The Newcomer

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  Lagging far down the path came two British soldiers on horseback. While Maria prepared a meal, Anna translated for the soldiers. They had accompanied Henrik on the return trip, he explained, for two reasons: to assure the church that the land warrants were valid and also to secure the borders.

  “The French are trying to encroach beyond the Blue Mountain range,” one of the soldiers said. “The matter is now in the hands of the king’s army.”

  Christian turned to Henrik with a sad look. “They are men of war. There will be bloodshed on our behalf.”

  “But Christian,” Henrik said, “by enforcing what the law says is right, peace will prevail.”

  The soldiers left soon after eating a meal. Henrik motioned to Anna to come outside with him, so she wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and followed him to the fire pit.

  “I think it might snow tonight,” she said. The first snow of winter. She shivered as a gust of wind swept past.

  “Anna,” he said, his voice somber. “There’s something I need to show you.” He pulled a newspaper out of his pocket. “Wasn’t the name of the ship that the Bauer brothers sailed on called the Lady Luck?”

  “Yes. That’s right. Why?”

  “I have some news.” He held the newspaper out to her and pointed to an article on the front page with the headline “LADY LUCK GOES DOWN IN FLAMES IN BOSTON HARBOR.”

  Time stopped. A shard of lightning rent the sky, illuminating the dense clouds as if a lantern were lit behind it. Her scalp started tingling. The rush of blood pounding in her ears overwhelmed all other sounds. Tears pricked her eyes as fear for Bairn and Felix gripped her, and she had the strangest sense that this would be a moment that split her life into two parts, before and after. Please, no. Please, God, don’t let it be.

  When Henrik spoke again, his voice was quiet and careful. “Anna,” he said. She risked a look up at him and saw that his face had gone soft. “The newspaper said there were no survivors.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut against the burn of tears, but they came anyway. Tears poured down her face. Poured and poured and poured, flooding her heart, her soul. Henrik gathered her into his arms and let her weep.

  He was really gone. Bairn was gone.

  Jacob’s Cabin

  December 1, 1737

  A subtle change occurred after the news of Bairn and Felix and the burning of the Lady Luck. The church stopped waiting for Jacob Bauer to return. They just gave up. And they stopped looking to Christian as their leader. When there was a question or a disagreement, they sought out the advice of the newcomer.

  Maria sensed it first. She withdrew from the others and kept to herself. Anna kept trying to bring her back into the circle, but she refused. “They don’t want us anymore.”

  “That’s not true. Each one of us is needed.”

  Maria shook her head. “We aren’t wanted here. Everyone wants Henrik to take Christian’s place.”

  “That’s not the way our church works. We don’t pick and choose leaders on a whim. We let God choose our leaders.”

  “Christian thinks we should leave. Go to Germantown in the spring and wait for another church to arrive by ship.”

  “You can’t be serious.” Anna was stunned. “We are your family.”

  Maria looked back at Henrik, shoveling ashes from the hearth into a bucket. “Not any longer.” She grabbed Anna’s forearm and looked at her with desperation in her eyes. “Come with us. You must come.”

  A long shuddering shiver ran through Anna. What was happening to them? Where was the sweet unity they experienced during that first Sunday worship? They seemed splintered and separated—she to her silent grief, Maria to her easily hurt feelings, Christian to his wounded ego. Sometimes Anna thought the only thing they all had in common anymore was a discontent leveled against poor, earnest Christian.

  Anna covered Maria’s hand with hers as a curious, tingling shock numbed her limbs. She had to get out of this cabin, away from Maria, away from this heavy burden she couldn’t carry any longer.

  Without giving an answer to Maria, she went outside to hack at the frozen soil in the garden area that Josef Gerber had staked out, tearing at the dark earth as if it were filled with memories. As her hoe cut into the dirt, she wondered how she could move forward without Bairn, without Felix. Without Jacob and Dorothea. And now . . . without Maria, Christian, Catrina. She felt overwhelmed by so much loss. She, who had always been so sure of who she was, felt as if her life had become a confused tangle.

  That night, as Anna lay on her sleeping pallet in the loft, needing to sleep but unable to, she could feel the Pennsylvania sky loom over her, big and black and brutal, pressing down on her. Crushing her.

  Her scattered and weary thoughts turned to Dorothea. On the Charming Nancy, she had watched grief reach out and cover Dorothea like a heavy cloak, to the point where she became a burden to others.

  Anna could not, would not let herself fall apart. She would not let her faith crumble in the valley of sorrow.

  She wished she could talk to her grandfather. He would know how to help her get through this dark period. She tried to imagine herself back in Ixheim, sitting with her grandfather at the worn table as she had done so many times, with the morning sun shining through the window. She could hear his deep voice rumble, “We are blessed to be a blessing.” It was the way he started each day.

  She pressed her hands against her eyes. What could that possibly mean to a tiny church in the Pennsylvania wilderness, one that was splitting apart at the seams? Blessed to be a blessing.

  Her eyes flew open. She did not understand why God had brought them here, only to allow so much suffering. She never would. But she still had life, she had strength, she had determination. She could use her life to honor those who had tried so hard to preserve the little church of Ixheim. She would not let this church splinter apart and disappear. She would do what she needed to do to hold it together. She sighed, resolved. Whatever that looks like.

  Jacob’s Cabin

  December 6, 1737

  The British soldiers who had accompanied Henrik back to the settlement had warned there was talk of men in the area who were making off with horses. One quiet Friday evening, they woke to a stirring in the night—the sound of a horse’s whinny far off in the distance. The horses penned near the cabin whinnied in response, giving away their location. Henrik put on his coat as Peter grabbed the musket above the cabin door.

  Henrik stopped him. “No violence.”

  “Henrik, don’t be a fool.”

  “Violence only begets violence.”

  Peter surrendered his rifle to him and Henrik returned it to its spot above the door.

  “I’ll come too,” Isaac said.

  “Lock the door behind us,” Henrik said, then they slipped quietly outside.

  Anna watched out the small window as the three men put harnesses on the horses and led them out of the pen and into the woods. Then there was silence. Finally, Anna returned to bed.

  An hour later, she woke again to the sound of horses circling the cabin. Christian peered out the small cabin window. “It’s them.” He was literally shaking in fear. He looked at Anna. “What language are they speaking? Are they natives?”

  She strained to make sense of what words they were shouting to each other. “No. French. I am sure of it.”

  “What shall we do if they try to enter the cabin?”

  “We trust in God’s protection,” she said firmly.

  Catrina started to whimper and her mother held her close.

  “Shhhh . . . not a word,” Anna said. Mercifully, the Gerber twins slept through the entire event, though their mother and father did not.

  The horse thieves circled the cabin a number of times, then gave up and rode off. There were no horses left to steal.

  At dawn, Henrik, Peter, and Isaac emerged from the deep woods leading the horses, tired but relieved.

  Anna would have expected Maria and Barbara to be relieved, grateful, but when the
y all went out to greet them, the two women proclaimed that it would have been better to die in Ixheim than in this frightening, terrible place. “With nobody but wolves and savages for neighbors!” Maria wailed.

  Oh, how these people complained! Divided by conflicting opinions, the group had made little progress in the settlement despite accommodating weather. Each spent their days doing what they thought best—Isaac and Peter Mast hunted in the woods for fallen logs to build a cabin, Josef Gerber sharpened his plow and oiled his tools, Christian split rails to build a fence to protect his two little sheep, Simon built animal traps.

  Perhaps Henrik was tired after being in the woods all night, perhaps he was fed up from listening to Maria stir up discontent to leave this land, but he spoke to everyone with a firmness in his voice that verged on threatening. “You say you want to be God’s people, but you run away from any hardship or suffering that comes along with that. We must remain determined. Strong and full of faith. Do not listen to those who are full of doubts.” He cast a sharp glance in Maria’s direction.

  There was a long pause, and then Christian, in a quiet, wounded voice, shocked everyone by saying that his family had plans to leave the settlement. They would go to Germantown and wait for more ships to arrive in the summer, to join up with another church that had a bishop. If anyone wanted to, they were welcome to go with them.

  Henrik walked around the small circle, making eye contact with each one. “For those who are committed to face the rigors and rewards of frontier life, for those who seek to be blessed by God in this endeavor, I hope you will stay.”

  Josef Gerber spoke aloud what everyone was thinking. “If Christian leaves, what are we to do without a minister?”

  All eyes went to Henrik. An expression of satisfaction crept over his features. Anna found herself watching him, wondering at the cause of his joy.

  And then all eyes shifted toward her.

  Jacob’s Cabin

  December 9, 1737

  Anna had gone down to the creek to get a bucket of water for supper. She walked beside the tumbling creek, a golden glow in the sunlight, and watched the water shift and adjust to rocky barriers in its path. Startled by a flash of indigo, she lifted her eyes to see a blue jay catch the sun’s rays. She recognized the bird’s proud crown of feathers from birds in Germany. Not her favorite bird, blue jays, as they raided other birds’ nests, but they were the only bird to cache food and she had to admire such intelligence. Her own church could borrow a little wisdom from the blue jay.

  She tucked away that piece of information for next year: blue jays don’t migrate south. Next year. The thought surprised her. What would her life look like next year?

  She heard footsteps behind her, moving over the crunch of fallen pine needles. She turned and saw Henrik coming toward her, his stride so fluid and elegant. “I thought you could use some help.”

  As she bent to fill the bucket, Henrik watched the sun set behind the tops of the trees. “Take a moment, Anna. God’s daily gift.” So she stood, and they watched it together, in silence, soaking up the beauty. The sky was streaked with reds and gold, a sign of tomorrow’s good weather. A hawk hung like a snagged kite in the sky, then suddenly swooped down on an unlucky field mouse.

  Now and again, she felt Henrik’s gaze on her profile. As the sun dropped, long shadows covered the woods. “You are unique, Anna. Any other woman would have collapsed in grief.”

  “How could I collapse in grief when I know God holds all things in His hands?”

  “You are a true daughter of God.” He took the bucket from her and began to walk briskly toward the cabin.

  “Henrik . . .” She took a deep breath, filled with the pungent smell of decay and earth, so much a part of the forest’s spongy floor, and wondered if she would always associate that scent with this moment. “Henrik, I was wondering if you might be willing . . .” Her voice drizzled off.

  There was a tone in her voice that made him stop and turn toward her. “Willing?” He set the bucket down. “Willing?” he repeated.

  “To marry me.”

  He stared dumbly at her, as if he was not certain he had heard correctly.

  “I didn’t mean to go and blurt it out like that, but with Christian leaving soon . . . Well, it seems wise to take the long view. To consider the future. Our church needs us. You and me both.” She couldn’t look at him anymore, but she could feel his gaze hard on her, and she felt breathless all of a sudden, the way she got when she was running.

  “You want to marry me?”

  “Please take time to think about what I’ve asked. To pray.”

  “I will. I’ll do just that. I’ll pray, I’ll seek God’s wisdom, and I’ll give you an answer in the morning.”

  But she didn’t really expect him to turn her down; she could tell by the way he was looking at her, with possessiveness and a bright expectancy, and something else. A desperate eagerness.

  Jacob’s Cabin

  December 10, 1737

  Early the next morning, Anna took the slop bucket to the pig and found Henrik digging a hole in the garden staked out for the cabin. Beside it was her basket that held her rose. Her rose. The one Bairn had given to her. “What are you doing?”

  “Maria has often said that Jacob and Dorothea considered you to be a daughter. Your rose needs to be planted. You need to know this is where you belong.” His gaze took in the meadow down below. “I am confident that Jacob Bauer would have wanted you to have this cabin. He built it for his family. And no one is left. So this . . .” He looked up at the cabin. “This is your home.”

  She knew he meant well, but the thought brought little comfort.

  He gave her a wry smile. “This is my rather feeble way of letting you know that I do not shy from a challenge.”

  “What is the challenge?”

  “To make you love me as you loved him.”

  Her eyes went to her rose, her beautiful rose—the one that Bairn had dug for her when he was only eleven years old. The rose she had brought all the way from Ixheim. The rose that continued to survive, despite all odds. “I am fond of you, Henrik.” And she truly was. Wherever he went, it was like lights were on, fire blazed. Was that love? She wasn’t sure. “But I can’t promise to love you the way you might want me to. The way you deserve to be loved.”

  “Give me a chance, Anna.” He brought her hand up to his mouth and pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist. “Just give me a chance. That’s all I ask.” He looked up at her with those beautiful, mesmerizing blue eyes. They had a way of capturing you, those eyes of his.

  He pulled her against him, gathering her in his arms with the same tenderness he showed her after she learned of the Lady Luck’s fire. She pressed her face into his jacket. His chest was so strong, so solid; he was someone to lean on, to depend on.

  She leaned back to look at him and smiled, feeling curiously shy. “Christian has to be the one to marry us. Before he leaves.”

  A small, admiring smile crossed his face. “Consider it done.”

  23

  Up the Schuylkill River

  December 12, 1737

  Felix collected the reins some, slowing down so that he could listen over the clatter and rattle of the horse and carriage as the countess droned on as she did, drifting far off the point of her story. My, she did talk. She did the talking for all four of them. Even more than Maria and Catrina, combined, and that was saying a lot.

  Talk, talk, talk.

  And the countess did not like to listen. Many times Felix had tried to interrupt her to share a story of his own, but she would look him up and down in that way she had of seeing straight through him. “You are not to speak first to nobility. You wait until you are spoken to.” And then she would rap him on the knuckles with her fancy gold-tipped walking stick.

  How well he knew that rule. That was pretty much what every adult told him for as long as he could remember. When he said as much to the countess, Rap! Again, his knuckles were whacked. After traveling
with her for two weeks now, both hands were red and sore.

  And she wasn’t done with her lessons on noble etiquette. Another thing she had insisted on, with more than one whack to his backside, was to “never turn tail on nobility.”

  That took some doing on the ship from Boston to Philadelphia. He had to walk backward when she dismissed him, which happened quite regularly. It was a good thing she had grown so fond of Bairn on this journey, smiling at him with that wintery smile of hers, because there was a time or two when Felix thought the countess might have dispensed with him altogether. Even her old butler seemed impervious to his charms.

  You never laid eyes on a person as old as the countess’s butler. His droopy face sagged . . . and his chin waggled! It wiggled. The countess seemed oblivious to her servant’s elderly status; she bossed him around like he was a dimwitted boy. Much the way she treated Felix.

  Nevertheless, Felix felt quite important in this role, guiding the bossy countess and her aging butler to his father’s frontier settlement. Especially important to have a solemn British soldier follow behind them on horseback, assigned to oversee the countess’s welfare by Governor Patrick Gordon, who had been quite pleased to learn that German nobility had arrived in Philadelphia. He even loaned the countess his best carriage.

  Now and then, when the trail was clear, Bairn let him handle the reins, as he did now. It almost made up for his brother banning him for life from any and all ships.

  The Lady Luck had caught fire like a dry leaf. Felix, Bairn, and the captain barely escaped with their lives. Of course, the awful dog followed along, jumping right into the longboat with them, uninvited.

  The longboat was within yards of the dock by the time the masts were in flames. The captain hardly even noticed Felix or the awful dog, he was in that much shock. They watched the ship disappear, as if a giant hand from the sky reached down to erase it.

  Embarrassing, but these things happen.

  On the longboat, as Felix started to unfold the unfortunate sequence of events that led to the ship catching fire, Bairn clasped a hand around his mouth to silence him. He bent down to rest his chin on Felix’s head. “I dinnae want to ken if you had a role in startin’ that fire,” he whispered. “Dinnae tell me if you did, dinnae tell me if you dinnae. Either way. Sometimes, laddie, the devil gets his due.”