The Gypsy Moon (2 page)

“Oh, Mum, please not now!”

“No kissing,” Jo said firmly.

Gabby tightened her lips. She was an obedient girl and had given her stepmother and father little trouble. As a matter of fact, she was so caught up with her science studies and collections that she had given little thought to boys until this year. She had been a rather gawky adolescent just a short time ago, but a single year had wrought as much difference in her as one saw in a caterpillar and a butterfly. The angular, bony edges had been replaced with graceful curves. Her skin had cleared up and now possessed a pleasing silkiness about it. She had inherited her French mother’s figure along with her father’s strength and bone structure, which combined to make her an attractive young woman.

“No kissing,” Jo repeated.

“Just one, Mum? Please!”

Suddenly Jo laughed. “I was only teasing, Gabby. You’re fifteen years old, and you have a smart head on your shoulders. You have more sense than I do, actually. I’d hate for you to know what a flibbertigibbet I was when I was your age.”

“What’s a flibbertigibbet? Is that an American word?”

“Yes, it’s American for
fool
—which I was when I was fifteen. I was quite boy crazy.”

Gabby came over and put her arm around her stepmother’s waist. “I can’t believe that. You’re the smartest woman I know.”

“Well, I’m not fifteen any longer. Let’s go downstairs and let your father see how beautiful you are.”

Gabby grabbed her cloche hat and asked, “What was your first date like, Mum?”

“It wasn’t nearly as exciting as my first date with your father. Now, come along.”

They walked down the stairs and turned left into the living area, a beautiful room with a low ceiling supported with exposed beams. The ceiling was so low that Lance Winslow often sported a red spot in the middle of his forehead when he forgot to duck. The house had been built in the 1600s, and it had been the delight of both Lance and Jo to work lovingly on it until it was filled with antiques and reflected a warm aura of hospitality.

“Well, so this is the man-killer!” Lance Winslow came out of his chair and moved over to get a better look at his daughter. He was a tall man with an athletic figure, and at the age of thirty-eight, he still had most of the fast reactions he had had as a fighter pilot in the war. He was wearing a pair of baggy gray trousers and a dark blue shirt that brought out the color of his eyes. “Why, you look good enough to go to a horse race.”

“Daddy,” she protested, “I look better than
that!
”

“Yes, you do. In fact, you look so good I’m going to have
to have a serious talk with Greg. I’m going to tell him to have you back by ten o’clock. If he objects, I’ll tell him I’ve got a forty-five and a shovel and that no one will miss him very much.”

“Daddy, you can’t say that!”

Lance laughed at her horrified expression, then came and put his arms around her. He gave her a hug and said, “No, I don’t suppose I will. But you look beautiful.” When he released her, a frown crossed his face. “It’s going to be hard to go away and leave you.”

“Well, I’ve tried hard enough to go with you before, but you wouldn’t let me.”

Jo spoke up. “It’s going to be a long, hard trip. I want us all to go to the States next year when we have plenty of time. This trip we have to make now is going to be nothing but tiresome travel and work.”

Lance worked for an aircraft firm and was often sent on assignments to other countries for months at a time. Jo worked as a journalist wherever she hung her hat, but she was also writing a book about the new jazz music in America and wanted to do some research.

“I wouldn’t care. You’d see,” Gabby said. She dreaded these times when her parents had to leave her alone. They usually tried to space their trips out so that one or the other of them would be home, but this time there was no possibility of that.

“But, dear, you love to go to Holland and visit with your aunt Liza. You know you do,” Jo coaxed.

“But it’s not the same as being with you.”

“It will only be for two months. You had a wonderful time with your friend Betje when you were there last year. Why, you told us you had the best time of your life. And before you know it, we’ll be back.”

Gabby quickly covered her disappointment. “I know, Mum,” she said. “I’ll miss you, but don’t worry about me. Betje and I will have a good time, and I always like staying with Uncle Dalton and Aunt Liza.”

Liza was the only sister of Gabby’s father. She had married Dalton Burke, who had become a scientist of some reputation and taught at the university in Amsterdam. They had a beautiful house, which was very old, and Gabby did love spending time with them. She had been there three times, beginning when she was very young, and now knew quite a few people. Though it had been hard at first, she had learned to speak Dutch passably well, thanks to her friend Betje.

“Oh, I’ll be fine, Mum. Don’t you worry about me. And, Dad, you go over and tell ’em how it’s done. Don’t let those Yanks give you any trouble!”

Lance’s face registered his relief. He had been worried about leaving Gabby for two months, but Jo had convinced him there would be little fun for her on this grinding trip. “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “Your mum and I will work as hard as we can and try to get back early. We’ll pick you up and go to Paris for a holiday. How would that be?”

“Really, Dad?”

“Really.”

Gabby squealed and threw her arms around her father’s neck. She squeezed him hard before releasing him. “That’ll be super! We’ll have the most fun ever. Why, Mum and I could go to all the stores and see the latest fashions. Maybe we can find ourselves some new outfits.”

“We’ll see about that,” her father said, winking at her. “We’ll stop off and see your grandfather on the way. He gets lonely now. We don’t get to see him very often, but he thinks the world of you.” Noelle Winslow’s father was getting on in years and did delight in his half-English granddaughter.

“That will be wonderful,” Jo said. “You know, if you ever become a doctor, he’ll take all the credit for it.”

“Ever since I was a little girl, he’s been telling me I ought to be a doctor,” Gabby said. “But a better one than he is, he always says.”

“I doubt if anybody is much better than your grandfather. But I know he misses your grandmother and gets lonely, so it
would be nice to make that stop and spend some time with him.”

At that moment a muffled roar filled the room, and Lance said, “If that’s your young man, it sounds like he’s driving a lorry, and a big one, instead of a car.”

“He’s got his license and everything, Daddy,” Gabby said. “And he’s a very careful driver.”

They waited for the knock on the door; then Jo opened it. “Hello, Greg. Come in.”

Greg Farnsworth was a tall, lanky young man of seventeen. He was not filled out yet and was not handsome, but there was a homely charm about him. He was almost as tall as Lance and had to stoop carefully under the dark exposed beams.

“Hello, Mrs. Winslow. Good evening, sir.”

“Hello, Greg.” Lance came over and shook his hand. “How are your parents?”

“They’re just fine. Gabby tells me you’re leaving soon.”

“That’s right. We’ll be going to the States tomorrow.”

“I wish I could go. If you go to California, do you think you’ll see any movie stars?”

“I don’t think we’ll do much stargazing.” Jo smiled. “It’ll be mostly work, and plenty of it.”

Greg turned his attention to Gabby and smiled in admiration. “You look great, Gabby.”

“Why, thank you, Greg.”

“A new outfit?”

“Yes. You really like it?”

“It’s the cat’s pajamas, as they say in the States. Are you ready?”

“I’m all ready.”

Gabby got her hat, and as the two went out the door, Lance called out, “We’ll be waiting up for you. Be home before eleven.”

Jo waved at the young people and closed the door, then turned to her husband. “I believe you’re more nervous than she is about her first date.”

Lance came over and put his arms around her. “You women don’t understand what it’s like to be a father trying to keep a fifteen-year-old girl in line.”

Jo leaned against him. “Tell me about it. Is it really all that hard?”

“Almost as hard as keeping a beautiful woman like you in line. Come on. Let’s go finish packing.”

****

“Greg, slow down. You’re driving too fast.”

“Fast! Why, this isn’t fast at all.” He was proud of his bright red roadster. The car was so small he had no trouble reaching around and putting his arm around her. “You’re out with the best driver in England. Relax and enjoy yourself.”

Gabby did not resist and leaned against him. The roar of the small engine made it necessary for them to shout against the wind, and as he sped along the narrow, winding road, they encountered little traffic. She liked the touch of his arm around her, and she was feeling very excited. He had taken her to dinner at a very nice restaurant in downtown Hastings, and then they had gone to see
The Gold Rush,
starring Charlie Chaplin. They had both laughed themselves weak over the comedian’s antics, and afterward they had gotten ice cream before heading home.

They shouted at each other over the noise of the engine and the racing wind. When they were less than a quarter of a mile from the street where the Winslows lived, Greg made such a sharp turn that Gabby had to grasp wildly at the frame of the car. “Where are you going?”

“Why, I couldn’t take you home from your first date without a trip to Lovers’ Grove.”

Gabby instantly grew alert. Lovers’ Grove was a large, heavily wooded park. During the daylight hours nannies pushed babies in their perambulators along the shady walkways, and at times Gabby had gone there herself looking for specimens for her collections. At night, however, the park was known as
a place where young men took unsuspecting young women for their own selfish purposes. “I’m not going to Lovers’ Grove with you,” she protested. “Take me home.”

Greg merely laughed and slowed the car as he followed the serpentine road that led deep into the grove of large trees. “Why, you’re not a little girl,” he said. “It’s not going to kill you.”

But then the headlights picked up some movement, and he muttered, “Blast, somebody’s here!” They got closer. “Looks like a bunch of gypsies.”

Gabby was intrigued by the sight. They were all sitting around a blazing fire, singing a song with a haunting melody. Three wagons were grouped behind the small gathering, and horses grazed on the tall grass nearby. “Come on, Greg. Let’s go visit them.”

“Not on your life!” He shook his head firmly. “They’re thieves and even worse. I’m getting out of here.”

But Gabby opened the door and stepped out, ignoring his protests. “Oh, come on, you’re a grown man, aren’t you?” she mocked him. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid!”

He glared at her and shut off the engine. “This is your idea, not mine,” he complained as he opened his door and got out.

As Gabby approached the small band of gypsies, the music fell silent and a tall man came toward her.

“Good evening. Welcome to our home,” he said in a strongly accented voice, bowing deeply.

Gabby could see by the light of the fire that he was wearing a brilliant yellow shirt with a red kerchief around his neck. Gold earrings hung from his earlobes, and his white teeth flashed against his dark skin.

“We didn’t mean to interrupt, but we saw your fire and heard your singing. It was very beautiful.”

“We are pleased to have you. I am Duke Zanko. You like music? You will hear plenty of music. And if you want your fortune told, my wife can do that. And we have some beautiful jewelry for a beautiful young lady.”

As Gabby and Greg moved closer to the fire, Gabby felt a surge of excitement. She had seen bands of gypsies before in her travels with her parents and had always been curious about their mysterious ways. She looked around the gathering and noted at least a dozen adults and considerably more children. Several of the women held small babies, and their eyes seemed to flash as the two visitors came closer.

“This is my wife, Marissa,” Duke Zanko said, gesturing at a young woman with dark eyes and large gold earrings dangling from her ears. He shrugged his shoulders sadly and said, “I have not had much luck with wives. I’ve worn out two. I got this one young so I could bring her up myself—and teach her to do nothing but please me.”

Marissa laughed, displaying her very white teeth.

“Perhaps you came to visit our camp because of the full moon,” Duke said, looking up through the branches. “Gypsy men and women always fall in love when there’s a full moon, a gypsy moon.” He winked at Greg. “Maybe it’ll work the same for you!”

Greg laughed and Gabby was glad the darkness would cover the red she felt creeping up her face.

Marissa stood up and came closer to Gabby as the rest of the group started talking among themselves and lining up to get a bowlful of something cooking in a large iron pot over the fire. “I married him because he is old and rich,” Marissa told Gabby. “When he dies I will take all his money and find me a strong young man.”

Duke laughed. “You will not find another man like me. Someday you’ll appreciate what you have in me.”

Marissa grinned and took hold of Gabby’s arm. “Come. You will eat with us,” she invited.

“Oh, we couldn’t do that,” Gabby protested, although her mouth was watering as she inhaled the delicious aroma coming from the cooking pot.

“Yes, you will be our guests. Please . . .” Before Gabby
could say more, a young woman came over and handed both of them bowls filled with stew.

“Why, thank you,” Gabby said as she and Greg sat down and joined them. They found the stew delicious, and as the rest of the group ate, Duke pulled out his fiddle and began to play. Two other men joined him as they finished eating, one of them on a zither and another on a stringed instrument that neither Greg nor Gabby had seen before.

Several young women began to dance, and they were soon joined by young men. Their shadows cast by the flickering fire flitted across the ground, and the air was filled with laughter and music.