Waves of Mercy

by Lynn Austin

  I stop at the hotel’s front desk as I do every morning after breakfast to see if there is any mail from home. The clerk hands me a book-sized parcel wrapped in brown paper. “Package for you, Miss Nicholson.” I thank him and sit down on the front porch to open it. Inside is a Bible. It must be the one Derk promised to bring me. I leaf through it, excited about the prospect of reading it. Back home, I had just finished reading the Gospel of Matthew, so I turn to the book of Mark, starting with chapter one. I’m in the middle of an intriguing story about a group of men who cut a hole in the roof so Jesus could heal their paralyzed friend, when I see Derk getting the boats ready down by the pier. I hurry across the dewy grass to thank him for the Bible and to ask him about the Dutch phrase I had remembered—at least I assume it’s Dutch. Maybe it’s gibberish.

  “Good morning, Derk. Thank you so much for the Bible,” I say, holding it up.

  “You’re welcome. Beautiful day, isn’t it? The wind is perfect for sailing.” The boat he’s standing in rocks back and forth as he gestures broadly to the cloudless blue sky. The motion doesn’t seem to faze him.

  “Yes. It is beautiful.” I don’t want to talk about the weather. I can make inane conversations anytime I want to, back home. “I need to ask you something. Can you spare a moment?”

  “Of course.” He steps off the tottering boat and onto the dock, never faltering or losing his balance. It seems like an appropriate picture of a man of faith, able to stand firm when rocked by the storms of life. I long for that certainty and stability. “What’s your question?” he asks.

  What I want to ask him seems silly now, but I plunge ahead just the same. “I remembered another strange phrase yesterday, and I wondered if it might be Dutch: ‘Ik hou ook van jou.’”

  He grins and his tanned cheeks turn faintly pink. “I love you, too.”

  “I knew it!” I fairly shout the words. “But how? Where did I learn to say it? I asked my mother about the nanny who raised me when I was small, and she said her name was Bridget O’Malley.”

  “Definitely not Dutch.”

  His grin makes me smile briefly in return. “I’ve thought and thought about who might have taught me those words, but I can’t think of a soul. I was never very close to any of our servants—and none of them would have said ‘I love you’ to me or called me ‘darling.’ It’s a mystery that keeps growing, and it bothers me more and more. William said the castle church was making me crazy, and sometimes I wonder if he was right.”

  “He isn’t, Anna. When people lose their minds, they don’t suddenly start speaking a foreign language. You must have learned those phrases somewhere. But I agree that it’s a mystery. I don’t suppose many people in Chicago speak Dutch, do they?”

  “No one I recall meeting.” I hear shouts and children’s laughter behind me and turn to see two young boys hurtling toward the dock. They ignore their father’s order to slow down, and Derk barely manages to catch one of the boys before he tumbles into the swaying rowboat. I move away to let Derk do his job and sit down on the bench near the water to continue reading the Bible. I’m so intrigued by the story of how Jesus healed a man with a withered hand that I don’t notice Derk approaching until he halts beside me.

  “I’m sorry we were interrupted,” he says. “Things get really busy for me when the lake is this beautiful.”

  “I understand. Can I ask you something else?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ve been thinking about the advice you gave me the other day, that I should find answers to all my questions before I commit to marriage. The problem is, I can’t even put my questions into words. I mean . . . I don’t understand how the two churches in Chicago can be so different if they’re both Christian. The one my family attends makes God seem distant and a little scary, while the castle church insists that He’s kind and loving. In our church, God seems to treat us the way my father treats our servants, making sure they do what they’re told and that they measure up to his standards if they want to win his approval. In the castle church, the pastor insists that God loves us the way my father loves me, that he hopes I’ll do the right thing but is quick to forgive me when I do something wrong. Which picture of God is the right one?”

  Derk scratches his chin. I can tell that he wants to sit down beside me while we talk, but he glances over his shoulder at the dock and decides not to. “Well, maybe a little of each. I believe that God is a father who loves us, but that doesn’t mean we should just live any way we want to. We show that we love Him in return by obeying what the Bible teaches us. Jesus said that if we love Him, we’ll keep His commandments. He paid a huge price, suffering and dying in our place so we could be adopted into the family of God.”

  The word adopted unnerves me. Ever since yesterday, I’ve allowed the anger I felt toward my mother for reading my diary to distract me from the terrible truth she revealed. I was abandoned. My real mother abandoned me. Whoever she was, she didn’t want me. No one knows where I came from—or who I really am.

  “Anna? . . . Anna, are you all right? Did I say something wrong?”

  I look up at Derk through my tears. “No . . . no, you didn’t. I . . . I just need some time to think. Thank you again for the Bible.” I clutch it to my chest as I struggle to my feet and hurry away. I end up walking all the way to the sandy beach on Lake Michigan without stopping. I have no blanket or chair to sit on when I get there, so I sink down in the soft, warm sand and stare out at the rippling lake without really seeing it.

  Does William know that I am adopted? And that my mother abandoned me? Would it change his opinion of me if he did?

  I sit motionless for a long time as if in a trance, oblivious to the laughter and activity all around me or the gentle shushing of the waves. The spell is finally broken by a piercing whistle as a train arrives at the station behind the hotel. In a moment, passengers will pour onto the platform to spend a day at the lake or to stay at the resort. I’ve watched them do it every day at lunchtime. The beach will soon be crowded with vacationers, the hotel will house hundreds of new guests for the night—yet I feel utterly alone. Abandoned.

  I remain where I am for a while longer, waiting for the crowds to disperse from the train platform, picturing Derk and the other porters scrambling to help guests with their baggage. The locomotive blasts its whistle a second time as it prepares to follow the shoreline of Black Lake back into Holland. I finally rise and return to my room, quietly unlocking the door in case Mother is napping.

  I hear voices coming from her room. One of them is a man’s. For a moment, I can’t seem to breathe. Then I recognize my father’s voice, talking in hushed tones. I quietly tiptoe to the adjoining door to listen, aware that it’s wrong but not really caring. Didn’t Mother invade my privacy yesterday?

  “Anna is asking a lot of questions,” I hear Mother say. “She’s curious about her parents. Perhaps it’s time you told her.” My heart races faster.

  “Told her what?” Father says. “I don’t know anything about her parents, you know that.”

  “You could tell her how you found her. How she came to us.”

  “I don’t think that’s wise. Look, the important thing is for all of us to return home and straighten things out with William and his family.”

  “But Anna still isn’t sure she wants to marry him. I don’t want her to be unhappy.”

  “I don’t, either, of course. But there’s a problem, Harriet. I’ve had some unfortunate business losses. I need to stay in the bank’s good graces if I want to come through this crisis in one piece.”

  “What are you saying?” Mother’s voice is shrill with fear. “You’re scaring me, Arthur!”

  “Now, now . . . I don’t mean to frighten you.” I picture him patting her hand to soothe her. “It’s just that my finances are a bit tight at the moment. I need William’s family to continue extending credit to me, and I’m worried that they may not do it if there are hard feelings about this broken engagement.”

  “Would the
y do that?”

  “Who knows what might happen? I’m certain that my business can weather this storm provided I can get special consideration from the bank. Anna’s marriage to William would ensure that.”

  “Arthur! You wouldn’t use our Anna this way.”

  “I’m not using her! She told us she was in love with William. They were engaged to be married. What happened between them is just a silly misunderstanding. I’m simply trying to get the wedding back on track. I know Anna will have a wonderful life with William. You know it, too.”

  “Yes. That’s true. But the other day when she was out of her room I had a chance to read her diary. She is unhappy about a lot of things right now, Arthur. I’m not sure we should pressure her to marry.”

  “I’m not pressuring her. But our daughter is immature and naïve. We’ve spoiled her a bit too much, and she can act very childish at times. She needs to grow up and settle down. William and his family will give her everything she could ever dream of. And more. Isn’t that what we want for Anna? Isn’t that what every parent wants for the child they love?”

  “You’re right, you’re right. . . . Listen, we should go find her and tell her you’re here. She’ll be so surprised.”

  I back away from the door as quickly as I can and leave my room so they won’t know I’ve been listening. I race down the steps and sink into the first empty chair I find on the front porch. Then I try to look surprised when Mother finds me and says, “Anna, look who came to see us.”

  “Father!” I go to him and feel his strong arms surrounding me. His embrace reminds me of my nightmare and the reassurance I always feel in my dream when he keeps me safe above the surging waves. I inhale the scent of cigars on his linen suit coat. “What are you doing here, Father? I didn’t know you were coming.”

  “I decided to visit for the weekend so I could escort you home. Since you’ll be returning by train, I traveled that way, too, so I could help you make all the right connections.”

  He would never tell me the truth about why he really came or confide in me about his financial problems the way he had with Mother. Even so, I love my father, and I know I need to help him. For my parents’ sakes, I need to marry William.

  Chapter 16

  Geesje’s Story

  Holland, Michigan

  50 years earlier

  I can’t remember a summer that was as cool and rainy as our first one here in Holland in 1847. Everything in our cabin stayed damp and clammy all the time, including our blankets, so we tried to keep a fire burning most of the time. It was easy to do since we were surrounded by a forest. The days were gloomy and cheerless. Thick, low-hanging clouds covered the moon and stars at night, making the woods so dark I was afraid to walk to the privy alone.

  Meanwhile, new settlers arrived from home every day. Cabins and lean-tos and bark huts now dotted the forest, and the settlers began clearing patches of land. At first the new immigrants lived in the communal house or in the log house that the Ottawa Indians had built on the shores of Black Lake; Dominie Van Raalte made arrangements to purchase the log house and an acre of land from Chief Wakazoo. The natives migrated to their hunting grounds farther north during the summer months and weren’t using it. When those living conditions became overcrowded, Papa invited a young, newly arrived family named Van Dijk to stay with us while they built a cabin not too far from ours. The young couple had two small boys: Arie, who was three years old, and Gerrit, who had just turned one. Food was still very scarce since animal pests continually invaded our garden, and the Van Dijks generously shared their provisions with us in return for sharing our cabin. Mama loved those two children as if they were her own grandchildren, and the Van Dijks filled a place in her heart that had been left empty after leaving my sisters and their children behind in the Netherlands.

  The cool weather made it easier for the men to work during the day, but the constant rain and flooded marshland along the nearby Black River created perfect breeding grounds for mosquitos. Thick, humming clouds of them hovered around us during the day and hummed incessantly around our heads at night as we tried to sleep. Their bites created itchy welts on every patch of our exposed skin. Mrs. Van Dijk daubed mud on her children’s faces and arms to keep the mosquitos from biting, turning the boys into little mud babies. But the itching wasn’t the worst of it. We soon learned that the mosquitos carried a disease called malaria, and it struck every home in our settlement.

  Mama was the first one of us to be felled by the disease. Fever and chills left her bedridden and wracked her frail body, which was already weakened by our poor diet during the winter. Mama had always been a tiny woman, but vomiting and diarrhea quickly reduced her to skin and bones. I soaked cloths in cool water to bathe her feverish skin, then fed the fire and covered her with blankets when she shivered with chills. And I prayed. How I prayed!

  Mrs. Van Dijk fell ill next, and I took over her duties, as well, cooking for all the men and caring for her two small children while nursing both women day and night. “The illness is everywhere,” Papa told us. “Every home and family in our community has been affected.”

  “Why would God tell us to move to such a terrible place?” I asked. Papa ignored my question. His faith in a loving God filled every inch of his soul, leaving no room for doubt to gain a foothold. Nor could he comprehend how I could ever distrust the God he knew and loved.

  “We must learn, like the Apostle Paul, to be content in whatsoever state we are in,” he said. “Paul knew how to be abased and how to abound; to be full and to be hungry; to abound and to suffer need. All for the sake of the Savior he loved.”

  The next day Papa fell ill, too. In spite of all his efforts to remain strong and keep working with Maarten and Mr. Van Dijk to clear the land, the raging fever toppled him like one of the huge trees they were cutting down on our property. I watched helplessly as Papa shook with chills. All around us, people began to die from malaria. Every day Maarten whispered the news to me of another death among our fellow settlers. The oldest, the youngest, and the weakest were the first to pass away.

  In spite of my prayers, the illness continued to infect our cabin until every one of us fell ill, some worse than others. I seemed to have a milder case than my parents and the Van Dijks did, so I took the two children into bed with me so their parents wouldn’t know how ill they were. Every time I drank a sip of water, I made sure the children drank some, too. Maarten kept filling the wood box and fetching fresh drinking water for everyone, even after he became sick himself. In between bouts of shaking and chills, he tended the fire and tried to cook a little porridge to help us recover our strength. The people in our community who were lucky enough to stay well or who had already recovered went from house to house with Dominie Van Raalte to help care for the sick, comfort the grieving, and, when the time came, bury the dead.

  I remember sitting beside Mama in the damp darkness of our cabin late one evening, listening to the rain pattering on our roof as I tried to persuade her to eat something. She looked up at me with fever-bright eyes and said, “He keeps all His promises!”

  “Who does, Mama?”

  “Jesus. Our Savior. He said He would never leave us or forsake us, and He’s here, Geesje. He’s right here beside us.”

  “Where, Mama?” I looked all around, wondering if the fever was making her hallucinate.

  “Can’t you feel His presence, lieveling?” Her smile seemed to light up the dingy cabin. I didn’t want to tell her that in my darkest moments of sickness these past few days I had felt totally abandoned by God.

  “Please don’t die, Mama!” I whispered.

  “I’m not afraid of dying,” she said, smiling. “I followed Him on this journey to America, and I’ll gladly follow Him to heaven if He asks me to.”

  I set down the bowl and spoon and gathered her fragile body in my arms. “Don’t leave me, Mama! Please don’t leave me!”

  “If He calls my name, I want to obey. But Jesus will always be with you, Geesje, just like
He’s with us right now. Can’t you feel Him? This is a holy place.”

  The next morning I awoke to find two men and a woman from our settlement standing in the doorway of our cabin. Maarten came over and knelt beside my bed, tears streaming down his fevered face. “Geesje . . . Geesje, I’m so sorry. Your mother went to be with our Lord during the night.”

  I insisted on getting up and helping prepare Mama’s body for burial, my tears wetting her beloved face for the last time. She looked peaceful, but I had never felt such despair. Papa and I were both too weak and too sick to attend her funeral. They buried her in the ever-expanding graveyard on the hill near the new log church.

  That afternoon Dominie Van Raalte returned to our cabin with medicine that had just arrived from Kalamazoo. It was supposed to cure malaria. “The entire kolonie has become a sickbed,” he told us. “I’m sorry that I’m forced to use this medicine sparingly, but I have so little to spread among so many people.”

  I wanted to rage at him for coming too late to save Mama. I turned away when he offered a dose to me. “Give it to my father and the others. And the children. Their fevers are much worse than mine.” We dissolved some of the medicine in water, and Maarten and I held little Arie and Gerrit on our laps as we forced them to drink the bitter liquid.

  “Why would God allow this to happen?” I asked Maarten after Dominie was gone. “How can God expect us to have faith in Him when He puts us through such hardship? We left home at His command to start a community because we longed for religious freedom. Now we’re dying in this terrible place!”

  Maarten gently stroked Arie’s sweaty hair. The child had fallen asleep in his arms. “The Bible says that ‘faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.’ The godly men and women in Scripture all walked by faith, and most of them never received the things they hoped for—at least not in this life.”

  “Don’t quote the Bible to me,” I said angrily. “There is no good reason in this world why Mama had to die. She trusted God!”