by Ann Treacy
“Oh, yes” was all Ma said, wiping her eyes and sniffing. They returned to their work in silence. A good silence. Aunt Ida helped Lilly turn sheets in the wash boiler while Ma reattached the clothes wire. The warm air smelled of summer. Martin felt lighter, almost normal. He welcomed the work as he picked up the plow handles.
Martin was exhausted by the afternoon’s events and another day of working in the sun. It had been so hot he’d removed his shirt just for an hour or two. Sitting in the kitchen after supper, he tried to scratch his back.
“Martin, your neck is burned. Sunburn is no different from any type of burn. I knew a baby once that died from it.” Aunt Ida nodded gravely. “The mother left the baby in the sun all day, and he blistered right up. Treat it just like a fire burn, I always say.”
She moved to the hutch where the coffee, flour, and supplies were kept in small usable portions and retrieved a jug of vinegar. Vinegar was Aunt Ida’s solution to everything. Each Saturday night when Lilly bathed, Aunt Ida did the final rinse of her hair in vinegar. It usually took until Monday before the girl stopped smelling of the stuff.
Aunt Ida saved clean muslin scraps as bandages, and Martin always thought she looked slightly happy when some injury finally put them “to good use.” She soaked a clean bandage in a bowl of vinegar, wrung it out, and spread the cool stinking cloth on his neck. She soaked others for both shoulders and handed him one to hold across the bridge of his nose.
He sat awhile and felt the heat go out of his burned skin. As his mood improved he seriously considered a late-night venture to the Gypsy camp.
“Best thing for you is to rest,” Aunt Ida explained, removing the cloths. “My mother’s remedy was olive oil. You sleep the night with this rubbed in good, and you’ll be fine as frog’s hair by morning.” There was no stopping her when she knew a proven remedy. She rubbed the greenish-amber oil into Martin’s back and shoulders.
Aunt Ida was gentle, and Martin knew this was her way to heal the necessary but fresh wounds of the afternoon’s encounter with Ma. But now he smelled bad and felt greasy. There would be no chance to wash it off either, since he did his bathing here in the house, as Pa would say, “once a week whether we need it or not.”
Aunt Ida went to the door and called Lilly. “With these long summer evenings starting, that girl doesn’t get enough sleep,” she said to no one in particular.
Martin stretched until his chair squeaked. “Well, that’s not a problem for me. Good night.” He went out to the barn and climbed to the loft to wait until the house grew quiet. He pulled out his calendar. Some weeks back he had stopped crossing out the days until his return to Stillwater and had begun a daily farm log of what he had plowed and harrowed and seeded. He made an entry for the garden and slowly fell asleep to the crickets, night owls, and sounds of the warm barn.
Chapter 18
Martin dozed and awoke in pain when he rolled onto a sunburned shoulder. Even the night insects were quiet. He couldn’t find a comfortable position for sleeping and had no way of judging time. Maybe not yet midnight. He lit the lantern. There was only one entry left in Aunt Cora’s diary—the very one he had skipped ahead to read first. That seemed so long ago now.
6 July 1865
Mother is sick. Not even Father was this sick. She told me to take Jacob to the Perrys. Her last words were about a dowry, which I hid safely in my doll’s house. Jacob is starting to cry. I am afraid to disobey her, but I am also afraid to leave her alone.
Martin turned several pages, but there were no more entries. He lifted the book to his nose and breathed, but there was nothing more of Cora left, not even her scent. He knew that the writing stopped because Cora also died that day. He wished she could be his aunt now, that he could have known her in life. Then he realized he would know nothing of her at all if it weren’t for this diary. It was her gift to him. As Martin extinguished the lamp, he resolved to share it with Pa one day. He pulled on his shirt and pants and decided to walk to the Gypsy meadow to see whether the wedding party was over.
The moon was even more full than the night before, so he had no trouble finding the path to the lake. The night air no longer held the chill of winter. From a half mile away he heard the music and saw the glow of many fires.
He stood at the edge of the clearing, trying to pick Samson out in the crowd. His first time here he had been struck by the colors of the place. Tonight, even by moonlight he made out bright cloths on tables everywhere. The wagons were bedecked with early spring flowers and ribbons. He walked cautiously toward the nearest fire.
Two men sat with their backs to a table and played small guitars. A group of dancers whirled around the open fire nearest them. Martin watched, mesmerized, as Ruby danced with a tiny boy of four or five. She wore a pumpkin-colored skirt and dark purple blouse. From her ears dangled golden hoops, larger than any earrings he had seen. Gold bracelets slid together, then apart, on her long forearms. Other women wore bracelets above their elbows, a custom Martin had never seen before.
Ruby stopped, still holding the boy’s hand, when she spotted him. Others turned to follow her gaze until it seemed all heads turned in his direction, and people murmured gadjo. Ruby went between two wagons, called out in their strange tongue, and seconds later Samson came galloping around the collection of tables to greet him.
“Martin! I was beginning to think you couldn’t get away. Come, come and sit here.”
The music started again, and people slowly resumed their activities. Dogs, large and small, milled about the crowd. Everywhere soft lantern light glowed on tables.
“You missed the wedding,” Samson said. “Was it hard to get away?”
“I fell asleep.”
“I’m surprised you felt up to it, the way you look.” He pointed to Martin’s red face and neck. “Does it hurt?”
“Only if I move . . . or breathe or smile.”
Samson laughed. “Grandmother knows you are here; she’s bringing food.”
Martin wanted to say he wasn’t hungry, but just then Grandmother parted the crowd with a plate of food held high in each hand. A reluctant Ruby followed, carrying a pitcher and glasses. She placed them unceremoniously on the table next to Martin. Grandmother spoke a command, and Ruby picked up the glass and filled it.
Martin didn’t miss the thump with which Ruby set the glass back on the table. “Thank you,” he said, picking up the goblet and sipping the sweet homemade wine.
Grandmother placed the large platters of food in front of Martin and Samson. Then she stood with her short round arms crossed until Ruby warily sank into the chair opposite Martin.
The boys ate their homemade breads, desserts, and spicy chicken. Martin felt some of the eyes finally turn away from him. He hoped that talking about food was a safe topic.
“This is delicious chicken,” Martin said.
“I chased it, and caught it, and wrung its neck.” Ruby twisted her wrists.
Samson explained, “We believe that you have to catch chicken. The fastest are the most delicious.”
Grandmother had retreated to a group of older people. Whenever she stared pointedly at Ruby, the girl would make a brief effort at conversation. For the most part, she sat with her back to Martin so that all three faced the dancers.
Martin studied her hair, left long, with only the sides caught back loosely in a clasp. The barrette was covered with fresh flowers. He was not accustomed to seeing women wear their hair down. Aunt Ida’s was even longer, he knew, but he had seen it straight just once. Even Ma wore her hair up always.
“Well? Do you or don’t you, Martin?” Samson called.
Martin turned a blank face to his friend.
“Do you want to dance with Ruby?”
Martin looked down at his empty plate. He’d never danced with a girl. He wanted to say “no,” or would “no thanks” be better? But “ah, sure,” came out of his mouth instead. He clumsily got up and went around the table.
Ruby moved into the gathering of dancers, an
d Martin followed, feeling as stiff as a fence post. She had left her shoes under her chair. As her bare feet caressed the cool earth, a gold bracelet flashed on one ankle. Ruby slid and swayed to the music, while Martin stared at her, wondering what to do. He had never once danced in his life, not like Lilly was always doing.
She studied him, then smiled a broad smile, as if she knew. She moved closer. “What were you dreaming about back there?”
He could hardly say he had been lost in thought about her hair. Martin searched the corners of his mind for any other answer, but none would come. She glided in front of him, swinging her full orange skirt, her earrings shimmering. “Maybe you were worried about being with Gypsies. We’ll steal you blind, you know. We’re no good. Your people call us vagrants.”
Martin found his tongue, but still he stood stiffly, as if planted in the ground. “Not that at all. Samson is my friend.”
“Because he works for you,” she spoke louder now, swaying to the music in contrast to Martin’s awkwardness.
“That’s not it,” Martin said.
“He works your land for free.” Ruby fairly spit out the words.
Martin wondered what he had ever done to upset this girl and make her react so violently to him. She had agreed to dance with him only to get away from her grandmother and be free to insult him. How could just being a gadjo inspire such hatred? He made an effort to control his voice. “Samson is a true friend. I had work to do, and he wanted to help.”
Martin saw Ruby catch a signal from Grandmother. She swallowed her ready reply and concentrated on gliding around him. Then, with a backward glance at Grandmother, she picked up Martin’s frozen arms and placed them lightly on her shoulders, placing hers likewise on his shoulders.
She felt soft and firm at the same time. Ruby coaxed him into moving. He followed each of her slow steps. After two or three minutes that felt longer than all of last winter, she smiled at him, genuinely pleased. Without completely stopping, the music changed to a different tune. Martin looked around at the group of dancers. Most men held the women they danced with closer. He considered moving his hands to her waist, then thought better of it. He could tell without touching that Ruby wouldn’t be stiff and hard like corseted women. They danced, slower than the others, in the middle of the crowd, their bodies coming closer and closer to one another as the music hypnotized them.
He was looking straight ahead and at the same time seeing her hair with his side vision. He had just about decided to brush her hair with his cheek when she fixed her green eyes on him and said, “What’s that smell?”
He held her back a little and looked at her, a question on his face.
She leaned in closer and sniffed at his shirt. “Like laundry. Sometimes we put vinegar in the laundry; it gets out the smell of horses.”
Martin stood still. He had never danced with a girl before, not even Ma. He had barely even talked to one, let alone held one in his arms. He didn’t even know what to say to his sister most of the time. In his worst nightmares he had never dreamed that a girl would comment about his smell. There was nothing, not one experience in his entire lifetime, to see him through this moment. He felt a response well up inside him. For a second he feared he might cry. Then it came out, but as a great gust of laughter. Ruby looked at him for a time; then she laughed, too. Everyone else danced around them, but they stood, locked in an embrace, laughing. For the first time Ruby seemed to be comfortable with him, to like him.
“It’s me,” Martin managed to say. “My great-aunt, I mean my mother’s aunt, lives with us and vinegar is her remedy for sunburn. For just about everything, really.”
“Come,” she said, and slipping his hand from her shoulder into her palm, she led him away from the fire. They were still laughing.
Ruby looked back at him shyly. “I told Grandmother when I saw you tonight that you looked like something freshly butchered. I have my own cure for that burn.”
She led him to Grandmother’s familiar wagon. “Sit,” she told Martin, pointing to a log by a fire that was reduced to embers. Ruby lifted a jar from a tub of water and dried it off on her skirt. “It’s buttermilk. We keep it cool in springwater. The buttermilk is an antidote to the color; it whitens the skin.”
She went inside and returned with a soft scarf. They sat together at the fire. Ruby wrung the cloth in the cold milk and gave it to Martin, who held it on his face, neck, and shoulders. They talked easily for the first time, mostly about him and the farm and the difficult adjustment from city life.
Ruby listened to it all. She rinsed the cloth again, then drained the pan over the fire. “Sometimes the women use buttermilk to whiten their skin,” she said to the fire. “I don’t approve.”
“You’re lighter than many of the people here,” Martin observed.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said hotly, a little of the former Ruby returning to her voice. Then she softened. “I suppose you think they stole me as a baby and that’s why I have lighter hair and green eyes.”
Martin was tired and had no fight left in him. He studied the night sky; the moon had traveled swiftly across the royal-blue darkness. He waited as a single black cloud crossed its path, robbed the moon of its light, and then slowly passed. “To tell the truth, Ruby, my aunt is full of stories about Gypsies. She’s filled my head with warnings since I can remember. You probably wouldn’t like knowing that I’ve kept Sam a secret from my family.”
Ruby said nothing in response to his honesty.
“The first day I followed Sam here, I thought I was in trouble for sure. Then I saw you’re all just people, like anyone else.”
They looked at each other in the amber glow of the small fire. “I don’t remember ever laughing like that,” he said. “My ribs hurt.” Martin patted his chest, then stretched and rose. “I better be going.”
They found Samson, and Martin thanked him for the invitation. The boy looked pleased at the sight of his friend and cousin getting along.
Ruby walked Martin to the edge of the clearing where his clothes had once hung drying. “I suppose I should thank you,” he laughed. “Now I smell of olive oil, vinegar, and buttermilk.”
She leaned into his shirt and breathed deeply of his scent, then spun on her bare heel and bounded back toward the fires.
Chapter 19
Seeds sat in the earth; their only moisture the memory of melted snow from last winter.
But Mr. Perry said that drought didn’t pose a danger until the seeds germinated. Martin became preoccupied with watching for the crops to sprout, and so preoccupied with thoughts of Ruby—her hair, her laugh, her soft body when they were dancing—that he could barely perform routine tasks like milking Ella. One day he was checking Marshall’s hooves when he realized he’d already been all the way around the horse and was picking up his feet for the second time.
A week after the wedding at the Gypsy camp, Martin decided he had the time to go into town. And just maybe he would run into a certain young lady with green eyes. Aunt Ida declared she had too much work to do with the garden and spring housecleaning. Ma didn’t go either, but for the first time she didn’t ask Martin to bring back medicines or remedies. Ma had even taken up sewing again. Not just mending or patching, she was making Lilly a new Sunday dress.
Lilly had no desire to stay behind with two women who would certainly try to best each other at giving her work. She opted for the long wagon trip, even if her brother would most likely make the journey without speaking to her.
In town Martin bought wire fencing, flour, and other supplies. He posted Ma’s letter to Pa and retrieved their mail, which consisted of an almanac, an issue of Ladies’ Home Journal, and a letter from Pa to Lilly. Lilly laughed as she shook a nickel from the envelope. In the letter Pa sounded very encouraged and said he hoped to be able to make the journey home within three weeks.
Martin helped Lilly select penny candy; then they walked around town on the boardwalk, Lilly holding her doll in one hand and the sack of candy in the o
ther. More people congregated in town on Saturday night than any other. Tonight everyone was attracted to a small gathering at the livery stable. Both he and Lilly were pleased to see that Samson and Grandmother were the center of attention. Martin searched the crowd for Ruby but saw no sign of her.
Their Gypsy friends had come to town with a small cart pulled by a pony. From the back of the cart, Grandmother sold roosters and rabbits and apparently was doing a brisk business. Samson had his dog, Jinx, who performed tricks. In payment people tossed coins, mostly pennies, into a copper dish on the ground.
“Lilly!” Samson hurried over but, looking around, seemed to stop himself short of hugging the child. “Would you like to dance with Jinx?” He tied a skirt like a small ruffled apron around the dog’s middle and commanded him to dance. The animal stood on his back feet and took careful steps in a circle. Lilly, unable to clap because her hands were full, cried, “Oh, Samson, he’s so smart and so cute. Can you teach my kitty tricks?” Grandmother came around the side of the cart holding a large black and white rabbit, the only one left. “And who is this lovely lady?” she asked Samson.
“This is Lilly, Grandmother. She is Martin’s sister.”
Lilly held her candy between her knees to free a hand for petting the rabbit. The crowd had dispersed so Grandmother and Lilly sat on the open back of the cart and played with the rabbit. Soon Lilly held the large, warm animal in her own lap.
Grandmother smiled. “I am glad this one no sell; she is my favorite.”
Martin coaxed Samson far enough from the wagon to be out of earshot. Trying to keep an anxious tone out of his voice, he asked, “How’s Ruby?”
Samson’s laugh rang loud. “She asked me this very morning if I have any news of you.”
“She did?”
Samson nodded. Grandmother called to him.
“We must buy our supplies before the mercantile closes,” Samson explained. “We’re staying in town this evening for Grandmother to do fortunes.” As he helped the old woman off the cart he said, “Grandmother, tell Martin about himself. He’s curious about your second sight.”