Free Gypsy Jewel by Patricia McAllister Page A

others had insisted that April be forbidden access to the stallion. “We will ask Jingo,” she said, not daring to give the girl any shred of hope for fear of disappointment.
    Then, to break the gloomy silence, Tzigane decided to surprise April. Instead of saving the skirt for a special occasion, she reasoned it would mean more right now.
    “April,” she said innocently, “I think you are the closest to Choomia’s size. Would you try on the skirt now and let me make the final fit?”
    April set aside her own project gladly and slipped out of her own skirt. After Tzigane helped her put on the new one, she stood still and let the other woman adjust the folds and gathers.
    “It seems just right,” Tzigane said, pleased with her work, which was a perfect color for April’s eyes and hair. “Put on the blouse too so we can see the whole outfit.”
    April exchanged blouses and let her mother fuss again with the ruffled neckline. The blouse was made to be worn off the shoulders, and April did not protest as Tzigane tugged each side down a few inches, revealing her bare shoulders.
    Tzigane pursed her lips in consideration. “It needs something more. Will you get me my box?”
    Puzzled, April did as her mother asked. She brought Tzigane the carved wooden jewelry case that had been passed down in Bal's Romany family for several generations.
    Pawing carefully through the stash of jewelry, Tzigane selected a matched set of gold coin earrings, a necklace and a thick gold arm band. She persuaded April to put them on and stepped back for a look. She smiled and nodded at the picture she saw.
    Her April was a golden beauty, her blonde hair curling about her hips and her stance still proud and resolved. For all her misery the girl would not buckle, and she more than deserved the gifts Tzigane gave her now.
    “These things are yours now,” she said as she closed her box and put it away. “Bal gave them to me, and I want you to have them. Wear them with pride and remember you are always a Lowara woman, no matter what any of the others say.”
    Stunned, April fingered the rich fabric and looked at Tzigane. She was too moved to speak, and when her mother urged her outside, she could not protest strongly enough to make any difference.
    “Go,” Tzigane said abruptly. “For once you will go out and enjoy yourself by the fires. The others are too busy with the stranger to take much note of you. You may find a moment of peace in which to gather your thoughts.”
    Giving the generous woman a grateful hug, April blinked back the threat of tears. Then, taking a deep breath, she slipped from the tent and melted into the shadows of the night.
     
    A S D AMIEN FEARED, IT was not long before the gypsies called upon him to demonstrate his musical prowess. As a people they loved music, and most were gifted with dancing or instrumental skills. They would be suspicious if he could not match them song for song, and so he gave in at last and went to fetch his violin. Fortunately, in his youth Damien had taken fourteen years of music lessons at his mother’s strict insistence. After all, Marcelle had said, only the bourgeoise had money without talent.
    Damien shrugged aside the last of his worries and rejoined the others. He knew he had a good ear for music, and he thought he would be able to bluff his way through most of the unfamiliar songs.
    The entire camp gathered around the largest fire built in the circle of wagons, and dark eyes shone with excitement. Even the older folk, initially distrustful of the stranger, had finally been swayed by Damien’s fascinating tales of countries far afield. They all circled round to provide a clapping, cheering audience for his music, and the moment he launched into the first song, they were keeping time with tambourines as well.
    April heard the music from a distance, poised on the edge of the woods away from the busy camp. Her keen ears immediately registered the glorious solo as something out of the