by Ines Thorn
“No, I can’t. Thies and Grit will be there. I can’t stand the sight of them. Do you understand? I’ll be holding Angret in my arms, and Grit will look at her and think, or even say, ‘Go ahead and hold her tightly. Soon I will be the one holding her.’”
“I understand, Maren. But if you don’t go, then she and everyone else will think you aren’t going to fight for your child. Some at the fire will be sitting on the council and judging you the next day. If they see how lovingly you treat your child, then they may decide in favor of you. You have to go, Maren, even though it will be difficult.”
For a while, Maren stood at the window, looking out over the village that was her home. From a distance, she saw Piet, repairing a shutter on his house. She saw Old Meret, returning from the beach with a bundle of driftwood. She watched the columns of smoke rising from the chimneys, which spoke of comfortable homes.
She stood there for a long time, and she then turned around. “You’re right, Mother. I’ll go. Everyone must see that I have no reason to be ashamed. Not of myself and certainly not of my child.”
It had been snowing all day without a break, but as the first villagers made their way to the Biikebrennen, the snow stopped. The wind stopped too, and the sea whispered softly to itself. It was cold and clear, the stars glimmered, and the moon hung in the sky like a giant golden pancake. Maren had Angret wrapped up warmly and was carrying her over the dunes. She was almost half a year old. She had her mother’s eyes, and watched everything that happened around her with lively interest. Her downy hair was hidden under a thick wool cap, and her cheeks glowed, pink and healthy.
She gurgled happily in her mother’s arms and even reached out a hand toward her grandmother every now and then. She was joyful, as only a small child can be when it knows nothing of the cares of the world.
Piet came to them and stroked the child tenderly on the cheek with his finger as his wife kissed Angret heartily on the forehead. Old Meret had knit her a pair of tiny warm gloves and had brought the matching stockings one evening later. Angret cooed in Maren’s arms, pointing at things and laughing and smiling, and all the villagers were charmed by her.
The flaming wheel was rolled down the dunes to the water, and the bonfire was lit with cries of glee. This year, there was no flock of wild geese, and Old Meret decided not to give a speech. Now the fire blazed merrily, and the young people ran and jumped around it. Others stood around it in groups, drinking hot grog or spiced wine, talking and singing.
Maren stood with Finja, Old Meret, and a few other neighbors, and kept an eye on Thies and Grit. Thies had joined a group of young men at the other side of the fire. Once he looked in Maren’s direction, but he quickly looked away when he realized she was watching him. Grit stood with Thies’s mother and sister. She was wearing a new cap of seal fur, and Maren knew that she had gotten it as a Christmas gift from Thies. She, too, had once received such a cap from him.
“So, how are you?”
Maren hadn’t noticed that Captain Rune Boyse had walked up to her. “Tomorrow our case comes to the council. How do you think I am?” Her gaze swept over his face, and he saw that her eyes were empty and bleak. Then she stroked the child’s back to warm her.
“She’s getting big,” the captain said.
“Yes, she certainly is.”
“And she looks healthy and happy. As though she wants for nothing.”
“She has all she needs. But tomorrow she may be missing her mother.” Maren’s voice sounded quiet and raw, and she had to turn away so the captain wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes.
“Do you remember? It was here that I asked you to be my wife, two years ago.”
“How could I forget?”
“If you had known then what you know now, would you have made a different choice?” Rune Boyse had also lowered his voice, almost to a whisper.
Yes, Maren thought. Of course. But then I still believed that I loved Thies. And I thought he loved me. She sighed.
“Would you have made a different choice?” Boyse repeated.
“I still would only marry someone who truly loves me,” she replied. “Except then, I didn’t know enough about love.”
“And now? Do you know more about it?”
Maren thought about her time on board the whaling ship. She had witnessed the captain as a strong-willed man who followed his ambitions with energy and power and had also seen him as a tender lover. If Zelda could be believed, he was able to make a woman happy. And she herself had known him as strong and reliable. And gentle. She thought back to his kiss. The kiss that had burned through her entire body. The kiss that had been so different from the kisses she had shared with Thies.
“Yes. Now I know things that I didn’t know before. But what good does it do me? It’s too late,” she said softly, and she felt an overwhelming sadness rising up inside of her. She felt as though she’d once had happiness laid out before her, but she’d been too blind to see it.
Suddenly Rune Boyse grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her so she had to look directly into his eyes. “You think it’s too late? It’s not too late. It was never too late. You must only conquer your pride.”
Then he kissed Angret on her cap and left. Maren stood there as though frozen. What did he mean?
She lay awake that night thinking for a long time. The thoughts in her head whirled faster than hurricane winds. She was brooding over what the captain had said to her that evening: It’s not too late. It was never too late. What was he talking about? One part of her was scolding, telling her that this wasn’t a good time to be thinking about what he had said. In a few hours, she would probably lose her daughter, but something inside her knew that Rune Boyse’s words had something to do with that too. You must only conquer your pride, he’d said. What pride? Oh, if she could only speak to him! If she could just tell him that . . .
Suddenly she knew what she had to do. She slid out of bed carefully, so as not to wake Finja and Angret. Then she pulled on her warm boots, slung the heavy oilskin jacket around her shoulders, wrapped a scarf around her neck, and covered her hair with a cap. She got out her father’s old fishing lantern, lit the tallow candle inside it, and put a spare candle in her pocket with a little tinder. Then she set off into the night.
It wasn’t a pitch-black night—at least the moon was shining to light her way. Maren walked quickly. She had to walk fast because it was far, and in a few hours, it would be dawn. In the distance, she could still hear the noise of the last drunken Biikebrennen revelers who still hadn’t made it home to their beds. Otherwise, all was still.
She walked as fast as she could and soon arrived in Westerland, turned right, and almost ran the last stretch of the way. As the first light of dawn touched the sky, she reached Captain Rune Boyse’s house. Maren pounded on the door and in her haste almost knocked over the serving maid, slightly disheveled and still hazy with sleep as she opened the door. She hurried past the surprised woman and was about to walk directly into Boyse’s bedroom, but then she noticed a glimmer of light shining under the door of the parlor. She stormed in without knocking.
Rune Boyse was sitting in the comfortable armchair in front of the fire, a meerschaum pipe in his mouth and a book in his hand. When he saw Maren, he didn’t say a single word, just looked at her. And Maren stood there, suddenly struck dumb, and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She didn’t know what to do or what not to do. Then Rune Boyse stood up and opened his arms wide—and Maren rushed into them.
Later, much later, when the morning was already in full bloom, he spoke. “You haven’t said it. You still haven’t said it.”
Maren closed her eyes and nestled against his broad chest, a little smile on her face. She knew exactly what Rune meant. “You’ve known it for a long time. You knew it long before I did.”
“But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear it. Please, say it. Just this once, and I will be satisfied.”
Maren opened her eyes and looked at the man who was holding
her hand in his, looking as satisfied as she’d ever seen him. His strong thumb stroked the back of her hand again and again. “I love you, Captain Rune Boyse.”
“And I love you, Maren Luersen.”
“Did you love me from the start?” she asked. There was so much more to say, so many questions, but this question was the most urgent.
Rune Boyse shook his head. “I barely knew you, barely recognized your face. No, I wanted to marry you because my family had a debt to set to rights with your family. I knew for many years that someday you would be my bride. That’s why I never courted any other girl on the island.”
“You wanted me, even though you didn’t know me? Why?” Maren raised her eyebrows in amazement.
“Not now. I’ll tell you later. We have to leave now. Soon the council meeting will begin.”
CHAPTER 32
When Maren was called before the council, Finja squeezed her hand tightly, Piet patted her on the shoulder, and Old Meret nodded to her. Then she was led into the hall. At a long table, a dozen men were sitting. They were the municipal administrators from each village on Sylt, and with them sat the bailiff, who was in charge of legal issues on the island, and the beach overseer, who was responsible for keeping the peace on the beaches. Rune Boyse was among them. That year he was the municipal administrator for the village of Keitum, and when Maren looked at him, he nodded to her and smiled.
The bailiff raised a sheet of paper, glanced briefly at Maren, and read aloud. “Today, we are dealing with the case of the unmarried Maren Luersen versus Thies Heinen, regarding the illegitimate child Angret. Thies Heinen, who claims he is the child’s father, has requested that Angret Luersen live with him and his wedded wife so that she may become a proper Christian citizen of Sylt, with both a father and a mother.”
He looked to the front row of the seats in the hall, where Thies Heinen sat rigidly with his wife, Grit. Grit was holding her husband’s hand and wore a self-satisfied expression for all to see. “That’s the truth,” she answered instead of her husband. “The child should live in a proper family. With us, she’ll have a better life than she would with her unvirtuous mother.”
Then the bailiff turned to Maren. “Have you understood the petition?”
“Yes, I have.”
“Do you have an objection to present?”
“Yes, indeed I do.”
“Then tell us.”
Maren turned around, smiled at both Thies and Grit, and said, “First of all, I am no unmarried woman, and—”
“What? That’s impossible. She’s lying!” Grit had jumped up and was pointing a finger at Maren. “She’s lying!”
“Order! Sit down, woman, or you will be banished from the court.” The bailiff struck his mallet on the table, and Thies urged his wife back into her chair.
“Please continue, Maren Luersen,” the bailiff bid her.
“As I said, I am married. That means I have a father for the child and a provider for both of us.”
“Who is the father, and why does the council know nothing of these proceedings?”
“My husband’s name is . . .” Maren paused and smiled at that point, and she heard Grit squirming impatiently in her chair behind her. “My husband’s name is Captain Rune Boyse. And since early this very morning, my name is no longer Maren Luersen, but Maren Boyse.”
For a moment, silence reigned in the room after the incredible revelation. Then everyone spoke at once, and Grit’s sharp, piercing cries of “She’s lying!” kept breaking through the noise.
Finally, the bailiff pounded the table with his mallet again, waited until silence filled the hall once more, and turned to Rune Boyse. “Is it true, what this woman says?” he asked.
“Yes, it’s true. The minister married us early this morning. The witnesses are Piet and Old Meret from Rantum. They are sitting outside and may be called to testify.”
“Very interesting. And are you, Rune Boyse, prepared to accept Angret as your own and raise her as is befitting a proper Christian?”
Rune stood up, put a hand on his heart, and spoke loudly and clearly. “Yes, sir. I am, as God is my witness. I will love, protect, and provide for Maren and her child as a husband and father should.”
Once more, there was a moment of amazed silence, but then the municipal administrator of Rantum began to applaud loudly. Then the administrator of Hörnum joined in, and soon all the others were applauding too.
Rune Boyse stepped forward, took Maren in his arms, and kissed her tenderly before the eyes of all present. The way a loving husband should kiss his wife.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2016 Jochen Schneider
Bestselling author Ines Thorn was born in Leipzig, Germany, in 1964. Beginning her literary journey as a bookseller’s apprentice, she later went on to study German, Slavic studies, and cultural philosophy at the distinguished Goethe University.
In the year 2000, Thorn published her first novel while working in a hospital library. By 2003, she was able to devote her time entirely to writing and has been creating unforgettable historical fiction ever since.
Today she lives in Frankfurt am Main and works as a full-time freelance writer. The Whaler, the first installment in her popular series The Island of Sylt, is her first book to be translated into English for the American market.
ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR
Photo © 2011 Alex Maechler
Kate Northrop grew up in Connecticut and later studied music and English literature in the United States and the United Kingdom. Her travels eventually led to the German-speaking region of Switzerland, where she’s lived with her Swiss husband and their two bilingual children since 1994.
Today she works as both a professional translator and lyricist, with credits that include songs signed to major labels and publishers. With more than fifteen years of translating experience, Northrop now runs her own literary translation business, Art of Translation. Visit her at www.art-of-translation.com.