by Sarah Price
“Finny, romni.”
“I've seen you before, haven't I?” Before the girl could answer, Sahara shook her head. “Never mind that now. Find the wagon I'm suppose to pack this in.”
Finny nodded once. Her dark curly hair bobbed against her dark cheek. “Why, that would be the Rom Baro's wagon, romni. Follow me.”
The camp moved out ten minutes later. Sahara had finished loading Nicolae's belongings with Finny's help. There was no time to thank her as the younger men mounted their horses, kicking them into a gallop and disappearing into the night. They had special instructions from the Rom Baro where to go and when to stop. The rest of the camp would meet up with them eventually. The smaller children were already sleeping peacefully in the back of the wagons as the men and their wives apprehensively crawled up front.
Sahara sat between the tired girl, Finny, and the old man she had ridden with before. The final moments of chaos managed to find young Finny separated from her family. Frightened, she timidly grasped Sahara's hand. Trying to hide her own anxiety about the situation, Sahara had ordered the girl to ride with her. The old man glanced at Finny, regarding her with a scowl as he moved over to make room for her. The camp had been torn down for no more than what seemed like minutes before Nicolae raced along the wagon line, motioning for them to move out. The men slapped the leather reins against the horses' backs. With a jolt, the wagons lurched forward and the gypsy caravan vanished into the night leaving only smoldering campfires as proof that they had ever been there at all.
That first night of dancing was not her last. The man insisted that she dance by the fires and he watched her every time. No one was allowed to dance with her, no one was allowed to admire her. Not out loud at least. It didn’t take much to coax her to dance. A little bit of rakiya and some wild, fiery music would get her feet tapping. The man would encourage her, sitting by the fire and gesturing that she should dance. Many of the men around the fires dreamed that she was dancing for them but it was only for one man that she danced: the man who haunted her memory.
In her mind, she was back in Europe, the fires burning and the music playing while she danced. She could see him watching her, his presence standing out from the rest. It was as if she was alone with him, dancing just for him. She would smile to herself and remember, reliving those nights. Her body moved in rhythm to the music, her skirt and scarves casting shadows around the fire. She was beautiful and far away. And, in those moments, she was happy. It was always for his memory that she danced.
But the man who sat watching her, encouraging her, thought it was for him.
Chapter Eleven
“Wake up, Finny!” Sahara nudged the sleeping girl next to her. The sun brimmed over the edge of the horizon. The red sky welcomed the gypsies to a new day of running. The caravan rested momentarily by a small creek as the horses drank the cool water. The children raced around the embankment, laughing as they splashed each other despite their mothers' worried orders to stay away from the creek. As Sahara descended from the wagon seat, her knees cracked and she leaned against the side of the wagon. Stiff pain shot up her legs and spine but she forced herself to walk. For the past seven hours, she had driven the horses whenever the old man had thrust the reigns at her. No one sang or laughed as they rolled north into the night. The blackness had frightened Sahara more than the silence which meant the town men weren't on their trail yet.
Finny tried to get down from the wagon but fell into the dirt. Sahara quickly bent over, helping her stand on her shaky legs. “You ok?”
The girl nodded, pushing her hair off her face. “Yes, romni.”
Holding onto her arm, Sahara stared into her face. Yes, she thought. I recognize her now. The girl who had danced in the gold costume for Locke. “You are Greggor's intended?” Sahara thought she saw something cloud over in her eyes but the girl only nodded, diverting her eyes from Sahara's thoughtful gaze. Perhaps Greggor is her intended, Sahara realized, but her heart lies with Locke. Sternly, Sahara nodded toward the creek. “You best drink some water. Find your family and let them know you will continue to ride with me.” Sahara didn't wait for the girl's response as she walked away, looking for Nicolae.
A group of men stood in a circle by the creek's edge. They spoke softly, anxiously looking south. Sahara walked up to them, her heart pounding. Nicolae was not among them. When the men noticed Sahara's presence, they stopped speaking and watched her. Once again, Nicolae's wife was disregarding gypsy law and approaching a group of men. Sahara recognized their disgust but ignored it as she met the eyes of the only familiar face. Resting her hands on her hips, she lifted her chin as she asked, “Rom Baro, where is Nicolae?”
The old man looked especially tired and worn. His leathery face sagged as he raised his sunspotted hand to stop the murmur from the men. “Bori, you dare to approach the men when it is mahrime?”
Stamping her foot, she cursed at him. “Damn your mahrime!” She was too tired to play the Rom Baro's word games. When the Rom Baro did not respond, Sahara met his steady gaze. “I may be gypsy by blood and by marriage, Rom Baro. But I am gadjo by upbringing. I will not adhere to your silly rules and customs. Now, you answer me! Where is my husband?”
The Rom Baro smiled at her, giving his head a slight shake. He reached out with his dry, wrinkled hand and touched her arm softly. “You are most certainly Amaya's child.” At the mention of Sahara's mother's name, the other men raised their eyebrows and nodded their heads in agreement as if that fact excused Sahara's insolent behavior. Reluctantly, they left the Rom Baro, allowing him to speak with his daughter-in-law about her husband in private. “Nicolae rode back to see if we were followed.”
Sahara chewed on her lower lip, gazing in that direction that Nicolae must have traveled. “How long ago?”
The Rom Baro shrugged his hunched over shoulders. “I am not well, S'hara. I was sleeping when he left. I do not know.”
“When will he be back?”
“We will wait here until the rom returns.”
Sahara stared back at the old man, frightened by his answer. “The town men will come! Waller will die!”
The Rom Baro laughed, his hand tightening on her arm. “Waller will not die, no. He is long gone with the other boys on horseback.”
“I don't understand.”
“The gadjo will look for horse tracks as well as wagon tracks. Where the boys have gone, there are no wagon tracks, yes?” The Rom Baro smiled again. His teeth were brown and rotting. Sahara winced as his stale breath reached her. “We will meet the boys somewhere else.” He started to turn away but Sahara touched his arm to stop him. The Rom Baro slowly looked back at her. “I am tired, bori. What is it now?”
“Where will we meet them?” she demanded.
Bored with what he considered idle banter, the Rom Baro motioned toward the dusty road at her bare feet. “Down the road, bori.” The Rom Baro limped back to his wagon. “Always down the road.” He hung his head, his matted hair brushing against his face. A couple of young children crowded around him, laughing as they held their thin arms up for him to hold them. The Rom Baro smiled patiently, touching each child on the head as he continued walking through the young crowd. To the children, he was a mortal god, their savior leading them to safety once again. After the Rom Baro had disappeared into the back of his wagon, the children jumped into the creek again, splashing each other in the shallow waters until their mothers called them for a bite to eat.
“Romni?”
Sahara glanced over her shoulder. Finny stood a couple feet behind her, nervously twisting her hands. Sahara wondered why Finny was so anxious around her. Returning her gaze down the road, Sahara strained her eyes for any sign of a rider approaching. “Yes?”
“Will the rom be returning soon?”
“I don't know.” Sighing, Sahara walked with Finny to a large oak tree. If they had to wait, Sahara would rather sit in the shade instead of basking in the sun. “Certainly is hot, isn't it?” She
started to lift the corner of her long, black skirt to dab at her face and neck but thought better of it. Instead, she used her sleeve. “Do things like this happen often?”
Finny smiled as she leaned against the oak trunk. “It gets hot often, yes.”
An impatient frown crossed Sahara's face. “I meant being chased by town people.”
The slightest hint of a smile crossed Finny's somber face. “I know what you meant.” For the first time, Finny noticed Sahara's swollen eye. Reaching out, she softly touched the purple and black bruise. “What happened?”
Sahara winced at Finny's touch. Cautiously, she raised her own fingers to touch under her eye. The skin was tender and sore. She had forgotten about the man who had knocked her down. She hadn't even felt the gentle throbbing until Finny mentioned the bruise. Sahara met Finny's concerned gaze. “Is it that noticeable?”
Finny nodded her head once. “With colors like that, Nicolae is sure to see it, romni. His temper will soar for sure.”
“That's the last thing we need,” she said mostly to herself. Aware that she had spoken aloud, Sahara glanced at Finny. The young girl met her gaze and smiled encouragingly. Sahara returned the smile. “Perhaps he won't notice it right away, with the excitement and all.”
“Perhaps, romni.”
It was almost an hour later when several children began to scream and yell, racing raced down the dusty road where a lone horse raced toward them. “The rom! The rom has returned!” Sahara moved away from Finny as she squinted, trying to see the rider. The horse neared, a trail of dust behind it. Quickly, Sahara started to follow the children, her heart racing as she recognized the rider as Nicolae. The children gathered around Nicolae as he dismounted. Sahara stopped walking, hanging behind the eager crowd. Her eyes followed every movement Nicolae made. He bent down, picking up a small boy and tossing him in the air. The child laughed and begged for more as Nicolae set him back on the ground.
“Enough!” The cheerfulness vanished from his voice. The crowd remained silent, waiting to know whether the gadjo were following. The suspense grew until Nicolae slapped his horse's shoulder. “My mount was swift, yes?” No one answered. The silence was palpable. They waited, eager for an update. Nicolae kept the suspense by keeping his silence. He looked around at their faces, staring at him, waiting and wondering. Finally, he smiled. “Fortunately, the gadjo are not as swift!” A roar of relief swept the gypsies. Nicolae held his hand up to silence them. “Wait! There is more. The gadjo have followed the east road searching for young Waller. Someone misled the gadjo. But we still have a problem. We are not one tribe now but two, yes?”
The Rom Baro pushed through the crowd until he faced his son. “We are always one tribe!”
Nicolae shook his head. “The young men are south, we are north. We must find them before they disgrace us again. If we start now, we rejoin with the men by nightfall.” To Sahara's amazement, no one protested or argued. Instead, everyone turned around and headed for their wagons.
As the crowd broke up, Sahara realized Nicolae was staring at her. Lowering her eyes, Sahara tried to hide her bruise from his gaze. But as he approached her, she knew he had already seen it. “What is that, my bori?”
“What is what, Nicolae?”
His fingers dug into her chin, jerking her face upwards. His eyes widened as he gritted his teeth. “Who dared to touch you like that?”
“It was an accident.” She cringed under his fury. His fingers dug into her chin harder as he glared past her at nothing. Sahara reached up, pushing his hand away. “You're hurting me!” she whispered.
He released her arm immediately. Lightly, he brushed her arm as if ridding her of the pain he had unintentionally inflicted. “I apologize, my bori.” Gently, Nicolae touched her good cheek, smiling into her dark eyes. “We will discuss this later, yes? It is time to move on.”
Little beads of sweat dotted Sahara's forehead as she sat next to the old man. The sharp jolts of the wagon wheels caused Sahara to wince as she tried to sit upright. Her sides and back ached. Wiping the sweat away, Sahara squinted in the glaring sun. For three hours, the gypsy caravan travelled silently. Occasionally, a child laughed or a man hacked, the dust from the trail getting caught in his throat. Even the horses neighed less than usual as they trod down the long, endless road. The sun continually brightened its burning rays with no relief in sight. The dry prairie grass stood tall and motionless, a constant reminder that no wind cooled the stifling air.
Sahara moistened her parched lips, hating the dry, cracked feeling. She looked at the rest of the caravan. Everyone was tired and quiet, even the children who leaned their heads out the back of the wagons, their eyes drooping with sleep. Swallowing what little saliva was left in her throat, Sahara turned to the old man. “This is insane! You must stop! At least to rest the horses!”
“Shut yer mouth, bori!”
Her temper flared as she crossed her arms over her chest. “I wish I could! Only, it's too dry to shut!”
Finny touched Sahara's arm in a silent plea. When Sahara turned to face the girl, she saw Finny holding a metal flask out to her. “Drink this, romni. It will kill your thirst.” Sahara eyed the flask suspiciously, wondering what potent liquor awaited her. But her dry throat urged her to take it, drink the whole thing down. Her fingers touched the warm metal, pulling the cork out of the top. Slowly, she lifted it to her lips and tasted the warm water. Although it tasted sour, she took several swallows before she handed it back to Finny. The old man sneered at her. “You are more gadjo den gypsy, bori.”
Another silent hour down the road and the caravan stopped by a small river before crossing it. The horses bent their heads eagerly, drinking before the rest of the gypsies were allowed. But the rest was only momentarily. Sahara had barely jumped down from the wagon before the caravan continued on its way. It didn't surprise Sahara when the old man thrust the reins at Sahara and climbed into the back of the wagon to sleep. Tired, hungry, and restless, Sahara held the reins loosely in her small hands, allowing the horses to do whatever they pleased. Obediently, she stayed awake, watching the road with a half interested eye.
The sun began to set. The sky darkened to orange. Several stars twinkled in the endless sky but no moon shone overhead. The horses walked on slowly, their heads hung low and their feet almost dragging behind them. Sahara felt empty and lifeless, her arms numb and her hands blistered from holding the reins. Her body was aching, exhausted from sitting for so long. Her eyes drooped, not focusing on the beautiful sunset but the empty horizon. After hours of driving, there was still no sight of the men. So, when Nicolae raced by, his black hair flowing behind him as he cried out, “We have arrived!” Sahara awoke at once. Nudging Finny awake, Sahara looked around. The prairie grass beckoned the caravan. One by one, the wagons turned east onto the prairie. The grass began to bend down, creating a path to nowhere.
Several minutes later, the wagons moved into a circle. The men that had been sent ahead cheered and yelled, greeting their family and friends. Sahara stopped the wagon behind another and pulled the brake. Carefully, she lowered herself onto the firm ground. “May I never have to ride in a wagon again,” she mumbled to no one in particular as she started walking toward the crowd of people. Wagon doors opened as the children piled out, happy to be free of confinement and chase each other once again. The men hurried to set up the tents while the women unloaded their cooking utensils. Some children raced out of the growing darkness, each carrying a small armload of kindle. The young men had already started small fires. Onto these, the children threw their kindle, stirring the flames into a large roar. Everyone had a job.
Sahara walked over to the women and offered her assistance. One woman stared at Sahara, startled by her offer. But the woman nodded her covered head once and motioned for Sahara to stir the stew. The thin, brown liquid looked more like dirty water to Sahara as she pushed the large wooden spoon in a circle. The little pieces of meat she managed to uncover were as unappetizing as the rock that lay nex
t to the fire. A couple of old, rotting potatoes stuck to the bottom of the pot. With all the energy she had left, Sahara managed to scrap them off. By the time the tents were erected, the food was finished. Quickly, the men ate before scratching their sides and stretching out before the warm fire. The women waited patiently for the last man to be served before pouring the thin, tasteless stew into their own bowls. Sahara took the bowl Duda handed to her with a tired smile. She retired to the nearest wagon, leaning her back against the wheel as she hungrily swallowed her dinner.
Duda waved away Sahara's gesture to help clean up. Her toothless smile thanked the young girl for all her help. “You sleep now, yes?”
Sahara smiled back, her eyes practically shut. “I sleep now, yes.”
Inside her tent, Sahara stripped off her dirty clothes. Leaving them in a heap by the entrance, she crawled under the blanket and collapsed on the soft mattress. She wrapped her arms around a pillow, resting her cheek on the cotton cover. Her chest rose and fell as she shut her eyes. It felt wonderful to lay down on something soft. Each bone and muscle in her body hungered for sleep.
“Sahara?” Nicolae secured the flap shut and walked toward their bed. She heard him wrestling with his clothing as he threw them on the grass, kneeling beside her. He ran his fingers through her hair, his thumb caressing her cheek. Once again, he noticed the bruise under her eye. It angered him to know somewhere lived a man that had hurt his Sahara. “You are sleeping, yes?”
Lazily, Sahara lifted her arms up, wrapping them around his neck as she sighed. “I am sleeping, yes.” She rested her head against his shoulder.
“Without me?” His strong hands ran down the sides of her body, one finger tracing the outline of her spine. He held her tightly in his arms. Twirling her fingers through his hair, Sahara softly kissed his skin. His breath caressed her ear as he gently nibbled at her earlobe. “Or were you waiting, yes?” His husky voice sent a shiver down her back and she clung to him, ashamed of her own desire.
