The Legacy of Donka: A Tale of Heritage and Heart

What a granddaughter you have, William D., darkeyed and whitetoothed.
In whom does such a child appear? Not yours, perhaps?

Of course shes mine, sir, she is truly mine Once in a generation a girl like that is born, and so many years have passed My son Arthurs child, and now I shall have a greatgranddaughter.

But William, all your kin are fairhaired. I know every Evans in the county; you served my grandfather, you were in his employ Your ancestors served faithfully

We served, sir, but where did we come from? My forefather was a clerk, his father too, my father as well, and I

The sons went to the town. Vance became a coachman for a wealthy lady who had many children and grandchildren. Simon, a clerk in a shop, lived comfortably and planned to open his own business. Arthur, a soldier, rose through the ranks, earned medals, and was praised by the Duke, who kept him close as an aide.

Arthur ran a sturdy farm and married a good woman, Mary, who bore a daughter that delighted everyone. Girls are rare in my line, sir; most are boys, but when a girl is born she is always like dear Mary

Thus it was.

Old Mr. Evans sat mending nets while a darkeyed girl twirled nearby, her slender fingers graceful, her beauty unlike any childsmore a marvel than a babe. Beside them stood a young squire, Charles C., who could not take his eyes from Marys daughter.

Ethel, will you marry me?
Im still a child, sir
Of course youre a child; when you grow, will you?
By the time Im grown youll be old. Ill take a younger man.
And which one? Have you found him?
No, not yet. Grandmother Dawn told me Ill know when he appears

The girl spoke with an adults seriousness.

Grandmother Dawn? William, Im confused. Who is this Dawn? Isnt Arthurs wife from our village? Is she?

Ah, sir, ignore her ramblings; shes just a child

Sir, may I play with Jack? the girl suddenly became a child again, sprinting along a path to a brook, racing the masters hunting hound, Jack.

How does she know the dogs name? William?
Im not sure; perhaps you mentioned it, or someone else I only brought him in today.

Sir, youre a clever man; dont fabricate what isnt thereshes just a child, and you

The girl darted merrily along the riverbank, Jacks ears flopping. The tale lodged itself in Charless mind; he, like many youths, was fascinated by mysticism, poetry, and odd dreams.

The next autumn they met again. Ethel and her grandfather were gathering mushrooms; Charles walked with Jack. As Charles muttered verses, Jack, who had been at his masters feet, bolted forward, ears pinned back.

Jack, Jacky Charles heard the childs voice.

He followed the path, saw the dog sprawled on its back, kicking its legs as a crouching girl leaned over.

Good morning, Ethel.
Good morning, Charles
Are you alone?
No, Im with my grandfather, hunting mushrooms.

They walked together toward the old mans cottage.

So, Ethel, have you changed your mind about marrying me?

No, sir, your destiny lies elsewhere. Youll spend your life in foreign lands, longing for home not with me.

For you?

Indeed, well meet again when Im grown, but the meeting will be heavy, as will the parting.

Your passion is fierce, Ethel.

Its not me speaking, its Grandmother Dawn.

Who is this Dawn?

A a she once told me many times, and I ran off to play with Jack.

William, you never told me the family legendwhy do such girls as Ethel appear?

Ah, sitting on a stump, the old man smiled at the squire. Youre not of our line, Charles, though

I dont know, the thought circles my mind, refusing peace, I crave to know.

Then listen. Long ago, when the world was still young, a gypsy caravan set camp on lands near yours. The lord of the manor loved the gypsies, was rich, and welcomed them, even visiting their tents. One gypsy girl, a child of otherworldly beauty, caught his eyeeyes mischievous, lips bright, teeth like pearls, hair a golden tumble beneath a bright scarf. When she danced, whirlwinds rose; when she sang, tears fell from listeners eyes.

They called her Dawn, a witch of the camp, though she was born with that power. The lord fell madly in love, begged her father to give her to him.

How could I give away or sell my daughter? the old gypsy protested. They are a free people; they will go if they wish, or stay if they choose.

Dawn laughed, her voice shaking the reeds.

Sir, Im not a granddaughter for you how can you offer such a thing?

The lord, halfmad, fell to his knees, grasping her skirts, throwing coins left and right to impress her.

Come with me; Ill introduce you to the Empress, bring you to court.

Why should I? I am the Empress of the plains; I need no palace, no gowns, no gilded carriage.

My carriage is a gypsy wagon; I run barefoot on dewy grass. But you would cage me in a golden cage

No, sir go away, or youll lose what you cherish most.

He begged, but Dawn left, promising ruin. The gypsies, seeing his obsession, vanished that night. The lord pursued them with soldiers, accusing the campfolk of theft. A scream rose over the camp, and the lord, eyes wild, offered tradehis own soul for Dawn.

A girl emerged, demanding the gypsies be freed, walking away while singing. The lord and his guards followed, but she sang on.

Old tales said that after her departure, the lord would lose everything he prized. He, consumed by love, threw lavish feasts, scattered his wealth, and invited poets to write verses to Dawn. He asked when she would become his wife; she replied, Not yet, you have only amused me.

He gave away his lands to the peasants, tossed money about like a madman, and even the Empresss envoys were turned away. One day his illegitimate son, Victor, came to set his father straight.

My time has come, Dawn whispered to the lord.

Two weeks later she slipped back into the steppe, chasing her caravan, with Victor in pursuit. She waited for her destined hour and for the man who would claim her.

Stay, the delirious lord pleaded.

No, sir, I warned youI will take the most precious thing you have.

Let my son go; he is the only thing I cherish.

I will not call him back; love has its own path.

And so they vanished into the night, into the glowing gypsy fires and tents.

Later, people asked, What happened to Dawn? The answer was whispered by a child, She loved her husband fiercely; she tamed him, but she left early. Victor tried to raise children in comfort but could not live without her.

The old man muttered, Once a generation a girl is born with Dawns fire; even if not as great, she still carries her gift. He thought of Ethel, the brighteyed child.

Years later, Charles, now older, uncovered old papers showing that lands east of his estate once belonged to the Elias family. The old men passed, and Charles grew obsessed with new ideas. The country changed, not as he expected. He and his comrades were arrested at the old manor, held by a highranking official.

One night a soft, moonlit voice called from the window, Charles come, quietly, we have only half an hour before the guards awaken. They slipped out, following the girl into caves unknown to them.

My people have hidden here for centuries. Fear not, I will help you.

Ethel? What have you become?

Sir, Im pleased, she said with a wry smile.

You please me, Anna

Remember the family legend

The girl guided them to a harbour, arranged contacts, and helped them escape abroad.

Ethel, travel with me; youve become more than a stranger.

I cannot, sir my fate is elsewhere. Go on, may your life be long.

Anna, go with me, just as a little sister, I beg.

No, Serge I must stay, walk my own path. Farewell, sir.

In exile, Charles drew Ethels likeness from memory and gave it to an artist, who painted her portrait. He married, loved his wife, yet kept Ethels pure image in his heart. Only when he was an old, frail man did people learn the truth behind the portrait.

Ethel lived a long life, married the very highranking official whose arrival the night she helped Charles escape had been awaited. During the purges her husband was killed, later rehabilitated, and they raised three sons and a daughter. She never saw her own old age; she only glimpsed her first greatgrandson, who, when his daughter was born, astonished everyone with a likeness to the ancient matriarch.

Mr. Nicholas, why does your granddaughter Angel have such bright eyes? She seems not of our line.

Our Angel is ours, just ours, Nicholas laughed.

What do you call her? Is she a gypsy? Look at the beads on her neck.

Theyre not beads but a monesto, the girl replied, gazing with clear black eyes, and her name is Dawn.