The Whaler (The Island of Sylt Book 1)

by Ines Thorn

  But then, what could Maren do to provide for Angret, Finja, and herself? If she found nothing else, she might be able to buy a piece of land somewhere where the island was a little wider, plow a little field, and at least make sure that they wouldn’t go hungry.

  She found a shell at her feet, and she bent down to pick it up. The sea-polished shape fit perfectly in the palm of her hand. Maren ran her thumb over it and remembered the beautiful things made of shells she’d seen at the market in Amsterdam. There had been bowls and vases decorated with shells, wooden combs with mother of pearl, carved boxes, and little chests. Maybe she could make such things? But on Sylt, no one had use for them. Maybe making such luxuries would help to while away the long dark winter afternoons, but she wouldn’t be able to earn anything with them.

  Maren was so lost in thought that she only heard the footsteps behind her when they were very close. She turned around. Thies was there. He had his hands in his pockets, and he had forced a thin smile onto his lips. The wind tore at his hair, and his eyes looked lifeless and flat with dark circles under them.

  “God’s greetings,” Thies said formally, his voice rough.

  Maren nodded. She had imagined her reunion with Thies a hundred times over, but now everything was different. Her heart beat only a little faster than usual. She regarded his face. At sea, she had believed that she’d kiss him right away, but now she just looked at him. She wasn’t completely indifferent, but she wasn’t excited either.

  “What do you want?” she asked and was startled by her own voice, which sounded harsher than she had intended. Yesterday, she had hardly been able to wait to see him and tell him that Angret was his daughter. But today, everything was different. Today, she realized, she was starting to plan her life without him. Yesterday she had been hoping for the impossible, and today she had admitted the reality of the situation to herself.

  She gazed at Thies, and nothing moved in her—no longing to be touched by him, no longing to touch him.

  “May I sit with you for a while?” he asked.

  “I won’t forbid you.”

  Thies sat down next to Maren and tried to get a look at Angret’s face. “I thought you were dead.”

  “Well, as you can see, I’m safe and sound.”

  For a while they were quiet. Maren’s heart did a light drumroll. She barely dared to breathe because soon she would know how he felt about Angret. She glanced at him furtively from the side. He, too, was breathing quickly, as though he were truly stirred.

  “I wish you happiness for your marriage,” Maren said softly. It took her an effort to get the words out.

  Thies nodded. “I thought you—”

  “. . . were dead. I know. But I’m not. Although some people would be glad if I were.”

  “Don’t talk that way. I’m happy that you’re alive.” Thies’s words were gentle, but to Maren’s amazement, they didn’t touch her. It was as though this were a different Thies. Was it because he belonged to someone else now? Or had the love that Maren had felt for him disappeared? She saw that his hands were no longer rough, but rather soft and well cared for. She saw he wore a new shirt of the finest linen, decoratively embroidered. She also saw the deerskin breeches, which must certainly have come from the mainland. She smelled a fine, herbal, lemony soap, which didn’t fit with her memories of Thies.

  “You’ve changed,” she said.

  Thies shook his head. “No. I’m the same. Only the situation has changed.”

  Maren smiled and waved a hand at his shirt. “Well, the situation obviously hasn’t gotten worse.”

  “Let’s not argue,” Thies begged her. “I’m truly glad that you’re alive.”

  Now Maren turned directly to face him. “So? What does your gladness bring me? What do you want here? Why aren’t you with your wife?”

  “I heard . . . People say . . .”

  “What do people say?”

  Thies took a deep breath. “Some people are saying that the child is mine, and others say you brought her back from the whaling voyage.”

  “And you? What do you think?” Maren wanted to know.

  “Well, you were away for a long time. Grit said it was impossible. That the child is mine, I mean.”

  “Does she also say that the baby I brought with me from the icebound sea is illegitimate? Does she even know who the father is?” Maren’s words were sharp.

  “You know how the people here talk.” Thies picked up a thin twig and scratched in the sand with it.

  Maren felt anger rising inside of her. She stood up and looked scornfully down at Thies. “I never knew you were such a coward,” she said in a hard, ice-cold voice. “The child is yours. Angret is your daughter. I shared my bed with no other man.”

  “But, the long time that you were away . . .” Thies broke off, and still didn’t dare to look Maren in the eyes.

  “Believe what you want. I don’t need you in my life. Go to Grit! I’ll wager it won’t take long before you have a child with her.” She turned and began to climb the sandy dunes.

  “Wait!” Thies hurried after and grabbed her by the sleeve. “That’s exactly what this is about.”

  “What is this about?”

  Thies swallowed. “Well, Grit was married for a long time and didn’t have a child, although she wanted one. She even went to the mainland to see a doctor. It’s possible that she can’t have children.”

  Maren hearkened. What if Grit was barren? It would make it easy for Thies to annul his marriage to her, but he hadn’t said a word about that, and Maren didn’t want to put the idea into his head. It was strange. She had believed in Thies, in his love, and she had believed that they would be happy together. But it occurred to her that the longer she had been away from Sylt, the less she had thought about him. He, who had seemed to be the only man in the world to her, hadn’t survived the distance. She had met other men. Men who could be depended upon. Men who were strong and courageous. And Thies’s memory had faded. She had thought that at the sight of him, all her love for him would flare up again, like the Biikebrennen, but it hadn’t. She looked at Thies and felt . . . nothing. It was actually difficult now for her to believe that Thies was really Angret’s father.

  “So, because Grit is probably barren, you must know who Angret’s father is?”

  Thies nodded. He was pale, and there was pain in his gaze. But Maren had no pity for him. “Well, she’s yours. And if you don’t believe it, ask my mother. The baby has a birthmark on her right shoulder. Just like you.”

  She held the child more tightly and was about to leave, but Thies held her back. “If what you say is true, and she’s really my daughter, then . . .”

  “Then what?” Maren glared at him. “I’ll tell you what happens then. Nothing. She’s my baby. Mine alone. She doesn’t need you.”

  Thies opened his mouth as though he wanted to say something, but Maren wasn’t listening to him any longer.

  A visitor came in the afternoon. It was Old Meret. She brought some herbs and a baby blanket that she had knitted herself. “To keep the little one nice and warm,” she said and kissed Angret on the forehead. So far, no one else had come, but Maren hadn’t expected them to either. After all, Angret was a child without a father. That made Maren all the happier about Old Meret’s gift. The three women sat in the kitchen by the warm fire while the baby slept.

  “She’s a love child. At least, she was when she was conceived,” Maren began, but Old Meret stopped her with a wave of her hand.

  “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. A child is always a gift.”

  “Yes, but I want you to know that I didn’t just throw away my virtue.”

  “I would know that even if I didn’t know who the father was.”

  “You know who the father is?”

  The old woman nodded. “Just look at the child. She’s the very image of Thies. It doesn’t matter what Grit says. He can’t deny he’s the father. Does he want to?”

  Maren shrugged. What could she say?<
br />
  “I don’t know what Thies wants. Now I believe I never knew,” Maren explained.

  Old Meret stroked her hand gently. “Everything will be all right, child. I know it will.”

  “I . . . I didn’t think . . . ,” Maren stammered in sudden desperation. “I didn’t think he was such a coward. I truly believed . . .” She was so shaken by sobs that she could barely breathe.

  Finja came and took her daughter in her arms and rocked her as if she were still a little girl. “Thies is what he is. Grit has the power in their marriage. It’s a wonder that he even spoke to you today. He must have had to sneak away. Forget him.”

  When Maren heard her mother’s words, she knew that Finja spoke the truth. But all at once, she had to release everything that had been weighing on her soul. The hardships of the whaling voyage, the pain of the birth, her fears about the future. She needed to get it all out. Only then, Maren knew, could she start thinking about her future. And so she wept, wept for the loss of her great love, wept because she had come home again at last. When she was finally done, Finja’s apron was soaked with Maren’s tears.

  Old Meret had sat there the entire time saying nothing, asking no questions. But now she covered Maren’s hand with her own. “You alone can determine whether or not your child will be an outcast. Ask the minister for a proper christening. Look for respectable godparents from Sylt. You are a diligent, clever, brave girl. Most of the people of Sylt have known you since you were little. They know that you’re not the kind of girl who would give away her virtue for a few pennies. But you’ll have to get used to other people’s gossip.” She hadn’t quite finished speaking when there was a knock at the door. Piet was there holding a basket.

  “This is from my wife and me,” he said. “A gift to welcome the little one.” He unpacked a thick bundle of sheep’s wool, a smoked ham, and a colorful rag ball. “It’s not much, but it comes from the heart,” he said. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold coin. “This is from Jakob. He asked me to bring it to you. He was afraid that you wouldn’t accept it, so you are receiving it today, from me, so you have no way to refuse it.” He smiled so kindly as he said it that Maren again had tears in her eyes.

  He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. “If you need me, you know where I live.” And with those words, he left the house that sat at the foot of the Rantum dunes.

  CHAPTER 27

  The Sunday of the christening dawned gray and cold. A thick fog hung over the island, so dense one couldn’t see even a ship’s length ahead. The wind rose every now and then in strong gusts, but it had no effect on the mist. A few ravens croaked, and the dunes were covered with a dense layer of hoarfrost. The fog made everything quiet; the only sound was the rushing of the sea. Together, Finja, Maren, and Angret made their way to the church. The little one was wrapped in the soft blanket that Old Meret had made and wore the christening dress that her mother had worn. Maren wore the gown that she’d been given by Zelda, and Finja wore her traditional formal wear.

  When the church bell rang for the service, Finja told her daughter to hurry. “Walk a little faster, otherwise we’ll be late.”

  But Maren stopped. “I don’t know if this christening is right. To be honest, we know that the minister only agreed to do it to appease Captain Boyse. There may be ill feeling.”

  “Don’t be silly! People know you. They don’t wish you any harm. You’re not the first to have a child out of wedlock, and you won’t be the last. And yours is not the first or the last child born out of wedlock to be christened in the church. Of course the minister will record her birth in the church registry upside down, the way it is always done, but that’s the only difference.”

  Finja smiled at her and stroked Angret’s cheek, and then she continued walking along the sandy path. It was covered with a thin layer of frost that crunched quietly underfoot.

  They walked at a slightly quicker pace, and soon the path in front of them was filled with others who were also on their way to the church. People had even come from the neighboring villages of Keitum and Hörnum in wagons and coaches. Maren saw Piet and his wife and waved to them, and both of them waved back. Old Meret waited at the end of the path, and even Antje, Thies’s sister, nodded to Maren.

  The Church of Saint Sebastian was full, fuller than might be expected in such weather. Someone had decorated the pews with bouquets of gorse and rosehips and had laid a wreath of ivy on the altar. Sweet-smelling beeswax candles stood in the polished silver candelabras, and even the baptismal font had been freshly polished. Everything was prepared as though it were a normal christening. At the sight of the child, the congregation stood, and most of the women were smiling. As Maren entered the church, a man stood up in the first pew and beckoned to her to come forward. It was Captain Rune Boyse. Maren hadn’t seen him since she’d left the Dutch smak. She approached the pew and then sat down next to him. Finja took a seat at her other side.

  “So, are you excited?” he asked, watching her trembling fingers flutter over the leather-bound hymnal. Rune Boyse put his warm, heavy hand atop her shaking fingers, and soon Maren felt calmer.

  “I want to thank you.”

  “What for?”

  “Well, I’m sure I have you to thank for the church being decorated.”

  “That’s normal at christenings.”

  “Yes, that’s true. But everyone knows that this is no normal christening. So far, I’ve never seen an illegitimate child be christened in a decorated church.”

  At those words, Rune Boyse squeezed Maren’s hand so tightly that she almost cried out. “Never say such a thing again,” he hissed.

  “What?”

  “Never call your child illegitimate again!” His voice was raw with annoyance, but Maren couldn’t understand why. She pulled her hand away.

  “What else shall I call her?” she asked brusquely. “Or rather, what do you think the others call her?”

  “Angret. The child is called Angret. That’s her name.”

  Maren gazed at the captain in wonder. Why couldn’t she figure him out? Mostly, he acted as though he didn’t care about her at all, but he also got angry with her, and he was occasionally so kind to her that she was moved to tears. He had saved her life, he had helped bring her child into the world, but at the same time, it was he who had made her go on the whaling ship in the first place.

  At that moment, the sexton began to play the cembalo, which stood to the right of the altar in lieu of an organ. The congregation went quiet. Then the minister spread his arms wide and glanced at Captain Boyse, who nodded, and he began to speak in a loud, clear voice.

  “O Lord, thou hast searched me, and known me.

  Thou knowest my downsitting and mine uprising, thou understandest my thought afar off.

  Thou compassest my path and my lying down, and art acquainted with all my ways.

  For there is not a word in my tongue, but, lo, O Lord, thou knowest it altogether.

  Thou hast beset me behind and before, and laid thine hand upon me.

  Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high, I cannot attain unto it.

  Whither shall I go from thy spirit? Or whither shall I flee from thy presence?

  If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there; if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there.

  If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea;

  Even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me.”

  “Who chose that psalm?” Maren asked the captain softly. She was so touched that tears sprang to her eyes.

  “Well, I did. Normally, the parents choose the psalm, but you had enough to do, so I did it for you. It’s psalm 139. The sea is in it.”

  Behind her, she heard a commotion. A woman was muttering, and even without turning around, she knew that it was Grit. But the sexton began playing again, and the congregation started singing, and then the minister continued to speak. “Lord, thou who hast created all life and called us
to thee through Christ, we thank thee for this child.”

  “Stop!” A woman cried out, and in the sudden silence afterward, the sound of her voice echoed through every corner of the church. The minister lowered the Bible from which he had been reading. The sexton looked up from the cembalo.

  Captain Boyse stood and turned around. He pointed a finger at Grit. “Did you just say ‘stop’?”

  “Yes. It was me. Someone has to speak up. We do not thank the Lord for this child. This christening is not right. Not in the eyes of God, and not in the eyes of the congregation.”

  Maren, more distraught than she’d ever been before, began to cry quietly, and she held Angret so tightly that she began to cry too.

  “Oh?” Boyse replied, scoffing. “And you know what’s right in the eyes of God and the congregation, do you?”

  “I know how it should rightfully be. That’s an illegitimate child. And if she’s being christened here like a child from a decent Christian marriage, then the entire church and its congregation is sullied. It’s contempt of God to decorate the church and polish the font. But the worst impertinence is that the sinful mother is sitting proudly in the first row at the christening of her bastard. It’s the custom that the mother of a bastard isn’t present at the christening. And if she is, she sits in the last pew. But she’s sitting right at the front. Sylt has never seen the likes of this before.”

  Grit stood and turned around slowly so everyone in the church could see her and cried shrilly, “A sullied church and a sullied congregation! Do you believe that God will hear our prayers after this? Do you believe he will lend an ear to our supplications, to our woes and hardships?” She raised a finger and paused dramatically. “Oh, no. God will abandon us and punish us all for the sinfulness of the one among us. You all have to decide now. It’s either her”—and at this she pointed a finger at Maren—“or us!” Then she turned around and spoke directly to Captain Boyse. “Must we all be punished by God because one of us has sinned? One of us is damned, but the rest of us who have been God-fearing and pious should not be made to suffer.”