At home, she set Hendrik to mixing paints with the new supply of oil. While he heated the first batch of oil in a small copper dish he held with tongs over the fire, she began painting on the one remaining prepared wood panel. She should tell Maria, of course. Judith had to apologize and prepare her friend for her father, who would surely be coming. But the words escaped her. To simply tell the story she would have to admit how easily she gave way. She needed to compose the scene, as she would for a painting.
“Davit, sit there, I need you to model. For the dead coloring.” Later, she could hire models for portrait part of the work. But now, she needed to rough out the spacing and figures in the conceptual phase. Children listening to and playing noisemakers, enjoying both their freedom and disharmony. After this, if she could find the coins for another prepared painting support, she could start on the gambler picture. The pleasure of watching someone else sin would surely earn that work a buyer. Perhaps that tailor whom she had finally managed to speak with while Maria was recovering. But one painting at a time.
Davit ought to be holding one of the instruments, she decided, and she went to get the rommelpot, a pig bladder stretched over a bowl and punctured by a stick, when she heard her front door slam. She frowned. Carolein knew how much she hated the shudder of a loud door. She paused and wondered if she should call to Carolein, but then she looked out the window. She turned away and was about to hand the pot to Davit, but then spun back. There, down in the street below, were Maria and Abraham, apparently headed toward the center of town. Judith nearly dropped the ceramic pot. If they were going to the De Grebber house, Maria would find out Judith had betrayed her trust. Or perhaps Abraham was up to something, some repeat of the disaster that had sent him out of Haarlem and flayed his back. Judith thrust the rommelpot at Davit who, startled, bounced it between his hands before clasping it to his body. She hurried down the stairs and out the door.
She followed them at a short distance—easy enough in the busy streets, especially since their progress was slow. A linen merchant she had known since childhood called out to her from across the street. She flinched, but Maria and Abraham did not seem to notice. Judith nodded at the merchant, who hurried over to grab her elbow and ask after Judith’s father, about whom she had nothing to say. She expressed a few pleasantries and by the time she extricated herself, she had lost sight of them. She hurried down the street and wondered if she should try to rush ahead to the De Grebber home. But then she saw them turning down a side street toward the canal. A sick feeling of relief poured over her. That wasn’t the way toward Maria’s house.
The street was quiet, and she hung back until they had nearly reached the other end of the block. When she emerged into the open space by the canal, she saw Maria and Abraham walking up the curved back of a bridge sloping over the canal. On the other side they stopped next to a gate in a long brick wall. Maria knocked, then exchanged a few words with the modestly dressed woman who opened it. They crossed the threshold, and the gate closed behind them.
From the other side of the stone canal, Judith could see the property behind the wall was a large house, but she was not familiar with the street and did not know who owned it. She stepped out of the alley, rested her hand on a slim chestnut tree, and then approached the gate. Next to the gate hung a plaque, which read, “Haarlem Leper House.” Judith read it twice and ran her fingers over the brass. She frowned in confusion. Were they visiting someone? Or maybe Maria had gone to peddle her supposed healing lessons. No matter what Maria hoped, a few weeks dabbling with plants alongside a woman who had apparently left Maria for dead could not have taught her much. Judith clenched her fists. Why hadn’t they told her, asked her opinion? She kicked a rock into the canal. Then she walked back home, and the sweat dripped down her back.
Chapter 33
THE WOMAN WHO HAD LET Maria and Abraham inside the gate at the leper house raised a hand to indicate they should pause. She was shrunken and old, with signs of the disease spotting her neck and cheeks, but she had answered the gate door with a defiant look. Maria willed herself not to flinch. She wanted to help those people.
“Thank you for letting us in. I didn’t want to talk in the street. I’m here to see the Leper House Administrator,” Maria said. She didn’t know who governed the house, but whomever he was, he would be the one to grant her permission.
“The magistrate?” the old woman said, one eye narrowed in skepticism.
“The Administrator,” Maria repeated.
“Paulus van Beresteyn is a busy man,” the old woman said. “But you’re lucky; he’s here today. Wait.” She held up a gnarled hand.
Maria and Abraham stood silently as the woman hobbled into the large house a few roedes away. From that distance, Maria could hear no sounds coming from the house. A few dun-colored sheets flapped on a line in the breeze.
The Administrator, a slight man with a winged brown-and-gray mustache, fiddled with a shining button on his doublet as he approached.
“I’ve just got a minute, I’m in the middle of some record keeping,” he said.
“Thank you for your time,” Maria said. “I’m here to offer mine. I have some training as an herbalist, and I thought—”
“That’s no use here,” Paulus interrupted. “It’s kind of you to offer, really. But they’ll be better off with your prayers.” He began to turn away but then paused, as if his eyes had snagged on Abraham.
“You there. How old are you?”
Abraham stood up straight and clasped his hands behind his back. “Twenty years.”
“You strong?”
“I worked at the docks some time.”
“Yet you send your wife to find work now?”
Abraham furrowed his brow in confusion.
“We’re not married, magistrate,” Maria said. “He’s my friend’s brother, that’s all.”
“Fine,” said Paulus. “The point is, boy, are you looking for a job too?”
Abraham glanced at Maria, who raised her eyebrows in an encouragement she did not feel.
“It’s mostly hauling privy buckets and putting sheets out to dry,” Paulus said. He inclined his head toward the sheet on the line. “But, every once in a while, I have need of a strong back. And it seems you’re not afraid to spend time with the sick.”
“I’m not,” Abraham said, and Maria saw a twitch at the corner of his eyes before he stilled his expression.
“Good,” said Paulus. “Nothing to fear, really. I’ve got to get back to work, but come tomorrow. I’ll pay, don’t worry.” Without waiting, he turned and walked back into the house.
They let themselves out of the gate, and it closed with a click behind them.
“I stole your job,” Abraham said. “I’m sorry.”
“No, not at all. I didn’t want that job. Hauling privy buckets? Look at me, I can hardly carry a canvas.” Maria forced a smile on her face. “And I’m glad you’ll have some coins for yourself.”
“I had to take the job before he realized what I’ve been punished for. No one else will hire me, I’m sure.” He traced a finger over the bright pink welt on his hand.
Maria didn’t know what to say, so she nodded and fixed her gaze on the streets while watching for any dog excrement or mud that servants in nearby homes had not yet washed away. She had failed again, and again she had to return to Judith’s house to hide.
They emerged into the lower end of the main square and walked past a man playing a flute for coins and a tight circle of young women giggling and bobbing their heads as they eyed a man on a horse. The scaffold still stood to their left, blocking the municipal building, and Maria felt Abraham quicken his pace.
Then, he stopped. They had reached the corner where Judith’s street split off from the square, and Abraham held out his hand.
“Maria,” he said.
She looked past the pastry vendor with his tray of sweetbreads and down the street. In front of the brick face of Judith’s building sto
od her father.
If he had not been looking right at her, she might have turned and walked away. The sight of him, his arms crossed over his chest as if in anger but his eyes wide like pools of water reflecting the moon, made her feel as if a line fractured down her breastbone. How she had missed him, and wanted him to miss her.
She took a few steps closer. Behind him was Judith, who was biting her lip as her gaze jumped between Maria and the ground. That was guilt playing across the woman’s face. Judith had told him, she realized. And then a throbbing in her arm reminded her of her wound, and how far she had traveled. Only to return to where she began.
“Hello, Father,” Maria said softly when she approached. She did not reach for him, and they stood an arm’s length apart. The sun broke through some clouds, and a bright ray made the wrinkled skin at the outer corners of his eyes look nearly transparent.
“You’re coming home with me,” he said roughly, and then his face seemed to soften in apology. But he said nothing else.
“So I gathered. Judith, how much did you sell me for? Or were you glad to get rid of another mouth to feed?”
“No, I . . .” Judith’s shoulders drew up in anger as if she were going to protest, but then she clamped her mouth shut. “I am truly sorry to see you go.”
Maria shook her head. “I have nothing here,” she told her father. “We can go.”
He folded her arm into his. As they walked away, Maria waved to Abraham, who stood a few paces back. “God be with you,” she called to him softly. Then she pinched her eyes closed and let her father guide her for a few steps, before she opened her eyes to the sights of bustling Haarlem. She followed him home.
Chapter 34
IT WAS A HOT SUNDAY morning, and Judith stayed in bed past sunrise. When Carolein came to inquire, Judith rolled over toward the wall. She could not face Carolein and lie to her.
“I feel dreadful,” Judith said quietly. It was true enough. She hoped her voice was low. “I’ll have to let you go to church without me.”
“Should I send for Maria? She might have something you can take.” Carolein had mentioned Maria’s name often since Frans de Grebber had come to take her away a month ago. Judith suspected she had some hope of helping the women repair their friendship.
“No,” Judith said, more sharply than she intended. “I’m not one for those physics. I’ll rest a bit. Thank you, Carolein.”
Carolein looked at her with eyebrows raised over her dark eyes, and Judith closed her eyes. She knew it would look like the pain she was suffering was physical, and she pressed her lips together in regret. She missed Maria, she could admit as much to herself, at least. But she also knew that she deserved Maria’s anger, and that was too much to say out loud.
When the servant shut the door, Judith felt a dark guilt gnaw at her chest. It fed upon both her lie and her impending absence from church. Only Catholics and Jews were permitted to miss the Reformed service. But then, she told herself with a grimace, a little bit more shame heaped upon herself and her family was of little consequence at this point. It was the linseed oil that mattered. If only Judith could get her workshop on the right footing. And maybe those other things wrong in her life would rearrange themselves, once she had the freedom to paint. To snatch life and style it as she pleased upon her painting support. Frans de Grebber had said she didn’t have proof. She would find some.
When the streets quieted, and the church bells finished tolling, Judith hurried out of bed and into her shift and skirt, a light one to account for the heat. Even still, by the time she closed her house door behind her and stepped onto the paving stones, she was sweating.
She made her way, head down, through side streets and over to Pieter Molijn’s house. He was a prominent painter, a Guild leader, and a suspect easier to start with than the famed Frans Hals would be. A long row of newly built houses with matching black shutters rose up from the street, and she hoped no one was looking out the windows. Adjacent to Molijn’s house was a gate. The latch was unlocked, and Judith stepped into the walkway before the gate slammed closed behind her. She gritted her teeth at the sound.
Molijn’s workshop was, she assumed, inside his house, but she wanted to see what the garden held. If he were storing large amounts of linseed oil, he might not have the space for it inside the building. And barrels of oil might attract attention in his workshop, especially since he had recently shifted his work away from painting and toward ink-and-pen drawings. To appeal to different buyers, he said. A smart move, if the painting market was glutted. That might be his assessment, but Judith refused to believe buyers would abandon honest, evocative paintings. There were still people willing to pay for art by new artists. She hoped.
The brick pathway led her to a small, enclosed garden. A brick patio filled most of the space, but there were a few plots of vegetables and herbs, and a small apple tree filled the back corner. There was far less space here than she had imagined. And no linseed oil.
She could hear no sounds beyond the casual chirping of a few songbirds from the garden next door. Judith took a deep breath. She climbed the brick steps leading up to the kitchen entrance, and tried the door. It was unlocked.
Barking erupted as soon as she swung the door open, and a small dog ran toward her. Its tawny snout snapped as it yapped at her and lunged at her ankles.
She shushed the dog, batted it away, and closed the door. He kept barking. She tried to open the door again to get herself out, but the latch stuck. Still the dog barked. Finally she lifted her foot to aim at its side, only in hopes of keeping it away while she squeezed back out the door. The dog whimpered and fell silent. She lowered her foot.
She stood still, her hand on the door, and listened to the house. There might be an apprentice home, sick, or maybe Molijn was a Catholic. Her stomach plummeted at the thought. His parents were from the south, she remembered, though he himself was born abroad. He might well be Catholic.
Her blood pounded in her ears, and she could hardly hear beyond it. The dog growled, but backed away.
“Well, if I’m this far,” she said to the dog, her voice trembling. She walked inside.
Chapter 35
MARIA KNOCKED AT THE LEPER house gate. It was Sunday morning, and Abraham was not working. A rat scratched and scurried along the edge of the wall some paces away, and she hoped someone would come to the door. She knocked again.
She had spent weeks thinking how to spend the hours that dripped past her window, first in Judith’s attic while she lay listless, with only Carolein to talk to when the woman brought her food, and then at her father’s. In the attic, Judith came in the evenings, true, but Maria now saw that as a meager consolation, some sort of assuaging of Judith’s guilt rather than a real gesture of friendship. After Judith had betrayed her and sent her back to her father’s house, Maria resolved to listen only to her own convictions. When Abraham came sheepishly to her door, to ask if she would still help even if it meant concealing her work from the magistrate, she knew she would.
She knocked a third time. Abraham had told her to come today, at this hour, because Paulus and his wife, Catharina, would almost certainly be at church services, along with the rest of Haarlem. Excepting, of course, the lepers.
Finally, the same old woman answered. The late morning air was already heavy, and Maria felt the sweat running down her back as she explained her appointment to the woman, who stood blocking the entrance, as if strangers regularly sought entry to her domain.
“You’re sure you’re here to see him? Gerrit?” Her voice was raspy.
“That’s right.” A wash of panic came over her, and she wondered if she had Abraham’s friend’s name wrong. But she clung to her recollection.
The woman harrumphed, considered Maria for a moment, and then stepped back to let her pass. The tension at the back of Maria’s neck eased, until she began to worry that she would be introduced to the wrong man. A mistake might reveal how Abraham had broken the rules in invitin
g her, and maybe he’d lose his position here. No, she would say whatever she needed in order to protect him. Maria, unlike some people, knew how to protect her friends.
A small yard and dull but tidy garden lay between the gate and the brick house, and somewhere inside the house a child shrieked. A second child followed, and then both voices dissolved into giggles. The idea of leper children laughing struck Maria as so strange she almost turned to search out the sound. Perhaps the playmates were healthy children. No, even if they had the disease, they were still children. They might laugh, and they deserved to be cured. She walked around the house to the kitchen garden, where Abraham had suggested she might find Gerrit.
The sun shone strong against her skin, and she could feel its heat suffusing her face. She stepped back under the shade of an aspen. As she did, an old man wrapped in a loose garment, perhaps a linen nightgown, walked out of the house. His gait was uneven and his shoulders rounded, ordinary for an old man perhaps, and she saw no sign of the disease. Then, once he was closer, she noticed how he wrapped his hands into the loose folds of his long sleeves.
“Maria de Grebber?” he asked in a clear voice.
“Gerrit?”
“The same. A pleasure to meet you. Will you come inside, out of the sun?”
She hesitated. Surely the leper house was filled with stale air, the sort of miasma that might transmit the disease.
“Of course,” she said, more graciously than she felt. She would grow her soul to fit her behavior. She hoped.
They sat in the kitchen, with the door open to catch the breeze, and Gerrit poured her a cup of small beer.
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