by Sarah Price
“Just broth, bori.”
Ingra was lying and Sahara knew it. “What else did you put in here?”
Stuttering, Ingra took a step back. “Some medicine, bori.”
“What medicine? Did I say put medicine in here?” Furious, Sahara tipped the pot over. The thin, clear liquid poured over the dirt, slowly seeping into the ground. “Put water in here with pieces of chicken. Flavor it with salt and garlic. Nothing else! Do you hear me?” Rubbing her own fevered forehead, she waited for Ingra to nod nervously. “No medicine! And hurry!”
Sahara walked back toward the hill. Squinting in the increasing darkness, she tried to see if the men had left the fortress yet. But she saw nothing. Holding her already damp shawl, she glanced back at the camp. The tents were fighting the wind, clinging to the ground with all their might. Damn you, Nicolae, she thought. Her heart wept for Rubba. If Lee died, the first-born son, she would be mahrimed. It was bad luck. If only the Rom Baro was here, she thought. If only the child could have proper medical attention. Cursing aloud, she glanced at the fortress once more before hurrying back to the child.
The wagon had already taken on a sick smell. Sahara could smell E Martya lingering in the stale air.
Bossa and Slena were nowhere to be found. “Damn it!” Kneeling beside the boy, Sahara pushed his black hair off his forehead. He was still burning with fever. “You will live, shav. You'll live if I have anything to say about it!” She got up and left the wagon, searching for the women. But she found no one. Even Ingra had left the dying fire. The broth was barely boiling. Furious, Sahara snatched the ladle and tasted the broth. To her satisfaction, it was exactly how she had prescribed. Lifting the heavy pot off the spit, she carried it awkwardly back to the wagon.
One of the lanterns had died out. Sahara knelt beside Lee again and began to pour small spoonfuls down his throat. She held his head up with one hand, easing the hot liquid down his throat. His eyes fluttered once and Sahara thought they were going to open. But he remained unconscious, fighting the virus battling within his small body with all the strength he had left.
The wagon door opened and Sahara heard the wind roaring outside. Slena entered, her hair in a thick braid under her diklo. Her large, flat nose wrinkled at the smell of illness. “He is getting worse, yes?”
Sahara shrugged. “It's too soon to tell. There must be something else that can be done!” Frantically, Sahara stared down into the olive skinned face of the fading child beneath the blankets. She reached out and touched his cheek. Her fingers lingered on the wool covers. To her relief, they were still dry. “Finish feeding him this. I'm going to get help.” Slena's eyes widened as she glanced at Sahara's stomach. “You are in no condition!”
“No one else will go! You all hide like chickens ready for the block! If Lee were my son, I'd be fighting for his life right alongside him! Not praying for his death!” Sahara got to her feet and instructed Slena how to feed Lee before she left the wagon.
Each raindrop chilled her as it pelted against her hunched over back. But Sahara trudged across the grassy meadow, heading for the fortress. Certainly there would be doctor there, she thought. The rain fell harder now, blinding her as to what was ahead. Her head swooned as she held her shawl around her body, her back bent toward the rain and wind. Sahara walked quicker. The wind pushed her back. Frustrated, she began to run. Thunder rumbled in the distance and a thin streak of lightning illuminated the sky. Rain soaked her hair and her clothing. Dear God, she prayed, let Lee live but don't hurt my baby.
The strong hands on her shoulders startled her. Looking up, she met the terrified gaze of Emilian. He opened his mouth to say something but she only heard the storm berating her in her ears. Shaking her head, Sahara pushed him aside. She didn't have time to scream into the howling wind. The fortress, she thought. Lee's only hope. Quickly, Sahara continued walking, her head bent toward the storm. Emilian followed her, grabbing her arm but she shook him off. Emilian grabbed at her arm again, this time holding onto it until Sahara turned around. In a frenzy, Sahara screamed into the wind, “I must find Nicolae! I must find the Rom Baro!” Emilian frowned at her words. Unsure if he had understood her, Sahara began to scream again but he nodded his head. Hesitantly, Emilian let her go, knowing she would never risk her life or her child's if it was anything less than an emergency.
The rain stabbed her face as she squinted, urging herself to keep going. The thunder rumbled from behind her. Frightened, she whirled around, half-expecting to see a streak of lightning coming toward her from the sky. A light flickered and she winced, waiting for the lightning to strike. It didn't. Sahara was imagining it. Her head spun. The rain no longer fell from the sky but rose from the ground. The ground spun in a wild circle around her eyes. Sahara shut her eyes, waiting for the earth to steady. It didn't and she felt herself falling deeper into the darkness. Frightened, Sahara silently prayed for God to save Lee and spare her child as she collapsed to the ground.
Vaguely, she felt someone touch her shoulder. She thought she was dreaming. Someone lifted her into the air and she realized that she must have died. Lightning cracked overhead. The hands around Sahara's large waist were strong but gentle. She could hear the storm roaring fiercely in her ears. Or was that someone screaming? She opened her eyes, surprised to discover a man was carrying her out of the storm and into a dark room. He laid her down on something soft then left. Partially delirious, Sahara jumped to her feet and burst out of the room. She stood outside, looking around. Something shielded her head from the rain. Confused, she looked up to see a low overhang protecting her. With a wild thrill of accomplishment, she realized she had reached the fortress.
Racing along the building, she called out for help but no one heard. She turned the corner, banging on doors. No one answered. Her eyes fell upon a pair of swinging doors. Of course, she thought. The saloon. Where else would the gypsies gamble? She ran to the doors, pushing them open. The room fell silent, all eyes upon her drenched body. “S'hara!”
When Sahara heard her name, she jumped. Turning around, she sought Nicolae in the crowd. But her eyes clouded over. The crowd multiplied before fading away. “The boy.” Her voice was barely audible as her knees buckled, not finishing her sentence or completing the dangerous mission she had embarked on. Someone caught her before she hit the floor. Sahara felt like she was floating. Weakly, she put her arms around his neck, afraid she might float further away. Her cheek rested against his shoulder. The cloth underneath her skin was soft and silky. It stunk of musky cigars. With much effort, Sahara rolled an eye open, half startled to recognize Nicolae as the man holding her. She tried to smile but her mouth felt too heavy. “Nicolae...”
“Ssh. Don't try to talk.” His terrified expression startled her as he carried her out of the saloon at a soldier's urging. All the color had drained out of his cheeks and his eyes were large and frightened.
Sahara wanted to say something to reassure him that she was all right but the words never formed on her tongue. Instead, she mumbled, “Send a doctor to the boy.” The room spun. Closing her eye, she sighed. Mission accomplished, she thought with silent satisfaction. The other men in the saloon murmured to each other, staring at the half unconscious gypsy in Nicolae's arms as they left the saloon. The soldiers mumbled about her beauty, the gypsies about her insanity. But Sahara heard nothing. Only a buzzing noise that echoed in her ears as it grew louder.
It was at the same time that Emilian began to hurt the baby. When no one was looking, he would trip her. She would cry, her face often covered in dirt. Amaya would rush to her side, picking her up and cleaning off the dirt. Emilian would smirk at her before walking away. At twelve, he was a large boy, tall for his age. In the beginning, Amaya held her tongue, knowing that Sahara needed to fight her own battles. But as the abuse began to escalate beyond just childish fighting and the toddler began to have bruises, she had no choice but to bring it to the Rom Baro’s attention.
“I must speak with
you,” she said softly. She was always aware of her precarious position and, until they were actually wed, she did not want to anger him or fall out of favor.
He smiled at her, reaching out to touch her chin. “My Amaya, you have my ear for your words,” he said.
“I fear the words are not happy ones,” she started. “It is Sahara. Sahara and your son.”
The Rom Baro frowned, taking a deep breath as he responded. “You must speak of Emilian, yes?”
She nodded. “He does not take care of Sahara. He has begun to hurt her, my Rom Baro. She is cut and bruised. She bleeds.”
“She is a baby. She is clumsy and falls, Amaya.”
“He trips her and pushes her, often when he knows that I am watching.” She hesitated. “I fear he may not be a good husband for her.”
“He is a child,” the Rom Baro snapped.
“He is almost a man,” she corrected. “A man with tendencies to hurt a child.”
“He is my son,” the Rom Baro retorted. “And you are to be my wife. You would be wise to remember your place, my bori.”
When he stormed away from her, Amaya knew the conversation was over for the moment. Perhaps in time she could convince him to change his mind. But when she turned around, intending to return to the other women, she saw Emilian standing by the side of a wagon, a smile on his face. He had heard the conversation and his father’s reaction. He knew that he was protected from discipline. And, from the way he laughed and walked away, Amaya knew that he intended to test the limits of the protection.
Chapter Seventeen
The rich aroma of fresh brewed coffee aroused Sahara from her slumber. For the first time, she woke up thinking she was back in her father's saloon. With a soft, luxurious yawn, she blinked open her eyes. The strange wooden walls startled her. She wasn't at her father's saloon. Nor was she in the tent she shared with Nicolae. Outside, someone was playing a bugle. Quick, short, then silent. Across the room, a soldier sat in a straight back chair, reading a newspaper. Bolting upright, Sahara grabbed the soft quilt and pulled it protectively around her body. The soldier noticed her movement and set his newspaper down. It crinkled loudly in Sahara's ears.
“Where am I?” Her voice cut through the air, shrill and frightened. Her eyes darted over the small room. “Where's my husband? Where's Nicolae?”
The soldier tried to quiet her. “You're at Fort Niobraro. Don't you remember, ma'am?”
Slowly everything came back to her. The horse ride to the fort. The men in the saloon. The dying boy. Her black eyes, free from fear, met the soldier’s. “How is the boy?”
The soldier smiled. “Fine, ma'am. With all due respect, you saved his life.”
“And my baby?”
The soldier blushed, unaccustomed to a woman as brash and forward as the beautiful gypsy. He doubted he would ever see another woman as brave and beautiful as the one seated before him at that moment. She was the talk of the fort. Some called her a vision come to life. Others, a mirage. But the soldier knew she was as real as he had hoped. “All's well, ma'am.” Quickly, he changed the subject. “You've slept for almost two days now. Everyone's been frightful worried, ma'am.”
Her head hurt, the pain pounded at her skull. Rubbing her temple, Sahara didn't give a damn whether anyone had worried about her. The boy was alive and her baby all right. “If you don't mind, I would like something to eat,” she said quietly, her energy quickly fading and her temper slowly rising. If everyone had been so concerned, why hadn't she awakened to see Nicolae seated there rather than a stranger?
The soldier jumped to his feet, saluting her with a broad grin. All week, the soldiers had heard stories from the gypsies about this woman. And then she had staggered into the saloon, the gypsy in black, appearing like an apparition out of the storm, drenched to the bone but as beautiful as the stories the men had told. “Right away, ma'am!”
By the time she emerged from the room into the bright and sunny courtyard of the fort, an hour had passed. Her hair gleamed so black, it looked blue as it flowed down her back like the darkest of waterfalls with a bolt of white entwined. Her black shawl hung lazily over one shoulder, the end just barely brushing the dusty ground. Sahara walked to the saloon, pushing the doors open carefully. Her eyes took in the surroundings, so similar to her father's tavern. The dusty piano in the corner, collecting a few cobwebs off the top. The smoky mirrors behind the bar, reflecting dark and lonely images. Only a couple of men lounged around a table, staring at her.
Sahara, immune to their rude gazes, headed for the bar where she impatiently tapped a finger on the rail. Her head still pounded and she felt weak. At least, she thought, the boy survived. The bartender hurried over. He wiped the inside of a glass with a clean, white towel as he asked politely, “Yes, ma'am?”
“Just a glass of cool water, please.” Sahara bestowed him with a pleasant smile. She turned around, noticing the soldiers for the first time. One tipped his hat at her, a lustful sparkle in one eye as he winked the other. Sahara lifted her chin, insulted by his audacity. Surely they knew she was married. “You would be wise to refrain from such compromising displays, sir.” She emphasized the word `sir' before turning back to the bar. The bartender had placed her glass of water in front of her, witnessing with a smile her cool remark to the soldier. Sahara raised her eyes in time to catch his smirk. “Perhaps you could inform me as to the whereabouts of my husband?” The bartender frowned at the reference to her marital status. The rest of the soldiers had been heartbroken to learn Sahara was married, although most found Nicolae quite amiable, especially when discussing his young wife. “The tall bloke with the older gent?”
Sahara hesitated. The Rom Baro? “That would be them, yes.”
The bartender nodded twice. “He's here somewhere, ma'am. Hasn't left since you arrive. Other night, sent the doctor to tend that young boy. Doc almost got his throat slit by them gypsy women of yours. But he told them the gypsy girl in black sent them and they welcomed him at once.” He shook his head, a piece of dirty grey hair falling over his forehead. “He had the fever, he did. But the doctor gave him some medicine. Be fine. Just as you are, ma'am.”
The conversation was abruptly interrupted as someone called her name. “S'hara!” Nicolae burst through the swinging doors, his face free from worry. Nicolae raced to his wife's side, practically picking her up as he hugged her. He planted an unusual kiss on her lips, his hands pressed lovingly on her cheeks. “You are feeling much better, yes? We were worried, my daring, courageous bori.”
The change in him was more than noticeable. It pleased Sahara to know he had feared for her life. Feeling especially unfriendly toward him, she refused Nicolae a smile. “If you were so worried, Nicolae, why did you leave my side?”
The eagerness vanished from Nicolae's face. The past two days and nights, he had paced the floor, never leaving her side as he wrung his hands, blaming himself for Sahara's sickness. Had the men returned to the camp before the storm, Sahara wouldn't have been forced to seek help for Lee. A sharp twinge of anger stabbed his heart. She feels better all right, he thought. “What do you mean, S'hara?”
The muscles in her jaw tightened. “Where were you when I awoke, Nicolae?”
He smashed his clenched fist against the bar. The glass of water fell over, the liquid spilling down the side of the bar. “How dare you!”
Sahara's eyes enlarged. Roughly, she punched at his chest. “You left me! Are you so heartless? So cold-blooded that your trading and gambling comes before your wife?” He infuriated her. Had Nicolae been ill, she would have been there when he awoke. Even so, Sahara knew her anger was falsely directed. Just from looking at Nicolae, she knew he hadn't slept or eaten in days. He had been worried, yes, but she felt like fighting with him. Perhaps, she thought, Lee's dance with E Martya might have been the first tease of winter's danger. “Are you so uncaring that you let your kumpania face death because of money?” She started to storm away from him and out of the saloon.
Every muscle in hi
s body twitched, controlling the urge to grab her by the neck. The thought gave him some satisfaction. But she was carrying his child. And, deep down, she knew that she spoke some truth. But he was quick to deny it. “You are crazy, S'hara!”
She spun around, her skirt swishing against her legs. She took four steps toward him. Her finger waggled in his face. “If you cared about your people, you'd get them out of here and down to the warm winter camp! They fear for their lives! They fear for food and disease. Instead, you and the Rom Baro lead the men off to gamble, trade, anything to make money! But, Nicolae, pretty soon you won't need money because your people are going to die from the cold, unless they starve first!”
The bartender had tried to nonchalantly clean up behind the bar, unsuccessfully ignoring the bickering couple. The men at the round table tried to finish their drinks without a smile crossing their lips. Among themselves, they laughed at Nicolae for bowing down to Sahara's words. Yet, privately, each one knew had they been in Nicolae's place, they would have done the same thing.
Nicolae's temper receded as Sahara's words sunk in. “Perhaps, S'hara, you are right. The Rom Baro and I have thought little of the weather. It is true, yes, winter will surprise us soon.” He reached out, brushing her cheek gently. He knew her own fury had vanished. “We will leave this afternoon.” Nicolae stared at Sahara. Her dark eyes pleaded with him. It would be best for the entire kumpania. He sighed. She was always right. “I will inform the Rom Baro.” Gently, all anger gone, Nicolae touched Sahara's arm. When she turned her eyes up to meet his, Nicolae smiled. “We will return to camp and start packing, yes?” Sahara shivered at his touch. Was that it? Was the argument over like that? Speechless, she nodded her head twice, her eyes never leaving his face. She felt Nicolae touch her arm again. Startled, she blinked and realized she hadn't stopped staring at him. He smiled down at her. “You are coming with us, yes?”