by Lynn Austin
Anna introduces us to her mother and William as we all squeeze into the carriage for the short ride to my home. My mind is spinning with hostess details, just like Jesus’ friend Martha in the Bible. Do I have enough coffee to serve all these people—or perhaps they drink tea? Do I even have tea? Would they like my cookies, too? And oh! Did I leave my dirty breakfast dishes in the sink? I’ve never entertained wealthy people before.
I lead the way, and Derk brings up the rear as we walk up the front steps and across the porch to my door. “You don’t keep it locked?” William asks in astonishment as I open it.
“I have nothing worth stealing. And I know all of my neighbors. They’re honest, God-fearing people. . . . Please, have a seat.” I can tell they feel out of place in my sitting room—as out of place as I would feel in their fancy mansions, I’m sure. “Can I get you some coffee or tea?” I ask.
Derk takes my arm and leads me to one of my own chairs. “Maybe in a minute, Tante Geesje. I can’t wait a moment longer to hear what Miss Nicholson has to tell us.”
I lift my sleeping tabby cat off my favorite chair and sit down, settling him on my lap. I am thoroughly intrigued by these unusual events.
Anna
I sense Mother’s impatience as we crowd into Geesje de Jonge’s house. It’s very neat and spotlessly clean, but so small it would probably fit inside our drawing and dining rooms at home. Despite its small size, the house doesn’t feel as claustrophobic as our parlor in Chicago, which is crammed with useless knickknacks and gewgaws and curios. Geesje is a pretty woman in her late sixties with graying blond hair and china-blue eyes. She is tiny and petite, and her eyes seem to twinkle with such joy that she reminds me of the fairy godmother in a storybook I had as a child. I have felt at ease with her from the moment she embraced me by mistake in the church lobby.
Mother and William, on the other hand, seem very uncomfortable in such a plain house with its simple, worn furnishings. We all sit down except for William, who stands behind my chair like a sentry, as if unable to relax. I catch him glancing at his pocket watch, and I know he’s concerned about missing our steamship. I was surprised yet pleased that he agreed to hire a carriage to bring Mother and me into town to search for Derk. I promised him I would hurry.
“Here’s what we’ve pieced together so far,” Derk says to Geesje. “In an amazing coincidence, Miss Nicholson and her father were passengers aboard the Ironsides when it sank—just like my mother and your daughter, Christina.”
Geesje gives a little gasp. “That was you? I remember seeing a child in her father’s arms that day, standing by the bonfire. I gave him my quilt.”
“I told you!” I say, turning to Mother. “I told you I remembered that happening.” I shiver to realize how close Geesje and I had been to each other that day, how our lives had briefly touched twenty years ago. “But that man wasn’t my father,” I say, continuing the story. “At least he wasn’t back then. He saved my life that day after my mama drowned. Later, he and Mother adopted me. No one knows who my real mother was. My real family was never found.”
“I’m so very sorry,” Geesje says. “That was a horrible, tragic day for all of us. Most ships didn’t keep a list of their passengers in those days, as I recall. My husband had the terrible task of identifying our daughter. And Derk’s father had to identify his wife, too. It was a horrific experience for all of the families.”
“Were all the victims identified?” Derk asks.
“I have no idea,” Geesje says. “I suppose that information would be in the records somewhere.”
“We tried everything we could think of to find Anna’s parents,” Mother adds. “Even the authorities were unable to locate them.”
I see Geesje nodding in understanding as she strokes the cat in her lap. “I vaguely remember some mention of an orphaned child,” she says, “and that the authorities were searching for her family. But I was sunk so deep in my grief over Christina that I paid little mind to it.”
“I’m hoping you can help me now, Mrs. de Jonge,” I say.
“I’ll be happy to if I can, but how?”
I move to the edge of my chair in anticipation. I’m trying not to get my hopes up, but I’ve noticed a little box of peppermints on the end table beside Geesje’s chair—the same kind that Mama used to carry in her purse—and I can barely remain seated. “I know my real mother was Dutch because I can remember her speaking to me in another language. And Derk tells me that the phrases I’ve recalled are Dutch. My real name was Anneke—”
“That’s a Dutch name,” Derk interrupts.
“I thought so. What I’m hoping, Mrs. de Jonge, is that you might remember the names of the other Dutch women in the area who died when the Ironsides sank.”
She appears to be thinking as she gazes into the distance. “Here in the Holland area, I know of only two women who died that day—Derk’s mother and my daughter, Christina. We’re a very close-knit community, and even in the surrounding towns it seems as though everyone is related to someone else. Our church members come together to support each other in times of tragedy and loss, so I’m certain I would have heard about it if another family from a nearby Dutch church was also grieving.”
I lean back in my chair as tears of disappointment fill my eyes. William rests his hand on my shoulder in comfort. He and Mother are going to declare my search hopeless and make me return to Chicago with them.
“I’m so sorry I can’t be more help, dear,” Geesje says. “But . . . hmm . . . I do have one other thought. My daughter left home after the Holland fire to find work as a servant in Chicago. It was the same weekend as the Great Chicago Fire. We didn’t hear from her for nearly seven years, and if anything had happened to her during that time, we probably never would have known about it. Perhaps your mother was another young Dutch woman who did the same thing. Maybe she didn’t tell her family that she was returning on the Ironsides.”
“I see . . . that makes sense,” I say.
There is so much compassion in Geesje’s eyes. She understands my disappointment. “Listen, my son Jakob is the pastor of an area church,” she says. “If you’d like, I could ask him to discreetly check with the pastors of other nearby churches to see if any local women are unaccounted for. At least we might learn a name.”
“Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”
William pulls out his pocket watch again and checks the time. “Anna, dear, we’ve taken up enough of Mrs. de Jonge’s time. I’ll be happy to pay whatever it costs to keep searching for your mother. I could hire a Pinkerton detective if you’d like. I hear they do good work. But it sounds to me like there’s nothing more you can accomplish by staying in Holland any longer. We can always return in the future if it looks as though the professionals are getting close to learning who your mother was.”
He’s right. And I trust William to keep his word and help me continue to search. I stand up, and I’m about to thank Mrs. de Jonge for her time when Derk leaps to his feet, interrupting me.
“Wait! There’s a crazy thought that has been buzzing around in the back of my mind ever since we spoke at the hotel earlier today.” He turns to his aunt. “Tante Geesje, would you mind telling me again what Christina’s letter said? The last one she sent you?”
“She said she was coming home. That she had something important to tell us but she needed to do it in person. She was afraid we wouldn’t forgive her—” She halts and lays both hands on her heart. The color drains from her face so quickly I’m afraid she is ill. She stares at me as if she has just seen me for the first time, her eyes wide and filled with tears. “You don’t think . . . Could it be possible that . . . ?”
“It would explain the amazing resemblance,” Derk says. “And why no one came forward to claim her.”
“Oh, dear heaven . . .” Geesje murmurs. “Yes . . . yes . . .”
“May I tell Anna about Christina?” Derk asks her. Geesje nods. He crosses the room to stand in front of me. “Tante Geesje’s daughter ran awa
y to Chicago with her boyfriend. She was gone for seven years, with no contact at all. By the time she returned, you were three years old. Maybe it’s possible that—”
I feel dizzy as I put all the clues together. “Do you think Christina could be my mother?”
“It would explain why no one came forward to claim you,” Derk says. “Her family didn’t know that Christina had a daughter. . . . Tante Geesje, may I show her a picture of Christina?”
She nods and pushes the cat off her lap as she rises from her chair. I hardly dare to breathe as Geesje goes to a little desk in the corner of the room and retrieves a framed photograph. “Christina was seventeen in this photograph,” she says. “I saved it from the fire.”
“Do you think you might recognize your mother?” Derk asks. “After all this time?”
“I-I don’t know . . . but I would like to try.”
I’m unable to move, frozen with hope and fear. I catch a glimpse of longing in Geesje’s eyes, too, as she hands the picture to me. Everyone in the room is watching me as I take the photograph in my trembling hands. I don’t want to get my hopes up. Nor do I want to give Mrs. de Jonge false hopes. I want to be sure—very, very sure—before I say yes or no.
In the center of the photograph is a plain-looking man seated in a chair. He has dark hair and a round face. The woman standing beside him with her hand on his shoulder is Geesje when she was younger. Two tall young men stand in the middle of the photograph behind their father’s chair. The young woman standing on her father’s left must be Christina. She is very pretty. And she is the only person in the photograph who is smiling, as if she’s laughing at the others for being so somber. I can tell even in a black-and-white photograph that her hair is very fair. And curly. Like mine.
I pull the picture closer and stare at her face. Her smile seems to widen as tears blur my vision. I hear her gentle voice saying, “I love you, lieveling.”
I look up at Geesje. I can barely speak.
“Yes . . .” I whisper. “Christina is my mama.”
Chapter 38
Geesje
Holland, Michigan
1897
Joy floods through me as I pull this beautiful young woman into my arms. Christina’s daughter! Anneke. My granddaughter. I can hardly believe it. We are both weeping as we cling to each other. “My goodness . . . oh, my goodness . . .” It’s all I can manage to say.
We finally pull apart because we both need to sit down. I can feel Anneke’s body trembling, and my own knees feel as though they’ve turned to water. We sit side by side on my sofa, gripping each other’s hands, the family photograph lying in her lap. There are so many questions I would like to ask her, so many missing parts of Christina’s life that I would love to have Anneke fill in for me. But that’s probably asking a lot of a child who was only three years old when her mother died. I’ve noticed her fiancé, William, checking his pocket watch. I know Anneke has a life and a home in Chicago that she must return to, but I don’t want her to go.
“Can you stay a little longer, Anneke? Please?” I beg. “We’ve only just found each other. I would love to get to know you, and to have you meet the rest of our family. This is my son Arie,” I say, pointing to the photograph. “He’s a war hero, and he runs our family’s printing business. And this is Jakob. He’s a minister, and he and his wife, Joanna, have four children, including your cousin Elizabeth. You must meet them! And this is my husband, Maarten—your grandfather. He’s gone now, but I would love to tell you all about him. He never lost faith that God would bring Christina back to us—and here you are! Her daughter!” I hold Anneke’s face in my hands as I drink her in. I kiss her forehead. Then I pull her close to my heart again.
“Yes!” she says. “Yes, I want very much to stay!” When we move apart she looks up at her mother and William. Mrs. Nicholson is discreetly wiping a tear with her lace-edged handkerchief. William is moved as well, but he is frowning and chewing his bottom lip in an effort to remain in control. “I know it’s time for the two of you to leave,” Anneke tells them, “but I’m not going with you.”
“She’s welcome to stay here with me for as long as she likes. I’ll take good care of her,” I assure them. In fact, I probably won’t let her out of my sight.
“We’ll make sure she gets home to you safely,” Derk says. “I give you my word.” He has tears in his eyes, too, but he’s beaming with happiness for both of us. I notice William studying him with a hint of jealousy.
“Are you a family member, as well, Mr. Vander Veen?”
“Please, call me Derk. And no, I’m not really a family member but Tante Geesje has been a second mother to me ever since my own mama died. I live in the house next door.”
Anneke rises to her feet and goes to her mother, resting her hands on her shoulders. “Nothing is going to change, Mother. I love you. And please tell Father that I love him, too. He’s a hero. He saved my life. But I’m a grown woman now. Tell him I’ll be home in another week or so.” She goes to William and stands on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Thank you for understanding, William. But I think you’d better hurry. You don’t want to miss your steamship. Would you please ask the driver to bring my bags inside before you leave?”
I close my eyes in joy. Anneke is going to stay with me. Christina’s daughter! My cup is running over with happiness.
I stand on the street with them in front of my house as they say good-bye. I can see that William cares for Anneke—and that he is not happy about her decision to stay. I’m guessing he likes to be in control, to take charge of every situation and quickly fix things. And he probably wants a wife who leaves all the decision-making to him. If Anneke is as strong-willed and independent as her mother was, then I see rough seas ahead for them.
I can also sense the enormous loss that Anneke’s mother is feeling. I go to her before William helps her into the carriage and say, “I understand how you must feel. We adopted our two older sons after their parents died. I think every adoptive mother in the world fears that the day will come when she will lose her child to their ‘real’ family. But please don’t worry. I don’t think that will happen with Anneke.”
“It won’t, Mother,” Anneke says.
“Mrs. Nicholson, I’ve learned through the years that all of our children are only on loan to us from God,” I continue. “They belong to Him, not to us. Our son Gerrit died in the war when he was nineteen. And then we lost our Christina when she was twenty-four. Arie and Jakob are still with me, but they are adults, with lives of their own to live. I’ve had to learn to let them go, too. But I thank God every day for all of the years that He loaned them to me.”
Anneke holds my hand as we watch the carriage drive away. I’m overjoyed that she will be with me for a few more days and that we can get to know each other. “Let’s go inside,” I say. “I’ll fix us something to eat.”
“I guess I’ll head home now,” Derk says, “and leave you two to catch up.”
“No!” Anneke and I both say at the same time. “We have you to thank for this wonderful day,” I tell him. “You must stay and have lunch with us.” The two of them sit at my kitchen table, watching as I slice my homemade bread and some cheese and fresh tomatoes from my garden. “I’m sorry I don’t have more to offer you, but I wasn’t expecting company, and I don’t usually cook on the Lord’s Day.”
“This looks wonderful,” Anneke says. “I don’t need a big lunch, Mrs. de Jonge.”
“You can call me Oma, if you’d like. That’s what Dutch children call their grandmothers.”
Anneke’s smile lights up her face. “I would love to call you Oma.” I pour coffee and sit down at the table with them, but we’re all too excited to eat. “For as long as I can remember,” Anneke says, “I’ve had the same nightmare about the shipwreck. I didn’t know it was real until today. I’ve had other dreams about Mama and me, and now I think they were probably memories, too.”
“I would be grateful to hear anything you can remember about your mama�
��if it isn’t too painful for you. You see, we didn’t know where Christina was or what she was doing after she left us. We never even had a chance to say good-bye. She had fallen in love with a young man named Jack Newell.”
“Do you think he’s my father?”
“I don’t know. She told us that he was originally from Ohio, and he had left home and a difficult family life with barely a cent to his name. He came through Holland looking for work and met Christina. She ran away with him after the fire destroyed most of the town, including the tannery where Jack worked. Christina said she wanted to find a job in Chicago as a servant for a wealthy family like yours.”
“Of course, Chicago was destroyed, too, at the same time as Holland,” Derk adds. “They wouldn’t have known that when they left, but maybe Jack found work rebuilding the city.”
I’m hesitant to admit the truth as I add, “I don’t even know if he and your mama ever married. She never wrote to us.”
“Maybe William can ask his Pinkerton detectives to check the marriage records in Chicago,” Derk says.
“I don’t ever recall having a father before the shipwreck,” Anneke says. “In my dreams, Mama and I are always alone. I dream about living in a tiny room with little more than a bed. It’s shabby and it smells terrible, and we can hear men fighting in the room next door. Then Mama says, ‘I’m going to get us out of here, Anneke. I’m going to take you home.’ If my dream really happened, then we must have been coming here. . . . I had another dream that we’re riding on a train that’s crowded with poor people like us. The sun is setting behind us as we reach the dock and I see the big steamship. . . .” She pauses for a moment, and I see her steeling herself. “In the nightmare I’ve had ever since I was a child, I’m in a terrible storm at sea. People aboard the ship are getting seasick because the waves are so rough. It thunders and the lightning lights up the sky outside like daylight, but all we can see is water. Mama holds me tightly, soothing me. She sings to me. She has such a sweet voice.”
