Gypsy in Black: The Romance of Gypsy Travelers by Sarah Price Page A

mistaken.  Quite wrong, she thought as she started pacing around the post again.  H er father had rented out the roo ms upstairs on a nightly basis, although Sahara was well aware that it was a rare occasion th at a man truly spent the entire night.  As a young girl, th e animal noises from inside had aroused her childish curiosity . But when she realized what was going on, the noises had disgusted her.  Sahara shook her head as she leaned against the tent post.   There was no way Nicolae would be her eternal downfall.  Sinking to the ground, Sahara sighed. The sol emn tone with which he had spoken the words left no doubt in Sahara's mind that if she left, he'd hunt her down and find her.   She s huddered, holding her head with her hands as she realized the seriousness of her predicament. 
    Sahara raised her eyes to ward the top of the tent as she sighed and moved over to the feat her mattress.  Rolling onto her stomach, she remembered how her father's tavern had slowly decayed after Amaya's de ath.  The outside was no longer whitewashed but a grungy g rey as the shutters broke and eventually fell off the bui lding.  That was when the rooms upstairs began to be rented out t o amorous strangers.  And then, Patrick sold the piano.  He had cried when the men came to take it.  It was the only thing Amaya had t ruly loved, besides herself.  She would sit for ho urs, playing her wild, European music.  Sahara could still hear the tin clanging of the keys in her ears.  Not unlike the mu sic she had danced to the night before.  Wild, free, romantic, and full of gypsy. 
    Nicolae was right.  There was no reason to try escaping only to return to her father.  He had overworked her and abused her , mentally and physically, whenever possible.  How many nights had she gone hungry as he gambled away the money his tavern made?  How many nights had he drunk more than the customers?  How often had he slapped her for waking up late after working all night? He had always seemed so angry and distant from her.  She could not remember any tender words or kindness from him, especially after her mother had succumbed to the fever and died.  No, indeed, r eturning to her father was not an option.
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    She hated the new family almost as much as she hated the new country.  It was wild and barren when compared to Europe.  The people spoke a strange language and lived in small wooden houses.  Except for the few small towns that they came across every few days, there was too much land separating people from each other.  The towns were untamed and dirty, with few ladies and even fewer gentlemen.  The rest were cowboys and outlaws, as far as she could tell.
    She spent most of her days by herself, nursing her baby.  In the beginning, people left her alone.  She preferred it that way.  But after a few weeks passed, the older women began to complain to her.  “You want to eat? Then you must work!” they said, tossing some dirty laundry at her to take to the stream to wash.
    She let the laundry fall into the dirt.  “I will not wash your dirty rags,” she snapped and walked away.
    They complained to the man, the leader of the family.  He listened and nodded.  But he did nothing.  He had other things, more pressing things, on his mind.  But he knew that he would have to address the situation soon.  The girl was not adapting to the family and it was up to him to see that she did.
     
     
     
     
     

Chapter Six
    Her heart skipped a beat, s inking in her chest as she felt the firm hand squeezing her shoul der.  Shutting her eyes, Sahara bit her lip and fell to her k nees.  How had he known she was trying to slip under the tent? Sahara only wanted to get some fresh air.  Exhausted from the excitement earlier, she had nestled under a blanket, shutti ng her eyes to the throbbing in her head, and slept all afterno on, right until dusk.  When she finally awoke, Sahara began t o pace the length of