Chapter One….
“T
he time for secrets has ended. I can no longer protect you. I am dying."
Tired, her bones visible in her disease-ravaged body, the woman reached for her daughter's slender hand, remembering when hers had been small and delicate.
"Mother stop talking that way, you're not going to die....please"
"Shhh child, quiet, the time has come to listen."
Outside the autumn leaves covered the ground in a blanket of rich burgundy, burnt umber and pumpkin orange. The sun peeked through the already sparse trees shedding light across the earth.
Smiling , the woman began.
"I suppose the best place to start is at the beginning. My family was Lowara Gypsies. Although I was born in Romania we traveled all across Eastern Europe and Russia. My father was a famous horse trader, quite well known amongst our people.
The summer I was thirteen , we were in Russia on our way up through Siberia. With the harsh winter past, the flat land was covered in dense green forest. A group of young Arabian stallions , which my father hoped to acquire a good sum for , trotted along , hitched to the back of our wagon.
My father had a very fancy vurdun (a gypsy covered wagon that the gypsies use to travel around in) that was painted candy apple red with gold trim and pulled by two fine black saddle bred horses, the finest that we owned. Their thick manes and tails blew back as the wind ran through our wagon train. When we came into this little peasant village called Pokrovskoye that was right beside the Tura River. Our Kompania (a group of gypsies), consisted of at least fifty wagons.
The gage, which was anybody other than the gypsies, gathered around to watch as we rode in. They distrusted us, these peasants, but we brought color and life into their dull worlds and so they always waited with excitement for the Romany to come to town. I sat looking out the window as the horses hoofs kicked up the dust. I wore a bright blue and pink dress that fell off my shoulders and full at the bottom. The sun shown brightly and everything was illuminated.
During the day they shunned the Rom. But at night the women came for having their fortunes told, and the men gathered about our fires to listen to our violin music and watch the gypsy girls dancing.
Unlike some of the peasant villages we had been through, this one had houses. There were one and even two story homes beautifully decorated with very fancy carvings.
A gentle breeze caressed my face and the fresh air waltzed through my hair twirling seductively in my curls . Oh, I was quite the looker in those days, like you are now. I had a long thick raven colored mane and a slim but curvy figure, like yours.
In the square I saw a gathering.
I will never forget how I felt when I first saw him.
Oh child, he was something to see.
He was talking and waving his arms in the center of a good size crowd, a man of about twenty years. His black hair was long and uncombed, but he didn't seem to notice. And he wore a thick scraggly beard. Even from where I was I could see the deep, penetrating navy blue of his eyes. His arms flayed about as he was filled with passion and conviction. The very power of the man had a magnetic attraction and I saw it in the faces of all those surrounding him.
I could not hear what he was saying, so I just watched.
My father parked the wagon and I heard the familiar back and forth negotiations for the horses.
That night we made camp on the outskirts of the town right on the river. It was quite lovely because it was July and the night was not too hot.
My extended family lit our fires and began to cook. The smells were wonderful, as we always had fresh food. Many times it was stolen from the local gage, but sometimes it was given to us as gifts. Most of the men were good shots so the abundance of fresh kill was always available. My mouth watered as the pungent aromas of meat on the open fire filled the air. I should mention
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