Background
Nadia's life was touched with sorrow from an early age. Her mother Marina died giving birth to her youngest brother, Serge, when Nadia was only four. Her father Ambrose, concerned that his daughter would turn out to be more like a boy than a girl growing up around so many men and no women, gave her to Baba Ravena to raise.

Baba Ravena raised Nadia as if she were her own. It was at this time that young Nadia first met her lifelong love, Nikolai, as she grew up with all of the Wispersteppe boys and girls. Noticing that her favourite playmate was Nikolai, our Phuri Dae decided he should be the one to marry her when the time came. In their teens they fell madly in love and had two daughters out of wedlock, which was not as big a scandal as it would have been in Gaje society.

Upon arriving in England, though, there was a great controversy over their wedding, for Nikolai had been arranged just after birth by the Chivani to marry Natalya! A great rivalry erupted among these two Gypsy women which was to last for years. Despite the arrangements that had been made, though, Nikolai and Nadia were of course married in 1530 and were quite happy together for three years.

Though totally devoted to Nikolai, Nadia was nonetheless a very independent (and some would say stubborn) Romni who was never afraid to show anyone how she felt. She was bold and saucy, and carried an air of true nobility which did always impress. One just had to stay away from her wretched cooking!!!! The culinary arts seemed to be the only ones she did not excel in.

Ambrose and all of Nadia's brothers made it a point to rendezvous with the Vitsa every two years, having also made the long voyage to England. Nadia loved both of her families very, very much, and was terribly protective of them. When her family was in danger, her fury knew no bounds! As was often said, it was Nadia, not Nikolai, who was the truly dangerous one.

Truly a reason for sadness and grief was Nadia's murder by unknown thieves (for mere baubles!) on a moonlit and isolated road outside York two winters ago (Jan, 1532). We have not been the same since, and miss her terribly. Rest with Moshto, dear one.