by Lynn Austin
“Please do.”
“My father has had some financial troubles recently, and he owes a lot of money to the Wilkinsons’ bank. He and Mother could lose everything if I don’t marry William. I heard what happened to the Kirkland family, and I don’t want my parents to end up bankrupt like they did.”
“That’s very noble of you. But don’t you deserve to be happy, too?”
“How can I be happy if my parents are ruined and disgraced? I love them.”
“There must be another way out. For all of you.”
“If there is, I don’t know what it is.” A look of sympathy fills his eyes, but then he stands abruptly as we see William approaching. “William, have you met Judge James Blackwell?” I ask.
“Only briefly. How do you do, Your Honor? I’m Anna’s fiancé, William Wilkinson.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” William knows that the judge is my father, but he makes no acknowledgment of the relationship. As far as he and the rest of Chicago society are concerned, Arthur Nicholson is my father.
“If you’ll excuse us, Your Honor, I would like to speak with Anna in private.”
The judge gives a little bow. “Of course. Merry Christmas, my dear.”
William takes my arm and helps me to my feet, leading me through the crowded room and across the foyer to the empty morning room. “I need to have you all to myself for a few minutes so I can give you your Christmas present,” he says. He reaches into the pocket of his tuxedo and presents me with a small jewelry box. I open it to find a glittering ring. The huge, emerald-cut diamond is surrounded by half a dozen smaller diamonds. William takes my left hand and slips the ring onto my finger. “Merry Christmas, Anna. Do you like it?”
“It’s beautiful, William!” I move into his arms, and he bends to kiss me. I feel the passion in his kiss and want so much to feel the same for him, but I don’t.
When our lips part, he gazes down at me and says, “You look beautiful tonight.”
“And you are the handsomest man at the party.” It’s true. I’m well aware of the admiring glances William draws from other women everywhere he goes. I look down at the ring he has just given me. I’ve lost weight during my illness and it’s too big for my finger, but that can be fixed. Like the house, the ring is too large and extravagant for my taste, but I would never hurt William’s feelings by mentioning it. “Thank you. It’s a wonderful Christmas present.”
“Our parents would like to announce the new date for our wedding,” he says. “We’re so grateful that you’re growing stronger every day, and we thought tonight would be the perfect occasion. We’ve chosen the first of June, if that’s all right with you.”
My heart makes a nervous jitter but I smile up at him. “My social calendar is completely empty at the moment. And Dr. Paulson assures me that I’ll be much stronger by June.”
“We’re all grateful to have you back, Anna.” He pulls me close for another hug, then offers me his arm so we can join the others.
“William, wait,” I say, holding back. “There’s something I need to tell you before we’re married. I’ve wanted to speak with you about it before, but I haven’t known quite how to do it.”
“Anna, what is it?”
I draw a breath for strength and exhale. “The doctor said the damage to my heart will never heal. I will always be weaker than I used to be.”
“Yes, so you’ve told me. And I promise to hire dozens of servants to pamper and spoil you. I’ll wrap you in cotton batting like a delicate glass ornament.” I know he means well, but his words make me feel like I’m suffocating. Even before my illness, living a pampered life of ease made me feel useless, and now I will feel even more so. How will I ever find a way to serve God if I’m wrapped up in cotton and sitting on a shelf like a fragile doll?
“I know you’ll treat me well, William, but there’s something more.” I gather my courage, willing myself not to shed any more tears. “The doctor says it will be very dangerous for me to bear children. My heart could never withstand the strain of childbirth.”
William looks stunned. I can see that he is analyzing my words, thinking them through, counting the cost, just as I had to do. I wait for him to realize what a tragic blow it must be for me to know I’ll never be a mother, and then to take me in his arms and comfort me. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t say anything. Thankfully, Mother comes into the room and interrupts us, breaking the awkward silence.
“There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you. Mr. Wilkinson would like to offer a champagne toast to the two of you.”
“William just gave me his Christmas present. Look, Mother.” I hold out my hand to show her, and I see that my hand is trembling.
“It’s beautiful, Anna. Come and show everyone. We’re ready to make our announcement.”
I take William’s arm, and we walk into the parlor to stand together in front of the Christmas tree. The ring weighs down my hand as if it’s made from lead.
Chapter 34
Geesje
Holland, Michigan
On Sunday morning, Cornelia and I are chatting with the other women after the church service when Lena Visscher approaches us, her baby bouncing and squirming in her arms. “Mrs. de Jonge? I was wondering if you and Cornelia would be able to come to my house for coffee tomorrow morning?” I look at Cornelia to see if she has understood, and she nods.
“We would be happy to come.”
Lena’s little house is fragrant with the aroma of coffee and cinnamon cookies when we arrive. The sketch Cornelia made of baby Willem has been framed and sits on the mantel along with fresh evergreen branches. “I want to ask you something, Cornelia,” Lena says as we sip our coffee. “I would like to pay you to draw another picture of Willem. It would be a Christmas present for my mother, who doesn’t get to see him very often. She has a photograph of him, but it just isn’t the same. There is so much life in your drawing.”
Cornelia looks surprised but pleased. I watch as she searches for the words to reply in English. “I am happy to draw him… . Maybe you would like color? … I have now some paint.” Earlier this month, I gave Cornelia a set of watercolors, brushes, and other supplies as a present for Sinterklaas Day. Her pictures now reflect the color and life that is gradually filling her soul as God heals her grief from the past.
“Even better,” Lena says. “Let me know when you want to come by to sketch him—although, I don’t know how we will get him to sit still.” We laugh as we watch him swim across the floor using only his arms. “I think some of my friends would like to hire you, too, if you’re willing. They’ve all admired the picture you drew.” Cornelia’s proud smile seems to light up the room.
Later that day, the mailman brings me an official-looking letter from the Netherlands. I’m glad Cornelia is at work as I slit it open and read it. It’s from the church officials there, responding to my request for justice for Cornelia. They are willing to look into the matter, they say, but they feel that the investigation and disciplinary action should come at the request of Dominie Den Herder, Cornelia’s legal guardian. At the very least, they would like him to confirm the truth and accuracy of what his teenaged granddaughter has accused this man of doing. I understand their viewpoint. But I dread another confrontation with Marinus.
I sit down by my fire and pick up my knitting as I stew over the letter, planning how to approach the dominie. I could tell Cornelia’s story to our pastor and ask him to get involved. Maybe he could convince Marinus to do the right thing. My son Jakob might help me, too. But the secrets in Cornelia’s past are hers alone to reveal, and I already know how furious her grandfather will be if I start sharing them with others. No, I will need to talk to Marinus myself.
I’m deep in thought when I hear my back door open and close, and in walks Derk. “Well, look at you, all rosy-cheeked from the cold! How are you, lieveling?” I stand to embrace him and feel the cold air on his clothes. “What brings you here on a Monday afternoon? Shouldn’t you be in class?”
>
“We don’t have any more classes until after Christmas—although I’ll have some extra work to do to catch up. I wanted to come by and see if you’ve heard from Anneke lately.”
I feel a prickle of uneasiness. “Yes, she’s doing well and continuing to recover. She’s still quite weak, so she’s having a quieter Christmas this year. She says she doesn’t miss all the parties and running around.” Tears burn my eyes when I recall her sad news about not bearing children. I wrote back to her right away, telling her how much I wish I could console her in person. It’s devastating news for any woman to hear. But it isn’t something that I should share with Derk.
“Tell her I said hello when you write to her.”
His expression is so eager and lovesick that it breaks my heart. I shake my head. “No. I can’t do that, Derk.”
“What? … Why not?”
“Lieveling, you have to let Anneke go.” He looks devastated. “I know how hard it is, believe me. But you’ll never be able to get on with your life unless you do. The wound will never heal. Anneke is going to marry William. Whether we like it or not, whether she loves him or not, that’s what’s going to happen. I know your heart is breaking, but you need to accept the truth and move forward. God has the perfect wife in mind for you, and it isn’t Anneke.” He looks away, but I can see that he’s struggling with his emotions.
He gives a curt nod. “Understood.”
“Listen, I thought I would never love anyone the way I loved your grandfather. But I did. I loved my husband Maarten very much, and we had a good life together. You’ll love again, too.” He tries to smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
He starts to leave, then turns back. “Did Dominie Den Herder tell you he’s going to preach the sermon at the Dutch service Sunday evening?”
“No, I haven’t spoken with him. But that sounds like good news.” And maybe after he has that triumph, after he has returned to the pulpit and to his calling, he’ll be more open to helping me talk with the Dutch officials on Cornelia’s behalf.
This time I warn Cornelia ahead of time so she won’t be caught off-guard on Sunday evening. “May I stay home?” she asks when I tell her that her grandfather will be preaching. “I don’t want to hear him preach.”
“I won’t force you to go. But would you think about something for me? Your grandfather gave up his calling as a minister, and this is his chance to use that gift. If you’re going to forgive him, this would be a wonderful time to tell him. So he can start all over again.”
She gives her customary shrug. “I’ll think about it.”
“It’s what God would want you to do, Cornelia. And then you’ll be able to start all over again, too.”
On Sunday evening I’m surprised and pleased when Cornelia comes out of her bedroom dressed for church. “I’m going to do it,” she says in a shaky voice. “Will you come with me to talk to him?”
“I’ll be right beside you.” I offer her a hug, and the poor girl is trembling as if she’s standing outside in the cold winter night without her coat. We go next door to the Vander Veens’ house, but Derk tells us the dominie has already left. I pray that Cornelia doesn’t change her mind as we walk to Pillar Church together.
The sanctuary is filling with parishioners arriving for the evening service, so I hurry with Cornelia to the back of the church to avoid getting entangled in conversation. We find her grandfather getting ready in the sacristy. He has already put on a clerical robe and is trying to adjust the white stole around his neck. I’m astounded when Cornelia walks forward and fixes the ends of it for him so they hang evenly. He looks surprised, too.
“Thank you,” he says with a slight nod. He is an imposing figure, tall and dignified and handsome. I can see why this is the image he wants the world to see.
“I-I have something to say.” Cornelia’s voice is whisper soft. I silently pray for her. “I have been very angry with you for taking my baby away from me. You were wrong not to let me hold him or say good-bye. But I want you to know … I forgive you.”
His head jerks back in surprise. “You forgive me? Isn’t that the wrong way around, Cornelia? After what you did?”
She swallows and takes a breath. “I’ve asked God to forgive my sins, and I know He has. But I needed your love and attention after Mama and Papa died, and you didn’t give them to me. You left me all alone when I needed you. You were the only person I had left in the world, but your work was always much more important than I was. You didn’t even see what that man was doing to me. Instead, you ignored me and looked the other way. Then, after my baby was born, you didn’t give me a chance to see him and say good-bye. It was cruel of you to take him away from me that way… . But now I want you to know that I forgive you … for everything.”
For the space of a heartbeat, the dominie looks shaken, a towering oak buffeted by a strong wind. Then his imposing façade slips back into place. “Excuse me. The service is starting.” He walks away.
Cornelia turns and sags in my arms like a rag doll. “I’m so proud of you,” I say. “You did the right thing. It’s between him and God now. Don’t let his response discourage you.”
She dries her eyes and straightens her shoulders. When she is ready, we go back into the sanctuary and sit in a pew. The dominie sweeps in and takes his place on the platform in front.
“I don’t hate him anymore,” Cornelia whispers as the service begins. “I feel sorry for him. Nobody loves him. I know how terrible it feels when nobody loves you.” I squeeze her hand. It’s no longer trembling.
Dominie Den Herder rises when it’s time for his sermon. He looks at home in the pulpit. I have never been able to imagine him as a pastor, caring for the needs of his flock, but I see him now as a minister of God’s Word for the first time. He has a commanding presence. “Let us pray,” he begins. He bows his head to recite the familiar prayer: “May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, my strength and my redeemer. Amen.”
He lifts his head, taking a moment to gaze out at the sanctuary full of people, surveying the crowd as if demanding their attention before he begins. “This evening—”
He stops. His gaze comes to rest on Cornelia. Time seems to halt as he stares down at her. The air stills. The silence is immense.
There is a moment when I see him sway, and I’m reminded of how the great oak trees that we felled to build the town of Holland would teeter, as if trying to regain their balance the moment the final blow of the axe had been struck. I see his despair as he realizes, like those proud oak trees, that he has been severed from the roots that fed him, nourished him, and held him in place.
“Oh, God!” he groans as he falls to his knees. “Forgive me!”
Cornelia leaps up. She pushes past me in the pew. I watch her hurry up the aisle and mount the steps to the platform. Then she also drops to her knees and wraps her arms around her grandfather, cradling him where he has fallen.
Chapter 35
Anna
Chicago, Illinois
Mr. Wilkinson has asked Mother, Father, and me to meet him for dinner downtown at the private club he and Father belong to. The January evening is bitter cold, so the servants have warmed our carriage with pans of hot coals for the ride. I have been out only a few times this past month, choosing my social events carefully so I don’t overdo it. But this dinner seemed important, and I assume it has something to do with our new wedding plans.
There is a dark, gentlemanly warmth in the club’s dining room, with its plush carpets, soft lighting, and hushed voices, making it feel comfortably intimate. The fragrant aroma of fine cigars fills the air. Mr. Wilkinson and another gentleman are already seated at a corner table, and they both rise as we approach. I look around for William and his mother but don’t see them. Then I notice that the table has been set for only five people. I feel a prickle of unease when Mr. Wilkinson introduces the other gentleman as Mr. John Avery, his attorney.
“Where’s William?” I a
sk.
“He won’t be joining us tonight. Please, have a seat and let’s order our drinks. I’ll explain everything in a moment.” The waiter is standing ready. I shake my head when he asks what I would like. Something is very wrong, but I can’t imagine what. Father seems wary, as well. He swirls the ice around in his glass after it arrives, without drinking any of it. The others chat about the snowy weather for a few minutes.
At last Mr. Wilkinson sets down his own glass and exhales. “This is one of the most difficult decisions I’ve ever had to make… . As you know, William is our only son. You may not know, however, that I have no brothers or uncles. William is the only male in our family who can carry on the Wilkinson name. Unfortunately for all of us, Anna’s illness has left her unable to bear William a son. And since our family needs an heir to carry on our business … I’m sorry to say we have no choice but to end the engagement.”
I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. I feel as if someone has just yanked the chair out from under me and I’ve dropped to the floor with a painful thud. My parents are speechless, too, as we try to comprehend what Mr. Wilkinson has just said. Father is the first to respond.
“You’re … you’re ending their engagement? We just announced the new wedding date to all our friends at Christmastime.”
“I understand how cruel our decision must sound to you, but we have no choice. Adopting a child is not an option for our family’s future.” He pauses, as if to give us time to digest his words. Mother is white-faced and mute with shock as all her hopes and dreams for me are shattered. I reach for her hand, wondering if she will need her smelling salts.
“You would do this to our Anna?” Father asks. “After she has been so ill?”
Mr. Wilkinson plows forward, ignoring Father’s outrage. “Since we are the ones who are breaking the engagement, our family is well aware that you have a legal right to sue us for breach of contract. And while we deeply regret any embarrassment and grief this break may cause you, it is our hope that you will spare both of our families the indignity of dragging this matter into a court of law.”