Free Gypsy Moon by Becky Lee Weyrich Page B

now on.”
    “Oh, you are wrong! He cares a great deal. He has such plans for you!” Tamara’s pretty eyes sparkled like bright bits of glass and she smiled mysteriously.
    “Plans? What plans?”
    “It is a secret… for Mateo alone to tell you. Hurry now. Eat the stew I’ve brought. Then you must bathe and dress and join the others around the campfire. Hear? They are already playing and singing. Mateo has planned a patshiva —a celebration to honor you as our special guest.”
    “I have no clothes, Tamara,” Charlotte said between bites of delicious stew spiced with wild garlic and onion. But the other woman was busy pouring steaming water from a copper pail into a basin.
    “From now on, you will bathe in the stream as the rest of us do. But for tonight, I thought you would like to refresh yourself indoors with hot water.”
    “Thank you!” Charlotte had never spoken the words with more sincerity.
    The warm water and scented soap renewed her spirit and refreshed her body. When she finished and had wrapped herself in a blanket, Tamara appeared from behind one of the curtains, carrying a beautiful costume.
    “This is for you.”
    Charlotte could only stare in awe. The full-sleeved peasant blouse was as white as snow and embroidered with golden threads. Two tiny bells dangled from the drawstring at the wide neck. The skirt gleamed the colors of the rainbow—from golden yellow to fiery crimson to deep violet. Yards and yards of the luxurious material were gathered at the tiny waistband, and the lacy, scarlet petticoats Tamara provided would flounce the skirt beautifully.
    “Tamara,” Charlotte said, fingering the soft cotton blouse, “this is too kind of you… to let me wear your best clothes. Really, I couldn’t.”
    Tamara giggled. “These are not my clothes. Mateo had them made for you specially.”
    “Mateo? I don’t understand.”
    “Get dressed. All will be explained soon enough,” Tamara assured her.
    Not until Charlotte slipped the blouse over her head did it dawn on her that some articles of clothing were missing. Without a corset or even a thin camisole, her dark nipples made pronounced shadows through the light cotton. Tamara, noting her frown, adjusted the neckline, pulling the blouse off her shoulders and tying the drawstring securely. Then she gathered the fullness in front for modesty’s sake.
    “Lovely!” Tamara sighed, standing back to gaze at her handiwork.
    Charlotte wasn’t so sure, but there was nothing she could do about it. At least she would have the darkness outside to give her some measure of cover.
    As a final touch, when Charlotte was dressed, Tamara placed golden hoops in her ears and draped several finely crafted chains about her neck.
    “One more thing is needed,” said the fortune-teller after closely examining the effect of Charlotte’s costume.
    She brought out a chain from which several small coins dangled. Carefully she pinned it in place so that the circles of gold lay evenly across Charlotte’s forehead.
    “There!” she said with satisfaction. “Mateo will be pleased.”
    All this talk of Mateo, when Petronovich’s name had yet to be mentioned, gave Charlotte fresh hope. Maybe things had changed while she’d slept. Perhaps even now she was on her way to wed Mateo before his approving familia. A strange but not unwelcome thrill fluttered her heart. Would she be with Mateo—as his wife—this very night?
    The blue-black sky was moonless, but stars twinkled above like silver sequins sewn on velvet. The whole scene seemed a vision of enchantment as Charlotte and Tamara left the brides’ tent. A huge bonfire glowed fiery orange in the very center of the camp, and colorfully dressed Gypsies whirled and leaped about its perimeter to the pulse of the bizarre Romany music.
    Charlotte immediately spotted Mateo and Petronovich in a clear space near the fire. The two seemed locked in a duel to the death. But they used no weapons. Sweat glistened on their determined