The Gypsy Moon

by Gilbert, Morris

  Mrs. van der Klei laughed. “You do it very well. I remember you told my husband’s fortune last year. It almost convinced him that you really could predict the future.”

  “Nothing like that. It’s all nonsense, really.” Gabby’s lips stirred with a pleasant expression. “Will you be there, Mrs. van der Klei?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Then perhaps I’ll tell you your fortune.”

  Gabby turned to leave, but Mrs. van der Klei said, “Say, have you met the new pastor, Reverend Citroen?”

  “Yes, your husband just introduced me to him downstairs.”

  “So fine looking and such a good preacher.” She arched an eyebrow. “There’s a catch for you.”

  “A pastor doesn’t need a doctor for a wife. He needs someone who can go to teas and be sociable with the members of his congregation. But I’ll tell his fortune. Maybe I can match him up with a suitable girl. Maybe Doreen Hofmeyer.”

  “But she’s so—plain.”

  “A minister’s wife should be plain. Movie stars are the only ones who need to be beautiful.” Gabby laughed and shook her head. “Now I’m being foolish. I’ll see you later.”

  ****

  “Are you leaving soon, Gabby?” Dalton asked. He had run into Gabby as she came down the stairs. His glasses were pushed up on his head, and his clothes were disheveled, as usual.

  “Yes, in about twenty or thirty minutes.”

  “Are you going by my mother’s?”

  “Oh yes. I have to stop there for my gypsy costume I keep there.”

  “Come and have a cup of tea with me before you leave. I need to talk with you.”

  “All right, but I can’t take long. I must be at the church as early as possible. I have to make money for the missions, you know.”

  Dalton smiled. “I know, but this won’t take long.”

  The two went into the dining room, where Liza joined them around the heavy walnut table for a cup of tea. Dalton had gathered some papers together that he needed his mother to sign. “Be sure you bring them back with you,” he said. “Mother’s getting a little forgetful lately.”

  “I’ll take them, but I think you’re wrong, Uncle. Her mind is as sharp as ever,” Gabby said.

  “Is that fellow Lang Zeeman going to the festival with you?”

  “Yes, he is. And I’ve got to go, or we’ll be late.” She kissed her uncle and her aunt and then left the house.

  As soon as she was outside the door, Liza said, “I don’t think Zeeman is good company for Gabby.”

  “No, but how do you tell her that?” Dalton shrugged. “He’s handsome, and his family’s rich. And Gabby does seem to have a mind of her own.”

  “That may very well be, but you know as well as I do that he’s a wild young fellow. He’s very careless in how he treats others, and he’s not a Christian. I’m worried about Gabby.”

  Dalton was troubled also about his niece’s relationship with Lang. After sharing their concerns for several minutes, they prayed for Gabby. They were both intensely proud of their niece’s achievements and wanted to help her in any way they could. “Does she ever talk about her parents with you?” Dalton asked.

  “Never. Has she spoken to you?”

  “Not once in all these years. It’s like she’s buried all her memories of the past.”

  “I think they’re too painful for her, Dalton.”

  “I’m not sure that’s good. I wish we could have recovered her parents’ bodies and had a proper burial. I think it gives us a focal point for our grief, helps us to begin the healing process.”

  “But there was no chance of that. They went down with the ship.”

  “I know, so she never really had a chance to say good-bye to them.”

  The two sat silently for a time, and finally Liza said, “She’s a very strong woman and a fine Christian. She’ll be all right, but I wish she were interested in someone besides Lang.”

  ****

  Gabby stood in front of the mirror in her great-aunt’s extra bedroom, checking out her gypsy costume. She had used dark foundation on her face and hands and had covered her dark hair with a bright-colored scarf. Gold earrings glittered as she moved. She pulled on a vest over her brilliant green blouse and fastened the gold coins she had sewn on for buttons. Her aunt Liza had helped her make her outfit years ago. She topped the outfit with the necklace she always wore—the one Madame Jana had given her in another lifetime, it seemed. She twirled around and watched the long skirt brush the top of her black kid boots. She plucked a silk shawl from the shelf and draped it over her shoulders.

  “Would you like your fortune told?” she asked her reflection with a thick accent, trying to mimic Duke and Marissa’s accent as well as she could. “You will have good fortune.” She laughed and shook her head. “You would never have made it on the stage. It’s a good thing you became a doctor.” While Gabby knew she wasn’t talented enough to act professionally, she did love to dabble in it when the opportunity presented itself. She had often recruited friends and staff at the orphanage to help her put on skits and short plays for the children, complete with costumes and makeup. Her great-aunt was kind enough to let her keep everything she needed for these plays in the closet in the spare bedroom.

  She left her bedroom now and found Dorcas out digging in the garden.

  “You look like no young woman should look,” Dorcas said.

  “But, Grandmother, I look like a gypsy, don’t I?”

  She sniffed. “Foolishness, I say!” She got to her feet carefully, saying, “Oskar said Samson is harnessed. You be careful, now.”

  “What can happen to me at a church festival, Grandmother?” Gabby leaned over and kissed the woman on the cheek. “I’ll come home and tell you all about it tonight.”

  “Plain foolishness! God doesn’t need our help collecting money.”

  Gabby laughed. She was accustomed to her great-aunt’s tart remarks about parties.

  She went to the old carriage house that had once kept a buggy and the horses for transportation. Now the place had a musty smell, but she found Samson already hitched up to the wagon. She remembered how she and Oskar had labored over it, putting false sides on it, making it into an authentic-looking gypsy caravan. It had windows now and was painted red and green and yellow. She walked over to the horse and stroked its nose. “Samson, are you ready to go?” She dodged and laughed as he tried to nibble at her fingers. Lifting her long skirt, she climbed up into the seat. “Oskar, have you seen Lang?”

  “He’s waiting out in front. I told him you’d be right there.”

  Gabby took the lines from him and slapped them on the back of the horse. Samson moved out slowly. He was getting older now but was still capable of pulling the wagon, at least as far as the church. When she reached the front of the house, she turned slowly into the drive and saw Lang leaning against his car. He came over to the wagon.

  “Well, I’m here, but I don’t like it.”

  “I wish you’d let me dress you up too. You’d look handsome in a bright red shirt and earrings.”

  “I’m not dressing up and that’s final.” Lang Zeeman was a fine-looking man of twenty-six. He had once been in medical school, but he had dropped out, abandoning his studies out of sheer laziness. He was witty, and his family had plenty of money, so there was no reason for him to feel insecure. He had the reputation of being rather wild, and the sleek, powerful car he drove gave evidence of his exorbitant taste. He was very fond of Gabby.

  He clambered up in the wagon seat beside her, grumbling, “I don’t see why you want to do this. It’d be much easier just to make a contribution.”

  “I am going to make a contribution,” she said. She clucked at the horse, which started up at once. It was May, and the weather was cool but pleasant. The sun sent its yellow beams down, and as the wagon rumbled over the cobblestones, the two rocked gently from side to side.

  “You should have become an actress. You like to dress up and play roles so much.”<
br />
  “What roles do I play?”

  “Oh, you play being a fortune-teller, and you play being a doctor,” he teased her. “I think you see yourself in a drama always—the great doctor Gabrielle Winslow rushing to save those threatened with death by plague!” He laughed and put his arm around her, pulling her close and kissing her on the lips.

  She quickly pulled away.

  “You’re not too good at playing love scenes, though. Too shy.”

  “Lang, somebody will see us!”

  “What if they do? We’re courting, aren’t we? As a matter of fact,” he said almost gruffly, “we’ve been courting so long I feel like I’ve got a long white beard.”

  Gabby laughed at him and pushed him away. “You stay on your own side of the seat. At least in daylight.”

  Lang brightened up. “Oh, all I have to do is wait until dark, and then you’ll come to my manly arms!”

  Gabby rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the road. She had mixed emotions about Lang. He seemed serious enough at times, but the way he lived troubled her. She found herself drawn to him, for he was charming and highly intelligent. He worked in his father’s factory, and one day he would own it, but still there was something that kept her from making a commitment. She knew he cared for her, but she didn’t know if his interest was anything more than temporary. She also was aware that he had dated a number of women, which bothered her greatly.

  ****

  The fete was a rousing success, and at the end of it, Reverend Citroen came across the park to applaud her efforts. “Congratulations! You must have taken in a bundle. You were busy all day.”

  “Yes, Reverend, I was busy, but I had lots of fun. I know the missionaries will make good use of the money we made.”

  “I know you’re right about that.” He put his hands in his pockets. “A few of us are going to get together tonight to celebrate a successful fund-raiser. I’d like you to come if you could.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I have another engagement.”

  “Well, some other time, then. Thank you so much for all your efforts. They’re greatly appreciated.”

  As the pastor turned away, Lang approached Gabby. “Guess who I found down the way. An old friend of yours.”

  He turned and grinned as a woman appeared from behind him.

  “Betje!” Gabby exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

  Betje was wearing an artistic sort of dress, loose fitting but gaily colored. She laughed and said, “Why are you so shocked that I would come to a church event? Where have you been? I haven’t seen you for so long.”

  The two women embraced and spent a few moments catching up while Lang stood by idly. Betje had become an artist. She had spent several years learning to paint in France. It was also apparent she had picked up some bad habits, and Gabby noticed a hardness in her friend she hated to see.

  “Listen, we’re going out on Frederick’s boat. You must come with us—you and Lang.”

  Gabby shook her head. “You know I can’t do that.” Frederick Godfried was a wealthy friend of Lang’s who owned a yacht, albeit a small one. The boat had earned a bad reputation, for it was the scene of frequent parties that ended in drunkenness and immorality, so it was believed.

  “Come along,” Lang said. “You need to relax. We’ll have a good time.”

  Betje nodded. “Gabby, you work all the time. You need to have some fun once in a while.”

  The argument went on for a considerable time, and finally Betje grew angry. “You’re going to be a stale, dried-up old woman!” She turned and walked away, leaving Lang alone with Gabby.

  “She put it badly, but she’s right. You need to learn to relax and have some fun. Besides, nothing bad will happen on the yacht. I promise you that.”

  “I don’t think you can promise that, Lang. You know what Frederick is like. You’ve been on that boat before, haven’t you?”

  He flushed. “Once or twice.”

  “And people were always drinking and partying and doing all kinds of things, weren’t they?”

  “We don’t have to take part in any of that.”

  “I wouldn’t find it much fun to be around a bunch of people who are drinking.”

  Suddenly, Lang stepped forward and put his hands on her arm. “Look, you know I want to marry you, don’t you?”

  Gabby was startled at his words. Lang had tempted her before, testing her virtue, but she had always drawn a strict line. Now she stared at him. “You’ve never mentioned marriage before.”

  “Well, it’s time I settled down. I think we’d have a good marriage. You know I care deeply for you.” When she was silent, he added, “And I believe you care for me.”

  Gabby was confused by his sudden mention of marriage. She did like Lang Zeeman very much, but it was a big leap from liking someone to marrying him. She felt as if she were on a huge cliff about to step off into nothingness. For lack of a better answer, she said, “It’s something we’ll have to talk about, Lang.”

  He took her in his arms and kissed her. His lips were demanding, and she gave herself to him for a moment. She was not unaware of the desire she felt for his affection. She had never denied that part of her nature and thought women who did deny it were foolish. She was stirred by his kiss, and when he drew his head back he laughed.

  “You see. There’s a tiger in you somewhere. Come along. I’ll take you home. You can get out of that garb, and then we’ll go out for coffee and talk about it.”

  Gabby nodded with relief. “That will be fine.” She pulled all her things together, and they went to the edge of the park, where the horse and wagon waited. On their way to her great-aunt’s house, they spoke lightly of how the evening fund-raiser had gone, but Gabby’s thoughts were elsewhere. Her relationship with Lang was the most serious thing she had faced since the loss of her parents. She had thought of marriage often and prayed that God would send her the right man. She knew that Lang Zeeman was not a Christian, although he was a member of the church. She kept up the light banter with him but knew she would have to make a decision soon.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  A Change of Direction

  Gabby strolled along the dike, looking out over the choppy water held back by the structure in the never-ending battle with the ocean. The August sun beat down strongly, warming the back of her neck and nearly blinding her as it struck the water. Blinking, she turned away and continued walking slowly, occupied with fond thoughts of this country she had come to love so dearly. Ever since she had made her life in Holland, she had been intensely aware of the constant struggle between water and dry land. She often found herself quoting Coleridge’s “Rime of the Ancient Mariner” under her breath: “Water, water, everywhere . . .” She had heard one Dutchman summarize the goal of the country in one sentence: “It is to possess the land where water wants to be.”

  She had studied her history well and knew that little by little the country was sinking into the sea. In fact, half of the country now sat below sea level. The Dutch had fought for centuries to stave off the attacks of the sea and to control the rivers, which were prone to flooding. They had constructed an amazing system of dikes, along with canals and pumps to drain the land. Without this elaborate system, much of the country would be under water, including the main cities and ports.

  Overhead, a flock of sheldrakes scored the summer sky, which was as blue as she had ever seen it and seemed solid enough to strike a match on. She had recently been reading about the social changes that the challenging sea had made in the Dutch way of life. As flooded lands were reclaimed for farming, some fishermen adapted their skills to growing crops, and later many of these farmers became industrial workers. Gabby had always been aware of the Dutch character and admired their courage, their tidiness and humor, and the smugness and the conservative streak that ran through them. She believed, as did others, that the Dutch had been formed by the waters surrounding them.

  Gabby stopped by an orange cat lying on the dike that had been wat
ching her approach with heavy-lidded eyes. It rose and stretched and then pressed against her leg. When she bent over and stroked it, it purred loudly.

  “Nice kitty,” Gabby said. She stroked it again, and suddenly the cat jerked away and slashed at her with its claws. The claws caught in her sleeve and ripped it, and she jerked up. “Aren’t you a fine one!” she muttered. “See if I ever pet you again.” The cat looked at her and then lay down like a sphinx, paws out straight and head held high, looking out at the canal.

  Gabby shook her head and laughed. She continued her walk along the dike and then turned and crossed one of the many bridges that spanned a still stream. She stopped at the top of the arch and looked down. The water was so clear she could see her facial features, and she studied them for a moment almost clinically. I’m twenty-four years old now, she thought, and where am I going? I’ll never win a beauty contest, but that’s all right. I don’t want to anyway. The thought amused her, and for a time she sat there taking in the sight of the three windmills that stood like silent sentinels watching the sea. Usually, the blades turned slowly, sucking the water up from the land and pumping it drop by drop back into the sea in an endless cycle. She had always loved the windmills—they seemed to have a graceful beauty for all their size. No sight stirred her more than a series of windmills spinning rapidly in a stiff breeze.

  She crossed to the other side of the bridge and leaned over to pick up several small stones. She tossed one of them into the stream and watched the circles spread from the spot where it had hit the water. She threw another stone a little farther down the stream. She listened for the plop and watched the concentric circles form. They struck against the first ones, creating small areas of confusion that disturbed the pattern. The circles reminded her of life. When you throw one stone, she thought, it’s very simple. It sends out circles with nothing to interfere, and everything is orderly and neat and systematic. But when you throw another stone, that pattern is broken. She impulsively threw the rest of the stones. They scattered, and there was no pattern of geometric circles at all. Simply confusion. That’s the way it is. But life isn’t one stone falling into the water making a pattern. It’s a dozen or twenty, and soon everything is confused.