Chapter Text
Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves
Chapter 1
“I’m telling ya Jarrod,” Nick paused in mid sentence, hurriedly gulping down the shot of whiskey sloshing dangerously close to the rim of the glass in his hand before resuming both his pacing and the tirade of words that he was subjecting his brother, mother and sister to. “He might have been dressed in cowboy clothes and had a six gun strapped to his hip but he was no cowboy. No self respecting cowboy would team up with a bunch of Gypsies.” Nick drew in a deep breath. “And another thing…”
Jarrod watched with some amusement as Nick stalked back to the decanter of whiskey that was perched precariously close to the edge of his desk; waiting for what he now realized was going to be a long and convoluted story full of half-finished sentences. He’d already heard the ‘short’ version of what had happened on the range when his dishevelled and bloodied brother had arrived home an hour earlier.
“Nick?” Jarrod enquired worriedly as he met his brother on the front steps of the house. “What happened to you? Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” Nick growled as he pushed past his sceptical brother, pausing long enough to wipe the trickle of blood from his nose with his shirt sleeve, “If you think this looks bad you should see…” Nick shook his head. “Never mind.”
“See who, Nick?” Jarrod asked in consternation.
“The other guy” Nick muttered, still not sure how the man had got the better of him and managed to walk away.
Jarrod shook his head as he followed his brother back into the house. “What other guy Nick? Who did you tangle with this time?”
Nick threw his hat onto the side table beside the door and started unbuckling his gun belt. “Damn Gypsies,” he muttered under his breath but still loud enough for his brother to hear.
Jarrod sighed before taking a deep breath and asking the question he just knew he was going to regret. “What Gypsies, Nick?”
“The ones camped by the stream that borders the old Rogers place.” Nick growled, before mumbling, “thieving, lying bastard.”
Jarrod pursed his lips, “and what did said gypsy do Nick?”
“I caught him red handed herding one of our beeves.” Nick took a breath, “said he found it and was going to return it.”
“And you didn’t believe him?” Jarrod asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Course I didn’t believe him. Do you take me for a fool Jarrod? I know what I saw. He was driving it towards the gypsy wagons when I spotted him.”
“And you beat him up,” Jarrod paused, “or did he beat you up?”
“Course I did and no he didn’t”. Nick pulled his aching body up straighter and glared at his older brother before stomping into the house and heading towards the stairs and his room. Thinking better of it he turned and headed to his brother’s study instead. He needed a drink to wash away the taste of the metallic blood in his mouth first and then he’d go upstairs and clean up.
“Could have fooled me,” Jarrod muttered as he followed his irate brother into the house. This was going to be a long night he thought as he made his way to his study.
Nick had already poured himself a whiskey from the decanter Jarrod had left on his desk after his meeting with William Rogers who had brought him the land sale papers for his property for him to peruse. Jarrod watched as Nick downed the first drink with a grimace and then pour another. Jarrod thought of the recent trouble they and several of the other ranches had been having over the last month with cattle rustlers in the area. Was Nick jumping to a convenient conclusion because they had been unable to locate the rustlers, their hideout or the missing cattle? “How do you know it wasn’t the rustlers who lost the cow? Or maybe it just wandered off from the herd. They do that from time to time you know.” Jarrod pointed out
Nick glared at his older brother before growling out through gritted teeth, “It didn’t wander off, it was stolen by him.”
“Alright Nick, it was stolen so where is it now?” Jarrod asked.
“What do you mean where is it now, Councillor? It’s back with the herd of course.”
“So it’s no longer stolen?” Jarrod asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Now, how can it be stolen if it’s back with the herd?”
“I rest my case.”
“Rest what case Jarrod?” Audra asked as she entered the study, “Oh, hello Nick…,” Audra stopped and stared at her middle brother in shock, “what happened to you? Should I call Mother? She is just changing for dinner.”
“Audra,” Nick acknowledged with a nod of his head, “I don’t need Mother; I’m fine; I’m going upstairs to clean up. Jarrod can tell you what happened.” Nick turned back to Jarrod, “we’re not finished with this conversation big brother.” Nick strode across the study only to come to a sudden halt as Victoria pushed open the slightly ajar door.
“I thought I heard voices…good heavens Nicholas; what happened to you?” Victoria asked as she reached up to lightly brush her hand against Nick’s cut lip. “Are you alright?”
Nick gently took his mother’s hand in his and squeezed softly before releasing her hand. “I’m fine Mother, I’m going upstairs to clean up then I’ll come down and explain.”
Victoria turned to Jarrod with a raised eyebrow as she moved gracefully across the floor and seated herself in the chair in front of her son’s desk. “What has he gotten himself into this time?” she asked of her son who had seated himself in the chair behind the desk. “Does this have something to do with the cattle rustling?”
Jarrod rested his elbows on his desk and steeped his fingers in thought as Victoria waited on his reply. “Yes; no; maybe.”
Victoria’s eyebrows raised and Audra giggled as she took a seat on the arm of her mother’s chair. “That is not an answer I am accustomed to hearing you give Jarrod.”
Jarrod sighed, “let’s just wait for Nick to come back down and tell us from the beginning what happened out on the range. All I know for sure is that he saw a couple of gypsy wagons camped by the stream near the old Rogers place and he found a gypsy dressed as a cowhand herding one of our cows towards the wagons.”
Nick pushed the study door open again in time to hear Jarrod’s last words. “Cowhand my eye,” he grunted as he strode across the room and poured another whiskey. He may have changed out of his dusty, torn shirt and pants, washed his face and combed his hair but there was no denying the swollen lip, bruised cheek and blackening right eye which told of his recent altercation with the other man.
“Nick stop.” Jarrod ordered before his brother could start up on another rant. “Just start at the beginning and explain everything to us as it happened please and without the embellishments.”
Nick glared at Jarrod and huffed a sigh of annoyance, before swallowing the shot of whiskey he had poured and setting the glass down on the desk beside the decanter. “I was coming down the ridge behind the old Rogers place…”
“Isn’t that up for sale?” Audra interrupted.
“I believe it is dear,” Victoria replied, “But let’s let Nick finish his story first so we can go into dinner.”
“Thank you Mother,” Nick replied, “As I was saying, I was coming down the ridge when I spied a couple of gypsy wagons, and before you ask, I know they were gypsy wagons because of their gaudy covers and all the junk hanging on the sides. Anyway they were camped amongst the trees by the stream on old man Rogers side of the stream so I didn’t bother going down to send them packing. But mark my words…”
“Nick,” Jarrod warned.
“Yeah, yeah, councillor, keep your shirt on. I was just about to cross the stream to head back here when I saw a man on horseback hazing one of my beeves along the stream and towards the wagons. So naturally I rode to intercept him and ask what he thought he was doing with my beef.”
“Naturally,” Jarrod muttered despite himself.
Nick glared, “what did you expect me to do, ignore it and just ride on.” Nick eyed the decanter for a moment but thought better of it. “I asked him where he got the beef from and he said he found it wandering along the stream and was going to return it tomorrow.”
“And of course you didn’t believe him Nicholas?” Victoria stated.
“Damn right…sorry Mother,” Nick quickly interjected at Victoria’s raised eyebrow, “no I didn’t believe him. It was obvious he had stolen it and was going to feast on it tonight along with all the other thieving gypsies at the wagons.”
“How many gypsies exactly were there Nick,” Jarrod asked.
Nick shrugged, running a calloused hand through his thick dark hair “I don’t know Jarrod, I only saw the one, him. Now will you let me finish.”
Jarrod inclined his head, “please do Nick, the floor is all yours.”
Nick harrumphed, “anyway I pulled my gun, told him to dismount and drop his sidearm, told him who I was and that was my beef he’d stolen and that I was taking him in to the sheriff in Stockton for cattle rustling. He just sat atop a mighty fine looking unbranded bay stallion, probably stole that too and says to me, “you and whose army?” I told him to get off the horse and I’d show him I didn’t need an army to take care of one lousy, lying thieving gypsy. He raised an eyebrow at me and said “I’m not a gypsy and I don’t lie.” Told him just because he was wearing cowhand clothes that didn’t make him a cowhand or honest. He sighed then said, “You’ve got your beef back, leave now before you get hurt.” " Me get hurt, the nerve of him. Told him if he thought I was going to leave a saddle tramp out here to sneak back onto my range tonight and steal another beef he thought wrong. “So then he asks, what am I, a gypsy, tramp or thief.” "All three I tell him." “Have it your way,” he says and the next thing I knew he dived out of the saddle, straight over the cow between us and pulled me out of my saddle. I lost my gun when we hit the ground and then we had at each other.”
“And where is he now Nick?” Jarrod asked.
Nick shrugged and looked sheepishly at his brother, “when I came to, he was gone, probably back to those wagons, but he left the cow. I brought the cow back to the main herd and then came back here to round up some of the men and go after them.”
“Nick, you didn’t let him knock you out, did you?” Audra asked in surprise.
“No I did not let him knock me out,” Nick replied indignantly, “he’s a gypsy and they all fight dirty.”
“Did you get his name at least Nick,” Jarrod enquired. “If you want to press charges I need a name."
“No I didn’t get his name. I was too busy defending our beef.” Nick growled.
Victoria had sat silently listening to Nick’s story but now she turned to her oldest son. “Jarrod, do you think this incident is connected to the cattle rustling?”
“I don’t know Mother, but I don’t think so. It doesn’t make sense. We have not found any traces of the rustlers or cattle, despite exhaustive searchers. Whoever they are, they have been very careful.”
“Up until now,” Nick interceded.
“That’s what I mean Nick, why all of a sudden allow yourself to be seen herding one cow and not only that, allow your face to be seen by you and then leave you alive to identify him and the cow behind. No I think it is just a coincidence that Nick caught the gypsy with our cow.”
Before Nick could reply, Silas knocked and poked his head around the door announcing that dinner was ready. As the rest of the family stood to follow Silas to the dining room Nick had the last word. “Well tomorrow morning, bright and early I’m going to take some men and run those gypsies out of there. That’ll be one less thing to worry about.”
BV
Heath sighed as he sat on the tongue of the wagon and watched his beautiful dark haired wife with the flashing green eyes march towards him with a cloth and the bottle of gawd awful smelling liniment that his mother in law insisted on keeping in copious amounts for just these occasions.
“Heath Thomson Barkley, you sit still and let me look at you. What were you thinking taking on an armed man like that?” Esmeralda Sofia Thomson Barkley demanded as she dabbed at the bleeding cut on her husband’s cheek, under the rapidly blackening eye, with the cloth.
“You best listen to her son,” Gyorgy Potcovari stated, “Esmeralda has her mother’s fiery Italian temper and believe me you don’t want to get on the wrong side of it.”
“Gyorgy Potcovari, I heard that,” Rosetta Sofia Potcovari replied as she stepped down from the back of the wagon and eyed her son in law with the critical eye of one used to treating such injuries. “He’ll live and maybe he’ll learn, but probably not.” Rosetta counselled off handedly.
“Now Essie, I’m fine. Even your Mama just said so. Just a few cuts and bruises and stiff muscles; if you think this is bad you should see the other guy.”
“The other guy,” Esmeralda retorted angrily, “you mean your brother Nick Barkley, don’t you. When I get my hands on him, I’ll…”
Heath caught his wife’s small hands in his larger ones and pulled her down to sit on his lap. “Essie, you’re not going to do anything to Nick, or anyone else for that matter.” Heath rested his chin on the top of her head and closed his eyes. Perhaps they had been wrong in coming here he thought. He hadn’t expected his brother to be so pigheaded, unreasonable or bigoted for that matter. When he read in the Modesto paper that William Rogers was selling his land in Stockton and it boarded the Barkley ranch, Heath thought it would be the ideal place to settle down with his growing family. Of course he had no intentions of ever telling the Barkleys who he really was, but he had hoped that he and his family could at least become friends and neighbours. Heath sighed and wrapped his arms around the growing belly of his wife. Another four months and the twins would have another play mate. Well what was done was done; tomorrow he would ride into Stockton, meet Rogers and his lawyer, pay for the land and lodge the deeds with the land office as the new owner of the property. Heath laughed aloud.
Esmeralda turned to face her husband. “What’s so funny,” she demanded.
“Was just thinking. Ol’ Nick’s going to be fit to be tied when he finds out the lousy, lying, saddle tramp; thieving gypsy is his new neighbour.”
Esmeralda glared at her husband. “You’re really not going to tell the Barkleys who you are, are you Heath? Don’t you think they deserve to know, and what about Leah and Tomašis? Don’t they have the right to know who their uncles and aunts are? And what of this little one Heath?” Esmeralda asked, patting her husband’s arms that were still wrapped around her belly in that comforting hug. He or she will want to know his or her family too.”
Heath shook his head sadly. “I can’t Essie, please try to understand, I made Mama a promise before she died, we both did remember. We promised to never tell the Barkleys about me.”
Esmeralda jumped to her feet and glared down at husband, “well I think it was a stupid promise. I thought so then and I think so now. Leah is dead Heath, has been for these past five years. I nearly lost you two years ago in that bank holdup in Spanish Camp. If Frank hadn’t pulled you behind the wagon we wouldn’t be having this conversation now. Mama and Papa aren’t getting any younger, what happens to our children when they…,” Esmeralda choked back a sob, “when they or us die? Who is going to look after them then? They need to know they have family they can turn to.” Not waiting for a reply, and tears running down her face, Esmeralda spun around and ran to the wagon she shared with her husband and children leaving Heath sitting on the wagon tongue in despondent silence.
“I have to agree with her Heath; Esmeralda has a valid point, at least with regards to Rosetta and myself. We aren’t getting any younger and you know my Rosie’s heart is not the best these days.” Gyorgy turned to watch his beloved wife of forty years climb into the wagon behind his daughter, his only surviving child. “She goes; I fear I will not be long behind her. I’m sure your Mother would never want or expect you to keep her promise if it were to put her Grandchildren at risk. She loved those two children as much as she loved you even though she only knew them for a few short weeks. As much as she would love her newest grandchild; as much as we love them.” Gyorgy sighed, “You can’t tell the future son, not even I can do that and I am a gypsy. Your Mama, she couldn’t tell the future, she could only see the past, but that doesn’t mean you can’t look towards the future Heath, look to what will happen to the children when we all pass.” Gyorgy squeezed Heath’s shoulder as he turned and headed back to tend the supper fire, a small smile gracing his lips as heard his son in laws soft reply.
“I’ll think about it.”
Heath was brought out of his reverie by the excited cries of his twins. “Papa, Papa, did you beat the bad man. Mama said you had a fight. Is the bad man dead?” Tomašis asked expectantly.
“Does it hurt, Papa?” Leah Rosetta asked as she gently touched the cut on her Father’s cheek, her deep emerald eyes searching his face worriedly.
Heath pulled both children to him and sat one on each of his knees, keeping his arms wrapped around them so that they wouldn’t fall off. “No it doesn’t hurt anymore sweet pea, your Mama fixed it all up for me.” Heath replied hugging his daughter closer to him.
“I bet she used that liniment of Grandmamma’s didn’t she Papa?” Tomašis stated with a shiver. “That stings and I don’t like it.”
“Yes she did son and I don’t like it either.”
“Did you kill the bad man Papa?” Tomašis asked again.
Heath sighed. “No I didn’t Tomašis Gyorgy and what have I told you about fighting and dying.”
Tomašis sighed dramatically before closing his eyes and screwing up his little face in concentration. Heath waited patiently for his son to think through his question and his answer. When Tomašis opened his eyes, blue met blue and he replied solemnly, “we only fight if it is appso…”
“Absolutely.”
Tomašis nodded, “necessary and we are never happy when someone dies, even if it is a bad man.”
“That’s right;” Heath stated, “And you remember that. Fighting is the last option.”
“So it was your last option Papa?” Leah asked as she cuddled into his broad chest. “I don’t like it when you fight, you always get hurt.”
“I don’t like fighting either honey but sometimes that is all that is left. Like today; the man I fought wouldn’t listen to reason and I was left with no choice.”
“Will you see him again Papa. Will he try and fight you again if he sees you?” Tomašis asked.
“He is going to be our new neighbour after tomorrow Tomašis so I guess we will see him from time to time. His name is Nick, Nick Barkley but hopefully he will have cooled down by then and realized we aren’t what he thinks we are.”
“What’s that Papa?” Tomašis asks.
“Gypsies, tramps and thieves.” Heath replied with a sigh. It was no use trying to shield the children from the names that people thought or called them. At least they would never be called bastard he thought.
“But Papa, Grandpa is a gypsy.”
“No he’s not Leah; he’s a man, the same as any other man.”