The Cadence of Gypsies by Casey Barbara

Author:Casey, Barbara [Casey, Barbara]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Hungry Goat Press
Published: 2015-04-02T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

It was almost dark when Lyuba returned from the village. Her potions had sold well and several women who had been shopping asked to have their palms read. It was usually the women who asked; men didn’t believe, or if they did, they wouldn’t admit it.

She walked into camp and nodded to the other women who had already returned. The riders. They didn’t understand the value of walking. It was no wonder they didn’t know where to find the best herbs; they saw nothing but the back of a truck.

She had found a four-leaf clover that morning on the way to the village—a sign of good luck. She had also found a 10 lire coin on the street where she had set up to sell her medicinals. She spat on it—also for good luck. A feeling of contentment was her companion this evening, something she had not experienced in a long while. That feeling gave way to alarm, however, as she approached her hut. In the large elm a magpie was chattering; a bad omen. As soon as she entered the door, she knew. Someone had been there in her absence.

She stood not moving in the middle of the room listening, sniffing the air, feeling the air on her bare skin; her eyes searched. Behind the curtain, now partially open, on the shelf where she kept her medicinals she noticed. Two of the bottles had been disturbed; dried herbs had been taken. She immediately knew which ones. Ephedra and flitwort, healing herbs if used properly, but dangerous otherwise. Flitwort would cause severe mouth ulcers. But the ephedra, if misused, could be deadly.

She looked at the other shelves; the bottles and jars were as she had left them. Then she noticed the photograph of her precious child. It had been moved. Someone had picked it up to look at it more closely. The lock of hair which she had carefully cut from the head of her beautiful baby had been violated. She picked up the photograph and pressed it to her breast as rage filled her body. Only one person would dare enter her hut when she was not present and touch her things. This time he had gone too far. She would teach Milosh a lesson he would never forget.

She washed herself with the water she had collected earlier that morning from the nearby spring; it calmed her. Then she went outside to join the others by the fire. There was a mood of celebration, for the Bandoleer had returned to camp with a cow and its calf, the reason for his leaving in the darkness of night. That meant there would be fresh milk for the younger children. She sat down next to Djidjo, Milosh’s mother, and spread out her full skirt around her.

“Milosh will soon be a man,” she said, looking deeply into the eyes of the other woman. “I think it is time that he learned more of the ancient healing and remedies. With your permission, I would like for him to join me in the morning when I go to collect my herbs.

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