Alice found her own serviceable wool cloak and followed the crowd out the door. The household, Clarissa included, was gathered around a battered wagon that was tented with colorful panels of canvas. Just visible among the throng was the Gypsy family: father with a bright kerchief on his head and a gold hoop glinting in one ear; stunning, black-eyed mother in a crimson shawl; several children in worn wool. It was a hard life the travelers led, Alice knew. Never resting for long, driven out of fields and towns far more often than they were welcomed. But at Christmas it was different. In Ireland at Christmas, one opened one’s kitchens and pockets for the Gypsy families.
She watched the transactions. There were amulets and charms: horseshoes and Bridget’s crosses woven from rushes, little velvet bags filled with herbs and mysterious stones. She watched as one maid bartered over an ointment meant to remove freckles. Another purchased a poppet filled with clove and sage, meant to bring love. Nearby, the groom on whom she had her heart set was having a hushed discussion with the father. Alice rather suspected there was something naughty in the pouch that changed hands.
She waited until the staff had made their choices before stepping forward. Clarissa was sorting among a collection of fragrant sachets, prettily sewn with lace and ribbon. Alice eyed the holiday wreaths. She could have made any of them herself, but buying from the travelers was a tradition she intended to keep. She was just reaching for a wide circlet of holly berries when a hand closed tightly around her wrist.
The woman it belonged to was even tinier than Clarissa, with silver-white hair and a face like a walnut. In the midst of the wrinkles was a pair of the sharpest, blackest eyes Alice had even seen.
“ ’Tis the time of year for charity,” she informed Alice tartly, her voice an odd if appealing combination of country Irish and distant Continent. Alice promptly reached into her pocket for her money pouch. The old woman cackled cheerfully. “Nay, nay, I’m not meaning that, though you’ll make a good choice with the wreath.”
She tugged at Alice’s arm, pulling her closer. “Heed me well, cailín. Search your heart for kindness. ’Twill be needed as the holy days come.”
“Oh, Alice, is she telling your fortune?” Clarissa shoved an armload of pretty fripperies into Alice’s arms. “I haven’t so much as a penny with me. How careless. But you’ll take care of it, won’t you?” To the old woman, she announced, “You’ll tell my fortune, too. Alice will pay you.”
The woman gave Clarissa a quick glance. “You want me to tell you whether ’tis a boy or girl you carry.”
“There! Isn’t she clever, Alice! She knew precisely what I wished to hear. Oh, I do so love magic!”
Alice had every respect for the traveling fortune tellers. They were clever, indeed. One had to be to understand precisely what each listener should hear. She did not, however, think there was any magic whatsoever involved.
“Well?” Clarissa demanded. “Which is it to be?”
The old woman closed her eyes for a moment, then replied, “As much as you wish for one outcome, another wishes the opposite. Who has the most to lose will be the one to gain.” She smiled beatifically and folded her hands at her waist.
Clarissa blinked. “That is all you have to say? That cannot be right. You meant to say girl. Just that.”
“I see what I see. I can’t be doing more just to please you.”
Clarissa blew out a dismissive breath. Alice, however, was impressed. Of course there was no trick to the prophecy. There was always divided opinion over a baby’s sex, after all. But the rest really was clever. If Clarissa bothered to think on the matter, she would certainly decide that she had the most to lose by producing a boy. Hence, she would get her girl, and would pass the remaining weeks of her pregnancy contented and pleased with the prediction.
To Alice’s surprise, the Gypsy waved away the coins she offered. “I’ll take nothing for my words.” The younger traveler, however, was happy to accept payment for Clarissa’s baubles and Alice’s wreath. As soon as the last transactions were complete, the family would drive their caravan ’round back and the staff would welcome them into the kitchens. As the sisters turned to go, the older woman called, “Remember, find charity in your heart, cailín. You’re the bending sort, but you’ve wild winds blowing your way!”
Alice smiled. Wild winds, indeed. Heaven only knew what the house would be like once Clarissa’s child chose to arrive.
“Fate sets us on our paths, cailín, before we’ve the way of guiding our feet. Change what you can; accept the rest!”