The Gypsy's Curse

by Sara Whitford

  “Huh.” Valentine raised his eyebrows and seemed genuinely impressed. “Is that a fact?”

  Adam nodded and finished swallowing another mouthful of food before responding. “Mm-hm. Mr. Davis told me when I went there to pick up that letter back in February that he’d welcome any stories that might be of interest to readers.” He took another sip of drink. “Tell me, you take the Gazette. You think that’s the kind of story folks might like to read?”

  The old man thought about it for a minute, then gave a thoughtful nod. “I think it would be. In fact, if I hadn’t been here to witness it, I don’t know that I’d believe it myself. It’ll entertain folks, that’s for sure—and maybe it’ll make ’em think twice before going to some gypsy fortune-teller.”

  “Maybe.” Adam chuckled.

  He finished his meal, and he and Valentine chatted for a while longer before he bade him farewell for the night.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  IT WAS LATE WHEN ADAM left the tavern to return to the warehouse, and thanks to the cloudy sky the ride back was dark and chilly.

  Adam was thankful the weather seemed to be finally turning a bit from the stifling heat and humidity that had characterized most of the month of September so far. As he approached the warehouse, he noticed a second sloop was moored not far from the Carolina Gypsy. He wasn’t sure what it was, as he couldn’t recall there being any delivery expected until the middle of October, but then again his grandfather had many merchant and seafaring contacts, so it could be anyone really.

  He parked the horse cart and put Rex out in the field next to the warehouse, then went into the building and ran up the stairs two at a time. He was looking forward to telling his grandfather about all that had transpired since the morning and hopefully getting a good night’s sleep before a new workweek began the next day.

  When he opened the door to the living quarters and came into the sitting room, his grandfather greeted him with tears in his eyes. Adam’s heart sank. He was unsure of why his grandfather would be crying.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  Emmanuel crossed the room and gave Adam a hug. “Oh, son.”

  “What?” Adam felt sick. Had something happened to Martin? What was it?

  “Adam, there is someone who is here to see you.”

  Adam raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Who?”

  Emmanuel called out towards the kitchen. “Come on out.”

  Just then a familiar figure came and stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the sitting room, like a ghost.

  It was his father, Santiago.

  Adam’s jaw dropped. He wasn’t sure if what he was seeing was real or just a very vivid dream. Maybe he was hallucinating now.

  Santiago began to cross the room in Adam’s direction. Adam noticed his left arm hung limp by his side.

  “Is it really you?” he asked.

  Santiago nodded. “Yes, my son. It is me.”

  He took his son in a strong embrace. He then stepped back and gripped Adam by the shoulders so he could get a good look at him.

  Adam looked from his father to his grandfather. “How is this…? I mean, did you know?”

  Emmanuel shook his head. “No, son. I nearly had a heart attack myself this afternoon when La Dama arrived.”

  “I sent a letter to you,” said Santiago. “Almost a year ago, but your grandfather says that it came to you in pieces.”

  Adam nodded. He could barely catch his breath. It was his father who sent the letter. He never even considered that as a possibility.

  “May I see it?” his father asked.

  “Yeah.” Adam nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

  He quickly disappeared into his room, fished the piece of the torn letter out of his dresser, then brought it back into the sitting room. He, his father, and his grandfather all sat at the dining table, where Adam placed the piece before them.

  Santiago chuckled as he examined what was there. “Ah… This is a terrible mess. I cannot even imagine how this could have happened.”

  Adam grinned. “Me neither. But you can see what that piece says. I never would have thought this was from you.”

  “Over half of the letter is missing!” said Santiago. “But it just so happens that I made a copy of that letter before I sent it, just in case it didn’t arrive. I wanted to prove it to you that I did send it.”

  He took a folded piece of parchment from the pocket of his waistcoat and showed it to Adam.

  Son – I expect this letter will arrive to you around the time of Christmas. No doubt you will be very much surprised to hear from me. I admit I am surprised to be well enough to write to you now. When you left, my death was imminent, and as you know I did not want for you to have to see me in that low and terrible state, but thanks to many prayers and the great power of our Almighty God I am able to tell you that I am now alive and well. I am also pleased to report that as for that evil kinsman Eduardo, neither his death nor events that transpired during your time in Havana have created hostility or ill will on the part of his sons.

  I am sad to report that your grandmother Isabel, que Dios la bendiga, has died, and now all that was part of the Velasquez estate has gone to them, but I am glad that I still have at the very least La Dama del Caribe and the personal estate that my mother possessed when she married Juan Diego. The Scriptures tell us, “Do not be impatient with those who do evil, and do not be jealous of those who sin. They will be cut down like grass.” I have no doubt he is paying for his wicked deeds. I am also happy to tell you that I am at this very moment planning a journey to N. Carolina and expect that I should be coming into your port there at Beaufort no later than the end of September. I cannot begin to tell you how much I look forward to seeing you again, and also your mother, and my true father—your grandfather—Emmanuel. It will be the happiest day in my life for us all to be face-to-face again, and I cannot wait for it, so help me God.

  Love your father,

  Santiago.

  Adam and Emmanuel smiled at each other.

  “And you have been so worried about this letter, son,” said Emmanuel.

  “If I’d even been able to just see your name,” Adam said to his father, “I might have been able to make at least a little bit of sense of the rest of it… but this?” He shook his head and laughed.

  Santiago nodded, also amused. “I can see why. From this sad little piece that you had, this letter had a very different meaning.”

  “How long are you here for?” asked Adam.

  Santiago shrugged. “We will see. A long time I hope. With my mother gone and the estate no longer mine, my home is now the sea.”

  “What about your arm?” Adam asked.

  “It is very sore most of the time, but it does not move very correctly anymore. There was much damage at my shoulder.”

  “How did it start to improve?”

  “You remember my old friend Thomas Drake?”

  Adam nodded. “Of course!”

  “His wife’s father is a curandero. They knew of my condition, and she went to him and got some, ah… ¿Cómo se dice?… cataplasma de hierbas… herbs?”

  “Something of herbs?” said Emmanuel.

  “It is like a paste,” Santiago described, “of herbs, yes.”

  “A poultice,” said Adam.

  “Aha, yes, that is it,” said Santiago. “They were using it on my shoulder even when you were there, but I was very worried it would not work, so I sent you away. I will say that I got very much worse before I got better.”

  Adam was amazed. “But you got better. Thank God for it.”

  “Yes,” Emmanuel agreed. “Thank God.”

  He stood from his chair and walked between Santiago, who sat at the head of the table, and Adam, who sat at the corner, and he put his hands on both of their backs. “I cannot believe I have both of my young men here together at last. I can die a happy man now.”

  “Don’t even say that,” said Ad
am. “You can’t go anywhere anytime soon. I still have a year and a half left on my apprenticeship at least.”

  Emmanuel chuckled. “Believe me, son, I don’t want to go anywhere anytime soon, but I am only glad that us three can finally be together—however long it lasts.”

  The trio continued to chat for another hour when Adam suddenly wondered where Boaz was. He asked his grandfather.

  “Went to bed early,” said Emmanuel. “Said he knew my son and I could use some time to catch up.”

  “Well, I have another question,” Adam said to Santiago. “When would you like to go down to the tavern to see Mama?”

  Santiago gave a half smile. “I will be a little nervous to do it,” he said, “but what if we go see her together tomorrow at breakfast?”

  Adam looked at Emmanuel for permission. He was so used to having to ask before taking time off from work in the morning.

  Emmanuel nodded. “Of course you can go.”

  “Where are you sleeping tonight?” Adam asked. “Up here? You’re welcome to my room,” he said.

  “I thank you, son,” said Santiago. “But I will return to my ship. You rest well in your bed tonight. I will look forward to seeing you in the morning, and we can go see your mother.”

  At that the three of them bade each other good night. Santiago returned to his sloop, and Adam retired to his room. He couldn’t believe the incredible turn of events that this day had brought.

  Once he had undressed and climbed into his bed, he leaned his head out his window and looked at his father’s sloop, moored there just in the creek behind the warehouse. He couldn’t wait to go with him to the tavern in the morning. He couldn’t begin to imagine what his mother would say. He hoped she wouldn’t faint.

  FIRST THING IN THE MORNING, Adam and Santiago took Emmanuel’s horse cart to the Topsail Tavern. When they pulled up out front, Adam told Santiago to follow closely behind him but stay just outside the door. He wanted to make sure his mother didn’t have a tray or drinks in her hand when she saw him.

  The door of the tavern was propped open with a brick, as it always was on these warm days, and Adam stepped inside, beaming.

  “What’re you so happy about all of a sudden?” said Valentine from his perch behind the counter.

  Adam noticed Jackson was back at work but didn’t see his mother in the dining room. He said, “Where’s Mama?”

  “Kitchen. She’s helpin Aunt Franny with something.”

  Adam walked back outside without saying a word to Valentine. He told his father to follow him around to the back of the tavern, which he did.

  Adam saw that the kitchen door was also propped open with a brick. Adam motioned for Santiago to stand just to the side of the door so Mary wouldn’t see him right away.

  Adam stood in the doorway. “Good morning, Mama,” he said.

  Mary was over at a long table with Aunt Franny, rolling out pie crusts. “Good morning, sweetheart. What brings you over here so early?”

  Adam was trying so hard not to smile, he knew he had to look ridiculous. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  Mary wrinkled her brow. “What is it?”

  “Just step around that table for a minute and come over here.”

  Mary gave him a skeptical look. “I’m working.”

  “Would you just do it?”

  Mary looked at Aunt Franny. The old black woman shrugged her shoulders, then stepped away from the table herself to go check on something in one of the pots on the fire. Mary also came around the table as Adam had asked and began to walk towards the door where Adam stood.

  Just then he moved aside and motioned for his father to come forward. Santiago appeared in the doorway and then stepped inside.

  “Good morning, princesa,” Santiago said.

  Mary’s jaw dropped. The rolling pin that she was holding fell from her hand onto the floor.

  <<<<>>>>

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  Thank you for taking time to read The Gypsy’s Curse. If you enjoyed it, I hope you will consider telling your friends about it and posting a short review. Word-of-mouth referrals are an author’s best friend and are much appreciated.

  The Adam Fletcher Adventure Series

  The Smuggler’s Gambit

  Captured in the Caribbean

  Murder in the Marsh

  The Gypsy’s Curse

  More to come.

  Acknowledgements

  AS ALWAYS, MY GRATITUDE GOES, first and foremost, to God for allowing me to continue writing and publishing. I want to thank my family for putting up with me when it’s crunch time on getting these novels finished and to my copy editor. I’d also like to express my appreciation to artist, author, and Beaufort historian extraordinaire, Mary Warshaw, for her willingness to answer my countless questions about the charming port town in the eighteenth century, as well as Shannon Jenkins at the Division of Marine Fisheries, for answering other queries unique to this story. And I want all of you, my readers, to know how much I appreciate you for sticking with me (and Adam Fletcher) through this series. I have more adventures in mind, so if you keep reading them, I’ll do my best to keep writing them!

  —S.D.G.—