Anna's Crossing

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  Anna filled the cauldron with salt water from a wooden tub and set it to boil. Barbara Gerber, Maria and Catrina Müller, and Esther Wenger and a few other Mennonite women brought up heaps of dirty clothes. With nothing in the way of soap, the clothes would be boiled and the dirt beaten out of them. As soon as the water boiled, the women went back down below to gather more laundry while Anna rolled up her sleeves and set to work for the biggest laundry day they’d had since leaving Rotterdam’s tent city. She added her dresses into the cauldron, one at a time, finding it amusing to see how dresses rose to the surface, waved their empty sleeves, then vanished beneath the steaming water.

  An eerie feeling came over her, a sense that she was being watched. She turned to find the sailor named Decker standing close by, staring at her.

  “That’s just what it will be like for you Peculiars. Half of you will go under before this journey is over. Down, down, down to a watery grave.” He stirred his finger just like she was stirring the cauldron.

  Anna jerked back and whirled around to the cauldron, hot color flooding her cheeks. She hadn’t drawn an easy breath around those sailors, especially this one that Felix called Squinty-Eye. He had a nose like a crow’s beak and a whittled brown face, a long scar dividing a cheek, and his black button eyes were sneering at her as if he expected her to be the first one overboard.

  She watched him saunter past Maria, with her arms full of laundry, elbowing her out of his way. Indignant, Maria was about to elbow him back, but Barbara pulled her back and whispered in her ear. Anna didn’t have to hear her to know what she was saying: Love thy enemy.

  When Anna saw Felix dash by, she pulled him aside. Somehow it seemed that boy was either just coming or just going. It was hard for him to settle. “He’s nobody to trifle with, that Decker. I’ve seen the sailors tremble around him.” Bairn was the only one who seemed able to manage Decker.

  Anna went back to scrubbing clothes, longing for the fresh water of Ixheim. Her skin crawled and itched after days of saltwater cleansings, but at least her dress hung loosely. The men had rashes from their tight breeches, stiff from salt water. She wanted to get the clothes beaten and hung on the deck before the sun reached midday. Before Bairn changed his mind about letting her use the upper deck as a clothesline. The top deck trembled as the women thwacked its timbers with shirts, shifts, sheets, even hammocks. Rivulets of filthy water trickled down the sides. Before long, the rails and rigging of the ship were festooned with drying clothes, and there was still more laundry to wash.

  Anna picked up a wooden bucket to get more water to boil and wondered where Felix had disappeared to. She hadn’t seen him in a while, so she headed toward the companionway, thinking he might have gone below deck to check on his mother.

  Near the top of the stairs was Bairn, kneeling on the deck with a pot of reeking tar and a brush. In one hand was a tool that looked like a hatchet. He was driving something that looked like untwisted rope in the seam between two planks. Crouched beside him, holding a basket of that fuzzy fiber, was Felix.

  “Lookin’ for anyone in particular?” Bairn said as he noticed her, slowly rising to his feet.

  He towered above her, his feet planted in a wide stance. Unlike the other times she had seen him, he wore no hat, no coat, no neckerchief adorned the collar of his white linen shirt. Simply a pair of suspenders looped over the shirt’s full, dropped shoulders. He was shockingly handsome in a roguish, careless way, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, tousled hair looking like windblown straw. Why, he almost looked like a farmer.

  Bairn saw the wooden bucket in her arms and reached for it. A warmth from working in the hot sun rose from his clothes. A spicy scent of sandalwood and pitch and . . . something familiar that tickled her nose with its pungency. The smell of horse.

  Anna wrinkled her nose and looked at the fuzzy fiber in the basket near Felix. Lumps of hairy fluff. “What is that?”

  “’Tis oakum. It swells up when it gets wet.”

  “Is it made of horse hair?”

  Those stern lips suddenly lifted in a slight smile. “Very good. Aye, horse hair, among other things.” He lifted the wooden bucket. “Do y’need it refilled?”

  “Yes. I was going to find Felix to fill it.”

  “Decker,” Bairn called over her head.

  She turned to see the squinty-eyed sailor leaning against the railing as he repaired a tear on a sail.

  “Fill the bucket with seawater.”

  Anna saw disdain flicker across Decker’s eyes. She looked back at Bairn. “I don’t mind doing it.”

  “Decker doesn’t mind, either. Do you, Decker?”

  Decker did mind. He wasn’t about to object to the ship’s carpenter, though. Decker went to the side and grabbed a rope attached to a pulley. Hand over hand, he lowered the bucket and scooped up water.

  Anna turned back to Bairn. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m teachin’ the laddie how t’wield an adze.”

  “A what?”

  “An adze. A . . . mallet. I use this mallet to drive oakum down between the seams. Like . . . caulkin’.”

  “Is Felix getting in your way?”

  “Nay, not on a make-and-mend day.” He leaned toward Anna. “’Tis best t’keep boys busy.”

  Felix shrugged, but his eyes were shining. He looked like he’d just been handed the moon. He was thoroughly happy to be scooped up alongside Bairn. Too happy, if you asked Anna.

  Decker slapped the wooden tub by Anna’s feet before returning back to caulking the deck.

  “Felix—take it to Maria by the cauldron. She’s waiting for it. And then go downstairs to bring up another basket of clothes. And bring my rose basket too.” The rose could get some needed sunshine today.

  As the boy opened his mouth to object, she cut him off. “You can go back to work with Bairn after you have helped me.”

  Suddenly, they heard Bairn shout out, “Decker!”

  Anna turned to see her freshly washed shirts and dresses and pants floating on top of the sea. Far from the railing, Decker was patching a sail, pulling a needle and long thread through the cloth, an innocent look on his face.

  Bairn marched over to the railing, a thunderstorm brewing on his face. “Decker, get the boat hook, fetch all the clothin’ back up, and then you will rewash everythin’ and set it t’dry. Go down to the hold and fetch fresh water to wash.”

  Decker narrowed his eyes, causing that one eye to look even squintier. “The captain won’t like it if you use fresh water.”

  “The captain isn’t here, is he?”

  Decker stared back at him, a showdown, and finally stomped off to get the boat hook to snatch up the clothes. He snared all the clothing with one sweep of the boat hook and dropped the sopping wet clothes on Anna’s feet.

  Bairn was there in an instant. “For that, Decker, you will clean the slime from the scuppers and scrub the deck from prow to stern.”

  “No, please.” Anna felt her face flush red. “We fight fire with water, not with more fire.”

  Bairn’s gaze at Decker held firm. “Indeed. You’ll end up gettin’ another bucket of salt water tossed in yer face.”

  “I’m sure it won’t happen again.”

  Decker shook the stringy hair from his eyes and muttered “Witch!” under his breath.

  Bairn’s expression darkened. “Decker, before you get to the scuppers and the scrubbin’ of the deck, you will slush down the mast.”

  Decker glared at Bairn and stalked past him to the galley.

  “What does that mean—to slush down the mast?”

  “’Tis an utterly foul duty.” Bairn pointed to the main mast. “He’ll use a pot of drippings from the galley and climb to the masthead. Then he’ll work his way down the masthead rubbin’ the fat into the wood with his hands.”

  “To discipline him?”

  “Nay. ’Tis a necessary chore. It preserves the wood and helps the tackle run up and down the mast more easily. It’s like greasing a pole. And ’ti
s a particularly useful task to hand out to a smart-mouthed seaman like Decker.”

  Decker returned from the galley with the pot of stinking grease. He climbed up the riggings and made his way over to the masthead. On the deck, far below Decker, Anna and Felix gathered the wet clothes into a basket.

  A loud sound like a cracked chicken bone came from above, then a scream. High above on the jumble of ropes, Decker had lost his footing and fell, ripping an awning from its moorings and knocking a spar loose. Bairn flung up his arms to protect Anna and Felix and push them out of the way as Decker hit the deck. The spar crashed down, slamming down on Decker’s head. For a moment, there was only silence and the call of the seagulls.

  “Are you all right?” Bairn said to Anna.

  Anna looked at Felix, whose eyes were round with shock. “Yes, we’re fine.”

  Bairn bolted over to pull the spar off Decker. Blood was streaming from an ear.

  Anna recognized the stillness of death in the sailor’s prone form. “Is he . . . ?”

  Bairn put his head to Decker’s chest to hear his heartbeat and looked up, eyes wide, face drained of color. “Aye,” he said, in a voice barely loud enough to be heard. “Aye. He’s gone.”

  Johnny Reed pointed a finger at Anna. “She did it. She said he wouldn’t mock her again. Decker was right. He said she was a witch. She’s fey.”

  Cook pushed his way to the forefront. He looked at Decker, then at Anna, then back to Decker. “Nay, she’s not fey. The breath of God came down and smote him.”

  But the seamen all stepped away from Anna.

  9

  July 8th, 1737

  Bairn held the funeral for Decker at sunset when shadows grew dusky instead of sharp, on the leeward side, as was the ship’s custom. Gulls scolded from a sky streaked with red and gold as the sailors pressed in a wide, deep circle around the body. Decker was laid out in an old sailcloth with a heavy stone placed at his feet, then the cloth was wrapped snug around him, secured by ropes tied around his neck, his body, his ankles. Someone had thought to put his pair of boots with silver buckles on his feet. Decker had been proud of those boots.

  Anna and Felix stood in the back with other passengers who had come to attend the service. Bairn caught sight of her over the heads of the sailors, and he noticed the eyes of several sailors drift toward her. The rumor that she was a witch had quickly traveled through the ship. Superstitions were part of the seaman’s life and they were eager to see the witch from the lower deck with the golden hair and fine figure, an uncommonly beautiful woman.

  As the highest ranking officer on board, Bairn led the service, his first funeral. He had considered sending a message to the captain in hopes he would return, but that could take days. Having a dead body aboard ship was considered bad luck. Decker had created enough mischief when he was alive. Bairn didn’t want to allow rumblings of bad luck on the Charming Nancy to fester and risk losing more deckhands. He imitated what he had seen the captain do on many occasions: he stood in the traditional pose of funeral respect—feet straddled, the palm of one hand clasping the back of the other resting at his lower abdomen. He read Psalm 23 from the Bible and rolled richly over the r’s as Captain Stedman did. There was a moment of silence—broken only by a tapping sound that came across the scrubbed deck, drawing near. Decker’s dog came to pay his respects. He skulked toward the body, sniffed, then worked his way through the crowd until he found Felix, and sat down beside him. The laddie pretended not to notice. Then Bairn gave a nod and a sailor sewed the shroud around Decker’s body, with the last stitch put through Decker’s nose—a seafaring custom to ensure that the dead was truly dead. Then a handful of seamen picked up the shroud and tossed it overboard to a watery grave.

  Felix ran to the railing and Anna reached out a hand to grab his shirt collar and pull him back.

  “Let him see, girlie,” Cook said, rubbing his jaw. Doomishly, he added, “Will be the first of many to be cast into the black deep before this journey is over.”

  Anna looked at him, shocked. “God’s will is for no one to perish.”

  Cook only shrugged. “Who’s to know what is behind the inscrutable will of God?”

  “Cook, that’s enough.” Bairn’s tone was brusque. When Anna turned to him, he said, “Why would you come to watch this?” He motioned to the line of Germans, funneling down the companionway to the lower deck. “Why would any of you come?”

  She looked up at him as if the answer was obvious. “We prayed for God to have mercy on his soul.”

  He felt a sudden sinking in his chest. “That’s nae what I thought you’d say.”

  “What did you expect me to say?”

  “Something pious, I expect.”

  “Pious? Like what?”

  He cast about for a way to explain. “Something smug like the spirit of God is more powerful than the spirit of wickedness.” His voice was quiet as he dipped his head toward her. He didn’t even know where that thought had come from. “Why would you show respect to a man who cursed you and mocked you?”

  “I wished him no ill will. I forgave Decker for his insults.” She lifted an upturned palm in the direction of the Germans. “We all did.” She called to Felix, leaning over the railing, and the two of them followed the rest of the passengers back down the stairs.

  A knot of pride shifted in his throat and he gulped it down whole, suddenly ashamed of his naïveté. He gazed at her receding back with quiet amazement.

  Later that evening, Bairn stood at the ship’s bow, bracing the rails as he leaned over to look at the dark channel waters. The moon was but a thumbnail, the stars a mere smattering, the night was now truly dark except for yellow lanterns from vessels that bobbed in the channel. Crew members were gathered around the deck in clusters of three or four, playing cards or rolling dice. Johnny Reed curled up in the bowsprit to read a book by the glow of the lantern.

  The ship would soon be shipshape for the sea crossing. Everything was in order, everything except the churning in Bairn’s gut. He simmered in silence, still raw over Decker’s untimely death. Accidents happened, he knew that. It wasn’t Bairn’s first funeral at sea and it surely wouldn’t be the last. But he wondered if it could have been avoided, if he had provoked the belligerent seaman to such anger that he acted carelessly while climbing the ratlines.

  Provoked. Decker was the one who provoked.

  And then there was Anna. She had her own way of provoking a man. What would she think of Decker’s death? Could it have been avoided? More likely, she would say that Decker’s time had come. She would believe that the Almighty played a role in those decisions.

  Belief. He knew better.

  Why, then, did Anna tell him she didn’t believe his unbelief? Her comment disquieted him and he didn’t know why.

  Yes he did.

  No he didn’t.

  The old weight of anxiety and self-doubt settled on Bairn again. After all he had been through, he still remained utterly vulnerable, bereft, even in the one place he had started to feel more or less at home.

  He raised his fist toward heaven. When will You leave me alone? What have I ever done to You?

  He dropped his fist. It was pointless. There was no use arguing with Someone who wouldn’t argue back. He’d never gotten much satisfaction from a God who didn’t seem to speak or see or hear. Or feel.

  Then it occurred to him that he was talking to God and he had just told Anna he didn’t believe in God. He sighed and leaned his forearms on the railing.

  Why should he feel so drawn, so curious about her? He didn’t know why he bothered to think of her at all. He didn’t need a woman telling him what to do or what to believe. He didn’t need a woman looking him straight in the eyes or telling him he was wrong about nearly everything.

  He did not need a woman. And he definitely didn’t want one like pious Anna. So innocent to the ways of the world, pathetically innocent. Like all the Peculiars. In this world but not of it. Bound by faith that appeared gentle and yet was so s
evere.

  He tried to put away all thoughts of Anna and went to his quarters. But he couldn’t put away the sadness that overcame him, the unnamed longings. He had another vivid dream . . .

  His mother was in the front room, sitting in the bentwood rocker his father had made when they were first married. The room had not changed; the basket of mending was by the window where the afternoon light was best. The rocker was near the fireplace for warmth, a child was curled up by his mother’s feet, napping. The curtains on the window were as crisp and white as if they had been washed and ironed and starched that morning.

  Bairn was not lost, his father was not dead.

  When he startled awake from the deep dream, heart pounding, his face was wet with tears.

  July 9th, 1737

  The whole sky was on fire. Felix hid in the bowsprit to watch the sun dip lower and lower in the west, filling the sky with flames of red and orange and gold. Squinty-Eye’s awful dog had found him and had settled somewhere near his feet. He ruffled its ears to keep the awful dog quiet.

  His father would appreciate this sunset. On most summer nights in Ixheim, he and his father would watch the sun set behind the hills. “Going, going, gone,” his father would say as the last bit of sun slipped away. Felix wondered what a sunset would look like in Penn’s Woods. The very sound of the place made it seem like nothing but trees.

  Tonight, on the bow of the Charming Nancy, Felix watched Johnny Reed sprinkle salt on a fishing net—salted in, he’d heard sailors call it, to bring good luck—and toss it over the side. The net caught a fish that was so big and bulky that it took three sailors to reel it in. Felix popped his head up to watch them wrestle the thrashing fish up onto the deck. They wouldn’t have seen him even if he’d been sending up flares—not with their keen interest in Johnny Reed’s catch. All the sailors gathered round the fish—as big as a man. Cook even came out of the galley with a butcher knife, with his cat following behind him.