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  Lady Luck, Boston Harbor

  Squivvers came looking for Bairn and found him in the carpenter’s shop, fitting the crow’s nest with a new base. “The captain sent word that you’re to meet him in the ship agent’s office right away. A longboat is waiting for you.” He winked at Bairn. “The captain’s got a lady with him. A mighty fancy lady.”

  “Let me go get my brother.”

  “The boy is to stay here, the captain said. Cook was put in charge of him.”

  Squivvers followed behind Bairn as he started down the rope ladder of the ship.

  Bairn paused and looked up the ladder. “What are ye doin’, Squivvers?”

  “The captain gave me orders, sir. I’m to accompany you.”

  Aha. The captain was worried Bairn would jump ship. “Then would you at least wait until I reach the longboat so the rope ladder stops swaying? Yer apt to kill us both.”

  Squivvers froze. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir. Just following orders, sir.”

  They rowed the longboat to the dock, tied it, and went to the agent’s office. A fancy woman stood talking to the captain, just as Squivvers said, as well as an elderly man, leaning on a cane. Both were very well-dressed, with a polished air. The captain lifted his head as Bairn entered the office. “Bairn, these two are from Germany. They intended to arrive in Port Philadelphia, but the ship encountered some difficulties and took shelter in Boston Harbor.”

  Bairn nodded at them, unsure of why that would be of any concern to him.

  “They have booked passage to Port Philadelphia on the ship Friendship. A Quaker ship.” The captain smiled grandly. “And they have graciously agreed to allow your charming brother to accompany them.”

  Bairn took in a deep breath. “Then yer serious. You meant what you said.”

  “Serious as a snakebite.” He leaned close to Bairn so the woman couldn’t hear him. “He’s bad luck. He’s making the seamen as nervous as a scalded cat. And the repairs we’ve incurred because of his mischief have cost half your wages.”

  Bairn glanced at the woman. She held herself as if she had a rod down her back, reminding Bairn of the baron’s wife in Ixheim. “Do you speak English?”

  “Indeed,” she said. “I am Magdalena von Hesse. My father is the Pfalzgraff of the Palatinate.”

  A Pfalzgräfin. The daughter of a count. That explained her stiff back. Bairn’s response was reflexive and courtly: straighten up, heels together, eyes downcast.

  She was a striking woman. She had a creamy complexion and raven-black hair, and her eyes were perfectly matched by the violet silk she wore. Her English was cultivated, charmingly accented by her German heritage.

  “And this is my manservant.” She lifted her palm in the direction of the silent elderly gentleman who stood behind her.

  “Yer emigratin’ to the New World?”

  “No. We are on a mission to find a man who we believe is in Philadelphia, or nearby.”

  “Yer lookin’ for a needle in a haystack.”

  “Perhaps, but I think it won’t be difficult to find this particular man. He is a distinguished man. He has a way of making a reputation for himself.”

  “An Englishman?”

  “No. German.”

  “Why are you looking for him, if y’ don’t mind my asking?”

  “He is my husband.”

  Bairn and the captain exchanged a look. These kinds of stories were not unusual. While the New World provided an opportunity for a new life, men often used it to desert their old life. And old wife.

  “And you want him back?”

  “It’s a rather complicated story.”

  “I’d like to hear, if y’ don’t mind. I know yer doin’ me a grand favor, by accompanying my wee brother, but I would like to have a peace of mind, knowing whose company I am puttin’ him into.”

  “Have you heard of a morganatic marriage?”

  “Aye.” He had. It was a marriage of a noble to a commoner. Any children of the mixed marriage could not inherit any privileges of nobility. He also knew that the one of noble birth had the privilege to put away the partner of common birth and marry another, whenever he or she desired to.

  “Our marriage was in the process of dissolution. But after Karl left, I had a change of heart. When I went to his village to tell him, I discovered he had left for the New World.”

  “So he does not know that you have come for him.”

  “No.”

  “And y’ think he will be pleased to learn that you had a change of heart?”

  She smiled. “Of course.”

  Bairn wondered. He did not envy this poor chap. But he did feel an approval to let Felix be with this woman and her manservant. She had a mission on her mind and much to contend with; Felix would be of little nuisance. So he hoped, anyway. “Have you a plan to track this man down?”

  “No, we haven’t gotten that far. Any suggestions would be most welcome.”

  “Start at the Court House. They will have a record of his name.”

  “His name is Karl Neumann.” She gave him a confident smile. “I suspect he will be rather easy to track down.”

  “I don’t mean to discourage you, but there are hundreds of German men, fresh off the ships, flooding into Philadelphia.”

  “My husband is a memorable man.”

  “How so?”

  “Karl is never a stranger to anyone for long. He has the happy talent of being at ease in any company, from princes to paupers. I suppose his most notable trait is that he has the ability to attract people who want to help him.” She glanced away. “He has a habit of exploiting that particular charm.”

  The manservant, who appeared rather hard of hearing, seemed to suddenly realize what the conversation was about. He pointed to his head and said in a raspy voice, “Weisskeppich.”

  “And then there is that,” the countess added. “He has a patch of white on his dark hair.”

  Bairn stilled. A wispy nagging thought that had been floating in the back of his mind, for weeks now, suddenly came into focus as a full-blown image.

  Neumann. Newman. New man.

  21

  Ephrata Community

  November 19, 1737

  Though her years with Jacob had resulted in several challenging encounters, the time at the Ephrata Community was the one God used to bring Dorothea to herself. And in the most unexpected way.

  She had heard God speak.

  Not in the way He spoke to Abraham or Moses. Not in a thundering way. No, God spoke to her in the way He spoke to Elijah—a small, still whisper. His voice came to her in the night, through the midnight music in this place, filling her soul with a peace she had never known. For the first time in her life, her entire life, she was not afraid of God.

  “There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear: because fear hath torment. He that feareth is not made perfect in love.” She had memorized that verse as a child, had heard it spoken in church. But now she understood it, now it became her way to view her circumstances. Perfect love casteth out fear. And God was the author of such love.

  It was a metanoia for Dorothea, a sweeping change in how she thought. She had always considered her relationship to God as one of duty, of burden, of fear and unworthiness. Thoughts were more important than feelings.

  Here, at the Ephrata Community, she observed the longing these faithful ones had to know God, to experience Him. Not to fear Him, never that. Even in their austere lifestyle, they had a deep hunger to draw close to God. These robed men and women, so sincere, had been strongly influenced by the mystics and the Pietists of the Old World, people her own church disavowed. They emphasized emotional and spiritual experiences over liturgies and creeds. Feelings were more important than thoughts.

  She knew what Jacob would say, if he could. He would warn her away from those radical zealots. He would insist that Father Friedsam had let his own thinking create his own theology. And imagine what he would have to say if he knew some of the more peculiar parts of his theology�
��the concept of God being both genders, male and female. That a believer’s relationship to God would be a kind of marriage. Only through celibacy, Father Friedsam believed, would the believer be free to focus on the path of a “spiritual marriage” with God.

  Her husband would be outraged. And yet here he was, and she was, benefiting from the kindness and generosity of these sincere believers. Day after day, they displayed practical care and support for the Bauer family, expecting nothing in return.

  Was that not the way of Christ?

  It felt strange to have opinions that were separate from her husband’s. Strange, in a good way. Jacob was such a strong personality that his opinions invariably became her opinions. But in this time of solitude, she was forced to think for herself.

  Dorothea had learned that the only true self-reliance is utter reliance upon God. A completely opposite view than her husband’s. Jacob had always been proud of his self-reliance. He was a man who had always managed to stand on his own two feet, yet here he was, on sinking sand. Sinking fast.

  And he was truly sinking, slipping away from her. Some days she wasn’t even sure he recognized her any longer. Often he gazed at her through bleary, bloodshot eyes, as if he had no idea who she was. Who he was.

  In contrast, with each passing week, infused in the culture of the Ephrata Community like tea leaves in hot water, she found that her strength had returned, and so had her joy.

  The baby stirred in his cradle and she bent over to rock it gently, to see if he might fall back to sleep. “Ah, little one. If only Jacob could take you under his arm and teach you all about life himself. I wish you could know him. He can be a stubborn man, rash in his decisions, but he has a good heart. He would love you as his own, of that I am sure.” She closed her eyes as a sense of peace flooded over her. The melancholy that had clung to her had vanished, she was set free from her fears, and in its place was an aura of responsibility. Of purpose.

  She had found a reason to live that went beyond her circumstances.

  She had a baby to raise, and two other sons to find when they returned from their adventure at sea. She would find them, and when she did, she would not let them go again. They were a family.

  Lady Luck, Boston Harbor

  November 20, 1737

  Bairn covered up his brother. The bright moon outside the window shone on Felix, sleeping soundly. He looked down at his brother’s bent head. It caused a tender ache inside of him that he did not like.

  Such tender feelings would not help him. They would only make it more difficult to stay detached, to leave, to focus on the task ahead. It hadn’t occurred to him, before this moment, that love could be a burden as well as a gift. It was an epiphany to him.

  He settled onto his bunk. The creaking of a ship’s timbers had always been a soothing sound to him. Tonight, with the ship rocking gently on the waves of the harbor, it felt like a steady reminder that he was moving farther and farther away from those he loved. He composed a letter to Anna for Felix to deliver. He would tell her that his return would be considerably delayed. And that he would not be able to bring her grandparents back.

  He would apologize. Beg her forgiveness. “Wait for me, lass. I’m coming back.” As he composed the lines, he prayed that she would forgive him, and that she would be there waiting for him with open arms when he returned.

  Would she welcome him back?

  She would, he believed. For she was a kind, gentle woman, and she loved him.

  He reviewed the lines he’d written and they seemed dolefully inadequate to describe what was going on inside his heart. She deserved so much better.

  His eyes watered again and he winced. He lay down on his bunk and covered his eyes with his arm.

  He awoke sometime later, the room still moonlit. He had slept just long enough to wake up disoriented. The awful dog stared at him, unblinking, tied to his bunk.

  He glanced at the bunk above him. Felix was not there.

  Bairn knew he was stalling.

  It was that strange and silent time just before dawn when the stars were most bright and the sky was most black.

  Darkness. Utter darkness.

  Bairn clenched his hands. He closed his eyes for a moment. How he missed Anna at moments like this. He must go search out Felix before the captain found him, and tell him he would not be sailing across the ocean on the Lady Luck as he had hoped. Instead, tomorrow the lad would be put on another ship that was sailing down the coastline, accompanied to Philadelphia by the countess and her manservant. What else could he do? He had no choice. He had to get the boy off this ship, far away from Captain Berwick. He would not let his brother face a dangerous and uncertain future.

  To desert would be unthinkable. Captain Berwick reminded him once again of his legal obligation to complete the journey. The captain made plans to head out at full tide tonight, assuming the wind held up. “I only took you on because of my cousin’s strong recommendation, Bairn. I trusted your word to be good.”

  He stared down at his fisted hands. What did Bairn have to offer besides his word? To himself, to Felix? To Anna?

  Bairn lifted his head to see a sky thick with stars, swirling in silence. On the Charming Nancy, Anna once said that she always sensed a word from the Almighty when she was stargazing. He could chart a path across the mighty oceans using those stars, but they’d yet to tell him anything other than how to get where he was going. They could not tell him how to get back again.

  How to get back. To his family. To Anna. This exile of his, it never seemed to end.

  His eyes intuitively sought the polestar, the fixed point. That was the place to begin, to chart a navigational path. The fixed point.

  Mayhap that was the problem. What was his fixed point?

  Anna’s, he knew, was a faithful love for God.

  That was why she could be the same person in every setting—in Germany, on the Charming Nancy, in the New World. Her fixed point had never changed. Her belief that God was with her, that her life had purpose and meaning.

  It dawned on him that his exile would never end, wherever he was, not until he found his own fixed point. His eyes lifted again to the stars, illuminating the dark sky. Mayhap they did talk, after all.

  Felix held the lantern high as he went down the companionway that led to the lower deck. On the bottom step he stopped, letting his gaze roam over the barrels that the stevedores had brought to the ship today. No, wait. That was yesterday. It was already a new day. He had heard the captain give the crew the night off, with orders to return to the ship by high noon. The captain planned to lift anchor at high tide. So he waited in Bairn’s quarters until he knew the ship was empty of crew. Nearly empty. The captain remained in his Great Cabin; Bairn was asleep in his bunk. The time was right. Felix slipped out to investigate, taking care to leave the awful dog behind.

  There was an odd smell down below, different than the usual dank odor. He walked around the barrels, breathing deeply, trying to figure out what the smell reminded him of. Then he remembered a bottle Anna’s grandfather used to keep hidden in the sheep shed, back in Ixheim. For medicine, he would tell Felix.

  Rum! This must be the cargo Squivver told him about. For the captain’s rum-running.

  His foot splashed in a puddle, and he lifted the lantern to see that the floor around him was wet. Some of the barrels must be leaking.

  And then Felix got an idea. A fine idea. A way to help his brother.

  Bairn was in a strange mood of late, quiet and thoughtful and sad. Felix would report the leaky barrels to his brother, who had coopering skills to fix them. He was a fine carpenter. He could tighten the lashes on those leaky barrels so the captain wouldn’t lose so much valuable rum. His brother would save the day. The captain would be greatly pleased. And maybe Felix could get a reprieve. He was tired of being locked in the first mate’s quarters.

  It seemed as if so many of Felix’s good ideas went sideways. But this might offset the regrettable events that often trailed his life.
/>   Felix set the lantern on the ground as he crouched to count the leaky barrels: one, two, three . . . and suddenly a rat scurried right in front of him. Right in front! He jumped up to get away from the rat and his foot knocked over the lantern. He hated rats.

  Then the strangest thing happened. You would’ve thought the lantern would be snuffed out when it knocked over. Just the opposite happened. The puddle by the barrel was on fire.

  Felix stood frozen, as if caught in a dream, watching the flames travel along the puddles’ paths, licking the barrels. From somewhere, he heard a dog’s relentless bark. His heart started beating at what felt like twice its normal rate.

  And then there was his brother, peering down the companionway hatch. “Felix Bauer!” Bairn’s words were jagged in his throat. “Felix,” he said again, with that whipcrack emphasis he could sometimes produce that sounded so much like their father. “What have y’ done?”

  Felix’s eyes widened and he backed up from the flaming puddles, swallowing hard. “I don’t know!”

  22

  Jacob’s Cabin

  November 23, 1737

  The slop bucket had sat by the hearth since breakfast, waiting for someone to take it outside. If Anna didn’t take care of it, the cabin would stink only worse, and Maria would scold.

  Clouds had moved in since supper, low and dark and heavy, and the temperature had dropped. Anna emptied the bucket in the pig’s trough and was hurrying back to the cabin when she heard the sounds of horse hooves. She stopped and peered down the path to see a horse and rider galloping. Her heart lifted. Was it Bairn? Had he come?

  The man took off his hat to wave and she saw the color of his hair. Black, with a shock of white.

  The newcomer. He had returned from Philadelphia.

  “Anna!” Henrik hurried his horse toward her and swung off it as he reached her, a bright smile on his face. “The land warrants,” he said, slightly out of breath. “Everything got sorted out.” He turned his head slightly. “And we have some company for supper.”