Searchers and Travelers
For a while, after Erik had listened to Raphael's song about the girl, Ginger, who had been kind to him when he was with the gypsies, he couldn't stop thinking about her.
Erik had seen for himself how intimidating Rafe's gypsy master had been. A huge cruel man, whom Erik had rid the earth of. And, yet, a young woman had stood up to him to protect a little boy. That kind of bravery should not go unrewarded.
"Are you coming to bed, soon, Erik?" Christine peered from the doorway to their bedroom, down the stairs, where she could see the outline of her husband sitting at the piano, a candelabra burning down on the table beside him.
"I will be a while, my dear. I am working on a little something and have to sort it out or it will keep running through my head, and keep you awake with my tossing and turning."
"Ah!" Christine came down the stairs and perched on the piano bench beside him, "I have been there, before. Thank you for your thoughtfulness," she leaned over and kissed his unmasked cheek. "I have rehearsals coming up so need my beauty sleep," she laughed. "You need yours, as well. So don't stay up all night. I'd like to snuggle up to you, before dawn, anyway." She kissed him, again, rose and went back up the stairs.
Erik smiled. How he cherished his beautiful wife. He shook his head at his good fortune. How had he ever deserved such a life, with his shady past? Still, for all he had suffered throughout his life, he appreciated every moment of his life with Christine… and his adopted son. Raphael. Raphael. Yes…his mind wandered away from his composition and back to the girl, Ginger.
How to track down a gypsy caravan was not easy. They wandered the countryside, crossing borders and then retracing their routes with the seasons. Still, Erik had eyes and ears everywhere, when he needed them. He had made many contacts over the years. From architects to construction workers to peddlers and musicians not to mention the more unsavory types whom he crossed paths with. If he needed, he would have a good idea of where that particular group of travelers might be. And surely, someone would have taken note of a red-haired girl traveling with them.
Somewhere, in the south of France, Ginger was gathering firewood and the occasional flower, which she'd add to her braided hair. She hummed to herself. Life without Eduardo in their midst was far more pleasant. He had been found, murdered, the very same night the little gypsy boy, Rafe, disappeared. She assumed a connection and was happy that someone had killed Eduardo on Rafe's behalf. He was not even 10 years old when he vanished. The others in the camp pretended outrage that someone had snuck into their midst and murdered one of their own, though, almost all of them had been secretly relieved. Especially the women and children. And the dogs and horses that had felt his boot or his lash.
"My petite fleur, where have you been so long?" it was her husband, Wolf, a dashing gypsy man in his purple velvet coat and striped trousers. She smiled at him, "Working, as you can see." She held up her arms loaded with wood. He noticed the flowers and his eyes softened at the beauty of his perfect wife. If only she loved him as much as he adored her. He sighed. "Here, let me take that. You know you never have to do that kind of work for me. I need you only to cook and sew and look beautiful beside me on the wagon," he beamed at her and gathered the wood from her arms, freeing her to gather more of the wild flowers into a bouquet and follow after him.
Some days later, there was a knock on Erik's door. He paused, that sense of caution from his days in the cellars, never having left him. "Erik, it's me, you suspicious specter!" Nadir. His great friend from their days in Persia. Nadir, who had rescued him and been in his life longer than anyone. He opened the door. Shadow, Erik's cat, raced through the door before Nadir, and Erik smirked "Look what the cat dragged in!" "Nonsense. I am here with news, my friend."
Erik led his friend to the sitting room, gestured to a comfortable chair, gathered two crystal glasses from a table and poured them each a glass of brandy. "So? What is this news?"
"That gypsy girl you've been searching for has been spotted with a caravan near Provence. Word is, in a few weeks they will be making their way to Paris."
'Interesting. How did you come by this information?" Erik gazed across at Nadir.
"I have my sources," Nadir replied mysteriously.
"I am sure you have. Usually they revolve around food or drink."
"I would be gravely insulted… if it were not for the fact the news came from my wine merchant."
They both laughed at that, and each reached their glass toward the other and clinked them, in agreement.
Erik left briefly, and returned with some bread and cheese and two small plates. The two friends ate as they talked. "You never said exactly what you hoped to do with this girl once you find her?" Nadir secretly hoped this was not another Christine obsession. After all, he had Christine. What did he need with another young lady. He, himself, had the lovely Madam Antoinette Giry, as his companion.
"I want to reward her."
"What do mean?" Nadir queried.
"She protected Raphael in the gypsy camp. I believe he would not have survived without her interference. Did I tell you Raphael wrote a song about her? It is what finally spurred me into action. Somewhere, this brave girl was wandering the countryside. I wanted to make sure this was by her own choice and I wanted to provide for her. So she could make decisions on how to live her life. Or improve it, at any rate. Christine and I are quite comfortable, as you know, and it would cause us no hardship to set up a small endowment in this young lady's name, once we know it. I know the gypsies… and I do not want to just hand her cash that would disappear and maybe put her at the mercy of those people."
Nadir nodded, understanding. He knew of Erik's rescue of Raphael, almost three years ago. Rafe didn't know his true birthday, so they celebrated on the day of his rescue. He might be about 12 years old now, more or less. A handsome, talented, and charming young man. He sang, and played the piano, and a bit of violin. He had blossomed with Erik and Christine's love.
What might this girl do, given the chance. He believed his friend that this was not someone who might win his trust and then rob him blind. Ever the Chief of Police that he had been back in Mazanderan, he would keep his eye on the situation as it unfolded.
Ginger, unaware that anyone would ever be discussing her or searching for her whereabouts, sat on the seat of the caravan watching their two horses graze and patting Briar, Wolf's border collie. She reached behind her and felt for her hairbrush, a gift from Wolf, unbraided her hair, and began to brush
it out. She kept herself as clean and presentable as life on the road would allow. As she brushed her hair, she glanced over at Wolf, who was squatting beside the campfire with several other men, deep in discussion. She was fond of her husband. But there was more to life than this continuous traveling and performing and the constant struggle to make ends meet. She was a talented seamstress and wore her own colorful creations. Maybe one day, she would own her own shop and sew fashions for a wealthy Parisian clientele. Stranger things have happened, she mused.