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  LADY GYPSY

  Pam Crooks

  Copyright 2011 by Pam Crooks

  All rights reserved. No portion of this ebook may be reproduced, re-sold, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written consent of the copyright holder.

  Lady Gypsy is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in these works of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by, the trademark owners.

  Version 2013.6

  Brief Excerpt

  CHANGING FORTUNE

  “What do you see?” Reese asked, his voice low, curious.

  For a lengthy moment, she did not answer. Hardly aware of it, she touched her fingertip to his Heart Line, following the groove in a slow, caressing stroke.

  “You will have a great love someday, Reese,” she said softly. “A woman will wed you, and you will love her as you have loved no other. Your marriage will endure. You will be happy, and the love you have for each other will last forever.”

  A silence fell between them. Somehow, their fingers became entwined, each coiling around the other’s, their grip soon clinging and intimate.

  “My turn, Lady Gypsy,” he said quietly.

  Before she could resist, he pulled her toward him, twisting their bodies so that she lay beneath him on the tablecloth-covered floor, their entwined hands resting near her head.

  Filled with raw emotion, his gaze roamed over her face. “I predict you'll have a great love of your own. A husband who'll hold you in his arms at night and thank God with every fiber of his being that you're his.”

  Her teeth bit into her lower lip, and she turned away. “Do not tease me, Gajo. I cannot bear it.”

  Gentle fingers took her jaw and turned her back again. “It's the truth. I swear it. And he'll be a man to be envied.”

  To Gypsies everywhere, for their fascinating customs and beliefs. And for giving me Liza.

  What readers are saying about Lady Gypsy!

  “Lady Gypsy will steal your heart with charm, honor, turmoil, wit, and strong love.”

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  Write a Review

  Newsletter

  About Pam

  Chapter 1

  Northern Nebraska, 1876

  Damned Gypsies.

  Reese Carrison reined in his horse and grimly watched the colorful, high-wheeled wagons rolling along the sun-bright horizon. Like a trail of ants, they made their way around the outskirts of Niobrara City and halted near woodland bordering the river.

  There they would camp. One night, maybe two, he guessed. The trees hid them from the townspeople’s view; lush rangeland offered unlimited grazing and valuable water for their horses. And then, as quietly as they arrived, they would leave again, their destination as mysterious as the Gypsies themselves.

  Reese breathed a silent curse. He didn’t need them here. Not today. He didn’t need the problems they’d bring, problems that spawned complaints of stolen chickens, unruly children, and women begging in the streets. Niobrara City’s saloons would fill with boisterous, dark-skinned men who, in their drunkenness, hurled insults at the non-Gypsy and left a string of frustrated and angry shopkeepers in their wake.

  Reese sighed. No, he didn’t want them here today. Today was special. He’d waited most of his life for this day. Today, his railroad would finally link up with the prestigious Union Pacific line.

  The Nebraska-Dakota Railroad grew out of his sweat and blood--and every dime he owned. Niobrara City would’ve been little more than a row of shanties and false-front businesses if not for him. The N & D provided area farmers and ranchers with a shipping point to Omaha markets. It provided employment for the citizens. It put Niobrara City on the map.

  All he lacked was a wife to share his satisfaction with and sons to someday hand his hard-won legacy down to. But that would come. Rebecca Ann had traveled all the way from St. Louis for the ceremony. She would make a fine wife. Today, he’d ask for her hand.

  His mood lightened. He swept a glance toward the riverbank and the wagons spread in a wide half-circle. Already, several campfires flickered and danced.

  The little railroad was his pride and joy. He lived and breathed the N & D. It was his life. His dream. And he would celebrate its completion today.

  He tugged his hat brim lower over his eyes, then nudged his pure-bred stallion forward. He’d waited too long for this day and the ceremony that would begin in a few hours’ time. Nothing was going to ruin it for him.

  Not even a band of Gypsies.

  “Come with us, Mama.” Liza arranged stacks of woven baskets in the battered cart and cast a sidelong glance at her mother. “Our pockets will fill with the Gaje's money quickly. It will be fun.”

  “Pah!” Mama twisted and spit in the weeds. “I will not breathe the same air as the stupid Gaje! I will stay here in the camp. Far away from them.”

  “Oh, Mama.” Liza shook her head in exasperation, the gold hoops in her ears swaying with the movement. Her mother's vehemence in regard to the non-Gypsy--the Gaje--was deep-rooted and permanent. All Gypsies mocked them, but none despised them more than Mama.

  Sometimes, Liza grew tired of the hatred. It had been a part of her life since the day she was born. From the time she had been old enough to comprehend the pain the Gaje inspired in Mama, Liza was forced to live with the consequences. The shame. One Gajo had been responsible, and because of him, Mama hated them all. Because of him, Gajo blood flowed in Liza's veins. Because of him, Liza would be forever different from her people.

  But the day was glorious, and the afternoon spent in town promised to be a refreshing change from their travels. Rarely did their kumpania stop to make camp halfway through the day. Liza was determined to enjoy it.

  “Look.” Pointing a finger through the trees, she attempted a different approach to convince her mother to accompany them. “There is something special happening in”--she tried to remember what Hanzi, her brother, had called the place--”Niobrara City. See the train? Men and women come from everywhere. Perhaps it is something new.”

  “Pah! Another of the Gaje's expensive toys. I do not want to see it.” With Tekla, Liza's baby sister, toddling right behind, Mama hefted a dented pot full of water toward the newly kindled fire. “Hurry, Liza. The men have already left, and the children are waiting for you.

  “Mama, do not be so stubborn.”

  “I am not stubborn.” She straightened and faced Liza. A shimmer of tears glazed her ebony eyes. Wounded pride cried out in her sun-weathered features. “I will not embarrass you, my daughter. Go without me.”

  Embarrass her? Liza's heart plummeted within her breast. The last basket to be loaded into the cart slipped from her grasp, and she threw her arms around her mother's rigid shoulders. “You would never embarrass me. N
ever!”

  “I am no better than an ugly old hag. You love me too much to admit it, but it is true.”

  Liza drew away and fought the sting of her own tears. Stricken by her mother's words, she could find none of her own to offer comfort.

  Involuntarily, her gaze lifted to the faded kerchief wrapped around Mama's head. The colorful cloth helped hide her shame, her humiliation, the judgment handed down by the Gypsy court of law, the dreaded kris.

  Mama's head was shaved, the punishment for adultery. As if that were not enough, their wagon would always follow at the end of the line during their travels. For the rest of their lives, they would choke on the dust raised by the wagons ahead of them, and Mama would be deprived of the long braids other Gypsy women wore.

  It could have been worse, Liza knew. Mama could have been banished from the tribe, but the kris had given her mercy out of respect for Nanosh, her husband.

  Mama had been only fifteen, but already a young bride. A sweet-talking, handsome horse trader with hair the color of newly minted pennies had swayed her impressionable, feminine heart. By the time Nanosh finished his dealings at the horse fair, the Gajo's seed had been planted in Mama's womb. Mama never saw him again.

  Nine months later, Liza was born. Nanosh accepted her as his own, but his affections were rare. Through the years, two sisters and two brothers followed, but only Liza was different.

  “I made a mistake, my daughter. Now, I must pay for it. I will not go into the Gaje's world and hear them speak of my shame and my ugliness. They will only laugh at a Gypsy woman with no hair.”

  “You will always be beautiful to me.” Liza looked into her mother's face and saw her pride. Her skin was aged too soon from the toils of the weather, and her dark eyes often showed fatigue, but the loveliness from her youth had not been destroyed. Liza tenderly kissed each of her cheeks.

  “Enough of this. Go.” Mama gently, firmly set Liza aside. “Take Paprika with you. And Putzi is growing impatient.”

  “Yes, Mama.” For the first time, she noticed her five-year-old brother tugging on her skirt. She smiled, tweaked his nose, and hurried back to the two-wheeled cart filled with her baskets.

  She picked up the one she had dropped. Of all of them she had made, this one was the smallest. She had experimented with the design, weaving strips of bark in with the dried leaves of a yucca plant she had gathered during the kumpania 's travels.

  Most likely, the Gaje with their fussy tastes would only turn their noses up. They would not think the little basket fine enough to buy. Nevertheless, Liza tossed it in with the others. She did not care what they thought. The basket was one of her favorites.

  “Are you ready, Putzi?” Liza grasped the handles of the cart and turned it toward the road leading into Niobrara City.

  “Yeth.” He spoke between two missing front teeth. “I been waiting and waiting.”

  “I know, little one. Here. Help me push. You are so strong, do you know that?”

  “Yeth.” His young shoulders squared, and he leaned into the task with all his weight. Liza pretended not to help.

  “Liza, wait.”

  She turned and found her mother stepping from their wagon, a silk kerchief of vibrant gold-and-crimson stripes in her hand.

  “You must not forget this,” Mama said and draped the kerchief over Liza's head.

  “I do not want to wear--”

  “Liza!”

  The sharpness in her mother's voice stilled the protest on Liza's tongue. A hint of sadness crept over Mama's features. Her work-roughened hand cupped Liza's cheek, and her tone softened. “You have suffered from my shame, too, my daughter. Wear it so that the Gaje men will not look at you as . . . they did me.”

  Liza's mouth curved downward in a pout. She could not yet wear a kerchief tied with the special knot of the Gypsies. Only the married women were allowed that privilege, never appearing in public without their head covered. The unmarried braided their hair, the thick plaits hanging down to their waists, free to the day and the night.

  But with the Gaje, Liza could not be so free. The kerchief would hide her hair from their curious, mocking stares, hair that glinted coppery-red in the sunlight, hair that made her different.

  It was the one thing she inherited from her natural father. As a child, she hated it, wanting the deep, blue-black color of her sisters and cousins and friends, but eventually, she grew to accept the imperfection while among her own people.

  Mama had not. Mama tortured herself with the disgrace. Mama wanted to protect her from the humiliation she endured.

  “Come back hungry,” Mama said, tying the kerchief beneath Liza's chin. “Hanzi promised me a fat hen for supper.”

  “He is craving a stew, I think,” Paprika piped up, her bare feet rushing across the tree-shaded ground with a twelve-year-old's enthusiasm. She picked up Tekla, planted a loud kiss on her chubby cheek, then set her down again. “We must hurry, Liza. I want to see the big train in Niobrara City!”

  “Me, too!” Putzi grunted with the effort of pushing the cart forward by himself. “Will I get to hear the whithle?”

  “Yes, little one,” Liza said, laughing. “It will be very loud. Everyone will hear the whistle.”

  With waves and good-byes, Liza left the camp with her brother and sister and joined a group of Gypsy women and children on the road toward town. As they walked, Paprika's excited prattle lifted Liza's spirits, dulled from the somber conversation with Mama.

  “I will do some begging today,” Paprika decided with adult-like confidence. “So many people will be there! I could easily make a fortune.”

  “Oh, Paprika.” Liza frowned, her tone showing disapproval. Begging was not her favorite thing to do. She had always secretly thought it was hardly more than glorified stealing and certainly did little to improve the Gaje's impression of the Gypsy. “You have plenty of money. Sit with me and help sell baskets. I will split the profits with you'“

  “And what if you do not sell many?” her sister challenged. “We do not get an occasion like this often. I cannot let it pass without a little fun.” She cocked her head, her black eyes alive with mischief. “How about you, Liza? Will you tell fortunes today?”

  With one hand helping Putzi push the cart, the other toyed thoughtfully with the strands of gold beads around her neck. “Maybe.”

  Mama claimed she had a gift. Liza was not always sure. There was a certain skill in hand-reading, of interpreting the moles on one's body, or divining with sticks and stones, but she was wrong as often as she was right. The Gaje were gullible, though. They would believe anything she told them if she told them what they wanted to hear.

  Liza smiled to herself. Yes, the Gaje were gullible. Paprika spoke the truth. It would be easy to take their money today.

  “I want to buy something special in Niobrara City,” Liza said.

  “Like what?” Paprika asked, skipping slightly ahead.

  “A new kerchief for Mama. Silk, of course. In the color of the brightest sunflowers. It will make her feel pretty. And maybe some perfume.”

  Liza thought of the bottle she had found in an alley once. The crystal stopper had been chipped and broken, but the fragrance inside smelled wonderful, and in her weaker moments, she dabbed a little--just a little--on her wrists and on the tip of her nose.

  The Gaje enjoyed such frivolous pleasures, but material possessions were not important to the Gypsy. Her people needed only the basic necessities to be happy in life, yet Liza found a certain fascination with all those things that made her feel . . . like a woman.

  Mama never spoke of the frills and lace and lavish dresses of the Gaje world. Paprika was yet too young to dwell on it, but sometimes Liza had a yearning for them so strong--.

  It was the curse of the Gajo whose seed had given her life that made her feel that way. His lust had ruined Mama. He was responsible for making Liza different, and she would blame him forever.

  “What will you buy me, Liza?” Putzi asked, working so hard to push the
cart that her heart swelled with love for him.

  “She will buy you a big piece of coal. How about that?” Paprika answered impishly. “Or maybe a bag of broken sticks to play with.”

  Putzi looked so aghast that Liza scolded Paprika for teasing him. “I will buy you anything you want, little one. But you must be good and help me sell many baskets.”

  “He will not sit still long enough to sell even one,” Paprika chided. “And he will always be hungry.”

  “Will not!” Highly offended, Putzi stopped pushing and took off after his older sister, who suffused into giggles and more teasing. They tussled on the road, alternating between tickling and poking each other, until Liza took up the cart and began pushing it alone.

  She left them to their banter and gazed at the countryside, alive and golden with fields of swaying wheat. Wisps of clouds, grayish-white like dirty cotton, dotted a vibrant blue sky. Trees fanned a light, summery wind that tugged at the hems of Liza's skirts and flapped the ends of her kerchief. She took in a slow breath, inhaling the sweetness of freedom. Nebraska was a peaceful place, she decided. No wonder so many Gaje lived there.

  An unusual-looking bridge broke into the horizon and snared Liza's attention. She lifted a hand, shading the sun from her eyes, and, in her curiosity, she took a few moments to study it.

  A trestle bridge, Hanzi had told her when their wagons rolled past. The Gaje built such a thing so that the big train could cross over the canyon beyond the river. Liza had never seen one before, and she was forced to admit to a grudging fascination at its construction, a complex maze of lumber and steel that rose from the bowels of the canyon and seemed to reach for the sky.

  But in the next moment, she chided herself. It was only one more expensive toy the Gaje enjoyed. She would not give it another thought.

  The ground shimmied through the thin leather of her shoes, and for a few moments, she did not comprehend the reason for it. A slight frown pulling at her brows, she turned and glanced at the road behind them.