Legacy of Mercy

by Lynn Austin

  Cornelia meets my gaze, something she doesn’t do very often, and the sorrow I see in her eyes breaks my heart. “I promise I’ll come back,” she says. She looks so forlorn that I go to her and take her into my arms. She stands with her arms at her sides, not returning my embrace.

  “I believe you, Cornelia,” I murmur. “And it would be a big help to me if you returned the carriage. Thank you. And thanks for helping us today.” I watch her climb onto the seat and drive away. I wish I knew what was going on in her heart.

  I make tea, and Anneke and I sit in my front room to sip it. I soak up the sight of Christina’s daughter—my Anneke—the way a thirsty man guzzles water, thrilled to have her with me again, never dreaming that I would see her again so soon, even if it’s a short visit. She is so beautiful—and so troubled. “Tell me about your William,” I say. “I imagine you’re knee-deep in all the plans for your wedding.”

  “Those plans have spun completely out of my control, Oma. Not one thing is as I would have chosen it. My gown is too gaudy for my taste. The wedding dinner is going to be a huge, extravagant affair. And the house that William is buying for us is …” She pauses, gazing up at the ceiling as if to keep her tears from overflowing. “I hate that house. It’s bigger than the hotel we passed in downtown Holland today. I hate that we got that house because the lovely family who built it and cherished it were evicted when they ran into financial problems. But William insists that it’s the perfect house for us, and I …” Her voice grows quiet. “I go along with whatever he wants to make him happy.”

  “So the changes you saw in William after the hotel fire didn’t last?”

  Anneke shakes her head. “He said he wanted to take more interest in spiritual things and hear about what I’ve been learning, but he hasn’t done it. I know he loves me, and he treats me very well, but every facet of his life is carefully planned and tightly controlled, and some of the things I want—like to grow in faith—don’t fit into his plans.”

  “Is it the same way for the other wealthy couples you know?”

  She takes a moment to think it over. “Yes, I suppose it is. Husbands make all of the important decisions and most couples live separate lives.”

  “But you want more.”

  “Is that asking too much?”

  “I don’t think so. Even though the husband is the head of the household, I think it’s important that he and his wife value the same things and share the same faith. It’s one thing to give in to your husband’s wishes on decisions such as where you’ll live. But it’s never right for him to ask you to compromise your beliefs. Have you had a chance to explain to William just how important your faith is to you?”

  “I’ve tried … but I can tell it doesn’t interest him. William has his own hopes and dreams at the moment. He wants to go into politics and run for office. He wants to be a United States senator someday.”

  “Keep trying, dear. Don’t give up. Perhaps the repetition will get through to his heart.” Anneke nods, but I can tell she thinks it’s hopeless. I lean forward in my chair, drawing closer to her. “Anneke, do you feel trapped? Do you wish you weren’t marrying him? Because there is still time to change your mind.”

  Again, I see that she’s fighting her tears. “I try to imagine what my future will be like, living in that enormous house and supporting William’s ambitions, and … and I wouldn’t have chosen that life for myself. But none of us really knows what our future holds, do we? And it is too late to call off the wedding. My parents are depending on me. Besides, I do care for William, and I know he cares for me.”

  The life she describes isn’t one I would wish for Anneke, but I can’t interfere. I whisper a silent prayer, asking God to stop the wedding before it’s too late if this marriage isn’t His will for Anneke. “Listen, when you get home, lieveling, I urge you to find a way to let William know how important your faith is to you. He needs to be fully aware that you plan to live your life by the Lord’s teachings. You need to stand firm on that point so he won’t ask you to compromise or give in to his wishes.”

  She nods, but I can tell that we have talked enough for today. “I need to start cooking supper,” I tell her. “Why don’t you come out to the kitchen and keep me company?”

  “I would love to. And maybe I could help.”

  I give her a knife and some carrots to scrape and chop. I see how awkwardly she handles the knife and hope she doesn’t cut herself. We talk while we work just like we did during the summer. “Cornelia seems very sad,” Anneke says. “Is she homesick?”

  “That’s part of it. She lost her parents and two brothers in a fire a few years ago. She’s lonely and grieving. Now she has to deal with all the challenges of moving to a new country.”

  “I wish I could talk to her. I would like her to know that I want to be her friend. It’s so hard, though, with the language differences.”

  I am relieved when Cornelia returns in time for dinner, as she promised. A few hours later, we are just finishing up the dishes when Derk ducks through my kitchen door. He lights up like the dawn on a summer day as he greets Anneke. “It’s great to see you again, Anneke! Welcome back!” I can tell that he longs to embrace her, but he holds back. “Did you know she was coming, Tante Geesje?”

  “Not until I received her telegram yesterday afternoon.”

  “How have you been, Derk?” she asks him. Her cheeks have turned pink as if sunburned by his glow.

  “Great! How about you?”

  I listen to them make small talk and see that the embers of their feelings for each other are being stirred into flames all over again. And while a warm fire on a cold day can be a good thing, I’ve also seen fire’s destructive side. I don’t want either of these precious children to get hurt. If they were to fall in love, I don’t see how Anneke could possibly survive in Derk’s world as a pastor’s wife. Yet I’m glad she can compare William to a wonderful man like Derk before she makes a mistake she may regret.

  “I came to Holland to ask Oma for some advice,” I hear her saying. “I would value your advice, too, Derk.”

  “Hey, I have an idea,” he says. “Since tomorrow is Saturday, how about if I borrow a horse and carriage and take all three of you ladies for a ride out to the lake? The hotel isn’t busy this time of year. And I don’t think Cornelia has seen Lake Michigan yet, has she?”

  “That would be very nice of you, Derk. Thank you,” I say. “Arie might let you use his rig. Cornelia handled his horse very expertly today.” I translate his words into Dutch for Cornelia, and everyone seems enthused by the idea. I don’t tell Derk, but I already know that I won’t be going along. He can advise Anneke in ways that I can’t, and say things she needs to hear that I can’t say. I fear she is making a mistake in marrying William, but she needs to reach that conclusion herself, not through my meddling.

  “Great!” Derk says. “Let’s get started right after lunch.”

  Chapter 12

  Anna

  Holland, Michigan

  I wish I could communicate better with Cornelia. She lay so still in the bedroom we shared last night that I wondered at times if she was even breathing. She is six years younger than me, yet she seems twenty years older. I’ve been so caught up in my own problems that I’ve barely considered how my arrival has inconvenienced her. I must do better at including her.

  She sits between Derk and me as the three of us drive out to the Hotel Ottawa on the lakeshore. I’m grateful that Cornelia serves as a buffer. I didn’t realize until Derk walked through Oma’s kitchen door last night how strong my feelings are for him. Even now I can feel my heart thumping beneath my ribs whenever he looks at me.

  “I understand that congratulations are in order,” he says as we cross the bridge over the Black River. “Tante Geesje tells me you’re getting married in a few months.” The reminder makes my stomach flip. The trees are shedding their leaves, which means that winter is coming. So is my wedding in January. I’m not ready.

  “Yes, everythi
ng is happening so fast,” I tell him. “I would love for you to come to Chicago with Oma for the wedding if you can get away in January.” And yet I hope that he doesn’t come. I try to picture Derk in the grand dining room of William’s new house, and I wince at how out of place he will feel among the other guests in their gowns and tuxedoes.

  “I’m glad you and your fiancé were able to work out your differences,” he says. “I hope you’ll be very happy together.”

  “I’m sure we will be, even if happiness in our social circle looks a little different from what a happy marriage looks like to you.”

  “That’s probably true.” Derk glances at me, and I’m aware that my heart is keeping rhythm with the horse’s hooves on the hard-packed road. “I guess what I really want to say is that I hope you and your husband will find God’s grace and peace and accomplish all His purposes for both of you.”

  “Thank you.” My throat closes with emotion, and the words come out so softly I’m not sure Derk hears me. I clear away the lump and say, “Oma assures me that I’ll find His purpose if I keep asking, but I’m not certain she realizes that my life isn’t my own to control. My parents have made decisions for me all my life, and William will make them once he becomes my husband. I will face countless expectations and obligations as his wife, and my time won’t always be my own to control as I please.”

  “We all have expectations placed on us, Anneke, no matter what our job is. I’ll also face a host of obligations as the pastor of a church. I guess the key is to let God be in control of our lives instead of other people. For example, I know it’s God’s will for me to be a pastor, so even with a congregation full of expectations, He’s the voice I should listen to because my life is ultimately under His control. The same is true for you. If it’s God’s will for you to marry William, then you can know that God is ultimately in control.”

  I feel my body relax as Derk’s words bring a measure of relief about my future. “Thank you. It helps to think of it that way. I know my marriage will rescue my parents from the same financial disaster that befell another Chicago family I heard about. And I’m certain that God would want me to honor them by helping that way. Perhaps it’s also His will that I support William’s political future. Not only can he accomplish a great deal of good in that role, but maybe I can become an advocate for Chicago’s poorest families.”

  “Good,” he says, smiling again. “I’m very happy for you, Anneke.”

  I turn away from Derk, fighting the attraction that I feel for him, knowing that it’s wrong when I’m engaged to another man. I concentrate on the journey, which offers little glimpses of Black Lake along the way. We both try to talk to Cornelia, but it’s hard for all three of us to break through the language barrier. At last the view opens up, and I see the sparkling water and the sprawling hotel where I stayed. The cottages on the hill in the distance look tightly shuttered. The large hotel across the lake looks nearly empty. There are no huge steamships from Chicago anchored near the docks. Derk ties our horse to the hitching post and helps Cornelia and me down from the seat. His hands feel warm and strong on my waist as he lifts me. “Want to walk down by the water?” he asks.

  “Yes, let’s do that.” He says something to Cornelia in Dutch, pointing and gesturing, but her puzzled expression tells me she doesn’t understand.

  We walk along the shore of Black Lake, passing the place where Derk and I first met. The boats and canoes that were tied up near the dock all summer have been stored away for the season. Cornelia walks a few steps ahead of us as we follow the shoreline and the edge of the channel that leads out to Lake Michigan. Three fishermen are casting their lines into the water, and Derk pauses to talk to them and ask what they’ve caught. The lighthouse stands sentry across the channel, and whitecaps dot the waves on Lake Michigan in the distance. But I’m not here to sight-see. I desperately need advice, and I trust Derk to be honest with me.

  “What bothers me the most about my life,” I say when we start walking again, “is that it’s a life of excess when others have so little. I feel very guilty about it.”

  “How much of your wealth is truly yours to give away?” Derk asks after thinking for a moment. “And how much of it belongs to other people—to your parents or your fiancé?”

  “I suppose none of it really belongs to me.”

  “Then you have no reason to feel guilty. You can be generous with what you own, but you can’t force others to be generous. We’ll each give an account one day for the way we’ve used what was entrusted to us. And while you may not have your own money to give away, you can distribute kindness and compassion wherever you go.”

  I gaze up at him, my heart full. “Thank you, Derk. You’ll make a wonderful pastor.”

  He takes a deep breath and lets it out with a sigh. “Well, as your friend and not as a future pastor, I want to add that I hope you and William truly love each other.”

  In an instant my peace vanishes, replaced by unease. I’m not at all certain that I love William or that he loves me. Yet I feel the need to defend my decision to marry him. “We discussed this over the summer, Derk, and I explained that love isn’t important in the world I live in.”

  “Love is important in everyone’s world,” he replies. He seems very certain.

  “William and I are very fond of each other. He treats me very well. And I’m confident that our love will grow over time if we nurture it. Romantic love isn’t nearly as important as a lifetime of commitment to each other.”

  “That’s probably true, but you deserve to spend your life with a man who truly loves and cherishes you. A man who believes that your hopes and dreams are just as important as his own. Someone who encourages you to pursue them. The Bible says that husbands should love their wives the same way that Christ loved the church and gave Himself up for her.”

  I have no answer to that. I don’t think William will ever be that kind of husband. “How about you, Derk?” I say, trying to take the attention off myself. “Is there someone special in the picture for you?”

  He waves away the question. “I’ve been much too busy with my studies to meet anyone. But I know that time is short, and many churches won’t even consider calling a young pastor who isn’t married.”

  “Why not? That seems unfair.”

  “Well, for one thing, they think I’ll be too distracted if I’m focused on finding a bride instead of the needs of my congregation. But the main reason is because a pastor’s wife plays such a huge role in the church. It’s important that she fits in with the congregation, too.”

  We stop walking for a moment and stand facing each other while Cornelia continues on. When she is some twenty feet away from us, she suddenly turns toward the water and steps forward as if she doesn’t realize that she is dangerously close to the edge of the shipping channel. She is about to fall in.

  “Cornelia, look out!” I shout. But she doesn’t stop. I watch in horror as she drops into the deep water with a splash. “Derk!” I scream. “Cornelia fell in! Help her! She fell in!”

  Derk whirls around and we run to where Cornelia stood a moment ago. She has disappeared beneath the dark waves. “Go get help, Anna!” Derk says as he shrugs off his jacket and kicks off his shoes. Then he jumps over the edge into the water to save her.

  For a terrible moment I stand motionless as fear paralyzes me. Derk’s head briefly appears above the surface as he draws another breath, then he goes under again. He needs my help! I remember the fishermen we just passed, and I lift my skirts to keep from tripping over them as I race back, shouting to them. “Help! Our friend fell into the channel! Help us, please!” The fishermen lay down their poles and follow me to where Derk dropped his shoes and jacket. I peer over the edge, and I’m relieved to see that Derk has found Cornelia. He paddles frantically with one arm while holding Cornelia’s head above the water with the other. Then they vanish as a wave washes over them, swallowing them up. Cornelia’s heavy skirt and coat are probably dragging them both down. In an instan
t, I relive the shipwreck and the terrible feeling of being pulled under the icy water, unable to breathe beneath the cold waves. I recall how the water seemed to grab Mama and me and drag us to the bottom. I feel like I can’t breathe.

  One of the fishermen lies down on his stomach and stretches out his hand to try to reach them. The distance is too far. “Run up to the hotel and get more help,” the other fisherman says. “Tell them to bring warm blankets.”

  I race across the grass to the hotel, shouting for help. By the time I stumble up the steps and yank open the main door, I’m panting so hard I can barely speak. “Help us, please!” I say to the desk clerk and a porter. “Someone has fallen into the channel and my friend jumped in to save her. We need help pulling them out. And bring warm blankets!” I remember the weight of the quilt that one of my rescuers wrapped around my shoulders after the shipwreck, and the warmth of the fire they built for us on the beach. Please, Lord! Don’t let anything happen to Derk and Cornelia, I pray.

  It seems to take forever, but four hotel workers drop what they’re doing and gather supplies to race back with me. We’re in time to help the fishermen pull Cornelia out of the water and onto dry land. We quickly wrap a blanket around her. She is shivering violently and coughing. Her face is deathly white, her lips purplish-blue. They pull Derk out next and drape a blanket around him. The men are talking to Cornelia, asking if she is all right. “She doesn’t speak English,” Derk tries to tell them, but he is shivering so hard he can barely talk. The hotel clerk lifts Cornelia in his arms and carries her up to the hotel, which seems miles away.

  Two of the porters support Derk and propel him along, too. “What happened?” one of them asks. “Did the girl slip and fall?”

  “I guess so,” Derk says. “I didn’t see it happen.”

  But I did, and I know that Cornelia didn’t slip. I can’t erase the terrible image of her walking forward as if there was an invisible bridge across the channel that only she could see. I watched Cornelia deliberately step off the edge and plunge down into the water. What I don’t understand is why.