Drop of Fire

By R C Marlen

Spain,1846:
A young Italian, Regalito, travels to Spain, meets a beautiful gypsy girl, and marries her. He gives his bride a ruby necklace. On their wedding night, tragedy strikes and the bride's grandmother puts a curse on the ruby necklace.

Italy, 1846:
Abused by his father and tormented by his brother Regalito, seventeen-year-old Antonio Scaglione plans to sail to America, but jeopardizes the freedom he seeks by taking Regalito’s ruby necklace with a Gypsy’s curse. While on the ship, he and his new friend Thomas test the curse by placing the necklace on a prisoner in the brig.
The prisoner dies.
Antonio will spend his life trying to find a way to keep the necklace from killing again.

The United States of America, 1848-1912:
Over the years, Thomas and Antonio form a close friendship. Antonio becomes a fearless firefighter who saves many lives, yet he cannot keep the ruby necklace from taking lives. In 1905, Regalito learns where Antonio lives and arrives on his doorstep, wanting his ruby necklace. To Antonio’s amazement, the ruby is gone! But where?
After Antonio struggles to save himself and his little grandson from Regalito’s fiery revenge, he must face the painful secret of where the ruby has gone.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R C Marlen
• Release date: Sep 17, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466198043

R C Marlen

RC Marlen (a.k.a.Rosalie Marlen Schele) spent her first forty years in St. Louis, Missouri. While growing up, she lived with the six Marlen siblings and worked in the family drugstore which provided much of the material for her novels Inside the Hatboxes and The Drugstore.After college, she taught Mathematics, earned a Masters, started a business in Los Gatos, California teaching adults about computers, and then fell in love with Henry Schele who took her to live in Chile and Argentina for fourteen years. In the year 2000 she finished Inside the Hatboxes and three months later became a widow.Now she lives in beautiful, verdant Oregon. She recently sold her home in San Carlos, Chile - a pueblo six hours south of Santiago. In the future she plans to write about South America.

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Drop of Fire

A Story of Gypsies and a Firefighter

By RC Marlen

Copyright 2009 by RC Marlen

Sunbird Press: Salem, Oregon

Published by RC Marlen at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a novel. All of the characters, including those listed on the page called Main Characters are fictitious, and any personal events in the lives of these characters are also fictitious; any resemblance of these characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

However, references in the story of historical events, as the Pirates of Pelican Island and The Great Fire on 1849 in St Louis, are written as accurately as possible.

Cover: Spanish Romani People by Yevgraf Sorokin, 1853; Port of Genova by Garneray, 1810; and Firefighter on Steam Engine by Andrew Jacobo, 2009.

Main Characters

Spain

Roberto - King of the Gypsies in Sacromonte

Alita - Wise old Gypsy woman

Carmensita - Granddaughter of Alita

Regalito - Italian in love with Carmensita

Italy: Scaglione Family

Regalito - Oldest son in family

Antonio - Second son and brother of Regalito

Miguel - Youngest brother of Antonio and Regalito

Nónno - Grandfather of these brothers

United States

Antonio Scaglione - Main character/firefighter in USA

Thomas Lipson (Tomas) - Best friend of Antonio

Ilse - First wife of Antonio (German woman)

George (Buster) - Son of Ilse by a marriage in Germany

Gustof - Older brother of Ilse

Seamus Whelan - Irish furniture maker who hires Antonio

Marina - Second wife of Antonio

Maria - Oldest daughter of Marina and Antonio

Isabela - Youngest daughter of Marina and Antonio

Glossary: Spanish or Roma terms used by the Gypsy characters

Abuelo, grandfather

Abuela or Abuelita, grandmother or little grandmother

Angelita, little angel (term of endearment)

Banditos, bandits

Feria, market day

Gitanos, Gypsies

Gorgio, outsider, person other than a Gypsy

Hoyo, hole, like in the ground

Alita, short for abuela (abuelita) (term of endearment)

Payo, outsider, person other than a Gypsy

PART I

Granada, Spain

Circa 1846

Chapter 1

The Gypsies of Sacromonte

From afar, Gypsies gazed toward the sunset and watched the silhouette of a loping horse with a load upon its back. As the horse moved toward them, the Gypsies squinted from the glare and murmured among themselves while their loose cotton pants, rolled up at the ankles, fluttered in the breeze. The peaks of the Sacromonte hills glimmered with the last light of day. Each Gypsy wore a felt hat atop striped bands of cloth encircling their foreheads. The tallest one was shirtless, wearing high leather riding boots; his bulging muscles on his sweating arms glistened like the rolling hills painted in the amber light of sundown. They stood on the edge of their community where women prepared the evening meal outside house-caves while men played guitar music. Children ran here and there as the solitary horse crested a small hill and faced the waiting group.

The horse dripped with foamy sweat and behaved nervously, throwing his head and whinnying. A slumped man, tied to the saddle by the reins, appeared dead.

Bare-chested Roberto talked softly to the horse while reaching for its mane, and then turned to the others, Come, help me untie him. Look, he’s alive and bleeding. Hurry!

With the loosening of the reins, the rider started to slip from the saddle and Roberto reached out to hold him steady. Two came to help, grabbing the stranger under his arms and around the legs to lower him to the ground. Though he wore a white shirt, as they turned him over, he appeared to be wearing one of bright red except for the ruffles around his wrists that were brown where blood had dried. The horse appeared to be bleeding as well, but one man touched the flank and found that both the fresh and caked blood on the animal’s coat belonged to the rider.

Still the rider lay motionless.

He’s lost so much blood! Roberto ordered one man to take the horse, Wipe him down and put him with our horses. Bring me anything you find in the saddlebags. On one knee, Roberto leaned over the rider to get a better look, Let’s take him to Alita quickly.

The men raised the stranger and scurried around cooking fires and children to one of the cave openings on the far side of a hill. Other Gypsies hustled behind them to learn what had happened. The men with the wounded man stopped in front of an old, wrinkled woman, who was squatting as she stirred a pot. She stood with the help of a well-worn stick.

Roberto explained, Alita, I want you to care for this man. He burns with fever. I don’t think he’ll live through the night without your help.

Alita’s dark face–tanned and aged from the sun, darkened even more by heritage–scrunched into a frown, with lines deepening around her eyes. She chewed on something with her toothless gums; her hollowed cheeks moved in and out. She spat into a corner before she nodded.

After they placed the rider on a mat inside Alita’s dwelling, Roberto searched the stranger’s pockets and clothing. He has nothing except his clothes ... but they are fine clothes. The material is that of a rich person and the stitches are delicately sewn. Alita, if you find something to identify him let me know. We need to learn who he is.

After Roberto told his people to leave, Alita was alone with the leader and confided in him, As they carried this man to me, I saw a dark haze over him. Roberto, we must be on guard. I don’t know what it means, but it’s a bad sign. Hopefully, I’ll understand with time.

Roberto bobbed his head in acceptance of what she saw. Alita was the respected all-wise-one of their clan. Then he stood, ducking his head where the ceiling was low, Now use your magic and medicines. I’ll return later.

Alita shuffled over to a ledge that held her remedies and mused, Why does he call it magic? I use my knowledge and what I sense from within. That’s not magic.

Shelves, carved from the soft rock of the hills, lined every wall. Dust-covered bottles with liquids, tins with salves, boxes with herbs and seeds, and dried animal parts filled her abode. She liked her cave home and knew this place called Sacromonte suited the Gypsies. She often thought of how it was, hundreds of years ago, when Caesar sent his Romans to mine the area, leaving behind these intricate and numerous catacombs. She smiled and spoke to herself again, "The Romans never knew they were building a home for my people, the gitanos." The Gypsies came to fill this place in the early 1800s.

With her skinny arms of mostly muscle and tendons and with calloused hands of more bone than flesh, Alita began to work on the man. She took a knife to cut the blousy sleeve from the wound and found a deep gash from his elbow to his shoulder and around into his back. He stirred a bit and moaned when she touched the wound to clean it, but he didn’t awaken.

After many minutes of work, she reached for her cane and struggled with her thin body to stand, I crouched too long.

Pouring water into a metal cup by tipping a bisque-colored pottery jar with a spout, she moistened his lips with her fingers, hoping he would revive.

I’ll be back, she told the unconscious stranger, I’m going to get some fresh herbs for you. To herself, she said, I’ll ask Carmensita to come be with him until I return.

Grabbing a shawl off a crudely made stool near the door, she draped it over her shoulders and walked out among her people into the cooling evening air. There were stairs, made from the natural rock, uneven and broken, where families and friends sat or reclined, watching dancers or relaxing in conversation at the end of another day. She enjoyed looking at her people; the young Spanish Gypsies were beautiful. The men were tall and well proportioned with jet-black hair, attractive white teeth, and black eyes, exuding intelligence. The women usually had brunette hair, flowing past their waists, and long lashes, lining their dark alluring eyes. Alita jabbed a dog with her cane–gentle was the jab for she only wanted to coax the bitch from her path. Alita patted the furry head as she passed.

Sacromonte, with catacombs here and there among the hills and rocks, was of ample size for this clan of gitanos. Alita went down steps, over a small hill of dried dirt and scrubby bushes, up more steps to a group of caves on the opposite side from hers. Different music came to her ears as she approached and her flawless, precious granddaughter Carmensita danced the flamenco.

Alita stopped to watch and her black eyes changed into the smile she never allowed her toothless mouth. Love rippled through her, leaving goose pimples tingling in her limbs. Alita leaned her cane against a rock wall and joined the clapping in time with the music.

Carmensita wore a long, blue skirt that twirled full circle, exposing young legs and flashing bracelets of coins around both ankles. Weighting down the edges of her skirt were other coins; all the girls knew how to pound a hole into a coin and sew it into their clothing. As she danced, everyone could hear the jangle and tinkle of the coins mixed with the music of the guitars.

Alita marveled at Carmensita’s fair skin. She muttered aloud, Not like me. I look like the Gypsies who came so long ago from India into Europe. Those first Gypsies, who had left India as early as the eleventh century, had dark complexions. Not until the 1400s, did Gypsies find their way into Spain and, for more than four hundred years, the fairer skinned Spanish mixed their blood with the Gypsies, resulting in skin like Carmensita’s. Nevertheless, many–both Gypsies and Europeans–frowned upon intermarriage so there still existed bronze-colored Gypsies like Alita.

"Abuelita, Carmensita called with affection and ran to her grandmother. Look at my new skirt. She twirled and lifted her dainty nose to the sky, Does the night smell of jasmine?"

"Si, mi amor, Alita answered. But I have come for your help. A payo is in my cave and he bleeds with a bad wound. Would you sit with him while I go to look for herbs?"

Yes, of course. I’ll get my wrap.

Hurry to him, because he’s alone and may awaken at any time. Someone should be there.

After her young granddaughter rushed off to sit with the payo, Alita climbed to the top of a hill in search of the herbs. She gazed out on the Alhambra Palace in the far distance with its reddish-ocher walls and huge square towers shooting to the heavens. She looked and sighed; it was a sight she never tired of seeing and, as always, she yearned to go see this Moorish palace and behold the oriental decorations on the walls.

Alita stood in these hills called Sacromonte, a neighborhood of Granada in the Andalusia Region of Spain, and began to think about the Gypsies’ past and all their suffering. Wherever they had traveled, laws and policies were enacted to eliminate them. As usual, she spoke aloud, No one ever knew who we were. We scared them. Ha! They thought we were sent by God from Egypt. Continuing her mumbling, she considered the misconception, which gave them the name Gypsy–derived from the word Egypt. The Book of Ezekiel said God made a prophecy to scatter the Egyptians among all the nations. Everyone believed that was why we came.

As she searched, Alita rambled on, Too soon we were misunderstood, but the Romany are strong. Gypsies referred to themselves as Roma or the Romany people, until arriving in Spain where the Spanish Gypsies became the gitanos. Her thoughts returned to the present, Times are better now. She walked a bit farther and found the plant she needed. Gathering her skirt up to hold the stalks and leaves, she plucked many and then headed back.

As she came over the hill again, flamenco music drifted up from the caves of Sacromonte, but she also heard angry shouting. As she came closer, she saw a group of men around Roberto and, from the bits of overheard conversation, she knew they were complaining about the stranger in her cave house. She walked past the group without stopping. She knew Roberto could handle their complaints.

Upon entering her cave, a glow from many candles greeted her.

Carmensita was sitting and peering at the injured man. Alita, he’s so handsome. What happened to him?

We don’t know, my child.

I want to help and learn to be a healer like you. Teach me more of your medicine … please.

Gesturing with a wave of her down-turned hand, Alita motioned Carmensita to come and watch. After we finish making this poultice, go tell your father that you will sleep here to help me tonight. I am too old to manage a sick man by myself. Besides, I have many others who are sick. I need you to stay here with him while I see to the others.

Alita felt blessed that she had such a granddaughter. She would sleep easier knowing she had the girl’s help until the stranger gained consciousness. Many days would pass before he would awaken.

Granada sat in a region surrounded by deep canyons and desert areas filled with bare rocks and rampant growing thickets. Yet, everywhere there were Spaniards inhabiting this desert land and, once a week, many appeared from nowhere traveling into the great city of Granada for a day of trading. Three days after the injured stranger arrived, it was the day of the feria–an event everyone loved.

Before the dawn hinted at the coming light, Sacromonte bustled with preparations to go into the city of Granada. Into carts, Gypsy women put baskets made from twigs, pots made of clay, and other artifacts to be sold. Many women would go to wander among the shoppers, earning coins by reading palms or telling fortunes. In preparation, the men were choosing and then grooming the horses to be traded that day; they bickered and shouted about whose horse should go. They each had their favorites. Young boys led four horses at a time down to the Darro River, below the hill of Albaicin, to let them drink the fresh, sweet water. In Granada, there would be little water for the horses all day.

Alita rolled from her bed, a mattress made of wool stuffed into a cotton sack, and sat for a moment with her feet on the rock floor. She was stiff and raised herself painfully and slowly. She often said to her old friends, If you stay in your bed too long, the stiffness gets worse and worse. If you struggle up, you’ll see your stiffness gets less and less through the day.

She wound her long white hair into a bundle at her nape with a stick to hold it. Then she grabbed her cane and shuffled over to the stranger. She felt his face for fever and lifted the poultice to examine the wound. A nod indicated that she was pleased with the results, but she frowned when again she saw a dark haze appear above the body of this man. She placed her hand on him and waited to see if other signs would come to her.

Nothing.

Unperturbed, she turned to look at her granddaughter. Mi angelita. Alita’s eyes smiled at the sleeping girl. Now she went out of her cave home to her cooking area.

Just outside her door and in a corner of the stone walls, she stirred the embers of last night’s fire and piled small pieces of wood, crisscrossing them–two this way and two the other way–until she had a stack. With difficulty, she went down on one knee by placing one hand on the wall and the other on her cane. Bending into the coals, she sucked in her breath and blew. The flames burst with a poof. She took a deep breath and struggled back to her feet. Pleased that she was not too old to make a fire, she swung the iron pot over the flame; a strong metal arm attached to the wall held it. The food left in the pot from last night would be breakfast today. Finally she hurried off to the hoyo to relieve herself.

Returning, she heard Carmensita’s sweet and cheerful voice coming from her cave. At the doorway she stopped and saw the stranger was awake. She didn’t like what she saw. Carmensita radiated pleasure with every movement and gesture. The girl was one to always be happy, yet this was more. Alita worried.

Carmensita turned to her abuelita, Oh, Alita, look! He’s awake and has no fever. I have started to clean the wound …

Wait until I can examine it, Alita interrupted. You go take care of your morning needs, put more wood on the fire and then get Roberto. We’ll clean it together when you return. Has he had any water?

The girl noticed the abrupt words of her grandmother, but took no offense. The gruff authority her abuela showed was part of the character of the all-wise-one, not how her abuelita was to her when alone. As she hurried outside she said, Yes, he drank like a horse. His name is Regalito.

Alita shuffled to get an old metal can and returned to him, I’m Alita, she said, staring down at him. Roberto will be coming to talk with you. He’s our King. She placed the can next to him, Use this to relieve yourself. I don’t want you getting up just yet. Don’t talk until Roberto is here. You must save your energy. You lost much blood. Now she leaned into her cane and closer to him, Are you hungry?

Hesitating for only an instant, he scowled and started to rise.

Alita lifted her cane and touched it against his wounded arm, I think not.

Agh, he groaned, falling back on the mat.

I decide what’s best for you. Are you a fool? You will obey me if you want help from my people. You have no money and can go nowhere without our help. When she saw acceptance in his face, she went for food.

Delicious aromas drifted from the iron pot over the fire as she filled a bowl for him with tender chucks of pork mixed with rice in a spicy tomato sauce. He scooted against the wall and was eating eagerly when Carmensita returned with Roberto.

Roberto moved the stool next to the stranger’s bed, You can see who we are. I want to learn about you. What can you tell me?

I am Regalito Scaglione Ramos from Milán. I have come to Spain in order to stay with my mother’s brother because I am against the Austrian’s control of our city in Italy. My father sent me.

Why would he do that? And how old are you?

I have lived twenty years and believe it is wrong for the Austrians to control us. I spoke out too often and rebelled; my father feared I would be arrested. So he sent me away.

Roberto was satisfied with these answers, Tell me what happened to you. How did you get this wound?

"Banditos from the hills before Granada. They robbed me and when I started to fight they tried to kill me."

Roberto waited, And …

And, what?

Regalito, you were tied to your horse so you wouldn’t fall. Who did this?

No one journeys alone. Two men were sent with me. I guess one of them put me on the horse. I don’t know.

Roberto stood, I see. Your wound has started to bleed again. We will talk more another time.

Alita came to see the bleeding, Yes, another day. This wound is very deep. The bone was cut as well as the flesh. He must rest for many more days.

Roberto nodded and bent down at the arched doorway to leave the cave.

As the days passed into weeks, the wound healed and everyone saw the attraction between Carmensita and Regalito becoming as strong as a bee to a flower ... and many thought it as sweet as honey to see them together. Regalito no longer seemed the arrogant young man whom Alita and Roberto had met during their first conversation with him.

Weeks earlier, Roberto had sent some men to tell