The Whaler (The Island of Sylt Book 1)

by Ines Thorn

  Maren thought about Thies. Would he believe that Angret was his daughter? If he could, then she was sure that he would accept her and take care of her. But he wasn’t alone anymore, and he certainly wasn’t in charge of his household anymore. Grit was there. And she would sooner hang herself than let him accept Maren and her child.

  Was Thies strong enough to stand by Maren? She didn’t know, and she couldn’t think about it now if she didn’t want to fall into a bottomless pit of despair.

  “Where is the captain?” she asked. He had saved her, and Maren thought it would be right to thank him even though she would rather have died.

  “He’s not here,” Zelda said without elaborating.

  “Where is he? When is he coming back?”

  Zelda sighed. “He packed his things and moved somewhere else.”

  Maren’s eyes went wide. “But why? He likes being with you.”

  Zelda gave a pained smile and didn’t speak.

  Then Maren understood. “He doesn’t want to see me anymore. He can’t stand me, is that it?”

  Zelda shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t say that, exactly,” she said placatingly. But Maren had heard enough.

  “Leave me for a while,” Maren begged. “I have to rest, but then I, too, will go. The next ship for Sylt leaves early tomorrow morning, doesn’t it?”

  Zelda nodded. “But you can stay as long as you wish,” she promised. “We’ll provide for you and Angret somehow.”

  Maren was so grateful for those words that tears sprang to her eyes again. “Sometimes I think you’re the only person in the world who cares about me.”

  “No, that’s not true. And I think it’s good for you to go home, at least at first. Maybe everything will turn out differently than you think right now.”

  Maren frowned. “What if it doesn’t?”

  Zelda spread her arms. “Well, if it doesn’t, you can just come back here.”

  “How shall I make a living?” Maren didn’t mean to ask the question out loud, but it slipped off her tongue faster than she could think. “Shall I become a whore?”

  Zelda flinched a little, looking hurt. “It’s a good profession,” she said, sounding defensive. “It would help you to get by. And if you go about it cleverly, then by the age of thirty-five, you can be set for the rest of your life. Look. I bought myself this house and hired girls. I don’t need to work myself anymore.” She stood up and gazed down at Maren and couldn’t hide a hint of disdain. “There’s no right to happiness in this world and no right to love,” she said softly. “Learn to love yourself and to provide for yourself. Then not much can happen to you.”

  Maren watched her leave and close the door behind her. She’s right, Maren thought. You can’t depend on anyone. I have to take care of myself. Myself and Angret. All at once, she was glad that she wasn’t dead. She longed for her daughter, wanted to breathe her warm scent and hear her happy noises. She would take her to the island. Maybe Maren would be an outcast there, but at least she would be home.

  For the first time in her life, Maren didn’t feel just the weight of responsibility on her shoulders but also the desire for it. She would make sure that Angret grew up to be a strong, independent girl. She would become a young woman who wasn’t indebted to anyone. And if Thies wouldn’t help, then she would have to provide for Angret herself. I’m strong too, Maren thought. I proved on board the ship that I’m not afraid to work and that there are a lot of things I can do. Then she got up and packed her belongings.

  CHAPTER 25

  Maren stood gratefully at the rail with Angret at her chest and took a last look at Amsterdam. It was a beautiful, brilliantly sunny day. Single white clouds blew across the blue sky, and the air was fresh and smelled of salt. A cool wind blew, turning the passengers’ cheeks red and tugging at their caps and hoods. The ship cut through the water, and whitecaps danced on the waves. Most of the travelers were on deck, watching the city of Amsterdam getting smaller and smaller until it finally disappeared into the distance.

  They would soon be at home on Sylt. She felt alone, but her child filled her with strength. She thought back over the previous months and reflected on all she had experienced. Maren had changed without knowing it. But now she realized that she had become braver. She was definitely no longer as weak as she had been. Zelda had helped her to see that. And that wasn’t the only thing she was endlessly grateful to Zelda for. The future was unpredictable, but Maren would deal with it as it came. Now she had Angret, and for Angret, she would do anything. It didn’t matter to her anymore if Thies would accept her or not, because Angret had a mother who would fight for her whenever it was necessary.

  “I didn’t think that you’d be back on your feet again so quickly,” she heard a voice say behind her.

  Maren turned around. There stood Captain Boyse, regarding her intently.

  “Oh, I . . . I have to thank you,” she stammered.

  Boyse waved her thanks aside. “If I’d actually believed you wanted to die, I would have let you.”

  “But . . . I did want to die. Then, at least.”

  “No, you didn’t. You wanted to live. You just didn’t want to live the way you lived before.”

  Maren stared at him. He was right: She wanted to live. She wanted to live for Angret, who needed her. She wanted to see the sun and feel it on her face, taste the snow on her tongue and hear the rushing of the sea. But how had he known that? She herself had only just figured it out.

  “Thank you,” she said again. She had an urge to take his hand, but she didn’t do it. She felt so close to him. That was no wonder, considering they’d saved each other’s lives, but he obviously felt less connected to her than to his men on the brig. After all, he’d left Zelda’s house because he couldn’t stand being around Maren anymore.

  So she asked, “Will you, too, scorn me on the island because I lost my virtue?”

  Boyse laughed. “Do you believe that of me?” He reached for Angret, took her in his arms, and stroked her delicate cheek with his thumb. “I helped bring her into this world,” he said softly. “That was one of the most beautiful experiences of my life. She can count on me whenever she needs me.”

  Maren was touched by his words, but a little bell of warning sounded in her head. “But you didn’t want to be her godfather.”

  Boyse shook his head. “No. I didn’t, and I still don’t. I want to be more than a godfather to Angret.”

  With those words, he put the child back into her arms and left. Maren watched him go. What he just said . . . What had he meant?

  Over the next few days, she barely saw him. He spoke with other men who’d sailed with merchants and were now returning to the islands for the winter and also with men who’d come to Amsterdam to make purchases.

  Maren was alone most of the time. She often stood at the rail and showed Angret the sea. The little one followed Maren’s finger with her eyes when she pointed out a seagull. She cooed in her arms, reached for Maren’s hair, and touched her mother’s face with her tiny hands. She had become a little stronger, but she was still a delicate thing, with such thin skin that her bluish veins shimmered through. Sometimes, old Piet from Rantum joined them. He smiled at the child and made silly noises that made Angret laugh and otherwise stood silently next to Maren.

  Only once, when the neighboring island of Amrum appeared on the horizon, he put a hand on Maren’s shoulder. “You can do this. And if you can’t, I’ll be right there too.”

  Then he shuffled away. But those few words gave Maren a little more courage. She needed courage. She realized it as the Dutch smak arrived in the harbor of Sylt, and many of the islanders had come to celebrate the homecoming of those they believed had died.

  Maren saw her mother, who was standing next to Old Meret. For a little while, they just watched the ship, and then Finja raised her hand and waved to her daughter. At that moment, a huge weight fell from Maren’s shoulders. Her mother. She had waved to her. She wouldn’t reject her. Then her gaze slid to the
left. There stood a man with his hands in his pockets. Maren recognized Thies immediately. He looked at her, but she couldn’t make out the expression on his face. But he, too, had come.

  Then the ship arrived at the quayside, and the passengers streamed out. Maren held Angret in her arms, her heavy sea chest at her feet. In the sea chest was the leather purse with the payment she had earned. It was a goodly amount of money for Sylt. It was enough to repair the house and buy enough wood for the winter. Maybe even enough to begin a new life.

  Piet approached her. “I’ll take your sea chest,” he said, lifting the box onto his shoulders. “My wife came with the wagon. I’ll bring the chest to your mother’s house. Take your time.”

  Maren nodded gratefully. She was the last to disembark. She didn’t dare look left or right. She was afraid to feel the disdainful stares of the islanders. With her head down and the baby pressed against her, she took the final steps and finally stood once more on the soil of Sylt.

  “Maren!” Finja hurried toward her daughter with her arms spread wide. She embraced her, took her face between her hands, and kissed her again and again. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I thought I’d never see you again! God be praised for bringing you safely home!”

  Maren risked a tentative smile. “As you can see, I didn’t come alone.” She searched her mother’s face for a sign of disapproval, but there was only the purest joy to be seen there.

  “May I?” Finja asked, and she reached out to take the baby.

  “Of course. After all, you’re her grandmother.” Maren passed the child to Finja, and Finja hugged the little one to her, kissing her so thoroughly that Angret began to fuss.

  “She’s so beautiful,” Finja said and stroked the child’s cheek gently. “She’s enchanting.”

  “Her name is Angret,” Maren said. “Angret Finja.”

  “How wonderful!” Finja still regarded the baby with amazement. But then she said, “Come, let’s go home. You must be exhausted, and we have a lot to talk about.”

  Maren nodded gratefully. The women made their way through the crowd, but suddenly Maren was poked roughly in the side. She looked up and saw Grit’s furious face.

  “I wish that you’d stayed dead!” She practically spat the words in Maren’s face. “No one here missed you. Not anyone.” Then her gaze fell on the baby who lay contentedly against Finja’s chest. She pointed a finger at the child and laughed shrilly. “Ha! I thought so. You couldn’t get your legs apart fast enough, could you? You’d already tasted the captain’s kiss long ago!” Then she spat at Maren’s feet. “Whore!” she shrieked.

  “Come!” Finja pulled her daughter behind her, out from the throngs of people and toward the path that lead to Rantum and their home. For a little while, the women walked silently, until the noise of the harbor had died out behind them.

  “Does everyone think the way Grit does?” Maren asked.

  Finja shrugged. “They can think what they want. The important thing is that you are both home.”

  They walked the rest of the way in silence, and when Maren saw the crooked house with a white puff of smoke coming out of the chimney and smelled the familiar scent of sea air and heather, she felt a wave of relief. “We’ll be all right, won’t we?” she asked her mother.

  “Of course we will. People will get used to it. I’ll just get the cradle out of the barn. I kept all your other baby things too.” She smiled. “The little one will want for nothing.”

  “You aren’t angry at me?” Maren asked when they had finally arrived in the house and were drinking a hot cup of herbal brew. Angret lay protected by pillows in the alcove and slept, while Maren and Finja sat across from each other at the kitchen table.

  “No. Why should I be angry at you? Your life didn’t turn out the way I’d thought, but you’re alive. And your daughter is amazingly beautiful.”

  “You aren’t ashamed of me?”

  “Do I have a reason to be?”

  Maren shook her head. “Thies is her father. I only lay with a man once, on the night before I left for the whaling voyage. The child was born at sea, when we were surrounded by ice.”

  “Is she christened?”

  Maren nodded. “Captain Rune Boyse christened her. He was there at her birth.”

  “Does she have godparents?”

  Maren swallowed. “Piet from Rantum is her godfather. Zelda is her godmother. She’s . . . she’s . . . a whore from Amsterdam.” Maren straightened her shoulders and chin and then added, “And she’s the best friend I’ve ever had.”

  Finja nodded and was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “She’s welcome in my house. And Piet as well.” Then she got up and went to the barn to find everything that Angret would need.

  Maren was alone and let out a long breath of relief. In her deepest heart, she had known that Finja would greet her and Angret warmly. She had her home again and would be able to stay with Finja. The three of them could live here, just like the other women on Sylt did when their men went to sea in February for their long voyages. But Finja had asked no questions. Maren had told her mother that Angret was Thies’s daughter, but Finja hadn’t said anything about it. What about Thies? He’d stood there at the quayside, but he hadn’t greeted her. She had to meet him, had to talk to him. She looked over at Angret, who was sleeping peacefully.

  She wrapped herself in her warm cloak and was about to leave the house when Finja returned. Her dress was dusty, and a thin piece of cobweb was caught in her hair. She wiped her brow with her sleeve. “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.”

  “What wouldn’t you do?”

  Finja sat down. “Please bring me some water, won’t you?”

  Maren obeyed and put a full cup in front of Finja. “What wouldn’t you do?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t go to Thies.”

  “Why not?”

  Finja sighed. “You left in February. Now it’s December. You returned with a child in your arms. She’s so delicate that she doesn’t look like she’s more than a few weeks old.”

  Maren sat down again too. “What are you trying to say?”

  “Everyone will say that you got with child on the voyage. I’d wager that people are already getting hot heads over it, trying to figure out which member of the crew could be the father. Leave it be. No one here has forgotten that Rune Boyse proposed to you.”

  “Leave it be? But Thies really is Angret’s father.”

  Finja pursed her lips. “In the eyes of the others, she’s illegitimate. If you go to Thies now, everyone will say you’re trying to destroy his marriage.”

  “But Grit didn’t marry him for love!” A pain surged through her chest, as though her heart were being torn into pieces. “We were promised to each other. He broke his promise. How can anyone point a finger at me?”

  “You were gone. Too long. Thies waited. He was only married in November. Only after we’d heard that you and the others were dead.”

  Maren’s shoulders sank. She had known all of this, but in her heart, she’d had a glimmer of hope that Thies would still be true to her. Yes, she had even dreamed that she’d leave the ship and fall directly into his arms. Did Thies believe what the others did? That was even more reason he had to know that Angret was his child.

  CHAPTER 26

  The next morning, Maren walked along the beach. It was a clear day with a blue sky. The wind drove countless shredded clouds away ahead of it. Maren had wrapped Angret warmly and climbed the dunes with her. The air smelled of salt and seaweed. Before she’d been to sea, she had believed that the sea everywhere must smell the same way, but it wasn’t so. Here on Sylt, the smell of the sea was mixed with the smell of heather. At Spitsbergen, the sea had smelled of krill, and every now and then, she’d thought it had no smell at all. In Amsterdam, the smell was mixed with pitch and smoke, and on the Dutch smak, it had smelled of fish.

  As she stood at the top of the dune watching the North Sea shimmering silver gray in the distance, she sighed with relief. Finally. She was home
again. A few seagulls squealed overhead, and two fishing boats lay on the beach above the high-tide line. From afar, Maren recognized an old woman who was collecting driftwood. Home. She turned the baby so she faced the sea.

  “This is where you’re from,” she told her little daughter. “This is your home.”

  But Angret had no appreciation for the meaningful moment, and she began to fuss. Only when Maren had pressed her closely to her chest again did the little one quiet down and go back to sleep. Slowly, with one hand supporting the small back, Maren climbed down the dune to the beach. Far out on the water, she saw a ship that was probably on its way to Scandinavia. She sat down on an overturned fishing boat and gazed at the sea. A few clouds drifted across the sky, the wind tugged playfully at her dress, and the waves wore whitecaps that looked like pointed hats. Finja had advised her to think about her future. A future without a man. But Maren was much too happy about finally being home on the island again to ruin the beautiful day with dark thoughts. Yes, she would think about it, but she actually didn’t have very many possibilities. She had to earn a living. Maybe she could pluck ducks again, but the money she made wouldn’t be enough to live on. She could knit, but she couldn’t make a living that way either. Maybe she should listen to her mother and buy a flock of geese. The geese could graze on the dike in spring and summer and be slaughtered in the winter. But Maren had no idea how to keep geese.

  At the moment, she had money. Now it was up to her to use it in a way that would support them for a few years. There were several women on the island who had to depend on themselves. Their men had died at sea. One was said to sell her body to men, but everyone avoided her like the plague. One widow ran a shop that sold food, oil, and a few other everyday necessities. But Rantum didn’t need more than one such shop. Then there was the midwife who earned her living independently, and of course, Old Meret. She collected healing herbs and made tonics and powders from them, and people came to her to have their palms read and to cure their afflictions. A few women collected bird eggs in the salt marshes, and others near List tried their luck at oyster harvesting. The rest of the women had to live from what good people would donate to them and from what was washed up onto the beach. A widow couldn’t usually hope to be remarried, because there were more women than men on Sylt.