Dangerous Obsession

by Natasha Peters

  “Seth is the one you were in love with long ago, isn’t he?” she asked.

  Prickles of fear ran down my spine. “Why do you say that?” I said.

  “Maria left the door open when she took Adam out.”

  I sat down on a hard chair and buried my face in my hands, the tears flowing. I was so tired, so very tired.

  “Rhawnie, come here,” she said. I dried my eyes and obeyed. I sat next to her and she held my hand. “I’m sorry. He’s angry at you because of me. I shouldn’t have made you promise. I didn’t know how hard it would be. But what about Steven? I thought you loved Steven?”

  “I did,” I sniffed. “I do. But you know how it is, with a man like Seth. You know better than anyone. It’s as if he put a brand on my heart.”

  “Poor Rhawnie,” she said. “Did he treat you badly, as badly as Boris treated me?”

  “Oh, no, darling!” I said quickly. “Nothing like that. He—we—well, you know how foolish young girls are about love. I loved him more than he loved me, that’s all. And I couldn’t understand it when he left me. I still can’t understand it. I know him better now, though, and I know he’s not really the evil ogre I thought he was. He’s been hurt, too, and he’s just being—overly cautious. The hurt was my fault, not his. He was very kind to me,” I paused to wipe my streaming eyes. I couldn’t seem to stop crying.

  "But you know how men are. He—he taught me a great many useful things!”

  Gabrielle said, “Oh, Rhawnie,” in a voice that told me she didn’t believe a word of it. “And you still want to marry Steve?”

  “No!” I said. “Yes, I do. But I can’t! No, I don’t want to marry him. It wouldn’t be right, you can see that. I love Seth, even though I hate him, and that wouldn’t be fair to Steven, not after—Seth was first, you see, and—oh, it would be hard, and bad, very bad for all of us. I should just look the truth in the face and accept it. I can’t have either of them. But what does that matter?” I said with a feeble show of bravery. “I still have you, and our big boy, Adam.”

  “Oh, Rhawnie,” she sighed. She looked thoughtful. Seth stayed for three days. He was very sweet to Gabrielle—I even heard her laugh once or twice, something I hadn’t heard since I’d found her. He talked to her, read to her, played with little Adam and praised him like a proud uncle. On the second day of his visit Gabrielle asked me to send for the priest from San Mateo.

  “It’s not for me," she said, reassuring me. “It’s for Adam. I want him to be baptized. You and Seth are to be his godparents. If anything should happen to me, you will both take care of him."

  “Oh, darling, nothing will happen," I said. “You’re getting stronger every day, you know that. Even Seth has noticed an improvement."

  She smiled. “No, it’s all right, Rhawnie. Don’t lie to me any more. I know it’s coming, and I’m trying hard not to be afraid."

  “You are very silly," I said gruffly, gulping back tears. “And as brave as a Gypsy."

  “Do you think so? I know that it will be easier for everyone if I’m brave, and I really am trying. Sometimes, late at night, when I can’t sleep because of my cough, I lie here and wonder what it will be like. And I’m frightened, a little. But you know, lately I've been feeling more tired, tired of being sick. And I feel—eager. It’s hard to explain." She turned her head and looked out the window. “I want to see the spring, Rhawnie. I want to see the olive trees in blossom, and the lemon trees. And the roses you planted. And wildflowers. And the new lambs. I want to see the spring, just once more." She turned back to me. “About the priest, Rhawnie? Please?"

  I nodded. The priest came that very afternoon and he baptized Adam in Gabrielle’s room. The household gathered to watch. We made it a festive occasion and Maria produced a very creditable feast on short notice.

  I held the baby while Seth stood close at hand. The priest poured water on Adam’s head and muttered prayers in Latin. Adam cried lustily, and everyone laughed and said that he had fine lungs. While I was holding him and patting him on the back I met Seth’s eyes. I had to look away. It was very painful for me. Our own baby had had such a short life.

  Later I said to Gabrielle, “I know what you’re trying to do, and I don’t like it. And neither does your brother.”

  “What?” Her eyes widened innocently. “What am I trying to do?”

  “You’re as cunning as a Gypsy,” I told her. “You’re trying to matchmake from your deathbed!” She giggled. “ Well, it won’t work. He doesn’t love me. He never loved me."

  “Yes, he does,” she said. “I know. I’ve seen him looking at you. And besides, I asked him.”

  “You did what?” I felt myself growing warm. “Well, come on, what did he say? He said no, didn’t he? And you interpreted that to mean yes. You’re still a silly little schoolgirl, Gabrielle McClelland.”

  “He said yes, Rhawnie. He said he loved you very much, but that the two of you couldn’t seem to work things out. He was very honest. He even told me you were married. And that you had a baby but it died. And that you held it against him.”

  I felt hot, then cold, and I blushed all over. “He would lie to you, just to make you happy,” I mumbled.

  She smiled and held my hand. “Not everyone is a Gypsy, Rhawnie. Not everyone lies all the time, like you. Seth’s not a liar, I know that. And he respects and loves me too much to lie to me, now. Talk to him, Rhawnie. Please, for me?”

  I shook my head. “I can’t. Not now. I never could. I always seem to end up shouting at him or making love to him. It’s hopeless.”

  Seth announced the next morning that he was going back to town.

  “I’ll come with you,” I said.

  “That won’t be necessary,” he said quickly. “I won’t dock your share of the profits any more.”

  “That’s very generous of you,” I told him, “but I need to order some things for the farm. And besides, Gabrielle rests better when there’s no one here but Adam and Maria. But if you’d like to stay a little longer, I can look after things at the Golden Gypsy for awhile—”

  “No, I want to go back,” he said in a bored drawl. “Life in the country has never agreed with me.”

  His coolness didn’t fool me. It was the sight of his dying sister, and his own helplessness that didn’t agree with him.

  No one looking at Seth McClelland in the next few days would have guessed that he carried a private sorrow. He drank too much and laughed too loudly and took the most extraordinary chances at the tables. I knew the signs, but everyone else thought he was just a gay fellow. And while he didn’t bring Yvette or anyone else to his room again, I was sure that he was bedding every whore in San Francisco. There were nights when he went out after the place closed and didn’t come back until mid-morning.

  I hated him, I love him, I pitied him. But I couldn’t do as Gabrielle asked, I couldn’t talk to him. I didn’t trust him.

  After that time we never went to the hacienda together. I told him when I was going and when I would be returning, and I left it to him to plan his own visits. The winter months slipped away. Gabrielle grew stronger and even gained a few pounds. Her cough eased, and I hoped anew.

  In late March the winter rains stopped periodically. On the slopes near the house I could see tiny wildflowers blooming, and I ran out to gather fistfuls to bring to Gabrielle. She could sit up now, and she spent a few hours a day in the courtyard, watching Adam crawling around near the fountain.

  “You will get well,” I told her. “I’m sure of it.”

  “If God wills it, I will,” she said with a serene smile. “Thank you, Rhawnie.”

  “For what?”

  “For helping me to be strong. For loving me, and for helping me to love myself again."

  A week later she sickened again. I hated to leave her, but she insisted that it was just a little cold.

  One night after we closed the Golden Gypsy I went up to my room and undressed. I heard giggles through the wall, in Seth’s bedroom. I told myself I didn’t ca
re what he did. As I lit a candle and carried it into my bedroom I gazed briefly into the flame. And I had a vision of death. The first I’d had in a long, long time. I saw drops of blood on the snow. And I knew that Gabrielle was dying. I dressed hurriedly in my riding clothes and started down the stairs. Then I halted. No, I had to tell him. He would want to be there.

  I rapped on his door with the handle of my riding crop. The giggling and squealing grew louder. The door was unlocked and I went in. Seth and Yvette were sitting on a loveseat and toasting each other with champagne. Both, I was relieved to see, were fully dressed.

  “You," I said to Yvette in French. “Out!” She looked confused. Seth was her employer, but so was I. “Come on, hurry up!" She stood unsteadily and strutted towards me. I grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly into the hall. “Get out of here and if you ever come back I’ll fix you so you’ll never do business again!" I hissed at her in rapid French. I brandished the riding crop at her, and she ran squealing down the stairs.

  I went back to Seth’s room. “What in hell do you think you’re doing?" he demanded angrily. He was drunk. “This is my room. Private."

  “Your sister is dying," I said. “I’ve had a vision, and you know they come true. I’m leaving at once. I just thought you’d like to know."

  I saddled Fire and rode out of town alone, along the alleys and trails that I had come to know so well. I had gone only a few miles when I heard pounding hooves behind me. I knew it would be Seth. We rode hard, without speaking, and met Juan about halfway. He was coming to tell us the news. We three arrived at the farm just as dawn was breaking. Maria opened the door for us. She was crying.

  Gabrielle wasn’t alone. One of Juan’s numerous daughters was sitting with her, sleeping in a chair. I woke the child and sent her to bed. Seth leaned over and felt Gabrielle’s pulse and touched her forehead. She was still breathing. A rosary was laced through the fingers of her right hand. Juan had told us that the priest had come.

  Gabrielle opened her eyes and looked at Seth. She said, “Oh, Seth, you’re here. Did Rhawnie come, too? You came together?"

  “Yes, darling," I said, kneeling beside the bed, “here I am."

  “So glad," she said in a voice as faint as the brush of a moth wing on glass. “It’s almost dawn, isn’t it? The dawn. Spring. I waited for you."

  “I know you did," I said. “You’re so brave, so strong."

  “Seth?"

  “Yes, Gaby, I’m here.” Seth lifted her by the shoulders and held her close.

  “Seth, take care of Adam. Be a good father to him.”

  “Yes, Gaby, I will,” he said roughly. “I’ll treat him like my own son. Don’t worry about him.”

  “Rhawnie.” She turned her face to me. I didn’t try to stop the tears that flowed down my cheeks. “Look after Seth, Rhawnie. He needs you very much. I know. Take care of him.”

  “Yes, darling, I will. Don’t worry about us.”

  “And Adam. You are his mother now.”

  Then the life went out of her eyes and she let out her breath in a little sigh. I stretched out my hand and closed her eyes.

  Seth continued to hold her and to stroke her cheek. His face was wet, too. I left him and went out to the courtyard. Maria came up and we held each other and cried.

  An hour later I went back. Seth was still holding her. I put my arm around him and said gently, “You must let her go now, Seth. We must get her ready. Come with me. I’ll take you to the kitchen and we’ll have some of Maria’s dreadful coffee. Come."

  He permitted himself to be led. He was like a man in a trance, like a stunned child. I pressed a cup of coffee into his hands and sat him down at the table. Maria and Juan’s wife prepared Gabrielle’s body for burial. They dressed her in a pretty blue gown that I had had my dressmaker sew for the day when she got better. She had liked it. Seth and I went in to look at her. She looked peaceful and almost pretty again.

  Then Juan brought in the coffin and we had our funeral. Juan and his brother and his sons carried her to a spot on the hill. She had chosen the place one day when we were sitting together. She had pointed out a bird sitting on a rock near the olive trees, and she told me that was where she would like to be buried. She tried so hard to be brave. Seth and I followed the coffin. I carried Adam, who was sleeping.

  They lowered the box into the ground. I turned to Seth. “Say something."

  He shook his head. “I can’t. There is nothing to say."

  “Yes, there is," I said. I looked at the flower-strewn coffin. “You have started on your journey, sister. Your pain and suffering are over, and we are glad. We will always remember you fondly, and with laughter, as you would wish to be remembered. And when your son grows to be a man, we will tell him about your courage. You showed us how to live, graciously and lovingly, with no malice in your heart and no hatred. And you showed us how to die. We are very proud of you, Gabrielle.”

  I made Seth hold the baby. Then I took off my bracelets and my earrings and threw them into the grave. I tossed some coins after them. Then we all went back to the house in silent procession, except for Juan and his brother. Adam woke up and started to scream. I took him from Seth and held him close. He knew, that little one. He knew his mother had gone.

  We made a pile and burned her things, everything she had owned since coming to live at the hacienda. Her books, her bed and bedding, her pictures, her clothes. We did this not only for reasons of health and sanitation, but because Gypsies believe that when a man dies everything that he has owned should be destroyed, even his caravan. This spares the living being reminded of their loss. We then stripped her room and scrubbed it thoroughly. I was grateful for these tasks. Even a Gypsy will agree that there are times when work is a blessing.

  In the early evening I looked up from my work and saw Seth riding away from the farm. I saw him rein in his horse near the grave for a moment, then take off over the hill, towards San Francisco. I stayed on for a few more days, then I, too went back to town.

  Seth drank heavily and stopped paying such close attention to the business after that. His heart wasn’t in it. His behavior towards me didn’t alter drastically; he still didn’t speak to me unnecessarily, and he looked through me most of the time, as though I wasn’t there. It was as if there was a glass wall between us a foot thick. I could see him, but I couldn’t touch him or reach him or talk to him. We were farther apart than ever. Yvette didn’t come back, even to work the tables, and Seth didn’t bother to replace her.

  A month passed. My sorrow over Gabrielle’s death eased and I felt that I could enjoy life again. A lot of burdens had been lifted from my heart, among them the burden of my love for Seth. Not that I stopped loving him. I had never loved him more, and his unhappiness and inability to express his grief made me feel wretched. But I knew that a lot of things were happening inside him, where I couldn’t see them, and I wouldn’t have been a bit surprised to wake up one morning and find that he had left me again. That was the pattern of his life so far, and I expected him to follow it.

  Then one night, as I lay awake wishing that I could go to him or that he would come to me, I discovered a great truth. To love someone is to want what is best for them. I had no right to expect him to stay with me if he didn’t want to stay. He was free, as I was. And to keep him, to bind him to me with the snares that women use, would be like hobbling a wild horse. Seth had to come to know me and trust me in his own time, and if he never learned, if I never tamed him, then I would have to live with it. And having come to this simple realization, I was able to sleep and to awake in the morning and all the mornings after that without fear.

  One night my Russian sailors appeared, the ones who sold me all that wonderful vodka. I greeted them joyously, and after the captain and I had made a good deal on another shipment, I announced that drinks were on the house. One of the sailors produced a guitar, and another a concertina, and a third pushed my piano away from his tinny upright. I was wearing Gypsy garb that night: lots of skirts and a
peasant blouse and hundreds of beads and bangles and ribbons. The Golden Gypsy was joyous that night with song and laughter. The sailors danced athletically, impressing the Americans with their strength and grace and stamina. I sang for them, songs I hadn’t sung for years, since I left Russia. I sang about love and loss, sadness and joy. And I drank a lot of vodka and didn’t feel a thing.

  Seth sat at a table with a bottle of vodka in front of him and a glass. He didn’t seem to hear the music or to see the dancers. He was immersed in his own silent depths.

  I put my arms around his neck and kissed him. “What is the matter, Partner?" I asked him. “Are you angry with me for spending so much money? Money is for fun. But maybe you don’t like our music? Is it too soft? Brothers!" I shouted to the Russians. “My friend says he can’t hear the music! We must sing louder!"

  The walls shook. I decided that I would dance. I ripped off my boots and took the pins out of my hair, tossing them to the miners who fought over them as if they were made of gold. Then I shook out my braids and shouted to my musicians to play a Gypsy song that every Russian knew: “Two Brothers."

  The two brothers in the song love the same girl and she cannot make up her mind between them and so she marries another man, a different one entirely. It is a fine song with lots of verses, lots of clapping and laughter. I threw back my head and lifted my arms to the ceiling. I started to sway and whirl. The music grew louder and the men all clapped in time. I laughed out loud, because I loved song and dance and life and I didn’t care any more what was preying on Seth’s mind because I loved him and I wanted him to be free, as free as a Gypsy.

  I danced up to Seth. He didn’t lift his head.

  “Come, come. Monsieur Seth," I said in a barbarous combination of Russian and French. “I want to dance for you and you’re not even watching. I want to dance for you alone! Stand up, I say! Stand and watch me dance!" I pulled at his hands until he stood in front of the table. “Now, watch me carefully," I ordered him. “You, men, make sure he watches me!"