Anna's Crossing

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  The captain nodded. “We’re finished here.”

  “No, sir, we’re not.”

  The captain gave Bairn a tight smile. “Then wait here. I’ll return and we can finish this discussion.”

  He opened the door and shouted for Johnny Reed to fetch Georg Schultz and bring him to the Great Cabin.

  By the time the captain returned, Georg Schultz had already arrived and had settled himself in the chair.

  Bairn stood in the center of the room, feet straddled. “Captain, sir, I have something to tell you. You and Schultz both.”

  “Perhaps Mr. Schultz wouldn’t mind vacating my chair for this important announcement.”

  Georg Schultz slowly rose.

  “I won’t be stayin’ in Port Philadelphia this winter. I’ll be returnin’ to Rotterdam with Schultz. I’ll go in the laddie’s place.”

  “Very nice offer, Bairn,” Georg Schultz said, “but the baron wants only a Bauer.”

  “And so he will have him.” He fixed his gaze on Georg Schultz. “My name is not Bairn. My name is Hans Bauer. I am Jacob Bauer’s eldest son.”

  22

  September 13th, 1737

  Something had come over Dorothea. She was making changes and she was not a great one for change.

  Anna had a theory that it was the baby that cured Dorothea. Her old indomitable spirit came back to her with the care of this infant boy. Her powerful maternal instincts had kicked in and told her that she was the protector, the provider. She didn’t have time anymore to be sad or depressed. She couldn’t afford to be woolly minded. The baby’s life depended on her.

  Dorothea was sleeping, the baby lying on her chest. One hand was protectively over him, the other lay limp by her side. She was smiling. The baby was never alone, day and night. He had the warmth, the touch, the softness, the smell, the moisture of a mother. He heard her heartbeat and her voice. Above all, he had her love.

  The baby stirred and Dorothea’s eyes flickered open. She reached for a saucer at the side of her and began to squeeze milk she had extracted from the goat, pressing out a few drops, which fell into the saucer. Then she took a tiny silver salt spoon, something Felix had found—Anna had a sneaking suspicion he had found it among the captain’s things but she didn’t really want to know the answer. Dorothea held the little baby in her left hand and touched his lips with the spoon she held in her right hand.

  Anna watched, fascinated. The baby’s lips were no bigger than a couple of flower petals. A tiny tongue came out and licked the fluid. She repeated this about six or eight times, then tucked him back between her breasts. She did this each time the baby woke, even through the nights. Then they both would catch a little sleep, and she would feed him again.

  “She said he won’t die, and he won’t, you know,” Felix told Anna. “She knows how to look after baby boys.”

  And what about bigger boys? Anna thought, but didn’t say aloud. She had asked Felix again and again if he knew where that gold watch was and, each time, he denied that he knew anything about it. She was almost starting to think he really didn’t have anything to do with the watch, but then she remembered the morning of Johann’s funeral, when he had disappeared for a time.

  She looked through all of Felix’s belongings to try to find the gold watch. She went through her own chest, through Dorothea’s belongings, even Catrina’s. She tried to think the way Felix thought. If the watch were left in Ixheim, she figured he would confess as much. But he wasn’t budging from his denial, which made her certain that it was on this ship. But where? Where could it be?

  Time was running out. They would be in Port Philadelphia soon. She had to find that gold watch.

  September 14th, 1737

  The rain seemed to come out of nowhere. At dawn, there was nothing more than a light chop on the waters, a typical gray, late fall day with light winds out of the southeast. An hour later, sustained winds were blowing out of the southwest. By noon, gusts were screaming over the sea.

  From the fo’c’sle deck, Bairn caught sight of the waves swirling toward them, a mountain of water plunging across the sea to crash upon the deck. “All hands on deck,” he shouted. “Topmen aloft.”

  Then the downpour changed to a gentle spray of water, and the lightning and thunder moved away. But it was too still, oddly quiet. Bairn searched the sky. The clouds had a funny green tinge that bled out into the air. The sailors stopped what they were doing and looked curiously to Bairn for direction.

  Bairn didn’t notice that Georg Schultz had assumed the storm was over and ventured from the lower deck to step onto the upper deck.

  Suddenly the wind hissed like a snake in the sky and began swirling madly overhead, shrieking through the rope rigging. The bow of the ship lurched upward. Bairn heard a terrifying scream and spun around to see Schultz stagger to the ship’s railing and tumble into the sea.

  That should have been the end of him. Bairn rushed to the rail and saw Schultz gripping the topsail halyard that dangled over the side, holding onto the rope with a wild desperation.

  “Hang on, Schultz!” Bairn yelled. He turned to the deckhands. “Over here. Come help!” Several sailors took up the halyard and hauled Schultz back in, finally snagging him with a boat hook and dragging him over the railing and onto the deck.

  Georg Schultz lay on the deck, so still that Bairn thought surely this was the end of him. Then he coughed and sputtered and heaved, very much alive.

  September 15th, 1737

  Georg Schultz might have survived a toss overboard, but illness soon caught up with him. It started with a racking cough that curled his shoulders. And then chills set in. Passengers avoided him, fearful of any contagion. They all knew that ships could be easily quarantined for disease and wanted none of it.

  “Anna, wake up.”

  “What?” Disoriented, she opened her eyes and lifted her head. “Christian?” Still fuzzy from sleep, her head bobbed slightly before she jerked erect and ran her hands over her face. “Christian, what is it?”

  “Follow me.”

  Immediately, Anna rose from the hammock and came to her feet. She followed Christian down the aisle to the stern, where he stopped in front of Georg Schultz’s sleeping shelf.

  “Listen to his breathing. Doesn’t it sound strange?”

  It was an odd sound, like the bellows from a fireplace. Anna bent over and placed her palm on his hot forehead. “He’s got a fever.”

  “Have you anything to help him in your remedy box?”

  Fever. Fever. Anna bit her lip, thinking. What did her grandmother do to bring down a fever? Why hadn’t she paid more attention? Because, she realized, she had never thought she’d need to know such essential knowledge. “Perhaps I could fix a vinegar compress for his forehead.”

  Anna and Christian stayed by the Neulander’s sleeping shelf through the rest of the night, but by dawn, his fever and racking cough worsened.

  Christian looked at her. “I think he has pneumonia.”

  She met his gaze. “I think so too.”

  As the day wore on, Anna checked on Georg Schultz. Late in the afternoon, she leaned forward and placed a palm on his forehead; it seemed even hotter. Christian wrapped him tightly in a wool blanket. Anna fixed a hot poultice for his neck and chest, but the constant wheeze of his breathing grew more labored.

  After his last turn on watch that evening, Bairn came down to check on the patient. He hunched forward with his lips pressed to his thumb knuckles, staring intensely at the man’s chest. His chest seemed to strain for each bit of air.

  “He’s growing worse,” Anna said quietly.

  “Aye, well, ’tis his own doing. ’Twas a foolish thing t’go above deck in a storm.” He crossed his arms against his chest. “Anna, why do you bother nursin’ a man like him back t’life? If he lives, he’ll ne’er thank you for it.” His voice fell to a murmur. “All ye need t’do . . . is . . . nothin’. No one would blame you.”

  Do nothing. The reckless thought had crossed her mind, had
tempted her—she was no saint. Georg Schultz was repugnant to her. She couldn’t stand being in the same vicinity of him, recoiled at touching him. Nor could the other passengers. He had alienated himself after those interviews to find the thief of the baron’s watch and they were fearful of his illness spreading through the lower decks.

  Anna thought Bairn would leave as quickly as he came, but he bent down and propped some pillows behind Georg’s back.

  Felix rushed to the bedside, eager for a chance to be near Bairn. “Vhy are y’doin’ that?”

  “So he won’t choke.”

  Bairn settled down on the ground beside Georg Schultz’s bunk, bracing his elbows on his knees, bent forward, studying the man. As if he sensed Anna watching him, he glanced up. But her eyes skittered down; she was unable to look at him. The candle was nearly out, and Anna fetched a fresh one, lit it, and placed it in the holder, casting shadows that bounced off the corners.

  “You dinnae answer me question. Why do you do it?”

  Anna lifted exhausted eyes to him. There was no sting in Bairn’s words, only gentleness in his eyes, softness in his curiosity. “Don’t you know by now?”

  The moment lasted but several seconds. “Aye . . . I guess I do.”

  Her eyes lingered on his—those compelling, memorable gray eyes of his—but she was conscious of Felix studying them both and she only smiled. That was Felix. Never around unless you didn’t want him. He was quicksilver, there and gone again before you knew.

  “I’ll stay with Schultz for a while, Anna. Why don’t you and the laddie get some sleep?”

  Hours later, Anna woke. She found Bairn asleep on the ground next to Georg Schultz’s bunk in the stern. His coughing had grown loose, and he mumbled incoherently, then fell still again.

  Anna went to the side of the bunk, tested his forehead, found it cooler. She sighed and slumped her shoulders in relief. “He’s going to live.”

  “You sound relieved,” Bairn said, woken by the coughing.

  “I am,” Anna said.

  Bairn sat up and leaned his elbow on his raised knee. “You make it sound easy.”

  “It’s not. It’s not easy at all to do the right thing.” But she feared God more than she loathed Georg Schultz. “How could we face God one day, if we did nothing to help this man?”

  Bairn gazed at her in quiet amazement and she wished he wouldn’t credit her with such noble gestures. Keeping vigil over Georg Schultz was not easy.

  “Where are the others who share yer beliefs?” He looked around the lower deck. “Fast asleep.”

  She felt her face grow warm. “Others have helped.” Not many, but a few.

  “’Tis curious that when others are in need, yer the natural one t’turn to for help.”

  Just as she was about to object, to insist that her response came from a desire to please God, he put a finger to her lips. “Hush, lassie. Yer the one blessed with the gift of healin’. Souls as well as bodies.”

  Gift of healing? Me? she thought. Me?

  September 17th, 1737

  The day was cool but sunny. A seagull appeared in the sky, first one, then another, and Bairn rushed to the fo’c’sle deck. He picked up the spyglass to peer out to the horizon but saw no land in sight. The color of the water had changed from deep blue to pale green. Another seagull appeared and the seamen’s shouts and cheers created such a stir that a number of passengers rushed up to the waist.

  Bairn saw Felix and Dorothea, babe in her arms, stand by the railing, watching the seagulls dive for some hardtack that Johnny Reed threw on the deck. Watching and laughing.

  An invisible cord yanked at his heart. He picked up the spyglass and studied his mother through it, finding her much changed. The lines about her eyes seemed more pronounced. And her fire red hair—could it be?—was now silver. The transformation shook him. She was but . . . how old was she, anyway? . . . he couldn’t remember, but guessed she was but forty.

  Over the last week, he’d observed the Peculiars every chance he could, with awe, with disappointment, mostly with fascination and wonder. They were not perfect, but they were his. His people. She, she was his mother. The laddie, he was his brother.

  He felt a movement beside him and turned to find Anna standing at the top of the ladder. He felt a surge of emotion for her and blinked back tears.

  She shielded her eyes from the sun to peer up at him. “Do you think this is how Noah must have felt when a dove returned with an olive branch?”

  A smile tugged at his lips. “We will be seeing land soon. Very soon.” His smile faded when he added, “Anna, tonight, meet me at the ship’s helm at third watch.” The time had come for a talk.

  She nodded, looking puzzled.

  The moon, round and creamy, had risen, shedding a soft light over the waters. From the feel of the air, this night brought the first hint of winter’s coming. Bairn leaned against the rail and scrubbed his hands over his face. Beyond him a dozen feet away, he sensed the helmsman looking on with concern.

  When he noticed Anna standing at the top of the ladder, with her hands linked behind her back, he turned to the helmsman and relieved him. “Carter, I’ll take the wheel for the next hour.” He closed the distance between Anna and himself and he held a hand out to her. “Come, lassie.”

  She stood at the helm, with Bairn behind her.

  “I wanted a few moments alone with you.”

  She didn’t press him, but he knew she was curious about why he asked her to meet him tonight. Curious and impatient.

  His chest moved against her back as he eased out a held breath. “I’m n’ good at this, Anna. It’s like lettin’ the wheel go free in a storm.” His arms, which had been wrapped loosely around her, tightened a little.

  “Maybe I can help. I have a question I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

  Bairn drew a shaky breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Ask away.”

  “Why do you have those deep scars on your ankles?” She dipped her head down, as if she could see through his boots.

  Lord, where to begin? It occurred to him that he had just prayed again, that somehow he had developed a respect for the power of prayer. What change had come over him, headstrong and foolish, who only weeks earlier had found the whole idea of prayer to be a joke?

  Start at the beginning, came the answer.

  “Anna, do you recognize this frock?” He reached down and picked up his father’s red coat to hand to her.

  She held it in the air. “It’s a mutza. A red mutza.” She turned it over. “One or two men in my church have these red mutzas. Most of the mutzas are homespun brown. But those who came from Oberländer in the Bern of Canton, in Switzerland, they had these fine red coats.”

  “Do y’happen to remember if Jacob Bauer wore a red mutza?”

  She tilted her head. “Why, yes. Yes he did. But it was long ago.” She opened the interior of the coat and saw the initials JB embroidered into the lining. “Is this . . . Jacob’s coat?”

  Bairn nodded. “Aye.”

  “Bairn, were you the cabin boy for Captain Stedman on that crossing?”

  Bairn lowered his head. He didn’t trust his voice. He shook his head. “Nay.”

  After a lengthy pause, Anna said, “But you were on the ship with Jacob?”

  “I was on the ship with Jacob Bauer, because . . .” He cleared his throat. It felt as if he had ground glass in there. “I am his son. Thought to have died from smallpox. I am Hans Bauer.”

  It took a moment for Anna to catch up to what Bairn was confessing. Then she spun around to look at him. Her face blanched, her hands flew to her mouth, her eyes widened in disbelief while she stiffened as if struck by lightning. “B . . . Bairn?” At last her hands fluttered downward and she stammered again in a choked voice, “Hans?” She closed her eyes. Though she made no sound, tears began to slide down her cheeks. She opened her eyes and sought his. “Can it be true? Is it really you? You are . . . Hans Bauer?”

  He nodded.

  “But . .
. what happened? Why weren’t you with your father?”

  “We both took sick and became separated. The ship was in utter chaos, with ailin’ bodies scattered everywhere. When I recovered, I was told my father was dead and I was taken off the ship. I’m guessin’ that he recovered after me and was told his son had died. I’m sure he would’ve searched the ship until he was satisfied I was gone.”

  Bairn gave Anna an abbreviated version of a story that was etched on his mind. He still remembered the rain that was pounding the ship, the wind that moaned in the tops of the masts, the mournful sounds of other sick passengers. He remembered lying on his pallet after he had been told that his father had died. Set suddenly and unexpectedly adrift in the world, uncertain of what to do next, he was filthy, dazed, and hungry. Fear and loneliness weighed on him, pressing down on his chest, pushing him into despair. He did not want to get up, did not really care if he ever got up. Finally, though, he did get up and was led off the ship. Despite his despair, his body was healing.

  And in a way, so was his determination to survive. His father had taught him that the very problems a man must overcome in life also supported him and made him stronger in overcoming them. Somehow, he would survive.

  Her hand lighted on his arm, tugging him back with a questioning gaze. “Is that when your ankles were shackled?”

  “Aye. I was handed off to a redemptioner to be auctioned off,” he said, his voice gone flat and cold now. “Georg Schultz bought my debt and sold me off to a shipping agent named Otto Splettshoesser, who treated me like he treated his hogs. Worse. I ran away first chance I got, but he caught me with dogs that he bred for fighting. He dragged me back to his place and put shackles on my legs and chained me to a post in the barn.

  “He kept me chained to that post in the barn when he wasn’t workin’ me like a coolie.” His throat locked up for a moment. The darkness and the silence of the night lapped around them. He’d never told anyone this much before and he wasn’t sure he could finish the tale. His voice felt raw, hoarse, as if someone had his hands on his throat. Anna held herself completely still, holding her breath, waiting for the rest of the story. As if she might’ve guessed the ending.