Two Loves of a Gypsy

3. The Jerk

I was restless that night and woke up many times. Each and every time I woke up I was frightened that the guards had found us and were shooting the door down. I found that every time that was not the case but my nerves were jumpy and unpredictable. I got up each time and changed my father’s dressings. It was a laborious task but he sleep soundly through the whole process. My heavy stone around my neck reminded me that I had to make up for my mistake. I lied awake in bed thinking of all the things I could do to repent. I would eventually fall asleep to only wake up again.

When I woke up after sun rise I decided there was no point to trying to sleep again. I got dressed in some plain clothes. A white top with slightly puffed sleeves, a dark purple skirt and the black water stone underneath my top. My hair was frizzy with my constant rolling over the previous night. I let it out and brushed it with my fingers. They had a small mirror in the room which I used to help me braid my black hair. I stared at myself; my tanned skin was the only indication that I had lived most of my life in the open. Dressed as I was I no longer felt like a gypsy, but rather a farmer’s daughter. The idea disgusted me. There was a quiet knock on the door. Curious, I opened it to see my aunt dressed up in her travel clothes.

“We’ll be heading off now, I wanted to give you this,” she handed me a thin brown cloak. Unlike my dark purple cloak it had no hood and wasn’t as warm but it was plain. It was something that wouldn’t be as conspicuous as the rich purple fabric. I put it on as my aunt beamed with pride. It was short and only when down to ankles rather than the floor but that didn’t matter. My skirt only reached 5 inches below my knees; a despicable length in most societies but it didn’t matter to us. The skirt was from 4 years ago but it still fitted so I didn’t care if it was short.

“I’ll come with you” I said as I closed and locked the door behind me. We snuck out of town, sneaking away through the shadows. I had done it so many times it seemed like the only way to leave town.  It was fair walk to the caravan. When we did get to the meadow I was awed.

It was some much more beautiful than when we first came past. Now the flowers had opened up revealing every colour of the rainbow. The flowers swayed gently in the breeze. The colours rippled before my eyes. I had memories of sitting flower fields with my older siblings and making flower chains and braiding them through each other’s hair. But times like that passed long ago when they married into other gypsy families.

I after all, was the youngest at 16, my oldest brother was 28 and as we heard, he now had kids. I hadn’t seen any of them since they did marry and started living with other families. My parents were had been thinking of getting me married for a long time but we hadn’t run into any available gypsy males yet so they had reserved these thoughts. I was personally hoping we would never meet any man who my parent would want me to marry. I don’t want to be someone else’s property. I don’t want to have ten kids. I want to dance for the rest of my life. So I’m never going to love anyone, that’s what I decided.

When we got to the caravan my aunt unlocked it. The four of us set to work finding things for me to take back to inn with me. We found spare clothes, some dried food, some healing trinkets that belonged to my grandmother and an old basket to carry all the things in. I set to work and I packed everything into the basket. I put on an old belt and pocketed a small knife which I slipped into the belt underneath my new cloak.

My aunt came and stood beside me as I watched my cousin and uncle play in the flower field as they waited to leave. It reminded me of all the times I played with my other cousins and siblings. At one point we travelled with four caravans because of our numbers. As time moved on and they left and we were abandons for other families that had more prestige or didn’t move as often and as far. Jacob would one day marry, he could choose to stay with us but he would more than likely go and live with that family. Women don’t get a choice though; they have to do what their husbands tell them to. If, no when, I get married I won’t see my parents ever again…