never have made it on the stage. It’s a good thing you became a doctor.” While Gabby knew she wasn’t talented enough to act professionally, she did love to dabble in it when the opportunity presented itself. She had often recruited friends and staff at the orphanage to help her put on skits and short plays for the children, complete with costumes and makeup. Her great-aunt was kind enough to let her keep everything she needed for these plays in the closet in the spare bedroom.
She left her bedroom now and found Dorcas out digging in the garden.
“You look like no young woman should look,” Dorcas said.
“But, Grandmother, I look like a gypsy, don’t I?”
She sniffed. “Foolishness, I say!” She got to her feet carefully, saying, “Oskar said Samson is harnessed. You be careful, now.”
“What can happen to me at a church festival, Grandmother?” Gabby leaned over and kissed the woman on the cheek. “I’ll come home and tell you all about it tonight.”
“Plain foolishness! God doesn’t need our help collecting money.”
Gabby laughed. She was accustomed to her great-aunt’s tart remarks about parties.
She went to the old carriage house that had once kept a buggy and the horses for transportation. Now the place had a musty smell, but she found Samson already hitched up to the wagon. She remembered how she and Oskar had labored over it, putting false sides on it, making it into an authentic-looking gypsy caravan. It had windows now and was painted red and green and yellow. She walked over to the horse and stroked its nose. “Samson, are you ready to go?” She dodged and laughed as he tried to nibble at her fingers. Lifting her long skirt, she climbed up into the seat. “Oskar, have you seen Lang?”
“He’s waiting out in front. I told him you’d be right there.”
Gabby took the lines from him and slapped them on the back of the horse. Samson moved out slowly. He was getting older now but was still capable of pulling the wagon, at least as far as the church. When she reached the front of the house, she turned slowly into the drive and saw Lang leaning against his car. He came over to the wagon.
“Well, I’m here, but I don’t like it.”
“I wish you’d let me dress you up too. You’d look handsome in a bright red shirt and earrings.”
“I’m not dressing up and that’s final.” Lang Zeeman was afine-looking man of twenty-six. He had once been in medical school, but he had dropped out, abandoning his studies out of sheer laziness. He was witty, and his family had plenty of money, so there was no reason for him to feel insecure. He had the reputation of being rather wild, and the sleek, powerful car he drove gave evidence of his exorbitant taste. He was very fond of Gabby.
He clambered up in the wagon seat beside her, grumbling, “I don’t see why you want to do this. It’d be much easier just to make a contribution.”
“I am going to make a contribution,” she said. She clucked at the horse, which started up at once. It was May, and the weather was cool but pleasant. The sun sent its yellow beams down, and as the wagon rumbled over the cobblestones, the two rocked gently from side to side.
“You should have become an actress. You like to dress up and play roles so much.”
“What roles do I play?”
“Oh, you play being a fortune-teller, and you play being a doctor,” he teased her. “I think you see yourself in a drama always—the great doctor Gabrielle Winslow rushing to save those threatened with death by plague!” He laughed and put his arm around her, pulling her close and kissing her on the lips.
She quickly pulled away.
“You’re not too good at playing love scenes, though. Too shy.”
“Lang, somebody will see us!”
“What if they do? We’re courting, aren’t we? As a matter of fact,” he said almost gruffly, “we’ve been courting so long I feel like I’ve got a long white beard.”
Gabby laughed at him and pushed him away. “You stay
She left her bedroom now and found Dorcas out digging in the garden.
“You look like no young woman should look,” Dorcas said.
“But, Grandmother, I look like a gypsy, don’t I?”
She sniffed. “Foolishness, I say!” She got to her feet carefully, saying, “Oskar said Samson is harnessed. You be careful, now.”
“What can happen to me at a church festival, Grandmother?” Gabby leaned over and kissed the woman on the cheek. “I’ll come home and tell you all about it tonight.”
“Plain foolishness! God doesn’t need our help collecting money.”
Gabby laughed. She was accustomed to her great-aunt’s tart remarks about parties.
She went to the old carriage house that had once kept a buggy and the horses for transportation. Now the place had a musty smell, but she found Samson already hitched up to the wagon. She remembered how she and Oskar had labored over it, putting false sides on it, making it into an authentic-looking gypsy caravan. It had windows now and was painted red and green and yellow. She walked over to the horse and stroked its nose. “Samson, are you ready to go?” She dodged and laughed as he tried to nibble at her fingers. Lifting her long skirt, she climbed up into the seat. “Oskar, have you seen Lang?”
“He’s waiting out in front. I told him you’d be right there.”
Gabby took the lines from him and slapped them on the back of the horse. Samson moved out slowly. He was getting older now but was still capable of pulling the wagon, at least as far as the church. When she reached the front of the house, she turned slowly into the drive and saw Lang leaning against his car. He came over to the wagon.
“Well, I’m here, but I don’t like it.”
“I wish you’d let me dress you up too. You’d look handsome in a bright red shirt and earrings.”
“I’m not dressing up and that’s final.” Lang Zeeman was afine-looking man of twenty-six. He had once been in medical school, but he had dropped out, abandoning his studies out of sheer laziness. He was witty, and his family had plenty of money, so there was no reason for him to feel insecure. He had the reputation of being rather wild, and the sleek, powerful car he drove gave evidence of his exorbitant taste. He was very fond of Gabby.
He clambered up in the wagon seat beside her, grumbling, “I don’t see why you want to do this. It’d be much easier just to make a contribution.”
“I am going to make a contribution,” she said. She clucked at the horse, which started up at once. It was May, and the weather was cool but pleasant. The sun sent its yellow beams down, and as the wagon rumbled over the cobblestones, the two rocked gently from side to side.
“You should have become an actress. You like to dress up and play roles so much.”
“What roles do I play?”
“Oh, you play being a fortune-teller, and you play being a doctor,” he teased her. “I think you see yourself in a drama always—the great doctor Gabrielle Winslow rushing to save those threatened with death by plague!” He laughed and put his arm around her, pulling her close and kissing her on the lips.
She quickly pulled away.
“You’re not too good at playing love scenes, though. Too shy.”
“Lang, somebody will see us!”
“What if they do? We’re courting, aren’t we? As a matter of fact,” he said almost gruffly, “we’ve been courting so long I feel like I’ve got a long white beard.”
Gabby laughed at him and pushed him away. “You stay
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