Anna's Crossing Read online

  Why should it matter? The passengers meant nothing to him.

  Yet try as he did to ignore it, Bairn experienced the stirrings of uneasiness in his midsection, as he always did when he came across these odd people—a prickling, a plucking in his chest.

  Waiting, waiting, waiting. Anna kept one eye on Dorothea and the other on Felix as they stood on the dock, absolutely sure that one or the other would end up in the dark water and neither of them knew how to swim. Felix had an abundance of curiosity and a dearth of common sense, and Dorothea was still muddled in a fog. Never emotionally sturdy, the death of Johann took her over the edge.

  Felix’s stomach grumbled loudly. “How much longer? I’m getting hungry.” His stomach was a bottomless pit.

  “It shouldn’t be too much longer,” Anna said. Her heart ached in a sweet way as she watched relief ease his face. As she saw him bend down to throw a pebble at a seagull, she wished for the hundredth time that Johann were with him. Felix seemed so lonely. The only other child close to his age was Catrina Müller, and she was a sore trial to him.

  And suddenly Georg Schultz appeared in front of her. Again the hackling feeling. He wanted her to interpret as he spoke to Christian. “Guilders, Christian,” Anna relayed. “He wants you to prepay the freight. Full freight for each adult, half freight for each child from age four to fifteen. No charge for those under four.”

  Alarm flickered through Christian’s eyes. “I wasn’t anticipating a charge for children. We spent more than expected when we bought extra provisions in Rotterdam yesterday. If we pay now, we will have nothing left.” He rubbed his forehead. “What can be done?”

  Think, Anna. Think. She looked Georg Schultz in the eye. “We will pay half-freight now, and the remainder when we arrive safely in Philadelphia. We want to ensure that we will be well cared for.”

  Georg Schultz pointed to her and growled low in his throat, “Kommst du mit.”

  She followed him up the gangplank and noticed an official-looking figure standing at the top of the gangplank, watching her approach with sharp, penetrating eyes. For a split second he reminded her of Felix’s father, bishop Jacob Bauer—treetop tall, muscular, wide-beamed shoulders. Then the moment passed and she saw how very different from the bishop he really was. Jacob was plain and humble and holy. There was nothing plain nor humble nor holy about this man.

  This man was dressed impeccably in a sturdy, long-sleeved coat that hugged his ribs, a crisp white linen shirt, tight-fitting breeches that tucked into polished knee-high black boots. Sun-streaked, amber-gold hair threaded with red, kept long and held back in the traditional seaman’s queue. High cheekbones framed by side whiskers, boxy jaw, and cold slate-gray eyes. His skin was nut-brown from days in the sun, or perhaps from his heritage. While he appeared young, his seaman’s stance, so solid, so self-confident, and his style of dress sent a simple message: that he was in charge, and that he was all business.

  Georg Schultz, intimidated by no one, barely came to the middle of his chest. “Bairn, where is the captain?”

  The man propped his shoulders against the polished oak and crossed his arms over his broad chest, as though preparing for a long chat. “He’s in the Great Cabin. Not t’be disturbed. What do you want, Schultz?” Behind him, sailors hurried from one end of the deck to the other, exchanging words, issuing orders. Now and then, the man would bark an order to the sailors who hurried past him in a rich Scottish burr. This man, Anna thought, had the kind of authority that shut you up fast if you were a young sailor inclined to challenge something he had just said.

  He glanced at her then, the hard line of his jaw softening just a little, looking down at her with an inscrutable gaze, making her feel even smaller and more awkward.

  Had he noticed she was taking a survey of his person? Her neck heated, and she lowered her gaze yet still felt his intense scrutiny. Why was he staring at her? Perhaps there was something on her face. Her skin itched by suggestion, and she brushed self-conscious fingers across her cheeks.

  He straightened to his full height. Goodness, he was tall. The tallest man she’d ever seen. He spoke English with a distinctive accent that she couldn’t quite place, shortening words and lilting the end of a sentence. Northern England, perhaps, mixed in with the Scottish. Her grandfather would have been able to pinpoint it.

  Georg Schultz pointed a thumb at Anna. “She says they won’t pay full fare until we reach Philadelphia. Only half fare for now.”

  A frown settled over the man’s features, and he hooked his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets as he studied Anna. “The captain won’t like hearin’ that the passengers cannae pay passage.”

  “I didn’t say we couldn’t. We will pay. You can be assured of that.” She looked down, afraid he’d read the truth in her eyes, more than she was ready to reveal. She felt no such assurance that the Amish would be solvent by the end of the journey, not after how their coffers had been diminished down the Rhine. But if they ended up in a desperate situation, she felt sure that Jacob Bauer would find a way to provide passage once they reached America.

  He was still staring at her, she suddenly realized, though with a bemused look on his face. “You speak English quite well.”

  Georg Schultz answered for her, folding his pudgy arms over his chest. “The only one of this batch of Peculiars who can speak it.”

  “How did y’learn?”

  “My grandfather. He served in the military in Switzerland.”

  “A man of yer . . . people . . . knew both plow and sword?”

  She knew he had barely stopped himself from saying the word Peculiar. She’d heard the dockworkers mutter the disparagement. “My grandfather had no choice but to serve. And he was clever at learning languages.”

  “And taught them to his family.”

  “Yes.” Anna’s grandfather was convinced that their people must be wise to the ways of the world, wise as serpents and innocent as doves, especially in the skill of communication. No one in Ixheim shared his conviction, but he was adamant that his granddaughter would speak, read, and write English, German, French.

  “Then what is yer reasonin’ to only pay half fare?”

  “We want to be sure we will be treated well. Good food and clean water.”

  The man gave her a skeptical glance. “Lassie, if yer people cannae pay passage, the ship ’twill become a market. Buyers in Port Philadelphia will find out how much each person owes. Those who cannae pay their debts are called ‘redemptioners.’ They haggle with the buyers fer so many years labor t’pay off the debt. The redemptioner belongs to the buyer until that debt is paid off. Belongs, like a slave. It happens. Quite a lot. To men, women. To children too.”

  The muscles in Anna’s midsection tensed. She bit her lip. Her expression must have registered the sting of his words, for he softened.

  “Even if a person doesn’t survive the journey, the passage will be owed. ’Tis unfortunate, but it happens more often than y’might imagine.”

  Their eyes met, locked, held. His gaze was like granite. “I understand.”

  “Yer basket,” he said. “It should go down in the hold. To save room. You’ll want every spare inch down in the lower deck.”

  “No,” Anna said.

  “All nonessentials belong in the hold.” He bent over to take the basket, but Anna’s grip on it tightened.

  “No,” Anna repeated. “This basket is essential.” She stared at his calloused hand that covered hers, refusing to let go, then peered up at the man, so incredibly tall, it put a crick in her neck. Up close he was larger than life and even more intimidating. For a moment she couldn’t blink, breathe, or move.

  He released his grip on the basket. “What’s in it, then?”

  She tried to speak, but it was as if those stormy dark eyes had fused the words to her throat. She finally swallowed hard, his bold gaze and the scent of sandalwood from his clothing doing funny things to her stomach.

  He angled her a glance with the barest of smiles. “Now, I know
you can talk, because you’ve already bargained yer way across the ocean.”

  She coughed, clearing the knot of awkwardness from her throat as she tightened her grip on her basket. “A rose. It is precious to me.” Her lips compressed into a straight line and one hand was on her hip. It was the look and stance she used when someone thought she was too young to know what she was doing, which happened rather a lot back in Ixheim.

  “A rose?” A shadow of something passed through his eyes, then vanished like vapor, making her think she’d imagined it. Next he surprised Anna with his terse, dismissive words. “I’ll inform the captain of yer predicament.” He turned and strode down the ship’s deck.

  As Anna followed down the gangplank behind Georg Schultz, her thoughts remained with that tall, arrogant man in the fancy frock. She snapped a glance over her shoulder. “If he’s not the captain, then who is he?”

  “He’s the ship’s carpenter. A boatswain.” Georg Schultz held up three thick fingers. “Third in command.”

  At the bottom of the gangplank, Anna explained the arrangement to Christian and waited as he pulled out a leather pouch. The money was counted and handed to Georg Schultz. When the ship’s carpenter shouted down to load the passengers, they lined up behind the large group of Mennonites to walk up the gangplank. The mighty Mennonites, was how Anna thought of them. There were so many of them! Twice, perhaps thrice as many as there were Amish. Tensions between the Mennonites and the followers of Jacob Amman were thorny at best. How would they survive living together in such close quarters? Anna gazed at the ship as she took her place in line, sticking closely to Dorothea, who held Felix’s hand in a death grip.

  If all went well, this ship would be home for the next two months. If all did not go well, it could be longer. Maria liked to remind everyone of another of Esther Wenger’s horrifying tales: a ship’s passage that took nine months. Nine months! Three-quarters of a year. The thought made Anna shudder. But then she’d also heard Maria speak of a journey that took only four weeks. She was counting on the latter—a swift passage, blessed by God.

  Once on the ship, they were led straight down the companionway into the lower deck. Anna’s eyes stung with the sour stink and took more than a moment to adjust to the dim lighting. She helped Dorothea climb down the last few steps as Felix disappeared to explore the lower deck. Christian went quickly ahead in the cavernous space, pointing out sleeping shelves, nooks and crannies where families could claim space near the bow of the ship because the mighty Mennonites had claimed all available space in the stern. It was quickly apparent that passengers outnumbered beds.

  The beds bore little resemblance to the kind found in Anna’s home in Ixheim. These were wooden bunks, six feet long, three feet high, open at both ends. They were set in rows, side by side, and stacked to the ceiling. No more than two persons were supposed to be assigned to one bunk—according to Esther Wenger, who told Maria—but Georg Schulz insisted that each family was only allowed one bunk. Georg, first down the companionway, took the largest one, nearest the stern of the ship and closest to a hatch. For the Gerbers and the Müllers and the Masts and others, one family per bunk would mean crowding four or five or six into one bed. Anna looked toward the stern and saw a Mennonite family of ten settling in. Ten in one bed!

  Maria was directing traffic. “You, Josef, you take your family over there. Conrad—you take your brood and go over there. You’ll be cozy as a yolk in an egg.” Her eyes swept the area until she found what she was looking for: a corner berth, the roomiest area for trunks and packages to be stored.

  “And here is where Christian and I will sleep,” she continued. “Anna, you and Dorothea and Felix should use pallets and sleep over there.” She pointed to the gun deck, where a cannon was pointed through a square hole. “The air will be good for Felix. Growing boys need fresh air. Yes, you’ll be most comfortable there.”

  “Of course, Maria,” Anna said. I sincerely doubt it, Maria, she thought. As she placed her basket on the ground, she peered out the small opening at the open sea. How wet and cold could this area get when a storm blew in?

  Catrina stood in front of Anna with her hands on her hips, though at the age of ten she had no hips to speak of. “Where did Felix go to?” She pursed her thin lips together. “Being a boy, and a most bothersome one at that, he’ll need to be watched every moment so that he doesn’t go straight into the sea and end up as food for the fishes.” That was Catrina all over: huffy and prone to hysterics, always first with the alarm whether it was valid or not.

  Dorothea and Anna exchanged a glance. Never far from Dorothea’s mind was the fear that Felix could fall overboard. Any number of disasters could befall a boy on a boat. Especially a boy who does not think.

  “Catrina, thank you for your concern,” Anna said, “but you don’t need to trouble yourself over Felix’s whereabouts. His mother and I keep a careful eye on him at all times.”

  “I try to set a good example for the children.” Catrina drew herself up importantly and sniffed. “Somebody has to.”

  “But . . . where is Felix, Anna?” Dorothea looked around the lower deck anxiously.

  Oh no. Where did that boy go? Then Anna spotted a shock of red hair over by a cannon portal, examining the cannon balls, stacked in a pyramid. She pointed him out to Dorothea and watched her visibly relax.

  As soon as Anna spread out their pallets and laid quilts down, Dorothea sat and held her quilt and rocked back and forth, staring out the small portal opening of the cannon, a forlorn figure. Anna hoped she would improve in spirits by the time they reached Port Philadelphia, or Jacob Bauer would be in for a shock to see the condition of his wife. It was just like last time, after Dorothea received the news that her oldest son Hans had passed. In her grief, she had become a hollow ghost of a person.

  Anna still wasn’t convinced of the wisdom of including Dorothea in this journey; she was still so fragile in her sorrowing over Johann, but Christian made the decision to bring her. “Jacob is expecting to see Felix and Dorothea,” he said. “He’s been there for a year now, purchasing land for each of us. It would be worse to have the family remain separated.”

  But he did agree that Dorothea needed minding, not to mention Felix who minded no one—and those caretaking chores were assigned to Anna.

  Anna thought about the last conversation she had with her grandfather. “I’ll be back,” she told him.

  “Girl, there’s no turning back in life. But don’t you worry. The Lord is watching over us.”

  Her grandmother told her it was bad luck to look back, that if you looked back it meant you’d never return. So as Anna walked down the muddy path to meet Christian and the others, she didn’t look back. Tears streamed down her face, but she didn’t look back. She was going to return.

  Anna checked on Felix, who was hanging over the rails of the pig stall trying to pat the pig. The poor pig. It looked as bewildered and lost as everyone else, but at least Felix had found something to amuse himself. She thought there might be a little extra space near the pig and chickens to try to hold English classes for Felix and the Müller girls and anyone else who might be interested. She had brought a few books with her for that purpose. Learning English was one thing she could do to help prepare them for their new life. Though Felix was interested in everything but his lessons.

  She had hoped there might be some Mennonite boys close to Felix’s age, but there were just a few school-age girls and he wanted nothing to do with girls. The rest were toddlers. So many toddlers! Too many for a peaceful journey.

  Maria was fussing over how to fit her trunk under the bunk, so Anna went to help her and then returned to Dorothea. Surely more cramped, uncomfortable quarters couldn’t be found. The dark, damp lower deck was only five feet high. She pitied the men who would spend their days hunched over. By the time they reached Port Philadelphia, their backs would resemble question marks.

  Wooden crates, boxes, sacks, bundles of food crammed the narrow aisle. Somewhere up front, a small
child wailed relentlessly. And the lower deck was filthy. They would need to spend these first few days cleaning and scrubbing. At least, Anna thought, there would be something to do.

  She’d heard the carpenter say that when the tide turned in their favor, it would be time to depart. Removing his hat, Christian bowed his head and fell down to his knees on the deck, as did everyone present, including the Mennonites. He offered up one of the most heartfelt prayers Anna ever heard him pray, fervently asking the Lord for blessings on this journey.

  Longing for home filled Anna’s heart. She felt an overwhelming need to know they’d be safe, that the next haven would indeed be welcoming, but there were few guarantees.

  At sunset, the sky turned a miraculous color of pink and gold, shining off the water. She peeked out the small window and hoped it meant God’s blessing on them.

  Soon, the Charming Nancy sailed into the channel with the lights of Rotterdam blazing brightly behind them. It was a whole world, this ship, and they would sail to America in its very bowels.

  4

  June 30th, 1737

  Felix Bauer woke up feeling great. He had a cast-iron stomach, unlike his mother and Anna and nearly everyone else who lay retching in their bunks, moaning piteously, laid low by seasickness. He was sorry they were ailing, truly he was.

  Christian thought the channel crossing should take only a day, two at the most, but a strong storm blew gales from the west, causing the ship to roll and pitch and fight against the winds. Felix didn’t mind the topsy-turvy motion of the ship, but he did have a complaint: the food. It was awful. Worse than awful. Everything was boiled and mushy. Even the vegetables were boiled to death, served in a great bowl big enough to be passed around the lower deck. Catrina said that was the English way, but he didn’t know how she would know that. Still, he ate everything he could and tried to have more but was denied by Maria Müller. “That’s more than enough for you, Hans Felix Bauer!” she would squawk at him, like a mad hen. He left each meal nearly as hungry as he had started it. He would have to talk to Anna and his mother about it if they ever stopped moaning from seasickness. So meanwhile he had a look around.