Read Online Mystic Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series Book 6) by Debra Holland - Free Book Online
Authors: Debra Holland
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one—a more traditional vardo , a light blue color. The two families traveled together for many years.” She paused, seeming lost in memories of the past.
“Where did your family come from?”
Maggie opened her mouth to tell him, then stopped.
He glanced at the vardo . “Do you think to surprise me? It’s obvious there’s Gypsy blood in you somewhere. I’d heard of Gypsies living in America in the East and in the South, but not in Montana.”
“My mother fell in love with a gajo —an outsider, which is rare and forbidden. Mama quarreled with her family and ended up running away and marrying my father. Her parents were tinkers and traveled around a circuit of towns. My father died when I was seven, and Mama and I returned to her family. My great-uncle had never forgiven her for marrying a gajo , but Mama was an only child, so my grandparents took her back. There was a great quarrel over that decision, and the families split, each choosing separate directions. My great-uncle’s family headed toward Texas, and we lost touch.”
“What about your father’s parents? I’m surprised they allowed you to go with your mother’s family at all.”
“Papa, too, was an only child. After he died, Opa and Oma insisted we live with them, so I could continue going to school—another thing that displeased my great-uncle. Gypsies are not keen on education,” she said with a wry smile. “Mama and I didn’t want to live with them, but she knew they could have forced the situation and taken me away. No one would have faulted my grandparents for keeping me away from the dirty Gypsies .” Maggie’s voice turned bitter.
He could see her point.
“But in the end, everyone compromised. Mama and I lived with Opa and Oma , who fussed over me. As much as I loved them and enjoyed school, when summer came, I’d wait anxiously for my other grandparents to arrive, which they usually did within a day or two. Then we’d be off traveling. I loved the freedom and seeing new places. The summers always sped by too fast.”
“Sounds like an adventurous childhood. Not unlike my own between Boston and the West.”
“I wouldn’t trade it. Yet. . . .”
“What?”
“I don’t fit in,” she confessed. “I’m neither fish nor fowl. Not completely Gypsy, yet not the same as my father’s family.”
Maggie’s Gypsy blood should bother him. If fact, if he’d met her under other circumstances, he’d have given her short shrift. But the emotion behind her words resonated with him. Caleb knew what it was like to be neither fish nor fowl—too much of an uncouth Westerner to fit in with the Boston bluebloods and too aristocratic for Sweetwater Springs.
“I don’t want to leave the vardo behind, Caleb.”
The wistfulness in her tone made him resolve to find a way to save her home . I’ll send Phineas O’Reilly back for her caravan. He’s a good carpenter and can maybe fix it up enough to travel. But I don’t want to give her false hope. “I’m sorry, Maggie. There’s no way we can salvage it today.”
She looked down and nodded, and then took a bite, her gaze on her food.
He let her be, knowing she needed to come to terms with her situation.
Maggie finished eating and set the bowl and spoon on the ground. “If you could help me. . . .” She waved toward the clump of bushes and rocks they’d used as a privy.
“Let me tuck Charlotte in my bedroll.” He rose and moved to his sleeping spot, making a nest for her. He lightly brushed the baby’s cheek with his finger. “We’ll be right back, little one. You behave yourself, hear?”
Caleb returned to Maggie. He stooped to lift her in his arms. After so much practice, he’d become an expert Maggie-carrier, and he liked the way she smiled and how comfortably she slipped an arm around his neck.
In the daylight, without the bulk of her pregnant belly, she seemed much smaller. Perhaps I hadn’t noticed her height because Maggie has the spirit of an
“Where did your family come from?”
Maggie opened her mouth to tell him, then stopped.
He glanced at the vardo . “Do you think to surprise me? It’s obvious there’s Gypsy blood in you somewhere. I’d heard of Gypsies living in America in the East and in the South, but not in Montana.”
“My mother fell in love with a gajo —an outsider, which is rare and forbidden. Mama quarreled with her family and ended up running away and marrying my father. Her parents were tinkers and traveled around a circuit of towns. My father died when I was seven, and Mama and I returned to her family. My great-uncle had never forgiven her for marrying a gajo , but Mama was an only child, so my grandparents took her back. There was a great quarrel over that decision, and the families split, each choosing separate directions. My great-uncle’s family headed toward Texas, and we lost touch.”
“What about your father’s parents? I’m surprised they allowed you to go with your mother’s family at all.”
“Papa, too, was an only child. After he died, Opa and Oma insisted we live with them, so I could continue going to school—another thing that displeased my great-uncle. Gypsies are not keen on education,” she said with a wry smile. “Mama and I didn’t want to live with them, but she knew they could have forced the situation and taken me away. No one would have faulted my grandparents for keeping me away from the dirty Gypsies .” Maggie’s voice turned bitter.
He could see her point.
“But in the end, everyone compromised. Mama and I lived with Opa and Oma , who fussed over me. As much as I loved them and enjoyed school, when summer came, I’d wait anxiously for my other grandparents to arrive, which they usually did within a day or two. Then we’d be off traveling. I loved the freedom and seeing new places. The summers always sped by too fast.”
“Sounds like an adventurous childhood. Not unlike my own between Boston and the West.”
“I wouldn’t trade it. Yet. . . .”
“What?”
“I don’t fit in,” she confessed. “I’m neither fish nor fowl. Not completely Gypsy, yet not the same as my father’s family.”
Maggie’s Gypsy blood should bother him. If fact, if he’d met her under other circumstances, he’d have given her short shrift. But the emotion behind her words resonated with him. Caleb knew what it was like to be neither fish nor fowl—too much of an uncouth Westerner to fit in with the Boston bluebloods and too aristocratic for Sweetwater Springs.
“I don’t want to leave the vardo behind, Caleb.”
The wistfulness in her tone made him resolve to find a way to save her home . I’ll send Phineas O’Reilly back for her caravan. He’s a good carpenter and can maybe fix it up enough to travel. But I don’t want to give her false hope. “I’m sorry, Maggie. There’s no way we can salvage it today.”
She looked down and nodded, and then took a bite, her gaze on her food.
He let her be, knowing she needed to come to terms with her situation.
Maggie finished eating and set the bowl and spoon on the ground. “If you could help me. . . .” She waved toward the clump of bushes and rocks they’d used as a privy.
“Let me tuck Charlotte in my bedroll.” He rose and moved to his sleeping spot, making a nest for her. He lightly brushed the baby’s cheek with his finger. “We’ll be right back, little one. You behave yourself, hear?”
Caleb returned to Maggie. He stooped to lift her in his arms. After so much practice, he’d become an expert Maggie-carrier, and he liked the way she smiled and how comfortably she slipped an arm around his neck.
In the daylight, without the bulk of her pregnant belly, she seemed much smaller. Perhaps I hadn’t noticed her height because Maggie has the spirit of an
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