When that no longer became enough and curiosity began to take hold, Carolina began her search. She started with the photograph. There was no way she could date it, but it looked as though it had darkened and blurred with age. There was nothing especially remarkable about the man and woman in the photograph, except that Carolina looked nothing like them. They wore clothes that were plain and not particularly stylish—perhaps foreign-made. They both had dark hair and dark eyes—and dark skin. The woman especially looked exotic with long, dark hair, a full mouth and high cheekbones, a glimmer of laughter in her eyes—or was that Carolina’s imagination?
Then Carolina started researching the names on her birth certificate. Her own name had always been a curiosity—Carolina. Not Carol or Caroline, but Carolina. She had always reasoned that perhaps she had been born in North Carolina, and that was why she had been given such an unusual name. Her birth certificate, however, stated she had been born in Italy.
The names listed on her birth certificate identifying her mother and father were even more curious. Lyuba Hearne (Rossar-mescro) Lovel was her mother’s name. Her father was named Balo (Camlo) Lovel. Carolina didn’t even know what nationality they were. Eventually, she found out—with Larry’s help. Her parents were gypsies. That was when she legally changed her name from Branson to Lovel, the name of her birth parents—her birth name.
Chapter 5
Milosh hastily pulled the box from the back of the drawer and peered inside. Nothing was there except for the scrap of paper. There certainly wasn’t any gold. Disgusted, he crumpled the piece of paper and tossed it back into the drawer not even bothering to put it into the box. Lyuba is getting old, he thought. She can’t even remember the simple things. He went to the trunk where his father kept things of importance and began to rummage. He had remembered seeing a book—something about curses. That was what he really wanted to learn. How to put curses on those who stood in his way. On the bottom under a folded blanket he found what he was looking for. The book was old and tattered; most of it Milosh couldn’t even read. But there were parts of it he understood, and the drawings helped. He sat down in the corner of the small trailer that had always been his home, positioned now in the shadow of the Old Villa, and studied. Lyuba doubted him, but he would show her. He would show everyone who didn’t respect the son of the Bandoleer.
* * *
Except for the white cotton undergarments which were bought from the discount store in bulk to fit all sizes, the clothing provided at Wood Rose was either dark blue or pale yellow. The school class uniforms worn by the girls in high school consisted of a pale yellow blouse that was worn with a dark blue skirt, unlike the yellow blouses and blue jumpers worn by the elementary and middle-grade girls. All of the Wood Rose girls were required to wear dark blue socks and black, lace-up shoes until they reached high school. At that time they could do away with the dark blue socks and black lace-up shoes and either wear blue tights with black pumps or, in the hot summer months of July and August, black pumps without tights. The class uniforms were also worn to Sunday services.
In addition to the class uniforms, the residents at Wood Rose were supplied shorts, t-shirts, and tennis shoes for gym class and recreational activities, coats and gloves for cold weather, rain gear for inclement weather—all dark blue and pale yellow—and, of course, the white under garments. By providing uniforms for the residents, feelings of jealousy over clothing was eliminated, it was believed by Dr. Harcourt and the members of the board, and the girls’ focus could be turned to more important things, such as academics. In spite of the inflexibility of rules regarding the dress code, the FIGs, however, had found ways in which to demonstrate their individuality and qualities of genius by the subtle ways in which they wore their uniforms.
Dara, an African American from a back-bay area of Richmond, Virginia, the tallest and also the most outgoing of the three FIGs, could speak and write seven languages, including the ancient language of Sanskrit. She always wore her pale yellow blouse with the first two buttons open, thus revealing more of her skin than was necessary in the opinion of the faculty, staff, and administration.
Mackenzie, on the other hand, a little on the heavy side who had a tendency to lisp whenever she got nervous, and known for her accomplishments in the field of physics, calculus, computers, and problem-solving—especially in the area of complex geometrical puzzles—wore her blouse with all of the buttons closed. There was no record on file indicating where she had been born or who her parents were, a fact that would make no difference when years later she would be nominated as the first female presidential candidate of the United States.
And Jennifer, petite, blond, and still thought of as the new girl by the other two FIGs, and whose special abilities included art and music composition, chose to express her individuality in a different way altogether that didn’t even involve the blouse. She didn’t wear any underwear. Of course, this wasn’t as obvious as the buttoned or unbuttoned blouses, but she knew she didn’t have any underwear on, and so did the other FIGs. Identified as “a problem child with little prospect for adoption,” she had been sent to Wood Rose by an agency in upper state New York.
The three uniforms, and the girls wearing them, stood separated from Dr. Harcourt by his massive mahogany desk. Having read many books on character development and personality disorders, and considering himself an expert in most matters involving the human psyche, Dr. Harcourt naturally noticed the unbuttoned blouse worn by Dara. She was, after all, narcissistic—believing that the world revolved around her—In his educated opinion. The buttoned blouse worn by Mackenzie, an obvious display of anxiety paralysis, only confirmed his belief that she suffered from the condition of paranoia. He wondered what he was missing when he glanced at Jennifer—she was probably a borderline personality with a tendency toward violence. In any case, he decided their slight dress code indiscretions weren’t worth mentioning. He didn’t mention the Photinia frasen either. Instead, he merely instructed the girls to go to breakfast, then to Sunday services. “Ms. Lovel will talk to you later and explain things,” he said. As soon as the three girls left his office, he broke out in song, alarming Mrs. Ball to the extent that she immediately called security.
Carolina’s suggestion had made him almost lightheaded. For the first time since the FIGs had become residents at Wood Rose, he felt he might actually be free from the frequent migraines they had caused him over the years. Not only would they be off campus and out of sight, they would be out of the country and, therefore, unable to cause any additional turmoil and destruction.
Naturally, he had heard of the Voynich Manuscript; it was one of the great mysteries of the world. Apparently, Ms. Lovel had not only heard of it, she had spent several years researching it, something, oddly enough, that had not been mentioned on her resume. He wondered why. Her proposal to involve the FIGs in her research, however, was a good one. In fact, it was brilliant. It would certainly challenge their intellect. And, if anything came of it, there was the strong possibility that it would lead to additional State funding for Wood Rose. Ms. Lovel had even offered to pay for their expenses while abroad, to which he agreed; and because it wouldn’t involve an additional strain on the budget, he didn’t even see the need to get advance approval, which might delay their trip, from the board of directors. Not even from the outspoken Miss Alcott.
Standing slightly to one side of the multi-paned window, and partially hidden by heavy green fabric, he watched two men, part of the crew who had the responsibility of taking care of the grounds at Wood Rose, struggle to put the severed limbs and leaves hacked from his precious Photinia frasen into several large black plastic bags. He had told Ms. Lovel to immediately start making whatever plans were necessary; and as soon as she had everything finalized, she was to leave a copy of her itinerary with Mrs. Ball. Naturally, this “study abroad mini course,” which is how she described it, would conclude in time for graduation on the first Sunday in June. But not before, he was quick to add. He wished them much
success and would look forward to reading their findings.
Being completely honest with himself, he was a little envious of Ms. Lovel and the trusting relationship she had managed to build between herself and the FIGs in just a short time. As a former teacher himself, and as chief administrator of an educational institution, he wanted only what was best for all of the student-residents. He wanted to see each girl to develop to her fullest potential and succeed. But he knew that he had fallen short with the FIGs, and this feeling of disappointment overrode the pride he felt for all of his other accomplishments.
Making the three girls Ms. Lovel’s responsibility had been the right decision. Now, perhaps things would work out—for the FIGs and for Wood Rose. At least he could be comfortable with their future plans, because it was with his assistance all three girls had been accepted into excellent schools of higher learning once they left Wood Rose.
Just then there was a light knock on the door, and Jimmy Bob Doake whose shift didn’t end for another hour poked his head in. “Is everything all right in here, Dr. Harcourt? Mrs. Ball thought there might be a problem.”
“Everything is just fine, Jimmy Bob.” Dr. Harcourt smiled, one of the few times Jimmy Bob had ever seen him do it. “Just fine.”
* * *
After leaving Dr. Harcourt’s office, Carolina stopped by the dormitory to leave a message for the FIGs with the dorm mother, Ms. Larkins. She had crossed the biggest hurdle by getting Dr. Harcourt’s approval. She knew the expenses involved would be the stumbling block, which is why she offered to pay their way. After all, she had that fifty thousand dollars sitting in a bank. She would use some of that. Now she would have to see how the FIGs felt about her plan. She hoped they would be thrilled, but until she discussed it with them, she had no way of knowing. If they didn’t like her plan, life would be difficult at the very least.
Carolina found Ms. Larkins in the laundry room folding sheets.
“I just don’t know when they could have done it,” she bawled as soon as she saw Carolina. She flung herself and a wadded-up sheet still warm from the dryer at Carolina and whispered in her ear, “If you ask me, graduation for those three won’t get here soon enough—if you know what I mean.”
“No one is blaming you, Ms. Larkins. Everyone knows how well you look after all of the girls. It can’t be easy.”
Ms. Larkins grabbed another sheet from the dryer and thwacked it in the air, determined to remove any stubborn wrinkles or creases that didn’t belong.
“When the FIGs get back from Sunday services, would you please tell them to come to my bungalow?”
Ms. Larkins nodded, sniffed, and thwacked the sheet again, this time causing it to snap loudly.
Back outside Carolina breathed in deeply. The thick greenish-yellow tree pollen had finally disappeared, replaced by the fresh woodsy scent of pine. Exhilarated, she jogged toward her bungalow. She hadn’t told Dr. Harcourt everything, certainly not her personal reasons for getting involved with the Voynich Manuscript in the first place. Until now, she had only told Larry about her past, and he had been tremendously supportive and helpful in getting information—especially where it concerned her birth certificate. But she would tell the FIGs. Being totally honest and forthright with them was one reason why they respected her so much. She expected and received the same from them. She would show the FIGs what she had discovered so far to help them understand.
Outside her bungalow, she picked one of the hydrangea blooms—a delicate periwinkle blue with a tint of deep purple—that was just starting to open. It would look pretty in the orange carnival glass vase—a flea market find—in the middle of her kitchen table.
After putting the flower in water, Carolina went to her bedroom where, from under her bed, she pulled out a brown leather suitcase that contained years of research—her special project. It had been a while since she had looked at it, but it didn’t matter. She knew every scrap of paper by heart.
Chapter 6
Lyuba filled her basket with small bags of dried herbs, jars of ointment, and pretty bottles of oil. She also wrapped her crystal in the soft, black cloth and tucked it in at one end along with her Tarot cards which she protected with a scarf of black silk. She preferred to read palms—handwalking, she called it—but if someone asked for the crystal or cards, she would be prepared. The last thing she added was the parik-til she had made, just in case.
It was getting on toward mid-morning—time for the villagers to be up and about. Most of the gypsy women had left earlier, preferring to ride in the back of the pickup truck. She set out walking on the road she remembered from before, feeling a mixture of dread and anticipation. Two other women, also walking into the village, hurried to join her.
“So, Lyuba, do you think we will have a good day?” The young woman who asked the question was eager, but untrained. She had much to learn of the ways of the settlers she wished to sell to. If she presented herself in an aggressive manner, they would turn away from her. Lyuba nodded but didn’t speak. The other woman sensed Lyuba’s mood and pulled the young woman back. It was better to leave Lyuba alone with her thoughts.
It had been a beautiful spring day, much like this one, when Lyuba decided to take her young daughter with her into the village. She was such a pretty, happy little girl—fair complexioned, large green eyes, and beautiful dark hair. Nothing like her parents who were dark skinned and showed all of the physical characteristics of the black tribe. It happened—a white child born into the black tribe—but only rarely. How proud Lyuba was of Carolina, a rare child who had been born with the gift. Normally, Lyuba would leave her daughter behind at the camp where she would be protected. She wasn’t yet old enough to understand the ways of the settlers and how to deal with them. But it was such a nice day. The little girl, not yet four years old, would draw attention. People would buy Lyuba’s potions when they saw Carolina.
But that’s not what happened. Lyuba knew as soon as she got to the village that she had made a mistake in bringing her child. Evil was lurking nearby; all of the omens were present. She fled, taking the back streets out of town and then cutting through the gardens of the Old Villa. But the rushed pace tired her child, and carrying her slowed Lyuba. Instead of getting her daughter to safety, Carolina was taken by a man with the government agency. For weeks Lyuba begged him to give her back; after all, she was recently widowed, and Carolina was all she had left. In desperation, she even broke into the building where Carolina was being kept in an attempt to find her only child. They could have had her arrested, but they did not. Nor would they relent. And then Lyuba knew. Because her powers were innate, bred through a bloodline of generations of psychics, she knew that Carolina was no longer there. They had given her away to other parents in another country.
Heartbroken, Lyuba did something she had never done before: She put a curse on the man who was responsible for her pain. She wanted to make him suffer as he had made her suffer. A short time later, the travelers broke camp and continued on their journey, never to return to the place that caused their tribe so much sadness—until now.
* * *
“Well, that was weird.” Dara, Mackenzie, and Jennifer stepped out of the administrative building and into the bright sunshine. Several faculty members were watching two men rake the discarded limbs and leaves from the base of the now-denuded bush. When they saw the three girls, everyone casually turned and walked away in different directions, except for the two men who were doing the raking. “He didn’t even punish us.” Jennifer flipped her ponytail back and forth, something she usually did whenever she felt a keen sense of accomplishment.
“Not yet,” said Mackenzie, her hazel eyes starting to show concern.
“He’s not going to punish us,” said Dara.
“What do you think he meant when he said Carolina will explain things. What ‘things’?” Mackenzie glanced around to make sure no one was close enough to overhear. “You don’t think he fired her, do you?” The concern had now become worry.
; All three girls stopped walking and stared at each other. “Come on,” said Dara pulling the other two in the direction of the cafeteria. “He told us to go to breakfast and then services, so we’d better do it. Then we’ll find Carolina.”
* * *
Ms. Larkins was determined to do whatever was necessary to avoid being sucked into the blame for what the FIGs had done. She alone was responsible for the girls’ safe keeping between the hours of 10 o’clock in the evening and 7 o’clock in the morning. Other than severe illness or some natural disaster like a hurricane, there was no excuse for any of the girls to be out of bed, and certainly not out of their rooms, during those hours.
After the last offense when the FIGs had “foiled” Dr. Harcourt’s office, Ms. Larkins had taken added precautions to insure that she would be awakened if anyone were to attempt to leave the dormitory in the middle of the night. It was a crude idea, a string tied from the outer door to a bell she had next to her bed, and it should have worked. It didn’t. And now this. If Carolina wanted them to come to her bungalow after Sunday services, then, by gosh, she would make sure they got the message. With the sheet now partially folded, she positioned herself just outside the dormitory entrance to where she had full view of the administrative building. Within a few short minutes, the three girls appeared.
“Yoohoo,” she called, waving the sheet, and in a matter of seconds she had delivered the message, generating even more anxiety in the highly-intellectual minds of the three FIGs.
* * *
Within the walls of Wood Rose, as with most closed communities, information could be sent and received through osmosis. Everyone knew everything that was happening, especially whenever there was a “situation” on campus. This morning in the cafeteria it was no different, and all of the Wood Rose student-residents, seated at their assigned tables according to class in the dining room, were discussing what had taken place during the night while they slept, and guessing what would come of it.
The Cadence of Gypsies Page 4
