A newborn baby girl is taken to a village near Zagreb, Yugoslavia. Fifteen years later the baby, now grown,is on a dangerous journey to find where she really belongs.
Excerpt
When Sofie, Alexie and Klara had gone to the gypsy camp, Anton stayed behind. He promised to join them later. He had been thinking and praying in the chapel. Praying for his son Stefan. Gone, God knows where. He prayed for Ivan, hoping the young man would come to terms with what could not be changed. Then he prayed for himself asking for the strength to make correct decisions in the future. He wanted peace of mind.
“Please, God, guide me.” Did God listen to him, he wondered?
When he left the chapel, walking toward the house, he thought he heard a scream. Anton couldn’t decide if it came from the woods or from the gypsies. Surely it wasn’t from his house! He stood a moment waiting to hear more, to get his bearings, but all was quiet.
He entered the house, as usual, through the kitchen door, the oil lamp giving off a faint light. He opened the door to the dining room and was surprised to see it dark. For in the kitchen a low light usually burned on the tabletop until the last person went to bed. He could see no light reflecting from where the stairs should be. Why was the house in darkness? Did Ernesta go to have her fortune told? And Katya? Did she change her mind? Was she gone also?
“Ernesta!” he called. “Are you home? Katya?”
…Silence.
Anton returned to the kitchen for the oil lamp. He lengthened the wick for a brighter flame and went back into the dining room.
He stumbled over her body before he saw her! Ernesta’s body, crumpled like a rag doll at the foot of the stairs. Was she dead?
“Maika Boze! Mother of God! Erna, Erna! Speak to me.” He gently raised her head, but she seemed lifeless. “Oh, no! This can’t be. My God, it can’t be.”
He heard the whinny of a horse. It sounded as if it came from the barn. Lamp in hand, Anton ran out the kitchen door looking toward the barn. He heard movement: footsteps, wheels. Someone was taking the carriage or the wagon.
Anton ran back into the house, past the body of Ernesta, to the parlor for a weapon.
His sword was gone! My God, what had happened here?
Running back outside, he dropped the lantern on the porch steps and guided by moonlight grabbed a log from the woodpile beside the steps. With quiet haste he made his way to the barn.
The wagon was rolling! The thief, the murderer was getting away!
“Stop!” Demanded Anton as he stood in the middle of the road leading to the main road. “Stop, I say.”
The wagon didn’t slow down as it came fast toward Anton. In the moonlight he recognized the Turk who had come the day before demanding to see Stefan.
Anton moved quickly. As the wagon rattled past him he made a jump for the driver. Abuh kicked Anton in the chest sending him rolling on the ground.
Mustafa was in the back of the wagon holding onto Katya who was beginning to stir. Mustafa pushed her down into the bed of the wagon. One of her hands managed to slipped free of the pillowcase. Something bright and shiny sparkled in the moonlight grabbing Mustafa’s attention. He took her wrist pulling it closer for a better look. He removed the lit lantern from the nail hanging at the side of the bouncing wagon and placed it next to Katya’s wrist for a better look. Through the pillowcase Katya was aware of the bright light, but she was still dazed by the blow to her head.
It was SHE! Mustafa had heard the story of the girl who was under the protection of the gypsies. He knew the description of the bracelet with its half-moons and stars.
This had to be the girl wearing Queen Valina’s bracelet. Now that he was a member of the tribe he was honor-bound to protect Katya. His clever mind quickly calculated his risk. The woman in the house was surely dead. The girl in the wagon had never seen him. The man lying on the road had not seen Mustafa, for he had been hidden in the bed of the wagon.
From his sash he pulled out a thin knife, the blade glinting in the light. It was sharp and deadly as Mustafa plunged it into the back of Abuh.
Read more about Destiny’s Dowry and Rosemary Gard HERE.
Copyright 2008 Rosemary Gard. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
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