by Lynn Austin
I wait for William to finish tasting the sample of wine the waiter has chosen, then I plunge ahead. “William, dear … since we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together, I think … that is, I hope … we will become accustomed to discussing things that are important to each other. I know I will need to take more interest in the news and especially in what is happening here in Chicago, since those things are important in your life. And maybe … I mean … well, perhaps you’ll want to talk with me about my interests.”
His gaze locks with mine, and the intensity of it makes my insides feel as though they are melting. “I would love to know what is going on inside that beautiful head of yours,” he says.
It’s difficult to concentrate when he looks at me that way, but I need to try. “Well, for example … when we were in Michigan, you said you didn’t understand my sudden ‘religious fervor,’ as you called it. But you said you were willing to listen more closely to my thoughts on such matters. You said you didn’t want my faith to come between us again.”
“I believe I recall saying something like that.” He has stopped eating and is studying me as if he would like to devour me instead of his steak. It’s unnerving.
“Well, it’s my habit to read a passage from the Gospels every night before I go to bed, and I find our Lord’s words so challenging. I just wish I knew how to put them into practice a little better in my everyday life, but—”
He looks away and returns to his dinner. “Perhaps reading and understanding the Bible is best left to the ministers and other experts. It’s their job to interpret it for our times, isn’t it? And to show us how it pertains to our lives?”
I refuse to close the discussion. “What do you think about the Lord’s miracles?” I ask. “I was just reading last night about how He healed a man who had been blind from birth, and—”
“Jesus was divine, so I suppose anything is possible.”
“Yes, I agree. I have decided to read some of the Old Testament stories, too, like the story of the Exodus from Egypt, and—”
“The Old Testament? I can understand why you would read about Jesus,” he says before pausing to sip his wine. “But what difference does the Old Testament make for our current times? The Bible was written a long time ago, Anna. For people who were very different from us.”
“I guess it doesn’t make any difference, really. But I enjoy reading it, and I wondered what you thought.”
He chews a piece of meat as he thinks it over. “I admit that I haven’t given the Bible much thought at all. I don’t like talking out of turn about subjects I’m not qualified to address.”
I recall the words I recently read in Oma’s memoir and say, “I heard someone express the opinion that Bible stories like Jonah and the great fish were intended to scare people into believing in God and to conforming to His rules. Do you think—?”
“Perhaps that’s true. Why don’t you ask Reverend Lewis some of these questions?”
“Because I would like to talk with you about them, William. The Lord is very important in my life, and so are you.”
His smile seems strained. “I’m happy to hear that I haven’t been completely replaced by Jesus.”
I wish Derk were here. He loved talking about the Bible. And he might even have some answers to my questions. Derk has been on my mind a lot lately. I stifle a sigh and decide to approach the subject of my faith and beliefs from a different angle. “William, I’ve been thinking about the house we looked at, and—”
“That’s wonderful! So have I. I’ve been meaning to tell you that my grandfather has been negotiating with George Kirkland’s other creditors.” My stomach does a slow turn every time Mr. Kirkland is mentioned. My father’s business might have suffered bankruptcy, too, if it weren’t for my engagement to William. “It looks as though the house may soon be ours,” William continues. “We should know for certain by the end of the month.”
“But don’t you think that house is too big for us? Jesus was the Son of God, and He didn’t even have a place to lay His head at night.”
He smiles at me as if indulging a child. “You are so sweet and modest. Of course it isn’t too big. Listen, can I let you in on a little secret? We won’t keep any secrets from each other once we’re married, I hope.”
I nod, even though I’m not certain I want to hear his secret. I’m keeping a big secret from him—the fact that Jack Newell probably wasn’t my father and I don’t know who was.
William leans toward me, lowering his voice. “My father has been interested in politics for some time now, and has even considered running for public office. But this latest mayoral election has tipped the scales for him.”
“He wants to be mayor of Chicago?”
“He’s thinking of even bigger things—like Illinois state senator and eventually United States senator. The thing is, he’s very busy at the bank and with our other investments, and so …” He smiles and makes a dramatic gesture as if rolling out a royal carpet. “He decided that I should be the one to run for office instead.”
“Oh, William!” I try to sound thrilled, but in truth, I’m horrified. “I had no idea you were interested in politics.”
“President McKinley is going to be good for the nation. He plans to impose a tariff to protect our industries from foreign competition. I want to be part of directing the future of our state and our country. So, you see? We will need that house to entertain properly in the future.”
And as William’s wife, I will be in the public eye. In the political world, no less. There can’t be any scandals or indiscretions in either of our families. I breathe a sigh of relief that I called off the search for more information about my parents.
We eat in silence for a while. William finishes his steak, then pulls out his pocket watch and checks the time. “We had better finish quickly if we’re going to make it to the concert on time.”
“I’m finished,” I say, resting my fork on my plate. William signals the waiter and pays for our meal. A short time later, we’re back outside in the cold and on our way to the Auditorium Theater. Tears fill my eyes when I think of all the decisions that have been made for me today: the ridiculous wedding dress in which I’ll be shown off as William’s bride; the huge reception that has little to do with celebrating our marriage; the oversized house that I neither want nor like but will be forced to accept; and now William’s decision to take the public stage as a politician, dragging me into the spotlight along with him. Doesn’t anyone care what I want? But maybe the bigger question is, why can’t I stand up for myself? Even the timid little housemaid Lucy was able to express her opinions and convince me to give her the job she wanted. My life feels like a top that someone else is spinning, and I can’t control what happens to it. But from now on, I’m determined to figure out a way.
Chapter 9
Geesje
Holland, Michigan
It is Sunday morning, and I have invited the Den Herders to attend church with me. “You’ll find that many people here in Holland still speak Dutch,” I tell them as we walk down Tenth Street. The fall leaves rustle beneath our feet. “And with so many new immigrants coming to town, you may find someone new to talk to besides me. If not,” I finish with a smile, “you can always practice your English.”
“Your son is the minister, I presume?” Marinus asks.
“Well, no—”
“You don’t attend the church where your son is the dominie?” His critical tone strikes me like a slap in the face.
I stifle a sigh. “Jakob’s church is in the village of Graafschap. We would need a horse and carriage to get there. Besides, my husband, Maarten, and I have been members of Pillar Church ever since our congregation first built it years ago. It’s where my church family attends. And I can easily walk to it.” I decide not to say anything else for the rest of the way. Marinus has a knack for raising my ire, and I don’t want to begin the Lord’s Day nursing a grudge. I slow my pace to match Cornelia, who is walking behind us, dragging he
r feet as if her ankles are chained together. Her head is lowered as if she is afraid to face her Maker. Or maybe she’s as wary of vexing her grandfather as I am.
My spirits lift immediately when I see my friends making their way inside with their families. My son Arie is waiting for us on the front steps, and I introduce him to Cornelia and Dominie Den Herder. As we find a pew that will fit the four of us, Arie pulls me aside to whisper, “You’re going to have tongues wagging, Moeder, showing up for church with a handsome stranger.”
I laugh out loud. “We are like milk and vinegar together, Arie. I’ll let you imagine which one of us is the vinegar.” But Arie is right—I see plenty of curious glances as we take our seats for the service. The sermon on the verse “Tribulation worketh patience” seems tailor-made for me this morning.
After church I introduce the Den Herders to another Dutch-speaking family, and as they converse, Derk bounds over to greet me with a smile and a kiss on the cheek. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to you in a while, Tante Geesje. I wondered if you’ve heard from Anneke lately. I’m curious to know how her search is going with the detectives.”
“Didn’t I tell you? They found a record of Christina’s marriage to Jack Newell, the man she ran away from home with. It pleased me to no end to learn that Jack and Christina were married almost as soon as they arrived in Chicago. Now Anneke knows who her father is.”
“She must be happy about that.”
“She is. In her latest letter she told me that she’s content with that knowledge and won’t be investigating further. Besides, she’s all wrapped up in wedding preparations. She and William will be married in January, so she doesn’t have much time for anything else.”
Derk closes his eyes for a moment, unable to disguise his emotions. His cheerful grin has vanished. It’s plain to see that he still has feelings for Anneke.
“So soon?” he says. “I thought you advised Anneke to take it slow and not rush into marriage.”
“I did. But this is what she decided. Her life in Chicago is very different from ours, Derk. Probably as different as the life I once lived in the Netherlands is from my life today. I’m not certain I’m qualified to offer her any advice.”
“She’s marrying him to solve her father’s financial problems, isn’t she?”
“Perhaps. But I truly hope that isn’t the only reason. She wants me to come to Chicago for the wedding in January, but my instinct is to say no. I’m just a simple immigrant, and I know I’ll feel horribly out of place among all those wealthy people. Yet I’ve grown to love Anneke, and I know she’ll be disappointed if I don’t come. I’ve been praying for the courage to go and celebrate with her.”
“You’re going by train, I assume? There won’t be any steamships crossing the lake in January.”
“Yes, by train. I thought I’d ask Arie to come with me, although I know it’s hard for him to travel on crutches, especially with snow on the ground.”
“I’ll come with you if Arie doesn’t want to. I don’t have any classes over the holidays.”
“That’s sweet of you, Derk. I may take you up on your offer. I know Anneke will be happy to see you.” He nods and looks away, but not before I see sorrow in his eyes. “How are things going with your houseguest?” I ask Derk. “Are you and your father getting to know the dominie a bit better?”
“Fine, I suppose. I’m not home very much these days except to sleep. I hear you’re giving English lessons.”
“Yes. We’re making progress. I thought I’d bring the Den Herders here today to give them some practice.” I glance over at them and see that Marinus is speaking Dutch with another family, and Cornelia is standing all alone. “So much for that,” I say with a smile. “I guess I should help her out.”
“No, let me, Tante Geesje. I’ll introduce her to some people I know.”
“Thanks, Derk.”
I watch him trying to have a conversation with Cornelia in his rusty Dutch and her scant English. Derk is so friendly and easy to talk to, even with the language barrier, that Cornelia manages a smile. I notice how out of place she looks compared to the other girls in our congregation with her dark, shapeless dress and her hair in an old-fashioned bun. I will have to do something about that this week. Maybe a few changes will cheer her up.
“Good morning, Geesje.” Someone hugs me from behind, and I turn to greet two of my friends, women I’ve worked beside and prayed with and laughed with for many years. “I see you brought your new houseguests with you this morning,” one of them says.
“Now, don’t start any rumors,” I say, wagging my finger in jest. “Cornelia is the only one who is staying in my spare room. Her grandfather lives next door with the Vander Veens.”
“Do you know for how long?”
“Until the dominie finds work and a place of their own—”
“He’s a minister? I hadn’t heard that.”
“He was one, back in the Netherlands. Cornelia came to live with him after her family died in a fire. Neither of them speak English, so Jakob asked me to give them some lessons. Can you believe it? The blind leading the blind.”
“He’s very good-looking, isn’t he?” My friend gives me a little nudge in my ribs.
“Don’t get any ideas,” I say, shaking my head. “Neither one of us is looking for a spouse.” I resist the urge to gossip about how disagreeable the dominie has been, knowing it would be unkind. “The Den Herders could use our prayers. We all know how hard it is to adjust to life in a new country.”
Neither of my friends asks nosy questions. We discuss a needy family we are helping and talk about our clothing collection to provide warm coats for local children before winter. These friends are very dear to me, and it irritates me when I remember how Dominie Den Herder judged all of us as gossipers before he even knew us.
I invite Marinus and the Vander Veens back to my house for Sunday dinner. My son Arie joins us, as well. The men talk in a mixture of Dutch and English as the dominie explains his efforts to find a job. “Why don’t you come down to the print shop on Monday morning and help me out?” Arie says. “I can’t afford to pay very much, but I can keep you busy until something more in your line of work comes along.”
“Thank you,” Marinus replies. “I would be grateful. I am willing to work and very uncomfortable with charity.”
My son’s offer sparks an idea. “Arie, maybe the dominie could work for the Dutch-language newspaper, editing or proofreading or something. You know the publisher quite well, don’t you, since you print his newspaper every week?”
“That’s a great idea, Moeder. I’ll speak with him about it tomorrow.”
I can’t describe the mixture of emotions I see on the dominie’s face—hope and relief, certainly. But unless I’m mistaken, I also see resentment. Is it because the idea was mine and he doesn’t want to feel indebted to me? There seems to be little room for kindness or grace in Marinus’s world, and they seem especially unwelcome when they come from a meddling woman like me. Not for the first time, I wonder what kind of a pastor he was to his parishioners.
After Derk and his father leave, the dominie asks for a few minutes alone with Cornelia. “Of course,” I reply. “Why don’t you make yourselves comfortable in my sitting room while I clean up the dishes?” But Marinus takes his granddaughter out to my front porch, even though the October afternoon is chilly, as if he wants to discuss secrets that no one else is allowed to hear. When Cornelia comes inside again, I can tell she has been crying. “The dishes are all done,” I tell her. She excuses herself to her room. I wish I knew how to help her. All I can do is pray for wisdom.
Marinus comes for an English lesson early Monday morning, then leaves to walk to Arie’s print shop an hour later. We have finished the first lesson book and have moved on to the next. Cornelia isn’t nearly as attentive or diligent about memorizing her new English words as her grandfather is. She seems listless much of the time. Lifeless. Her confession that she sometimes wishes to end her life continue
s to haunt me. I see her sitting at my kitchen table in her drab, brown dress, and an idea comes to me.
“Do you like to sew, Cornelia?” She shrugs as if her shoulders are weighed down by a very heavy coat. “I was thinking we could walk down to Van Putten’s Dry Goods store this morning and buy some fabric. We could make a new skirt and shirtwaist for you. What do you say?”
“I need to ask Grandfather first.” I was afraid she would say that. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask why when she adds, “He’s worried about money.”
“The new clothes would be my gift to you.”
“He doesn’t like to accept charity.”
I take both of her hands in mine. “Cornelia, when friends do kind things for each other, it isn’t charity. It’s just what friends do. Your grandfather can’t object to us being friends, can he?” I receive another weary shrug in reply. “Come on, let’s at least go and look. I need to buy a few other things while I’m there, anyway.”
We dress in warm jackets and head out. “Do you feel that chill?” I ask as we walk. “Winter will soon be here. You’ll find it gets colder here than back home in the Netherlands. And we get a lot more snow. But everything looks so lovely when it’s all clean and white and snow-covered.”
“I like snow,” she replies. I take her enthusiasm as a good sign.
I introduce Cornelia to Mrs. Van Putten, and we chat for a moment in Dutch. Then she shows us several bolts of flannelette, twill, and wool to choose from. Cornelia runs her hand over the soft material as if caressing it. “This would look so pretty on you,” I tell her, holding up a flowered print. “The blue flowers match the blue in your eyes.”
“I agree,” Mrs. Van Putten says. “You know, it won’t be long before we won’t need to sew our own clothes by hand anymore. The latest things in all the big cities are ready-made dresses.”
“I can’t imagine that. How would they ever fit? People come in all sizes—short and tall, thin and plump.”
“The clothes come ready-made in all different sizes. We’re going to order some for the store and see how they sell. We have to keep up with Sears, Roebuck and Company, you know. They let you order dresses and skirts from their catalogue, right from your home. Then they’re delivered right to your door, too. Here, take a look.”