Hell on the Heart (23 page)

She stuck to the path, moving sluggishly, each step laborious. Her father had offered to come for her, but she’d refused. Knowing the family stood behind her was sufficient. Tonight’s trek was solitary.

Her skin prickled. Goose bumps rose on her arms. She sniffed the air, feeling a ripple of change.

“Let me come with you,” John’s rough voice rumbled out of the cluster of trees just off the path.

“You can’t.” She searched for a reason but couldn’t come up with one that would explain her actions to a
gaje
.

“They’re putting you on trial for something that’s not your fault.” The strain in his voice as he struggled not to show outrage touched her.

“It’s our way.”

“Your way or not, it’s wrong.”

“Everyone’s afraid.” She racked her brain, struggling for an explanation that wouldn’t condemn her family in his eyes. “Our history with law enforcement has not been an easy. For hundreds of years we’ve been at odds. Your presence is a perceived threat, but one they could ignore if it hadn’t been for Rolf’s near death last night.”

He stepped out of the shadows onto the path, but Cezi held up a hand to stop him. “Please, believe me, I have to do this – alone.”

A heavy sigh reached her, but even in the scant light she could see him shaking his head. She hated that he worried about her. Couldn’t he see his help would ruin her?

Leaving him standing at the edge of the trees, she trudged on alone until she reached the blue clapboard building tucked into the trees.

“Be with me,” she whispered to the sky, hoping her mother heard.

The Council Chamber was one large room with an elevated dais. All the Elders, minus her father, were seated when she entered from the side door. Nicholae stood in the middle behind a solitary chair and gestured for her to join him.

Walking tall, she refused to scan the crowded room in an attempt to read faces. Believe in the cards. Believe in the cards.

The pride in her father’s eyes gave her strength. As a Romney she was a direct descendant of the oldest line of Gypsies. Her great-grandfather, seated in the middle of the dais, was the bandolier. Family stood together.

In the hurried moments prior to the Kris, she’d done a reading. The cards never lied, but discerning the true meaning wasn’t always easy. Like tonight, her cards, pulsing with energy, promised a favorable outcome - with a caveat – the ending wouldn’t be the one she expected. That gave her a moment or two of hesitation. Unlike the older women who’d lived through terrible times in foreign countries, she’d adapted the new-age American philosophy. Everything worked for the best.

Poppy pounded the gavel. The room quieted. “Czigany Romney, step forward.”

To show her humility, she slid her feet out of her slip-on sandals and walked barefoot to the front and center of the room. Every eye followed her progress as she lowered her chin and sank to her knees, folding her hands in front of her.

The instigator of the Kris was Theron? Cezi forced herself to remain still, fighting her natural instinct to leap to her feet and flay him with words. He’d been raised with her cousins. Seeing his face around the dinner table along with all the other kids had been normal. To have him turn on her now drove the knife deeper than she could have imagined.

Her hands were clenched tightly together, both in anger and shame. His shoes stopped beside her. Leather loafers polished to a high shine and brown slacks. Theron ran a construction company. Rarely was he seen in anything but jeans and scruffy work boots.

His loafer nudged her, trying to get a reaction from her. Cezi breathed deeply, unclenched her hands and tilted her head upward. When she caught his eye, she allowed her lips to curve in a slight grin. Let him decipher that look. In response Theron stumbled two steps backwards.

“Is there a problem?” Poppy asked from above, annoyance in his tone. Cezi kept her gaze downward and listened to Theron sputter out a denial. Her victory was short-lived.

“You’ve requested a Kris on behalf of several members of the Community. On what grounds?” Poppy’s words reminded her Theron wasn’t alone. He was merely the spokesperson for a group. People had the right to be afraid. She was duty-bound to do whatever they asked to keep the peace. Even if they banished her.

“Czigany Romney’s willful ways and refusal to follow the dictates set out for our women have endangered the safety of each one of us and brought
marimè
upon all.”

Theron’s voice faltered, but as he warmed to his words, his tone strengthened. She refused to turn her head to see how many nodding heads agreed with him. Although her cousins would never stand against family, some of them secretly supported him. Hadn’t Rolf expressed a similar sentiment a few days earlier?

Another voice, not Poppy’s, asked from above, “And you believe this is all a result of specific actions undertaken by her?” Cezi raised her head too late to identify the speaker.

“I do. While I respect the Romney’s, their lack of discipline has allowed her to flaunt the rules. If she’d married and had a family as the rest of our women do, she would not have met the
gajikané
in a public bar. We would not be under the FBI’s scrutiny and Rolf Romney, friend to us all, would not be hovering between life and death.”

She wanted to protest. She hadn’t met Cain in a bar, but how much better would it sound to say she met him on a street at night? The Elders would have no choice but to ban her.

“Do you wish to propose a solution?”

Theron cleared his throat. Cezi firmed her lips, determined to adhere. She’d secretly taken her GED and checked online to see that Sam Houston State University in Huntsville offered a forensics program. If she were frugal her savings would pay for the first couple of semesters. How long would the ban last? Two years? Five years? More?

“I have. The widower, Chike Akil has agreed to marry Czigany and allow her to work on his land.”

Cezi jerked the head upward. Chike Akil? The keeper of the cemetery? Father to eleven children with the youngest being Cezi’s age? Were they insane?

When Chike heard his name, he stepped forward, wearing his usual overalls and filthy t-shirt; the man was fifty-five or sixty years old. This was Theron’s suitable solution?

She’d been going to be meek and quietly go along with the Elder’s rulings. To show her obedience she planned to say nothing. Never had it occurred to her that they would imprison her and saddle her in marriage to an old man who probably smelled. They might as well burn her at the stake for being a witch.

Well, they hadn’t seen nothing yet. If they thought she was a witch now. Just wait…. No way would she go down without a fight.

# # #

Stillwater pressed against the back wall. The standing room-only crowd filled the space. His height gave him the advantage of seeing Czigany, even though she kneeled on the floor. Luca had agreed to his presence with the promise he say nothing and make no movement. To ensure he kept his word, Luca guarded one side and posted two of his sons, Tomas and Stefan on the other.

When the grizzled, dirty old man stepped into the center of the room, Luca’s hand clenched his arm. Tomas and Stefan both hissed their displeasure.

Tomas whispered, “He drove his wife to the grave with the birth of eleven children and at least four miscarriages. Each of his daughters was barely fifteen when he married them off to other clans.”

He couldn’t believe Czigany would knuckle under without a fight. The only saving grace was the look she threw over her shoulder at Theron when the old man came forward.

He wasn’t even sure of her name? This was a mockery of justice. Had Luca not extracted his promise, he would end this now. But then what? Tomorrow would be another day. If he took her away with him, her family would abandon her. His action might look memorable on a movie screen, but ultimately would suck in real life.

“What conditions?” Poppy asked.

Chike ticked his requests on his fingers as he stated them. “She must agree to be obedient, respectful, and soft spoken at all times and follow my instructions as the head of the family.”

Poppy’s face gave nothing away. He merely asked, “Is that all?”

The older man nodded, then added as an afterthought, “And she can’t have broken the code.”

John wasn’t sure what the code was, but judging by the quick riveting of Nicholae’s and Czigany’s heads and the surprised look on their faces, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. A low jeering came from the audience, but Poppy’s glare quieted the crowd.

“My daughter’s virtue remains unquestioned.” Nicholae took a menacing step toward Akil, his voice filled with conviction. “Vadoma can provide verification.”

Virtue? The old man would refuse to marry her if she wasn’t a virgin? What was wrong with these people? Were they a throw back to another millennium? How the hell did such a backward society produce a jewel like Czigany? Why couldn’t they see how clever she was? How smart? How beautiful? How perfect?

She didn’t need a man old enough to be her grandfather who wouldn’t appreciate her and would strangle her brilliance and suffocate her by insisting on a traditional role.

Czigany needed someone strong, who could offer guidance and help channel her mind and spirit into productivity. A partner, not a jailer. He knew exactly who she needed. She needed him.

But this group would bring back lynching if he stepped forward and demanded her hand. This wasn’t about marriage and protection, it was about control.

They’d rather see her dead than married to a
gajikané.

Up until the moment her father declared her a virgin, Cezi had been fully convinced the community would regard, even the thought of her marrying Chike Akil, a joke. The fact her father announced Vadoma would verify her virtue meant he considered Theron’s solution a possibility.

She struggled to her feet, trying to find the words to say the thing that would put all this to rest. But rather than the calm words, she longed to scream, how can you do this to me?

“Nicholae Romney only has one daughter. His company’s doing well. His daughter needs a husband. I would expect the money to be good.”

“Czigany,” The sound of her name on Poppy’s lips pulled her out of her confusion. “Have you anything to say?”

She took a deep breath. Her head ached, her heart hurt. She knew the truth. Without prompting, the words tumbled out of her mouth. “Banish me, if you need to, but I can’t marry Mr. Akil.”

“Banish you?” Alarm filled Theron’s voice. “No banishment. Marriage. If Akil doesn’t appeal to you, choose someone else. We just want you safe.”

Theron’s words surprised her. She looked at him. His furrowed brow echoed his concerned. Even more surprising was the identical scowl on her father’s face.

She hated the light bulb that went off in her brain. “You set me up?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Did you think,” she asked her father, “I couldn’t get a husband unless you forced my hand?” Guilt written across her father’s face said it all. What a fool she’d been!

For the first time since her arrival, she scanned the crowd, ignoring her father’s words as he proclaimed his innocence. In the back of the room, her uncle studied the pattern of the tile floor, avoiding her eyes. Family and friends filled the hall and the only person who didn’t appear to be insincere was the Indian. He wasn’t even bothering to hide his anger. If she nodded toward the door, he’d whisk her away from here.

Her father’s cheeks blazed from the exertion of duplicity. If she relented in the least, he’d swoop her into his arms and she’d find a way to believe his words were fact. But that meant not only was everyone else deceiving her, she was lying to herself.

She bit her lower lip and said the harshest words she’d ever said to her father. “You aren’t afraid I’ll remain single. Your fear is the
gajikané.”
As she spoke, she pointed at John. Heads turn in his direction. “Why’d you think I’d even consider an outsider?”