Chapter Fourteen
Daddy-Jax trans-versed us to the home of my royal grandparents. Their house reminded me of a consulate. The foyer had large, painted family portraits. The straight back chairs were positioned underneath large mirrors.
The staff stood, waiting in two perfect rows. The household’s head butler announced my grandparents’ as they entered the room.
Ashworth and Laurel-Anne Elingston were dressed in formal evening wear. His tux was deep blue and her off-white dress was accented with a few matching rhinestones. Although they are not as flamboyant as my traditional grandparents’, they are just as glamorous. They would steal the show at any red carpet event.
As they slowly made their way to us, they nodded to the staff in acknowledgement. Their employees responded by bowing or performing a small curtsy, respectfully.
My grandfather is a handsome man with dark brown hair and even darker brown eyes. He is tall with a slim, sinewy build.
My Meemaw is only a few inches shorter than her husband. She is so graceful that it’s almost like she floats instead of taking actual strides. Her light blonde hair is complimented by her dark blue eyes.
Together, they make a perfectly symmetrical and absolutely flawless couple…
Anxious, I fought against the urgent need to yawn as they finally reached our destination. I was dressed, appropriately and knew what to do, but I still felt nervous meeting them. After dispensing with the ceremonial and frigid introductions, they requested that we “retire to the salon”.
I have been invited into thousands of unfamiliar rooms with my g-mom. But, I have never been asked to retire, anywhere. So, not only did I have to struggle against the impulse to yawn, I also found myself fighting to quell the giggles. The Queen of England would be considered informal and easygoing in comparison to my grandparents’.
I tried my hand at the ‘royal floating walk’, but almost tripped over my own two feet. To make up for my downtown stride, I took small steps and held the most rigid posture I could. A quick glance in the mirror revealed that standing up straight makes a girl look like a runway model. Even though I am only 5’5”, people would describe me right now as willowy. Nothing about this feels normal, though.
It didn’t take long to discover that my typical posture sucks and changing it to perfection without any practice is painful. I hope we can sit down, soon because I can’t risk a proper-posture related injury so close to a cheering competition.
A small giggle inadvertently, escaped as I thought about Jarron’s reaction to my new back problems. Daddy-Jax smiled, slyly at me as I covered my mouth.
My Momma-G had prepared me for the proper welcoming ceremony at the door. She had instructed me on which utensil to use during each of the nine courses, how to address the Rhineharts’ and even how much I should eat. But, her preparations did not include how I should act at a salon retirement.
I mirrored every movement made by my Momma-G and asked for some heavenly assistance. The Creator was listening…
The huge sliding doors closed to the salon. And then, my uptight grandparents’ transformed into regular gypsies. Just like Poppy and Meemaw Reigns’ they made me twirl around to get a good look at me. They fawned over me, hugged me and scolded my parents for keeping me all to themselves.
The only difference between my two sets of grandparents is the way they talk. The Reigns’ use a conversational and informal tone, no matter what they might be doing. The Elingstons’ maintain their formal air, even in this suddenly family-familiar environment.
Placing that difference aside, everything else is identical. The conversation was so eerily similar to my morning meet-and-greet that I wondered if time had somehow, reversed. The setting sun indicated that this is indeed, a new event unfolding.
Someone needs to enlighten my grandparents that, minus the window dressings and the words, gypsies are just gypsies. It would save Dylan and Scarlett a ton of grief.
My grandfather escorted me over to the piano and told me stories about the more memorable family snapshots. Then, chills crept up my arms as I witnessed Grandfather Elingston virtually transform into Poppy Reigns.
He wanted to show me that I am Momma-G’s twin. I was already reeling from the many gestured coincidences. And, I didn’t think I could be shocked, any more than I was. My assumption would be proven wrong.
The picture he displayed was of an eighteen year old, Momma-G on the beach, smiling with sun-streaked golden strands. She was standing in the same position as Momma-C was in her sunny beach picture this morning. It could have been a reprint.
We are identical triplets!
Stunned and amazed by the uncanny flukes, I blurted out “…they’re so beautiful! Can I have that picture, please??”
By “they”, I meant Momma-C and Momma-G.
My royal grandparents mistakenly heard ‘we’re’ instead of ‘they’re’. They agreed that I am the beautiful, mirror image of my momma. I was so surprised that I didn’t correct their error.
He retrieved the photograph and handed it to me. Red-faced from impulsively asking for such a personal memento, my grandparents’ insisted that I take it. I thanked them and gratefully accepted their numerous compliments.
Momma-G’s eyes were shiny from un-spilled tears. In a rare display of public affection, she pulled me to her, kissed my cheek and whispered, “I love you, my youngest daughter…”
The Rhineharts’ arrived for dinner shortly, thereafter.
Once again, my grandparents’ transformed and resumed their aloof personas’. I tucked the picture into my purse before being formally introduced to them.
Taft Rhinehart was dressed in a black, pinstriped tuxedo. He is about two inches taller than my grandfather. He has dirty blonde hair with some gray blended into it – making him look distinguished. His emerald green eyes are nearly identical to Meemaw Pricilla’s eye coloring.
Natrice Rhinehart was dressed in a black evening gown with sparkling jeweled accents. She has dark blonde hair, but her light brown eyes are her more striking feature. I estimated that she only stands about 5’7” in her heels.
Taft and Natrice Rhinehart are like Tray and Willow. The men are giants, married to elven women…
I was introduced to Dylan, last. He bowed and I curtsied, simultaneously. I waited for him to speak before respectfully and politely, greeting him.
Dylan is about 5’8” tall with a slight build, dark blonde hair and blue eyes. He was also dressed in a tuxedo. With babyish facial features, he didn’t even look old enough to be going to a prom. His boyish voice matched his innocent features. But, in the gypsy culture, he is considered a man in his own right…no matter how young he appears and sounds.
As the two youngest, he would escort me to the dining room. His place card was positioned beside my own. He struck up a conversation with me, almost immediately. I didn’t share much about my life. I was raised to be independent and speak my mind. So, I had naturally assumed I would be “acting” like a deferential gypsy daughter and fighting to hide my true, liberated inner-woman in this intimate setting.
It was the strangest thing, but I found I wasn’t struggling with anything. I slipped into the demure, good little gypsy girl role like it was second-nature.
Somewhere inside me, there still has to be my normal strong-willed, liberated and opinionated woman. But, I was gradually being overshadowed by a timid, quiet, deferential and unfamiliar female. Everything I know about ‘who I am’ is being lost…fading ever so slowly into the background. This occurred while I wasn’t paying too much attention.
Courses came and went, as I listened to Dylan talk in rapt fascination. He is a very interesting kid, who adores his family. He has lived a remarkable life and openly, shared his history with me. He is handsome and incredibly charming.
I was so caught up in his irresistible stories, that I completely missed a question directed to me.
“I believe my father is
addressing you…” Dylan whispered.
“I apologize, sir. Please, restate the inquiry…” I offered while simultaneously thanking the Creator that I didn’t just mindlessly mumble “huh”.
My head remained stuck in the gypsy clouds until we retired to the parlor. It looked oddly like the salon we were in earlier. However, my grandparents never dropped their royal demeanor and neither, did my parents.
I’m not physically attracted to Dylan. But, I’m drawn to him. It makes me wonder if he has some type of channeling skills like Tray’s.
Could it be that he is using those abilities to turn me into his idea of a proper, passive gypsy girl? Or worse, is he casting a spell and manipulating Scarlett??
Suddenly suspicious of him, I asked Momma-G to show me to the ladies’ room to powder my nose. This was the code we established that meant I needed to talk to her.
“Does Dylan have a Tray-like skill of persuasion, Momma-G??” I sprung the question on her the instant the door closed behind us.
“Not that I am aware of. You appear distressed, my sweet girl. Is something amiss?” she asked me, worriedly.
“No…I don’t guess…well, yes…well, yes and no. I’m really worried about Scarlett…if he’s doing to her what he’s doing to me then, she might be in trouble.
“I’m not attracted to Dylan…not like she is…not in that way. I think maybe, he’s somehow manipulating me to find him interesting. I am…I guess the word is enthralled by everything he says. How can someone so young be so charming and captivating? Well, Quinn’s charming and captivating like that too. But, this circumstance is ridiculous.
“I seem to be losing myself to an unknown, rising inner-gypsy girl when Dylan talks to me. I must be suffering from an acute mental illness because my personality just split on me with no warning. You know I’ve never been accused of being the silent type. I’m the captain of my cheerleading team. I’m opinionated and stubborn. But here, with him, I’m riveted and giggly and compliant. Me – compliant! I don’t want to say anything until Dylan asks me a question or wants me to respond. This is nuts and I need to have my head examined! I feel upside-down and it’s freaking me out, Momma-G.
“I didn’t have time to chat with single gypsy boys this morning. I was bombarded by cameras and compliments. But, what if this is how I’ll react to every available gypsy guy at the upcoming events?? Does g-mom have a valid reason to be afraid about me running off?? Do you have a channel you can cast on me to keep me from doing that?? Do you need to do that??
“I don’t want to miss out on any hedonistic adventures with my g-mommies’ to get married and have a dozen babies, like Scarlett. That’s her dream, not mine! I love college. I love my life and my freedom.
“This will sound insane coming from me, because I guess it is insane. But, where did I lose the real me if Dylan isn’t doing anything to make me turn into a gypsy female?” I rambled like a psychotic, hoping she could decipher the lunacy.
“Calm down…just breathe…that’s my girl. It’s all okay. Focus on each breath and just listen. We will work through your concerns, concentrating on one thing at a time.
“Dylan, even if he had your brother’s obliteration skill, would never dare use it in my parent’s home. Obliterations cannot create romances. Scarlett loves Dylan because that is what she genuinely feels. You have no need to worry about her being compromised by a channeled illusion of her fiancée or their future. Does that sufficiently settle the matter of whether Scarlett is being unduly influenced?”
“Yes ma’am…” I said between pants.
“Alright, let’s continue. Gypsy males span the scale from mild-to-wild. Some are proverbial bad boys. Some are more retiring and reserved. Many are wedged in the middle of those two extremes. However, regardless of their personal dispositions, they are all astoundingly charismatic. It is their magnetic, and rather torrid, quality that helps perpetuate both bloodlines in the Ay’sha cultures.
“Gypsy girls have a beguiling quality that is relatively sensual in nature. This sensual response will be more pronounced around available Ay’sha males. Between the male and female responses, the gypsy bloodlines are preserved.
“Ay’sha girls rarely deviate from finding gypsy husbands. You no longer have to guess as to why this is a reality. In addition, you are being exposed to both sides of gypsy life. And, you will find them equally appealing.
“There is no mystery behind your heartfelt attraction and no need to become frantic. You, Krista, are three times a gypsy through your blended maternal heritages’ – matriarchal, traditional and royal. You are drawn to the gypsy life, the young Ay’sha gentlemen and your demure, innocent and deferential girlish role because you are a gypsy. There is no way to change this situation.
“Your Momma-C and I have purposefully limited your explorations into your Ay’sha worlds. You are our baby. Frankly, neither of us was interested in sharing you with our relatives for another few years. This situation forced our hand.
“Your Grandma Edie will also have this particular pain to contend with. However, I believe in her case, it will be compounded. She will be required to share all of her children with her relatives, at one time.
“We are each making motherly sacrifices for this love-struck young couple…
“All that you are undergoing, though, is completely natural. Fallon had an identical experience. What you are feeling is your Ay’sha spirit as it awakens. It is perfectly acceptable to lose yourself while your soul comfortably stretches to accommodate its new role.
“Rest assured, your spirit will not rebel against your logical wishes or force you to run off to marry a gypsy boy – no matter how enthralling he might be. You are still in control of your desires.
“You have lost no part of who you are. In fact, you will have added another dimension by gaining this awareness. But, for now, you can, and should, enjoy this rare opportunity of being reborn, a gypsy…” she told me.
I thanked her, softly. She used levity and an embrace to help me unwind.
“For your enlightenment and while we are on this subject the appropriate turn of phrase should you require one of us to use a spiritual gift is “offering you a channel” or simply “channeling”. Casting a spell makes it sound as if we somehow perform magic. The Creator, as you are aware, does not deal in magic, tricks or sorcery.
“I know your siblings enjoy using the term “whammy”. I have worked diligently to excise this turn of phrase from their vocabulary. It has met with limited success as your sisters rarely slip up and use it. However, your brothers find the term humorous and are selectively rebellious. It further seems that they have also convinced themselves that my hearing is limited to areas I am standing in. That is the true comedy. Wouldn’t you agree my daughter?” she offered, slyly.
“Oh yes. I was about six when g-mom told me ‘all walls have mommy ears that listen, constantly’. I never did see an actual ear, but I never once doubted her assertion about their existence…”
We giggled and I thanked her again. Then, we returned to the after dinner party.
I already had a small awareness of just what it means to be a gypsy. The family roots run so deep…they are…unbreakable.
Dylan had provided me with a lengthy and fascinating history lesson during the meal. I can honestly understand how devastated he would be if he lost his family. He is extraordinarily proud of his heritage and being the first born son. I can’t envision him walking away just to be with the girl he loves.
And, I now understand Scarlett on a whole new level. She feels the same way about her large family. Even the babies she wants to have are an extension of her relationship with her mom. Pricilla guides her daughter while she’s learning to be a mother. That guidance does not end, no matter how many children she might have.
Momma-C had Vixie and Lillen. Now, she has Zander, Ember, Tray, Jaysen, Willow, Fallon, Reid and me. That’s ten babies and Pric
illa still guides her.
Scarlett is nothing like my Momma-C. She relies on her mom and cannot imagine raising her children without her constant supervision. Traveler traditions are not optional lifestyle choices. They define Scarlett and she wants them to define her little ones.
Momma-G is just as much a gypsy as my Momma-C. But, they were raised in two different worlds.
Scarlett has been hands-on educated in things like cooking, cleaning and managing family life.
Royal gypsy girls are taught what qualities to look for when they hire a chef. Blue-bloods are schooled in how to instruct the cleaning staff and given household management skills.
Dylan has been highly educated. His skill base is structured to prepare him to step into something like a political post. He is business savvy, even at his tender age. My Poppy Bradwell values business skills in gypsy boys. And, Taft Rhinehart values them, too. But, not even that is common ground between their fathers’.
My Poppy believes his sons should be skilled in shrewd bargaining. They demonstrate their expertise and worth by running successful and lucrative con jobs.
Taft Rhinehart believes his sons should conduct business like a skilled politician. They prove themselves through, just as shrewd, white-collar business bargaining. Dylan will rely financially on his dad until he is fully groomed to take over their family-operation.
Dylan and Scarlett would not just be giving up the people they love and admire. They would also be surrendering their very identities, if they simply took off to be together.
As the evening wore on, the monumental challenges they face became stark reality.
Scarlett will have no idea how to be or, even act, like a royal Ay’sha. I sincerely doubt Natrice Rhinehart would be willing to bring her up to speed. Also, Natrice is nothing like Pricilla. So, Scarlett will not have the foggiest notion on how to please her.
What will Natrice and Scarlett talk about for the rest of their lives? They have nothing in common.
Dylan won’t be in much better shape. He is a gypsy, but he doesn’t know how to be a traveler. His formal education won’t mean a thing to Poppy Bradwell. Dylan will have no way to prove himself to his new dad. In fact, I can’t imagine how my traditional grandparents will judge him and his actions. They have no frame of reference. So, casual Sunday family breakfasts’ are basically out the window, if Dylan is required to interact with the other Doms.
I was raised to fit in wherever I happen to find myself. My g-mom let me experience the world from every imaginable angle. Dylan and Scarlett have each had wonderful, but extremely limited, life experiences. Neither one is better…worse…more ideal…less ideal…they are just two different things.
The injustice of this entire situation was suddenly overwhelming me. They are all gypsies. How can they have nothing in common???
My mind was racing as the challenges piled on top of the astronomical problems. I couldn’t fathom a single solution. Overwhelmed and ready to start sobbing, I looked for a safety net. I need my Momma-G!
Asking permission before I sat down closely beside my momma, I squeezed her hand to help me regain my perspective. She didn’t know what had me in a spin, but my intermittent shaking let her know something was wrong. My emotional storm quieted down as she gently stroked my arm.
I listened as Natrice and Grandmother Elingston resumed their discussion about the gem shower and the crowning. From the context, I deciphered that after the Hosting dinner is over the men and women separate. No one mentioned what the men do, but women give the bride a jewelry shower.
Although the Rhineharts’ are not positioned to be Kings and Queens, they are still considered royals. This means Scarlett will be given a uniquely designed crown. She gets to see it at the shower, but it won’t be presented to her until the wedding reception.
I knew Scarlett would be thrilled when she finds out about the gifts she will receive at her royal shower. Now, I just hope we all get far enough to see her crown placed on her head.