Casks were filled, emptied, filled again. Passengers drank their fill and then some. The captain even allowed them to wash clothes using a barrel or two of rainwater, there was so much of it. And—wonder of wonders—to take baths! There was that much steady rain streaming down from the skies. Anna washed her hair in fresh water for the first time since they had left Rotterdam. As she twisted her hair into a bun and pinned it, her hair felt soft, not stiff and tangled.
Yes, it felt like Christmas. All was well.
Three days it had been since Bairn had seen Anna. He had been scrupulously avoiding her, which was no small task on a confined ship, especially one that was springing leaks like a colander.
As ship’s carpenter, his job was to plug the leaks and that’s what he and Johnny Reed had been doing since the rains began—jamming holes with oakum.
He wondered how Anna was faring. If the rain was coming through the planks or if his fixes had mended the leaks. Thoughts of her raced down like rain, pelting him. Was she thinking of him as he was thinking of her? As he was trying hard not to.
Still, what was she to him? Within a few weeks, she would be forgotten, like a tide washing out a message scrawled on sand. She was just an appealing, maddening woman. And the finest person he had ever known.
She wasn’t just another girl, like those he’d known in ports. Known, and yet not known at all. Whereas Anna he’d hardly touched at all, and yet he knew her well. He knew the way her mind worked, the way she craved being in the fresh air and hated to be confined below deck, the way her eyes shone whenever she spoke of her God.
He hadn’t planned to kiss her. It was a stupid thing to do, exceedingly stupid. He caught sight of her that night, standing in the rain, with her head lifted to the sky, and the next thing he knew he had crossed the deck and scooped her into his arms. When his mouth came down onto hers, she flung her arms around his neck, kissing him back with a surprising intensity. And when he made himself pull away, she looked up at him through eyes welling with affection. Nay, with desire. It spurred a response in his chest that he had no right to feel.
Reason enough to avoid her. He knew the Peculiars would think he was bent on corrupting her, tempting her away from her sheltered world and into a life of wickedness and worldly temptations.
Still, with her constantly on his mind, it wasn’t much surprise to see her standing at the top of the fo’c’sle deck ladder one evening while he took a turn at the helm. The world went cockeyed for him, and he was keen only on the red curves of her lips. More than anything in the world, Bairn wanted simply to circle her with his arms and rest his cheek on top of her hair, close his eyes for a moment, and feel her face pressed against his collarbone. But he didn’t. He kept his hands gripped firmly on the wheel.
They both waited, and then at the same time, they said each other’s names. Then they laughed, a little nervously.
She started over. “Do you think the rain is an answer to prayer?”
“A miracle sent down from the welkin, ye think?”
Her eyes lit with excitement. “Yes! Yes, that’s it exactly. Rain from the vault of heaven.”
A ragged laugh tore out of him, a laugh that didn’t sound like himself at all. “More likely a typical storm encountered on the open sea.”
“But you said yourself that the skies were red that evening. That there was no rain in the horizon.”
“Just shows that a seasoned sailor can be wrong.” In truth, he didn’t know what to make of the timing of the rain. No one expected it, not even Mr. Pocock, whose gouty toe was usually an accurate rain predictor. He felt that old battle war within himself—the wariness he had developed over the last eleven years, the fragile hope that he couldn’t stamp out. He wanted to believe the way she believed, and maybe that was all faith really was, he thought. Simply a need to believe.
She leaned forward, her voice softening. “It’s possible to change, Bairn. With prayer and effort and the help of God.”
“If yer up here tonight to preach me a sermon, you can turn right around and head back below.”
Anna stiffened. “No. I came because I wanted you to know that the only reason I let you kiss me was because I was happy about the rain.”
A wiser man—a smarter one, in any case—wouldn’t have said anything at all, merely given a polite nod of acknowledgment. “What kiss? I don’t remember any kiss.” He tried to smile, but he knew it must’ve looked all wrong.
Hurt passed through her eyes and he regretted his callousness.
A gust of cold wind lifted the strings of her prayer cover and she shivered, crossing her arms over her middle. “I feel nothing but confusion when you are near.” She said it as if she wished it weren’t so. “I meant to say, there is no peace about you.”
“There will be once I make my fortune.”
“I don’t think fortune will fill your emptiness.” She looked away from his face and after a moment said, “Good night, Bairn.”
What he wanted to say was that only when he was near her did he feel peace, that when he was away from her, he felt nothing but turmoil and trouble. He wanted to tell her that she made him feel like he could be a better version of himself, that she was the finest woman—nay, person—he’d ever met. But those words remained lodged in his throat. His vision blurred beneath a wash of unexpected tears and his chest was suddenly choked with feelings—feelings of love and anger and dismay and confusion, and a growing disgust with himself.
Why, if he wasn’t the biggest fool to ever breathe sea air. What did he expect? Who did he think he was, hoping for some kind of ordinary life? No woman like Anna deserved him. They weren’t the same kind of person at all. She should listen to that minister’s wife and marry some eager young Peculiar, innocent and ignorant, who had already ventured to the New World. Someone who shared her views about home and hearth, someone who cared nothing for earthly possessions. Someone who hadn’t done sinful and wicked things.
Someone who would probably never know what a treasure he had caught for himself.
Bairn welcomed the loneliness of the night, the darkness that engulfed him, as he listened to the keening of the wind and the rhythmic lapping of the sea against the hull. Peace and contentment, he’d long since decided and accepted, was something that happened to other people.
September 9th, 1737
A ruckus broke out in the lower deck. A rooster had gotten loose and half the lower deck erupted into flurries of hands, feathers, and screams. Felix leaped over two trunks to catch the rooster by the neck, and landed in the lap of a Mennonite woman.
“Well, this is a surprise,” she said. “Two chickens for dinner tonight!”
A plump woman said, “Toss back the feathery one and we’ll fry up the red-haired one. He looks a little plumper.”
Felix, beet red, crept back to the bow of the ship with the bird tucked safely under his arm. The women continued cajoling as though they were sitting at home. Their cheerful mood was infectious, and Anna felt rather buoyant. There was plenty of water for all and the ship seemed to be sailing along as if it had discovered wings. Soon, they would be in the New World. Everything, she thought, was going to be all right.
She must not, must not, must not think any more thoughts of the ship’s carpenter.
19
September 9th, 1737
That night, Anna had barely fallen asleep when she was woken by a woman’s cry. The cries grew louder and louder. Then someone shook her shoulder.
“Anna, it’s Peter. Lizzie needs you. It’s her time.”
Anna bolted from her hammock and hurried over to Lizzie’s pallet. “Oh Anna . . . help me.”
Anna watched a moment and then laid her hand on Lizzie’s abdomen. “Perhaps they’re just false spasms in your belly.” Oh God, please let it be false spasms.
“No. This is different.” Lizzie squeezed Anna’s hands, hard. “You’ve got to help me.” She let out a scream that echoed through the lower deck, waking everyone.
Maria lit a la
ntern and came to the pallet. “Perhaps it is a stomach worm, like my Catrina had. I’ll get some ginger slices.”
“No, Maria, she doesn’t need ginger. She is going to give birth.”
Maria looked at Anna with doubt and displeasure. “It’s much too soon for that. Impossible!”
Anna watched Lizzie a few moments more. Contractions were coming every few minutes. “Very possible. And soon.”
“Impossible,” Maria said again, a little less confidently this time.
Annie helped Lizzie to her feet and they walked around the lower deck for the next hour. Her contractions were sharp and irregular, her breathing harsh. She ran with sweat and finally couldn’t walk any longer, practically collapsing onto her pallet. She let out a bellow like an ailing cow. Peter was perched on the chest next to the pallet, looking as if he was experiencing labor pains along with his young wife.
“She’ll need privacy,” Anna said. “Can someone find a place for Lizzie?”
Christian rose to his feet. “I’ll find a spot.” He dragged the scarred wooden table that had served as the school for Anna’s English lessons into the bow of the ship. Then he returned and motioned to Peter to help Lizzie up. One hand to her round tummy, she pushed herself to her feet and staggered toward the table. Maria crouched down and put a red ribbon around Lizzie’s small wrist. “This will help draw off the pains.” She turned to Anna. “I’ll make up a potion.”
Anna had to bite her lip to not snap at Maria about her odd Braucher beliefs. Some were harmless, silly superstitions, but some were dangerous. It amazed her that Christian tolerated his wife’s practices.
Anna tried to remember what herbs her grandmother had in the garden. If only she’d paid more attention to her grandmother! Never had she felt so far from home. She remembered the herbs her grandmother used for the birthing process: birthwort for inducing contractions, lady’s mantle to stop bleeding, wormwood to relieve pain, raspberry leaf to speed the last part of labor, hops for their calming effect. Of course, there were none of those herbs tucked in her trunk because her grandmother hadn’t expected someone to give birth.
Maria hustled and bustled around her. She knew about chants and potions but surprisingly little about babies being born, and all her hustle and bustle did nothing to help. From all corners of the lower deck, women descended on Lizzie like a gaggle of geese, asking questions and offering suggestions, a sea of worried faces. Lizzie was struggling to sit up and was pushing so hard her red face looked near to bursting.
Anna looked to Christian. “Would you and Peter create a screen of some sort? To give her some privacy?”
Christian gathered sheets and hung them to provide some semblance of privacy. Lizzie’s pale hair was spread out on the pillow like a silvery-gold cloud, and terror filled her wide brown eyes. She cried out, calling for her mother. Her pains seemed extraordinarily fierce, or else she was uncommonly poor at managing.
Anna sponged the girl’s face with cool water. “You’ll forget the pain once you hold your babe in your arms.”
Peter came in and went out, returned and went out, unable to help but reluctant to leave.
After two hours, during which the spasms of labor grew closer and closer together, Lizzie wept and protested and declared again and again that she couldn’t go through with the birth.
“It’ll all be over with soon,” Anna said in her most soothing voice. “Only a little while longer.” But even as she said it, she shivered and prayed some more.
Finally, Anna looked at Peter. “Go upstairs to get hot water and clean cloths.”
“But how—how do I do that?” His lower lip protruded as though he were about to cry.
“You go ask Cook.”
“I don’t know who Cook is.”
“Someone will show you. Now go.” The boy departed like she’d kicked him in the back of his breeches.
Moments later, Peter returned. “The man in the galley told me the galley fires have been doused for the night.”
“Then ask Cook to light them again. Oh, never mind.” Anna looked around for Felix and didn’t see him, so she left Maria in charge of Lizzie, and Barbara in charge of Maria, and went up to the main deck to speak to Cook. She could use a little fresh air.
Upstairs, she felt disoriented. The sun was setting—the day had passed and it would soon be night again. And the baby hadn’t come. Soon, she hoped. Soon.
She saw the lantern glow from the galley and went inside. But it wasn’t Cook inside, it was Georg Schultz. He sat on a barrel, drinking from Cook’s private stash of the captain’s whiskey. He looked up at her, bewhiskered and bleary and red-eyed, and pushed to his feet, coming to stand quite close to her. She hovered on the coaming. She must have hot water for the babe. She must.
Go, came a whisper of warning. As she thought it, Georg Schultz surprised her with his quickness, pulling her forward and shutting the door behind her.
“It’s taken me awhile but I finally put it all together. The boy. The thief is the boy. Hans Felix Bauer. Son of Jacob Bauer.”
She stepped back, moving out of reach of his touch. “Why do you say that?”
“I heard the minister’s wife, Maria, call him by his full name. It was the day the rain came.” He moved toward her. “Suddenly, it was so obvious. Of course, of course. The little redheaded brat.”
She backed up a step, then another. “You said you wanted a watch. I’m searching for it.”
“Have you found it?”
“Not yet.”
“The watch is incidental, though it would be nice to be able to return it to the baron. Far better to return with the boy. More than double the reward.”
A panic gripped her chest so tightly that she thought her heart might stop beating. “No. No!”
“The Baron of Ixheim has rancor with Jacob Bauer. He holds Jacob Bauer responsible for the death of his sons.”
“The only thing Jacob Bauer did was to tell the truth. He saw the baron’s sons kill that man.”
“That’s not the way the baron views the situation. He believes that justice is due him.”
Understanding dawned on Anna. “So if he can’t have Jacob Bauer, he wants his sons.” She shivered. “He took Johann and he won’t be satisfied until he has one more.”
His smile was cold. “You are a clever girl.”
“Felix is just a boy. A child.” She stood like a statue, frozen to the spot. “I’ll tell the captain. He would never let you take a boy away from his family.”
His throat clenched around a harsh laugh. “So naïve, little Anna. The captain would never dare go against the baron’s orders. Not with so many more Germans wanting passage to America.”
“I will find the watch so you can get the reward. But leave Felix alone.”
“I think we can make an arrangement that would suffice.” His eyes were on fire with an unholy delight. “You know what I want from you.”
Oh, she knew what he wanted. She saw him for what he was—a poisonous man in dire need of God’s grace, and having none of it.
She spun around to leave when he grabbed her arm, his fingers biting deep, hauling her roughly up against him.
The sea was so calm that Bairn decided it was a good night to sharpen tools in his shop. Less chance of injury when the waters were quiet. He looked up to see Felix standing by the door, his eyes alive with panic.
“Anna! She’s . . .”
Anna? Tension rose in him at the mere mention of her name. “What is it?”
“Georg Schultz. Galley.” He pummeled his fists in the air. “He hurts her!”
Bairn cleared the deck in long strides, the alarm in Felix’s tone raking his every nerve. He was barely aware of the boy on his boot heels.
The galley was so narrow that Georg Schultz had Anna cornered. He leaned nose-to-nose with her.
Her stomach soured at the reeking smell of his putrid breath. “Please. Let me go.”
He laughed, exposing yellow teeth. “Come on, dear,” he urged in an oil
y, smooth voice. “I just want a taste of you. You’re a very pretty woman. Let me see you.” He pulled off her prayer covering, scattering its pins, and his hand was in her hair. “Let me touch you.” His grip on her waist relaxed, but then his hand moved up her side. At his touch she felt soiled, nearly nauseous.
She tried to fight down the terror that was rising within her. Her chest had locked tight and her breathing was shallow. She tried to stay calm, to keep her wits about her, as his hand started to grope her and she pushed him away. “Stop!”
“Feisty little wench, aren’t you?”
“Get your hands off me.”
He drew back, watching her, brows raised, his voice nearly growling. “Am I so repugnant to you?”
She stood her ground, unflinching. “Yes.”
Georg Schultz jerked back, stunned by her audacity. “Why you . . .” He reeled back his hand and struck her cheek. He raised his hand to hit her again and she screamed, so he pinned her against the wall with his other hand. He leaned toward her to press his mouth against hers, when suddenly the door almost flew off its hinges and in came Bairn. He pulled Georg Schultz off Anna and tossed him against the wall. Schultz sank to the floor like a bag of potatoes.
Bairn’s big hands clenched and unclenched rhythmically, his powerful chest shook. “If you dare lay a hand on her again, I’ll cast you overboard. Don’t think I won’t.”
Georg Schultz’s breathing was strident, his beard bristling, as he pulled himself to his feet. He scrubbed at his mouth with his coat sleeve.
“The captain will be outraged when he hears of this. You’ll be done totin’ passengers across the ocean.”
He thrust his finger at Bairn. “The captain won’t hear a word. Don’t forget what I know about you, Bairn.”
“That has nothin’ to do with hurtin’ Anna.”
Georg Schultz lifted his head and faced Bairn squarely. “Why do you care? Unless you want her for yourself?”
Bairn raised his arm to hit the man, but Anna grabbed his arm. “Don’t! Violence violates the word of God. It will only turn you into him. Just make him go.”
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