The Snow Gypsy(69)

Zoltan insisted on accompanying them down to the village despite Rose’s protests. He brought bread and cheese for them to eat on the way down, and when Nieve was safely inside school, he bent down to plant a kiss on Rose’s forehead.

“You know where to find me.” That was all he said. And Rose stood watching until the trees swallowed him up.



“Why do we have to live here?” Nieve threw her bag onto the bed when she got back from school. “Why can’t we go and live in Uncle Zoltan’s house?”

Rose smiled to herself. She hadn’t told the child to call Zoltan uncle. But it had been clear from the moment Nieve walked through the door of the cottage that she was smitten. Perhaps it was because Zoltan had promised to make migas for the evening meal. Or maybe it was because he had let her help with feeding and grooming the mules.

“I thought you liked it here,” Rose said. “You wouldn’t be able to play with Alonso if we moved somewhere else.”

Nieve’s mouth turned down at the edges. “I don’t like him anymore. He pulled my hair on the playground today.” She sat down on the bed and pulled off her boots. “I’ve got a new friend. Her name’s Pilar. She says I can sleep at her house on Saturday night.”

“Saturday? But that’s when you’re doing the dancing for San Juan.”

Nieve nodded. “She wants me go home with her afterward. There’s going to be a big party. All her cousins and aunts and uncles are going to be there.”

Rose hesitated. Was it all right to let Nieve go to this house on her own? She told herself she was being overly protective. It was a fiesta—something that Nieve should be allowed to enjoy with her new friend. “Well, yes, of course you can go.” Rose hadn’t intended it to sound grudging, but Nieve picked up on her mood in a flash.

“Maybe Uncle Zoltan will have a party at his house.”

“I don’t think so.” Rose reached across and gathered her up in a hug. “Don’t you worry about me—I’ll be just fine with Gunesh.”

Later, when Nieve was asleep, Rose sat sewing. The school had given instructions that the girls performing the dances at the San Juan fiesta were to wear blue dresses with white aprons and mantillas of white lace. Nieve didn’t possess a blue dress, so Rose was making one from one of her own skirts. The apron she had made from a couple of handkerchiefs. As for the lace, she would have to try and buy some at the market.

When the light grew too dim for sewing, she went outside and spread a blanket on the ground in the orchard. She lay gazing up at the sky, watching the first stars appear as the light faded. She thought of Nathan doing the same thing on summer nights on the mountain. Had he tracked the constellations on those endless nights in the trenches? Had he and Adelita lain together outside on a blanket the night their baby was conceived?

To think of such things was pure torture. There were so many unanswered questions. She had vowed not to leave Spain without at least finding Nathan’s grave and marking it in some way. But she didn’t know exactly where he had died, and there seemed little chance of finding that out. And then there was the agonizing puzzle of the baby. Was there the slightest possibility that Adelita had been the woman Lola had found in the snow? Rose was desperate to know. It was the one glimmer of hope she was clinging to.

Zoltan had said they should go back to see Maria, but Rose wasn’t sure she could face it. How long would it be before she could talk about Nathan’s death without crying? There was no answer to that question. But what was the alternative? How long could she stay in this village, seeing people on the street, wondering if this man or that woman held the key to what she ached to know?



Rose was no less confused the next morning. She decided to go for a long walk after she’d dropped Nieve off at school—but not in the direction of Zoltan’s cottage or to Maria’s farm. She didn’t want to pester Zoltan, when he had already given her so much of his time—and she didn’t feel mentally strong enough to visit Maria without him. What she needed was some time alone. Walking had always helped her clear her mind.

Before they reached the school, she passed the postman. He had got used to her stopping him each morning to ask if there was anything for her. She didn’t trust Se?ora Carmona to pass on mail that arrived at the mill. But there had been no reply so far to any of the letters she had sent to Granada, and this morning the postman’s response was no different.

“Why doesn’t Mama send us a letter?” Nieve twisted her head around, following the man with her eyes as they walked on.

“She would if she could. But she can’t buy stamps at the place where she’s staying.” Rose cast about for some means of distracting Nieve. The child hadn’t mentioned Lola for a few days. Rose needed to change the subject or Nieve would be going to school in tears. “Oh look,” Rose said, “there’s that cat again!”

“Which cat?” Nieve spun around.

“The fluffy ginger one that drinks water from the stream running down the street.” Rose pointed to the place where she had seen the animal a few days before. The trick worked. Nieve ran on ahead, looking up the alleyways between the houses for the nonexistent cat, and by the time Rose caught up with her, the business of Lola and the stamps was forgotten.

When they reached the school, a tall girl with skinny black plaits came running up to them.