Sensibly, he hurried on, trying to get this story out while he had his wits about him. “It took me months to work a link loose. And on the day that I finally did, Splettshoesser came into the barn and discovered that I was free. He picked up a hayfork and threw it at me, but it missed. We tussled and I pushed him. His head hit the beam of the barn and he dropped like a stone. I dinnae mean to kill him. I dinnae ken me own strength. To my surprise, Georg Schultz was standing at the open barn door. He’d seen the whole thing. He told me t’get in his wagon and wait for him, so I grabbed the red coat and left the barn, sure I was heading straight t’ the gallows. Awhile later, Schultz came out of the barn and said he’d buried Splettshoesser, and not to worry meself over it. Said he knew it was an accident but dinnae think others would see it that way. Said he would take care of everythin’, that he would keep me secret. He took me t’the docks and promptly lost me in a Pharo Bank game. Thankfully, he lost to Captain John Stedman. The captain was the one who named me Bairn. It was the closest he could get t’pronouncin’ me name.” He let out a deep sigh. “And I think you know the rest of the story.”
But he was leaving out the heart of his story, leaving her to fill in the blanks. How the burden of guilt over the terrible thing he had done to Splettshoesser lay heavily over him, how Georg Schultz frequently reminded him of the information he held over him, how he had made his way but his world had grown dark, narrow, and lonely. How a shadow had been cast over his soul. And how he had remembered another thing his father had taught him: Don’t ever depend or trust Outsiders.
To Bairn, everyone had become an Outsider.
He could survive on his own, he figured, if he just kept his wits about him, if he kept his eyes open for opportunities, and if he didn’t allow his life to be dictated by other people.
Anna was quiet for a long moment. The only sound was the sharp prow of the ship cutting through the seething sea. When she spoke, her voice was almost a whisper. “Was he good to you, this Captain John Stedman?”
“Aye. John Stedman has been very good to me. Fair and generous. He realized that I was capable of learnin’ and saw to it I was educated.”
“If the captain was so fair and generous to you, I don’t understand why he didn’t try to reunite you with your family.”
“Most ships weren’t sailin’ to Rotterdam like they have been the last few years. They were goin’ back and forth between England and the colonies, totin’ goods t’sell and trade. Now and then I came across a German Peculiar—” he stopped himself—“Sorry. ’Tis a bad habit.”
“Go on.”
“I would ask if they knew of the Jacob Bauer family, but the German Peculiars were all Mennonites. No one knew of the Ixheim church. As time went by, I stopped askin’. It was too . . . difficult . . . t’hold on to hope. Each time me hope was dashed, it felt like a blow that might level me. Finally, I realized there might be a gift in acceptin’ the end of my old life. It would sever me ties to my old life and free me fer this new one.”
“You were a boy. Just a boy, hardly much older than Felix. All alone. You must have been so frightened. You couldn’t even speak English.”
“Aye. Well, I learned it quickly.” He had to. “Anna, I dinnae want to tell my . . . mother.” He spoke it as if it was a new word to him and in a way, it was. “I’m goin’ to return to Rotterdam with Georg Schultz. I will go in Felix’s place.”
She spun around, eyes wide, trying to absorb what he was telling her. “But you’ll go to prison. Or worse. This baron . . . he hates Jacob Bauer. He could find a way to see you hang for a trifle.”
“Nay. He’ll put me in prison but I don’t think he will have me done away with. We have no history together—not like me father and the boys did. It will go easier for me than for Felix. The laddie must stay in the colonies with our father and mother. And I will nae allow Felix t’endure what I had to live through.” He put his hands on her elbows. “I’ll be fine, Anna. You taught me that. I dinnae think God was watching o’er me, but I see now that I was wrong. He never left me.”
“Let Jacob decide what must be done. He’ll know what to do.”
Bairn seized her by the arms, desperate to make her see, to understand. “Nay. My father is not t’be told of me. Not until I return. They’ve lost me once already. They don’t need to grieve me twice. Not while they’re still grievin’ Johann’s passin’.”
“But, Bairn . . . you are his son. You belong to Jacob and Dorothea and Felix. They belong to you—”
His hand went to her cheek, stopping her words as effectively as if he had silenced her lips. “It’s decided. I dinnae want to hear another word about it. I told you so you’d take special care of me mother. My family will watch over you and you’ll watch over them.”
“Oh no.” She shook her head, and though she tried to pull away, he refused to let her go. “No, no, no. I’m going back with you. Dorothea will be fine once she is with Jacob.”
“She’s not fine, Anna. I can see that for myself. She’s ne’er been strong, I remember that, and she’s been weakened by the rigors of the ocean journey. She’s not sturdy like you are.”
“But I want to return to Germany. I’ve always wanted to return. I never wanted to go on this voyage. I was trying to get off the ship back in Plymouth but you forgot to let me talk to the captain.”
“Ah well, that was auspicious. Nay. You must stay in the New World and help Dorothea. She thinks of you as a daughter.”
“But I can’t let you go, Bairn.” Tears starred her lashes and spilled over.
“Shhh, dinnae fash yerself over me, lassie.” He brushed the tears off her cheeks with his fingertips, then tilted up her chin. “I must do this. There’s no dissuadin’ me. I’ve done many things in me life that I’m not proud of, and mayhap this will atone for my sins. Some of them, anyway. It’s just for a time, then I’ll find you.” He murmured into her hair. “Wherever you are, I’ll find you.” His arms twined around her, pulling her against the entire length of his body, his voice turning husky. This was hard for him, to say the words he wanted to say to her, needed to say to her.
He inhaled, and something inside him gave way, snapped, dissolved. “And now I have another confession t’make. I lost my heart to you the moment you gave me an order t’go get the captain and have him turn the boat around. Then I lost everythin’ else to you when you gave water to the slaver. You have stolen me very heart away. I see yer face, I hear yer voice, I watch ye walk, even in my sleep.”
She stood before him with soft eyes and softer lips. Eyes meant for gazing into. Lips intended for kissing. He bent his head to cover her lips with his. She tasted of ambrosia, of a future he didn’t think he had. She clung to his shoulders and kissed him back.
And his heart softened from a sharp pain to a dull ache in his chest. If he kept on kissing her, the discomfort might vanish forever. He kissed her again and again, then held her in his arms, close to his chest. For a long time neither spoke. And then the ship bell rang and he knew their time together had come to an end.
23
September 18th, 1737
At daybreak, after eighty-three days at sea, land was spotted. On the fo’c’sle deck, the corner of Captain Charles Stedman’s mouth twitched reluctantly into something vaguely resembling a smile. Standing next to him, Mr. Pocock clapped his hands together one time. It was the most enthusiasm he could muster, given his gout. Johnny Reed, in anticipation of good times ashore in Philadelphia, threw back his head and howled like a banshee.
Sheets of rain swept across the decks of the Charming Nancy as the ship finally sailed up the narrow Delaware River on a flood tide. Anna and Felix, standing by the larboard rail with other seamen, took no notice of the rain that was soaking them.
It looked so . . . new, so youthful, Anna thought, staring at her first sight of the New World. The harbor was filled with ships and fishing boats, nowhere near as crowded as Plymouth or Rotterdam. And the shoreline looked so unfinished, with random piers jutting into
the harbor. Snug brick buildings, shoulder to shoulder, hugged the ground, but a few steeples reached to the sky, competing with iridescent orange-and-yellow-leafed trees. So many trees! No wonder it was called Penn’s Woods.
Before the ship could enter the port, a health officer was sent out by the harbormaster. He gave a rudimentary physical to each passenger and miraculously everyone passed, even toddlers with runny noses. Then the health officer heard a noise that made his head lift in alarm: Georg Schultz’s hacking, choking cough echoed across the lower deck. “Infectious disease!” the health officer pronounced, and ordered the ship to be removed one mile from the city, quarantined.
Felix was beside himself. “But I can see it! I can see Port Philadelphia! I see the ships in the harbor! I see the people on the docks! Papa must be waiting for us.” That night, he sobbed himself to sleep.
“Felix is learning the gift of patience,” Anna said. But they all felt travel-weary and disgusted with Georg Schultz.
It wasn’t all bad for Felix. The captain had ordered provisions of fresh greens and water to be sent to the ship, so the quality and quantity of food improved enormously. And because the ship was anchored on the Delaware River, life on the ship became make-and-mend days for the seamen. Accustomed to Felix, they let him roam freely above deck, Decker’s dog following on his heels wherever he went.
Anna held an opposite view on the quarantine. She treasured it. She reveled in the unaccustomed luxury of being dry on this ship, clean after months of being splattered by ceaseless waves and wearing oily, salt-caked clothes. She cherished every stolen moment with Bairn. Each evening, she would meet him at the bowsprit, and his fingers would wrap around hers, warming her hand, thrilling her heart, and they would talk late into the night, lingering until the pale moon was high overhead. During those shared hours, she told him everything she could remember about Johann, about Felix, about Jacob and Dorothea. She caught him up on eleven years of life in Ixheim and helped him to remember things he’d buried in memories. Sometimes, she had discovered, the heart remembered things better than the head.
And she listened to him. He told her about his life on the ship, learning English, studying mathematics so that he could unlock the mysteries of navigation.
Sometimes, they wouldn’t speak at all. Their arms would circle each other for an embrace, a drawing of strength, of support. She discovered things about him—that in a way, he was more Amish than she. His childhood was his foundation, and even though he might have tried to forget the old ways, they were still a part of him—the very essence of him. It was no wonder he was willing to sacrifice himself for Felix. He was much changed from the boy she once knew, but much the same.
Joy and dread were Anna’s constant companions. As the day drew near for the quarantine to be lifted, her time with Bairn would be over. He reassured her that he would come to Penn’s Woods and reunite with his family, but she knew that was a promise he couldn’t make.
On October 7th, the ship was cleared by the health inspector. Bairn lifted his eyes to Anna’s when Captain Stedman made the pronouncement, and there was pain in the gray depths.
If all went well, tomorrow morning on the high tide, they would reach Port Philadelphia. Tomorrow eve, if all went well, Bairn would sail out on the high tide.
October 8th, 1737
The time had come once more to pack up for a journey. Maria was all aflutter in the way she got, ordering everyone about, accomplishing very little but stirring up a great deal. Anna unhooked the hammock from the hook in the beams, a simple thing, but it triggered a sob from deep within her. She hurried to the bow of the ship to put the hammock in the barrel where she had first found it, and then sunk to the deck behind the barrel and doubled up, pressing her head to her knees, hugging them. A downpour of tears exploded, tears for the moment she would say goodbye to Bairn, knowing she might never see him again. Tears for the years Bairn had lost with his family. Tears for what Jacob and Dorothea, and Felix, too, would be missing by not knowing that their son, Felix’s brother, was alive. By the time her cry had been spent, her eyes were swollen and aching. She wiped the tears off her face with the backs of her hands and slowly rose to her feet.
“Something troubling you, dear?” Dorothea leaned in to whisper as they finished packing up their chests. “You seem far away.”
Anna kept her head down. “There’s a lot on my mind.”
The dear woman gave her shoulder a squeeze of motherly affection. Anna breathed through her mouth to keep from crying again, but a fierce pain was pressing against her chest so hard it seemed her ribs would crack.
She took the rose out of the basket and unwrapped its base, then let it sit in a plate of water to soak up as much as it could. Its leaves were brown at the edges and there was little new growth, but it had survived. A small smile tugged at her lips. It had survived, and so will I.
They would need to make several trips to get their belongings out on the dock after the ship anchored. The more organized they could be, the better. She wrapped up her rose in burlap and set it in the basket. As Anna cleaned up around the lower deck, she found a stack of overlooked pewter spoons from the galley. Felix was nowhere in sight, so she took them up to Cook. She took her rose basket too, just in case it would get swept up with the other belongings that the men were taking from the lower deck and down to the docks. She had come this far with it—she wasn’t about to lose it now.
In the galley was Bairn, saying goodbye to Cook. He straightened when he saw her and her heart started to pound.
“Cook, would ye mind if I had a moment alone with Anna?”
Cook simply clamped him on the shoulder in response. “Godspeed to you both,” he said, before closing the door behind him.
“Mr. Pocock is waitin’ fer me. He found a ship that is sailin’ at high tide tonight. Georg Schultz will be on it as well.” He took a step toward her. “Well . . .” The word hung in the cold air like the sound of the ship’s bell.
“Yes, well . . . ,” she answered, drawing out the words molasses-slow. She spread her palms nervously, then clutched them together. It was too much at once, and she heard Bairn thinking the same.
This would be the last of it, then. She would say goodbye, and he would sail back to Rotterdam to face the baron. And who knew what would happen next? She might never see his face again, a face that had grown beloved to her. The thought was so painful it was like a sliver of glass in the eye. Tears threatened, but she tamped the burning at the back of her throat and whispered, “Bairn, please, let me go with you back to Germany. I don’t want to leave you.”
No longer able to stem the rush of tears, they flowed unchecked down her cheeks. Bairn wiped them away with his thumbs and pulled her into his arms, murmuring into her hair, “Just knowin’ that you want to is all I’ll need t’get me through and bring me back.” The words came soft and unhurried. Then he kissed her, a silent reminder that no matter what the future, he loved her.
As his arms tightened around her, her hand released the rose basket and it dropped to the ground with a clink.
He pulled back, holding her by the arms. “What was that? Did y’hear that sound?” He bent down to grab the basket. “Of course. Of course, of course! This is the way Felix’s sneaky little mind would work. Put it someplace obvious, because no one looks for the obvious.” He pulled the wrapped rose out of the basket and laid it on the table, then carefully unwrapped it.
“The baron’s gold watch? It’s not there. I’ve taken the rose out often to check on it, to give it sun and keep it damp. I would have noticed.”
Bairn was examining the basket. “You would nae notice . . . if there’s a false bottom in the basket.” He reached a hand in and pulled out a wooden oval. There, at the base of the basket, was a wrapped handkerchief. Bairn unfolded it carefully. Inside was the baron’s gold watch, complete with a delicate gold chain. “He’s a cannie laddie, that one.” He started toward the door.
“No . . . let me. I’ll go get him.”
Bairn had laid the watch out on a barrel top in Cook’s galley.
Felix’s eyes went wide, then he tried backing up toward the door, but Anna reached out to stop him by placing a firm hand on his shoulder.
“Am I in trouble?”
“Yes. You lied to me, over and over.” Anna swallowed down a frustrated sigh. “Why did you steal the watch?”
“I dinnae vant the baron t’have the vatch,” he said in his awful accent. He wasn’t even pretending anymore; the accent had become part of him.
“But why the watch? Of all things, why would you steal a watch?”
Felix’s eyes filled with tears. “The baron used it t’time the beatings his servant gave t’Johann. At the stroke of twelve, every minute, fer fifteen minutes, Johann vas lashed. He never cried. He just vent silent.”
“His heart,” Anna said woodenly. “It wasn’t strong.”
“So I took the vatch so he vouldn’t hurt anyone else.” He looked at Anna, tears running down his cheeks.
“I’m not angry with you, Felix. You meant well.”
“I alvays mean vell. I am misunderstood.”
“That’s a question for another time. You go finish packing up. We should be reaching the harbor soon.”
Felix looked up at Bairn, worry covering his small round face. “Do I have t’give it back t’Georg Schultz?”
“Ich gibt acht auf Georg Schultz,” Bairn said. I’ll take care of Georg Schultz.
Relieved, Felix jumped like a grasshopper into the air and out the door.
Anna tilted her head. “You spoke our language to him. Weeks ago, I realized that you could understand it, but this was the first time I’ve heard you speak it.”
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