“Greet was a good friend.” Her voice cracked. “A good friend. I shall miss her. You were lucky to have her in your life. You must think about that, Katrien. Remember the good times and do not dwell on the bad.”
I nodded. Her words soothed in a way I didn’t expect, especially not from Mrs. Brinckerhoff. “What about your family?” I asked.
“All but my youngest survived. And he made it through the explosion and the terrible rain of fire. It was the days without water that were too much for his little body to bear.”
“The rain of fire only lasted a short while, but it set buildings ablaze and caused an explosion at the docks.” I realized now that Vader may have perished at that time, and a knife of pain stabbed my heart. I hoped that wasn’t true. Better to have been washed to sea by the waves than burn. “Ash fell for days and days and the giant waves hit us.”
“The waves.” Her voice sounded distant, as if she were reliving the nightmare of Krakatau’s eruption. “We managed to escape the waves. We ran to our cabin in the hills. Hundreds of natives joined us and slept around the cabin. I think they hoped we could protect them in some way. As if we had any more control over that blasted volcano. It was awful. I didn’t sleep. I made sure my children were safe, and all night I was terrified the cabin would burst into flames.”
“Vader went to his office on the waterfront after the first eruption. To send telegraph messages to Batavia.” I swallowed. “I never saw him again. He’s gone, too.”
“Niels and Greet are both gone?” Her voice rose in shock. “You poor thing.” She tried waving her hand but sobbed in pain. “When we get out of this hospital you are welcome to join us. I’m going to try to convince Willem to return to the Netherlands. I no longer want to live here. I want no part of rebuilding any of the East Indies. I want to leave.”
Did she just ask me to return to the Netherlands with her? Mrs. Brinckerhoff? She had never shown much kindness toward me before. “Why would you offer to help me?” I asked. The question sounded so rude—even to my ears—that I bit my lip and covered my mouth.
She did not notice. “As I said, your aunt was a dear friend. Friends care for each other—and, by extension, we care for each other’s families. It’s what friends are for, isn’t it?”
I thought about everything Brigitta and I had been through. At that moment, I would do anything for her. She had gotten us rescued. She had saved us. I may have kept us from getting killed by giant waves, but ultimately it was she who had saved our lives.
“Yes. It is what friends do for each other, Mrs. Brinckerhoff,” I answered. “And I appreciate your kindness. However, my uncle Maarten is caring for me now. I don’t know what we’ll do when I get out of the hospital, but I would like to hear from you when you get settled in the Netherlands.”
“It’s good you still have family here, Katrien. Family is important.”
“Ja. So are friends.”
“Friends are walking miracles given to us by God.”
I pushed Sister Hilde’s spectacles up. Dragging Brigitta into the jungle had been the best decision of my life. I forced her to climb trees and trudge kilometers from Anjer and sleep on the ground. If I hadn’t done that, I would be dead now. That Brigitta and I had survived the eruption, the waves and the lack of food and water without killing each other was unexpected. But the fact that we had emerged from that nightmare as friends was miraculous.
I was still pondering this when Brigitta approached my bed that afternoon. Her face was still pink from the sun, but her smile was cheerful and bright. I used to think it was smug. Getting to know someone could change your entire perspective. Tante Greet had tried to teach me that.
“You are right,” I called to Mrs. Brinckerhoff. “Friends are special. I wouldn’t be here now without mine.”
I thought I saw her smile. “However cruel nature may be, Katrien, and however mysterious God’s ways, He did save us. His name be praised.”
“Amen,” Brigitta said, taking her seat beside me.
Chapter 49
Nine days later, Oom Maarten carried me from a carriage into his small parlor with its new wallpaper. Green vines covered the walls, reminding me of the jungle before its destruction.
He and Brigitta had transformed the space. Instead of the furniture that normally filled the room, I saw they had moved the bed down from the spare room upstairs—the bed Tante Greet and I had always shared when we visited. Tables stood on either side, topped with simple candle lanterns.
And there, in the center of the room, was a wooden wheeled chair. Torben sat in the seat and bounded off when he saw us. His sharp yips echoed around the room.
“Oh, Torben,” Brigitta said. “Shhh. You don’t need to be so loud. Katrien can see you.”
Oom Maarten chuckled. “She almost didn’t. He disappeared about two days before the disaster. I searched for him but couldn’t find him anywhere. Then I heard you were in the hospital. I honestly quit looking for him after that.” He shifted me in his arms. “Do you know what I found when I came home from the hospital that night?”
“Torben?” I guessed.
“Torben!” A huge grin lit his face. “Sitting in front of the door looking at me like he wondered where I had been!”
“People do say that animals can sense danger,” Brigitta said. “Maybe he fled and only returned when he knew it was safe.”
Her words struck me, and I thought about our escape into the jungle. Was that why we didn’t see any animals? Had they sensed the impending eruption and fled?
For the first time since the catastrophe, I felt a spark of curiosity illuminate my brain, and I couldn’t help smiling. My feet as I knew them were gone, but my mind, at least for a moment, had felt familiar again. Perhaps I’d explore this theory further someday.
Oom Maarten placed me into the seat of the wheeled chair with great care. “I bought it from a man at work. His father used it in the last years of his life. But now it’s yours.” He smiled at me and turned to Brigitta, who carried a pair of wooden crutches into the room. “I always thought it would be neat to be in a wheeled chair. Maybe you’ll let me borrow it, Katrien?”
“Maybe,” I said in as light a tone as I could muster. My heart ached as I stared at the crutches. I had tried using them at the hospital, but I fell with a loud yelp and woke all the sleeping patients. The staff refused to let me practice again.
Now, in the comfort of my uncle’s home, I vowed I would not spend the rest of my life tied to this blasted chair. I was determined to use the crutches.
Oom Maarten picked Torben up and smiled again. “I’ll leave you two girls alone. This is your room now. Make it yours. If you want to decorate it, I will be only too happy to assist.” At the door, he turned serious. “I am sorry for the circumstances that brought you here.” Tears filled his eyes, and I realized for the first time that he had lost a brother and sister in the catastrophe. “But,” he continued, more controlled now, “I’m so glad I’m here to help.” Then he closed the door and left us alone.
Brigitta leaned the crutches against the wall. “I hope you don’t mind sharing the room.”
“Of course not.”
“Let me know when you’re prepared to practice with these.”
“Now. Let’s begin now.”
She startled. “Now?”
“Ja.” I nodded.
“Don’t you wish to rest a bit first?” She gestured to the bed.
I shook my head. “No. Why would I want to wait?”
She shrugged. “I thought you might be tired.”
“No.” I waved at the crutches. “I want to get started.”
She sighed and set them on the floor in front of my chair. “No time like the present.”
Smiling, I grabbed the handles. “No time indeed.” I tried pushing myself out of the chair, but it rolled backward. “Homo sapiens.”
Brigitta gasped.
I tried again, but the chair moved once more. “Terra firma.”
Brigitta
edged around to the back of the chair. “Would you like assistance?”
“Just hold the chair still.”
She braced her foot against one of the wheels and grasped the handles.
Pushing again, I used all the strength in my arms to heave myself up. Then, one of the crutches slipped on the varnished floor and clattered to the ground. For once, my Latin failed me. “Oh, damn and blast!” I flung the other crutch across the room. Torben barked in the hall.
“Katrien! Don’t do that,” Brigitta scolded.
“Why not?” I cried. “I’ll never learn to walk with the blasted things! I may as well give up now.”
She picked up both crutches and stood them in front of my chair, appraising me.
I avoided her gaze.
She didn’t say a word, but I could imagine the vitriol she wanted to spew.
Then I silently berated myself. Brigitta had been nothing like her old self since the disaster. She had changed. Or maybe I had. Maybe she had always been caring. Maybe she had been right in the jungle. Maybe I was detestable.
Unable to bear the silence, I blurted, “What?”
“It’s just that I never thought of you as a quitter before.”
That stung. “I’ve never had to relearn a skill I mastered by the age of two before.” I slapped the arms of the chair.
She sat on the edge of the bed. “Do you truly want to stay in that chair?”
“No.”
“Then stand up.”
“Brigitta.” I slumped. “I can’t.”
“I’ll help you.”
I pushed Sister Hilde’s spectacles up. “But I need to be able to do it on my own.”
“Not at first, you don’t.” She came over and took my hand, kneeling by my feet. “Katrien, learning to walk is not an overnight process—it wasn’t even when you were a baby. It’s going to take time. Believe me, I helped little Jeroen, and I intend to help you. You’ll get there.”
“Do you really believe that?”
Her eyes grew intense. “I know that. You’re tough and brave and capable.”
“Let’s get to work then.” I smiled. “Together.”
She grinned. “It will be my pleasure.”
Helping me out of the chair, she gave me the crutches for balance, and I took my first wobbly step into my new life.
Chapter 50
After weeks of work, I had made progress walking with crutches. I could even get out of bed on my own. Brigitta laughed until she cried the first time she saw me roll onto my belly, drop my legs over the side and push off with my arms. The method worked, comical or not.
Getting in and out of chairs was still a difficult maneuver. I never realized how much I used my toes to sit and stand.
Brigitta divided her time between helping me and running Oom Maarten’s home. He tried to stop her, claiming he was a confirmed bachelor set in his ways, but she smiled and told him it was her way of thanking him.
One morning, I woke to the sound of a heavy downpour falling on the tamarind trees that were planted in a neat row along the street. “It’s raining pipe stems!” I cried. Even if it stopped, the ground would be muddy. “No chance of practicing outside.” I sighed. I didn’t have many opportunities left to walk with Brigitta.
My friend would leave for the Netherlands next week. Her grandparents—to whom she had sent a telegram when I came home from the hospital—had mailed her a note filled with loving words, money and a ticket to Amsterdam the moment they heard from her. As glad as I was that Brigitta had a caring family to go to, I was dreading her departure.
An ache formed in the pit of my stomach as I listened to the rain. “What will I do without her?” I whispered, rubbing Torben’s belly.
Brigitta’s voice carried down the hall from the kitchen. She was singing again.
“On a giant mushroom
red with many white dots
Spindle-shank the little gnome
was wobbling back and forward.”
Although I wasn’t hungry, I snatched up Sister Hilde’s spectacles and wriggled off the bed. Grabbing my crutches, I walked in my slow, halting manner down the hall. Torben trotted in front of me, his nails clicking on the wooden floor.
I held onto the table’s edge and eased myself into a chair. Brigitta was nowhere to be seen, but her voice came from the pantry. “Do you want jam or cheese with your bread?” Torben followed the sound.
“Jam.” I hadn’t eaten cheese since that last night with Tante Greet. “Where’s Oom Maarten?” I asked.
“He left early, before the rain began. Sit, Torben. I think he was going to arrange a carriage for us next week.”
“Oh,” I whispered.
“Here.” She set the jam jar on the table. “Can you cut the bread?”
“Of course.”
She grabbed the bread out of the bread box and set it in front of me, along with a knife. “Then get to it. Do you think you’re crippled or something?” she teased. A bit of Oom Maarten’s silliness had rubbed off on Brigitta. She was more carefree than I remembered. But perhaps that was because the low opinion I had held for her colored my memories of the past.
Her gentle teasing reassured me, and I smiled in spite of my dreary mood. “Are we having tea or coffee this morning?”
“Tea.” She set plates on a tray. “Would you like some butter?”
I shook my head and added the slices of bread to the plates. She popped the loaf back into the bread box.
“I need to make the bed,” she muttered, leaving the kitchen for our room. “Come on, Torben. Help me.” He trotted behind her.
The silence she left behind filled the room like a scream, and a wave of melancholy hit me. “When she leaves, I’ll have no one to talk to,” I whispered to myself. “Oom Maarten can never understand what we’ve been through.” My eyes unfocused and tears streamed down my cheeks.
The idea of Brigitta leaving truly hurt. She was my last connection with Anjer. Oom Maarten checked every day, but the only other survivors from Anjer were the lighthouse keeper and a retired ship captain neither Brigitta nor I knew.
I placed my hands on the varnished table. The smooth, polished surface felt wrong. Our table in Anjer had been rough and plain and stained with use. A table in a kitchen shouldn’t be smooth, I thought. There should be nicks and cuts and marks and damage.
But Oom Maarten’s kitchen was immaculate. It always had been. Even Brigitta—who had grown up with a housekeeper and a cook and knew the way things ought to be—did not have to do much to keep the room pristine. Except for the dishes now sitting on the tray, everything was in its place. The fruit sat in a wooden bowl, the bread hid in the bread box, the staples resided in the pantry.
With a frustrated growl, I hurled the jam jar against the wall. It shattered with a satisfying crash, and the jam made a wet splashing sound when it hit the floor.
“What was that for?” Brigitta asked, returning to the kitchen just in time to witness my fit of pique.
I shrugged. “No reason.”
She put her hands on her hips. “So we’re not having jam for breakfast, I gather.”
I shook my head.
Torben walked over to the mess, sniffing. “No, Torben,” Brigitta ordered. He backed off and looked at her expectantly. “What else is there to eat with bread?”
“There may be some honey in the pantry.” I traced the pattern in the grain.
She moved to the stove; Torben followed. “Why don’t you check?”
“You know I need help getting out of chairs.” I hated relying on other people for assistance. And I hated the whine in my voice.
“I thought you wanted to do things on your own.”
“I do.” A rumble of thunder echoed outside. The rain wasn’t stopping anytime soon.
“Then do it,” she said. “You can get out of that chair by yourself, Katrien. I know you can.”
“No, I can’t.”
She walked over to the table, her expression touched with amusement. “You
are acting like a child right now. I don’t know why, but I wish you would stop. You aren’t a child, Katrien. You can get out of that chair. Anyone who has been through volcanoes, and giant waves and nearly died of thirst can certainly stand up from a seated position.” She crossed her arms and gave me an indulgent smile.
I pushed up Sister Hilde’s spectacles and glared at Brigitta. “You forgot amputation.”
“No, I didn’t.” She brushed some crumbs off the table. “I was hoping you would. You can stand up on your own, Katrien.” She squeezed my shoulder and moved back to the stove. “What would Darwin say?”
The answer came automatically. “ ‘Battle within battle must be ever recurring with varying success.’ ”
“Why don’t you follow his advice, then?”
“Fine!” Slapping the table, I pushed myself up. But my arms wobbled, and I dropped back in the chair. “I told you I couldn’t do it.”
She set the silverware on the tray. “Do you think Darwin would have given up so easily? Try again,” she said, patting my hand and returning to the stove.
Taking a fortifying breath, I curled my fingers around the table’s edge and clung to the wood like I had clung to the trees during the waves. My knuckles were as white as pearls. The tendons in my arms were taut like ropes. Bit by slow bit, I managed to pull myself erect.
“I did it!” I was astonished.
Brigitta handed me my crutches. “I knew you could.” Her face glowed with pride. “Now, go look for honey.”
I stumbled with my crutches over to the pantry and found a pot of sticky gold. “There is some here, but I can’t carry it and work the crutches. I need a third hand.” My voice was no longer whining, but tinged with suppressed laughter.
“I’ll get it as soon as I clean up this mess.” She bent down to the floor and scooped the jam and broken jar into a rag, which I noticed was made from the shirt I had forced her to wear in the jungle. “Why don’t we have some belimbing with breakfast, too? And I’ll get the tea. We’re going to eat in the dining room. I think we need a good start to the day.”
After the Ashes Page 21
