Read Online Into the Free by Julie Cantrell - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Julie Cantrell
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keeps talking, letting each syllable take its time to carry this story to the ears of her tribe. Young and old, they watch her without blinking, and I watch them. “So respected and so loved was she, that even in death, she is honored.”
It’s just a simple story. One that could have been told in a matter of seconds, whispered from one knobby-kneed kid to the next, but to the people around me, it is a legend. “Our queen fell into a hard and early labor. Child number fifteen. Fifteen! Our king was distraught. What was a man to do?” She shrugs and looks every one of us in the eye before unspooling the rest of her story. She sees I am barely paying attention. I sit straighter and try not to think about how the boy’s lips move across the steel harmonica.
She asks again, “What was a man to do?” She tells of their love. His devotion. “Ten thousand dollars to anyone who could save his bride. A fortune, even today. But there, camped in the small village of Coatopa, Alabama, no amount of money could save her.” She spreads her arms up to the dark sky, and the boy leans close to me as the woman opens herself to the night.
“Even as he suffered, he carried her body to this city. This Iti Taloa, Mississippi. And here, in this holy land, where he could have been turned away, left to bury his own, he was not judged. He was welcomed, even helped by the generous people of this town. It is a fine hour in our history. A day when we were not thrown from our wagons into the night. A day when Romany people, our people, were honored. We prepared her well. Her body, adorned in a royal robe of green. Around her neck, the heirloom shells, handed down from generation to generation.” She lowers her voice with each repetition, slowing the pace. “Shells and a long chain of golden coins. And at her feet, sacred linen. In her hands, riches that would make any beggar wail.”
Others have heard this story countless times, yet attention here is intense. I want to know everything there is to know about these people, their queen, their history, their future. I want to know about the boy folded beneath me, catching my stare and causing me to swell with shame for the sinful thoughts he stirs in me.
I reposition myself on the crate. My leg brushes against his arm. I catch my breath. We both sit motionless, his arm on my bare ankle. Waves of electricity surge between us.
The beautiful gypsy continues her performance around the fire, but I barely hear what she says. Something about sending their queen across the River Styx and giving her treasures for the journey. The woman says the church could not hold so many mourners. The boy’s arm wraps around my leg, his fingers cradle my ankle. I become the sound and the stars and the flames.
Finally, the woman bows. Her bangles lead the tribe’s applause. An elderly man stands to tell another tale. The white-shirted harmonica player whispers to me, “Let’s go.” And I follow.
CHAPTER 10
“I’m Millie,” I say as we walk, a nervous giggle coloring my words.
“River,” he says, taking my hand. He leads me through the field of flowers. The moon lights a silver path.
“Is that your real name?”
“No. I don’t remember my real name,” he says.
“Tradition or something?” I am embarrassed I don’t know more about his culture. About this boy I’ve been dreaming of for years.
He laughs. “No. Nothing like that. I fell into a river when I was a baby. No one thought I would survive. They found me downstream about five hundred yards. Washed up on shore, happy and kicking. No one had ever seen anything like it.”
“I’ve never seen anything like you either,” I tease, surprised by my forwardness. I think quick to cover my tracks. “I mean, someone who’s survived such a thing. That’s really incredible.” I smooth my skirt with my one free hand and hope he doesn’t think I’m a fool.
“Yeah, some people say I’ve been chosen. You know, by God or something. To, I
It’s just a simple story. One that could have been told in a matter of seconds, whispered from one knobby-kneed kid to the next, but to the people around me, it is a legend. “Our queen fell into a hard and early labor. Child number fifteen. Fifteen! Our king was distraught. What was a man to do?” She shrugs and looks every one of us in the eye before unspooling the rest of her story. She sees I am barely paying attention. I sit straighter and try not to think about how the boy’s lips move across the steel harmonica.
She asks again, “What was a man to do?” She tells of their love. His devotion. “Ten thousand dollars to anyone who could save his bride. A fortune, even today. But there, camped in the small village of Coatopa, Alabama, no amount of money could save her.” She spreads her arms up to the dark sky, and the boy leans close to me as the woman opens herself to the night.
“Even as he suffered, he carried her body to this city. This Iti Taloa, Mississippi. And here, in this holy land, where he could have been turned away, left to bury his own, he was not judged. He was welcomed, even helped by the generous people of this town. It is a fine hour in our history. A day when we were not thrown from our wagons into the night. A day when Romany people, our people, were honored. We prepared her well. Her body, adorned in a royal robe of green. Around her neck, the heirloom shells, handed down from generation to generation.” She lowers her voice with each repetition, slowing the pace. “Shells and a long chain of golden coins. And at her feet, sacred linen. In her hands, riches that would make any beggar wail.”
Others have heard this story countless times, yet attention here is intense. I want to know everything there is to know about these people, their queen, their history, their future. I want to know about the boy folded beneath me, catching my stare and causing me to swell with shame for the sinful thoughts he stirs in me.
I reposition myself on the crate. My leg brushes against his arm. I catch my breath. We both sit motionless, his arm on my bare ankle. Waves of electricity surge between us.
The beautiful gypsy continues her performance around the fire, but I barely hear what she says. Something about sending their queen across the River Styx and giving her treasures for the journey. The woman says the church could not hold so many mourners. The boy’s arm wraps around my leg, his fingers cradle my ankle. I become the sound and the stars and the flames.
Finally, the woman bows. Her bangles lead the tribe’s applause. An elderly man stands to tell another tale. The white-shirted harmonica player whispers to me, “Let’s go.” And I follow.
CHAPTER 10
“I’m Millie,” I say as we walk, a nervous giggle coloring my words.
“River,” he says, taking my hand. He leads me through the field of flowers. The moon lights a silver path.
“Is that your real name?”
“No. I don’t remember my real name,” he says.
“Tradition or something?” I am embarrassed I don’t know more about his culture. About this boy I’ve been dreaming of for years.
He laughs. “No. Nothing like that. I fell into a river when I was a baby. No one thought I would survive. They found me downstream about five hundred yards. Washed up on shore, happy and kicking. No one had ever seen anything like it.”
“I’ve never seen anything like you either,” I tease, surprised by my forwardness. I think quick to cover my tracks. “I mean, someone who’s survived such a thing. That’s really incredible.” I smooth my skirt with my one free hand and hope he doesn’t think I’m a fool.
“Yeah, some people say I’ve been chosen. You know, by God or something. To, I
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