Leaving the Gypsy Life

LEAVING THE GYPSY LIFE

Vicki Williams

Copyright © 2015 by Vicki Williams

Smashwords Edition

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Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Epilogue

About the Author

Introduction

Farran Declan, Devlin Michael and Nicholas Sean Coffey’s forebears arrived in America in the 1840’s when waves of Irish immigrants fled the Great Potato Famine in their country. Unlike other Irish though, they didn’t assimilate, but formed an insular colony of others like themselves, remaining apart from American culture (mostly settling in the southern states). They were often called Gypsies, although as an ethnicity, they were totally distinct from the Eastern European Roma. They were nomadic, however, like those other gypsies, and thus became known as Irish Travelers. Through a century and a half as Americans, they maintained their own society and their own language, a mix of Gaelic, English and other languages, known as Cant, Shelta or Gammon. Marriage outside the group was greatly discouraged and rarely occurred.

As their name implied, they traveled most of the year, following warm weather. Initially, they were tinkers and knackers (those who bought old horses no longer fit to work for rendering). In more modern times, they generally worked as roofers, painters, builders and handymen.

Like most groups that refuse to fit in, they were mistrusted, especially by law enforcement officers, who considered them scammers and con artists. This wasn’t always true but often it was, as some Travelers engaged in devious practices like using poor quality materials and selling shoddy equipment. Others particularly targeted the naive elderly. Their customers wouldn’t realize they’d been cheated until it was too late and the Travelers had moved on.

Being held in contempt was nothing new for the Travelers. People in their own country felt the same about them. Even in modern Ireland, the thousands of Travelers that still roam the Irish countryside are often barred from pubs and followed by police.

The Coffey family was originally from the Dingle Peninsula (near the village of Ballyferriter, to be precise) and although none of them had ever returned to the Aul Sod, they grew up on stories about the grandest place in all the world, passed down from homesick parents to children and grand-children. Without ever having seen Ireland, they could quote chapter and verse about the sweeping green hills and steep seaside cliffs, the golden strands of beach and the colorful villages. They learned the Dingle history and about all the people who’d lived there through the ages - Celts and Vikings and Normans among others - and about the ruins they’d left behind – parts of stone walls and Ogham (pronounced o-am), stones carved with the earliest form of Irish writing. Sections of abandoned forts and towers and early Christian monastic sites which included such artifacts as beehive huts, shrines, sun dials and cross slabs. And they’d had the vast peat bogs described to them and knew their preservative qualities were the reason so many historical objects survived. From the tales they’d been told, they almost thought they’d recognize the smoky fragrance of a peat fire although of course, that was simply their imagination.

Even those families, who’d been gone from Ireland for generations, were intimately familiar with the catastrophic time following the failure of the potato crop when 1,500,000 Irish people passed of hunger and disease. In the Dingle Poorhouse alone, up to 5,000 people died, to be buried in the pauper’s burial ground at the foot of Cnoc a’Chairn. Another million and a half Irish left the country during this time, the Coffey family among them. Ireland lost half its population during the famine, going from eight million people to four million in the space of a few short years.

Farran, Devlin and Nicky’s parents made no bones about being among the more nefarious Travelers. Their father, Patrick, was known as the King of the Pickpockets. He was so slick and quick, he could take your wallet or your watch without your realizing it as you were having a friendly face-to-face conversation. He could pass a woman briefly on the street and extract her billfold out of her purse and she’d never notice a thing. Sometimes, he engaged in a challenge in which his opponents knew he would attempt to pick their pockets and be on guard. Always, when it was over, he’d hold up their possession triumphantly as they stood with their unsuspecting mouths open. Some of his fellow Travelers disapproved of his criminal profession but most gloried in his expertise and his reputation.

Pat Coffey was tall and handsome, slim but muscular, with glossy chestnut hair and moss green eyes along with a charming white smile. He could pass as a gentleman when the occasion called for it but mostly, his was the persona of an amiable working man. People were attracted to Pat because of his friendly demeanor and sly sense of humor. He could tell a joke that wasn’t even especially funny in such a way that everyone hearing it would roar with laughter.

Shayla Coffey, his wife, was more in keeping with what most people imagine when they think of gypsies. Lustrous black curls framed her face. Slightly slanted dark brown eyes and a sensuous full mouth gave her an exotic look. She played to this by clothing her voluptuous body in full skirts and low-cut embroidered peasant tops. She was a pool hustler, as skilled at her profession as Pat was at picking pockets. Championship pool players might have been able to beat her one out of two times but certainly no one in the bars and halls she and Pat frequented had a prayer.

Pat would always warn them, I wouldn’t take her on if I were you. She’ll just get your money. But of course, none of the macho men believed this beautiful young woman could best them....until she did and they had to hand over their cash. They could hardly complain though, not when her husband had stood right there and advised them not to do it.

Pat and Shayla had no interest whatsoever in doing the common labor so many Travelers engaged in. No roofing or spreading asphalt for them, not when they could enjoy the easy, light-hearted atmosphere of the fairs and festivals and concerts and saloons where their marks were to be found.

Patrick and Shayla were a striking couple and their children were equally as compelling.

Farran was intensely dark with black hair like his mother’s. He had her high cheekbones and almost-black slanted eyes as well. He was medium height, lithe and wiry, but tough as a piece of leather, which other boys who offered to fight him soon found out. His smile tended to be fleeting, drifting across his face like a shadow.

Farran had an over-sized sense of responsibility, perhaps because of being the oldest and often in charge of the younger ones while his parents were off doing their thing. That usually meant keeping the other three entertained either in a motel room or waiting outside a bar in the family Cadillac.

Two years younger than Farran was Devlin, the handsomest of the lot with his platinum hair and amber eyes and the gleaming smile of a born charmer. Devlin was a boy who seduced people into falling in love with him, male and female, young and old, they all wanted to share in his diamond-bright allure.

Ah, Boyo, his father once told him, we all use what talents we have in this life. I pick pockets and your Ma shoots pool but sex will be ye’re ticket to the big money.

Last of the boys was Nicky. A little plump, with auburn hair and his father’s green eyes, Nicky was the sweet one, the gentle one. He hadn’t the killer instinct like the rest of the Coffey’s. His two older brothers were protective of him, fighting his battles when necessary.

And finally, there was Autumn, the baby. Doted on by all as the only girl. She was a mixture of the rest – her mother’s black curls, her father’s green eyes but with that exotic slant, in a heart-shaped face, Devlin’s flashing smile, graceful and lithe like Farran, generous-hearted like Nicky. They all loved her inordinately.

Four children was considered a small family by Traveler standards, where families of 8 or 10 were common. It was Shayla who put her foot down and said four was enough.

No Coffey child had ever stepped inside a school room though their parents did what they could to remedy their lack of formal education. They could all read by the time they were four. They could all do basic math by the time they were five. They knew a great deal of history although perhaps skewed by the Travelers’ bias against government and settled people.

In addition, Pat and Shayla taught their children their own skills. Farran was already almost as good at picking pockets as his father. Devlin was improving in that regard too, as well as gaining on his mother’s ability with a pool cue. They had taught Nicky the art of shoplifting so it was often he who brought home packages of meat or underwear or a bottle of Scotch for Pat or whatever else the family might need. With his winsome smile, he gave such an appearance of innocence, it was difficult for people to place him in the role of common thief.

So childhood for a Coffey child was a free and fun time. As mentioned, the most promising territory for Pat and Shayla’s enterprises were crowded fairs and festivals, concerts and athletic events, as well as the taverns where the patrons of those entertainments congregated when they closed. And, naturally, those were also the kinds of places that are exciting for youngsters (except for staying in the car when their parents were at drinking establishments that banned children). Mostly, though, the kids were allowed to run loose to find their own distractions. Pat and Shayla weren’t big on supervision although all the children knew the few rules that would be strictly enforced.

Farran and Devlin, especially, liked to play midway games. Because of their duplicitous parents, they knew how to get around all the tricks the barkers used to keep the public from winning. They usually ended the night with stuffed animals and gold fish, gen-u-ine plastic jewelry and model cars....most of which, they gave away to other children because the Coffey’s traveled light. There was no room for extraneous possessions.

Pat and Shayla owned a 3-bedroom mobile home at the edge of the Traveler community in South Carolina, Shay’s Knob, but they rarely stayed there for any length of time. It was simply a way station between destinations. Because their lifestyle required going wherever the marks were, the Coffey kids had learned to be adaptable. They could mingle easily with rounders and rebels and roustabouts and just as smoothly with opera goers and the country club crowd. They could all curse fluently but they were also adept at knowing what fork was used for what dish in an upscale restaurant. Their parents were frugal though so when not working, they stayed at cheap motels and ate fast food.

Chapter 1 – Persimmon Bend

And so it went until Farran was 13, Devlin was 11, Nicky was 10 and Autumn was 5. They were at the trailer in South Carolina when Pat called them all to the round wooden kitchen table. They could tell by the grim look on his face that this was a serious occasion and it gave them all an anxious feeling.

Well, Kids, Pat’s voice was somber, your Ma and I have made a momentous decision. We’ve been thinking about this for a while but we couldn’t consider it until your Grandda and Grandma passed. We think it is time to disassociate ourselves from the Travelers. He paused so the children could begin to grasp the import of what he’d said. They were all looking at him with stunned expressions.

Disassociate ourselves from the Travelers, Da, what does that mean? asked Farran.

Pat shrugged. On the opposite side of the table, Shayla was sitting up straight. She was paler than usual. Her eyes were dark pools but her mouth was a thin, determined line.

"Just what it sounds like, Boyo. We’ve sold this place to Frankie Boyd. When your Ma and I went off together a couple months back and left you here at your Uncle Kevin’s, we bought a 107 acres in the mountains of North Carolina. It has a big old farmhouse. You can see down to the river from the wide front porch. It has a barn and 20 acres of pasture along with a small orchard. Other than that, it’s woods and swamps and streams.

"How can we do that, Da? Travelers is who we are. They’re our family. We’ve known them all our lives! Does this mean we’ll never even come back to visit?" Nicky pleaded for answers, running an anguished hand through his auburn hair so it was standing on end.

And it was certainly true that the community was a tight-knit clan. They stood together in the face of being ostracized by the Settled People. Every couple was almost like another mother and father to all the children. And, in fact, they probably were all family to one degree or another because marriage between first cousins was allowed and even encouraged to keep the blood pure from outsiders.

Pat raised his hand. You all know what a passion I have for history and one thing I know from all my reading is that as far back as you care to go, Gypsies have been persecuted in whatever land they’ve found themselves.

But Travelers aren’t really Gypsies, not like Romany folk, Farran protested.

"But they think we are, Farran, and that’s all that matters. Haven’t you all been called, or heard other Travelers called, pikey or knacker or gyppo at one time or another?"

They all nodded their heads yes.

Whenever the chips are down and the natives begin to be frightened by others", the first ones their thoughts turn to is us because we’re so resistant to adopting their lifestyles. As far as they’re concerned, we are alien beings.

We’ve been chased out of some countries and targeted for death in others. Gypsies were right there in line for the ovens in Nazi Germany, along with the Jews and gays. Right now, both Ireland and Britain are passing trespassing laws designed specifically to curtail the Travelers’ ability to move around, forcing them to live in council housing, which is almost like being imprisoned. We’re barred from pubs in Ireland. America is starting to move in the same direction. You see the suspicious looks we get from law enforcement. Right now, Americans are more focused on terrorists and illegal Hispanic immigrants but you can bet they’ll save a fair share of discrimination for us as well when they get around to it. America is changing and bad times are coming.

We don’t want our kids to have to live in fear. We don’t want them to be looked down upon. Your Ma and I have decided no more. All that will end with your generation. We’ll move to the farm in North Carolina and settle down. We’ll no longer speak our language except among ourselves. You’ll be enrolled in school."

School? cried Farran and Devlin together.

Yes, Pat replied. School. You’ll graduate from high school and maybe even go to college. And you’ll find partners from the outside world and have children who’ll never know what Travelers are unless you choose to tell them.

Me and your Ma have made a considerable amount of money in our lives and we’ve been careful in the spendin’ of it. Besides that, your Grandda and Grandma had large life insurance policies."

(One way Travelers made money was carrying life insurance on one another. They didn’t consider it profiting from death but simply a commonsense way to collect considerable sums of money almost effortlessly).

Pat grinned and went on. "Being as I was the black sheep of the family, I wasn’t sure whether I’d get in on the pay-off but bless them, they remembered me in their wills. It was a welcome bequest even split seven ways.

We were able to pay cash for the new place by adding some to what Frankie paid us for this one. We have other little stashes here and there, more than enough to see us through. We’ll stay in North Carolina during the school term and do our moving around in the summer. And no, we’ll probably never come back here. This part of your life is over."

He stopped speaking to total silence, each son was trying to assimilate this shocking information in his own way.

Farran was heartbroken because he thought he was in love with Riya, the buxom 14-year-old who taken him into her bed and taught him the joys of sex. Actually, he was mistaking lust for love as young boys are wont to do but he didn’t know that.

Devlin was thinking about his best friend, Tommy. They considered themselves practically twins because their mothers had given birth on the same day. Although they didn’t get to spend much time together, whenever they met it was as if they’d never been apart.

Nicky was feeling fearful. He wasn’t as confident or secure as his older brothers. He’d always thought of this village and these people as his refuge, a place you could always run to for protection from the outside world.

Autumn wasn’t as shaken as the boys. She thought wherever her parents and her brothers were was fine with her....and she was intrigued by the thought of going to school. She’d often longingly watched the playground at schools they passed and imagined all the fun the children were having, laughing and playing together.

But Da, what will we tell everyone in North Carolina? We can’t just appear out of nowhere.

Here’s the story I’ve come up with. We can say we’re from around Columbia in South Carolina. That’s close enough. No sense telling more lies than we have to. The truth is easier to remember. I’m a novelist and we’ve come to the mountains of North Carolina because I need peace and quiet to write a book. That will explain why I don’t work a regular job. We’ll tell them you all have been home-schooled but now we’ve decided to enter you in public schools.

Devlin groaned. Geez, I’ll probably be so far behind, I’ll be in class with seven-year-olds. Devlin wasn’t the most motivated student.

Pat grinned at his son. Oh, I don’t think it will be so bad as all that, Boyo.

Can we have a dog when we get to North Carolina, Da? Nicky asked.

Cats and dogs and ponies too, if you’ve a mind, Pat told them expansively.

At that, Autumn’s head shot up, eyes bright – a pony?

They moved the next month, at the beginning of August, packing what little they were taking with them in a small U-haul. There was Grandda Coffey’s hand-carved bed of walnut and cherry and the oak chest that had belonged to Pat’s mother. A few handsewn quilts and their set of cast-iron cookware. Some bed linens and towels, enough to get by until they could buy more, and of course, their clothes. The rest they left for Frankie Boyd to keep or dispose of as he pleased.

They were all impressed by their new home. Just beyond where the house sat on its ridge overlooking the Ulasigi River, the flowing water met a high cliff face that forced it to change its course and make a sharp turn northward.

That’s how the place got its name, Persimmon Bend, Pat told the kids, From what I’ve been told, this spot has been called the Bend for over a hundred years. It’s a local landmark. Even the Indians and trappers knew it by that name. As for the persimmon part, I don’t know about that. I suppose at one time, there were lots of persimmons in this area. We’ll have to see if there still are.

I don’t think I’d even recognize a persimmon if I saw one. We’ve never eaten them, have we? Farren asked.

No, I’ve heard of them but I never knew anyone who ate them. I read up on them a little when we bought this place. Pat grinned, seemed like the least I could do if I was going to live in a place named Persimmon Bend.

He went on to tell them, the name means Fruit of the Gods". The fruit is golden orange and hangs from the trees after the leaves drop in the autumn. Supposedly, when they are ripe, they’re very sweet but if you try to eat one before it is fully ripe, your mouth will pucker because tannic acid makes them extremely bitter.

Native Americans considered them a treat and they are popular with wild turkey, mockingbirds, deer, raccoons, foxes, squirrels, rabbits, and other wildlife. Some folks make them into pudding, preserves, beer, and brandy, and they can also be dried for winter eating.

The fruit becomes soft as it ripens, and its skin begins to wrinkle. I read that you usually have to pick them a few days early to keep wild animals from getting them all. Then you let them finish ripening in a window sill."

Wow, I hope we have some around here so the place still lives up to its name. Seems like they would be a good thing to have if you want to attract wildlife. Me and Dev and Nick will go looking in the fall.

Me too, Autumn said, I want to find persimmons too.

You all find some and I’ll make a persimmon pudding, Shayla promised.

One terrific thing about the house: it had five bedrooms so they could all have their own private place, which felt a lot like heaven after spending years of their lives in motels or sharing the small bedrooms in the South Carolina trailer. (Nicky was the only one who wasn’t so sure he wouldn’t rather continue to bunk with his brothers but he could tell Farran and Devlin were elated at the prospect of their own rooms, so he didn’t say anything.

The kitchen was large and bright, with windows looking out over the back pasture, wooded green mountains rising in the distance beyond. The appliances were outmoded and the enamel sink was chipped but still, it gave off a feeling of warmth and hospitality.

The dining room was wallpapered in an old-fashioned rose floral print. It contained plenty of space for the long walnut table their mother bought that seated all of them comfortably at the same time.

There was a carved oak fireplace in the spacious living room with a window seat in one corner. All the walls in the house except the dining room were plaster and all the floors were golden oak hardwood, as was the open stairway. There was also a study with bookshelves on three walls, a laundry room with a sewing nook at one end and a bathroom upstairs and one downstairs!

The house was nothing special, just a large rambling white farmhouse, but it had been well taken care of once. Now though, after being abandoned for a few years, it needed a lot of cleaning and repair. Pat was a fair hand at carpentry and sanding floors and roofing. And the rest of them could scrub and paint and re-finish what seemed like miles of woodwork.

And just as Pat had told them, the wrap-around front porch looked down upon a view of the Ulasigi River. Ulasigi, they later learned, was the Cherokee word for dark....and it was dark, as dark as green velvet.

Pat bought rocking chairs, one for each of them, so they could sit with glasses of lemonade, surrounded by blooming hydrangeas and rhododendron, and watch the Ulasigi make its slow green way until it finally disappeared around the bend. They eventually discovered that the gently flowing river they first got to know could be moody and temperamental. This was its mild deep summer incarnation but at other times of year, when the spring snows melted and the freshets came racing down out of the mountain, it would crash and roar and flood but, of course, that was thrilling to watch from the safety of the ridge.

Beside the house was a somewhat rickety two-car garage and beyond the garage was a big red bank barn with a mow filled with old hay for playing in. There was a roomy stall at each corner and a wide central area for equipment. Down below, built into the hill, was a loafing shed.

The boys spent much of their free month in exploration. They roamed the woods, fished, hunted nuts and berries and mushrooms. Pat and Shayla had bought them books about the flora and fauna of the North Carolina mountains and they eagerly looked up each new thing they found. Shayla refused to cook any of the mushrooms, even the ones the book declared were edible, for fear of poisoning her family.

Farran, Devlin and Nicky ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and cookies they packed for themselves while sitting on a large rock looking out over the river. Sometimes, they’d lie under the evergreen trees to luxuriate in the softness of the needles and the sweet/sharp smell of pine. They swam in the pond in the pasture and climbed trees and searched for Indian artifacts. This part of North Carolina, they’d been told, had once all belonged to the Cherokee until the White Man had screwed them out of it (which sounded about right to Traveler kids).

Persimmon Bend was a different world for the Coffey boys. Though they’d always been allowed many liberties, that had usually meant dodging through crowds, in places that smelled of sweat and popcorn and burning exhaust. It meant the sound of barkers and auctioneers promoting their wares and children screaming from atop a Ferris wheel. It meant the feel of pavement or gravel under your feet. It meant keeping an attitude of wariness about you because danger could lurk in any direction – from bullies or cops or mean dogs or drunks.

Now their days revolved around nature. They traveled far from home, endlessly fascinated by crawdads that scurried backward to safety when you lifted their rocks and spiders in giant sun-sparkled webs and colorful caterpillars and echoing birdcalls. They discovered bird nests and a wasp nest and a great pile of ladybugs, clinging together in advance of winter and once, a honey bee tree.

Besides plants and animals and insects and fish, they studied the wild animal tracks and scat pictured in their books until they could easily identify deer and coon and possom and skunk and coyote.

In their own small orchard, they had three peach trees, three apple trees and three cherry trees. No one had taken care of the orchard so the trees were rather stunted and so was the fruit but the peaches were ripening now and they were tartly sweet, even if you had to watch for bug holes. Sometimes, they caught fish and cooked it over their own campfire (which Farren had learned how to build from a book although it wasn’t as easy as it sounded reading about it). Once they saw a bear so close they could smell his rank, musky scent. They went flying down the ravine, hoping it wasn’t following them. Pat told them this time of year, it was probably concentrating on getting fat in preparation for hibernation.

They saw deer several times, one of them a majestic buck, antlered head held proudly high. Farran and Devlin wanted to learn to hunt but Nicky didn’t think he’d care to kill anything, especially anything so magnificent as the buck.

During all this time, in the back of their minds was the uneasy thought that school would be starting soon and their freedom to spend their time as they pleased would be coming to an abrupt end. They were all nervous about how they would measure up to the other students.

A couple weeks before classes began, Pat came home from Ashville with a great awkward fawn-colored puppy with a broad head and massive bone structure, floppy ears, loose jowls and giant paws.

He’s an 11-week-old Mastiff, probably weighs about 35 pounds now but he’ll likely get up to near 200 when he’s full-grown.

Nicky was delighted. He’d always yearned for a dog but