Disclaimer: The characters - Tessa Alvarado, Don Alvarado, and Marta are the copyright of Paramount, Fireworks Productions. No copyright infringement is intended. The story plot and other characters are copyrights of the author, Maril Swan.

Author's Notes: Translations of words used in this story. gitanos - Gypsies; payos - non-Gypsies

Gitano

by Maril Swan

Part 1 of 2

Madrid, Spain, early fall 1811

The late afternoon sun sent its slanting rays through the casement window, filling the room with honeyed light. Dust motes swirled in its beam, disturbed by the breeze of the opening door. A woman sat staring out at the Madrid street, seeing nothing, her hands tightly clasped in her lap. She turned quickly as Rosa, one of the villa's servants entered. "Anything...?" she asked in a voice nearly devoid of hope.

Rosa shook her head and Marta's shoulder slumped as she put her head in her hands, supported by her elbows on the table. Poor Marta, Rosa thought, observing her anguish. She looks a wreck. Hardly eaten or slept in nearly three days, and her eyes are so red from weeping. That Alvarado brat has a lot to answer for. If she were my daughter, I would give her such a beating for this! Rosa crossed herself, adding quickly, Por Dios, I just hope nothing bad has happened to her. "Marta," Rosa said, her voice soft with sympathy, as if she were in the sickroom of a dying person. "There is a man here to see you. He says he is your brother."

"Bring him to me, Rosa, por favor," Marta answered in a hoarse whisper. Fatigue made her stagger slightly as she arose to meet her visitor. She held the back of the chair for support, and shook her head morosely. What bad timing, she thought. I haven't seen him for nearly two years, but he could not have come at a worse time. The door opened and a vigorously handsome man strode in, a wide smile flashing across his face as he came forward to greet his sister. He opened his arms and Marta rushed into them. His comforting presence broke down all her restraint, allowing her to let go of her pent-up grief and she began to sob heavily against his chest.

"Rafael! It's Tessa..." Marta gasped, trying to catch her breath. "She has been gone nearly three days...We have searched all of Madrid ...There is no trace of her."

"She is with us," Rafael said calmly, as he held her back to look into her face. Like someone waking from a nightmare, Marta slowly took in what he had said. She slumped against her brother and he led her to the chair, setting her down gently.

"With you!" she said. "Let me see her. Where is she?"

"With us, as I said. At our camp." Rafael smiled, a roguish twinkle in his black eyes. He brushed a lock of wavy dark hair off his brow. His movements were economical and his slight frame seemed to contain unleashed energy like a coiled spring. "She rode into our camp early yesterday. At first, I thought she was a young man. She was dressed in men's clothing, with a sword at her side. But on a closer look, I knew she was a woman." Rafael raised his black eyebrows, grinned cheekily and made a female shape with his hands. "She has certainly changed a lot in two years," he added with a laugh.

"Rafael!" Marta said, shocked. "Remember who you are speaking of!" Regarding her older brother with a tolerant smile, Marta continued, "Why did you not bring her back with you? You must have known I would be worried to death about her." She expelled a long breath, and added, "I had just about given up hope of ever seeing her again. You cannot imagine the thoughts I have had these past three days. Was she kidnapped, murdered, ravished...I could not think where she had gone or what to do. And, all the time, she was running away to join the Gypsies. It is just too funny!" Marta's harsh laugh held an edge of hysteria which threatened to overwhelm her, fatigue and relief using up her last resources.

Rafael regarded his sister with affectionate concern. He touched her cheek gently. "Oh, Rafael! Since Don Alvarado went back to California about three years ago, she has been impossible. Tessa wanted to return with him, but he insisted she stay here to get an education. For weeks after he left, she sulked. That was hard enough. After that, she became like a devil's child - disobedient, wilful, disrespectful. I have had no control over her. She did as she pleased." Studying her clenched hands, she continued, "Four days ago, we had such an argument. I found out her music maestro, Señor Torres, is actually a fencing master. Imagine, she was taking fencing lessons behind my back, for three years, deceiving me, lying to me."

In spite of his genuine sympathy for his younger sister, Rafael started to laugh. "Fencing lessons," he chortled, unable to contain himself. "Fencing lessons instead of music lessons. Yes, I can see that. It is just like her." He broke into huge guffaws, while Marta eyed him angrily. Composing himself, he grinned at her, "If she had asked you or her father, would she have been allowed? I can't really blame her, though it was wrong to be deceitful to someone who loves her as you do."

"It is my fault she is the way she is. I have spoiled her, given in to her too much." Marta turned her weary eyes to her brother, then looked away in chagrin. "Don Alvarado made a mistake in giving her into my care. What do I know about raising a child?"

Rafael chucked Marta under her chin, the way he always did when they were children. "What should you know about it? You're hardly more than a child yourself."

His remark drew a smile from her. "Time passes, my dear brother. I'm no child. I feel old." She laughed shortly. "And, she is driving me to an early grave." Marta patted his hand affectionately. "I have not said yet how glad I am to see you, Rafael. And how relieved I am that Tessa is all right. Now, perhaps you would like some food, then we will go and fetch her back here."

Rafael regarded Marta for a long moment, then asked, "Why did she run away? What was the argument about?"

"When I found out about the fencing lessons, I confronted her and told her she must stop. She snapped her fingers at me and said I was not her mother and she would do as she pleased. I was so angry, I raised my hand to slap her, but I didn't. Instead, I told her I would write to her father, and tell him of her behaviour. I said he would probably send her to a convent until she was married. She rushed out, and closed herself in her bedroom. That was just after the dinner hour. I was too upset to speak to her, so we both went to bed angry."

"The next morning I went to her room to make peace with her, and she was gone! All that day, I thought she was just staying away, still in a sulk over our argument. She had done this before. I was worried, but when it started to get dark, I sent the other servants out to look for her. All night they searched and all the next day. I went out myself and wandered all over Madrid, asking anyone I met if they had seen a young woman of her description. We continued to search through the night again, to no avail. Now I know why. She was never here!" Marta frowned slightly, and asked, "How did she ever find the camp?"

Her brother raised an eyebrow at her. "You told her, of course. While filling her head with romantic stories about your childhood, you told her where we have our winter camp. All she had to do was get near enough, then ask the townspeople. The payos always know where we are camped. They make sure we do not get too close. As if we would want to," Rafael added with a derisive snort.

Rafael sat down in a chair near her, a pensive expression on his face. "Mama and I talked about Tessa, and why she ran away. She is not a bad girl, but I think she is afraid."

"Afraid of what," Marta asked.

"Of life. Or maybe, the life to which she seems to be destined. To become the wife of a don, to have his children, to get fat and lazy with servants to do everything for her. That is the life ahead of her. If it was me, I would be afraid," he commented wryly.

"What else is there for a woman? She is what she is, the daughter of Don Alvarado. She will be expected to marry well when she goes to live in California." Even as she stated these facts, Marta felt her own spirits depressed by those thoughts. She is high-spirited and not afraid to defy convention, Marta mused, thinking about the fencing lessons. It must have taken a great effort for a young woman to arrange them for herself. What will happen to her in the rigid confines of a traditional marriage? She will be suffocated, her spirit destroyed.

"Mama had an idea on how to handle this situation. She suggested that Tessa stay with us for a while." He chuckled, and added, "After a week or two of rough living in our camp, she will be begging to come home. I think she just needs a little adventure in her young life."

"What about Don Alvarado? If he ever finds out about this, I will lucky to just lose my position. He could have me thrown in jail."

"How is he to know? He is thousands of miles away, and certainly no gitano will tell him anything."

"Let me think about it, Rafael. Meanwhile, you must be hungry. I will arrange a meal for you. Then we will go." Marta started to rise, but her brother restrained her gently with his hand on her shoulder.

"You look so tired, Marta, I hardly think you could stay on a horse. Go and get some rest. We will start tomorrow."

She began to protest, then nodded wearily. "I think you are right. Now that I know she is safe, perhaps I can at last get some sleep."

Chapter Two

A day and a half travelling on horseback found the two riders on a narrow track through the woods. All was hushed but the creak of saddle leather and the crackle of dry leaves as the horses plodded through the autumn forest. Now and then, the trees hummed with the wind and crisp leaves rustled across the ground. The brother and sister kept a companionable silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

Finally, Marta said, "How much farther is it?" A good night's rest had restored her strength, and she had an excited flush on her cheeks, a brilliant gleam in her eyes. It had been over five years since she had seen her mother and her people. She was anxious to see them again. The thought of her confrontation with Tessa dimmed her spirits momentarily. What will I say to her, Marta wondered. How will she react to me after all this?

The forest trail opened into a clearing, and Marta gave an excited cry. "Look, Rafael. The camp!" She reined her horse at the edge of the clearing to fill her eyes with the sight of the Rom camp with its circle of eight multicoloured caravans, the cooking fires tended by women in brilliant costumes, the children playing nearby, and the men working or talking in groups. No-one had seen them yet, and Marta wanted to prolong this moment, to savour it. In her heart she was also reluctant to disturb this peaceful scene, afraid of what her encounter with Tessa might bring.

Rafael kneed his horse forward. Marta followed, her eyes searching for Tessa among her people. She spied the young woman with Pico, her cousin. He seemed to be showing her how to juggle coloured balls, and Tessa was laughing gaily as she tried it herself. As they rode into the camp, many began to gather and point, then to come toward the two riders. Marta could see welcoming smiles on all the faces she looked on, but one. Tessa saw her, and seemed to freeze. Her eyes widened with fear, and she glanced away as if looking for a place to run. Instead, she pulled herself up more rigidly and held her ground, awaiting whatever would come. Marta smiled, a warmth spreading through her as she realized, with pride, that Tessa was not a coward. If there was to be a punishment, she would take it.

Marta dismounted and led her horse to Tessa, trying to gauge the girl's feelings toward her. Does she hate me so much, Marta wondered. Uncertainly, the younger woman took a few steps forward, her jaw working and Marta could see she was afraid. As if I could ever harm her, Marta thought fiercely. She rushed to Tessa and embraced her fervently, unable to speak. She felt the girl trembling, and her cheek moistened with tears. Hers or Tessa's?

"I'm so sorry, Marta," the young woman finally stammered. "It was wicked of me to put you to all this distress. Please forgive me." She sniffed loudly, and added, "I have been in torment for days."

Marta laughed fondly, brushing the tears from Tessa's face. "Yes, I could see how tormented you were, over there playing with Pico." She pressed the girl to her breast again, and whispered, "Of course, I forgive you." She gently extricated herself from Tessa's embrace, and added, "Now, I must go and greet my family. I have not seen them for a long time. We will speak later."

"Mama," Marta cried, enfolding the old woman's frail body in her arms. She has aged so much, Marta thought sadly. Time passes so quickly for the old. She kissed the soft cheeks, drinking in the fragrance that her mother always had about her, a mixture of spices and herbs. Her caravan had always been redolent of those scents. It carried Marta back to her girlhood, watching Mama picking herbs and preparing potions, tinctures and even perfumes for ladies. The meagre spaces inside the caravan were jammed with earthen jars and bottles containing the necessaries of her trade, healing woman. Mama had painstakingly taught Marta all she knew of herbs and medicines. She had been very disappointed when Marta had gone to the city for work, her herbal knowledge seemingly wasted.

The caravan lurched suddenly as a spare grey-haired man pushed through the door, a wide toothy grin wreathing his face. "Marta," he exclaimed, reaching for her and giving her a tight hug.

"Uncle Tonio!" Marta's eyes streamed with joy, as she glanced at her mother, then at her uncle. After her father died, Uncle Tonio had helped her mother raise Rafael and herself. He was her mother's brother, and he had taken her family upon himself, helping to support them as well as his own small family. Of his three children, only Pico had survived to adulthood. In spite of this, and losing his wife, Uncle Tonio always seemed to be brimming with humour, laughter in his twinkling black eyes. Those dark eyes studied her now, and Marta grew uncomfortable under that close scrutiny. Finally, he said, "You look well, Marta. A grown woman. When are you going to marry? Paolo won't wait forever." He laughed, a sudden bark that had always alarmed her as a child. He chuckled softly, then added, "It would seem your lost lamb found her way to us. What are you going to do with her? If my daughter ran away, I would punish her severely."

"She is not my daughter, Uncle Tonio. I have no authority to punish her, even if I wanted to." Marta met his eyes and she added, "Mama suggested that Tessa might stay with the band for a while. But it is up to you to decide if she may or not. I have given the idea much thought on my way here, and if you are willing to have her, I would like Tessa to remain here in the camp until she is ready to return to Madrid."

"Is this right, Luisa? You want to keep this payo girl here with us?" Uncle Tonio turned to Marta, his face serious. "What of her father? You know what could happen to us if there is any hint that she was kept here against her will. What would he do if he found out she had been living in a gitano camp?" He stood up in the cramped space, pensively looking between Marta and her mother. At last he said, "She may stay here, but only if you remain also, Marta. That is my final word on it." With that, he left the caravan. His hearty voice could be heard outside hailing someone, and there was a burst of laughter.

"Marta, it is so good to have you with us again. How have you fared in that awful city? Do you remember anything I taught you about healing?" Her mother's eyes filled with tears, a shadow in their depths. Marta knew she had not much longer to live. Fate has sent me back before it is too late, she thought. We both know this may be our last time together. She pushed that thought away, and began to tell her mother about her life in Madrid among the payos.

A feast was prepared to celebrate the return of Luisa's daughter, and the camp buzzed with activity the whole day. The cooking fires held large cauldrons of stews, giving off delicious smells. Marta spent most of her day going from one group to another, talking animatedly, laughter never far from her throat, as she slipped back into the context of her youth. Her people. Beautiful, joyous, passionate. The Rom.

That night, after the meal, a calm descended on the camp as the gitanos relaxed around the campfire. Marta got some blankets to wrap around Luisa so she could sit outside her caravan and enjoy the cool evening with her people. Her mother felt the cold more keenly now, she had admitted to Marta. Her daughter tucked the blankets more closely around the old woman, adding an extra hug as she seated herself alongside.

Tessa sat on the other side of Luisa, drawn to her maternal warmth, grateful for the chance to stay with the gitanos, at least for a while. She could not believe her good fortune. She expected to be forced to return to Madrid, to endure some punishment, perhaps even be sent to live with her father's sister in Barcelona. Tessa shuddered at that thought. Tia Damona was a hard-eyed woman, so fervently religious she was frightening, with her eternal warnings and platitudes about the fires of hell, the evil of men, and the dangers of carnal love. Tessa's last visit, with her father just before he had returned to California, had made her beg Don Alvarado never to make her go to live there with her aunt. It had been his intention to leave Tessa with his sister, but her plea had changed his mind. Damona was not the right kind of woman to raise his impressionable and spirited daughter. He had given that responsibility to her trusted servant, Marta, instead.

She stole a glance at Marta. How different she is here, among her people, Tessa thought. She laughs and jokes, her eyes are bright with joy. Tessa looked pensively into the campfire, oppressed by remembrance of her own behaviour these last three years. She has every reason to hate me. I have driven the joy from her life. She has scarcely laughed or smiled all this time. I gave her no reason to, only provoked her to anxiety and anger. Sighing heavily, she felt the prickling of tears in her eyes, the coolness as the drops rolled down her cheeks while she stared at the dancing flames.

Marta noticed the girl's distress, the tears running unheeded to her chin. She moved to get up to comfort her, to reassure Tessa. Luisa gave her a stern look, shaking her head, as she restrained Marta with a firm pressure on her arm. She whispered, "She is learning a hard lesson, that her actions have consequences, that she must take responsibility for them. Leave her alone for now." Marta sat back down beside her mother, her heart aching from Tessa's misery, longing to hold her. But her mother was older and wiser, and Marta allowed herself to be guided by her wisdom.

Uncle Tonio's voice could be heard all through the camp, as he passed from caravan to caravan, talking with his little band and provoking laughter with his jokes and jibes. Eventually, someone called out, "Tonio, play for us!" His face broke into a wide grin. He didn't have to be asked twice as he went to his own caravan to fetch his violin. He tucked the instrument under his chin, and after a few experimental strokes with the bow, began a sonorous melody of such haunting beauty, Tessa felt her heart would break. Then, he suddenly changed the tempo to something faster, more lively. People started to clap to the beat. A woman picked up her guitar and added its voice to the violin's. The group grew more animated, calling encouragement and praise to the players. As the tempo increased, excitement grew. A woman jumped up and began to dance in a wild flurry of flying feet and swirling skirts. A man joined her, melding his steps to hers, as they clapped and stamped, their passionate moves telling a story, a story as old as time. Soon, other dances leapt up, unable to resist the lure of flamenco while the older folk clapped and shouted, laughed and remembered.

Tessa raised her eyes to the dancers, the colour and passion igniting something new in her soul. Her heart beat faster with the excitement of those stamping feet, those swirling skirts, the glisten of joy and passion in their eyes. She longed to join them, but could not. They were not her people. She felt excluded, alien.

A man approached where the women were sitting. He was of medium height, with a darkly handsome face and intense black eyes. Their intensity was now concentrated on Marta, and he flashed her a quick smile , holding out his hands, inviting her to dance. Tessa frowned in consternation, and glanced at Marta. Her face was flushed with the warmth of the campfire, its light glittering in her eyes as she looked up at him. Tessa turned her gaze away, disconcerted.

As Marta arose, taking his hands, Tessa looked back and suddenly saw what he saw. A beautiful woman. He loves her, Tessa thought in shock. She had never thought of Marta this way before. A woman a man might love, might want to marry. She had always been her Marta, her companion and servant. Tessa's spirits plummeted once more as Marta and the man joined the dancers. This is where she belongs, with her people. With a man who loves her. And after what I have done, how I have treated her, who could blame her if she wanted to stay here with them...with him.

Marta and the man slowly circled and watched each other, slowly beginning to match their steps, then faster and faster they danced, losing themselves in the music, the passion of the flamenco. Marta's face was alight with joy as she gave herself up wholly to the dance. To duende. It almost hurt Tessa's eyes to watch. This was not Marta but another woman, someone she did not know. But, she could not tear her eyes away as she watched in fascination this other Marta, not the angry and scolding woman Tessa had made her, but a passionate and carefree woman amongst her own people.

A hand touched her shoulder, and Tessa jumped. She looked up and saw Pico grinning down at her, his eyebrows raised slightly as he held out his hand. "Dance with me," he invited. He was the same age as Tessa, and about the same height, with the slight frame of his people. Handsome like his uncle Rafael, with the same dark features and twinkling black eyes, he had become attached to Tessa from the moment she had entered the camp. She shook her head, but he grabbed her hand and drew her to her feet.

Luisa remarked, "Go on, Tessa. You know you want to. Pico will show you. Go on, have fun." The old woman's face creased into a wide smile as she watched the youngsters enter the dance. Ah, to be so young, she thought serenely, I would not want it again. So many troubles, so much heartache. It is better to be old, and have all that behind you. Her eyes softened as she gazed at Marta dancing with the man, Paolo. She should have stayed with us, married Paolo, Luisa thought, sighing. Who will be the healing woman when I am gone. And she looks so happy now.

Pico guided Tessa among the dancers, showing her the steps, and laughing when she stumbled, encouraging her with his praise. Self-consciously, fearing the gitanos were watching her clumsiness, Tessa concentrated on her feet, trying to match his moves, until finally he said with a wide smile, "Forget your feet, listen to your heart. And let yourself go with the music."

At length, the exultant rhythms and wild energy of the flamenco swept away her inhibitions and Tessa was carried off in the jubilance of the dance. Uncle Tonio set his violin down and went to the water barrel to refresh himself with a drink. The woman with the guitar, Estrellita, continued to strum quietly. Suddenly, her voice began a song that began as a hushed, almost aching, threnody then soared above the treetops, among the sparks from the campfire and the stars in the sky. The hair on Tessa's arms stood up as she listened, transfixed by the mystery of that voice and its song. This is a world within the world, she thought. I never knew such beauty existed. At length, Uncle Tonio picked his violin again, and the dancing resumed far into the night until everyone was exhausted.

As Tessa settled into her blankets beside Marta and Luisa in their caravan, she whispered fervently, "I am so happy here, Marta. I never want to go back!" Marta said nothing, not wanting to spoil this night for Tessa with the realities she must soon face.

Concluded in Part Two

Your comments on my stories are always welcome Maril Swan