Bitter Eden (18 page)

The sight of Peter's blond hair glinting in the sun as he rode through the long rows on the brightly colored farm wagon was something she never wanted to forget. He gathered the carts of hops from each group of pickers, praising their work and making them laugh as he clowned and showed off his strength, dumping the hop carts into the larger wagon as though they weighed nothing. He was tireless, and for all his good cheer no one doubted the seriousness of his business or his attention to it as he took the hops to the oast house.

No matter how tired anyone was by nightfall, the sight of the people dancing among the fallen vines was something to revive the most weary hands and feet All of them acting the wag—happily twining the hop vines around their heads to keep the flies away, but mostly for fun—added to the pleasurable feeling of a long holiday.

The sounds of Romany music and the gypsies themselves fascinated Natalie the most. The woods were all around them at the perimeter of the fields. The coolness of the trees was enticing to everyone, but particularly the children. Natalie would watch.

"That is the child of a Romany," she said as a stray

child fled into the green shadows. "Let's visit the gypsies, Callie."

"Aunt Meg would skin us alive. Hurry up, Natalie. Our cart isn't filled. Peter will be back to collect them soon."

Natalie dropped a few more hops into the cart and returned to her musing. 'They'll be dukkering."

"Natalie!" Callie breathed in exasperation. "Pick the hops. We won t be finished if you don't help." "Wouldn't you like to have your fortune told?" "No! Pick! You aren't picking your share, and I'm tired"

"You probably don't know anything about gypsy dukkering."

"I don't and neither do you. Aunt Meg would be very angry if she knew the gypsies were telling fortunes while they were here."

"Mama never finds out about it. Let's go. Say you'll go with me and have your fortune told too."

"Nattie, we can't go. Stop talking about it and get done with this cart. Please, it's the last one."

Natalie did as Callie asked, but she clung to the idea of going to the gypsy. She had gone every year for the past four. That was how she knew Rosalind was an evil influence.

Each time the gypsy had told her only the best of things—until the year before last, the year Peter got married. Then the gypsy told her to beware of a dark-haired woman who heralded danger. Aside from herself, Rosalind was the only dark-haired woman she knew well.

♦ All her misfortunes dated from Rosalind's arrival at the farm. Last year the gypsy had predicted she would be unlucky in love. She had expected to be married by the end of the year, but Albert had said nothing. Things between them remained as always.

Nothing progressed. Nothing was settled. Always it was the future he spoke of, some time so far beyond Natalie she wasn't sure it was there at all. And the card showing the dark female influence had still been there, blocking her happiness and her future. This year she was certain that if only she could get to the gypsy, she would find that her own card would be the dominant one. This year she would be more powerful than the card of the evil woman.

Out of loyalty to Meg, Callie refused Natalie's regular requests to sneak out at night to visit the gypsy. It was difficult. Callie was as curious as Natalie, but for far more innocent reasons. As the hop season wore on her resolve weakened. She could think of nothing more exciting than to sit by the firelight of a Romany camp as an old woman read her future in the cards.

She decided she would go the day Peter took her to the oast house.

"You've never been to the oast house?" he exclaimed one evening at supper. "How could we all have neglected that? Have you never noticed the buildings with the cone-shaped roofs when you went to Seven Oaks?"

"Oh, yes, I have, but Aunt Meg said they were oast houses so matter-of-factly ... I just didn't ask any more about them."

"Ma!"

"I'm sorry, Peter. I'm so accustomed to them I didn't think of them being new and interesting to Callie."

"Well, you can't live on a hop farm without going to the oast house at least once," Peter said.

"I've never been inside an oast house either," Rosalind said. "And I can tell you I never will. From what I hear they are hot, smelling old places."

"Callie's different from you. She really likes the

farm," Stephen said "She'd like to go, smell or no, I'll bet" "I would. May I go sometime?"

Riding at Peter's side atop the wagon was enough to make the day special, but Peter, with a sure instinct, made the day unforgettable. He gave Callie the one thing she treasured most: his confidence. He talked to her as he might to Stephen or James.

"You like it here with us, Callie?"

"I've never been happier. Sometimes it seems I've never lived anywhere else."

"Then you don't miss London at all? Not the noise or the excitement? You must have been used to a much livelier life."

"Not so much. I think about it sometimes . . . the concerts and the theater, but truthfully most of the time I lived in London I was cold and frightened. Even when Papa was alive it wasn't safe for me to go anywhere alone. I don't think I miss London in a good way at all."

"You're lucky to know that It's useful knowledge."

"I don't understand."

"I mean, I talk about leaving Kent, even England. I have talked about it since I was your age. I was going to sea first; then I was going to book passage on a timber ship to Canada. Or go to America. I have never done any of it, because I hold fast to the life I know now."

"But this is a good life. You have reason to hold fast to it."

"Does that mean there is no better? Wasn't your life in London the best until you came here and saw that it wasn't?"

"Yes, but . . *

"I have always yearned to go ... to be on my

own, to see a world that is new and alive with ideas and people doing things their own way with no tradition to hold them, no limits to what they can attempt. I would be like Absalom and take for myself a kingdom. Should I not think such thoughts? Should I let all that dry up and die inside of me?"

"I don't know."

"But I think you do know. That is why I talk to you, Callie Dawson. What would you do if you were I? Shall I answer for you?"

"I can answer for myself. If I were a man and wanted to go as you do, I think I would do it."

"No matter what you had to leave behind?"

"No matter."

"Without fear of what you would find in an unknown world?"

She giggled. "Perhaps with fear, I think, but I would still find out."

"And what of me, Callie? What do you think I should do?"

Callie said nothing for a time. "I don't want to answer that."

"Why not?" He looked at her pensive, stubborn face. A smile played at the corners of his mouth.

"What I think is not important. I know nothing, and I don't want you to leave," she said in a tight little voice. "I would never see you again. It wouldn't be the same being left behind and knowing you were somewhere else."

He touched her cheek, smiling as he did. "You d miss me then?"

"I'd miss you both . . . you and Rosalind."

"Ah, well, there's little cause to worry. I've been talking for eleven years and done nothing."

"But things are different now," she said softly. He didn't hear her, for the oast house and its attendant

confusion with wagons coming and going claimed his attention. He called out to several men and went to talk to a group of them.

Callie looked up at the top of the strangely shaped building. From it came a curl of smoke that signaled to all who could see the cloud on the horizon that the hops were drying.

Peter returned to help Callie down. She stood aside as he and the other men unloaded the wagon; then he took her inside. The smoke stung her eyes; the whole place was filled with the odor of the drying hops. He took her to the top, showing her each and every stage they went through. For once she agreed with Rosalind. An oast house was not the most pleasant place to be.

But she would ever after think of the oast house as a part of her idea of Peter. Time would erase the stinging of her eyes and the odor that assaulted her nose, leaving only the picturesque look of it and the happy memory of a happy day.

Of all the Bereans, James and Peter were dominant in her life. Frank was a kind man, but like Anna he was quiet and reserved, and somewhat stuffy. He did what had to be done, showing little pleasure in its accomplishment Stephen was like her brother, her friend, someone near her own age. She loved him, but she never thought of turning to him for guidance or strength. Alone he might have caught her attention, but standing next to the steady, ponderous Frank, and Peter as handsome as any man could be, Stephen remained the image of youth and no more.

Peter was a man, and in him Callie could imagine all the things she wished. Peter would do the impractical things girls thought of sometimes and knew would never happen to them. She would like to travel on the sea. She would like to board some great ship

and ride on top of the endless ocean. And she would like to be able to put her foot down in a new land and say it was hers. She never would, but someday Peter would.

She returned home with her whole being filled with the excitement of unknown places and adventures. She was bursting with pent-up desire to do things, see things, experience new ideas and places. Natalie found fertile ground when she asked Callie again to go see the gypsy. It was a very small adventure, but at least it was an adventure.

J

Chapter 12

It was the right kind of night for their visit. After a rain the skies cleared, leaving the way open for the light of the moon. On the ground was only the slightest covering of mist. Through it Callie and Natalie, their skirts swaying in the soft breeze, dashed from the shelter of the barn to the shroud of the shadowed woods.

Both of them were breathing quickly and giggling softly in their excitement. They kept their eyes fixed on the spot in the woods that glowed golden and red with the gypsies' campfire. As Natalie had claimed the old woman was seated before the fire. She looked to be asleep, but Natalie knew that without opening her eyes the old Romany would know they were there and why.

"Sit down before me," the gypsy woman said, eyes still closed. Her hand extended to Callie. "You are new to this place. You will be first/'

Callie looked up at Natalie. Natalie smiled and nodded. From inside the fold of her gown the gypsy brought out a pack of frayed, much-used cards. Callie

was shivering and thinking she should have remained sensibly in her warm bed; but her heart was beating furiously in anticipation.

The first strangely marked card would tell of her past. The old woman spoke softly to herself in a language Callie could not understand, and then the card was placed.

"What do you wish to know from the cards?"

"Ask her a question, Callie," Natalie whispered.

"What kind of question?"

"Anything. Anything you want to know."

"Will I ever take a long journey?" Callie asked and sat back chewing on her lip. The old woman separated one group of cards from the others. She sat back studying the configurations, then looked into Callie's firelit face. She tapped the card that lay in the center of the configuration. "It is you, this card. A good card."

"What of her journey? Will she take the journey?" Natalie asked.

"It is not time to tell of the future. You are too young."

"You told mine. Why won't you tell Callie's?" Natalie moved closer. "There is something in her future that is bad, isn't there? You don't want her to know! What is it?"

"Why won't you tell my future? Is it bad, as Natalie says?"

"There are many difficulties ahead for you. It is so."

"But what?" Callie asked.

Natalie stood directly in front of the gypsy and peered down at the cards. "The card of the moon . . . the madhouse, and the hanged man too. They are all cards of misfortune. Is that why you won't tell her?"

The old woman shrugged. "There are cards of great strength as well, and of good fortune. The querier is a

good and true woman. Those who do not know the secrets of the cards are misled by them. The young lady has a gentleman who will never lose faith or leave her side. All through her life she can count on this man. There are not many who know such a love/'

"And will she take her journey?"

"It is for her to ask."

"Will I?" Callie asked.

"You will take your journey, and come to live in a foreign land beyond the sea. This will happen in the near future. There you will find happiness for a time; but there will be difficulties and sorrows as well in this new land. You return to me, young lady, another year. It is better we tell of the future then. Not now."

"But if I'm in a foreign land, I can never come back. You said I wouldn't be here."

"You will return. It is there in the cards." She pointed to a grouping of cards. "You will return to Kent, back to this place, and I will be here. You will need me then."

"Is that all you will tell me?"

"Of the future. You are a strong lady, of good mind and great love, and you are a wise lady with these gifts. But there will be times in your life when you will regret your nature. It will lead you to obligations that are difficult. But do not fear. The strength is there, and the man who stands faithfully by your side. He is there."

"But I don't understand . . . what is going to happen to me? What does the devil card mean? Can't you tell me more? Natalie said you told her everything . . . and answered all her questions." Callie was near tears and wishing she hadn't come.

"All questions are never answered. Only a fool would think so. Do not worry yourself. You will learn from your trials and benefit from the suffering."

"But . . . why is this in my fortune? I just wanted to have fun. Natalie told me . . *

"A lady of dark passions . . " the old woman began and scowled at Natalie; then she looked back to Callie more kindly, placing a hand on the girl's shoulder. "For some it is as it is with you. It has been ordained. There are trials for all of us. Yours has come now. For others it is another time. It comes to us all sometime. For you the wormwood star of the Apocalypse shall fall into the waters of your life when you are young, turning the sweet to bitter of error and disappointment."