In complete contrast to the Gypsies, Cara rode behind them, slim and fair, wearing her icy blue satin costume dress with the long train. Her hair was unbound and made a glowing halo around her. Denny was leading Cayenne, and he could hardly keep from glancing behind just to look at her. Whenever he did she smiled shyly at him.
Behind her the two deputies rode side-by-side. Deputy Maltby had begrudgingly gotten in a better mood, while Deputy Ingram was positively enjoying himself. Neither the Gypsies nor Cara spoke to all of the people who stopped to watch them, though they looked around and nodded acknowledgments to the crowd. At first people were silent with amazement as they came out of the stores and offices on Main Street to crowd the boardwalks and see the spectacle. Then they began buzzing, “Who are they? Look at that beautiful young lady! She’s not a Gypsy, they’re Gypsies, aren’t they? Where did they get those horses! And look, look it’s a mountain lion!”
Deputy Ingram lifted his hat to some ladies and called out, “These are some of the actors in The Countess and the Gypsy Queen, ladies. They’re performing on the steamer the Queen of Bohemia. They’ve decided to bring out their animals to get some fresh air, and to see our lovely city.”
One fresh-faced young buck called out, “Can the Countess and the Queen please stay for awhile?” Laughter greeted this sally—at least, from some of the men.
Walking unobtrusively along the boardwalk, keeping up with the “parade,” Gage enjoyed seeing people’s reaction; he even chuckled at the young man who watched Nadyha and Cara so longingly.
Every once in a while, Nadyha looked directly at him. She didn’t smile, but Gage could have sworn he heard her voice in his head.
Thank you, Gage Kennon.
CHARITY SUFFERETH LONG, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. Charity never faileth . . .
Gage read the words over and over again, and tried to figure out if he was really in love with Nadyha.
I do suffer long, he thought with arid amusement. And I think I’m a kind man, at least I try to be. But envy . . . jealousy . . . Gage was jealous of Nadyha, he admitted to himself. He had seen the marked attention that the pilot Stephen Carruthers paid her, and there were some young men, passengers in second class, that hounded her every step when she left her stateroom. Although Nadyha kept them all at her customary arm’s-length, Gage couldn’t help it, he wanted her all to himself, and he wanted other men to stay away from her.
So here I am, behaving unseemly, seeking my own, easily provoked. Is this love? Or is it just desire, just a physical hunger? Gage struggled with himself, trying to answer this exceedingly important question.
She is such an enticing, alluring woman, what man wouldn’t desire her? But really, it’s so much more than that . . . just thinking of spending my life with her, with waking up to her every morning, each day would be sweet-spicy, just like elachi, Grains of Paradise . . .
After awhile, he made himself stop trying to analyze his own heart. What difference does it make anyway? Nadyha isn’t attracted to me, sometimes I think she really doesn’t even like me much. I guess I better just concentrate on “bearing all things”. . .
Denny came in, and looked alarmed at Gage sitting at the table with his Bible open in front of him. “Are you—uh—praying?”
“No, just sulking,” Gage answered. “Come on in.”
Though Denny and Gage were sharing a second-class stateroom, Denny was hardly ever there. He mostly stayed with his uncle, schmoozing passengers in the Moravian Salon or on the promenade or playing cards in the Count of Lusatia Cardroom. Now he was holding a crystal tumbler with ice and a brown liquid, and he took a deep drink as he sat at the table with Gage.
“Please tell me you’re not drinking whiskey before the show,” Gage grunted.
“No, it’s sweet tea,” Denny retorted. “Why, are you nervous?”
“No, I’m not nervous. I just don’t want you tossing plates up in the air that sail to Vicksburg or come crashing down on the passengers’ heads.”
“I’m dead sober, sir, so don’t worry about it, I’ll toss ’em so good even Boldo could hit them. But what I still can’t believe is that you talked Nadyha into being your show assistant. How’d you manage that?”
“I dunno,” Gage said dryly. “I just asked her, and she said yes. She had to tell me ‘yes’ three times before it got into my thick head.”
Denny cocked his head and stared at Gage curiously. “You really care about her, don’t you, Gage? I mean, you’re falling for her, aren’t you?”
Gage rose and went to stand in front of the window, watching the shores of the Mississippi River glide past. Quietly he said, “Once Niçu and I were talking about Gypsies’ marriages. Did you know that they don’t celebrate birthdays, that their wedding is considered the most important event in their lives, and that they celebrate their anniversaries always? And Niçu said that it sometimes happens that a Gypsy man will fall in love with a gaji, and if she consents to completely become a Gypsy and live their life, the vitsi will accept her, and she becomes one of the husband’s family.” Brooding, he fell silent.
“What about a Gypsy woman and a gajo?” Denny asked quietly.
It was a long time before Gage answered. Finally he said, “Niçu said that if a Romany woman fell in love with a gaje, she’d probably be shunned, cast out of the vitsi. But he said he’d never heard of that happening. As far as he knew, no Romany woman had ever wanted to marry a gaje.”
Denny seemed at a loss for words. Finally Gage turned to him and said in a blustery voice, “Well, I ain’t nervous but I sure am going to be hot.” He went to the hooks lining one wall and put on a black satin vest. Then he buckled on a black leather gunbelt with two Colt .44 pistols in holsters at each side, and pulled on a long, black frock coat. “And I look like an undertaker. Another one of your fine ideas, me dressing up all in black. I look weird, and I’m hot.”
“Niçu’s dressed all in black and he’s not crying like a girl about it.”
“He’s not wearing a vest and coat. Why do I have to wear the vest and coat?”
Denny explained carefully, “Because you’re not a Gypsy. You’re Gage Kennon, Dead-Eye Sharpshooter.”
Gage rolled his eyes as he put on his black hat. “Sometimes I really wish,” he grumbled, “that I was a Gypsy.”
THE STEWARDS HAD PUT out sixty deck chairs on the port side of the Hurricane Deck, and they were full, and there were about another fifty people standing. Denny made a mental note to set out a hundred chairs for the next show. He was a little surprised to see so many women; he hadn’t really thought that Gage Kennon the Dead-Eye Sharpshooter and Niçu the Knife-Thrower would be such a draw for females.
Bales of hay were stacked up, three deep and six high, at the stern end of the deck, and two tables were on either side of them. Twenty feet in front of the hay were two more tables. Mirella stood by one, dressed in Gypsy finery, her face glowing with excitement. On the table was the butcher block holding Niçu’s throwing knives.
Nadyha stood by the other table that held a long wooden case, black velvet-lined, and ammunition. Denny was amused to see that she had dressed in one of her theater costumes, a black diklo with silver threads and coins, a black blouse, black leather vest, black skirt, and a serpent-green scarf around her waist. She and Gage would look like a pair of crows if they weren’t such handsome people, he thought. It’s sad about Gage . . .
Gage and Niçu came on deck, grinning and waving at the audience, who spontaneously started applauding. Denny stepped in front of the railings that had been set up to keep the people from getting too close to the firing range. “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to our show. You’re going to see some of the best shooting, and the most miraculous knife-throwing
that’s ever been performed.
“Everyone please stay behind the railings until the show is over. But”—Denny grinned devilishly—“after the show, Gage and Niçu want to invite you to come over and talk to them, see their weapons, and it’s possible that they may even let you show off your marksmanship and knife-throwing skills!”
At this announcement, which Denny had just thought of at that moment, Gage gave him a look that would have melted polar ice. Nadyha laughed.
Before the show began, Nadyha and Mirella allowed the audience to inspect the weapons. Gage put the pistols in the case, and Nadyha walked very slowly down the line of people, holding out the case and saying, “You will see that these are Colt .44 handguns, six-shot revolvers. There is nothing special about them, any one of you can buy this same gun in any armory. You will see that Gage Kennon is a tricky shot, but there are no tricks about the guns!”
Then Mirella brought the butcher block of knives over to display them. She walked up and down the line of people, pulling out a knife every few steps, and holding it high to glitter dangerously in the late afternoon sun. Finally she stopped and said, “I don’t suppose any of you would like to offer an article of clothing for a demonstration? No, of course not. Nadyha?”
Nadyha stepped up, threw a madras shawl into the air, and Mirella held out two of the knives straight in front of her. As the heavy shawl fell on the blades, the material cleanly split on the blades. “Oohs” and “aahs” sounded from the audience.
Mirella and Nadyha then set up two targets. The one on the left looked exactly like the six of spades from a pack of cards, and the one on the right looked like the six of clubs. In turn, Gage shot the center of a spade, Niçu landed a knife right in the center of a club, until all of the designs had holes straight through.
Next, Denny threw plates into the air—on the starboard side, of course—and Gage shot them. At the Gypsy camp they had carefully measured out the square footage for Gage’s rehearsals, so Denny knew just where to stand and how to throw the plates so that they would fall to the deck instead of overboard. Gage had found that if he shot them in the center, they would fall fairly straight, but if he hit the edge of the plate it ricocheted. Denny had spent a lot of money on ammunition for Gage’s practice, but now every single plate had a hole in the exact center. After shooting a dozen plates, Nadyha and Mirella picked them up and held them high so that the clean center holes could be seen.
Niçu did his newest trick, one he had thought up himself. He juggled four knives, impossibly fast, the blades flashing a silver blur. Then, with a flourish, he took one step backwards and the knives all landed, thwack-thwack-thwack-thwack in a row on the deck, blades half-buried. That earned him a long, enthusiastic ovation.
Mirella and Nadyha set up new targets with different designs, and Niçu and Gage in turn stood with their backs to the targets, whirled, and landed shots and knives in whatever was the bull’s-eye. Gage admitted to himself that in spite of his complaining about his clothes, he had consciously practiced whirling around with a flair, and making showy quick-draws.
To end the show, Gage stood at his table, his stance easy and relaxed, his hands down at his sides just by the deadly looking guns. Nadyha tacked up a target; it was a completely blank sheet of white pasteboard, and it was small, only eight inches by ten inches. The audience was silent, puzzled. Nadyha came to stand by the railing. Gage took a deep breath, then drew both guns and started firing. Twelve shots sounded so close together they were almost like one enormous explosion.
When the smoke from his heated guns cleared, the audience was still staring blankly at the target. It was so far away that they couldn’t see what Gage had done. Gracefully Nadyha went to the target, pulled it down, held it high over her head, and walked very slowly down the rows of people.
On the tiny target, outlined in bullet holes, was the head and shoulders of a man. Where his heart would be, there were two holes exactly one-half inch apart.
Even the people seated leaped to their feet for a standing ovation.
Denny walked to the railing, his hands held high. “We hope you enjoyed the show, ladies and gentlemen! Gage and Niçu will be happy to talk with you and answer questions now. Thank you!”
It seemed that every person wanted to talk to them. The second- and third-class passengers had no societal constraints, so they crowded around the tables and introduced themselves and fired questions. But the first-class passengers required introductions, and Denny was very busy making Gage Kennon and Niçu properly known to several ladies and gentlemen.
Theodule Dobard, with his habitual happy expression, came up to Denny with his grim wife and lovely daughter in tow. “We’d all like to meet Mr. Kennon,” he told Denny. “Would you be so kind as to introduce us?”
“Of course, sir.” Denny led them through a crowd of two couples, four men, and a family of five to get close to Gage. He was standing at the table, his guns laid out and unloaded, gesturing and talking with animation. Denny cleared his throat and Gage turned to him. “Mr. Kennon, I have the honor of making known to you Mr. Theodule Dobard, Mrs. Euprosine Dobard, and Miss Monique Dobard, of New Orleans. Mr. Dobard, Mrs. Dobard, Miss Dobard, it is my pleasure to introduce you to my friend, Mr. Gage Kennon, also of New Orleans.”
Theodule Dobard immediately started firing questions at Gage, about the guns, about his skills, about his experience as a sharpshooter. Mrs. Dobard sniffed and looked bored. But Denny noted that Monique Dobard was watching and listening to Gage with a certain feral, hungry look in her dark eyes that Denny recognized very well.
When her father took a breath, Monique stepped forward to stand close to Gage and gaze up at him appealingly. “Mr. Kennon, I’ve never shot a gun in my life, I’ve never even held one. Would you be so kind as to do a small demonstration . . . just for me?”
Gage smiled pleasantly, the exact same smile he gave everyone, from the wealthiest first-class gentleman down to the ten-year-old boy in third class. “Certainly, ma’am. I’ll show you how to load the gun, but I’m sure you understand that right now, with everyone around, I can’t allow it to stay loaded.”
“Mm, then I suppose you can show me how to load and how to unload,” she said, smiling back at him. “And then, perhaps, you might show me how to hold it, and point it? I’m really very interested, after your magnificent show. I may take up target shooting myself.”
“Monique, what are you talking about?” her mother demanded. “Ladies don’t go about shooting pistols like some back alley gunslinger!” She gave Gage a very dark look.
Monique, still looking up into Gage’s face, said sweetly, “Maman, it’s really very warm up here, you know you feel faint when you get too warm. Papa, perhaps you might want to take Maman into the salon and get her an ice or a sherbet.”
“All right, but I did want to talk to you some more, Mr. Kennon,” Dobard said begrudgingly. “Perhaps we might meet later, sir, in the card room?”
“Perhaps Mr. Kennon will join us at our table for dinner,” Monique suggested, giving her mother a warning glance. Euprosine Dobard’s mouth shut with an audible click. Monique entwined her arm with Gage’s and gave him a melting look from beneath her thick, dark eyelashes. “Would you be so gracious as to dine with us tonight, Mr. Kennon?”
“Thank you, ma’am, I’d be happy to,” Gage said, looking slightly bewildered.
Denny kept watching with the utmost enjoyment. It seemed that Gage not only had to show Miss Dobard how to hold a pistol, he was required to stand behind her as she extended her arms, and place his hands over hers to help her point it properly. Those sultry, sassy Creole women! No wonder I love New Orleans! Denny reflected.
Then, abruptly, he wondered where Nadyha had gone. Mirella was still with Niçu, but there was no sign of Nadyha in the crowds at either of the tables. He searched around and saw her, standing against the port rail. She stood stiffly, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. She was watching Gage and Monique Dobard, and the expression on her fa
ce was of barely concealed fury.
Denny thought, How about that? Maybe it’s not so sad about Gage after all . . .
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Baba Simza, your lace is so much better than mine,” Cara sighed. “I’m afraid when I add my pieces to yours, it’s going to look like I found some of it in a secondhand shop’s ragbin.”
“Shesti, bitti gajo,” Simza chided her. “You teach me, mine looks just like yours.” Cara had taught Simza and Mirella how to tat lace. The truth was that even though Cara had been tatting lace since she was eight years old, the Gypsies’ lace was finer than hers. Nadyha, Mirella, and Simza all loved any kind of needlework. Nadyha had quickly learned tatting, but in the last few days she had been so restless and preoccupied that she hadn’t done much sewing or needlework.
In the days on board the Queen, they had all fallen into a routine. Nadyha adored her first-class stateroom simply because she had a private “verandah” but she did get lonely and bored. Simza, Cara, and Niçu and Mirella all had second-class staterooms, so Nadyha invited them to come to her stateroom every morning. She had also invited Denny and Gage. Denny declined because he always slept late—the Gypsies still started their day at dawn—but he had obligingly arranged for them to have breakfast brought to Nadyha’s room. They stayed there until luncheon (as it was called on the Queen of Bohemia), unless the ship made a wood stop, which they did twice a day. Then Nadyha, Niçu, and Mirella always took a walk, usually taking out Tinar and Saz and Cayenne. Nadyha hadn’t tried taking Anca for a walk again, but Denny had told her that his uncle was making arrangements for the theater troupe to “tour” at all of their ports of call on the return trip.
The River Palace: A Water Wheel Novel #3 Page 24
