Dare to Love by Jennifer Wilde Page A

you?”
    â€œI think so. He’s so considerate, gentle, attentive. He treats me as though I’m the most important person in the world to him. Sometimes he’s silent and moody, and—sometimes he seems remote, but I think he’s in love with me, Inez. I want him to be. I want it more than anything in the world.”
    The flap of the tent flew back, and two giggling young girls in cotton print dresses flounced in, accompanied by a hulking lad with straw-colored hair and an embarrassed expression. Inez pressed her mouth into a thin red line and waved an arm at them, her eyes flashing.
    â€œYou wait! I busy now!”
    The trio backed cautiously out of the tent. Inez muttered a curse under her breath, and then she looked up sharply.
    â€œYou are still virgin?” she asked bluntly.
    I was taken aback, and it was a moment before I replied.
    â€œBrence has been … quite gallant and … and casually affectionate,” I said hesitantly, “but he’s never attempted to take any liberties. He’s never even kissed me. He’s been the perfect gentleman.”
    â€œZut.”
    â€œHe respects me. He doesn’t want to rush me or frighten me.”
    Inez studied me with shrewd eyes, her lips curling disdainfully. She began to toy with the Tarot cards again, scattering them over the table and placing them face down.
    â€œHe knows all about my background, Inez,” I told her. “That doesn’t matter to him. He’s courting me anyway. He’s going into the diplomatic service and he’ll need a proper wife, and … I believe he wants to marry me.”
    Inez did not reply. Instead she began to turn the Tarot cards face up, one by one. The purple cloth walls billowed gently, and the candle flame danced, casting soft shadows. I realized that she was reading the cards for me. I sat silently, vaguely apprehensive. After a while she turned up the last card. She studied it for a long time, and then she swept the cards aside abruptly, her eyes dark with worry.
    â€œWhat did you see, Inez?”
    Inez stood up. “Ess nothing. I read zee fortunes. I tell zem what zey want to hear. Ess all a gypsy hoax.”
    I got up, too, and Inez glared at me angrily, hands on hips. The flap of the tent flew back again. A plump, nervous farmer’s wife stepped inside, clutching her purse tightly. Seeing the expression on Inez’s face, the poor woman turned pale and hurried back out. Inez sighed. Her anger had vanished, and suddenly she looked very old, very tired.
    â€œMy poor Mary Ellen, my little chick who has grown into such a lovely young woman—no longer zee little girl with zee pigtails who wants to become gypsy, too. Already you know such grief when your aunt die. Zhere will be more, my child.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œYou will travel, many trips, many countries. You will know many men, and—and zhere will always be zee one. You will have great fame and glory and zhere will be riches, but zhere will be pain as well, such pain. You must endure and go on, and one day—” She hesitated, a frown furrowing her brow. “One day, eff you are strong enough, you will find zee happiness you seek.”
    â€œWill Brence ask me to marry him? Will—”
    â€œZiz ess all I tell you!” she snapped impatiently. “Zey wait for me! I must make zee money! You go now—and remember what I say. Zee strength is zhere inside. You must draw on it. You will need it, my child.”

VII
    When I stepped outside the tent, the sky was blue-black and frosted with stars, but the campfires burned brightly. Leaping flames cast shadows over the caravans, and guitars were strumming. A crowd was already gathering to watch the dances. Brence was leaning against a nearby caravan waiting for me, his arms folded across his chest. Seeing me approach, he straightened up and smiled a warm smile, the way an indulgent parent might smile at a capricious