the year before he died, Grandpa and I went fishing. I always liked spending time with him, whether it was a holiday or not.”
“We had broom-jumping weddings on Easter when I was a little girl,” Filly said.
“I thought that had to do with the Black community,” Emma said.
“It did and it does, but there’s a dispute about just where it did originate. My folks liked to think it started in Romania at some point in my ancestors’ ethnic community. The Romani didn’t feel like the government should have any part or place in their marriages. They had rules, too. The feet of both parties had to be in the air, and later if the Romani elders condoned it, they could annul a marriage by jumping backward over the broom. In the carnie life, even though some of the folks weren’t Rom, and even if some of them went to the courthouse and had the whole marriage license thing, we still had the ceremony to celebrate their union,” Filly explained.
“Are you—” Sophie started to ask.
Filly butted in before she could finish. “My grandparents on my father’s side were Romani. They came to America and started a carnival and hired some of their friends and relatives to help run it. My mother was not Rom. Even though she embraced their culture, my grandmother never really liked her very much. By blood, I’m half Romani. By heart, I’m all hippie.”
“Did you ever jump the broom?” Emma asked.
Filly shook her head. “Never was good at getting both feet off the ground.”
“Did it always involve a real broom?” Sophie asked.
“Sure.” Filly nodded. “Each couple brought their own broom, and after the ceremony, it was given to them as a wedding gift. No preacher or justice of the peace asked them to promise to love, honor, and obey until death parted them—the couple just said their own vows to each other. Then the groom took the bride by the hand and, together, they jumped over the broom that was all decorated up pretty with bows and ribbon. The jump signified that they’d left their old single life behind. The joined hands said they were committed to be a couple. And the other side of the broom was their bright future.”
“I like that,” Emma said. “Makes more sense than a huge wedding.”
The word wedding sparked a vision of the huge portrait hanging over the mantel in her folks’ house. To her, the big smiles on their faces were all farce. She’d never seen them hug each other or even give a peck on the cheek. They shared a house, not a relationship, and if that’s what a wedding meant, then Emma wanted nothing to do with it.
Chapter Eight
Excitement filled the whole little trailer park that evening as Sophie, Filly, Emma, and Josh all waited at the table for Arty to hide the eggs. Finally, after half an hour, Sophie heard the familiar sound of the bell.
“What’s that?” Emma asked.
“That’s our call to line up,” Sophie explained. “Arty has hidden the eggs, and it’s almost time for us to find them.”
Filly passed out the four baskets she had decorated. “We’d better go get ready so Arty can fire his gun.”
“A real gun?” Emma asked.
Sophie nodded. “A little .22 pistol he uses to shoot snakes, but he’ll be firing blanks this evening.”
“This really is a production.” Emma took her pretty yellow basket and followed the other three to the back side of the trailers.
Sophie looped her arm in Emma’s. “Yes, it is, and I’m glad you are here with me so we can do this together again.”
Arty waited on Sophie’s back porch, gun in hand and Coco in his lap. A piece of gold Christmas tree tinsel lay stretched on the ground from the edge of the steps out about ten feet. “Toes on the gold,” he said. “When I fire the gun, you can take off, but first study your path.”
“Just shoot the dang gun and let us loose,” Filly yelled.
“I can’t believe that I’m doing this at my age,” Emma said.
“Don’t think about Victoria,” Sophie told her. “Just enjoy the fun.”
“She’s always there in my head,” Emma whispered, “telling me that I’m stupid and a big disappointment.”
“Shut her out for the next hour,” Sophie said. “Tell her to get lost.”
Arty put Coco on the porch, stood up, and fired the gun into the air. Filly moved fast but left a lot of eggs hiding behind cacti, wildflowers, and even clumps of grass. Josh took his time, finding