by Ursula Hegi
Tilli says, “I’ve already made up a bed for him on the bench by the Kachelofen.”
Already? What do you know? I search Tilli’s face, but her eyes flicker away.
“We’ll be back middle of the day tomorrow,” Lotte tells me.
I feel the tug of our friendship and know she feels it too, is just one slip of one word away from telling me. “Please, Lotte—”
But there’s Kalle with a chair from the table. He sets its back against the bench. “Climb in, Wilhelm.”
“No!” Something’s not right not true not right—
“It’s your favorite spot,” Heike reminds Wilhelm.
“Climb in,” his father says.
Wilhelm pretends to try. Slides off, limp arms and legs. “I can’t.”
“You do this all the time by yourself,” Heike says.
“Carry me,” he wails and lifts his arms to his mother. Hides his face in the dip between her neck and shoulder.
Heike tickles him behind his knees. “You’re not a baby.”
“Go home…”
Lotte’s eyes are on Tilli.
Who nods. Says, “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” Lotte whispers to her.
“I’ll stay here with you,” Tilli promises Wilhelm.
“Me too.” Heike pulls him from Lotte, swirls him around—cries of protest, then laughter—before she plops him onto the bench.
“Let’s check what’s happening here. Lie down.” Kalle pulls up Wilhelm’s shirt, plants a kiss on his belly.
Wilhelm giggles.
“I think we missed a spot here.”
“And here,” Wilhelm says and pulls his shirt higher, pokes a finger into his belly.
More kisses. “Tomorrow, you and I’ll check your belly again.”
When Lotte tucks Wilhelm in, his body eases.
I slip my shawl from my shoulders, cover him.
“We’ll bring you a surprise,” Kalle promises him. And when his son nods, something deep within Kalle opens toward him.
Tilli beams. “A surprise beyond anything you can imagine.”
46
You Must Grip What You Cannot Bear to Lose
Smells of fish and salt and rotting earth as Kalle and Lotte drag their rowboat across the tidal flats. Mist beads on their faces, on the backs of their hands, assumes the shimmer of all matter, and melds those colors as they shove the bow into the sea.
Kalle climbs in first and sits on the forward bench, his back to the sea, and grips the handles of the oars. Once Lotte jumps in and is on the center bench, he leans toward her and submerges the blades, leans back, working the oars hard. Then forward again.
“What if—” Lotte stops.
“What if what?”
“What if we cannot bring the children back here? What if their new family won’t let them go?”
He rows, steadily. “All I want is for us to be together.”
“You know that’s what I want too. But what if this is the one chance we have to live with them?”
Wilhelm’s absence reaches across the waters, weighs down their boat.
“So if we believe—truly believe,” Kalle starts, “… why didn’t we take Wilhelm along. Along to the others.”
“Because we thought we could bring them back here.”
“And now?”
“I think we have to live there … with them.”
“No one has returned.”
“We must want to be there.”
“I do. But—”
“Doubting Thomas had to lay his hand into Jesus’s open wound. I don’t call that belief.”
Belief is your inheritance. Doubt a sin.
“We have to get Wilhelm.” Kalle turns the boat—rapid strokes with one blade—till they face where they’ve come from.
“Take him with us.”
“Proof of our faith that we’ll be a family again.”
* * *
Noise outside the beekeeper’s house. Tilli gets to the door first to let them in. We’re relieved until Kalle says they’ve come for Wilhelm. To take him along. There’s a wild exhilaration about them.
“No!” Tilli cries.
“He’s asleep,” I tell them.
But Kalle hurries toward his son whose body is warm from the tiles of the Kachelofen. As he picks him up, my shawl drops from him. “How light you are. When Hannelore was two and a half, she was already heavier. Soon—”
“Stay here,” I implore them.
“Tilli will stay,” Kalle says.
“No!” Tilli spins toward him. She’s shaking. “It’s not supposed to be like this!”
“Have some soup with us, Kalle … Lotte.” The beekeeper’s voice is urgent. “We made a pot of chicken soup with carrots and barley.”
“We can’t be late,” Kalle says.
“Late for what?” the beekeeper asks.
Tilli holds her arms wide when Wilhelm leans away from his father, pivots, and dives toward her. A game that usually makes them laugh because they’re sure she’ll catch him. But his father only holds him tighter. So tight that Wilhelm kicks and screams.
Tears in Lotte’s voice. “I am so sorry, Tilli.”
Tilli grips her wrist. “It’s not what you promised me.”
I embrace Lotte to keep her from getting away. “Tell me what’s happening!”
“I’m just … cold.”
“Another reason to stay with us.”
Lotte’s arms come around me, won’t let go. Her body trembles.
“Something is terribly wrong,” I whisper. “What is it? Tell me. At least take my shawl.”
“I can’t.”
Tilli scoops the shawl from the floor, shoves it at Kalle. “Sabine says it’s yours now.”
Kalle extends his arms with his son to Tilli. Asks gently, “Would you like to wrap the shawl around him?”
But Tilli takes a step back. Another step and she’s out the door without closing it.
* * *
She runs. Not in the direction of the dory as they may expect, but away from it. Around the back of Sabine’s house. Then in a wide loop beyond Lotte’s house, the house she helped prepare for the Jansen children, believing she, too, belonged to their family. That’s how she stayed calm when they left without her and Wilhelm to get their children from Rungholt. But then they came for Wilhelm. Only Wilhelm.
Fury rips through her. Faster she moves. Faster across the dike in a low crouch so they won’t see her approach from the side. You must grip what you cannot bear to lose. She has trained for this ever since her own girl was stolen. Tilli screams. Screams no to the hands peeling her baby from her chest. Screams no to her mother pinning her legs apart on the kitchen table. Screams no to her father standing on the dock while the ferry takes her away. Screams no to Lotte who is climbing into the dory, Wilhelm on her hip.
“No!”
Lotte turns. Yells, “Go back to Sabine. Please.”
But Tilli already grips the stern. “Let me come with you.”
“You can’t—” Kalle grabs the handles of the oars.
But Tilli has lost enough—her own girl, her brother, her parents—and she won’t lose Wilhelm and his family. “Let me push you off. Then I’ll go back.” She can tell Lotte does not believe her.
But Lotte does not object. Keeps her eyes locked on Tilli’s.
“Now!” Tilli rams her palms against the stern—oh I can be cunning so cunning—rams her entire body forward till the boat glides into deeper water.
Then, she leaps.
* * *
The boat tilts, rocks as she tumbles in headfirst.
And Kalle yells, “Dummes Mädchen!” Stupid girl.
Blades parallel to the water, he steadies the dory with quick, shallow strokes, two on the right, two on the left, and again.
Lotte yanks Tilli onto the center bench next to her. “We’re not coming back.”
“I know.”
“Never. Do you understand never?”
Tilli nods.<
br />
“What about Heike and the others?”
Heike. She hasn’t considered losing Heike because the plan was for Lotte and Kalle to bring their children back home. But now Tilli will lose Heike and Sabine and everyone at the St. Margaret Home.
“You can still get out of this boat.”
“I’m coming with you.” If I knew how to keep all of them together, I would.
“We’ll live on Rungholt with our children.”
“And with me.”
Lotte nods.
“But how? Drop into the sea?”
“We’ll step on dry ground when the island rises.”
The surface of the Nordsee is flat as the dory glides into mist, easier to maneuver with the new ballast.
“Figureheads,” Kalle says.
“What?” Tilli asks.
“I’ll carve figureheads.”
“I’ll work as a midwife,” says Lotte.
“I’ll help with your children,” says Tilli.
“Good.”
“I’ll ask the shipbuilder about work in the harbor,” Kalle says. “Ship repair. Even unloading cargo until I find something better.”
“With our skills,” Lotte says, “there’ll be many jobs we can do.”
“I’ll carve toys for the children of Rungholt.” He feels the familiar clarity that tells him he’s making the right choice. That’s how you know. By that clarity. “If only I could bring my tools…”
“You know we can’t bring anything with us,” Lotte says.
“… wrap them in oilcloth and tie them to my body.”
“You can’t bring anything,” Tilli says.
“I don’t want to arrive there poor.”
“We’ll have everything we need,” Tilli says.
When they arrive above Rungholt, Kalle stills the oars, steadies the boat in place.
“Soon now,” Lotte says.
* * *
As they wait for slack tide, the mist thickens, conceals them from the world till they no longer know the direction they came from. Sea and sky are one color now, pearl-gray, without borders. Wilhelm shivers in Mutti’s arms. Above him gray shapes and no faces. He knows the shapes are Tilli and his parents. But what if they’re not?
They don’t dare move, afraid of losing their position. Lotte wills her children to see the boat. Here, right above you. See us here, HanneloreMartinBärbel.
But the surface remains unbroken.
See us waiting for you to show us how to go with you.
Wilhelm screams. Throws up his arms let-me-out-let-me- scrambles up up and the world teeters scrambles higher and away from the gray shapes from the screams—
“Get him!” Mutti screams. “I can’t hold on to him!”
Tilli springs to her feet and reaches into the fog and into the tangle of scrawny arms and legs that is Wilhelm kicking, grabs him around the middle to keep him from leaping— Kalle’s arms then, around Wilhelm, around them all, who stand with their hands on Wilhelm, linked by his terror. Water sloshes into the boat. Cold, so cold. Lotte spreads her legs, shoves the outer edges of her feet into the junction of bottom boards and sides to keep the boat from tipping. Wilhelm stiffens into an arch, kicks and claws, but Kalle turns him swiftly, his son’s back against his chest, a firmer hold because Wilhelm can only kick away from him. One arm around Wilhelm, he drops to his knees and starts bailing.
“What if there are no miracles?” Lotte asks.
Kalle is disoriented. Queasy. Feels Tilli slip past him. He cannot see her—can only sense movement and knows it’s not Lotte, knows how Lotte moves.
Lotte’s voice: “What if all we have are our hopes puffed up into miracles?”
“No longer cowardice then to doubt?” he asks.
“Not cowardice, no.”
He keeps bailing. “What, then?”
“Courage.”
“Then doubt must be the true blessing.”
* * *
On the forward bench, Tilli grips the handles of the oars. Feathers the blades to stabilize the dory.
“We were so sure, Kalle.”
“We were.”
The spell is dissipating. Laying bare their sorrow and loss. Hannelore and Martin and Bärbel have not been alive for one year and eight months.
But Wilhelm is. Alive. And what Kalle recognizes is that he cannot be without this one—
Sobbing, Vati sobbing. Wilhelm squirms, finds wet skin, wet face Vati’s—
And with that touch, Kalle can grieve that he’ll never hold his other children, sobbing while Wilhelm consoles him. Choosing Wilhelm. Daring to hope that this son will trust him.
“We must turn back,” Lotte cries, “before the current reverses.”
But already the boat is turning—
Tilli. Rowing. Flying.
“I’ll take Wilhelm,” Lotte says.
Kalle tilts toward her voice. Makes sure her arms enfold their son before he lets go.
Tilli. Relying on the strength of her body as she leans back to submerge the blades, and lets them catch hold of the water, pulling through hard before releasing them. And again. Away from the island and the fog that billows behind them; and though they can’t make out land, their course doesn’t matter as much as getting away. Are we moving in circles?
Rowing, Tilli keeps rowing.
Then Kalle rows.
Hours of this, taking turns while the other rests.
They are cold. They are tired. They are hungry.
“Sabine will dry us off.”
“We’ll sit by the Kachelofen.”
“The beekeeper will heat his soup and slice black bread.”
Lotte points to a halo of light burning through the fog.
* * *
They beach their dory. Kalle swings Wilhelm onto his shoulders. And they run, Tilli’s fingers around Wilhelm’s ankle, her other hand in Lotte’s, tethering them to her—mine, all mine, what’s left all mine—run through the dense white in the direction of the dike and the burning white that fans out—
—its shimmer so intense that it exhilarates Lotte, wounds her, and forever Sister Sieglinde is pulling one orange apart, golden half moons, and you open your lips, extend your tongue to receive a sliver of gold—juicy and sweet—but you won’t close your eyes as you must when you receive communion. And are not struck for seeing.
Wilhelm has his hands across Vati’s forehead tight because he’s bouncing on Vati’s shoulders. Where do I begin and where does he? Tilli’s hand around his leg tight like a new sock. On Kalle’s shoulders the sweet weight of his son. On his forehead those cold little hands. Wilhelm, counting on him to carry him home. Perhaps asking himself—Where do I begin and where does Vati? It is even before that question is only the suggestion of that question being born in Wilhelm’s soul as he rushes on his father’s legs through the marshland, toward the blinding halo that reveals the crest of the dike and the crowns of the trees, closer to Wilhelm now than to his father because Wilhelm is the one riding high. And enchanted.
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to my agent, Gail Hochman: Forty years, Sweetie, of growing up together in the publishing world!
I thank the dedicated and insightful editing team at Flatiron Books—Amy Einhorn, executive vice president and publisher; Caroline Bleeke, senior editor; and Conor Mintzer, assistant editor.
Thank you to my amazing readers, Mark Gompertz and Barbara Wright, and to my husband, Gordon Gagliano—always my first reader.
In my research I learned so much from the writers and visual artists who, over many decades, explored the landscape and myths of the Friesian Islands.
Recommend
The
Patron Saint
of Pregnant Girls
for your next book club!
Reading Group Guide available at
www.readinggroupgold.com
Also by Ursula Hegi
FICTION
Intrusions
Unearned Pleasures and Other Stories
; Floating in My Mother’s Palm
Stones from the River
Salt Dancers
The Vision of Emma Blau
Hotel of the Saints: Stories
Sacred Time
The Worst Thing I’ve Done
Children and Fire
NONFICTION
Tearing the Silence: On Being German in America
CHILDREN’S
Trudi & Pia
About the Author
Ursula Hegi is the author of thirteen books, including Stones from the River, Children and Fire, Floating in My Mother’s Palm, and Tearing the Silence, and is the recipient of more than thirty grants and awards. She teaches in the Stony Brook MFA program and lives with her family on Long Island. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Part One. Summer 1878
1. A Hundred-Year Wave
2. Tilli. Eleven Years Old
3. Before the Age of Knowledge
4. Invisible
5. This Odd and Sweet Fusion
6. Some Join the Zirkus When There’s Nothing Left
7. For Medicinal Reasons Only
Part Two. 1842–1845
8. Sisters and Girls Thrive in the Salt-Drenched Air
9. St. Margaret and the Dragon
10. Sister Hildegunde Confronts Her Dragon
Part Three. Fall 1878
11. Translucent Moons
12. Belly Dancers and Apostles
13. The Old Women Ride Their Bicycles to the Cemetery
14. Silvio Climbs into His Father’s Bed
