by Lynn Austin
“What shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?”
The words came to mind, unbidden. I couldn’t breathe.
“Geesje, please answer me. Tell me what’s wrong. Don’t you love me anymore?”
His question shattered my heart, like a rock thrown through a glass window. I flung myself into his arms, nearly knocking him off his feet as I held on to him with all my strength. “Yes, Hendrik, yes! I love you, I love you! I could never love anyone but you! Please take me away from here! Please! Let’s leave right now.”
“But . . . what’s the hurry? I don’t understand. I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on, why you want to leave.”
And so I told him. I told him what I had done, the mistake I had made out of grief, anger at God, and a selfish desire to return home to the Netherlands. As the truth spilled out along with my tears, I clung to Hendrik and explained that my parents had died and I was all alone. That his last letter had never arrived. That I believed he was dead. Marrying Maarten had been my only choice once I made up my mind to go home to the Netherlands.
Hendrik freed himself from my grip and held me at arms’ length. I watched as he absorbed the truth, and something inside him seemed to die before my eyes. He may have survived the fiery shipwreck and icy water, but the truth of what I’d done destroyed something in his heart that day. “Now do you understand why we have to run?” I asked. “Please, Hendrik. Let’s just go. We can disappear.”
It took an eternity for him to reply. “I’m not a thief,” he said, slowly shaking his head. “I won’t steal something that doesn’t belong to me. And I can’t rob Maarten, of all people.”
“But I don’t love him. I love you, don’t you see? And Maarten knows the truth. He knows I never would have married him if I’d known you were still alive. He won’t force me to stay.”
“That may be true, but we owe it to him to wait and give him an explanation. You can’t just vanish, Geesje. He’ll never give up searching for you. I know I wouldn’t.”
“No,” I begged. “No, please! Let’s run away!”
I was unable to convince him. Hendrik proved more honorable than me. He waited alone outside our cabin all afternoon until Maarten returned. I stayed inside with the children, unwilling to see Maarten’s face when he found Hendrik sitting on a log in the little clearing in front of our house. I could easily imagine his shock and dismay. I stayed inside, sick with dread, listening to the mumble of their voices as they talked. Neither of them argued or shouted. They never even raised their voices. How could the happiest day of my life—the day I learned that Hendrik was alive—also be one of the worst days of my life?
In the end, neither Maarten nor Hendrik would choose to hurt the other man by claiming me. Nor would either one offer to surrender me to the other. “The decision is yours alone to make, Geesje,” Maarten told me. “You have to decide what you want to do, who you want to be with.” They didn’t try to pressure or persuade me. And so I was forced to choose between the two of them.
If I ran away with Hendrik, carrying Maarten’s child, I would live with the sin and guilt of adultery for the rest of my life. I couldn’t deliberately disobey God and then ask for His forgiveness. But if I gave up Hendrik and kept my vows to Maarten, sacrificing the man I loved, I would live with regret and resentment and sorrow every day of my marriage.
“The decision is yours alone to make, Geesje.”
Impossible. I had no idea what to do.
Holland, Michigan
1897
I stop writing and drop my pencil as if it’s on fire. I close the notebook and stuff it into my desk, remembering the mistakes I made, the tragic choices I faced, and the people I hurt in the process. The memories cause me immeasurable pain. Even now. Even after all these years.
Chapter 20
Geesje
Holland, Michigan
1897
I’m still sitting at my desk when Derk arrives at my front door. He must have just come home from work because he hasn’t bathed, and he’s still wearing his sweaty work clothes. He’s worried about something, I can tell. I stand and offer him a drink of lemonade and some cookies, but he refuses both, telling me instead about Anna, the woman he met at the hotel.
“She’s getting married to a man she doesn’t love, and she asked for my advice. I didn’t know what to tell her. She needs more help than I can give her, Tante Geesje. Would you be willing to talk to her? I’m afraid she’s making a terrible mistake.”
I sit down in my chair again. I doubt if I’m the right person to offer advice about marriage. Derk hasn’t read how Hendrik walked out of the woods one day like a ghost and turned my plans and my life upside down. “Tell me about her,” I say, stalling for time. “What is she like?”
“Very pretty—some might even say beautiful. I think I already mentioned that I mistook her for your granddaughter, Elizabeth, the first time I saw her. But she’s a more sophisticated version of Elizabeth. Anna comes from a wealthy Chicago family, and so the way she talks and walks and all of her manners are very proper and . . . what’s the word . . . ?”
“Genteel?”
“Yes, that’s it. She’s way out of reach of us ordinary folks.” As Derk talks about her, his eyes dance, his cheeks flush. He is enamored with her. It reminds me of the way Maarten used to react when I would deliberately tease him by parading in and out of Papa’s print shop in Arnhem. I hope this Anna isn’t toying with Derk the same way I used to toy with Maarten.
“Yet I feel very sorry for her,” Derk continues. “The only reason she’s marrying this rich man is because her father is in some sort of financial trouble, and she wants to help him. He needs the boyfriend’s money to bail him out.”
“Oh, dear. That’s not a very good start to a lifelong commitment.” I should know. I’m ashamed when I recall my selfish motives for marrying Maarten.
“Anna also has a lot of questions about the Bible. The church her family attends is very formal from the sounds of it, but lately she has been drawn to a gospel-preaching church, and the differences confuse her. She asked me what it means to gain the whole world and lose your soul.”
The verse he quotes sends a stab of pain to my heart. I had recalled that verse earlier when I was writing my story. I press my fist to my chest to ease the tightness, hoping Derk won’t notice my distress.
“Don’t be surprised if Anna asks you about your faith as well as about marriage. She’s just starting to pray and read her Bible and things like that, but she doesn’t know much about it. And she says there’s no one back home in Chicago she can ask.”
“How fortunate for her that she met you this summer.”
Derk grows flustered. His blush deepens. “Um . . . well . . . as I said, she has a lot of questions. And she knows I’m studying to be a minister. Most of all, she’s wondering if she’s making a mistake by marrying a man she doesn’t love. She even asked me if it was a sin. I wasn’t sure whether I gave her the right answer or not, so I was hoping you could advise her.”
“Because I married a man I didn’t love?”
“Well . . . yes.”
I lean back in my chair, at a loss. What would I tell this woman? What words of advice would I have given myself the day I stood at the altar in the log church and married Maarten, a man I didn’t love? When I don’t respond, Derk says, “May I bring her here to talk with you, Tante Geesje?”
He wants so much for me to meet her, yet his admiration for me is misplaced. I’m not the saint he believes me to be. Before his lady-friend comes, I need to finish writing my story so Derk can read what I’ve done, the terrible decision I was forced to make. He needs to know what a selfish woman I really am, the people I’ve hurt, the lives I’ve injured. The pain in my chest deepens when I remember the even bigger mess I made of things years later, when my daughter told me she’d fallen in love. That weight of sorrow waxes and wanes with time, but it never goes completely away. Nay, I’m not qualified to ad
vise anyone about marriage.
“Ya, I’ll talk with her, dear,” I finally say. “But I need to finish writing the next part of my story, first. I want you to read it before you bring your lady-friend here.”
“I’m very eager to read it. I’ll do so right now, if you have more pages for me. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to lose the man you loved. I hope you eventually found happiness with Maarten.” He gives me an impish half-smile and adds, “I already know that you never moved back to the Netherlands or else you wouldn’t be here. But I’m curious to read the rest of your story and see why you changed your mind and decided to stay.”
“I know you are. But it’s easier for me to write about it than to talk about it. Come back tomorrow, and I promise I’ll have more for you to read.” Derk isn’t going to want me to meet his friend after he reads about the poor decisions I made. But I don’t tell him that. “We’ll settle on a time when I can meet your friend after you read my story. Go home and get some rest, Derk. You look tired.”
“I am. I had a long day today. When the weather is this nice, everyone wants to go out on the water. You know how much I love to sail, but all that wind and fresh air and wrestling with sails tires me out.”
“We’ll talk again tomorrow, dear.”
I don’t rise from my chair as he bends to kiss my forehead before leaving. It is suppertime, and I have some ripe tomatoes in my garden that I was going to pick and eat, but I’m not hungry. I remain seated, stewing over my past, sifting through the memories until the pain in my chest gradually goes away. Would I make the same choices today that I made back then? Or have I grown wiser with the years? Do I have the right to advise this rich young woman?
I’m still sitting at my desk, doing nothing, when Derk bursts through my front door for a second time, startling me. I was so deep in thought I didn’t hear him coming. His distress is written all over him, plain to see. His impish grin is gone, his body is tense, and his hair is rumpled as if he’s been running his sweaty hands through it. He still hasn’t bathed or changed out of his work clothes. “Derk, honey? What’s wrong?”
“I got a letter from Caroline. Read it.” He thrusts the pages at me, and I see that his hand is trembling slightly.
“Is Caroline the woman you hoped to marry?”
He nods and remains standing while I read the letter.
Dear Derk,
The longer we’ve been apart, the unhappier I’ve been. All of the things I once found pleasure in are no longer the same because something is missing—like a gourmet dish with a forgotten ingredient. It has taken me all these months to realize that what’s missing is you. I saw a sailboat gliding across Black Lake the other day, and for a moment I felt happy inside when I imagined it was you and that you were coming to take me sailing the way you used to do. Then I remembered that you weren’t coming back, that I’d sent you away, and tears came to my eyes.
I miss you, Derk. I miss your smile, the way you make me laugh out loud, the way you always made me feel pretty and treasured. My life isn’t the same without you. I think I may have made a huge mistake when I ended our relationship. And so if you can forgive me—and if you haven’t found someone else by now—I would like to know if we can try again.
I stop reading and look up at Derk in alarm. “Oh my. This is a surprising turn of events.”
“Keep reading,” he says. I turn to the second page.
I still can’t picture myself being married to a minister, and I hate the thought of constantly shoving my own needs aside to share you with a demanding congregation, but I don’t want to lose you, either. So I’ve thought of a compromise that might work for both of us. What if you found a position as a religion teacher at the academy or at the college? Or maybe you could work as a chaplain there. The students could be your congregation and you would still be in the ministry, but there wouldn’t be as many demands on your time as there would be as a full-time pastor of a church.
I want you back in my life, darling Derk. I’m convinced that together we can make this relationship work. If you are as sorry as I am that we’re no longer together, and if you would like to give our love another chance, please come to my house on Wednesday night, and we can figure out a compromise. I know I may not have said it often enough, but I do love you. I realize that now. And I’m sorry that I turned down your marriage proposal. I only hope that this letter hasn’t come too late.
With love,
Caroline
I let my hands fall to my lap, still holding the letter. I exhale. I’ve been holding my breath while I’ve been reading without realizing it. I look up at poor Derk and ask, “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know . . . I don’t know what to do.”
It occurs to me that he does know what he should do, deep in his soul—just as I had known, deep down, whether I should stay married to Maarten or leave him to run away with Hendrik. Back then I wasn’t listening to that still, small voice and neither is Derk.
“What do you think I should do, Tante Geesje?”
I want to ask him why he isn’t turning cartwheels on the front lawn at the idea of having a second chance with the woman he loves. Why he isn’t racing to her house right now if her offer of a compromise seemed right to him, unwilling to wait a moment longer to see her. Instead, he’s pacing in my front room, biting his thumbnail, his brow furrowed. And he’s asking my advice instead of seeking God’s—the same mistake I made. But Derk isn’t ready to hear all of that just now.
“Her letter must have come as a great shock to you,” I say. But not nearly as shocking as seeing Hendrik walk out of the woods like a ghost. “You had written ‘the end’ to the possibility of marrying Caroline and buried all your hopes and dreams. Give yourself time to think before you resurrect them from the grave.”
“I was in love with Caroline. And you’re right, it felt like a death to me when she left me. Now I have a chance to have her back, to be with the woman I love. She’s willing to compromise . . . but I just don’t know.”
“Are you interested in teaching or becoming a chaplain, as she suggests?”
“I don’t know. It’s a new idea that I haven’t thought much about.”
“Why don’t you talk with one of your religion teachers or the college chaplain about the work they do. See if it resonates with you. I’m concerned that if you give up the ministry before knowing what the new job entails, you might resent Caroline in the future because of it.”
“I wouldn’t be giving up the ministry entirely. Just taking a less demanding position.”
I don’t reply. He hasn’t heard me. He’s trying to make Caroline’s solution fit into the hole in his heart, like squeezing the wrong puzzle piece into the place where you want it to fit in order to complete the picture. Again, I want to ask him why he isn’t dancing for joy if this compromise is the perfect solution for them.
“Caroline said that if I wanted to patch things up, I should come over to her house Wednesday evening—and that’s what I plan to do. But before I see her, I’d like to know what you think I should do, Tante Geesje. Your opinion matters to me.”
“My dear, I’m so flattered. But I’ve never met Caroline. I’m not in a position to judge whether or not she’s the right wife for you. There are some decisions in life that only you can make, and I believe this is one of them. But I have two pieces of advice for you before you see Caroline, besides talking with the chaplain. First, ask your friend Anna at the hotel what she thinks you should do. Isn’t she facing a similar dilemma and trying to repair a broken engagement? Perhaps she’ll see a side to this decision that an old woman like me doesn’t see.”
Derk smiles faintly for the first time since showing me Caroline’s letter. “That’s a great idea. I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”
It’s clear that he’s smitten with Anna. I’m hoping he’ll notice that some of his love for Caroline has faded, and that other women can attract and fascinate him, even if a wealthy woman like Anna is way out
of reach for a small-town preacher like Derk. In his heart, he knows it, too.
“What’s the second thing?” he asks.
Derk won’t like this idea as much as the first. “Make sure you talk over your decision with God before you decide if you still want to marry Caroline.”
“Of course, of course. I pray about all my decisions. You taught me that.” But Derk isn’t smiling anymore.
“There have been times in my life, Derk, when I haven’t wanted to pray about a decision because I already knew what God would say about it—and I didn’t like His answer. And there have been other times when God didn’t give me a clear answer to the question I asked.”
“That happens to me, too. Why do you think that is?”
“Well . . . I’ve thought about it a lot, and I’ve decided that it’s because He knows our mind is already made up. We won’t obey Him if He does answer. And then our deliberate disobedience will cause a rift in our relationship with Him. If you know you’re doing something wrong, it often seems easier to keep doing it than to swallow your pride and turn back to God.”
“If marrying Caroline turns out to be a mistake, I can’t divorce her. And my friend Anna can’t divorce her husband, either, if it’s the wrong decision.”
“If my own story teaches you nothing else, Derk, I hope it shows you the importance of not making important decisions in haste.”
“Were you unhappy with Maarten?”
“Come back tomorrow, and you can finish reading my story.” I hand back the letter from Caroline.
“Thanks. I’ll do that. See you tomorrow, Tante Geesje.” He walks out of my door with heavy steps, shoulders slumped. I want to tell him to go home and look in a mirror. A man who has just been given a second chance with the woman he loves shouldn’t look so dejected.
Chapter 21
Anna
Hotel Ottawa
1897
I don’t know what it is about this hotel room or this bed that causes me to have such strange dreams, but I had another one last night. It wasn’t exactly a nightmare, but it had the power of one. I awoke from it trembling and upset, and I had to stand at the window for a while and gaze down at the moon’s reflection on the lake until my heart slowed and I could breathe again. In my dream, I stood in my familiar bedroom back home in Chicago. Everything was exactly as it has always been for as long as I can remember. I saw my canopied mahogany bed and mirrored dresser, the blue-and-yellow flowered wallpaper, the creamy silk draperies on the window that overlooks our back garden. I was crying inconsolably and calling for my mama—yet she was right there! Mother had tears in her eyes as she tried to take me into her arms and console me, but I kept pushing her away, sobbing, “Mama! Mama!” as if my heart would break.
