Adriana was only a child when she watched her parents die. As hateful villagers attacked her family’s camp, Adriana’s brother Giuseppe carried her into the woods. He told her to close her eyes, but she watched the carnage, and the memory has stayed with her ever since. Now a young woman, she is on the verge of choosing a husband when her life is again turned upside down. At a quiet English village fair, Adriana is telling fortunes when one of the local nobility attempts to have his way with her. Giuseppe is killed while defending her honor, and Adriana vows revenge.
England offers no justice for Gypsies, and so Adriana must take her vengeance in blood. When her plot against her brother’s killer fails, she is forced to flee to the New World, where she will encounter a passion greater than any she has ever known.
Adriana was only a child when she watched her parents die. As hateful villagers attacked her family’s camp, Adriana’s brother Giuseppe carried her into the woods. He told her to close her eyes, but she watched the carnage, and the memory has stayed with her ever since. Now a young woman, she is on the verge of choosing a husband when her life is again turned upside down. At a quiet English village fair, Adriana is telling fortunes when one of the local nobility attempts to have his way with her. Giuseppe is killed while defending her honor, and Adriana vows revenge.
England offers no justice for Gypsies, and so Adriana must take her vengeance in blood. When her plot against her brother’s killer fails, she is forced to flee to the New World, where she will encounter a passion greater than any she has ever known.
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Overview
Adriana was only a child when she watched her parents die. As hateful villagers attacked her family’s camp, Adriana’s brother Giuseppe carried her into the woods. He told her to close her eyes, but she watched the carnage, and the memory has stayed with her ever since. Now a young woman, she is on the verge of choosing a husband when her life is again turned upside down. At a quiet English village fair, Adriana is telling fortunes when one of the local nobility attempts to have his way with her. Giuseppe is killed while defending her honor, and Adriana vows revenge.
England offers no justice for Gypsies, and so Adriana must take her vengeance in blood. When her plot against her brother’s killer fails, she is forced to flee to the New World, where she will encounter a passion greater than any she has ever known.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781497691865 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Open Road Media |
| Publication date: | 03/10/2015 |
| Series: | The Paxton Saga , #4 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 331 |
| File size: | 4 MB |
About the Author
Frank Schaefer was reared in upstate New York but has lived in Texas for many years. He was a hospital corpsman in the navy and served in the Peace Corps in Costa Rica. He holds a master of fine arts degree in theater from Trinity University in San Antonio, Texas. Schaefer has written plays, film scripts, commercials, and some twenty novels. He lives in Austin, Texas.
Frank Schaefer was reared in upstate New York but has lived in Texas for many years. He was a hospital corpsman in the navy and served in the Peace Corps in Costa Rica. He holds a master of fine arts degree in theater from Trinity University in San Antonio, Texas. Schaefer has written plays, film scripts, commercials, and some twenty novels. He lives in Austin, Texas.
Read an Excerpt
Paxton and the Gypsy Blade
The Paxton Saga
By Kerry Newcomb, Frank Schaefer
OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA
Copyright © 1984 Shana CarrolAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4976-9186-5
CHAPTER 1
Wind blew through the trees surrounding the clearing, rattling branches and carrying other night sounds—the whine of insects, the rustle of small animals moving about in the brush, the occasional whinny of a horse or growl of a dog. Parked around the large clearing were a score of Gypsy wagons so sturdily built that they were actually small houses on wheels. The wagons were decorated with colorful drawings of unicorns and flowers, wheels and stars, birds of every color and plumage, and were festooned with bits of bright cloth that fluttered like pennants in the breeze. The horses that pulled the wagons were penned nearby in a rough makeshift corral. Strong, heavy beasts that might once have carried knights into battle, they were content now to rest after their long day's journey. In the center of the clearing, where the remains of a large fire were banked for the night, coals winked like jewels and ghostly trails of smoke undulated upward to be whisked away by the night breeze.
Though there had been a great deal of activity earlier in the evening, tranquillity now settled over the clearing. Most of the Gypsies were asleep in their wagons and in tents that had been pitched nearby, for the wanderers were tired after traveling most of the day from Kent's Grove to the Chiltern Hills and then setting up their encampment. They would be well rested in the morning, ready to prepare for the spring fair and festivities.
All was not peaceful and quiet in one of the wagons, however. Both of its occupants were asleep in narrow beds that folded out from opposite walls, but one of them rolled uneasily from side to side, restlessly tossing her head, tangling her long, thick auburn tresses. She was young but ripe with the bloom of womanhood, as was obvious when, moaning and writhing, she threw back her blanket, revealing a full figure in a thin nightdress.
The violent dreams that crowded in on her as she struggled and tossed filled her sleep with a fear so intense that her breath quickened and the blood raced in her veins. Even as she dreamed, she sensed that the cause of her fear was real and quite close, but it was so well hidden in the shadows of her nightmare that she could only cringe from the specter and never actually see its source. Violence and fear were not all that she sensed, though for there was a man, too, whose face she couldn't make out, but whose presence in the dream served as a calming influence. He had about him an aura of passion, of great strength; he seemed capable of both boisterous laughter and icy rage. She sensed that he was full of everything that made the pageant of life fascinating.
Who are you? she asked. Who are you? Speak, I pray you!
He gave no answer. Uninvolved, he seemed poised on the brink of her life, waiting for ... what? The proper moment?
Then let me see your face, good sir, that I may know it when the time comes.
Her fear gradually departed, slowly dissipating like the last vestiges of an ugly storm. In its place, where the man stood, dark shadows rushed in to hide his face, then pulsed outward, soon dispelled by a glowing light that, increasing, became a ... tree! A tree, tall and golden, entwined with golden brambles rising like a phoenix from the ashes of her fear.
What does this mean? I beg you tell me, what does this mean?
The image of the tree grew and swelled until there was no room for anything else in the Gypsy girl's mind. A low moan escaped from her throat and she thrashed about more violently. There was nothing frightening about the tree, but a sense of overwhelming power flowed from the image, filling her dream and washing away everything else with the cleansing strength of a rushing river....
"Adriana!" a voice hissed in the darkness of the wagon. "Wake up, Adriana! What is wrong?"
Adriana bolted awake and her green eyes snapped open. Powerful hands gripped her arms and relief flooded through her as she recognized the familiar shape of her brother, Giuseppe, leaning over her. She took a long, shuddering breath and willed the pounding of her pulse to slow. "I was ... dreaming," she said raggedly, reaching up to clutch his hands and taking comfort from the grip of his blunt callused fingers.
"Do not worry, little one," Giuseppe said softly. "Your visions have never caused you harm. Nothing will harm you. Have I not always taken care of you?"
"Yes, Giuseppe," Adriana said, nodding as she sat up. The throbbing in her skull gradually subsided, and she put her arms around her brother and hugged him quickly. "I will be all right now. You can go back to sleep."
Giuseppe's dark square-jawed face betrayed his concern. "You are sure?"
"Yes," she promised. "I am sure. Just visions. For myself, I think, but I cannot tell yet."
He stood and rested a hand on her shoulder as he lingered at her side. "Your moan awakened me. I was frightened to see you in such torment—I thought perhaps you were sick."
Adriana shook her head and looked up at him. "At first there was fear and terror, but then came a man in shadows and a golden tree." She paused, realizing how little sense she was making. "Do not worry, Giuseppe. I will sleep now."
Giuseppe's teeth gleamed as he smiled down at her. "You know best, little one. I am nearby if you need me."
With a nod, Giuseppe went back to his bed, and Adriana reclined once more on her thin mattress. Her eyes remained open, however, staring into the darkness. She lay quietly until she was certain that Giuseppe's breathing had settled into the deep, steady rhythm of sleep. Then she pushed her blanket back again, swung her legs out of bed, and stood on the wooden floor of the wagon. Despite what she had told Giuseppe, the vision of the tree and the brambles was still as vivid as if it had been printed on her brain. Moving soundlessly, she went to a small window set into one wall, pushed back the curtain, and peered into the night, as thick with shadows as her dream. This was not the first time she had had strange, unexplainable dreams. Usually something about them came true later on. The people who paid their shillings to have their palms read in her tent might scoff at what she told them, but often there was truth in her words. How she knew these truths, and why she had been chosen for this gift, were questions she could not answer. But she knew. She knew.
And now, as she stared out at the stars in the night sky, she wondered what this dream could have meant. There had been violence and fear in her life before: no Gypsy grew into adulthood without seeing things better left unseen. Gypsies had a vision of the world as a strange, dangerous, and magical place. Demons walked the land, fairies hid beneath the oak leaves. A wood sprite might steal your slipper but leave a guinea on the windowsill. The world was an endless display of mystery, life, and death. Hangings, floggings, scourgings, murder. She had witnessed infidelities and lust; jealousy, persecution, and death; and yet she herself had remained safe. Perhaps, because she had been so lucky, fate was waiting to surprise her with something worse in the future. Perhaps ill fortune was lurking there to pounce when she least expected it. But what about the man in the mists of the dream? He had been like no one she had ever known. Would he shortly come into her life and change it forever? Most important, what of the tree, the strange golden tree wound about with a thicket of brambles? The stars winked distantly, the night unwound in silence. Adriana sighed. Only time knew the answers to her questions, and only time would tell.
Fair time! It was spring fair time in Mumford, low in the Chiltern Hills, thirty miles from the city of London. The Gypsies knew what winter in these bleak parts did to the spirits of people who'd been cooped up in smoky hovels, eating a monotonous, starchy diet for six months. They knew, too, how to break through the sullen, oppressive air and elicit, along with laughter, the spare ha'penny and penny on which they made their livings.
The ritual was years old, and each and every man, woman, and child knew his task. The camp woke before daybreak, and within moments the previous night's communal fire was revived and water for tea was boiling. Women cooked while children tended the horses, milked the goats, and cared for younger brothers and sisters. The carcass of a wild boar was encased in clay and set to roast, to be cut up and sold that night. Women began the day-long process of cooking the sweets and puddings and meat pies they would peddle. By sunup, the men had staked out the fair in a plan that would not alter the year long, no matter where they went: a large central commons around which each family was alotted space, the best spots for the eldest and the tribe's leaders, the least desirable for the younger members. Like magic, tents rose and wagons became booths where food and trinkets and notions were sold, where a country lad could try his hand at a game of chance, and where craftsmen plied their trades.
The first fair of the season was always the most exciting, for the Gypsies, too, were tired of the boredom of winter. The day couldn't have been better. Already a cuckoo had called three times, signifying good luck that surely was increased by the discovery of a gold earring that one of the women had lost the year before. The luck held when the sun rose hot and bright, burning off the early morning fog and chasing away the chill of the night before the first customer arrived. Though it was tempered by a vague premonition she attributed to her dream of the night before, Adriana, too, felt the luck as she stood under the sign of the palm over the entrance to her tent. The tent was not large, but it was colorful and eye-catching. Its sides were dyed in alternating vertical bands of red and white, and on top a red pennon flapped languidly in the breeze that rustled the new leaves on the trees. In comparison to the efforts of many of the others, Adriana's preparations had been minimal. The tent had been erected in a matter of minutes, and Giuseppe had carried a bright red rug from their wagon and covered the hard-packed ground inside. On the rug were placed a small round three-legged table and two chairs of lebanon cedar, arranged opposite each other. A pair of unlighted candles in an ornate brass holder completed the decor. Later, the candlelight, heightening the air of mystery inside the darkened tent, would fall on the palms of those who came to have their futures told.
"The demons of night have fled, eh?" Giuseppe said, coming around the tent from where he had been helping the tinker set up his booth.
"You've been helping Saul again?" Adriana asked.
"The leather on his bellows cracked. I told him before we left winter camp that he should replace it." Giuseppe shrugged good-naturedly. He was short and compactly built, and his teeth gleamed remarkably white against his dark features as he smiled at her.
"Saul listens only when listening pleases him," Adriana said.
Giuseppe suddenly scowled. He had seen Adriana and Saul making eyes at each other. Only that morning, while the half-dozen other eligible men in the tribe had sipped their honeyed tea and watched Adriana with hungry eyes, had she gone to sit at Saul's side. "He listens to you," Giuseppe said.
"He is a good tinker. The pots he mends stay mended. Would you have me a spinster? People talk already, Brother. I must choose a man one day soon, and as well Saul as another."
"A man who doesn't care for his tools can't be trusted to care for his woman," Giuseppe growled.
"Giuseppe—"
"Ahh, I know. I am worse than a father. I worry too much."
Fondly, Adriana touched his arm. "You are brother and father, so worry doubly. I do not mind, truly. But you must listen fairly to Saul if he comes to speak to you."
"It's gone that far, then?" Giuseppe asked. "I tell you—" He was interrupted by a child running into camp and announcing the imminent arrival of the first customers. Always the first customers of the first fair of the year stirred his blood. "There will be time for this talk later," he said, rubbing his hands in anticipation of the action to follow. "We have much to do. This will be a good fair, I sense it."
Adriana smiled warmly at him. "And I thought I was the one blessed with the power to see the future. Perhaps you would like to read the palms for me today?"
He shook his head. "I will leave that to you, little one."
"I am not so little anymore, Giuseppe. Must I keep telling you?"
Giuseppe grinned. "So my eyes and my friends tell me. Ah, Adriana, I shall always remember you as the little child with her hair in braids, running to me whenever something was wrong. You believed with all your heart, did you not, that your brother could set anything aright?" His voice was soft with the fondness of the memory.
"And more times than not, you could," Adriana told him.
"Times change," he mused, a faraway look coming into his dark eyes. "You are a woman now, and less and less often need the aid of your brother. So I remember you sometimes as a child, the way you once were. But I love you always, as child, as woman, forever."
Adriana put a hand on his wiry arm. "And I love you, Giuseppe. You have been more than my brother: you have been all of my family for so long, and we have always been strong ... because of you."
He shook his head, a solemn expression on his broad face. "The strength, the power—these come from you, Adriana," he said. "This is the way it has always been and always will be." He suddenly smiled again. "These things do not need to be discussed. They simply are. So enough. Are you ready?"
"I am ready," she told him.
"Good. I will be close by if you need me."
Adriana nodded. Giuseppe had taken care of her ever since that awful day when a mob of angry citizens inflamed by charges of Gypsy thievery had descended on the camp and had wreaked havoc, creating a hideous scene of chaotic carnage as they rampaged with clubs and torches, overturning wagons and setting fire to tents. A boy of ten, Giuseppe had saved his little sister by snatching her up and racing into the woods, where they watched in horror as their parents were beaten to death. Giuseppe's hand had covered Adriana's eyes, shielding her from the worst, but she had seen enough, and the sights she had witnessed had left an indelible impression. She would not have been able to stand the memories had it not been for Giuseppe. Mother and father and brother, he was the center of her universe, and though the time was nearing when she must take a man, she knew her love for him would never diminish.
The keen anticipation Giuseppe had felt raced through the fairgrounds. Men, women, and children busily made last-minute preparations. Gregori, the clan elder, made his rounds as he had for the last decade. Ancient and bent, he was so emaciated that his traditional colorful Gypsy clothing hung loosely on his skeletal frame. A white moustache drooped over his mouth, white wisps of hair clung to his mottled scalp in isolated clumps, and an age-blackened briar pipe was clenched between his gums. Taking the pipe in his gnarled hand, he pointed the stem at Adriana. "Ready, girl?" he asked in a quavering voice.
Adriana nodded. "I am ready, Gregori."
"Good," he said, replacing the pipe in his mouth. Without another word, he turned and ambled off, already intent on his next visit.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Paxton and the Gypsy Blade by Kerry Newcomb, Frank Schaefer. Copyright © 1984 Shana Carrol. Excerpted by permission of OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA.
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