Impulse

“Of course. They came for the shearing, and they would camp on the edge of town. And Mother would always say, ‘Stay away from the Gypsies. They will steal you away.’”

“That’s what Nurse always said, too. She said they took little children and sold them.” It was pleasant talking to him; it took her mind away from the nightmare. And his hand on her hair was soothing. “Do you think they actually did? Would there be a market for children?”

“I have no idea. With all the children in the workhouses and orphanages, I cannot imagine why one would have to steal a child from his family in order to acquire one.” He rubbed his cheek against her hair, noticing the faint scent of roses. Her hair was soft, and the scent and texture of it stirred his senses. This was something he had dreamed of, he remembered, when he fell in love with Angela so many years ago: being married to her and able to sit like this of an evening, Angela snuggled up on his lap, lazily discussing their day or whatever took their fancy.

“I can’t, either. But the thought of it used to terrify me. For weeks afterward, I would have nightmares about it.”

“I would steal away with some of the other lads, I remember, and go down and spy on their camp. They would play instruments around the fires, and sometimes they would dance. They looked so exotic to me, and at the time I thought how wonderful it must be to travel as they did. To see the whole country, to be free of constraints. I didn’t consider the hungry stomachs they must often have had, or the towns they were chased out of, or the lack of a home.”