by Lynn Austin
“She did?” My misgivings return.
“Yes. But I’m not going to interfere in her life anymore. I know she has to marry William. I see that now. But I’m glad I told her, and it’s good to know that she …” He can’t finish.
My heart breaks for both of them. I think of Derk’s grandfather, Hendrik—my first love. I want to tell Derk that even though we can’t always marry the person we love, life does go on. And love just might surprise us by showing up again, someday. But he doesn’t want to hear any of that right now.
“I’m so sorry, Derk. For both of you.”
“Yeah …” he says, sighing. “Thanks. I’d better get going.” He pulls a knitted hat from his coat pocket and jams it on his head. “By the way,” he says as he opens the back door, “do you know where Dominie Den Herder went?”
I feel a chill, and it doesn’t come from the open door. “What do you mean?”
“Well, he never came home last night. Not for dinner and not to sleep. I just wondered if he told you where he was going.”
“No, he didn’t. I have no idea where he is.” But I have a sinking feeling that I may have played a role in his disappearance.
Chapter 27
Anna
Chicago, Illinois
I’m still not well. The weather is bitter cold outside, with a damp wind blowing off the lake. The first wet snowflakes sift down from the soggy clouds. Winter is starting early in Chicago. I haven’t been out of bed since meeting with Judge Blackwell on Sunday, but I manage a smile when a plain white envelope arrives addressed to me. I think I know who it is from. I ask the chambermaid to light my bedside lamp, then I pull out the message to read it.
Anna,
I have a plan that I hope will resolve your dilemma. If it’s convenient, arrange a late-afternoon tea on Wednesday with you, Miss Beacham, and Mrs. Wilkinson in attendance. Your adoptive mother, as well, if you think it would be appropriate. I will join you. I can be at your home by 4:30.
J. Blackwell
“How can you host a luncheon when you’re still feverish?” Mother says when I ask her to invite the two women. “Can’t it wait until you’re well?” I convince her that it’s very important, and she makes the arrangements. Clarice will be overjoyed at the invitation, thinking I’ve arranged the tea to announce that I’m ending my engagement to William.
It takes every ounce of my strength to get out of bed and get dressed on Wednesday afternoon. My scalp hurts as Sophia brushes my hair in front of the mirror. My skin is as pale as paper, yet my cheeks are aflame. I grip the bannister as I make my way downstairs at four o’clock, the joints in my body aching with each step I take. I can’t imagine what Judge Blackwell is planning to say, but I’m guessing that he will surprise all of us.
The servants have set up a tea table in our morning room with our best silver tea set and bone china cups. I’m seated there by four thirty with Mother, Clarice, and William’s mother. The fifth seat is empty. “Who else are you expecting?” Mother asks. I give her a strained smile and a little shake of my head. We’re sipping tea and making small talk when the butler ushers Judge Blackwell into the room. I make the proper introductions, and he charms the others as he greets them, gallantly offering a pleasant compliment to each woman. He seems completely at ease. The ladies, however, are baffled by his presence at my afternoon tea, especially my mother. If I gave them each a thousand guesses, they would never imagine that the charming judge is my biological father. He continues his easy chatter as he takes his seat, and the maid serves him from a platter of tiny cakes.
He turns to Clarice. “I believe our families are related by marriage, Miss Beacham. You may recall that my mother is Bessie Rockport. One of her older brothers married a great-aunt of yours.”
“How interesting. I had no idea.” Clarice is all smiles and genteel haughtiness as she plays the game with him, mentioning various cousins and second cousins to cement their kinship.
The judge turns to Mrs. Wilkinson next. “You and I have something in common, as well, Mrs. Wilkinson. My grandfather Rockport invested very generously in your fatherin-law’s bank years ago, when he was looking for start-up money. Grandfather served on the bank’s first board of trustees. I would say that their partnership has benefitted all of us in the years since, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, certainly.” She grows uneasy as the conversation turns to money—something that simply isn’t mentioned in polite circles. Yet the judge has disarmed her by his easy manner. She must be dying of curiosity to know why he’s here.
Judge Blackwell continues pouring on the charm, as if perfectly comfortable sipping afternoon tea with four society ladies. He turns to Mother last. “Mrs. Nicholson, I recently learned of a connection between myself and your family, too.” He winks at me, and I feel a wave of dizziness. Part of it is caused by my stuffy head and fever, but most of it is caused by fear. I know what he is about to tell them, and I can well imagine how shocked they are going to be. “I understand that you and your husband adopted Anna when she was a child, Mrs. Nicholson.”
“Yes … we did.” I hear a note of caution in her voice.
“I’m sorry to say that for the past few weeks, my wife and daughter, Florence, have heard a great deal of gossip about Anna’s past. I understand that the nasty rumors have been burning through our social circles lately. I know this must have had an unwelcome effect on your family, as well as on yours, Mrs. Wilkinson, since Anna is engaged to marry your son.”
Mother and Mrs. Wilkinson have stopped eating. They are searching for something polite to say. They want him to stop. Clarice shoots me a poisonous look, her smile gone. Mother clears her throat. “If you don’t mind, Judge Blackwell, this is hardly the time or the place to discuss rumors—”
“I know. I know. But putting a halt to these rumors is important to everyone at this table, am I right?”
“Yes, of course,” Mother begins. “And yet this is—”
“You see, Mrs. Nicholson, I met with your daughter, Anna, a few days ago. She confided in me that ever since the rumors began, she has been trying to put a stop to them by secretly searching for her father. She feels compelled to prove that her mother, Christina, was a respectable married woman who hadn’t given birth to her in shame, as the stories claim. And now I’m happy to say that she has found her father. Anna has the undeniable proof she needs to confirm that her mother was legally married. She wants the three of you to be the first to know who her father is.” He pauses. The women look frozen, none of them daring to breathe. My eyes fill with tears as he reaches to take my hand. “Anna is my daughter. I’m her father.”
Silence. His words have fallen with the force of an explosion that makes my skin tingle. We’re all numb from the aftershock. Mrs. Wilkinson looks as though she may need smelling salts. The silence lengthens.
Clarice is the first to speak. “I don’t believe it,” she says flatly.
Her cheeks have turned very red. She must be worried about being exposed as the source of the gossip. She must also wonder if Judge Blackwell is about to inform the others of her blackmail scheme.
“Oh, it’s quite true, Miss Beacham. Why would I lie about it? I not only have a copy of our marriage license, I’m willing to swear that it’s true in a court of law.” He pulls a faded document from his inside pocket, unfolding it to lay it on the table in front of her. “There is no shame at all in Anna’s birth. I was legally married to her mother.”
“How is that even possible?” Mrs. Wilkinson asks.
“Anna’s mother, Christina, worked as a servant in my family’s household. She and I fell in love—and it was true love, the kind that’s so very rare in our social circles. We were married in secret, and when my parents learned about it, they came up with a plan to separate Christina and me and deceived us into thinking the other one wanted the marriage annulled. We believed the lie when nothing could be further from the truth. Thanks to their devious plot, we each thought the other had fallen out of love and wanted
to end the marriage. We both suffered a broken heart from the tragic misunderstanding.”
Once again, silence fills the room. The etiquette books we live by don’t offer advice for a situation like this one. I look up at my father and say, “Thank you.” His honesty could cost him a great deal.
“You are quite welcome, my dear. Now,” he says, turning to the ladies again, “because all of our families are interconnected—the Wilkinsons, the Beachams, and the Nicholsons—I think we all recognize the wisdom in keeping the truth under wraps. Why should any of us allow society to slander us? Not to mention attempting to defame our families’ good names. It isn’t helpful for any of us. But I thought it was important for the three of you ladies to know the truth in the event that people do start believing the gossip, or if another scandal should happen to arise. In that case, you can always contact me, and I’ll gladly help you quash it with the truth.”
The others remain speechless. What polite response can possibly follow such a shocking revelation? The ladies are clearly uncomfortable in this awkward situation, but Judge Blackwell knows how to make a graceful exit. He sets down his teacup and rises to his feet. “I’m sorry that I have to dash off, Mrs. Nicholson, but my wife has theater tickets for this evening. I can’t truthfully say this has been a pleasure, but … more of a necessity, wouldn’t you agree?” He bends to kiss my cheek. “Thank you for the tea, my dear. I’ll see myself out.”
It doesn’t take long for Clarice and Mrs. Wilkinson to excuse themselves and hurry off, as well. Mother turns to me when we’re alone, studying my face as if we’re strangers. “What in the world? Why didn’t you tell me, Anna? And to think you had to suffer all that shame …”
“I didn’t know until a few days ago. You asked me to stop searching for my father, and I was afraid you would be angry with me for disobeying. Besides, I didn’t know what I might uncover. I never dreamed that Judge Blackwell would be so gracious about admitting the truth.”
“Let’s hope this will be the end of the rumors.”
“It will be. Clarice was the one who was spreading them.”
“Anna, it’s wrong to accuse someone—”
“It’s true. She told me so herself. She was once in love with William, and she wanted to get even with him for rejecting her. She hoped to create a scandal that would end our engagement and ruin his reputation. She knows how concerned the Wilkinsons are with keeping up appearances.”
“I’m glad it’s over.” Mother folds me into her embrace, then pulls back in alarm. “Anna! You’re burning up with fever!”
“I need to go back to bed and sleep off this terrible cold. My throat feels as if it’s on fire.”
“I’m sending for Dr. Paulson.”
“I’ll be fine. It’s just a sore throat.”
I notice a strange rash on my body as I undress. By the time I’ve crawled into bed, I feel like I’m inside a furnace. I kick off all the blankets, but a moment later, I’m shaking with chills. I can’t recall ever feeling so sick. My last thought before falling asleep is that the nightmare is finally over. Clarice’s plan has failed, and everything is going to be all right. Thanks to Judge Blackwell.
My father.
Chapter 28
Geesje
Holland, Michigan
Dominie Den Herder is still missing. Derk told me this morning that he hasn’t come home since the day I confronted him. Cornelia doesn’t know that her grandfather is missing, nor has she asked why he hasn’t been coming over in the evenings or walking to work with her. Instead, Cornelia and I have been undertaking the enormous task of dealing with her grief and her anger at God for allowing her losses to happen. As we slowly move forward, I’m trying to convince her that she was the victim of the tragedies she has suffered, not the cause.
“It wasn’t your fault that your family died,” I tell her as we sit in my front room. I’m knitting a pair of mittens while Cornelia draws a picture of my cat playing with my ball of yarn. “It wasn’t your fault that your grandfather was unable to show you his love. And it wasn’t your fault that the man from church abused you. He is to blame for what happened, not you. He is the one who should be ashamed and made to pay for it. He is the one who deserves to be punished. God knows the truth about what happened, and He loves you and grieves with you.”
Cornelia reaches to pull the cat away from my yarn before he makes a tangled mess of it. She holds him close, rubbing her cheek against his fur. “Do you ever have doubts, Tante Geesje? About God, I mean… . After your parents died, and then your children?”
“Of course, I do. We all have moments of doubt. But our faith allows us to bring our doubts to God and ask all those hard questions, like Why? and Where were you? and How could you let this happen? God would much rather have an honest wrestling match with us than have us keep our distance and pretend we don’t have any doubts at all.”
I see movement outside my house and stand to peer out. A young man leans his bicycle against my hitching post and walks toward my porch. He is wearing a Western Union cap. Telegrams rarely bring good news, and if something has happened to Cornelia’s grandfather, I need to read about it before she does. She’s too fragile to face another loss. I hurry to answer the door, then stand outside on the porch to tear open the envelope—but it isn’t about the dominie at all. The telegram is from Anneke’s mother, Mrs. Nicholson.
Anna is critically ill. STOP
She is asking for you. STOP
Please hurry. STOP
I stop breathing. I’m so stunned I can barely think, much less move. Anneke is critically ill? But she can’t be! She was so vibrant and alive when I saw her a few weeks ago.
Cornelia comes to the doorway. “What’s wrong, Tante Geesje? Who is it from?”
“I-I need to go to Chicago right away. This is from Anneke’s mother. Anneke is very sick!”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“It doesn’t say. It just says hurry. I need to go to her!”
“Let me help you.” Cornelia wraps her arm around my waist and gently leads me inside. I’m so distraught, I can’t think what to do first. “I have to go to the print shop… . Maybe Arie will go to Chicago with me… . I can’t ask Derk to go. He can’t leave his studies, and besides, he … Anneke’s mother said to hurry! Oh, what if I’m too late!” I’m babbling in a mixture of Dutch and English. Panicking isn’t going to help, but that’s exactly what I’m doing.
“I’ll go with you,” Cornelia says.
“To Chicago?” She nods. “But it’s such a long trip. And you would have to miss work and—”
“Mrs. Van Putten will understand. You shouldn’t have to go all the way to Chicago by yourself.”
“But … you don’t mind?”
“Not at all. You pack your things, Tante Geesje. I’ll run to the print shop and tell Arie. He can drive us to the train station and help us with our tickets.” She grabs her coat and is gone before I have a chance to reply.
I pack hastily, throwing clothes and toiletries into a small bag. I change into my best Sunday dress. And a warm coat. It will be cold in Chicago. I’m going through the motions of getting ready, but everything seems unreal, as if it’s happening to someone else. I try not to imagine Anneke lying sick in bed—dying—but I’ve sat at too many bedsides watching too many loved ones die to erase the image. I need to fall on my knees and pray, and yet I know that God is sovereign over life and death. If it’s His will for Anneke to die … Oh, I don’t even want to think about it! I couldn’t bear it! Was it only a few minutes ago that I was talking to Cornelia about my faith and about wrestling with God? Now my faith has flown away on wings of fear, and my only thought is that Anneke is critically ill. She is asking for me. I must hurry!
Lord, where are you? What are you doing?
The wait seems endless, but Cornelia and Arie finally return with the horse and carriage. Cornelia rushes inside and quickly packs a bag. “I stopped by the store to tell Mrs. Van Putten where we’re going,” she says
as Arie helps us onto the wagon. “She promised to pray.”
“Good. That was good.” I wonder what else I’m forgetting in my haste to leave.
Arie drives us to the bank so I can withdraw the money I’ll need, then to the train station, where he helps us buy our tickets. We will need to change trains at three different stations and the trip will take most of the day, but at least we will be on our way within the hour. The last time—the only time—I took a long journey by train was during the war when I went to the army hospital in Port Fulton, Indiana, to see Arie after he’d been wounded. Christina traveled with me, and I was grateful for her company—as I am now for Cornelia’s.
Arie recovered, I tell myself. He didn’t die. And I want to believe that Anneke will recover, too.
I leave Cornelia on the platform with our bags as Arie and I go inside the Western Union office to send a telegram to Anneke’s mother, letting her know when our train will arrive and that Cornelia will be traveling with me. “Have you heard any word from Dominie Den Herder?” I ask Arie while we wait for a clerk. He shakes his head.
“He hasn’t been to work in the print shop or the newspaper office for the past few days. He didn’t tell anyone where he was going.”
“I haven’t told Cornelia he’s missing. She has enough to worry about as it is. I feel responsible for his disappearance, Arie. We had words the day he left, and I lost my temper. I said some pretty harsh things to him. But I felt like he needed to hear them.”
“I can’t imagine you being harsh, Moeder. Much less to a dominie. What was it all about?”
“It’s a long story, and it will have to wait until I get back. Right now all I can think about is Anneke. I know Mrs. Nicholson is embarrassed by me with my old-fashioned clothes and foreign accent. She never would have sent for me unless the situation was critical.” The telegraph clerk returns to the window, and I hand him the message I’ve printed out. Arie pays the fee.