by Howe, A. E.
“You must be the English ladies,” he said with a Romanian accent. “Captain Vladimir Petran at your service.” He tried to click his heels, but the muddy road made it a hollow gesture.
“American, actually. I’m Josephine Nicolson and this is Grace Dunn.” She had almost said “my servant” after introducing Grace. Of course, in America she would have never introduced her at all. Here, the old rules seemed silly.
“A pleasure,” he said with a smile, which highlighted a wicked scar that ran from the corner of his eye to his mouth. He noticed Josephine’s glance and touched it. “I spent years being embarrassed by this, but every day I find myself learning to appreciate the fact I have such a prominent reminder of my good luck.”
“The war?”
“I was advancing with my regiment across a field toward the enemy line when an artillery shell went off next to me. I was thrown unconscious onto razor wire. All of the men who went forward from that point were wounded severely. Compared to them, this,” he said, rubbing the scar, “is a small price.”
“Are you traveling with us?”
“Yes. It was most fortuitous that your driver announced he had a fare going into the mountains. This couple is also going,” he said, pointing to a man and a woman who looked like they were barely out of their teens. From their expressions, they obviously didn’t understand English. The couple seemed particularly intrigued by Grace. The young man spoke to the captain. It was clear he was asking about the maid.
“What is it?” Josephine asked.
The captain smiled at Josephine, but spoke to Grace. “The boy wants to know if you are a Nubian or a Moor.”
“You tell him I’m from Alabama and I’m a Christian. I’m not some heathen,” Grace said.
The captain smiled and spoke to the young couple. They smiled and nodded without taking their eyes off of Grace.
Before they could say more, the driver came out of the livery and walked around the horses, checking their harnesses before telling the five of them to get inside the carriage. While they’d been talking, all of the luggage had been precariously perched on the roof of the carriage by another man.
Josephine and Grace had never ridden in a stagecoach and it had been years since either had been in any type of carriage. Once everyone was seated, they were all practically touching elbows and knees. The couple sat on the same side as Grace while the captain and Josephine sat across from them.
“Where are you going?” Josephine asked him.
“I’m surveying for a new road through the mountains. The government wants to improve all the passes.”
“You aren’t doing that by yourself?”
“No. I’m authorized to hire or conscript whoever I need to get the job done. Tell me, why are two Americans headed into the Carpathian Mountains?”
“I’m visiting my grandfather’s village. He came to America in the last century.”
“What village?”
“It’s near Capataneni. The name is Satul de Dealuri Verzi.”
At the mention of the village, the couple became visibly upset. They spoke to each other in hushed tones. Finally, the man leaned toward Captain Petran and spoke to him. The conversation went back and forth for a few minutes before the captain, looking grim, turned to Josephine.
“I’m so sorry to tell you, but according to these folks the village is no longer there. It was abandoned long ago,” Petran said sympathetically as the couple watched expectantly.
“They are from the area?”
The captain relayed the question. The young man gave a brief answer.
“They live farther up in the mountains, but have family that live nearby.”
“What happened to it?” Josephine asked. Her inner sense told her that the village’s abandonment must have had to do with the events in her grandfather’s journal.
After a brief exchange with the couple, the captain turned back to Josephine. “They say that it was before they were born, but they know many people died. Perhaps an illness.”
Everyone in the carriage remembered the Spanish Flu epidemic. It had spread around the world as soldiers returned from the battlefields at the end of the Great War. Tens of millions had died. Before that, it wasn’t uncommon for typhoid or polio to run rampant through a town or region. But Josephine had read enough in her grandfather’s journal to think the plague that had devastated the village had been something much more tangible.
Chapter Four
For the rest of the day, everyone seemed lost in their own thoughts as the carriage swayed and bumped over the rough road that was deeply rutted from the rains. A stop for lunch and to rest the horses ended too soon for Josephine and Grace. The carriage ride was bone-jarring and exhausting.
“We’ll be at Capataneni before nightfall,” Captain Petran told the women.
Despite his encouragement, it was still five more hours before the carriage came to a stop at the largest inn in the town. Entering the tavern, both women realized that their stay was not going to be as comfortable as the night before, but they were so tired that anything resembling a bed would be welcomed.
They shared a hearty stew with the captain, then retreated to their room. It was neat and held two twin beds, but little else in the way of comfort. The quilts were old and worn and the mattresses were cotton ticking stuffed with straw.
Now that they were in the mountains, the temperature dropped more quickly than the night before. Trying to ignore the cold, Josephine lay in bed wondering what she should do. Is the village really gone? Could the couple have been mistaken? Captain Petran had promised to stay a day in Capataneni and help her find any relatives that might be living in the area. Maybe I should just scatter the ashes here and start the long journey home, was her last thought before falling asleep.
A night’s rest and the sight of the sun streaming through the window helped to brighten Josephine’s mood. Downstairs at the table, the captain was eating mamaliga, a cornmeal-based porridge, and drinking a dark tea.
“After you went to bed, I made some inquiries. I sent a messenger to tell a man who may be your cousin that you are here. According to the locals, he lives only a couple miles away. They could be back as early as noon.”
Josephine helped herself to a bowl of porridge and a cup of tea. “Thank you. I’m very grateful for your help.”
“I’m impressed that you show respect for your grandfather’s wishes. Romanians put great store in our elders. He must have been a great man.”
“He was… an unusual man.”
“Tough. Look at us. Our skin is like leather. Romanians are able to weather the storms when others are swept away by them.”
“He was definitely a tough man. Always kind to me. Not always as kind to my father.”
“Ha, we are hardest on our sons. For thousands of years, to be Romanian was to fight. Real fighting, not like the last war. That was slaughter. I saw officers kill themselves rather than order their men to die. I was lucky. I was in the engineers. Better, but even I had to order men to work while the enemy picked them off like targets at a country fair.”
“We were lucky.”
“Yes, by the time the Americans arrived, the war had been decided. Though your army fought well. I’ve been to America.”
“Really?”
“Texas. I came to observe military maneuvers. Very impressive. Texas reminded me of Romania. The men are like us, leathery and tough.” He laughed.
Josephine liked the man. He seemed able to overcome the darkness he’d seen during the war. Plenty of the returning soldiers back home hadn’t been able to return to their old lives so easily. She wondered how often Captain Petran saw the ghosts of his friends and comrades.
“Would you look at a journal that my grandfather wrote? It’s in Romanian. I’ve done the best I could with a dictionary, but…”
An hour later, Captain Petran came to Josephine, holding the diary and looking at her as though she had played a joke on him.
“Romanian peasants ar
e a superstitious lot. I’m afraid your grandfather was too gullible.”
“I know that he talks about some sort of monster, but…”
“He says there was a blood-sucking monster stalking his village, and that he and some other men went out one day to kill this creature. They all ended up dead except for your grandfather, who then fled the country.” The captain sounded very dismissive.
“You think they were imagining the deaths in the village?” This sounded ridiculous to Josephine, though she had to admit that the idea of a blood-drinking monster was pretty crazy.
“Eighty years ago, there could have been wolves or a bear preying on the locals. Possibly even a madman—there are plenty of humans who are capable of committing atrocities. But I don’t believe in mythical monsters.”
“That young couple said the village was abandoned?”
“Probably because of a series of misfortunes. Like I said, peasants can be scared of their own shadows. A couple of murders and then an epidemic, next thing you know, the villagers are talking about a curse and moving away.” He shrugged.
“Maybe my cousin will know more,” Josephine suggested.
“Perhaps.”
They sat for a while in silence before Josephine excused herself and went back to the room to make sure Grace was all right.
“I woke up and didn’t know where I was. I thought I was sleepin’ on a bed of rocks till I saw that it was only this old mattress,” Grace said. “I don’t think I’m ever going to leave Semmes County again.”
“You should go down and have breakfast.”
“Where are we goin’ today?” Grace asked, half scared of the answer.
“I don’t know yet,” Josephine answered honestly.
As they came down the stairs, Josephine saw a man sitting with Captain Petran. There was something oddly familiar about him. The captain stood and the man followed suit.
“Miss Nicolson, this is Constantin Antonescu.” Captain Petran introduced the man who looked uncomfortable, but managed to bow somewhat awkwardly. Constantin was dressed in a linen shirt and brown woolen coat and pants. His boots had seen more barns than sidewalks. “I’m afraid he doesn’t speak much English.”
The captain spoke to the man in Romanian for a few moments. “He says that the family is pleased to meet the granddaughter of Grigore Nicolescu. He apologizes that his home is so humble, otherwise he would invite you to stay there as his guest.”
“Tell him not to worry. I’m from a small town in America. Many of my friends are farmers.” Then she added, “Tell him the smell of horse manure doesn’t bother me.”
The captain smiled a little and relayed the message to Constantin, who smiled broadly at Josephine.
“I’m a little at a loss, Captain. I was hoping some of my family would speak English. That seems like a naïve idea now. But when I was planning my trip…” She let the thought trail off.
“I would be happy to serve as your translator for the next couple of days,” he said, clicking his heels.
“I wouldn’t want to keep you from your survey work,” Josephine said, pleased that he had offered.
“I have time to do both. If for even one moment I thought that my commission would prevent me from helping a beautiful woman, I would resign immediately.” He snapped his fingers.
Josephine smiled. Between the clicking of his heels and the snapping of his fingers, the man reminded her of the crabs at the beach. But much nicer, she thought.
Captain Petran turned back to Constantin and spoke for a few moments. “We can ride with him back to his house. It is only a couple of miles from here, and he has a wagon.”
“That would be fine. Let me talk to my… companion for a moment.” There were folks back in Semmes County who would have been scandalized to hear her refer to Grace as her companion.
She walked over to the table where Grace was eating porridge and bread. In the small room, Grace had been able to overhear everything they’d been saying, so Josephine didn’t have to go into great detail.
“Grace, would you mind staying here while I visit my relative’s farm?”
“Oh, no, ma’am. Stayin’ put for a day isn’t gonna bother me at all,” she said with sincerity and gusto.
Once at the farm, Josephine looked at her other cousins and realized that Constantin had looked so familiar because he, like the rest of them, was family. This obvious truth created an almost instant bond with these people. It was odd that they could be so foreign yet remind her so much of her life and home.
One young man in particular looked a lot like her father when he was young. Josephine remembered an old photograph that hung in her father’s office, showing him holding a hunting rifle and standing with several other men she knew from Sumter. His look of youthful enthusiasm and grit was reflected in the boy, Gheorghe.
Josephine and the captain spent the day with the family. Most of the men had work to do, but they would relieve each other so they could all come and see their unusual visitors. While there seemed to be a natural affinity between the family and Josephine, they all seemed as suspicious of the captain as he was of them. She would catch them giving him sideways glances and sometimes whispering. Is it because he’s an officer? Or a difference of class? Or is it because he comes from a different part of Romania? she wondered.
When Josephine talked about her grandfather, everyone would get quiet as Captain Petran translated. Questions about the events that had caused him to flee to America were met with headshakes and assurances that no one knew anything about it. Josephine encouraged the captain to press them, which was only met with more vigorous denials. She was told that everyone had simply moved away from the village. After much back and forth, the captain was able to draw a crude map that showed the village in relation to the town of Capataneni and the family’s homestead.
Toward late afternoon, Elena Nicolescu, the elderly family matriarch, invited Josephine to stay for the night. Josephine demurred, saying she needed to get back to her friend at the inn, but she promised to come back the next day. She wanted one last chance to see them before heading home. She had originally thought she might spend days or a week with her distant relatives, but seeing them, she realized that her presence was a disruption to their lives. A day or two was a pleasant distraction; more than that seemed to risk unforeseen consequences.
On the way back to the inn in Constantin’s wagon, Josephine told the captain, “I want to go to the village and spread my grandfather’s ashes. Will you take me there?”
“Yes,” Captain Petran said without hesitation.
“Why do you think they didn’t want to talk about the village?”
“Superstition,” he said dismissively. “I had some of these mountain peasants under my command during the war. Always looking for signs. Omens. I had to constantly bully them to keep them in line.”
“Do you think my grandfather was a superstitious peasant?” Josephine asked, feeling the need to defend her relatives.
He smiled. “I don’t know what your grandfather was fighting. However, I can’t believe it was a monster.”
Josephine found Grace cooking dinner with the innkeeper’s wife.
“I just wanted to do something familiar. I helped her make dinner: soup with meatballs. I showed her how to make cornbread.” Grace smiled and the innkeeper’s wife, an older woman, smiled and nodded, though Josephine was pretty sure she didn’t understand a word of English. Josephine admired Grace’s ability to adapt to an environment that was completely new. She’s discovered a language they have in common—cooking, Josephine thought, wondering if she could be as clever.
“You can come out with us tomorrow or stay here again,” Josephine told Grace as they got ready for bed.
“I’m just fine right here.” After a moment, she added, “Unless you need me. I don’t mind comin’ ifin’ you need me.”
“No, I’ll be fine. The captain is going to go with me,” Josephine replied as she took her grandfather’s ashes out of her suitcase
and set them on a chair.
Chapter Five
A storm blew through during the night. The wind and thunder caused both women to sleep poorly until the front finally passed in the early hours. When Josephine got out of bed, she could already feel that the weather was cooler.
She was carrying her grandfather’s ashes when she met up with the captain, who’d eaten early and had already secured two horses for them.
“Nice looking,” Josephine said, walking up to the bay gelding that Captain Petran was leading.
“You sound surprised. We have good horses here. If I may?” he said, taking the jar with the ashes and placing it in one of the saddlebags on his horse.
Both horses were fitted out with old military saddles. Having been warned, Josephine was wearing an old pair of trousers that she’d brought with her, knowing she’d be traversing some rough country.
They rode back to the farm and had an early lunch with her relatives. Most of the men had come in from the fields to eat with her. She gathered that this was quite unusual. Normally, the women would have taken lunch out to where the men were working, but in honor of the strange cousin from America, they had come in to eat.
“Tell them I’m going to the village today,” Josephine told the captain.
“I don’t think that would be wise,” Petran counseled.
“Maybe not. But I want them to know I’m not scared of whatever happened there. Maybe one of them will be brave enough to tell me the truth.”
The captain looked hard into her face and realized that she wasn’t going to change her mind. He spoke in Romanian to the men and women gathered around the table. Everyone had been smiling, eating and drinking, but as the captain spoke, the smiles dropped away one by one.
Constantin spoke to the captain in rapid, gruff Romanian. Petran answered with a calm but firm voice. Then Constantin said something that made the captain’s face flush, and the next words that came from him were delivered in hard, harsh tones.
“What’s going on?” Josephine asked, reaching out and grabbing the captain’s arm.
