Deeper Than Roses

by Charlene Cross

  Kristiana would never understand the coldness of these people. “Since you are too busy to care for one of your own, I will take the responsibility.”

  Rupa snorted. “Then you can bathe her and dress her. She must be ready when she dies.” Issuing a stony glare at her nephew she left the wagon.

  Kristiana’s gaze climbed to Logan’s face. “Why is she so unfeeling? Why is everyone here so unfeeling?”

  In the dim candlelight Logan saw the sheen of tears in Kristiana’s eyes, and he went to her side. Lifting her from the floor, he held her close. “They are trained from birth to accept what they cannot change, and death is something no one can change.”

  “B-but I cannot lose Sidi. She is my friend.”

  “And she will always be your friend.” His hand smoothed her tumbled hair, its braid nearly undone. “She will live in your memory, Kristiana, as she will live in mine.”

  The tread of feet rose up the steps, and Yokka stepped inside. In his hand was a long ribbon of cloth. As Kristiana stood aside Logan and his uncle measured Sidi’s length and width, which was slight in both directions. Finished with his task, Yokka left.

  “I’ll get some water.” Logan’s knuckles lightly grazed her cheek. “I’ll only be a moment.” Then he stepped outside.

  Alone with Sidi, Kristiana gazed down at the withered woman and noted how very pale she was. As Kristiana’s hip hit the edge of the bed she heard Sidi’s breath rattling in her throat; the woman’s eyes were fixed and stared at the ceiling. Immediately Kristiana blamed herself for Sidi’s state. Had she not left the woman unattended, perhaps things might have been different. Maybe something could have been done. “Oh, Sidi, I’m so sorry. Had I been here for you—” Her heart twisted in anguish. “You must not die! Do you hear me? You mustn’t leave me!” Taking hold of Sidi’s gnarled fingers, which were cold to the touch, Kristiana let her tears flow.

  Having retrieved the cask, Logan reentered the wagon to see Kristiana’s tears falling on Sidi’s breast. His heart ached for her. He wanted to go to her and ease her into the comfort of his arms. There, with her head cushioned against his shoulder, she could expel her sorrow. But he knew that sometimes a person had to grieve alone. He was sure this was one of those times.

  Soon her weeping quieted. Shaky fingers climbed to her face, and she wiped away her remaining tears. Pulling the cover higher on Sidi’s still form, making certain she was kept warm, Kristiana finally rose from the side of the bed.

  Not wanting her to know he had been watching her, Logan quietly backed through the open doorway. Then, with a loud scraping of his feet, he made his way into the wagon again. At the sound Kristiana turned toward him. “I have brought the water,” he said, pretending he knew nothing about her spilled tears. He set the cask on the table. “I’ll get one of the women to help you prepare her.”

  Her head tilted defiantly. “That’s not necessary. I’ll do it myself.”

  Logan understood her need to attend Sidi alone. “Then I’ll be outside.” He moved toward the door. “Call me when you are through.”

  “Logan!” It was the first time she had said his Christian name, and as he turned toward her she was aware she should take greater care. “I mean… Balo.”

  A gentle smile lit his face. “What is it, sweet?”

  She nodded toward the doorway. “They know about us, don’t they?”

  “Yes, they know.”

  “Will they hate me even more?”

  “They will not object,” he said, bypassing the question of their feelings for her. “You are the one I have chosen to be my bride. Perhaps they would have liked it better had I gone about asking you in accordance with their rules, but they know they have no say over what I do.”

  “Your aunt seems very displeased.”

  “Rupa is always displeased about something. It is her nature. Don’t allow her ways to upset you. Eventually she will accept what is to happen.”

  “I hope you are right.” She looked to the table. “Is it necessary I do this now?”

  “What? Bathe and dress her?” He saw her nod. “It must be done. The sooner you attend to her, the better it will be for all. They will not touch her once she has left us.”

  “Why?”

  “They have a strong aversion toward death.”

  A short laugh erupted from Kristiana’s lips. “Don’t we all?”

  “I suppose, but the Gypsies are very superstitious. They fear the spirit of a dead one—afraid somehow it might possess them. When Sidi dies they will quickly view her, saying their silent farewells, then she will be buried with haste. Their time for mourning will come afterward.”

  “I understand,” Kristiana said, although she didn’t really. “When I have finished I will call you.”

  His golden gaze fell upon her, its tender light displaying his love. “I’ll be near at hand.”

  After Logan had left the wagon Kristiana undressed the wizened woman, then, with gentle hands, bathed her. She constantly talked to Sidi, rambling on about nothing in particular, except the one moment when she shared her news about her forthcoming marriage. When the words had left her lips Kristiana could have sworn she had seen a slight smile brighten the woman’s face. But upon closer inspection she decided she had imagined the transformation, for there now appeared to be no change in Sidi’s empty expression.

  Finding the woman’s finest clothing, Kristiana dressed her with care. Last of all she secured the gold-coin necklace about Sidi’s wrinkled neck. After attaching the matching earring to the woman’s elongated earlobes, Kristiana placed a soft kiss on Sidi’s parchment cheek; she then went to the door.

  Rupa entered first. Having viewed Sidi’s appearance, she gave Kristiana her nod of approval. As night climbed toward dawn the women of the tribe kept their vigil, coming and going in pairs; Kristiana remained always by her side.

  Outside the men loitered by the wagon, speaking of the “old ones” and of events past. Apparently, as Kristiana learned later, this was the one occasion, except through their use of song, when the Gypsies allowed themselves to resurrect their memories.

  Beyond the mumble of low voices the sounds of a saw and a chisel could be heard. They quieted, and a hammer struck its beat. Before long that also quieted, and when Kristiana next looked toward the open doorway Logan had situated himself at the bottom of the stairs. His presence there reassured her, for whenever she glanced his way his golden gaze turned toward her.

  It was when the sun stretched its fingers of light across the sky that Sidi took her last breath. One lone tear escaped Kristiana’s eye as she realized her friend had left her. Gently squeezing Sidi’s hand, she placed it next to its mate, which rested near the woman’s waist.

  Forgetting they were not alone, Logan moved toward Kristiana. Strong hands settled on her shoulders, and she gazed up to see his solemn face above her. He helped her from the floor, where she had knelt the night through, and quietly led her to a secluded corner. Because it was forbidden, he did not touch her again, for it would only induce more hostilities. Kristiana understood that. Just having him there beside her was enough.

  While Rupa lit the candles that had already been placed at Sidi’s head and feet another woman stepped to the doorway and relayed the news. A loud wailing rose from outside the wagon as the women who stood vigil began pulling their hair and rending their clothing; the men moaned and shook their heads. Startled at first, Kristiana soon grasped that the strange behavior was the Gypsy way of expressing grief.

  Two by two a procession of people came through the door, heading toward the deceased. They paused a moment, then left the wagon. When the last of them had filtered through, Rupa turned to Logan and Kristiana. “It is time to wrap her,” she said, referring to the long linen cloth previously placed beneath Sidi.

  While they had waited Logan had quietly informed Kristiana that once the body had been securely enshrouded with an extended length of material stretching beyond the head and feet, two men would lift it into the crude
coffin, neither one having to touch the remains directly. At the thought of never seeing Sidi again Kristiana felt her whole body quake. There was something she had forgotten to tell her. Certain her spirit lingered, she looked at Logan and asked: “M-might I have a moment with her—alone?”

  Logan glanced at his aunt and caught the woman’s look of distaste. Through narrowed eyes he met Rupa stare for stare. His harsh gaze told her he’d abide no argument. “We’ll be outside,” he said to Kristiana.

  When the pair had left, Logan pulling the door closed slightly to offer her some privacy, Kristiana went to the bed’s edge. “I shall miss you, Sidi. And I promise, no matter what is to come, I will be strong.” She leaned over and kissed the woman’s untroubled brow.

  Outside, while Logan spoke to the two men who were to place Sidi in her coffin, Rupa decided she had had enough. Lifting her skirt, she started to proceed up the steps when Liza suddenly brushed past her. “I will do the wrapping,” the younger woman said, drawing Logan’s attention. Then she burst into the wagon.

  Kristiana had just straightened from the bed when the door crashed against the wall beside it. Startled, she turned to see Liza standing in its opening.

  “It is time,” Liza stated brusquely, her dark eyes glaring.

  With one last gaze at Sidi Kristiana stepped away from her position beside the narrow bed. “I am through,” she said; then she walked past Liza and out the door, drawing it to. At the bottom of the stairs she waited alongside Logan.

  Before long Liza descended the steps of Sidi’s wagon to march off toward her own. Little attention was paid to the girl, for the coffin was being lifted into the wagon to receive Sidi’s body. But one set of eyes watched Liza’s progression across the camp. Always hopeful of capturing her heart, Kore followed her.

  With a brief glance Logan noticed the young man had left the circle of mourners, Liza’s wagon his target. His attention once again fell on Kristiana, Kore’s bad manners soon forgotten.

  A short time later the band of Gypsies had wended their way into the woods, where a grave had already been prepared. Now, as she watched the coffin being lowered, Kristiana held herself rigid; no tears flowed from her eyes. Then, as the dirt fell onto the wooden box, she wondered where her father might be buried or if anyone had stood by in reverence of him.

  When the grave stood covered a wild rosebush, which had been taken from somewhere in the wood, was planted atop it; Kristiana’s questioning eyes turned to Logan. “They believe the thorns will prevent her spirit from returning,” he whispered. But while the Gypsies thought of the ugly thorns as a means to keep a person’s spirit quiet for eternity, Kristiana preferred to think of the multitude of flowers that would bloom on this spot forever. To her it was more like a perennial rebirth.

  As the procession left the wood the wailing began anew. Then the company of mourners reached the camp, and Rupa stepped to Kristiana’s side. “Whatever is yours, get it from the wagon.” Logan’s aunt strode away.

  “It is to be burned,” he said, referring to Sidi’s wheeled abode. “It is the custom.” He guided her to the wagon, allowing her to go inside alone.

  Kristiana gazed around the dim interior, then her eyes settled on the empty bed. Feeling her tears surge upward, she found her torn shift, the only possession she had, and fled the wagon.

  All breakable objects were unloaded from the wagon and smashed against the ground. Then, in the midst of the camp, the wagon was set afire. Leaping flames reflected in the tears glistening in Kristiana’s eyes. Noting her uncompromising stance, Logan leaned close to her ear. “Meet me in the wood where we were last night.” Then, slowly, he turned and strode from the camp.

  Kristiana’s feet flew along the path, her sobs jerking in her throat. At once she was enfolded by a pair of strong arms, and her tears fell upon Logan’s chest. In his desire to protect her he feared he might crush her, and he held her as though she were a delicate flower. “Hush, sweet,” he crooned softly, his heart breaking for her. “Were it possible, I would change what has happened. But I cannot.” Gently he smoothed her tumbled hair, her braid having come loose completely. “The past is gone, Kristiana, and we cannot change it.”

  She sniffed and gazed up at him. “Y-you sound like S-Sidi.”

  Logan smiled tenderly. “It is because she taught me much. Although we might be saddened by her passing, I know she would not want us to dwell on it Sidi lived a long life that was rich and full. She always told me to think of today and not of the past, though I’ll admit I did not always listen. We have today, and we have tomorrow, and all the tomorrows thereafter. Let’s place our thoughts, our hopes on the future and leave our pasts behind, as Sidi would have wanted.”

  Feeling extremely melancholy, Kristiana could not help but say, “I fear the future. I fear losing you. Everyone who has meant anything to me has died. I could not bear it were you to leave me as well.”

  “I won’t ever leave you, sweet,” he said, his tone reassuring. “Not even for a single moment.”

  Through watery eyes Kristiana searched his face. “Do you promise… not a single moment?”

  “I do,” he said, holding her close. But it was a promise Logan soon learned he would not be able to keep.

  Kristiana drove the small cart along the narrow path, following the other wagons. A few feet ahead of her Logan rode high on the stallion’s back. His muscular shoulders held naturally straight, he rested a hand on a sinewy thigh; the wind ruffled his black hair, which shone nearly blue in the bright sunlight.

  Through adoring eyes Kristiana gazed at him, paying little heed to the trail ahead of her. Having left the encampment where Sidi—the dead one, as she was now known—would always rest, the band of Gypsies traveled onward, each mile bringing them closer to the place where Kristiana had first joined them. It was the place where she and Logan were to be married.

  By way of a sudden jolt a wheel of the cart hit a deep rut; a loud cracking noise followed. Sliding sideways on her seat, Kristiana jerked the reins, halting the old mare. She gazed down at the split wheel, the lopsided cart resting atop it. Fearing Logan’s censure, for she had insisted she knew what she was doing when he’d reluctantly handed her the reins, she quickly looked in his direction.

  One eyebrow raised, he gazed back at her. Then, with a loud shout that halted the wagons at the fore, he rode toward her. “Proficient, huh?” He dismounted and stepped across the broken wheel, then lifted her from the cart.

  “I said nothing about being skilled,” Kristiana defended, straightening her tunic. “I merely told you I had driven a cart before. And I have.”

  “Perchance, did it also have need of a smithy for repairs?”

  “Certainly not!” Kristiana insisted, pretending to be affronted. “The thing was beyond hope. It was used as firewood!”

  Logan’s laughter roared into the air. “At least you are honest,” he said after he’d calmed himself.

  “Always,” she replied with a smile.

  Gazing down at her, he was tempted to brush his knuckles over the blush of her cheek. Then, with his hand anchored at the nape of her neck, he would kiss her soundly. But he resisted the urge. “There will be a short wait, sweet. While we attempt to fix what you have nearly destroyed I suggest you stand aside to avoid another mishap.”

  Kristiana stared at him. “Are you implying I bring bad fortune?”

  “No, but by the look on their faces”—he nodded at the men who were headed toward the cart—“I’d say they aren’t too pleased by this delay.”

  Kristiana turned her head to see Yokka, along with three other men, beating a fast path toward them. Behind them were Rupa, Liza, and a couple of women whose names escaped Kristiana at the moment. There was little need for words once the men had seen what had halted their progress. Immediately they went to work.

  His back and shoulders pressed firmly against the side of the cart, Logan, with the aid of the other men, tried to lift it so Yokka could pull the damaged wheel free. After several
attempts that led to failure the men decided to unload the small vehicle. Orders were issued, and the women were hastily employed.

  Into Kristiana’s outstretched arms Logan placed a cumbersome object wrapped in furs and secured with leather thongs. By its weight and length she knew it was his claymore and dagger. Logan winked at her conspiratorially, and she smiled in return, for they were both thinking of the night she’d nearly drawn his blood.

  Kristiana’s legs wobbled beneath her as she walked away from the cart. Her concentration solely on the precious burden in her arms, she nearly dropped it when a loud shriek suddenly pierced her ears. Thinking someone had been injured, she made an unsteady spin toward the sound only to see a horde of accusing faces staring directly at her. “What’s wrong?”

  Rupa stepped forward, Kristiana’s torn shift in her hand. “This is what’s wrong!”

  Confusion reigned on Kristiana’s brow. “My shift… I don’t understand. You said I should take it from Sidi’s wagon.” And she had, simply to place it in Logan’s cart. The only reason she had kept the disgusting thing was to serve as a reminder of Edward’s treachery.

  Rupa pulled back the folds of the crumpled material. Suddenly a wealth of gold glittered in the bright sunlight. It was Sidi’s necklace and earrings!

  “Thief!” Rupa screeched, her feet striking out toward Kristiana. “You steal from the dead!” The woman spat at the accused’s feet. “Be gone from us! Away with you!”

  Her arms weighted down with the hidden claymore and dagger, Kristiana stood frozen. Her bewildered gaze sought Logan’s eyes. His golden orbs stared at her from an expressionless face, and Kristiana felt her heart sink. “Surely you don’t believe—”

  A stinging blow connected with Kristiana’s cheek; she almost fell to her knees. Her burden clutched to her protectively, Kristiana was unable to defend herself, and Rupa’s hand rose again.

  “Leave her!” Logan shouted, his harsh voice echoing through the wood. At its sound more members of the community ran down the lane toward the cart. As Logan moved toward Kristiana and Rupa the older woman’s hand slowly fell away. “Her fate should be decided by the Kris. Until then, do not harm her,” he said to his aunt. He turned around, and his hard gaze scanned the group. “All of you! Do not harm her.”