The Snow Gypsy(86)

She wondered what she was going to do when she reached the fountain. The place where Rose and Nieve were staying must be somewhere close by—close enough for Rose to be able to see her from a window when she arrived. Because leaving Nieve—even for a few minutes—would not be an option.

The muleteer took his money when they reached the main square. She stood for a moment, trying to remember the way to the fountain. She had been to Pampaneira only a handful of times as a child. Although it was just a few miles from Capileira, there had been few reasons to come down the mountain. She remembered a trip to buy fabric for the dress she had worn for her first communion. Her mother had wanted silk, but they couldn’t afford it. In the end they had settled for white cotton with a sash of silk ribbon. It was a bittersweet memory, of a time of innocence and normality, before war ripped the mountain villages apart.

Lola could see a bell tower peeking above the witch’s hat chimneys of the houses. She recalled that the fountain had been in front of a church. She had a vivid mental image of the three gushing spouts. She remembered stopping to drink there on the day she and her mother had come shopping for the dress material. She had been fascinated by the patterns of letters on the tiles—but unable to read what they said. Her mother had explained the legend then, and Lola had glanced this way and that, afraid that she might be fated to marry any boy she set eyes on at that moment.

As she set off in the direction of the church, she heard the deep, joyful barking of a dog. Instinctively she knew that it was not just any dog.

“Gunesh!”

He came bounding down the street and launched himself at Lola. She wrapped her arms around his neck, tears pricking her eyes at the familiar feel and smell of him. He licked her cheek as one tear escaped. In her fragile state, it made the tears come faster.

“Lola?” She looked up to see a tall fair-haired man coming across the cobbles. Gunesh stopped licking her and scampered over to him. “I’m a friend of Rose’s—Zoltan—she sent me to meet you.”

“Oh . . . I . . .” Lola held out her hand, confused.

“They’re staying at my house. It’s a little way up the mountain. Rose didn’t want to leave Nieve.”

Lola nodded. “How is she?”

“She’s very sick. She’s been calling for you—but she doesn’t really know where she is.”

“What is it? What’s wrong with her?”

“It’s typhus.”

Lola’s hand flew to her mouth.

Zoltan laid his hand gently on her arm. “Let me take you to her. I have a mule tethered by the church. It won’t take long.”



The door of the cottage was open. As they drew near, Zoltan took hold of Gunesh’s collar to stop him bounding inside. With his other hand he helped Lola dismount.

“You go on in,” he said. “She’s in the bedroom—turn right as you go through the door.”

Lola’s legs almost buckled as her feet touched the ground. She felt light-headed, as if she had no control over her limbs. She stumbled toward the cottage, tufts of lavender and rosemary brushing the bare flesh of her ankles. She took hold of the door handle as she crossed the threshold, steadying herself. The air inside had a tang of lemons. And another smell—like boiled spinach—coming from a pot hanging over the fire.

“Lola!” Rose appeared, ghostlike, in the gloom. Her hair was scraped back from her head, emphasizing the hollows under her eyes. She looked as if she hadn’t slept for days.

“Oh, Rose!” Lola’s lower lip trembled as she lurched across the room, arms outstretched. The two women hugged each other, silent tears mingling where their faces touched.

Rose led Lola into the bedroom. Nieve was lying on her side, facing the wall. “She’s not asleep,” Rose whispered. “She has moments when she lies still like that, but most of the time she’s tossing and turning with the fever.”

As if on cue, Nieve let out a thin, anguished wail and flailed out with her arm. Lola gasped at the sight of her face, peppered with crimson blotches.

“?Mama!” Nieve cried out, her eyes still closed. “?Agua!”

“?Cari?o!” Lola dropped down onto the bed and pillowed Nieve’s head in her hand.

“There’s water in the jug,” Rose breathed. “I’ve been dipping a cloth in it and holding it to her mouth—it’s the only way she can drink now.”

“How long has she been like this?”

“Since yesterday morning. There was a fiesta in the village. She went to stay the night with a girl in her class at school. I didn’t know there was typhus in Pampaneira—I would never have . . .”

Lola reached out, clasping Rose’s wrist. She wanted to say that she understood, that she knew Rose would only ever have done her best for the child, but all that came out was a strangled sob.

Zoltan appeared in the doorway. Lola was intent on trying to get Nieve to swallow some water. She didn’t look up when she heard him whisper to Rose that she must try to get some rest. Rose said nothing. She hardly made a sound as she tiptoed from the room.

“Can I get you something to eat or drink?” Zoltan crouched down by the bed so that his head was on a level with Lola’s.

She shook her head, incapable of uttering a reply.

“I’ll leave you for a while,” he said. “If you need anything, I’ll be in the next room.”