by Ines Thorn
The summer passed and autumn came, and with it, the first ships returned. Maren had worked as much as she possibly could. She had plucked ducks until her fingers bled, and she had risen earlier than anyone else to collect sheep dung and driftwood as fuel for the winter fires. She had continued to knit in the evenings after Finja’s eyes were tired, and on the few evenings when there was nothing left to do, she had worked on her trousseau. She had embroidered her monogram on sheets and table linens, on undergarments and nightdresses. Every evening she had fallen exhausted into bed, barely able to say her nightly prayers. And yet, the moments between prayer and sleep were the most precious of her day, because they were the moments she allowed herself to think of Thies. Thies, for whom she was doing all of this. Thies and their future together. She had put coin after coin in the wooden box, had denied herself every extravagance, had not even purchased the smallest sweet. She needed every penny to pay back Boyse. She wanted to have as little debt as possible when she finally stood at the altar with Thies. But the box filled more slowly than she’d expected. She had gone from house to house, asking the villagers if they needed new feather beds that she could sew for them and stuff with fresh feathers. But no one had money for such a luxury. She even asked Grit, who had regarded her condescendingly. “A feather bed, from you? No, thanks. Anyway, you’d probably add horseshoe nails to mine. I’ll order my feather bed from the mainland. Then at least I know it will be soft and warm.”
So Maren had made a new feather bed for herself and Thies. She wanted to throw her old straw pallet into the fire immediately after the wedding and then curl up on the bed under the soft blankets she’d made, with Thies by her side. She could hardly wait! If he would only come home soon!
And then, at the end of October, he finally arrived. He’d been on a successful whaling voyage and had earned enough money that a wedding party could be planned. As a gift for Maren, he had brought a pair of white satin slippers.
“Oh, thank you!” Maren happily pressed the shoes to her breast.
Thies watched her with a smile on his face. “I have no idea on what kind of occasion you could wear them for here on the island, but in Hamburg they told me that a life without satin slippers was no life at all for a woman. If you ask me, I do know when you should wear them for the first time.”
Maren smiled at him. “I’ll wear them for our wedding. And I will be the most beautiful bride that Sylt has ever seen.” Only briefly, she remembered the piece of simple lace which was the only decoration she had for her wedding dress, but then pushed the thought away. She would be beautiful. She would see her beauty reflected in Thies’s eyes. Thies’s eyes were the only mirror that counted.
Thies pulled her into an embrace. “I’m sure of it. But even without the shoes, dressed in sacks and rags, you would still be the most beautiful.”
The wedding was planned for Saint Martin’s Day. The minister hung the announcement on the church door, and Maren sewed the lace onto her mother’s old wedding dress, which she had been planning to wear. Finja smoked eels, herring, and ham in the smoke chamber, pickled hardboiled seagull eggs in saltwater, and crafted beautiful garlands out of paper and heather. There was a full week left before the wedding when Klaas examined the provisions.
“There’s too little fish,” he said. “We’re islanders. Herring should be the main dish at the wedding banquet, and above all at the wedding breakfast the next day. What would a wedding be without herring salad with onions and beets?”
“Don’t worry. We have enough of everything. No one will leave the table hungry,” Finja said, trying to appease her husband. But Klaas was determined.
“I’ll go out one more time to catch a few herring. Just to be sure. If there are any left over, we can pickle them.”
Finja smiled, but Maren shook her head. When Klaas got up the next day before the morning dew fell and went to his fishing boat, Finja said, “We islanders aren’t people who make promises and don’t deliver. Let your father go. It’s his way of showing his love for you.”
Maren nodded. “I know,” she said. “And I’m grateful to him. But . . .” She sighed and then didn’t continue.
“But what?” Finja asked.
“But I have such a strange feeling. Like someone just walked over my grave.”
Finja waved her worry aside. “That’s just nerves. You know that you’re about to experience the happiest days of your life, and that your entire life will change. What woman isn’t nervous or scared before her wedding?” She looked at her daughter thoughtfully. “Do you regret getting engaged to Thies?”
“No!” Maren shook her head vigorously. “Thies is everything I ever wanted. And you? Can you be happy for me, or are you still wishing that I’d agreed to marry the captain?”
Finja’s head came up. “Nothing is ever the way it seems at first glance,” she said. But when Maren asked what she meant, she remained silent.
CHAPTER 9
It was unusually warm for the month of November. The sun had been shining on Sylt the entire day with a clear glistening light that cast sharp shadows and brought everything into focus. The wind blew very gently, so the dunes were able to warm up in the sun during the day. Now they were radiating their heat back into the evening air. Thies and Maren sat high on the crest of a dune, holding each other’s hands and gazing at the sea, which lay like a shimmering piece of gray silk in front of them. Seagulls cried over their heads, and otherwise it was quiet. Only the heather crackled softly every now and then, and the beachgrass whispered stories from the old days.
“Are you nervous?” Maren asked quietly as she leaned against Thies’s wide chest.
“Yes,” he answered, just as quietly. “After all, you don’t get married every day. And you?”
“My heart pounds just thinking about it,” Maren answered. “But at the same time, I’m happy and eager.” She straightened up and looked into Thies’s eyes. “Do you also feel that life is truly beginning only now?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “As children, we have to obey our parents. They decide for us what’s right and what’s wrong. But from the day after tomorrow, we can decide for ourselves. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“Yes, it is.” Thies caressed her hair as though he were placating a child. “But you can’t expect to have too much freedom. We have duties. Our wedding won’t change that. We have to take care of our families as long as they live.”
“Yes, of course. But I still believe that we’ll be very, very happy. This morning, I paid back part of Boyse’s loan. It wasn’t as much as we’d agreed upon, but still a tenth of the total. Now he can’t complain. He knows that he’ll get his money back eventually. Oh, I’m so happy about our lives!” A smile played on her face, but disappeared as she thought about her visit to the captain. She had planned to give the money to the maid and leave Boyse’s property as fast as possible, but Boyse himself had answered the door. She had counted the money out of the box into his hand. He had watched her silently, and had gone back inside just as silently. He hadn’t exchanged a single word with Maren, but he had still made her feel like a common beggar.
Thies’s eyes showed shadows of doubt. “Don’t you ever think our life might not turn out to be as wonderful as you’re imagining? Aren’t you afraid of being disappointed?”
Maren’s eyes opened wide with shock. “Disappointed in you? Never. Why would you say such a thing?”
“Because sometimes things happen that you don’t expect.” The words hung in the air like a threat.
All at once, Maren noticed that the seagulls had stopped crying. The island was completely still. As still as a grave. A shudder went down Maren’s back. “Yes,” she said softly. “Sometimes things happen that you don’t expect.”
She thought of Boyse’s kiss, which had been so different from Thies’s kisses. It had set something in motion inside of her that she now longed for. When Thies kissed her, she felt safe, but the captain’s kiss had actually stirred her and had made her feel things that she hadn’t
been able to imagine before. Although she hated Boyse, she couldn’t stop thinking about his kiss.
Then she stood up, shivering. Far out to sea, dark clouds were gathering into towers. Beneath them, a last pale ray of golden light gleamed through as the sun set. Maren turned her eyes away. The image of the black clouds and the pale light suddenly seemed terrifying to her, almost poisonous. And there was the silence, the all-encompassing silence.
“Let’s go,” she said. “I have a lot to do before the day after tomorrow.”
“Wait just one moment, my darling.” Thies took her in his arms, kissed her gently on her quaking lips, and pulled her body tightly against his own as though they were one. He ran his lips over her eyelids, across her cheeks, and down her neck.
“No,” Maren whispered. “Wait just two more days.”
The next morning, the sea was rough. Little whitecaps danced on the waves and sent up a spray that settled like a damp veil over skin and hair. But the sea didn’t seem threatening. Rather, the whitecaps seemed to be playing with each other like boisterous children. Clouds chased each other through the sky, and the clear sun sent brilliant white rays of light over the island every now and then.
Maren had gotten up early. She sat at the kitchen table with her parents, eating her gruel with watered beer and thinking that this was the second-to-last breakfast that she’d ever eat with her parents this way. Tomorrow was the wedding. Today, Finja and a few of the village women would decorate the church. A huge side of mutton would be roasted, cakes would be baked, and fish would be marinated. Antje and her mother were probably setting up the wedding chamber in their house, which would also be Maren’s home soon. Maren had already packed her few items of clothing in a chest. She’d finished embroidering her trousseau, and it had been packed along with the rest of her belongings. Tonight, Klaas would bring her things to the Heinen house, so she would be able to find everything the morning after the wedding. But before that, she would walk down the long aisle of the church on her father’s arm, wearing the dress her mother had worn. That summer, Maren had made a wedding wreath. It was woven from grasses and flowers and had been carefully dried so she could wear it tomorrow. She wondered if her mother would cry.
Maren looked up.
“Come, now, stop dreaming,” Finja scolded. “There’s still a lot to do.”
Klaas got up. “I’m going fishing. I know it’s a little late, the sun has already risen, but I should go one more time. We could use a few more fish, and I’m only in the way here in the house.” He smiled drily, then bent over Maren and kissed the top of her head. “I wish you all the happiness in the world, and all the love under the sun,” he whispered.
Then he disappeared.
Maren shook her head in surprise. “What was all that about?” she asked. “He doesn’t usually talk so much.”
Finja laughed quietly. “Just don’t go thinking it makes him happy to trust another man with his one and only daughter. The house will be empty without you.”
“I won’t be gone from the world, just on the other side of the dunes. You’ll surely see me more often than you wish to.” She laughed. “Who knows? Maybe in a year you’ll already be a grandmother.”
Finja smiled, knocked on the wooden table for luck, and looked out the window. Outside, a raven was fighting with a magpie. When Finja saw it, she sighed.
“What’s wrong?” Maren asked.
“Nothing. I don’t know. I’d prefer if you didn’t ask. You don’t have to let an old woman make you feel anxious too.”
“You mean Old Meret? Did she say something?”
Finja swallowed. “It’s nothing. Surely nothing. Even Old Meret isn’t right all the time.”
Maren felt a shudder go down her back again. It gave her a feeling of unease, which she’d felt far too often in the last few days.
“What did she say?”
“Nothing bad, actually. Just that she didn’t see you as a bride.”
Maren laughed with relief. “That doesn’t matter. Tomorrow in church she can convince herself with her own eyes.”
By afternoon, Klaas hadn’t returned, and the women were beginning to worry. Finja climbed the dunes, shielded her eyes from the glare with her hand, and looked out to sea. But from the island to the horizon, there was no sign of the fishing boat. Maren couldn’t see anything either.
“Maybe he went up toward List, at the other end of the island. By the oyster beds. He probably didn’t catch anything and decided to get oysters for the feast.”
Finja nodded, but Maren could tell from her expression that she didn’t believe it.
An hour later, she sent Maren to find Thies.
“You have to go out to search! Please! My father hasn’t come back yet.”
Thies nodded. “Tell all the other men,” he commanded. Then he hurried to the beach, shoved his dory into the water, and pushed off from the shore.
Maren knocked on the doors of every house in Rantum. All she had to say was “My father hasn’t returned,” and the men immediately put on their oilskins and were soon on the sea.
Finja still stood on the dune, wringing her hands and praying softly.
“You’ll see. He’ll be back soon,” Maren said, trying to comfort her mother. “He and all the others. The sea is no wilder than usual. He’s been out in stormy weather before.”
Finja nodded, then gazed up at the sky. The clouds had gathered more thickly and were showing violet around the edges.
“A squall is coming,” Finja said quietly.
Maren looked up too. “That’s not certain. The wind may be coming from the northwest, but many fronts just pass us by.”
“Maybe. But my bones don’t lie.” Finja placed a hand on the small of her back. “I should have stopped him.”
They stood on the dune for a long time, looking out to sea, but nothing happened. Sometimes Maren’s mother briefly held her hand, as though to convince herself that at least her daughter was still there.
When twilight fell, the first fishing boat returned. Finja and Maren ran down the dune, almost tumbling in their haste, ignoring the sand which grated in their shoes and the prickly heather which caught in their clothes.
The fisherman was their neighbor Schwenn Jensen. He pulled his boat onto the land. When he saw Finja, he shook his head wordlessly.
“Did you see anything?”
Schwenn shook his head again.
“What about the others? They’re still out looking for him, aren’t they?”
Schwenn pointed at the black wall of clouds. “They’ll have to turn back soon. God grant they have him with them.”
“Did you go as far as List?” Finja wouldn’t give up.
“From Hörnum to List. Two of us even went down the Wadden coast.”
Then Finja sank onto the sand, covered her face with her hands, and began to weep. But Maren didn’t want to believe what she already knew. She stood completely still, her eyes searching the waves intently.
She stood that way for a long time. Once Finja wailed loudly, and Maren shouted at her. “Stop howling! He hasn’t drowned. I know it.”
Finally, several boats appeared on the horizon. They recognized Thies’s dory, which was towing another boat behind it. They were coming from List, directly from the oyster banks.
When Thies reached the beach, he didn’t speak a word, just took Maren silently into his arms. The other men were quiet too as they pulled their boats up onto the beach. As they passed Finja, who was still sitting in the sand, they removed their caps and bowed their heads.
After a moment during which the horror had not yet spread from her head to her heart, Maren spoke, her eyes resting hopefully on Thies.
“That isn’t necessarily his boat. Maybe it capsized, and he was able to swim ashore.”
Thies shook his head. “It’s his boat. You know that as well as I. And he couldn’t swim. None of us can.” It was true. Very few of the people of Sylt could swim. They were afraid of the cold North Sea, because immer
sion in its icy waters often resulted in death.
Thies put his arms around Maren and let her cry, holding her until she was calm again.
CHAPTER 10
The next morning, neighbors found the body of Klaas Luersen on the beach. When they came bearing the body of her dead father, Maren was standing in the parlor, running her hand over the fabric of her wedding dress. Finja had wept the entire night through. Now she sat at the table, her face pale and her eyes red.
“Old Meret was right,” she said softly. “She didn’t see you wearing your wedding dress.”
Maren nodded. She was more than sad; she was also angry at her father. It was meaningless anger, because of course she knew very well that her father hadn’t wanted to drown. But she felt betrayed anyway, because her happiness had been delayed for another year. A year of mourning.
Then the men knocked on the door, brought Klaas in, and laid him on the table. They said little, just patted Finja on the shoulder and nodded to Maren. “We’ll bring a coffin soon,” Schwenn Jensen told them. Then he, too, patted Finja on the shoulder and left.
Finja lit a candle, put it at Klaas’s head, and sat down in a chair next to her dead husband. She gazed at him intently, as though his body could reveal why he had drowned now, of all times. Every now and then, she lifted her hand, stroked Klaas’s pale, cold face, and sighed.
“It would have been a beautiful wedding feast,” she said softly. “And now the wedding feast will be a funeral feast.”
Suddenly Maren couldn’t control herself anymore. A sob ripped through her chest, vibrated in her throat, and came out of her mouth as a terrible howl. She threw herself over her father’s body, shook him by the shoulders, and even slapped him lightly in the face.
“Wake up!” she screamed. “Wake up, do you hear me?”
She pounded his chest until her mother finally pulled her away from him and held her in her arms as tightly as she could.