"It's likely been in this house all these years, with no one aware of it," Reggie speculated.
"I'll buy that," Derek said. "Hell, this house is so big, there's places in it even I haven't looked into, and I was raised here."
"Lot of us were born and raised here, dear boy," Anthony mentioned. "But you're right, not every little thing gets investigated when you're young. Depends what you find interesting, I suppose."
Amy couldn't stand the suspense anymore and offered at that point, "I'm willing to read it aloud, if some of you want to stay to hear it."
"I'm game for a chapter or two at least," Marshall said, and found himself a seat to get comfortable in.
"As thick as that journal is, it may take right up to Christmas day to get it all read," Warren noted as he sat on one of the couches and patted the spot next to him for Amy to settle into.
"Lucky then we opened it ahead of time, eh?" Jeremy grinned.
"Can't very well get to sleep now, not after that 'Judge us not, but perhaps learn from our mistakes,' " James said. "Too bloody intriguing, that."
"Think we should wake the elders first, though," Anthony replied.
James nodded. "I agree. You wake them while I find us another bottle of brandy. I get the feeling it's going to be a long bloody night."
There were four large wagons in the caravan. Three of them were nearly little houses on wheels, made entirely of wood, including the slightly curved roof, and replete with a door and windows covered in bright curtains. Some were ancient, a testimony to the superior quality of craftsmanship that made them. Even the fourth wagon showed this quality, though it was merely a typical supply wagon. When the caravan would move off to the side of a road at night to make camp, tents would be removed from the fourth wagon, along with large kettles and the iron rods that formed triangles over campfires to hold them, and the food to throw into them. Within minutes of the caravan halting, the area would take on the atmosphere of a small,
cheerful village. Pleasant aromas would drift off into the surrounding woods, as well as the gay sound of music and laughter.
The largest of the four wagons belonged to the baros-san, the leader, Ivan Lautaru. Surrounding his wagon were the tents of his family, his wife's sisters, her mother, his sisters, and his unmarried daughters.
The second largest wagon belonged to Ivan's son, Nicolai, built in preparation for him to take a wife. It had been built six years ago. He had yet to take that wife. The omens were not right for it, according to Maria Stephanoff, the old woman who lived in the third wagon. First she claimed the wedding must take place on a certain day of the year to be fruitful, then she claimed each year that the omens weren't right for it on the appointed day, much to Nicolai's fury.
There were a total of six families in the small caravan, with forty-six people among them, including the children. They intermarried as they were able, yet sometimes there were not enough brides or grooms to choose from, from so few families, and in such times they would search for other caravans like theirs in hopes there would be marriageable young ones in the same need. They met and dealt with countless people in their travels, yet these were outsiders, Gaps, and those of pure blood would never consider these outsiders for marriage.
Ivan was losing patience with the delay of his son's wedding as well. He had already paid the bride price for this wife for Nicolai. His word was law, yet he would not gainsay Maria. She was their luck, their good fortune. To ignore Maria's predictions would be the death of them. They firmly believed this. Yet he could not choose another bride for his son either. Only Maria's granddaughter would do, her only living descendant, the only one who could continue to bring them their good fortune when Maria passed on.
Tonight, as usual, they made camp near the town they had passed through during the day. They never camped too close to a town, just close enough to give the townsfolk easy access to them, and vice versa. In the morning the women would walk to the town and knock on every door, offering their services, be it the selling of trinkets or finely made baskets, or the telling of fortunes, which their caravan was known for.
They would also advertise the skills of their men, for the Lautaru caravan possessed some of the finest wagonmakers in the world. Everything earned was shared by all, for ownership of property was alien to them. Which was why a few of those women might come home with a stolen chicken or two.
If a wagon was ordered, they might stay in the vicinity for a week; if not, they would be gone within a day or two. Occasionally, if it was taking too long, they would leave the wagonmakers behind to catch up with them once their job was finished. Signs would be left along the roads to guide them back to the caravan.
This was necessary when people such as they were the scapegoats for any crime, whether they committed it or not. If caravans like theirs were in the area, fingers would begin to point at them if they were there too long. They could make camp within minutes; they could pack up and leave even quicker. From long experience and the persecution of their kind for centuries, they had learned to be able to be back on the road again on a moment's notice.
They were wanderers; it was in their blood, the need to travel, to see what was over the next horizon. The young adults had seen most of Europe. The older ones had seen Russia, and the countries surrounding it. They tended to stay in a country long enough to learn its language fairly well, if circumstances didn't chase them out beforehand. A wealth of languages was a benefit to any traveler. Ivan prided himself on knowing sixteen different languages.
This was not their first visit to England, nor would it likely be their last, since the English laws dealing with them were not as harsh as they had been in centuries past. They found the English a strange people actually. Many young Englishmen of good family were so fascinated by their beliefs and love of freedom that they wanted to join them, to dress like them, to act like them.
Ivan would tolerate one or two of these Gaps for short periods of time, only because their presence had a calming effect on the English peasants, who would reason that if their own English lords found these people to be trustworthy, then they couldn't be the thieves they were reputed to be, now could they?
There was one such Gap with them now, Sir William Thompson. He was not the usual sort to want to join them, far from it. He was an old man, older even than Maria, and she was the oldest among them. She had deigned to speak to him several months ago, not to tell his fortune, which she no longer did for Gaps, but because she had seen the pain in his eyes and had wanted to remove it.
This she did, relieving William of a guilt he had been bit burdened with for over forty years, so that he could go to his Maker in peace. He was so grateful, he swore to devote his remaining years to Maria. In truth, he had realized that she was dying, and wanted to make her last days as pleasant as he could, in repayment for what she had done for him. No one else knew. Those who had known Maria all their lives didn't know. Her own granddaughter didn't know. Yet William had guessed, and it was an unspoken knowledge between them.
Ivan, though, would not have permitted him to stay. His age was a detriment, it was decided. He was too old to contribute to the community coffers. But he demanded to prove himself and did, always returning to the camp with his pockets full of coins, so he was allowed to stay. It was a moot point, really, that he was a wealthy man and the coins were his own. He was merely paying for the privilege to remain near Maria. Besides, he ended up making a further contribution, in bettering their English, which was a good thing, since they had no plans to leave England this year.
Anastasia Stephanoff sat on the stoop of the wagon she shared with Maria, her grandmother next to her. They watched the camp as it settled down for the night. The campfires were banked. A few groups still sat around them talking quietly. Children were rolled up in their blankets wherever they had gotten drowsy. Sir William, whom they had more or less adopted, was snoring loudly under their own wagon.
Anastasia had become very fond of Sir William in the short time they had known him. She found him silly most of the time, in his courtly ways, his stiff hauteur that was so English, in his efforts to make Maria laugh. But there was nothing silly in his devotion to her grandmother, a devotion that was not in doubt.
She would often tease Maria that it was too bad she was too old for romance, to which she would usually get a chuckle, a wink, and the remark "There is never an age too old for romance. Lovemaking, now, that is a different matter. Some bones get too brittle for such nice exercise as that."
Romance, lovemaking, these were not subjects that might only be spoken of in embarrassed whispers. Their people would discuss anything openly and with passion that they found to be natural, and what could be more natural than romance and lovemaking?
