"They Call Us Gypsies" (closed)

"You don't want to live this life ... It's long days and long nights."

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Jason couldn't help but smile, thinking You've never run a farm, have you?

"You work to entertain people who would sometimes rather see you dead."

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That, however, led to Jason simply listening on in silence. He'd never understood how one culture of people, in this case his own, could look so horribly upon another's, in this case Inga's, that they would wish to cause them such harm, including fatal harm. He could still remember reading the articles in the weekly newspaper about the war in Europe that had concluded less than a handful of years ago. The death and destruction that had resulted from hatred between so many different nations and cultures had been horrific ... and unbelievable to Jason.

"It's been this way my entire life."

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The table went quiet for a long moment as they concentrated on the meal Jason had cooked. He tried to imagine the life Inga had lived. He couldn't. Oh, he could picture this and that and the other thing. But putting it all together into an actual way of living...? That was something he knew that only a Romani who had lived it could do.

Inga explained about her parents and Papa Don, as well as her commitment to him. Jason would never ask her to give that up, of course. He was quickly coming to realize that he only had three avenues with which to follow when it came to he and Inga: give up and now and tell her if was nice to have met her; try to bed her during her time here and then -- as with the other -- tell her it was nice to have met her; or establish a permanent Romani town in his field to give Inga and Papa Don -- oh, and the other gypsies -- the ability to remain here for as long they wished.

Inga broke his train of thought with her observation of his relationship with Jake. She was a very perceptive person, likely the reason she made such a good living telling futures, he knew.

"Yes," he said simply, unsure of what else to say. He asked if there was anything more she wanted -- meaning her breakfast -- and told her, "I have a pie Grace brought over yesterday. Peach."

He sat back in his chair and set his gaze upon Inga. He could sit here and stare at her all day ... and if she did nothing to prevent that from happening, he would happily do nothing more.

"You keep the pie." Inga said as she stood and took her plate to the sink, turning to look at him with a small grin on her lips. "It just means I'll have to come back."

She went to leave, pausing in the doorway to look back at Jason as he stayed in his place at the table. She didn't know why it mattered, but she enjoyed her time with him. He might have gotten her upset in the beginning by continuing to see Marla and the other women that were "repaying" him, but he was a nice man.

"My Papa always told me that if there was something in life that was important to me, it was worth to risk to pursue it." She said, giving him another grin as she turned and made her way down his front steps, going back to the camp and leaving him with those words.

"You keep the pie ... It just means I'll have to come back."

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"I'll have to learn to bake myself," Jason said quickly, not realizing just how eager that made him sound. Honestly, though, he wouldn't have cared whether or not Inga thought him absolutely desperate for her company. "Apple maybe. Or rhubarb."

He should have stood for Inga's departure -- the gentlemanly thing -- but he was dealing with a bit of an ... issue down below his belt line. And this time around, Jason had a fairly good idea that there was no stance he could assume that would hide the erection that was pushing forth the crotch of his pants.

Jason waited until Inga was out the door and descending the steps before he hopped up and moved to stand behind the spring-closing screen door. He followed the sight of her across the lawn toward the Romani encampment, enjoying the view of her backside as the whole of it swung to and fro while the halves of it bobbed up and down.

His first impression of Inga -- made before he even knew her name, the first day when he’d seen her on the steps of her vardo -- had been that she was a beautiful gypsy girl he would love to bed at least once. His second impression had come as she cut him down in her fortune telling tent, when -- despite realizing he had no chance of getting close to her -- Jason had come to realize that she was an intelligent, strong-minded woman … who Jason still wanted to bed, of course, but knew he never would.

Now though…

... it was worth to risk to pursue it.

The words came back to Jason as he watched her pass through the ring of vardo and be swallowed up by a passel of children playing some sort of game involving sticks adorned with long, colorful streamers. He didn’t know what to think of Inga now. Her words left him believing that she wanted him to pursue her. But … to what end? He thought again of the eagle and the salmon and how he and Inga could never have a lasting life together.

Perhaps he would be like one of those Romani buried in a roadside field or forest, lost loved ones to whom the Family could only pay their respects when the caravan’s travels brought them down that way again. Perhaps Inga would spend a few nights with him now, then return to him again in a year or two or ten. Would she hold out for him ... for his gentle touch and passionate love making? Would she have lovers during the time away to fill the hole in her life made by Jason's absence?

And what about him? The questions had to be asked of him as well. What would Jake and Grace think of him turning down their invitations to meet one of their single friends as he waited for the Romani to return to Clark County the next month, the next year, the next decade?

It didn’t seem like much of a sustainable relationship. But then, what were the options. Jason couldn’t see Inga being happy in his world, and she’d already told him he wouldn’t fit in hers.

Still…

Jason smiled as he watched her disappear into the camp, telling himself that he would pursue Inga no matter what. After all, it was what he had to do. Papa Don had said so. Something in life that is that important to me, it was worth to risk to pursue it.



Gregor and the men and boys who'd ventured west to town returned to the camp to deliver their goods, purchased and stolen both. They unloaded the wagon, then -- with the very big and very intimidating Harold driving a smaller wagon behind them -- Gregor and the very sexy and accommodating Marla headed east to the Carter ranch to return the buckboard to its rightful owner.

Once there, Gregor began to tell his tale of how the vehicle had come into their possession: some of the Romani boys had found it alongside the road a mile distant, and Gregor was about to venture the possibility that someone else had stolen it and then abandoned it there.

But Gregor was barely into the story when it became all to obvious that the attention of the long-widowed and lonely farmer was not at all on him but was firmly upon Marla ... where Gregor had hoped it would be. Seeing this as well, the flirtatious gypsy asked if she could bother him for a glass of something more flavorful than water, to which Mister Carter responded with an invitation to accompany him to his kitchen.

A half hour later, after yet a second grunt from the direction of the home's bedroom told the two men outside that the man inside was finished, Marla exited to confirm that all was well and the wagon was no longer an issue. They headed back to the encampment in their own wagon, chatting about how things were progressing in Clark County and about how long they thought they could remain here before something went wrong and the Law booted them out.

"Speaking of things that could end up with us packing up in the middle of the night and vanishing," Marla said, not clarifying -- or needing to -- about just what she was hinting.

Harold had seen or heard the details of the fighter's failed attempts to land the pretty redhead from town, and he laughed aloud as he reached over to poke at one of Gregor's wounds from having fallen out of the buckboard earlier in the day.

Gregor knew to what Marla was speaking, too, and only answered with, "It is no longer an issue. I have come to believe that to be a dead end. Better than a dead gypsy, I guess."

For most of the ride back to the Townsend farm, the other two reminded Gregor of some his previous ventures and dead ends, laughing about some of the situations into which he'd gotten himself. Gregor couldn't help but laugh at some of the stories as well. Just how was it that he was still alive?

They rolled into the camp and were just leaping out of the wagon to return to their other pre-carnavale duties when Gregor suddenly stopped in place, his eyes and mouth opening in shock.

"Hel--" The word stuck in his throat as he stared at the redheaded angel of his most recent dreams. He stepped a bit closer, flushing with the excitement of seeing her here ... particularly without her husband at her side. He this time managed with great relief, "Hello. I'm ... I'm so pleased to see you."

Grace had devised a plan that would take her to the little gypsy encampment. She had baked a cherry pie for her brother-in-law, knowing his love of her baked goods. She would take it to him as apology for the rude way that Jake had ended their dinner earlier in the week. Then she would make her excuses and tell him that she had a few things to take care of before she left back home.

She had walked all the way to the farm, Jason surprised to see her as she stopped in for a small visit. She had given him the pie and apologized for his brother, knowing that he was the kind that would simply wave it off as a quirk of Jake's personality. Still, she felt compelled to let him know that this wasn't just something that she wanted to forgive and forget.

After that was over with, she explained to him that she had some business to take care of with the gypsies and she would appreciate him keeping it secret from Jake. Jason simply nodded, agreeing before she said her goodbyes and she left the farmhouse. She always left behind some money on the counter, as much as she could get away with without Jake knowing that she was giving his brother money. It wasn't a lot, but she knew the brothers often feuded over money and Jake would never support his little brother a day in his life as Jason had supported him while in college. It was her little way to make up for that.

As Grace waited for Gregor, whom some of the children said would appear soon, she looked around at the colorful vardos that rimmed the camp. It was a romantic kind of thing, she thought to herself. Taking pride in something so simple, but something that was deeply steeped in tradition. It was something she hadn't been able to appreciate when she had come the first time with Jake. Jake seemed to be the thing that made it impossible for her to enjoy most things in her life.

When the wagon carrying him, another woman, and another man following behind finally appeared, she stood to meet them. She paused where she was as he finally saw her and seemed almost tongue tied. This man had tried so hard to meet her and now he was too shy to talk? She wasn't really sure what to make of that.

"We've met before. Not officially, I know but we've met." Grace said simply as he stumbled over an introduction. "Grace Townsend. I know your name from your letter. We have a few things that we need to discuss."

"Thank you, Grace," Jason said about the pie, before looking to the money she set on the table, adding, "That isn't necessary, though. I can't take it."

He always said that when she slipped him some of his brother's money. It was sort of their dance: she offered it, he said it wasn't necessary, she said it was or simply dismissed his feigned refusal of it, and she left with the cash sitting right where she'd put it. Jason wasn't sure why they did the little shuffle, but it had become a bit of a quiet tradition since the first time she'd heard them argue about money.

"Do you need me to go with you?" he asked when Grace explained that she was going out to the Romani camp. But she told him she was fine, and -- feeling as though he might be intruding -- Jason simply gave her a smile and lofted the pie again, saying, "Thank you, Grace. You're my savior ... or at least my stomach's savior."

Jason might have simply thought that Grace was going out to the camp to partake of some of the entertainment or craft sales if she hadn't specifically said she had some business to take care of with the gypsies. He didn't understand what in the world Grace might have to take care of with the Romani. If his head hadn't been cluttered with thoughts of Inga sitting here at the table eating the new pie with him, Jason might have realized that her business had to do with Gregor and the incident at the fight two nights back.

It would come to him in time ... but not in time to insist on escorting her out to the field.

"We've met before. Not officially, I know but we've met."

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Gregor felt a bit guilty about Grace's statement. There first few meetings hadn't been the best of affairs, of course. And over time -- while he'd come to conclude that the beauty's husband was an abusive and brutal ass that didn't deserve her -- Gregor had also concluded that he himself was partially responsible for what had happened to Grace in the fight tent and afterward, in her husband's car.

"Grace Townsend. I know your name from your letter. We have a few things that we need to discuss."

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Gregor simply stared at Grace for a moment, though whether because he didn't know what to say or because he was waiting for her to speak first he couldn't honestly tell. Then his brain caught a spark.

"Oh! Yes, please, I would like to talk," he said with obvious excitement. Glancing about and finding too many eyes upon them -- the Romani saw all -- he asked, "Would you like to walk?"

He thought he saw hesitance in the woman at his suggestion: a married woman going for a walk with a gypsy man, really? But somehow he ended up with her by his side -- with ample distance between them, of course -- as they walked slowly out of the circled vardo. He had no plan in mind for them, but Gregor knew that just beyond the field was a small and beautiful creek that ran through patches of reeds and tall willows. It was beyond the fence that contained the carnavale but was still part of the property.

"Our landlord ... Jason ... Jason Townsend," Gregor began. "Jason Townsend, Grace Townsend. I am told you are his brother's wife?"

Gregor didn't want to pry too deeply when it came to Grace and her family, so he would listen to what ever she wanted to say and not ask for anything beyond that. He would tell Grace that the Family felt honored to have been allowed to set up there. He obviously didn't explain how they'd paid their rent to Jason's sister-in-law.

"It's a beautiful place, this Clark County" he continued, trying to keep the conversation light and polite until they were away from the vardos and the eavesdropping Family. "You are fortunate to live here."

Glancing back over his shoulder to the camp as Grace responded or decided to not respond, Gregor decided it was as good a time to begin the conversation for which Grace had certainly come here.

"I would like to beg your forgiveness, Grace Townsend," he said with a sincere tone. "I feel ... well ... I am responsible for the way your husband treated you in the tent the other night."

He obviously didn't -- and never would -- mention that in addition to seeing Jake grope Grace's tit near the ring, he'd happened upon the couple as the Jake had by every definition of the word been raping his wife in the back seat of their Ford. Gregor would never forgive Jake for that. And he would never forgive himself for causing it, which he knew without a doubt he had.

As Grace walked with Gregor away from the camp, she listened to his casual conversation. A man like him had probably taken advantage of many women with that tone of voice. He was handsome, one of the most handsome men she had ever seen in person. He reminded her of the paintings that Jake had taken her to see in Kansas City on their honeymoon. She could have stared for hours at those beautiful paintings in that lovely museum. She had asked that they go back, but Jake had never kept his promise that they would. She had never asked again.

“Jason is my brother-in-law. My husband is Judge Jacob Townsend.” She said softly as Gregor asked. “Jason and Jake were raised on this farm and Jason tends it. He takes a lot of pride and doesn’t make a lot of money doing it.”

She hoped these people weren’t taking advantage of Jason. He would never say if they were. He was too proud to bother Grace or Jake with his problems. She just hoped he wouldn’t let himself get pulled too far under where he couldn’t recover.

“The few chicken or geese that he might have given you are probably all he can afford. He depends on his cow and his horse for the brunt of the work. I wouldn’t disturb them if at all possible.” Grace murmured softly.

She listened as he talked about Creek County and she nodded. “You forget that sometimes when you grow up poor. It is a beautiful place but we’re here to farm this land no matter what.”

As they stopped and he spoke of what Jake had done in the tent, she flushed red deeply. She had hoped that no one else had seen, but it seemed that she wasn’t that’s lucky. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and looked at Gregor.

“That is why I came. I have to ask you to stop coming around. I don’t meant to be rude but Jake doesn’t see anything as innocent. We’re newly married and still trying to figure all of this out.”

“I will stop,” Gregor said, almost before Grace had finished making her request of him. “It was a mistake … and I beg your forgiveness.”

He stopped and reached out to Grace’s elbow. But he didn’t take it in his hand so much as simply touch it in an effort to signal that he wanted her to stop with him.

“I will stop coming around your home … to see you,” he repeated, hesitating before making his own request, “If … you will instead come here … to see me.”

Grace glanced down to see where he cupped her elbow, unsure as to why he was using so intimate a gesture on her. Then he promised that he wouldn’t come by her home any longer if she’s promised to come to him instead.

“I’m a married woman. I don’t think I can do that.” Grace said quickly. “It wouldn’t be a good idea. I’m risking a lot being here right now and my brother-in-law owns this farm. Jake wouldn’t like me coming here knowing that you were still around.”

"But you want to," Gregor responded with a soft tone. He took only a tiny step closer to Grace, wanting to show his desire for a more intimate interaction but simultaneously not wanting to frighten her. He went on, "You want to come visit me ... yes?"

He looked back toward the Romani camp, which -- with their slight descent toward the lower laying creek -- was a bit above them in the field opposite the barbed wire fence. From here, he couldn't see the house, which was even farther beyond the circled vardos. As with many of the Romani -- who had been down to the creek to fill water buckets, fish for trout or catfish, or spear frogs -- Gregor had walked the creek's banks more than once in their days here. He knew that it passed in a crescent around the field and house, and that there was a small grove of tall oaks near the back of the house and -- between the grove and the creek -- a small orchard of fruit trees.

"I will be there," he said, pointing to where the orchard met the creek, just within their view. "I will be there every day at noon. I will wait there, every day. I will wait there for you, Grace Townsend. If you do not come, I will be sad ... but I will understand. But if you come ... I will be very happy."

“You are presumptuous.” Grace said as he kept insisting that she wanted this trust with him. “And for you to want this with me is terribly wrong. You’re six months too late for something like that. Now I’m married and I have to make the most of this.”

Why she had told him that, she wasn’t sure. It was none of his business what was happening between herself and Jake.

"Married, yes," Gregor agreed with Grace. He neared her ever so slightly once again, and added, "Married ... but not happily so."

He looked for her reaction, then leaned a bit lower to better look into her eyes. "Yes, I am ... what was the word ... presumptuous?"

Gregor doubted that he'd ever used the word in his life, but it sounded a bit like assumption and he knew what that word meant.

"I am being presumptuous," he continued, "but am I wrong?"

He stepped ahead a tiny bit yet again, "Am I wrong that you are not happy, Grace? You are not happy with your husband. You are not happy in your marriage. You should be happy. You deserve to be happy."

Grace was so incredibly flustered as he assumed that she wasn't happily married. What did it matter if they were happily married? Jake gave her a home and put food on the table. That's what her father had done for her stepmother and the rest of the family until she had left the house. Love didn't factor much into marriages that she had grown up witnessing.

"It's none of your business." She muttered as he leaned down to look her in the eyes, asking if he were wrong about what he had said. "Again, it's absolutely none of your business. Whether I am happy with my husband is between the both of us and no one else."

She turned bright red as he insisted that she deserved to be happy. She should have been happy. She instantly shook her head, red hair bouncing around her face as she tried to convince him to leave well enough alone.

"Listen to me. This is my life. Not yours. You aren't the one that has to deal with my husband when he becomes angry. Even at his worst, I am thankful that I still have a roof over my head and food on the table. That's all that anyone can really ask for in this county." Grace said, bristling in defensiveness at the entire conversation.

"...I am thankful that I still have a roof over my head and food on the table. That's all that anyone can really ask for in this county."

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"No!" Gregor said firmly, stepping up very close to Grace as he insisted, "That's the least that anyone can really ask for. You can ask for more. Much more. Including being happy ... with a man who would never treat you poorly."

Suddenly, Gregor took Grace's upper arms in his hands and pulled her to him. She looked up to his face in surprise, and before she could prevent it, he was pressing his lips to hers.

Grace hadn't been expecting him to grab her by the arms. Her natural reaction after living with Jake for six months was to flinch, but instead Gregor was kissing her. She let out a gasp as his lips settled over her own. She burned from head to toe, her belly clenching in the strangest way. Never had she had a reaction like that towards any man's kisses.

She also immediately shoved him away, looking at him with both a little bit of fear that someone might have seen them and the heartache that she couldn't give him what he obviously wanted.

"Leave me alone." She muttered, pushing past him to hurry back towards the farmhouse and the safety that Jason could give her.

Gregor had taken a chance kissing Grace. She was either going to pull him into a tight embrace and meet his kiss, yearning for something she wasn't getting from her husband; or ... do exactly what she did.

He watched her rush up the slope and circle around the circled vardos. Gregor had an idea where she was going: straight to her brother-in-law's house. The question, though, was whether she was heading for Jason's house or Jason in particular.

Inga...

Gregor had done it again. His cousin was going to have a fit when she found out that once again the Family would be packing up early and heading for a new location at which to set up the carnavale. How did he do this again and again?



Jason was out back of the house, chopping wood with a pair of Romani boys assisting him. As the halves shot in two directions away from the splitting block, one piece was snatched up by one boy, who neatly stacked it at the back of Jason's home for later use; while the other piece was snatched up by the second boy and tossed onto a cart, to be delivered to the camp for use by the Romani.

The farmer had met with Papa Don and made him a new deal concerning the renting of the field. Jason's time with the Romani prostitutes would be replaced by a small percentage of the day's profits. Jason was going to miss the euphoria Marla and Gerta had imparted, but the cash would definitely be nice to have. Jason had been so pleased with the new arrangement that he'd offered some more things the Romani needed, such as fire wood and a full grown hog.

He was about to bring the ax down again when he caught sight of his brother's wife hurrying toward the house. And it didn't take a genius to recognize that she was distraught.

"Take your wood, boys," he told the Romani, dropping the ax to stick into the top of the cutting block. As he began toward Grace, he told them, "Come back at dark for the rest."

Grace was hurrying towards Jason's home, glancing over her shoulder from time to time to make sure that she wasn't being followed. Gregor had been far too inappropriate when he had kissed her and Grace wasn't really sure how she felt about the entire situation.

"Would you take me home, Jason?" She asked her brother-in-law as he was walking her way. "Please? I don't feel very well anymore."

She couldn't tell him what had happened. If she told Jason, he would tell Jake and she shuddered to think what might happen then.

"Would you take me home, Jason?"

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"Grace, what's happened?" he asked as they reached one another. "What did they do to you?"

Later, when he had a moment to reflect back on his questions to Grace, Jason would realize that he'd fallen into the same discriminatory thinking that most of his neighbors had when the Romani arrived: if anything happens to anyone, the gypsies did it.

"Please? I don't feel very well anymore."

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As he took her into his arms and walked her to the Model T, Jason gently pushed Grace to explain what had happened. He gave up quickly, though, when he realized she herself wasn't giving up anything about what had happened ... or may not have happened, as all she would tell him was that she didn't feel well.

Jason peeked back over his shoulder to see if any one particular Romani was paying them undue attention. He was specifically looking for that brawler from fight night, the one who had introduced him to Marla. Gregor, Jason thought as the name popped back into his head.

He helped Grace into the car and moved around to crank it to a start, but the engine resisted. Jason's Ford was one of the first 1,000 that came off the line in 1908, but it was anything but new now, 14 years later. He was its fourth owner, and the only reason he'd been able to afford it at all was because of shit like this, like not wanting to start when Jason really needed it to do so.

"I'm sorry, Grace," Jason begged, peeking around the side of the car at her. "Just ... just give me a moment."

It tore Jason up to see Grace this way, not just because she was his brother's wife but because, once upon a time, he had had feelings for her that his brother probably never had. Jason had always regretfully and reluctantly believed Grace to be Jake's trophy wife. Not because she'd been the rich daughter of some industry magnate, of course. From the little Jason knew about her past, it was his belief that Grace had come from an even more poverty stricken situation than the brothers had.

No, he thought that sometimes because of how Jake flaunted his wife's incredible beauty. He dressed her up like a doll and took her to all the best parties. He'd introduced her to Clark County's elite, to their current and former Senators, even to the Governor at a ball last year. And he always introduced her as My wife without actually speaking her name. It was often left to Grace to reveal her name, often in response to a caring person asking for it.

Jason hated his brother for that. But ... he also loved his brother. So ... life went on.

He'd fiddled with the crank a moment, then a wire or two, then returned to cranking again and was beginning to break a sweat when a sudden ruckus near him caused Jason to stand and back away suddenly as a Romani cart pulled by a single horse came to a stop next to the Model T.

"You looked like you could use something that didn't require gasoline to move down the road," Gregor said with a polite smile. He descended to the ground, intentionally putting the cart between him and Grace, to whom he tipped his hat and nodded his head respectfully. Looking back to Jason, he continued, "No hurry to bring her back, Mister Townsend."

With just one last glance and another respectful nod to Grace, Gregor turned and headed back toward the camp. Jason watched him for a moment, then looked to Grace. His mind was suddenly flooded with thoughts and memories: first of the interaction between Gregor and Grace at fight night, then of Grace earlier today having business with the Romani, then of what he himself had thought about how if anything untoward happens while the Romani are present...

He didn't know what to think about the current situation, either with the Romani or with Grace. Could there be something taking place between Grace and this one gypsy, Gregor? No. No, that was ... that was ridiculous. Wasn't it?

"I don't want to talk about it." Grace said softly as Jason wrapped his arms around her and escorted her to his car.

She couldn't tell him what had happened without Jake knowing. Jason told Jake everything and if he found out that the gypsy had kissed her, she shuddered to think of what might happen to her and to Gregor. She didn't want another repeat of what had happened a few days earlier. It still caused her nightmares to think about how Jake had been so cruel that night, rutting against her like a beast in heat.

As Jason placed her in the passenger seat, she leaned her head back against the rest, closing her eyes as he tried to get the engine to turn over. He was working hard, apologizing when it wouldn't do as he wished. She didn't hold anything against her brother-in-law. He was trying his best in everything that he did, no matter what it was.

When the noise of a wagon broke into their world, Grace finally opened her eyes and looked to see Gregor offering the use of it to them before he respectfully faded into the background. She glanced over at Jason as he stared between the two of them with a questioning look on his face.

"I'm trying to get him to leave me along before Jake gets really mad." Grace said softly as she exited the car and faced Jason.

(OOC: I wrote this once already and lost it due to poor wifi. Grrrr.)

"I'm trying to get him to leave me along before Jake gets really mad." Grace said softly as she exited the car and faced Jason.

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Jason's stomach turned over as his mind imagined the worst. He moved closer to Grace as she exited his Ford and asked, "Grace, what did he-- Did he-- Grace, did he--?"

But he couldn't get the words out. Did he touch you? would have led to the more detailed question of Did he rape you? And Jason couldn't ask the question, let alone imagine a positive answer.

"Go into the house!" he demanded as he circled around his sister-in-law and began a hurried pace toward the Romani camp. He would ignore any protest she mounted if any to what he was about to do, only repeating with more detail, "Go in the house and wait for me!"

He caught up with Gregor just as the latter was entering the circle of vardos, slamming his full weight into the man at a run. They flew forward hitting the ground as one, rolling across the now packed grass. Jason hadn't really planned what he was going to do next, but if he had, it would have involved hovering over the downed gypsy and beating the daylights out of him.

As it was, though, the fisticuffs champion was out of the inexperienced farmer's arms and on his feet in an instant. He couldn't know precisely what had set Jason off, but it didn't take a genius to know that it had to do with his uninvited kiss to the man's sister-in-law.

"Jason, please, I can explain!" Gregor begged, not entirely sure what he would say if allowed. "Please!"

But Jason was up again and surging at the other man. He threw a punch that Gregor easily dodged, then another and another, each dodged as well.

"Jason, please, I'm not going to fight you!" Gregor begged as the farmer continued to throw punches at him. Jason rushed him a third time, and as Gregor skillfully avoided the man's grasp, Jason toppled and rolled to the ground, this time alone. As he watched the other combatant rise yet again, Gregor repeated, "I'm not going to fight you."

Jason moved at Gregor, reared back, and threw a punch at the gypsy's face. Gregor did nothing to avoid it, and the punch smashed him in the nose. Gregor's only use of his hands was to aid him in remaining upright, as once again he told Jason, "I'm not going to fight you."

Another punch smashed into Jason's face, this time a sweeping hook to his jaw. Gregor was very skilled at quickly shifting his face and making a fisticuff's opponent's punches look more damaging than they were, to increase the bets being placed against him. But this time around, he kept his head still and took the brunt of the blow. His head jerked ... but after some initial disorientation, he remained upright and facing the farmer.

"I'm not going to fight you," he said yet again, right before a punch his temple, nearly knocking him off his feet again. He steadied himself, and as he watched a quickly tiring Jason get closer and rear back again, he said in almost a whisper, "I'm not ... going ... to fight--"

The last blow he took on his feet landed in the bridge of Gregor's nose. His head jerked back, his knees bent, and he fell toward the ground to land solidly upon his back. It was the last blow while he'd been standing, but it wasn't the last blow: Jason dropped to his knees, grabbed the other man's shirt collar, lifted him upwards, and punched, punched, punched him in the face.

"That's enough!" a male voice said, and in an instant Jason was again on his feet and being pulled back away from the very bloodied Gregor. Harold was stronger than either Gregor or Jason -- maybe even of them combined -- and he very easily began hustling the farmer away from the vardos and back toward the farmhouse as he reassured him, "You made your point. What ever it was ... and I'm sure Gregor deserved it ... whatever it was, you made your point."

Behind them, Gregor simply laid there on his back, his nose and lips bleeding profusely, his eyes filled with tears, not just of the pain Jason had caused him but from the knowledge of the pain he'd caused Grace. He'd done it again. Papa Don would be disappointed. Inga would be furious. The Romani would be packing up and leaving Clark County before sundown.

Inga had heard the sounds of a fight from outside her vardo and she stepped out in time to see Jason delivering a beat down of Gregor. She had no idea what had started it, but her blood began to boil. It was no doubt something her cousin had done and she hurried down the steps to approach the both of them.

Harold had stepped in before she could make it, but it still didn't stop her from approaching the farmer. "What happened?" Inga asked Jason, glancing down at the bloody mess of her cousin. "Jason, what happened?"

Harold was still holding the man back by his arms and she knew Jason would have done something much worse if Harold let him go. "Come on. Let's go."

She took Jason by the arm, leading him away from Gregor as she let the man be. Someone would tend to him and she would make sure that Jason was seen safely home.

Grace watched out the windows of the farmhouse as Jason rushed towards the camp and when he came back, he had a gypsy woman with him. Inga simply looked at Grace as they walked inside, Inga insisting that Jason take a seat at the table where they had enjoyed breakfast just a few hours earlier.

"Jason, he didn't do anything." Grace was quick to say, wringing her hands nervously. "I was trying to get him to leave me alone. He's been coming by the house or passing me secret letters and I don't want to make Jake angry."

Jason was listening to Grace's explanation that Gregor hadn't done anything worth a beating but he wasn't really hearing her. In his mind, he was still seeing the gypsy forcing himself upon his sister-in-law.

He lifted his right hand -- the one that had struck the other man repeatedly -- and found it covered in blood. He'd never really hit a man like he had Gregor. Oh, he'd had a few scuffles as a kid, and once he'd knocked a man out at a bar after the drunk began verbally abusing the hard working waitress. But never had he been as violent to another as he had this afternoon.

Moving to the sink and turning on the tap, Jason washed away the blood, prepared to wrap his bleeding hand in a towel to stem the floor. But after letting the water run over his fingers, knuckles, palm, and then wrist, he found that he had not one bleeding injury to be counted.

And suddenly -- as Grace's words finally sunk in -- Jason's eyes began to glaze over. He'd nearly beaten a man to death over something he hadn't done. For all he knew, Gregor was laying back there in the camp slowly fading away, the bones of his face broken into a hundred pieces, his brain beaten to a concussion that would or already had begun the shut down of his body. What had he done? What had he done?

"I'm sorry, Grace," Jason said loud enough to ensure she heard him. Then, half glancing toward the Romani woman, he told her as well, "I'm sorry. I ... I didn't know what I was doing."

He had so much to say, so much for which to apologize. But Jason didn't even know where to begin. He turned for the stairs and his upstairs bedroom, saying over his shoulder, "I need a moment ... please."

He took the steps three at a time until he was at the top, turned and headed through the already open bedroom door. There, he found himself standing at the window looking down upon the Romani encampment. He hadn't intended to search out this view: it just happened that his own bedroom looked that direction. He searched the center area of the circled vardo for some evidence of what he'd done: were they carrying Gregor's dead body away; were they amassing a mob to come beat him to death, too; were they already packing up, fearful that Jason was already on his way to town to find the Sheriff.

Jason already knew that he wasn't going to send the Romani away. If what Grace had said was true -- that Gregor had been too forward with the married woman yet hadn't physically harmed her in any way -- then the beat down had already been far more than what he'd deserved. The Family itself wasn't to blame for one of their male's poor choices of an object of lust. He wouldn't punish them.



"Ow!"

Marla slapped Gregor's hand as he tried to move hers from his face, telling him, "It's gonna hurt, and I would imagine you deserve it, so stop!"

She was using a wet rag to clean the blood from his face, shaking her head with shock. He competed in the bare knuckle fighting at least once at every carnavale, and yet she'd never seen him beaten and cut in the way he was now.

"Did you just stand there and let him pummel you?" she asked with amazement. When Gregor nodded lightly, Marla laughed and asked, "Why would you do that?"

He didn't answer immediately, but when he did it was an answer that shouldn't have surprised her. "Because I deserved it."

She spend half an hour washing away the blood and stitching two bad cuts, one over his eye and one under the other. "They're gonna leave scars, even with my needlework skills."

"Reminder," he murmured, more to himself than to her. "Every time I look into the mirror."

Papa Don had been standing before the pair watching in silence, only now asking, "Is there any hope that we aren't packing up to outrun the law?"

Gregor only shrugged, then winced and complained about the pain again. After Marla finished with the last stitch, he told the patriarch with a sorrowful tone, "I only kissed her."

"You only kissed her," Papa Don repeated.

"I only kissed her," Gregor repeated with stress.

"I understand she's married?" Papa Don asked, already knowing the answer. When Gregor only stared at him, Papa Don shook his head, turned away, and mumbled as he departed, "And he only kissed her. What harm could befall us for that?"

"You're done," Marla told Gregor, putting her needle and things away. She waved to Harold, then gave Gregor the ringed out rag to clean his wounds again, warning him to dab lightly. After handing him a bottle of nasty but effective gin, Marla told Harold, "Take him to his wagon ... put him in bed ... put the bottle in his hands ... and if he tries to come out before sunrise, pull out his stitches. Understand?"

Harold smiled broadly, looked to Gregor -- who looked rightfully shocked and maybe even scared about the instructions -- then looked back to Marla and simply said, "Understood."

He snatched Gregor by the elbow and pulled him from the steps of Marla's vardo, muscling him toward his own home as the two of them began sucking down the bottle together.

Inga had only left Jason alone for half an hour. Grace looked terrified with each passing moment, as if the worst of humanity might befall her if she stayed there much longer. When the redhead's pacing had grown too much, Inga had gone up the stairs, ignoring Jason's need for privacy.

When she entered his room, directed him to have a seat without asking him please. She took a look at his bloodied knuckles, sighing at the damage done. When she asked him where his medical supplies were, she followed his direction and gathered up what she might need.

"You broke a knuckle." She answered softly, used to seeing boxing injuries from the men who competed in the ring. "You're lucky you didn't break your entire hand."

She sat down and cleaned up the blood, disinfecting the cut and placing in a few stitches of her own. When that was done, she worked at binding his effected fingers, making sure that he wouldn't be able to flex the knuckle until it was well on the way to healing.

"I'm sure that Gregor deserved whatever you gave to him. I warned him about messing around with the wrong woman in this town." Inga said softly, glancing up at Jason as he watched her work. "However, I think there is something seriously wrong with your brother and his wife. A woman is not that frightened over something like this."

Jason turned at the sound of approaching feet, expecting to find his sister-in-law coming to check on him. But he found Inga instead, which surprised him. This room had once been his parents' bedroom, and since his mother' death years earlier, no woman other than Grace had ever been in here, and that had happened just the one time, to help Jake and Jason deal with their deceased parent's belongings.

She commanded him to sit, then set about rendering first aid to his hand. It was worse than he'd thought, with at least one broken bone, maybe more, and rapidly swelling flesh. As the adrenaline of the fight wore off, the pain seemed to increase exponentially, and by the time Inga was done dealing with the damage of his rage, Jason had begun wincing and squeaking out in pain like a small child having a sliver pulled from the bottom of a ticklish foot.

"I'm sure that Gregor deserved whatever you gave to him. I warned him about messing around with the wrong woman in this town."

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Jason wasn't sure how to respond to this assessment, so he didn't. He'd feared that Gregor had been more hands on than Grace claimed he'd been, and he was thankful that his sister-in-law hadn't been violated in any way. But he was angry at himself for having more damage to the Romani man than was likely due for his trespasses against the beautiful redhead.

"However, I think there is something seriously wrong with your brother and his wife. A woman is not that frightened over something like this."

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Jason looked up to Inga at this, meeting her eyes for a moment. She was right, of course. Jason was no idiot. And he wasn't blind. He's both seen how his brother dominated Grace and how Grace sometimes cowered at her husband's presence. He hadn't seen the tit groping at the fight -- he'd been standing behind the couple at the time -- but he'd seen the way Jake hustled his wife away from the carnavale with firmness, as Jason had seen his brother do in the past.

Looking down to his hand -- unable to hold the gaze as he spoke -- Jason said softly, "She's afraid of him."

He hesitated for a moment before continuing, "I think ... I think he hurts here sometimes. I think-- No. I know she's afraid of him ... of Jake. But ... I don't know what to do about it. He's my brother."

There was so much more to say, but Jason couldn't get it out. He loved his brother, despite the man's faults. But he cared for Grace as well. He was trapped, and he had absolutely no idea what to do about it...

Inga raised an eyebrow at Jason as he muttered that he couldn't do anything to help Grace. He didn't seem like the kind of man that would simply sit there and let terrible things happen to someone that her obviously cared about. He had been willing to beat Gregor to death if it would have defended Grace's honor. However, when it came to his brother, he was helpless.

"So be it." Inga said softly, finishing up with his hand and standing to dispose of her trash. "But you know when something terrible happens, it will be on your hands."

She turned to look at Jason with a long sigh. "Get changed and we'll drive her home. I might not know how to drive, but I'm sure between the both of us, we can get her there safely."

"So be it ... But you know when something terrible happens, it will be on your hands."

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Again, Inga was right. If there was anyone who could -- and should! -- do something about Jake's abuse of Grace, it was Jason. But what? He had questioned his brother's actions and reactions to things that had affected or involved the man's wife on occasion. But Jason had never openly and directly challenged his brother.

"Get changed and we'll drive her home. I might not know how to drive, but I'm sure between the both of us, we can get her there safely."

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He didn't immediately understand what Inga meant about we getting Grace home. Then he looked at his broken, bandaged hand and realized that there would be no way for him to safely drive the Ford with its 14 year old, in-need-of-work, manual steering.



"Let's try it again," he told Inga after their second try at cranking over the engine failed. "It'll work this time."

The issue was that he couldn't do it one handed, and Inga couldn't do it alone, and yet if they tried together they wound up just bumping against one another in a way that was both comical and sad. Someone at the Romani camp must have been watching -- and probably laughing -- because after their third and fourth failed attempts, a young gypsy hustled up to the Model T, grasped the crank, turned it quick and hard ... and the engine roared to life.

"That was the easy part," Jason said about the operation that had left him sweating. He directed Inga to climb in behind the wheel, then sat next to her with Grace in the back. As he a quick driving lesson to the woman who had spent her life commuting with the ass of a horse before her, he crossed his heart Catholic style, and murmured, "God protect us."



As expected, it had turned out to be a rather scary experience for Jason, not just because he feared for his Ford but -- when they reached the Grover Pass, with its narrower road and 100 foot drop off to the river -- because he feared for his, Grace's, and Inga's lives. When they emerged back onto flat land, he visibly slumped back into his seat and breathed a sigh of relief.

"I knew you could do it," he lied to the woman beside him. He laughed loudly, adding, "Never doubted it for a minute."

Jason forgot that he and Inga had to return though the Pass when he thought to himself that the greatest fear of his day had passed. Then, as Inga brought the Model T to a halt before Grace's home, his heart leaped with fear again at the sight of Jake stepping out onto the porch with a furious look on his face.

"I thought you said he was--" Jason began, not finishing his inquiry into why his brother was here and not with whomever if was Grace had early said he be with until probably dark. He got out of the Ford, and -- looking to one woman, then the other -- suggested with a low, worried tone, "Stay here, both of you. Let me go talk--"

"Grace!" Jake hollered with anger in his voice. He half turned to open a path up the steps and into the house before demanding, "In the house ... now."

"Just ... just wait a moment, Grace," Jason tried, coming around the vehicle. He turned his gaze to Inga, remembering what she had said about his being the only person who could do anything about Jake's treatment of Grace. As he cleared the end of the vehicle, he said in a voice that was meant to be reassuring yet was showing his own concern, "I'll talk to him, and everything will be--"

"NOW!" Jake hollered, looking at Grace as he jabbed a pointed finger toward the porch at his feet. Then, looking to Inga, then Jason, he growled, "And get that fucking ... gypsy ... whore away from my wife."