The bridesmaids surround Medca to unravel the braids from her hair and to place the headscarf, the diklo, on her head to show that she is now a married woman. She will wear that, when in public, for the rest of her life.
The Romani now turn to some serious feasting—kegs of wine are set out and meat is put on spits to roast over open fires. Guitars are brought out, fiddles, too, and songs are sung.
The wedding gifts consist mostly of money—some in packets and some in coins that have been made into necklaces that are then placed around the neck of the bride.
Me? I give them money, too, in my own way.
At the height of the festivities, I go up to Medca and Jan and ask them to follow me to Zoltan’s wagon, to which I have tied Gabriella’s reins. She is saddled and ready to go.
“You will need a horse to pull your wagon, and she is a good horse. Please treat her well. May you roam the hills and valleys of your beautiful country to the end of your days.”
I untie the reins and place them in Jan’s hands.
“Goodbye, Jan. Goodbye, Medca,” I say, embracing them both. “May you prosper.”
With that, I turn, sling my seabag over my shoulder, and leave the world of the Roma.
Chapter 54
It did not take me all that long to get from Almería to Gibraltar, it being only a couple hundred miles.
Yes, I could have used my good mare Gabriella, but I feel she is better off with Jan and Medca and, true, I did not have much money. I left a good deal of what I had earned while with the Roma in Gabriella’s saddlebag—a leather purse with gold coins and a small watercolor of what I thought one of the Roma dwellings in Granada would look like, in hopes that the two of them would someday have one of their own. I drew it with flowers all about, and some chickens... and kids... in the yard. I’m sure they’ll get the idea.
I had left in the midst of the festivities, not being very good at goodbyes, and hit the road. I didn’t have much money left, but, hey, I had my fiddle and my wits. What more did I need?
I did, however, say a private goodbye to Marko. He, of course, professed undying love, and he offered me half of what he owned for The Virgin Maja. But I said no, I would keep that, and sent him off with a good and lusty kiss.
And there was one other who watched me go—a solitary figure clad all in black, who stood at the edge of the camp. I raised my hand to her, and she did the same to me. I turned and headed down the dusty road, and I have the feeling she watched me till I went out of sight.
The way down was pleasant. I traveled as a boy, of course, and hitched many a ride on wagons, and some in coastal boats, so, by and large it was good. Yes, the ground was hard at night, but the sun was warm in the day, and all was right with my world.
When I slipped into Gibraltar, I went right to the harbormaster’s shack. The harbor was bristling with the masts of ships, but most of them bore the Union Jack, and I wasn’t quite sure I wanted to get back into that life, not just yet.
“What’s shippin’ out, guv’nor?” I asked of him. “Who’s taking on crew?” I have absolutely no money left after my journey here.
He checked his ledger. “Most all to England, but not hiring. Hmmm . . . There’s one, lad, that’s taking on men—the Margaret Todd. She’s going to America... Charleston... New York... then Boston. You might try her. She’s right down there, in that slip—the four-masted schooner.”
Hmmm . . .
What I wanted was a berth on a ship bound for Rangoon, to see Jaimy, but that was not likely to happen, not here in this inconvenient corner of the world.
So I sat on the pier and considered...
Lord Allen is back in England under the care of Dr. Sebastian, and there’s nothing I can do for him should I arrive there. And Jaimy’s in Rangoon. Hey, it’s easier to get from Boston to Burma than from Gibraltar to there, the Spice Trade and all. Plus, I should be checking on Faber Shipping Worldwide . . .
So, Jacky . . . to America.
I stride down the pier and walk up the gangplank of the Margaret Todd. There is a man standing on the deck, and I suspect he is either the Captain or one of the mates.
“What do you want?” he asks of me.
“I am told you are taking on sailors.”
“Maybe. Who are you?”
I drop my seabag to the deck and say...
Jacky Faber . . . Seaman . . . Rated Able.
L. A. Meyer, Viva Jacquelina!
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