Legacy of Mercy

by Lynn Austin

  “Will you feed my cat for me?” I remember to ask as the train chugs into the Holland station. “And get my mail?”

  “Of course. Don’t worry about a thing. Let Jakob and me know what’s happening down in Chicago so we can pray for Anneke.”

  The train doesn’t move quickly enough. Every time we stop at a station or sit on a side track waiting for a freight train to pass, I want to scream. I didn’t remember to bring my knitting, so I have nothing to do with my hands except wring them.

  Cornelia seems just as tense and worried as I am. “Tante Geesje?” she says.

  “Yes, lieveling?”

  She takes my hands, stilling them, and looks directly into my eyes, something she doesn’t often do. “I believe you now.”

  “What do you mean, dear?”

  “Even if something does happen to Anneke, I know it’s not because God is punishing you. He would never punish someone like you, Tante Geesje. You do so much good for everyone, and you show us His love. He would never make Anneke die just to punish you.”

  In spite of my inner turmoil, I recognize the miracle. A tiny ray of light has shone in Cornelia’s heart. “And He didn’t make your parents die to punish you, either. Please believe that. We may have to wait until we reach heaven to understand why we lost our loved ones, but in the meantime, we can trust His goodness.”

  She is quiet for a moment. The clattering rhythm of the wheels along the tracks seems to say Anneke, Anneke, Anneke …

  “But what if Anneke dies?” Cornelia asks. “You’ve already lost so many people in your family, and now … it would be terrible if you lost her, too.”

  I squeeze Cornelia’s hands as tears fill my eyes. “I know … I know.”

  She leans against me, resting her head on my shoulder, and we ride like that for a time. I’m comforted by her presence and the love and concern she shows me. After a while, she sits up and faces me again. “Tante Geesje? I want to pray for Anneke. And for you. But … I mean, I don’t really know how … or if God will listen to me after … you know … everything.”

  Tears fill my eyes at this second miracle. Cornelia wants to talk to God. “He is always ready to listen to us, lieveling, in spite of everything we’ve done. Just talk to Him the same way you talk to me. You can tell Him anything that’s on your heart.”

  “Will Anneke live if we pray really hard for her?”

  “Prayer doesn’t come with guarantees. We can’t change God’s mind by pleading with Him. But praying will bring us closer to Him, so He can comfort us and let us know He loves us no matter what happens.” My throat catches as I voice the unthinkable. Yet, I feel His warmth in my heart as I’m speaking, and it keeps some of my worry at bay. “I wish someone had prayed with you after your family died, Cornelia. Someone who could have led you into His arms.”

  “Ya … But now I have you.”

  She lowers her head and closes her eyes. We clasp hands as we pray.

  It takes all day, but at last the train winds along the edge of the lake and into Chicago, where a cloud of gray smoke hovers over the distant buildings and factories. I have never seen such an enormous, sprawling city—and to think, it was all rebuilt after the fire destroyed it twenty-six years ago. The journey has exhausted me, not only because it was long and uncomfortable, but because of the added worry and fear that Anneke might die.

  The Nicholsons’ uniformed driver finds us on the station platform and carries our bags. I want to race all the way to his carriage and tell him to make his horses gallop. But we move at a snail’s pace, the streets a tangled mess of carriages and horses and wagons. I have never seen so many of them all in one place. At last, we turn down an avenue lined with stately homes. We must be nearly there.

  Another man in a uniform opens the front door for us. If I weren’t so desperate to see Anneke, I wouldn’t have the courage to step over the threshold of such a grand place. The spacious rooms on either side of the foyer are swathed in layers of fringed draperies and stuffed with furniture and statues and curio cabinets. There are potted palm trees and ferns, and thick, colorful carpets. Fires blaze on the hearths, but they can’t drive away the chill I feel as I look around. Anneke’s house is a mansion, but it isn’t a home.

  A middle-aged woman in a gray dress comes to greet us. I hope Cornelia doesn’t notice the way she looks us over with mild disapproval. “You must be Mrs. de Jonge.”

  “Ya, and this is my friend Cornelia Den Herder.”

  “I’m Mrs. Dunlap, the housekeeper. I’ll show you and Miss Den Herder to your rooms. I’m sure you’ll want to freshen up and rest after your journey.”

  “No, thank you. I would like to see my granddaughter right away, please.”

  “Give me a moment to check with Mrs. Nicholson and—”

  “Mrs. Nicholson asked me to come, and she said to hurry. Please take me to see Anneke.”

  Mrs. Dunlap turns and heads up the stairs without another word. I follow right behind her. I have never seen stairs like these, gracefully winding toward the second-floor balcony. A stained-glass window at the top spills sparkling colors across the polished floor like jewels.

  The housekeeper turns down a hallway and knocks on one of the doors. When someone speaks from inside, she opens it a crack and says, “Mrs. de Jonge has arrived, ma’am. She is asking to see Anna.”

  There is a pause, then I hear Mrs. Nicholson say, “Let her come in.”

  “I’ll wait here,” Cornelia whispers.

  “No, please come with me, lieveling. I need you.”

  She takes my hand. “I’m praying,” she says.

  I must remember to thank God for today’s miracles—Cornelia, who was angry with God, is calling on Him in prayer. But all I can do at the moment is silently plead with Him not to take my Anneke.

  I think of the fairy tale “Sleeping Beauty” when I see her lying in her elegant canopied bed, swaddled in blankets and linens. She is thin and pale but still beautiful, her golden hair spread in a tangle on her pillow. I want to wring all the life from my own veins and pour it into hers. Heavenly Father, please … no …

  Anneke’s mother stands to greet us. She looks haggard with worry, her eyes red-rimmed. Twice I’ve known the sorrow of losing a child, but Mrs. Nicholson has only Anneke. “Thank you for coming, Mrs. de Jonge.”

  “I left as soon as I got your telegram. How is she?”

  “Still very ill. She has rheumatic fever. The doctor says it has affected her heart and weakened it.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “We should know within the next few days … if …”

  “Ya. I see.” I don’t want to hear the words spoken out loud any more than she wants to say them. I consider comforting Mrs. Nicholson with an embrace, but I sense by the way she holds herself aloof that she wouldn’t want that. Yet I see the fear and desperation in her eyes, and I know they must mirror my own. I remember falling apart after Christina died and after our son Gerrit was killed in battle, and I long for my husband’s strength to lean on now as I did back then. I can’t bear to lose Anneke, too.

  “Anna will be so grateful you came,” Mrs. Nicholson says. I can tell by her trembling voice that she is hanging on to her composure by a slender thread. “And … and I’m grateful, too. You see, I don’t have any family here in the city whom I can turn to.”

  I know, then, that I’m here for Mrs. Nicholson as well as for Anneke and for myself. I pray that I’ll be as strong as my husband was when I needed him. “I hope you’ll consider Cornelia and me your family,” I say, resting my hand on her arm. My touch breaks the slender thread of her control, and she drops onto her chair, sobbing.

  “This is so hard… . I’ve never faced anything like this. I try to pray, but I don’t have any words… .”

  “Then simply pray without words. God hears the cries of our hearts.”

  “I don’t have as much faith as you do … or as Anna does. That’s why I wanted you to come here and pray. So God would hear you… .”


  “He hears both of our prayers exactly the same, Mrs. Nicholson. Please believe that. He sees you and He hears you, just as He hears me.”

  “I don’t know how I will bear it if … How did you … ? When you lost Anna’s mother, how … ?”

  I swallow, remembering. “It was one of the worst days of my life. My husband, Maarten, and I had each other, and we had the prayers of our church community, but there is no easy way to grieve for someone we love. Cornelia lost her entire family five years ago, and she still feels the pain every day.” I glance at Cornelia to see if she’s able to follow our conversation, and I see tears flowing silently down her cheeks.

  “Then … you know?” Mrs. Nicholson says, looking up at Cornelia. She nods and swipes at a tear. Grief binds the three of us together.

  “It does get easier to go through each day as time passes,” I continue. “But I won’t lie to you and say the pain goes away. It never does. What gives me the greatest comfort, Mrs. Nicholson, is knowing that my daughter, Christina, is still alive, even though her physical body has passed away. My separation from her is only temporary. The Bible promises that we will be together again with Christ for all eternity.”

  A sob escapes from Mrs. Nicholson’s chest, and she lowers her head and covers her face. I go to her, crouching down so I can embrace her where she is seated. She clings to me as if to a life raft. “I’m sorry,” she says. “Anna is all I have!” I let her weep for as long as she needs, then I stand again when she releases me to dry her eyes on her handkerchief. I stay near her with my arm around her shoulders, silently praying for her and for Anneke. And in spite of the words of hope I’ve just spoken, I don’t know how I will get through the days ahead if Anneke dies. It will be as if I’ve lost Christina all over again.

  When Mrs. Nicholson has composed herself, I step to the bedside and study Anneke’s beautiful features through my tears, seeing a shadow of my lovely Christina. Then I reach for her hand and close my eyes, pleading with God to spare her life—not only for Mrs. Nicholson’s sake and for mine, but also for Anneke’s. She has so many years left to live, and she wants so badly to live them for God.

  When I open my eyes again, Anneke is awake. She looks up at me and says, “Oma … you’re here… .”

  I squeeze her hand, praying to be strong for her sake. “Ya, lieveling, I’m here.”

  Then her eyes fall closed once again.

  Chapter 29

  Anna

  Chicago, Illinois

  I know I’ve been hovering close to death. I can hear the angels whispering in the corners of my bedroom. It would be so easy to put my hand in theirs and slip away. The fever and pain would finally end. But then I open my eyes and see Oma Geesje standing beside my bed, praying for me, and I want to be with her, not the angels. I want to live. She takes my hand, and I feel her strength flowing through me. I close my eyes and sleep again.

  I don’t know how long I’ve been drifting in and out of sleep, but it’s comforting to see Mother and Oma here with me whenever I wake up. Sometimes Father is here, too. And Dr. Paulson or one of his nurses. They all look so worried. Today when I open my eyes, the Dutch girl, Cornelia, is sitting beside my bed. She looks different from the last time I saw her. Her expression seems different, but I can’t decide why. “How are you?” she asks in English when she sees I’m awake. I take stock, for a moment. My fever seems to be gone, and the ache in my joints has lessened. But I have no strength at all in my body.

  “I think I’m getting better,” I tell her. I wonder if she can understand my English. I look around but don’t see anyone else in the room with us. “Where’s Oma?” I ask.

  “She goes for …” Cornelia mimics drinking from a glass. She looks nervous as she moves to the edge of her chair to talk to me. “I am wanting to say to you I am sorry.”

  I shake my head, puzzled. “What for?”

  “I am wrong to go into the water that day … when you visit.”

  “I’m glad Derk was there to rescue you.” I hesitate before asking, “Why did you jump, Cornelia? I saw you. I know you didn’t slip and fall.”

  “Because I hurt. In here,” she says, laying her hand over her heart. “I am thinking it will stop hurting if I die… . I am sorry.”

  “No, don’t be sorry. I understand. I have felt the same way since I’ve been sick. But my pain has been in my body, not my heart.”

  “I pray and pray that you live, Anneke. Tante Geesje will be crying so much if you die. And she cries for me, too, if I die.”

  “She loves you, Cornelia.”

  She nods, her entire body moving and not just her head. “Yes. I am not feeling love until now.” That’s the difference I see in Cornelia. She knows she is loved. “To live or not to live is from God,” she continues. She gestures as if holding an imaginary gift in her hands and then gives it to me. “I pray He gives life to you. And I tell Him I am sorry for not wanting it.”

  “I’m so glad, Cornelia. I would be sad, too, if you died. I hope we both live for a long, long time so we can be friends.”

  Oma smiles with delight when she returns and sees we’ve been talking. She is carrying a tray with a teapot and two cups on it. “Shall I get another cup for you?” she asks me.

  “No, thank you. Not yet. But I do feel much better.”

  “I’ll make a special drink for you when you’re ready to eat, made from eggs and milk and a little vanilla. It will help you grow stronger.”

  Later, Dr. Paulson comes and confirms that I’m improving. “The nurses say that Anna hasn’t had a fever for two days now,” he tells Mother and Father. “I think it’s safe to say she’s out of danger.” Mother falls into Father’s arms, weeping.

  Now that I’m awake for longer periods of time and able to sit propped against the pillows, I’m excited to share my mama’s story with Oma Geesje. As wintry rain beats against the windows outside, I tell her about Jack’s abuse and how he died in an accident, leaving Mama a widow.

  “Oh, if only she had come home,” Oma interrupts. “And yet I know why she was afraid to come back. We are such a tight-knit community that she probably felt ashamed to face us. If only Christians were as merciful as Jesus is. Then Christina wouldn’t have felt so afraid.”

  “But she did return to you, Oma. She knew you would forgive her.”

  “Ya. At least that’s a comfort.”

  I tell her about all the gossip I endured, and about Clarice’s threats. I describe the path I took to try to find my father, and how my maid betrayed me. Oma shakes her head. “You went through so much, Anneke. You showed great courage to keep searching all alone.”

  “I did it for Mother and Father’s sakes. I couldn’t let Clarice ruin them. When the trail ended in a basement storeroom beneath the tenement house, I knew it was too much for me to tackle alone. Then Derk came at just the right time to help me. He was an answer to my prayers, Oma. And I found Mama’s journal among her belongings. Open that drawer in my desk and you can read it yourself.” I lay back against the pillows to rest while she does. Remembering the day I spent with Derk has brought a sharp pain to my heart—the kind of pain Cornelia talked about. I struggle to force all my feelings for him back into the box, but it’s like stuffing too many treasures into an overflowing chest. I know my heart will heal in time, just as my physical heart will heal. But for now, I need to lock away my feelings for Derk and move on to marry William.

  I’m talking with Oma and Cornelia after dinner that evening when Mrs. Dunlap comes to my bedroom to say that a visitor is asking to see me. She hands me a calling card: The Honorable Judge James Blackwell. “Shall I tell him to come back another day when you’re feeling stronger?”

  “No! Let him come up, Mrs. Dunlap. Please!”

  Oma rises to her feet. “I’ll leave,” she says.

  “No, please stay. I want you to meet each other. He’s my father, Oma. The man you read about in Mama’s journal.”

  Oma steps away from my bedside as the judge sweeps into the room with
a worried look on his face. “I just learned that you’ve been unwell, Anna, and I had to come and see you. Is there anything I can do? Do you have the very best physicians? They said you were at death’s door.”

  “Yes, I had rheumatic fever. But I’m much better now. The doctor expects a full recovery.”

  “Thank God!” he breathes, sinking onto Oma’s chair. “There is so much I want to know about you, and I feared I had missed my chance. I hope you’ll let me be part of your life—unless that would be too awkward for you.”

  “Not at all. I would like that.”

  “I shared your story with my wife and children. They know all about Christina now, and I hope they will get to know you, too—if you would like them to, that is.”

  “I would like that very much. My grandmother would, too.” I gesture to her, and the judge turns and notices her for the first time.

  “I’m sorry. Have I interrupted you?” he asks, rising to his feet.

  “Judge Blackwell, I would like you to meet my grandmother, Geesje de Jonge. She’s Christina’s mother.”

  He takes her hand and gives a little bow. “Beauty is a strong trait in your family, Mrs. de Jonge. I’m so pleased to meet you. I want you to know that I loved your daughter very much.”

  “That’s a comfort, Your Honor. My husband and I didn’t know what became of Christina after she left home. I’m pleased to know she found happiness with a man who loved her.”

  “If only our story could have ended differently—” He’s interrupted by shouts and the sound of a commotion in the downstairs hallway.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  “A young man was causing a disturbance the same time I arrived. Do you want me to see what it’s all about?” He moves toward the door, but before he gets to it, Cornelia comes rushing in. She hurries over to Oma, chattering frantically in Dutch.

  “Derk is here?” Oma asks in English. “Our Derk?” Cornelia nods, waving her hands as she talks rapidly. “They’re trying to send him away,” Oma explains to me. “But he’s refusing to leave.”