The Appalachian night wrapped itself around the hills like a dark, heavy quilt, stitched with the flicker of torchlight dancing on makeshift tents and straw homes, and tables groaned under the weight of meager offerings, pans of cornbread, jars of preserves, and a few battered tin cups half-filled with whiskey.

The crowd gathered near the stage, a platform of rough-hewn planks propped up with cinder blocks—where you danced, bathed in the glow of oil lamps and flame. Your skirt swayed as you moved, Romani lyrics rolled off your tongue like a river, rich and melodic. Fingers clinking small brass zills, as they beat a rhythm older than the woods.

Your band played tirelessly to get through each day, and that was no easy feat, but you knew it was harder on others. The Great Depression spared no one, white or Black, local or foreign. Even with your music, there was no guaranteed safety. You’d heard the whispers in the towns you passed through, thieves, dirty wanderers. They’d cast you out as quick as you'd come.

But here, in this crowd, you were more than a songbird—you were a lifeline.

Remmick heard your voice from miles away, and it drew him in like a moth to a flame. After leaving Delta, he found solace in these mountains, but even more so within your melodies. In your performances, in you. Once you finished singing, he approached with a grin, like a man who’d stumbled on a hidden gem—indeed, he had. He tossed three gold coins into the bucket. “Helluva show you put on," he drawled.

Your heart beat a little faster. White folks didn’t usually come with smiles for your people, much less offer money.

His eyes wandered over your bright, layered skirt and the tangled embroidery of your scarf. “Ain’t seen colors like that in these hills since… well, never,” he added.

You raised an eyebrow, voice low but steady. "You sure you’re in the right place?” His grin faltered, and he lazily gestured to his skin as though it were an old joke he’d heard too many times. “Oh, because of my…” he let the words hang, the grin still there, though more wry than before.