I raced out of my room and leaned against the banister. Below, Helga trotted down the spiral staircase. Momentarily, I saw her retreating back, then she turned and disappeared into the curve. The scene repeated over and over until she reached the bottom landing. Then, swinging open the door, she finally vanished altogether. I let out my pent-up breath and returned to my bed chamber.
Once, I believed Helga and I were friends—until she betrayed my escape plans. After that fateful night, I began avoiding her, only making contact when necessary. How desperately I required a companion! I longed for someone to confide secrets with, to comfort me in my distress. Nevertheless, I could not trust the little maid.
Moments ticked away, and then a knock sounded on the door. Purposely, I marched toward it and swung it open.
"What do you want now?" I demanded my hands on my hips.
"Your breakfast," Reveca Balan sternly announced.
I stepped back, astonished. I had expected to find Helga outside the door. Narrowing her eyes suspiciously, Mrs. Balan entered, carrying a tray.
"My apologies, Madame Balan," I demurely stated. "I thought Helga had returned."
Reveca Balan sighed and set the tray down on a small table. Her shoulders sagged dejectedly.
"You must not pay attention to my granddaughter," the housekeeper remarked. "she is full of high spirits and gypsy blood. Her tongue runs faster than her brain."
"Gypsy?" I questioned, stunned. For the second time in a few hours, gypsies played a part in a conversation. First Luiza, now Madame Balan.
"In the spring and fall, gypsies camp in the woods beyond the castle precincts," Reveca Balan sharply explained. "The Baron allows them to remain for two weeks—and only two weeks. Then, they must vacate his property immediately. Nevertheless, that amount of time provides ample opportunity for them to make their mischief.
"My beautiful but high-spirited daughter, Ilinca, ran away with one of those filthy gypsies," the housekeeper spat out disdainfully. "The following year, I discovered a basket outside the kitchen door—inside a nameless baby girl. I instantly knew where she came from—my child's leavings. I named her Helga after my mother.
"That girl became a nuisance on the day of her arrival," Mrs. Balan confessed, sinking into the brocade chair. She covered her face with her hands, and I knelt to comfort her. "That one is always into trouble."
"I am sorry, Madame Balan," I remarked, taking her hands in mine. "If there is anything I can do, anything…."
My heart wept for the poor foundling child. Her wayward mother did not want her; her grandmother accepted her out of pity. Throughout the years, Helga grew up in the foreboding castle. Friendless, she eagerly clung to anyone who showed her the slightest attention.
Although approximately the same age as Vlad and Luiza, Helga would never gain their friendship or sympathy. She remained a part of the staff and, as a result, could not mix with the Baron's children. However, since Mama began as an employee, the maid considered us on a particular par with each other. She cultivated my friendship, but her attempt did not attract me. I found her repulsive and insufferable.
"Madame Balan," I began again. I squeezed her hands reassuringly.
Helga's grandmother suddenly froze as though stricken. She rose mechanically and strode toward the door. She turned to face me, her eyes full of sorrow. Her usually solid shoulders sagged, and she bent her head in shame.
"I have said too much," the chatelaine proclaimed bitterly. "My granddaughter brings me great sorrow. However, I don't want to speak to you in such a way."
I advanced toward her, hoping to offer consolation. However, the housekeeper swiftly spun on her heel and exited. I stared after her, wonderingly.
The appearance of gypsies always caused a sensation at home. At the approach of midsummer, a band of unwelcome nomads set up their camp on the outskirts of town. Several church ladies partitioned Papa to affect their immediate removal. However, my father could not control occurrences outside the town's precincts.
The townspeople surreptitiously filed out to their field despite the multitude of complaints. Inside the brightly painted caravans, the gypsies read palms or gazed deeply into their crystal balls. Papa noted, with chagrin, that several complainants appeared amongst the eager group.
On midsummer's eve, the gypsies built a massive bonfire in the field. They played their fiddles, guitars, and cymbaloms late into the night. Becoming drunk on vodka-infused libations, our local residents joined the celebration.
"Drink leads to licentious dancing," Prentiss Wills grumbled at the tea table. "Licentious dancing leads to fornication."
"Such words," Mama breathed, holding her hand against her heart, "are not meant for speaking aloud at the meal table. You must consider Norah, Prentiss."
"I am considering Norah, Isabella," the curate countered harshly. "Last summer, three young local girls became pregnant with gypsy offspring. "One—young Marsha Allen—disappeared completely. She ran off with one of those rogues, no doubt."
"Papa warned me against mingling with gypsies, Prentiss," I stated demurely. "You shan't worry over me."
"Ah, but I do, my dear," my father's assistant remarked. He widened his eyes and leaned across the table toward me. "You are young and impressionable, Norah. You require guidance."
I shrank against my chair in astonishment. Fervently, my mind whirled for a quick rebuke. I started to speak, but Papa cut me off swiftly.
"I will guide my daughter," my father commented coolly. "Until you take your marriage vows, she remains mine to care for and to instruct in moral behavior."
Prentiss gaped at Papa momentarily, then slowly closed his open mouth. His back straightened pertly, and he readdressed his meal. I praised Papa for his interference and breathed a sigh of relief silently.
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"Imagine getting pregnant by a gypsy," Amity Bradshaw whispered breathlessly.
Following Mrs. Balan's departure, I stood in the small aperture and gazed through the window slit. The talk concerning gypsies brought back vivid memories of midsummers' past.
Amity and I grew closer as we grew up. Often, following our school dismissal, we went up to my bedroom. Occasionally, Mary Wilson joined us, but more often, she had chores to complete. Side by side, we spread across my vicarage bed, cycling our legs in the air.
"Patience Floyd is only twelve," I stated, mentioning one of the impregnated girls.
"Yeah," Amity sighed, shaking out her long blonde curls. "Marsha Allen—the innkeeper's daughter—ran away with the gypsies. Her brother, Melvin, saw her run across the field and leap into the back of their caravan."
"Papa and Prentiss joined the search party," I added, sitting up abruptly. "They looked for miles' 'round but never found her."
"I wish a renegade gypsy would sweep me off my feet and carry me away into the night," Amity stated furtively. "Perhaps next year…" My companion sat beside me and hugged a pillow to her heaving bosom. "We'll run away together, Norah, and have an adventure. You don't really want to marry Prentiss, do you? He's such a bore." She rolled her eyes into her head.
Silently, I lost myself in thought. I often lost patience with the curate. His unbending religious stance unnerved me. Although Papa trained me in spirituality, he also taught me to show compassion toward non-believers. He believed in free will and claimed that all people had the right to choose their lifestyles. My father declared that we should not interfere with the practices of others or force our beliefs upon them. On the other hand, Prentiss believed everyone should think and believe as he did.
Young girls' pipe dreams, I thought, my daydream dissipating. I lifted the lid off my breakfast tray and gazed down upon Madam Balan's freshly baked scones. I sat and buttered one. As I ate, I wondered about Amity Bradshaw. During the previous year, she left for Switzerland and a girls' finishing school. Her father, the local squire, arranged her departure.
Amity and I spoke about the Swiss school many times. My friend insisted that she could make her Papa pay my way. I would have loved to have joined her. However, events interfered with our plans. Papa killed a man and died for his crime. Mama and I traveled to Romania and became the Baron's pawns.
Following my breakfast, I washed and curled under the covers. Strange, I thought, how quickly my body assimilated to sleeping during the day.
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