by A. L. Knorr
Her appearance has changed notably as well, though I hesitate to recount the specifics because sometimes I am not sure I can believe my eyes. She no longer cares for her long black hair, servicing it and having coiffed by her lady's maid as she used to. Instead she lets it stay long and unrestrained giving her a wild appearance, which is only accentuated by the feverish look her blue eyes have taken on. The blue of her eyes has always been beautiful to look upon, but now seems to have taken a molten cast (for lack of a better word) and I have never seen eyes so brightly lit from within. Her skin has always been pale, no matter the hours she takes in the sun. I recall warning her to spend less time under the sun's glare in the early days, but she never heeded me and I recall thinking that she would be freckled and dark as a heathen before long, but I was wrong. Even now it retains its porcelain colour--only it, too, has also changed but in a way I am at a loss to describe accurately. It has a kind of iridescence to it that can only be seen in the light. I made a private study of her the last time I came upon her coming up from the beach paths in her usual way, with her hair damp and blowing in the wind and her clothing haphazard. I found myself in a sort of daze as I took in her appearance, as though I could not look away. It frightened me, as did the expression on her face - such a mournful brokenness. I have not spoken to her again of her desire for a daughter--I am afraid to broach the subject for fear it would send her further into whatever hell she finds herself in.
I took the liberty to call upon Dr. Wozniak for advice, but he says that female problems of emotion are not his speciality. He said he would write to a friend and colleague from America who may be able to provide some enlightenment but so far I have heard nothing.
As for the upcoming journey I was in discussions with Mattis before he disembarked on this latest commission—Mattis has agreed to keeping Michal here, since he suffers horrible seasickness whenever he steps foot on a boat. This is my one bright spot during these days, knowing that I can keep one grandson here with me.
I feared we would have great repercussions from Sybellen, as Mattis and I had discussed this in her absence, but Mattis advised me to leave off talking with her about it. Since then, it has never come up again neither from his lips nor hers. I find myself fearful that she may bring it up at some point before they leave, but the date is fast approaching and there has been no adjustment to the plan to allow Michal to stay.
And so I wait humbly for a good doctor to reply and enlighten us, for my family to disembark, and for peace to descend upon this household once more.
May 18, 1869
My world has come to an end and there will never be another moment of happiness so long as I shall live.
Dec 2, 1870
It has been well over a year since my last entry. I have not had the heart to write of the events that have befallen my family, for they have been too awful to bear and too awful for words. Since I cannot form the words myself, I shall leave it to this passage I found recently while reading a tragic play; We are destined ‘to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing, end them.’
With whomever preaches of free will I take great exception, because I, in my life, have experienced very little of it. I did not choose to be born a woman; I did not choose to marry my Emun (my father arranged it); I did not choose the sex of my child or to stop at only one...that, too, was determined for me. I did not choose my country, my city, my face or hands or form, my intellect and talents or lack thereof. And whether I choose corn for my supper over peas, or a blue dress over a green one is so petty and inconsequential that it cannot possibly be named free will.
I did not choose my son's wife for him and I did not choose my grandsons: they came to us as a gift from God and now one has been taken back, along with my own son and many good men alongside. But I digress into sentimental musings to avoid putting down on paper the horrors of the past year, so I'll get to task now so you can understand.
In May of last year, May 17th to be precise, Mattis and Sybellen were preparing to embark on their summer commission, to take Emun Jr. with them and leave Michal at home. But I get ahead of myself. In order to understand the following events, I must tell you of what led up to them. I have written before of Sybellen's melancholy and strange behaviour. You may recall, I asked Dr. Wozniak for advise, and he wrote to his friend to appeal for insight. I received a letter from a Doctor Anders at St. Peter's Psychological Institution in Boston (a place so far away and strange to me that it seems like it must be another world!). Dr. Anders had very little helpful to say since he was not here to examine her, but he advised a tincture of herbs for her to help lift her spirits as well as plenty of rest and sunshine, and broth of vegetables. He also recommended that we take her to an institution in Gdansk for examination. Since the date of their departure was so near, I resolved to talk to Mattis about this option for Sybellen but only upon their return in the fall. I was hoping that the trip abroad would prove a cure for her and the sordid business might cure itself.
But on May 16th, two events came together to form our ruin. One was that a sudden spring storm blew in from across the sea. Storms are unusual for May, but they can happen. Throughout the day the winds were whipped up and the sky became a dark mass of boiling clouds. Also in the morning, Sybellen did not join us for breakfast. I went up to her rooms to see if she was alright, but she was not there, and neither did her bed show that she had slept. At first, I assumed that she had slept in Mattis' rooms and went to check there, but Sybellen was not to be found there either.
I went back to the breakfast room to ask Mattis when he saw her last and he answered that he had seen her the night before. They had said good night and parted to their own rooms. When I told him what I had discovered, that Sybellen had not slept in her own room, he became instantly fearful, much moreso than I am accustomed Mattis being even when things go amiss. He and Emun Sr. immediately set off to search the beach and the beach paths for her, as we all thought for certain she would be there. I waited with the boys for their return and watched the skies darken with a sense of foreboding--it seemed they were mirroring the days events.
Only Emun Sr returned from the search and he reported that Mattis was going to get a boat to search the water. This talk frightened me greatly and I feared the worst for Sybellen. Why did he think he needed a boat to find her? Could they not simply take several men and continue to search the beaches? Had her depression and her attraction to the ocean collided to bring tragedy? What was he imagining?
It wasn't until the afternoon, by which time the storm had whipped itself into a frenzy, that I learned what Mattis intended when he had told Emun he was going out to search the waters. I was sitting and reading with Emun Jr. and Michal when Mattis came into the room. He was wet through and dripping from the rain.
He said he was there to take the boys because surely Sybellen would come if she heard their voices. I did not understand what he meant--it made no sense to involve the children. "You cannot possibly understand, Mama," he pleaded with me at first. When I asked him to enlighten me he spoke sharply saying, "There isn't time--every moment more we risk to lose her forever." His wild-eyed expression frightened me even further.
The boys became frightened, too, to see their father in such a state and I tried to send him away to calm down. He would not listen, and tried to compel the boys to come with him, but I told the boys to stay put. The poor children were becoming more frightened and confused by the moment.
Mattis told them that their mother was missing and that he needed the help to find her. Once he had said that, there was no stopping Emun Jr., who jumped up and took his father’s hand. I tried to reason with Mattis—tried to convince him that to take the boys out and, in fact, to go out at all on a night like this was surely dangerous. But he would not listen and left the house in a hurry with Emun Jr. Michal and I huddled together to wait.
Little did I know that that was the last time I was to see Mattis or Emun Jr.
Emun Sr. arrived home an hour later, also dripping and wet to the bone. He had been down at the docks having his own row with our son and he reported angrily to me that Mattis had taken The Sybellen and 29 men with him--barely enough to sail a ship of such size. I nearly fainted for the shock of it. Why had he taken The Sybellen? Emun could not explain and he said that Mattis had left with much haste, proclaiming that the sooner they left the more likely they would be to find her.
After that it was as though the storm knew that my son was challenging it and it had an appetite to swallow him whole. Never before and never since have I seen a storm on the Baltic such as the one that took the lives of those on The Sybellen that night. Oh the foolishness; the sickening waste.
Michal slept, as children seem blessed with the ability to maintain some kind of normalcy even in the midst of the strange, but neither Emun nor I went to bed that night. Early in the morning as the storm was finally cooling, Emun went to the harbour to wait. But The Sybellen did not return.
That day, I found a lump of heavy damp cloth at the door beside the kitchens and held it up to see that it was one of Sybellen's dresses--in fact, the one that I had last seen her wearing. What it was doing there I could not imagine until Emun later told me that they had found the sodden clothing in the rocks down at the beach. He considered it a sure sign that Sybellen had walked into the ocean to drown herself in her misery, although why she felt compelled to remove the clothing to accomplish her goal was a mystery. Surely it would only have helped to pull her under, Emun wondered aloud. ‘Listen to us,’ I replied angrily, ‘what talk we have been brought to.’
‘If that was the case and she wished to drown herself then surely her body would wash up on the beach? Why did Mattis have to take to the sea in a ship if she had drowned?’, I implored him further. It did not make sense. Had my son taken leave of his senses, too? Had his grief and worry overcome logic?
The searching—for Sybellen or her namesake--went on for weeks afterward and Emun and I barely slept or ate. But we did not see even a shadow of The Sybellen. Even now, not so much as a broken board has washed up on the beach. There have been no bodies drifting in on the tides, at least not in our area and, day by day, our hope has faded into dust. We had hoped, for a time, for reports from other ships that came and went from our port but there has been no word.
After the tragedy, Emun dealt with the insurance agents. For a time, we believed that we would lose the claim, as there were some factors that were not consistent with the commission when the insurance was set up, but Emun worked quickly and said what he needed to say in order to save Novak shipping from destruction. I was so lost in my agony that I did not follow what he was doing, although I vaguely remember him trying to explain to me that he had to hold a secret meeting with all of the company sailors who were not on the vessel the night it left, in order to solidify Novak's position with the insurance, otherwise all would be lost.
The newspapers have had their fun with the story that Emun had to concoct for them in order to be consistent with the insurance claim. Emun has protected me from the reporters and the curious villagers and it seems that thankfully the story has been eclipsed by other news.
I believe I have intentionally closed my ears and eyes to the things pertaining to the company, as I felt I could barely manage to get out of bed let alone consider matters of business. I do not know how Emun managed.
Michal cried every night for a very long time and I would stay with him until he cried himself into sleep. I remember wondering if there would ever be a night again where I did not bank the fire and crawl into my bed to the sound of a little boy weeping in my head.
Watching him recover from losing his entire family in one moment, though, has made me realize that children are far heartier than we give them credit for. He did eventually cease the crying and was back to himself (or nearly) inside of a year. It has been Emun and myself who have aged and I would even go so far as to say that I have sincerely wished for death at times over the past year.
Were it not for Michal, I believe both Emun and I might have given up. Emun would not have bothered to fight for the insurance and he likely would have sold the company for what little value was left after The Sybellen was gone. I knew The Sybellen was the pride of Novak Shipping, but I had not realized how much worth was tied up in the vessel alone.
As it was, the company passed to Michal who is of course far too young to run it. Emun's two elder sisters, Marcella and Rena, both of whom live in Gdansk and have their own husbands and lives to live, have been a Godsend. Emun held a meeting with them and their families to decide what to do and the decision was unanimous. Novak Shipping must not be sold or dissolved or in any other way cut up for parts. They have changed their lives to pull together and never have I been prouder of my family. It appears that Novak Shipping is now being run (how successfully I cannot say) by a collection of grey hairs, two of whom are in corsets rather than trousers.
The worst of it all, though, is the lack of closure and finality. I still feel a fool's hope that one day I shall see Mattis and Emun Jr. walking up the beach path to the manor to report that, yes, they had been wrecked at sea but that they had washed up somewhere remote and had to make their way home.
As for Sybellen, I have and still do feel so much anger and resentment towards her--so much confusion and hurt. But I also feel an enormous sadness for a woman who was clearly misunderstood by all of us. I feel now that no one really knew her, even Mattis, for if he had, surely he would not have taken her from whatever home she had. Surely she would have been happier to stay wherever it was she had grown up, wherever there were people like her.
I wish a great many things were different but the simple truth is that nothing can be changed through wishing or regret, so I must try to put such thoughts aside, "...leaving those things which are behind and press on to the things which are ahead". This simple scripture remains a comfort to me.
I am not through the grief, nor do I think I ever shall be. All I can say is that, for now, I am able to go through each day for Michal, to focus on his future. I am not sure that I shall ever be able to laugh or smile again, or appreciate the beauty of the day around me. But I shall press on. I shall press on until God sees fit to take this old woman to be with her family again.
Author’s Note
Thanks for reading!
I hope you loved Born of Water and The Wreck of Sybellen as much as I loved writing them. It is the result of a combination of my two favourite things: nautical history and shipwrecks, and YA fantasy fiction.
I grew up loving reading so much that I used to cram a towel in the crack under my door when I was young so that my parents couldn’t tell me to turn off my light and go to sleep. I hope my story kept you turning pages!
The Sybellen is a product of my imagination. The RMS Republic is a real wreck, and Martin Bayerle is a real dude.
Please connect with me on Facebook, and consider writing a review on Amazon. They really help!
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About the Author
A.L. Knorr is an emerging author of YA & NA Urban Fantasy Fiction. She’s a Canadian who splits her time between Canada and Italy (guess which season she spends where). A.L. stands for Abby-Lynn, but that’s a lot of letters to fit on a cover. Abby is working on the Elemental Origins Series which will be no less than 5 titles, possibly more.
Abby likes to write novella spin off stories with characters her readers like. Want to read more about Mira and Targa? Tell Abby! It helps her plan what to write next.
You can connect with Abby here:
@alknorrbooks
www.alknorrbooks.com
[email protected]
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