had a point, even if I wasn’t ready to admit it. But come on—magic?
“So, my great-great-great-grandmother was a gypsy. Go on.”
“Miranda and her mother traveled with a large group of other gypsies. Some were blood family, others weren’t. It was a tough life back then. When Miranda was a teenager, her mother passed away. I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, but it left Miranda in a precarious situation. A lot of the other gypsies were envious of her—of her power.”
“How old was she when her mother died?”
“Sixteen or seventeen, I think. But she was young. Too young.”
“Did she have any brothers or sisters?” My heart went out to the young girl who’d lived so many years before. I hoped she’d had someone on her side. Someone who loved her.
“None. She was surrounded by people who should have been her family. Who should have protected her and watched out for her. Instead, she was alone.”
“I know that feeling,” I mumbled.
Grandma Verda frowned. “You have family and friends who want the best for you. You’ve felt alone, but you really aren’t. There’s a difference.”
“I know. That’s not what I meant. I just . . . understand, I guess.”
Her eyes remained on me, her expression both sad and thoughtful.
“What did she do?” I asked.
“She did what any young woman would do. She met a man, and she fell in love.”
“Well, that’s good, right?”
Ignoring my question, she said, “For some reason, the other gypsies decided to stay in one place for a while, rather than moving on as quickly as they normally did. Maybe they recognized that something was happening with Miranda. Maybe they hoped she’d leave. We’ll probably never know. But Miranda took advantage of the opportunity and spent every minute she could with her new love.”
At those words, something opened up inside of me. It was as if I could feel this woman’s happiness. Strands of hope, love, and joy wove through me. And, as strange as it was, it felt right. It felt real. And I felt a connection to Miranda that I’d never been aware of before but somehow realized had been there all along.
Grandma seemed to notice, because she smiled. And in that smile, I saw the young woman she once was. Lines in her face softened, almost disappearing. Her faded blue eyes deepened in color to the rich hue of a ripened blueberry. Mischief sparkled, and her skin glowed with youth.
I didn’t want to lose this picture of my grandmother, but when I blinked the vision vanished. The room was eerily silent. I wanted her to continue, to finish Miranda’s story, but I didn’t want to rush her, either. Finally, when the quiet didn’t seem as if it would ever end, I said, “What happened? Did she live happily ever after?”
Grandma Verda’s lips curved downward. “What happened? She fell in love with the wrong man. He wasn’t a pomegranate, I can say that much for sure. She became pregnant, and her wishes and hopes were tied to the man who’d fathered her unborn baby. Only, when she told him, he rebuffed her. He was already married. She was nothing but a plaything.”
My hands shook. I clenched my fists to make them stop. “What did she do?”
“I’m not done. Later, the man returned with his wife. They wanted Miranda to stay with them until the child was born. And then, they wanted her to give the child to them.”
As fast as a breath of air, Miranda’s agony became mine. It grew inside of me until I could hardly bear it. This mysterious woman I’d never met, whom I’d known nothing about before that night, somehow became intertwined with me. Anger, fear, and loneliness flashed inside of me so fast that, when it passed, I wondered if I’d imagined it.
“Don’t cry. This was a long time ago.”
I wiped the dampness from my cheeks. Did it matter how long ago it was? I mean, pain is pain. It felt as real today as it must have felt for Miranda then. “She didn’t give in, did she?”
“Of course not! What she did was talk the gypsies into moving on, and she went with them.”
An almost overpowering scent of roses saturated the room. I breathed it in, and if I hadn’t known better, I’d have sworn I was standing in a rose garden. The music from the show The Twilight Zone echoed in my ears. Kind of apropos, really, considering the circumstances. “Grandma? Can you smell that?”