Chapter One

He could hear the commotion and wondered what had gotten his fellow villagers all riled up on this balmy spring morning. Dr. Paul, as most of his patients and friends called him, was busy burying his latest test subject in the field behind his house. The mixed terrier in the grave was a victim of rabies; another in a long line of failed attempts to find a cure for this disease.

It may not rain for a month, but somehow the land behind his house stays muddy. The cuffs of his pants and his old black leather shoes were caked with mud. He wasn't quite finished, but his curiosity got the best of him. What was all the excitement about? He knew from experience that the yelling was coming from the village square. Pulling himself together, he made his way around the back of his house to the road in front of his home that also serves as his doctor's office and in the basement, his research laboratory. He left big footprints in the soft soil all the way to the hard dirt road. The center of Llanromney was about a kilometer away, down an open rural road. He could usually walk it in less than ten minutes. Dr. Paul looked at his silver pocket watch. It read 11:35 in the morning. Feeling a bit of foreboding, he felt the need to walk faster than usual.

The village square was typically a social gathering place for just about everyone living in or near the village. Although he knew most of the people in the screaming crowd, he did not recognize their behavior. This was a lynch mob.

"What's going on?" Dr. Paul asked Robert, who ran an import/export business in town. Llanromney, Wales, wasn't far from Bristol Channel, which led out to the Celtic Sea.

"I believe they are about to burn the old gypsy lady, Maleva for being a witch!" Robert replied excitedly.

This was worse than he thought. And where was Captain Wellen? Captain Frederick Wellen was their local magistrate, law enforcement officer, and on occasion, judge. He usually handled situations such as this. No matter, the crowd was getting out of hand and it would take a persuasive voice to calm down these vigilantes.

Dr. Paul pushed his way through the crowd into the center of the square where all the turmoil was taking place. Dr. Paul Thomas was very well known in the village, his practice included both people and livestock. Having attended medical school, people recognized and respected him as an educated man.

He finally broke through the front line of people into the center of the village square. There he saw a little old lady tied to a post with a pile of tinder at her feet. This was Maleva, the queen of her gypsy clan. She was dressed in the traditional gypsy clothes with a lot of jewelry and a headscarf. Although old and small of stature, she held her head up high in defiance, and was absolutely stone faced.

Dr. Paul stood in front of Maleva and held up his hands.

"Why are you trying to execute this woman?" his voice carried over the crowd.

"She's a witch," came a yell from the crowd, "She puts curses on people and they die!" The townsfolk of Llanromney were generally nice, hardworking folk, but they were very superstitious.

"Last spring when they came into town, she predicted the death of Nicholas Townsend, the accident Edward Jules had, and that the Middleton's little girl, Francis, would be bitten by her dog and get rabies!"

"She's a witch!"

"Burn her!" the crowd screamed.

Dr. Paul scanned the crowd. He saw their anger-twisted faces. He kept an eye on Farmer Stewart, who was holding a lit torch. He also glanced at Maleva; she looked back at him with those stubborn blue eyes, and then glared at the mob. Where was Captain Wellen when you needed him?

Dr. Paul had been to the gypsy camp before, and had his fortune told by Maleva. She didn't need Tarot cards or tealeaves; she truly had a gift of insight. She didn't curse or cause the tragedies she predicted; she just saw them as part of her fortune telling. When the predictions' came true, which they always did, they suspected her of witchcraft.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the two Cattrall brothers, both blacksmiths, holding on to Maleva's son, Bela. It was all they could do to keep him from helping his mother.

"Hold it, all of you," Dr. Paul demanded, "Settle down!"

The gypsy clan has been coming into the village for as long as I can remember. We've never had this kind of trouble before. Maleva has helped many of you; you forget about all the times she has given you good advice about love, money, your children, what and when to plant, and even warned us about that drought a few years back? And you, Drake," he pointed to a man in the crowd, "remember when Maleva told you not to make that last fishing trip? You stayed home, and the boat sank at sea? No one wanted to burn Maleva at the stake then! This is foolishness people, we need to put a stop to this right now!"

The crowd mumbled, grumbled, and looked at each other. Just then, you could hear a horse riding up to the outskirts of the square. Captain Wellen, with an air of aristocratic authority, looked sternly at the mob and immediately grasped the situation. With the agility of a much younger man, he leapt off his horse and made his way to where Dr. Paul was standing. The crowd looked down at their collective feet, and then started to break up and return to their homes and businesses. The Cattrall brothers released Bela who raced up to his mother and cut her loose with a frightening looking knife he had hidden in his sash.

"Your timing is impeccable, as always, Captain." Dr. Paul commented to the Magistrate.

The Captain was a retired military officer. He was a tall, fit man, as was Dr. Paul, but the officer was about 15 years his senior. They were actually very good friends but separated their professional lives from their brandy drinking, chess playing, and philosophical debates that few knew about.

"Sorry Paul," the captain leaned closer to his friend, "I had to ride out to the Garner ranch; their dog had been bitten by a rabid wolf. They asked me to put it down."

"You any closer to finding a cure?"

"We will talk about that later," the doctor said, as he walked over to where Maleva and Bela were standing.

"Are you all right?"

"I am fine," she said, "I'll be fine."

The weathered looking woman spoke as she rubbed her bruised wrists and straightened her clothing. She spoke to her son in an unrecognizable nomadic language. Gypsies spoke multiple languages, and each large clan had its own dialect. Dr. Paul looked hard at her son, Bela. He looked about 35 years old, tall, shiny black hair, pale skinned, a twisted thin black mustache, blue grey eyes, and a deadly serious look. The way he moved and handled himself would indicate that he was much stronger than he looked. He was very protective of his mother.

"Bela, I want to thank you, I know you could have pulled your knife anytime."

One quick glance was all the doctor's comment warranted from Bela as he tried to hustle his mother off to their little wagon.

"Maleva, I need to talk to you – soon please; it is important."

She turned back momentarily to look at the doctor. No look of thanks, or other expression of gratitude for saving her life.

"You know where our camp is and have been to my vardo. Come this evening for our spring celebration." Her back was turned to him as she spoke and the two gypsies quickly walked to their wagon.

Dr. Paul started back to his house; walking down a road he could have walked blindfolded. His watch told him it was 1:30 PM. Larene should be back from visiting her family. As he walked down the road known as Carisbrooke Way, he heard the sound of a horse slowly approaching him from behind.

"You walked into town?" Captain Wellen inquired.

"You are truly a master of observation." Dr. Paul retorted, kicking a few stones in the road to punctuate his comment.

"Paul, you have a horse. I have seen it."

"My horse hates me," Paul said, still frowning down at the road.

"Perhaps you shouldn't have named him Beowulf? I don't think he likes being named after a monster. What about Larene's horse, Angel? Certainly Angel can't be hard to ride?"

"Angel hates me too. They both do. They talk about me when they are alone."

The Captain looked down smiling. It was true. Dr. Paul's horses would not go where he wanted them to. Even worse, they would try to brush him off their backs by walking close to trees.

"Squire here won't mind, jump on!" Just the suggestion had Squire looking at Paul with that mean look in his eye.

"I'll pass, but I appreciate the offer."

"Go on ahead. Larene should be home, maybe she will fix you something to eat."

"It's not nice to threaten a friend," the captain teased as he rode off. Larene, for all her talents, skills, and gifts, was a notoriously bad cook. So much so that patients would pay the doctor in cooked meals. Truth be known, he could cook better than the town lodge keeper, having grown up with three older sisters and a sea captain father who was seldom at home; his was a secret even the Captain didn't know.

He was getting closer to home. It was just up a little hill and around a slight curve in the road. To his right, behind a split rail fence, was Rummy; half collie and half German shepherd. He was a black and white bearded collie. His owners, the Sabows, were reclusive and not very attentive to Rummy. Poor dog had just enough rope tied to his collar to allow him to protect the house and the chicken coop; fortunately he could just reach the fence where Paul was standing. Starved for attention, he rejoiced when Paul went to pet him, wagging his tail so hard you could feel the breeze.

"I'll check on you tomorrow, Rummy." Paul said reassuringly, as he continued on home.

As he proceeded further, he could see his house, and a hint of smoke coming from the chimney. Larene was home, he thought as he smiled to himself. The fieldstone house was big for a two bedroom. The bedrooms were upstairs and downstairs had a large kitchen, which also served as a dining room. There was a big foyer with a wardrobe closet and two long wooden benches for patients. The house was originally built with a huge parlor; a room typically used for courting or funeral wakes. He had converted it into a treatment office for patients. There was also a cellar that served as his research laboratory. As he walked closer to the house, he could see his small barn, the rainwater cistern in the back, and Squire, tied to a pole on the side of the house, trying to find anything growing that was green and edible in the yard. Good luck with that, Squire.

"What did you do to your suit?" Larene said as he approached the front porch of the house. She was sitting in an old wood chair that had lost favor and had been demoted to the outside porch. She had her legs up on the wood railing. The Captain was sitting in an old rocker, smoking a cigar, and looked pretty relaxed except for his uniform.

"I got it dirty performing last rites on that old terrier. Did you offer the good Captain something to eat?"

"Oh, I am so sorry, can I fix you a late lunch, Captain?" She asked apologetically.

"Oh no, thank you anyway, I had a huge breakfast this morning," he said, giving Paul a firm but amused glare.

"I was thinking we might go out to the gypsy camp this evening. They just came into town. This is their spring celebration, there will be music, and dancing, and…"

"Food!" the Captain interrupted with a wink directed at Paul.

"That sounds like fun!" Larene said, as she brushed her long honey-colored hair from her eyes. "Will you join us Captain?"

"Oh, I will be there, but I will be working. We always have the most trouble the first week the gypsies are in town."

"What kind of trouble, Captain?" Larene asked.

"The usual – theft, drinking, and fighting. The gypsy women can fight as well as the men, but you will have Paul here to protect you. He held off a mob single-handedly in the square today!" he said and then blew a smoke ring.

"What?" Larene turned and looked at Paul intently. Even though he has known Larene most of his life, sometimes he still had to catch his breath when she really looked at him. She was a little taller than most women, with a long waist and longer legs. She was slender, but very strong. Her skin always looked slightly tanned, which made her dark blue eyes and white teeth stand out. She wore a light cotton dress that was pulled up a hand's width above her knees, her feet crossed and resting on the railing.

The caliber of friendship he had with Wellen was demonstrated by his being totally oblivious to this display of Larene and her exquisitely shaped legs.

"They were going to burn Maleva, the old gypsy lady, at the stake." The Captain said while rocking, now looking up at the clouds. Larene's jaw dropped a little, as she looked at Paul.

"It was just a big misunderstanding," Paul said reassuringly, "Actually, the Captain arrived just in time to save the day." The Captain smirked in his chair, totally immune to false compliments.

"Do you know what flattery is like? It is that digestive venom that a spider bites into you, just before it sucks your guts out!"

"Oh, that is disgusting," Larene said with a chuckle, not being the least bit offended, "Very nice, Frederick. Quite eloquent. And you still wonder why you never got that appointment to the Queen's Guard."

The Captain headed out, saying he would see them later at the gypsy camp. Larene and Dr. Paul ventured upstairs in the old house to get ready for the exciting event. In the small village of Llanromney, the gypsy spring celebration was a momentous occasion.

Larene and Paul did not share a bedroom. They did share a bathroom in the upstairs of the big old house. Their situation was extremely unique for a conservative village in the late 1800s. They were childhood friends. Growing up with nothing but older sisters, he was actually more comfortable in the company of a girl. They explored, played, talked, and were the best of friends. When he went off to medical school, he would send her all his notes, drawings, and old textbooks; she read everything. When he would take a break from school, they would talk about what he had learned. She would tell him what he missed in the village. They shared everything. When he finished school, he bought the house and set up his practice. She wanted to be his nurse assistant, staying with him in the home. This living situation would raise the eyebrows of the locals, so they sought the advice of the Jesuit Friar in Llanromney, that of Howard Johannssen.

Friar Johannssen looked more like a Viking than a man of the cloth. He was a youthful 67 years in age. Howard had long snow-white hair, a big grey beard, sparkling grey eyes, and a contagious smile. He drank a lot of ale, evidenced by his big belly. Friar Johannssen had a pure spirit; he was smart, worldly, and usually gentle. That is, until a woman or child would come to his parish for protection from a husband or a father who had seriously beaten them. Then, like something that just crawled out of a forgotten corner of hell, he would pay a pastoral visit to the perpetrator. Atonement and redemption were always quickly realized.

Paul and Larene met with him, explaining the situation, and what they were hoping to do. Everyone presumed they would get married eventually. Larene had promised Hillary, her older sister that she could be the first to marry, as was tradition. Hillary was a frail girl whose fiancée was in the military. Hillary and many others anxiously awaited his return. Paul and Larene's wedding plans were on hold until then. Friar Johannssen said he would defend their living arrangement with the villagers, but only on the condition that they both swear an oath of platonic celibacy. They agreed. The good Friar conducted a small ceremony with friends and church vestry. They made their pledge. He made it very clear that if they violated their promise, they would go to a special place in hell. That was four years ago. Their professional relationship and friendship had slowly and incrementally evolved. They shared perfect trust, equality, and a level of communication that few could understand. Inasmuch as they were kindred spirits, nature was not going to be ignored. They couldn't help looking at each other in a different way. The visceral attraction was almost tangible at times, but they continued to keep their word.

He had gotten into the bathroom first. He came out wearing a loose fitting robe, which exposed his hard chest and sinewy legs. She was waiting her turn in the hallway. Amazingly, she had a single towel tightly wrapped around her torso, her long golden hair tied up in a loose bun. They glanced at each other, silently gulped a little, and exchanged a quick smile.