by Pam Lewis
“Everybody saw, you know,” Fenna said.
“She made a spectacle of herself I heard,” said Mevrouw to Mama. “Out on the ice. Flirting with him, running ahead. Dancing about.”
“You said yes, didn’t you? You pretend it’s no, but it’s yes.” Fenna and Mevrouw were a mean team.
“I did not make a spectacle of myself,” Minke said, knowing she had, knowing what she must have looked like out there.
“And Argentina!” Mevrouw added. “It’s a jungle there.”
“It’s a land of opportunity,” Minke said.
That shut the old woman up.
“So you are going!” Fenna wailed.
Mevrouw sat back, shook her head, and said to Mama, “He’ll take her halfway across the world, have his way with her, and then discard her. It wouldn’t be the first time a man has done that to a naive young girl.”
Papa cleared his throat. He sat erect, holding the bowl of his long clay pipe between thumb and forefinger. “I believe there’s a bit of a storm coming,” he said with a wink at Minke. “If you look to the north, you can see it’s quite dark.”
“The wind did pick up,” Minke said. Papa had saved her. “It was blowing terribly out there.” She felt on the verge of tears from utter confusion. She was unable to keep any one thought in mind for longer than a few seconds before another interrupted.
Papa continued, “As Meneer DeVries’s question was put to me first, I’m the one who answers when he arrives. Therefore, I would like to be sure.”
“That’s only a formality, Oscar. It means nothing,” Mama said.
Why did she put him down so? Minke often felt sorry for Papa. “I agree with Papa,” she said.
“How will you raise a dowry in so little time?” Mevrouw wanted to know.
“He’s willing to overlook the dowry,” Mama said.
“You’d better say yes,” Fenna said. “That won’t happen again.”
“Leave me alone with Minke a moment, all of you.” Papa made a brushing motion with his pipe. “I want a word, father to daughter.”
Mama put her hands on her hips and seemed ready to object, then sighed loudly and left the room, shooing Fenna and Mevrouw ahead of her.
Papa stared out the window for several moments pulling on his unlit pipe, his eyebrows low and his face gloomy. When there was no more noise to be heard from the others, he said, “We men need women. Some have a greater need than others. Marriage provides—” He searched for the word. “Equilibrium.”
“I see,” Minke said, not seeing at all. Sometimes Papa could be long-winded and philosophical and never get to the point. She worried he would do this now.
He pulled in his lower lip and thought longer. “Much has been made of the speed of Meneer DeVries’s proposal.” He gave her a look as if hoping she understood what he was trying to say.
“It was very fast.”
“The speed of his proposal isn’t a sign of poor character. It is a necessity in his case because of his business. I understand that you hold it against him, but try to broaden your sights a bit.”
This surprised Minke. “You’re in favor of the marriage!”
Papa thought again. “I’m only explaining something you might not be aware of. Like many men, Meneer DeVries is lost without a wife.”
“You make it sound like replacing an old pair of shoes.”
“Words don’t come easily to me, Minke. I’m trying to speak to you in all sincerity.”
“I’m sorry, Papa. Please go on.”
“I can see in the way he looks at you, Minke, that you are not simply a replacement. He has had more time to observe you than you him. Until now you’ve thought of him only as your employer, only as your friend’s husband. So it’s sudden for you, a great deal to accommodate.” Not exactly true, she thought, recalling the kiss onshore not an hour ago. Something was definitely changing. She had begun to cross over, the way one felt a shift in the wind on an autumn day. It had also happened when Sander had put his hands around her waist. She had secretly liked the feeling of it, and afterward, lying in her solitary bed, she had replayed the moment. She wanted desperately to believe Elisabeth had been in favor of their marrying.
“He said Enkhuizen is diminishing,” she whispered guiltily. “He said Enkhuizen is becoming nothing.”
“I’m not sure about nothing, but he’s correct that we’re no longer a major seaport. Not for a long time, and we never will be again.”
“He’s almost your age, Papa,” Minke said.
“That’s another matter, Minke. If you’re put off by his age, then it’s no. If you dislike him for any reason, Minke, then to say yes is out of the question. And only you know that.”
“I don’t dislike him.” A thrill ran through her.
“I thought that was the case.”
“Oh, Papa.”
“What a life,” Papa said. “You’ll come back to Enkhuizen in a year with all your stories of the world.”
Fenna burst into the room. She’d been listening in. “So you are going! Mama! Mevrouw! Minke’s going to marry Meneer DeVries!”
3
THEY ATE THEIR dinner, pea soup so thick you could stand a spoon in it, and hard-crusted bread, while the scent of peppermint steam rose from the kettle that Mama kept simmering most of the day. Fenna ate heartily, helping herself to seconds. Normally, Mama would chastise her, but not tonight. Minke had no appetite.
“It must be as proper a wedding as possible under the circumstances,” Mama said.
“Meneer DeVries said there would be no time until we get to Comodoro.”
“That is not up to Meneer DeVries,” Mama said. “What time does he come?”
“I don’t know,” Minke said, and when Fenna rolled her eyes, she added, “Well, it doesn’t matter if all we do is break a ring.”
“There will be no breaking of rings in this house,” Mama said, her color high. “It will be a proper wedding. Oscar, you must paint the door green. There must be lily of the valley and pine boughs. Fenna, you will take care of that. I will prepare the food and drink. The vicar must be notified and the church prepared.”
Minke felt the cold finger of dread poke at her heart. Meneer DeVries had said the wedding would be simple. He would not expect all this. Would not want it, and what would he do if she went against his wishes? But Mama was equally formidable.
“On both occasions, Meneer DeVries has arrived in the early afternoon,” Mama said firmly. “So we can assume he’ll arrive at the same time. We’ll arrange everything for midafternoon. If he arrives sooner, so much the better.”
The sunken, hopeless feeling got worse. She was the rope, and the two of them—Mama and Meneer DeVries—were in a tug-of-war. “Mama, please don’t make all these preparations.”
“Nonsense,” Mama said. “Fenna, you will take care of the washing up tonight. I must speak to Minke in private.” She pushed herself from the table. “In the parlor, please, Minke.”
Minke followed her mother and sat facing her by the window that looked out over the dark street. Mama sat erect, hands folded in her lap. She drew in a deep breath, tipped up her chin. “I will tell you what to expect from Meneer DeVries.”
“You barely know him.”
“In this matter, men are alike,” Mama said.
Oh, no, Minke thought. “We don’t need to speak of this.”
Mama’s fat little lip jutted out. “Certain information must come from your mother. As it came to me from mine.” She settled herself, rocking on the chair to move her backside to a more comfortable position. “He will want you to be in the bed with him.” She eyed Minke carefully.
“I know, Mama. You and Papa share the bed.”
Mama nodded. “Something occurs.”
“I know what occurs, Mama.” Minke stared out the window. It had turned quite cold, and the brick-cobbled streets were shiny with ice.
“Tell me.”
Minke could never bring herself to say to her mother the thing she had he
ard about what happened between a husband and wife. It was better to listen than to have to say out loud what she’d heard from other girls. “Go ahead,” she said.
“It’s not complicated, Minke. In the bed, the man lies on top of the woman and inserts the phallus into her in the same place through which she has her monthly courses. Very simple.”
Minke nodded. “I see. It is as I thought.” She felt vast relief at the quick, clinical description. She imagined lying in a bed with Meneer DeVries, but she could only picture him in his camel-hair topcoat. She rose to leave.
“Not so fast.” Mama held her back by the sleeve. “You do know what I mean by the phallus?”
On the shore to the north of the town, boys swam naked, and sometimes girls did the same but much farther up the shore. The boys peeked at the girls and the girls at the boys. Certainly Minke had seen, though only at a distance. She didn’t dare tell Mama this, however. “I know what it is.”
Mama smiled and, with her finger, drew a tall upside-down U on the frosted windowpane. “Like this, yes?”
Minke would have had it going the other way, but she nodded anyway.
Mama rubbed at the window to erase the mark she had made. “So,” she said. “What are your questions?”
Minke’s main questions were still about clothing. Would she be wearing her clothes? She thought not, but if not, would everything be off? And if that were the case, where would she disrobe? In the bed or the parlor? What if she undressed but Meneer DeVries expected her to be clothed? What of him? Would he be clothed? “What should I wear?” she asked.
Mama frowned. “A nightgown,” she said. “Like any night.”
“Oh,” Minke said.
“Has Meneer DeVries kissed you?”
“No!”
Again Mama frowned. “Do you feel—” She hesitated. “A warmth toward him? An affection?”
Minke nodded eagerly. Of course she liked Meneer DeVries. Mostly, she wanted this to stop. She would figure it out for herself later.
“Good. Then all will be well, I’m sure.”
Again Minke rose to leave.
“One more thing.” Mama had a twinkle in her eye. “Something I wish I’d known when I married Papa.”
Minke didn’t like to think about Papa in this way.
Mama leaned in closer and whispered, “You will think he’s dying, but he’s not.”
“Excuse me?”
“The noise, Minke.” Mama sat back. “They make such a racket.”
“What kind of noise?”
Mama thought for a moment. “A howl, like a man being eaten by a bear, if you can imagine that. Or the bear himself!” She slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh.
“Is he in pain?”
“Quite the opposite!”
“How loud?”
Mama rocked back in the chair and considered the question. “As loud as a foghorn,” she said, rocking with delight. “Oh, the shudders, and so red in the face. The bed makes a terrible racket, too, and the doors shake. And you on shipboard! A man of his size could rock the boat. And then!” She threw up her hands. “All at once he collapses like he’s been shot through the heart.” She slapped her hands against her heart, imitated a great shudder, and let her head fall to one side. She looked up, smiling her sweet smile. “Again: not dead.”
“All this on top of me?” Minke asked.
“I’m afraid so,” Mama said.
“It sounds terrible.”
“Not so terrible,” Mama said, drying her eyes. “You’ll see.”
THE PREPARATIONS WERE fully in place. The front door was a deep forest green, announcing the betrothal within. Pine boughs covered the floor by the stove where Minke and Meneer DeVries would sit to receive well-wishers once they were married. The vicar was first to arrive, clucking his disapproval at the speed of everything while helping himself to food and drink.
Minke greeted the guests and received their kisses, one to each cheek. There hadn’t been time to get word to any of the Friesian relatives, so the wedding guests were few, just the neighbors from the street. She wore the same black Lyons silk dress Mama had been married in. In only a few hours, Minke had taken it in at the shoulders and waist, lengthened the sleeves, and dropped the hem. Black was not an uncommon wedding color among the people of Enkhuizen or Berlikum. Such a dress could be brought out again on the occasion of funerals, although in Mama’s case that would not be possible because she would never fit in the dress again. Among all the things Minke had to worry over—principally, her fear that Meneer DeVries would be angry at the elaborate preparations—the dress was just one more. The bride of a rich man should wear a white dress selected for this one occasion. Would the black dress remind him he was marrying beneath his station and cause him to change his mind? It felt like a betrayal of her own family to worry about that, but she couldn’t help it.
By half past three, he had not arrived. Each time the front door opened, the guests all turned to look. Minke tried not to show her anxiety, glancing at the window mirror only when she thought no one was watching and hoping to see his beautiful car in the street. There was nothing. Just the usual bicycles, the horses, the man selling notions from his dog-drawn cart. Papa went about pouring the sweet wine abundantly, and for a time voices rose and filled the rooms, punctuated by the vicar’s rowdy laughter. By half past four, however, a pall hung over the event. The few people who remained stole glances at the family.
“You wouldn’t be the first,” Mevrouw Ostrander said to Minke with satisfaction, attracting baleful nods from other women. “And you won’t be the last.”
Minke went outside in the back, where the laundry was strung out stiff and frozen on the line, but where she could be alone. In a minute or so, Fenna came outside, her head low. She had spilled something on her dress already and made an effort to brush it off. “Mama shouldn’t have made such preparations,” Fenna said. “This is awful. With everybody here. You’re the laughingstock.”
“How kind of you.”
“Well, it’s the truth. You should hear them in there.”
“He never actually said what time.”
“I’m only saying.” Fenna sat down on the stoop with her back against the wall, glum. She’d had some wine to drink, and her color was high, her movements slow. “The vicar tries to reach under my skirt when no one is looking. He’s so disgusting. I took his glasses.” She held them up and smirked.
“The poor vicar will be blind,” Minke said.
“The punishment fits the crime.”
“Here I am,” Minke said. “You thought I’d go away, but here I am. Still.”
“He’ll come.”
“You believe so?” Minke never expected this from Fenna.
“Of course. You told him yes, didn’t you?”
“First I told him no.”
“And then you told him yes.”
“Then I told him I wasn’t sure.”
“Ay-yai-yai.”
“What?”
“You dangled him on a string. A man doesn’t want to come back and hear no again.”
“And you know so much about men?”
“I know that much.”
Plenty of scenarios had crossed Minke’s mind: that Griet had thrown a tantrum over the marriage, that he’d changed his mind, or worst of all, that he’d been toying with her in the first place. Fenna’s particular scenario had not crossed her mind—that he had believed her when she said no, and he didn’t want to hear it twice. “What should I do?”
“Nothing you can do,” Fenna said. “You probably wrecked it.”
“Now you’re being cruel,” Minke said.
“You asked me what to do, and I said.”
Minke went inside and found Mama in the kitchen. “Send them all home,” she said. “He’s not coming.” She couldn’t bear all that pity.
Mama told Minke to withdraw, and if too much more time passed, she would indeed send the guests home without Minke having to be present. Withdrawal wasn
’t so easy in that tiny house of two rooms. The only option was to climb the ladder to the attic without being seen, and the minute she had her chance, that was what she did. From there she could hear the muted goings-on downstairs, the guests unwilling to leave until the last possible moment, the vicar’s drunken laughter.
She’d been so stupid! Stupid to let the idea of marriage gather force and take over her sense of the future. She knew better. She never should have hesitated when Meneer DeVries asked. She should have said yes right away, packed, and been gone. It was what Fenna would have done. The difference between her and Fenna? Fenna always knew exactly what she wanted. She had no sense of propriety. Look where propriety had gotten Minke. Left her with egg on her face.
She lay there feeling sorry for herself, resigned to life in Enkhuizen, when the pitch of voices changed downstairs. Something had happened. Lying on her stomach, she inched forward and down the ladder, supporting her weight with her hands on the top rungs. What she saw were the backs of everyone as they crowded to get out of the front doorway. Mama must have told them to leave. It was going to be harder to get back up the ladder backward.
Her mother’s voice rose. “The vicar is drunk, and the church is locked!” The little gaggle in the door loosened, and some of them were pushed back into the house. It was him. Meneer DeVries had pushed into the crowded space and was so close she could almost touch him. He hadn’t seen her yet. He was looking in the empty parlor for her. She struggled to get herself back into the attic so she could come down properly. Then he looked up. They all did. She was by now several rungs down, practically upside down.
Face-to-face with Meneer.
He laughed loudly. “Come see this, Cassian,” he said. An elegant man in a beautifully cut blue velvet coat—she could see that much, even upside down—pushed through. Minke was trying to get herself back up the ladder. This was just fatally embarrassing. “Let us help.” Meneer slipped his hands under her arms, and immediately, she felt the relief of his support and let herself loosen her hold. Then, carefully, with his friend helping, he eased her down.
“I’d like you to meet my friend Dr. Cassian Tredegar,” he said, barely able to stifle the laughter. He was, she saw, the same man who’d been in the parlor of the Amsterdam house that day, a fact there was no time to remark upon because everything happened quickly after that. Meneer asked Papa to step outside with him for a chat, and the doctor wanted a private word with her. Mama fluttered about like a pigeon still fretting over the drunken vicar and the locked church.