Gypsy Magic (The Little Matchmakers) by Judy Griffith Gill Page A
Authors: Judy Griffith Gill
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facilities are?” She nodded. “Fine. I’ll leave the flashlight on the floor near your bunk. Try not to waste the batteries. Good night.”
~ * ~
It took three days for Gypsy to feel halfway better. Her black eye recovered enough for her to be able to open it, but she worried about the cut on her cheek. When she asked her host just how bad it was, he reassured her gruffly, saying that it was very small and shouldn’t leave a scar as long as she left the tapes on for a sufficient time. Trouble was, neither of them could judge what would be ‘sufficient’ time. He claimed not to have a mirror, so she was forced to leave the extent of the gash to her imagination. His shaving, it seemed, was done with the battery razor, and did not require a mirror. Privately, Gypsy thought it was more likely he was unable to face himself in the mirror without becoming ill, and so did not use one. A few days in his company had not improved her opinion of this most odious man she had ever met.
But, she had to admit, for all that he had done a few kind deeds. On her first morning in the cabin he had given her a toothbrush still in its package, a short, black comb of the kind men used, and tossed a pair of jeans on her bunk.
“They won’t fit you, of course, but there’s a needle and some thread, scissors, too, so you can fix them. They’ll be better than nothing, and you can’t run around in a mink cape and a bikini for the rest of your time here. You can keep the shirt you’re wearing, to sleep in, and here’s another for daytime.”
When he noticed her hobbling across the yard over the stony ground, he inquired if her shoes had been in the helicopter, as well. After some thought, she remembered they had been sitting behind a log, along with her makeup case, well out of camera range.
“I’ll go have a look.” He had brushed aside her thanks and stomped out without a backward glance, but on her return to the cabin with the child, for lunch, she had found her sandals beside her bunk with the red silk scarf lying on her covers. Of her makeup case he denied any knowledge.
For a few days Gypsy worried about squint lines and wished for her sunglasses, which were in her makeup case, wherever that was. Maybe it had been below the high tide point and drifted away. Nevertheless, her pleasure in Kevin’s company grew along with her enjoyment of the spectacular surroundings.
Wind-twisted pines grew along the north-western side of the island, which rose in the center to form a pair of cone-shaped, tree-clad hills with a divide between them. There must be a lake, or perhaps a spring up there somewhere, source of the creek Kevin liked to play in.
Beyond that stream of fresh water, a long, high point of land thrust out, shaggy, golden grass flattened by the ever-present breeze off the ocean. A few miles away, she saw similar islands, some higher, some lower, but all with lacy edges of surf creaming around their rocky bases. Gulls flew and mewed, sea lions barked and startled cormorants, which lifted like clouds of tossed black pepper from a low rock just off-shore where they often stood, wings spread out to dry in the warmth of the sun and the touch of the breeze. Periodically, salmon, flashes of silvery-blue, jumped clear of the water and splashed back in.
On one particularly beautiful morning near the end of her first week on the island, she and Kevin watched a pod of orcas swim by, black dorsal fins of the males jutting high, shorter, rounder fins on the females and young whales cutting sleekly through the water. To her and Kevin’s mutual delight, a number of whales performed that odd, orca habit of “spy-hopping” rising up on their powerful tail-flukes, lifting their huge bodies two-thirds out of the water to gaze around. Finished their tail dance, they flopped down onto the surface again in a circle of rainbow-streaked spray. Others, after a deep dive, burst through the surface, shooting fully from the water and smashing back
~ * ~
It took three days for Gypsy to feel halfway better. Her black eye recovered enough for her to be able to open it, but she worried about the cut on her cheek. When she asked her host just how bad it was, he reassured her gruffly, saying that it was very small and shouldn’t leave a scar as long as she left the tapes on for a sufficient time. Trouble was, neither of them could judge what would be ‘sufficient’ time. He claimed not to have a mirror, so she was forced to leave the extent of the gash to her imagination. His shaving, it seemed, was done with the battery razor, and did not require a mirror. Privately, Gypsy thought it was more likely he was unable to face himself in the mirror without becoming ill, and so did not use one. A few days in his company had not improved her opinion of this most odious man she had ever met.
But, she had to admit, for all that he had done a few kind deeds. On her first morning in the cabin he had given her a toothbrush still in its package, a short, black comb of the kind men used, and tossed a pair of jeans on her bunk.
“They won’t fit you, of course, but there’s a needle and some thread, scissors, too, so you can fix them. They’ll be better than nothing, and you can’t run around in a mink cape and a bikini for the rest of your time here. You can keep the shirt you’re wearing, to sleep in, and here’s another for daytime.”
When he noticed her hobbling across the yard over the stony ground, he inquired if her shoes had been in the helicopter, as well. After some thought, she remembered they had been sitting behind a log, along with her makeup case, well out of camera range.
“I’ll go have a look.” He had brushed aside her thanks and stomped out without a backward glance, but on her return to the cabin with the child, for lunch, she had found her sandals beside her bunk with the red silk scarf lying on her covers. Of her makeup case he denied any knowledge.
For a few days Gypsy worried about squint lines and wished for her sunglasses, which were in her makeup case, wherever that was. Maybe it had been below the high tide point and drifted away. Nevertheless, her pleasure in Kevin’s company grew along with her enjoyment of the spectacular surroundings.
Wind-twisted pines grew along the north-western side of the island, which rose in the center to form a pair of cone-shaped, tree-clad hills with a divide between them. There must be a lake, or perhaps a spring up there somewhere, source of the creek Kevin liked to play in.
Beyond that stream of fresh water, a long, high point of land thrust out, shaggy, golden grass flattened by the ever-present breeze off the ocean. A few miles away, she saw similar islands, some higher, some lower, but all with lacy edges of surf creaming around their rocky bases. Gulls flew and mewed, sea lions barked and startled cormorants, which lifted like clouds of tossed black pepper from a low rock just off-shore where they often stood, wings spread out to dry in the warmth of the sun and the touch of the breeze. Periodically, salmon, flashes of silvery-blue, jumped clear of the water and splashed back in.
On one particularly beautiful morning near the end of her first week on the island, she and Kevin watched a pod of orcas swim by, black dorsal fins of the males jutting high, shorter, rounder fins on the females and young whales cutting sleekly through the water. To her and Kevin’s mutual delight, a number of whales performed that odd, orca habit of “spy-hopping” rising up on their powerful tail-flukes, lifting their huge bodies two-thirds out of the water to gaze around. Finished their tail dance, they flopped down onto the surface again in a circle of rainbow-streaked spray. Others, after a deep dive, burst through the surface, shooting fully from the water and smashing back
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