaps she was truly ill and the others were frightened they may catch her disease. Perhaps that was why everyone avoided her. This new realization, although terrifying, seemed logical. Hesitantly, she asked, “Is something wrong with me? Is that why you are behaving so?”
Nicolae frowned at her. It was not his place to inform her of her condition. As a woman, it was something she must discover for herself. “Go to the river and wash your face. Duda will bring your supper to the tent. It would be best if you rested, S'hara. You must regain your spirit.” Nicolae turned his back to her, hating himself as he walked toward the running boys. He motioned for them to get his horse ready so he could pursue the escaped mare. He didn't look back to see Sahara slowly walk away, her head hung low as she wondered what she did to make the kumpania shun her. Obviously it was something terrible. But Nicolae's coldness had hurt the most. It was his new, indifferent attitude toward her that created the emptiness in her heart.
The Rom Baro stood watching her. She could feel his eyes on her back as she cooked their dinner. She tried to pretend that he was not there, enjoying the game. But the pretense did not last long. He moved closer and she could sense his presence. It was overwhelming and powerful. For a moment, she stood. Her back was to him but, just by the way she stood, she knew he was aware of his presence. He reached out and touched the back of her neck. She shut her eyes and felt the warmth of his touch. When was the last time a man had touched her like that? Had it been almost two years? Perhaps longer? Time was lost and she no longer knew the answer the question.
“Amaya,” he said softly.
She turned around and smiled at him. “What can I do for you, Rom Baro?”
He took a step forward. He was older, true, but still a handsome man. His shoulders were broad and his face deeply tanned. There was a hint of wrinkles around his eyes from long days squinting in the sun. But the blue sparkled and he held her gaze. “You can start by calling me by my given name, Amaya,” he murmured.
“Ah,” she teased. “But that would be rather presumptuous, no?” She took a step backward, moving just enough away from him that he had to reach out for her waist in order to pull her close. “Oh!” she said, the word like a gush of air on her lips when he held her tight to his chest.
“Amaya,” he repeated, his voice low and soft. “It is time we stop playing this game, no?”
“Game?” she asked, feigning innocence.
His free hand stroked her cheek. “It is time that we join in union, Amaya. We need not wait for your infant to wed my son. The families will join through us.” He paused, his eyes staring deeply into her face. He wasn’t certain what he read there but he saw that it was no rejection. “It is time,” he repeated but, this time, he lowered his mouth onto hers and kissed her, knowing that her acceptance was in her response. She kissed him back, not caring who may have been watching. At last, she was to be wed and to a man of great honor.
Chapter Fifteen
The dust rose under Sahara's feet as she walked the two miles from town back to the gypsy encampment. The gentle warm spring had been replaced by a hot and dry summer, causing the leaves to turn brown and shrivel up. Wiping the sweat off her forehead, Sahara tucked her package under her arm tighter. A mischievous smile crossed her face as she wondered how Nicolae
would like the material she had purchased. It was a heavier black material with a small floral print pressed into it, barely noticeable to the eye. The color would infuriate him, hopefully arousing some attention, even if anger, from him. That is, she thought bitterly, if he even noticed.
For the past month, Sahara was sure she was fated with some dreadful disease. She fell asleep at night shortly after dinner and woke up early, only to vomit what little breakfast she could force into her stomach. Earlier that morning, her stomach had been queasy yet again. As usual, no one had seemed too concerned by her nausea. With tears in the corner of her eyes, Sahara had sought Nicolae in the hopes of finding comfort. But, once again, he had ignored her complaints as he had for the past several weeks. Furious and hurt, Sahara had laid down for a while, hoping she would feel better as she had on past days. When her sickness passed, she told Nicolae she was going into town for a while. To Sahara's surprise, he had given her some money to treat herself to some new fabric for a dress.
A horse neighed in the near distance. Shortly after, Sahara heard the creaking wheel of an open wagon coming up the road behind her. Stepping carefully off to the side, Sahara waited for it to pass her. Instead, the wagon slowed down alongside her. “Need a ride, ma'am?” Suspiciously, Sahara looked up at the man tilting his hat at her. He was an older man, perhaps in his early forties, dressed in old work clothes. “How far you goin'?”
Sahara shaded her eyes from the sun and pointed up the road. “Another mile and a half at least.”
Stopping the horses completely, he took off his hat and wiped his brow with his arm. “Come on up. Be faster if nothin' else.”
Throwing her caution in the wind, Sahara stepped onto the wagon wheel and lifted herself up. Her skirt wrapped around her legs and she had to straighten it before she could sit down. The man waited until she had smoothed her skirt out, clutching her package on her lap. “Very kind of you to offer me a ride,” she said.
He slapped the reins against the horses’ backs. The wagon lurched forward, causing Sahara to grab the wagon seat to steady herself. The man kept his eyes on the road. “Sure can get hot out.” He hesitated before asking, “You with them gypsies?”
Some town people blamed the gypsies for personal misfortunes, often with false accusations of the gypsies cursing crops and cattle. Other gadjo, fascinated by the gypsies, ventured to the camps to watch them dance and perform. Obviously, Sahara thought as she sat beside him, this man doesn't care. “I'm gypsy,” she admitted.
“Haven't had much trouble this year. Hardly would've known you was here `ceptin' for a horse trader coming by inquirin' `bout willin' buyers.” He eyed her suspiciously. Her black hair was neatly braided in one, long braid down the middle of her black.
A gorgeous and obviously expensive gold headband hung from her forehead, a black opal just above her eyes. He noticed the white streak on the one side. “I warned my little girl `bout sneakin' off to watch you people. Just don't want her gettin' the wrong ideas in her head.”
Sahara frowned. “Wrong ideas about what?”
The man shrugged. “Dancin', drinkin'. You know, things like that.”
She nodded, even though she didn't understand his reasoning. All her life she had been surrounded by drinking, dancing and saloon girls. Exposure hadn't corrupted her; in fact, she had learned better morals because of it. Neither one spoke for the remainder of the ride. Sahara listened to the gentle clodding of the horses' hooves against the dry, dusty road. The wagon creaked and groaned as it rolled along. Occasionally, a small bird flew overhead, chirping sharply as it disappeared in the tall grass.
Sahara pulled her braid over her left shoulder, twisting it around her finger as she stared into the distance, her mind pondering why each town greeted them with mixed emotions. Some people treated the travelling kumpania as culture freaks, others called them wandering thieves. Sahara didn't see a lot of stealing going on.
“Over there.” She lightly touched his arm, pointing into the field. The tents poked up from the ground and the wagons protectively surrounded them. “You can let me off here. I'll walk the rest of the way.” She smiled her appreciation to the man as she carefully jumped down from the wagon.
“G'day then.” He tipped his hat at her, taking one last look at the beautiful gypsy girl before clicking his tongue and slapping the reigns against the horses back again. Sahara watched the wagon travel further down the road. A sigh escaped her lips, envying the man for having a destination. Home, most certainly, she thought. She almost forgot what it felt like to sleep in the same bed, every night, and wake up, every morning, to look out the same window, every morning.
“S'hara?”
Startled, Sahara jumped before turning around. “Emilian! You scared me!” She smiled pleasantly, her heart still pounding inside her chest. “Where did you come from?” Emilian hadn't been around since he had cursed Greggor with mahrime. No one had spoken of the incident, although Sahara had noticed Greggor's disappearance.
He shrugged. “Was standing right over there when that man dropped you off.” He nodded toward the field across the road away from the camp. “You are going to the camp? I will walk with you.” He took Sahara's package as he walked beside her. “All is well, yes?”
She squinted in the sunlight as she looked up at him “Actually no. “ If she was hesitant to talk to him, she quickly pushed that thought aside. . It was nice to have a sympathetic ear. “To be honest, I haven't felt well for over four weeks now.”
A dark shadow crossed Emilian's face. “And the people?”
“They act as if I'm diseased.” A soft sigh escaped her parched lips. “It's been very lonely recently. Nicolae ignores me. He's even moved out of our tent.” Nicolae had refused to touch her ever since the day she had fainted. Finally, he moved out of the tent one night when Sahara had snuggled up to him, with tears in the corner of her eyes as she hoped to find comfort in his arms. Having confessed all to Emilian, Sahara nervously glanced up at him. She wondered if he would desert her too. “I think I'm dying, Emilian.”
Emilian stopped walking, wanting to pull her into his arms. The pitiful eyes that stared up at him told the rest of the story. She was lonely, in dire need of a friend. Nay, he thought, in dire need of a mother. A flash of anger shot through him as he realized no one bothered telling Sahara the obvious. “Ay S'hara, you are not going to die.” He stared into her frightened face. How could Nicolae be so cruel to the woman they both loved so dearly? Wiping the single tear that fell from her eye, Emilian smiled. “We'll go talk by the river, yes?”
A cool breeze brushed their faces as they neared the riverbank. The water lapped quietly against the rocks and the leaves in the trees whispered gently. Downstream, a small rabbit grazed on the grass, looking up occasionally to make sure there was no impending danger. It apparently didn't feel threatened by the presence of Emilian and Sahara as they sat down, letting the cool water run over their feet.
Emilian tugged playfully at Sahara's braid, wondering how such a beautiful woman could not know her own body. “How old were you when your mother died?”
“I guess seven or eight. I don't rightly remember.”
Emilian leaned back on his elbows, watching the rabbit curiously. “And your father? The Irishman?” Sahara pulled at a piece of grass. It broke. Chewing thoughtfully on the end, she answered him. “He never paid much attention to me. I guess I was more of a burden. Why?”
His hand closed over hers. The gesture did not startle her as if would've in the past. Instead, she welcomed it. “S'hara, it is not a man's place to tell a woman such things. Perhaps that is why no one spoke of it to you. You have been sick, yes? Especially when you awake?” He waited for her nod. “And your...” A faint rose color shadowed his dark face. “Well, your monthly hasn't come, yes?”
Did he mean her menstruation? Suddenly, the obvious struck her, forcing her heart to twist with dread. She whispered, “Emilian...” but was unable to say more.
“You are with child, S'ha
ra.”
She stared at him as if he were a ghost. It made sense, yes. Too much sense and oh God, she thought, no! Sahara jumped up, starting to run away but Emilian quickly grabbed her. Whirling around, Sahara faced him, tears streaming out of her eyes. It was the shock that frightened her more than her actual situation. “Pregnant? I don't want to be!”
Emilian wished she wasn't either. The next few months would be hell for her. “There are some things you must know, S'hara. The gypsies believe many things different than your gadjo culture. When a woman is carrying a child, she is dirty and impure. During that time, she is mahrime.” He waited for his words to settle before he spoke again. The tears stopped and Emilian could see the fear being replaced by a growing anger. “A pregnant woman is cursed, S'hara.” Mahrime. The word no longer sent chills down his spine. But he could read the pain and anger in her eyes. He knew how she felt. Too well, he thought. His pain had been for many years now. Hers would only last another couple of months.
“You mean no one is going to talk to me until...?” She couldn't even finish the sentence. A baby? The thought had never crossed her mind. After travelling with the gypsies for almost four months, Sahara had totally forgotten her menstrual cycle, which had always been irregular. She never gave it a consideration. Yet, the gypsies had all known and no one bothered to tell her. They had just withdrawn into their world without so much as a word. Glaring up at him, Sahara spat out, “If they're going to ignore me, I don't want a baby!”
“You have no choice, S'hara.” The stern, condescending tone returned to his voice. “You must live with this, S'hara. It will not be so long. Probably until the new year, yes?”