The Baby Experiment

by Anne Dublin

  Daniel was muttering to himself, occasionally glancing back at the girls. After some time had passed, he stopped the wagon in front of an inn. The wooden walls were rotting; the roof was missing shingles. The sound of laughter and shouting wafted out of the open windows and into the street.

  “Wait here,” Daniel said. “I’m going in to wet my throat a bit.”

  “Please don’t stop,” said Johanna. “We need to get as far away from the orphanage as we can.”

  “I’m the driver,” Daniel said. “You’ll do as I say.” He smiled, showing several gaps in his teeth. “Unless you want to walk.” He got down from the wagon, tied the reins to a post near the horse trough, and staggered into the inn.

  Johanna sighed and opened her bag. “I wanted to leave right away, so I didn’t eat anything today. This seems as good a time as any.” She put Rebecca down on a blanket and handed her a piece of cheese. Rebecca grabbed it and clutched it in her fist.

  “Here,” Johanna said, handing Cecile a piece of bread and cheese.

  “Thank you,” said Cecile. “I’m starving!” She looked back down the road towards Hamburg. “Johanna, do you think we’re being followed?”

  Johanna shrugged. “I can’t be sure. All I know is I’m doing what I have to do.”

  “I wish I could have taken one of my babies, too.”

  “If you want to leave, then leave,” Johanna snapped. “Go into the inn, and ask someone to take you back. Or go wherever you want to go.” All the tension and sleepless nights had caught up with Johanna. She felt tired to her very bones. More gently, she added, “I won’t blame you.”

  “I’m not leaving,” Cecile said, jutting out her chin. “I’m going to Altona with you.”

  Johanna squeezed Cecile’s arm. “I was hoping you’d say that. And Cecile?”

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry I was rude just now. I’m wound up like a spring.”

  “It’s all right,” Cecile said. “A few words aren’t going to spoil our friendship.”

  Johanna smiled wanly. “I hope not.”

  “That’s better,” Daniel said, coming out of the inn and wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He untied the reins, climbed back onto the wagon, and snapped the horse’s reins.

  Approaching Altona, they passed a wagon leaving the town. The wagon driver had a cloth pulled tightly around his nose and mouth. He pointed behind him, in the direction of Altona.

  “If you know what’s good for you, don’t go there,” he said.

  “What’s that?” said Daniel.

  The man shuddered. “Plague!”

  Daniel pulled hard on the reins, as if the wagon were about to fall off a cliff. Cecile covered her face with a corner of her cloak. Johanna pulled Rebecca closer to her chest. Johanna looked behind her as the other wagon moved away. Corpses two and three deep were piled haphazardly on it. The bodies shook with every jolt of the wagon.

  Everyone knew about the plagues that had spread throughout Europe over the years. Johanna didn’t know all the names of the plague the physicians used. All she knew was that plague was usually fatal.

  If one person in a family caught the plague, the entire family would be locked inside their house. Watchmen would check the house from time to time to make sure no one tried to leave. The family would all be dead within the space of a week. Then the gravediggers would come to pile their carts with the sad cargoes and bring them to the cemeteries.

  Rich or poor, good or bad — the plague didn’t discriminate. It killed almost everyone it found, wiping out entire families and communities.

  When the cemeteries were full, when the mounds of earth created unnatural hills two or three feet high, the dead would be carted to the country to be buried in huge open pits. There was no time for a decent burial; no time for the bereaved to mourn. It was often their turn to die next.

  “I’m not going any closer!” said Daniel.

  “I must see if my family has been spared,” Cecile said.

  “Forget it,” said Daniel, shaking his head. “I’m not going into a plague-infested town.” He held the reins tightly. “I kept my part of the bargain. Don’t say I didn’t. But I’m not going there!”

  “Please!” Cecile said.

  “I can’t and I won’t,” said Daniel. “I’ve lost enough of my own family to the plague.” He gestured with his thumb. “Now get off!”

  Should I go with Cecile? Johanna thought. How much do I dare risk? My life, and Rebecca’s as well? She squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and looked into Cecile’s eyes. She’s my friend. I must help her.

  “Come, Cecile. I’ll go with you,” Johanna said. “But first we must pay Daniel.”

  Daniel held out his dirty hand. The girls reached into their meagre purses and paid him the schillings they owed him.

  The girls got down from the wagon. Cecile clutched their bags and Johanna held tightly to the baby. Johanna now understood what people meant when they talked about a heavy heart. Hers felt like lead. Her thoughts whirled about her head as they began to walk away. But then she had an idea.

  “Daniel!” she shouted, hurrying after the wagon. “Wait!”

  Daniel pulled the reins up sharply. “What now?”

  “Will you do something for us?”

  Daniel glanced back towards Altona. “Depends what.”

  “Wait for us here? At least,” she whispered, “at least until we know what happened to Cecile’s family.” She paused. “And please watch the baby. She’s sleeping. She won’t be any trouble.”

  “That’s asking a lot,” Daniel said.

  “We’ll come back as soon as we can. I promise.”

  “I don’t know much about babies.” He took off his cap and wiped the sweat on his forehead with the back of his arm.

  “I promise we’ll be back within the hour.”

  “All right,” said Daniel, nodding. “I’ll watch her, but for Christ’s sake, cover your nose and mouth!”

  Johanna and Cecile plodded along the rutted road. No laundry hung on clotheslines. No children played in the streets. The few people hurrying by kept their faces covered and their heads down.

  Scrawny cats prowled in the lanes. Piles of rotting garbage were piled on the streets, in alleys, in front of houses and shops. The stench of rotten food and open sewers filled the air. Johanna stopped and vomited until her stomach was empty, leaving a sour taste in her mouth.

  They made their way to the town square where a ragged throng of people crowded around the church. Several people were beating on the heavy wooden doors with their fists.

  “For mercy’s sake!” cried a scarecrow of a man. “Let us in!”

  “The rich bastards,” muttered another. “They ran away and left us here to rot!”

  “And now the church won’t even let us in!” wailed a woman.

  A narrow window beside the door slid open. A man wearing a black hood stuck his head out. “Go away! You cannot come in,” the minister croaked. “May God help you all. Now, go away!” He slammed the window shut.

  “God has surely abandoned us!” a woman cried. The crowd dispersed. Their cries and moans were carried away in the foul air.

  Johanna and Cecile continued on their weary way among the dead and the dying. The air was filled with the moans of the suffering and the wails of the bereaved.

  A child, not more than three years old, sat beside the body of a woman on the side of the road. “Mama! Mama! Up Mama!” he cried. His mother did not answer. She was dead.

  Further along the street, a man and woman lay together, stiff in a last macabre embrace. Flies buzzed around their eyes and noses.

  A man sat on the ground, his back to a building. His face and neck was a mass of sores oozing pus. “For pity’s sake!” he wheezed. “Water!”

  Cecile pointed to a small white house and cried, “There it is!”

  No smoke wafted up through the chimney. Pale geraniums sat wilting in their window boxes. The front door had been nailed shut with a broad p
iece of wood. Someone had painted a large red cross on the door.

  A sign was tacked on the door. “What does it say?” Cecile whispered.

  Johanna’s voice trembled as she read the scrawled black words:

  PLAGUE HOUSE.

  IT IS FORBIDDEN TO ENTER

  OR LEAVE THESE PREMISES.

  MAY GOD HAVE MERCY ON US ALL.

  — TOWN COUNCIL OF ALTONA

  Cecile gasped and went rigid, as if turned to stone. Then she began to sob, her body shaking uncontrollably. “This must be why … I haven’t heard from them … all this time.”

  Johanna held Cecile for a long time, until at last her sobbing lessened.

  “Cecile, we must go.” Cecile shuddered. “There is nothing we can do here. And if we stay, we might catch the plague.”

  “Wait! Antoine and I used to have a hiding place!” Cecile broke away from Johanna and stumbled forward. She lifted an odd-shaped rock near the entrance to the house and picked up a piece of folded paper. With shaking fingers, she handed the paper to Johanna. “Read this,” she ordered.

  Johanna took the paper from Cecile and read aloud, “Dearest Cecile, I am well. I escaped the plague. I’ve written you several letters, but they were all returned unopened.…”

  “Frau Taubman!” Cecile cried. “She probably heard about the plague here and knew I’d leave right away if I found out.”

  “Probably. Here, let me finish.” Johanna turned back to the letter. “I am going to Bremen to stay with friends at Kolpingstrasse, Number 17. Send word when you can. God keep you safe. In haste, your loving brother, Antoine. P.S. Please thank whoever reads you this letter from the bottom of my heart.”

  Johanna handed the paper back to Cecile, who clutched it to her chest. “I must go there,” she gasped. “To Bremen. To Antoine.”

  Johanna’s heart sank. But when she looked at her grief-stricken friend, she knew what she must do. “We will go there together,” Johanna said.

  “You’ll go with me?”

  Johanna nodded. “Of course I will.” They hurried back to where they had left Daniel and the sleeping baby.

  “It’s about time you got back,” Daniel said. “I’m not cut out to be a nursemaid.”

  Johanna looked at the unkempt driver and smiled for the first time that day. “No indeed,” she said. “You are not.” She took Rebecca from Daniel and kissed her gently on the head. Then she climbed into the wagon.

  Daniel snapped the reins before they had scarcely sat down.

  “What now?” he asked, as he forced the horse into a quick trot.

  “We need to go to Bremen,” Johanna said. “Will you take us?”

  “Bremen? That’s another day’s journey,” said Daniel. “Forget it!”

  “But we have no other way,” said Johanna.

  “I must go there. To my brother.”

  Daniel shook his head. “You paid me to take you to Altona. That’s all.”

  Johanna swallowed hard. “We’ll pay you extra to take us. Won’t we, Cecile?”

  Cecile looked sullen, but then nodded.

  Daniel stared at the two young women, and then at the sleeping baby in Johanna’s arms. “That’s a dangerous road, full of robbers and low-lifes.” He scratched his head and wiped his nose on his dirty sleeve. Then he sighed. “I guess I can take you there.”

  Johanna was so relieved she could barely speak. “Thank you, Daniel. I don’t know what to say.”

  “There’s nothing to say,” Daniel replied. “Now let’s get out of this cursed town!”

  — Chapter Eight —

  A Chance Meeting

  Whether it was due to the dryness of his throat or the dusty road or the monotony of the voyage, Daniel soon revealed just how insatiable his thirst for beer was. Every hour or so, he stopped the wagon and went into an alehouse. Each time he returned, his step was more unsteady, his breath stronger, his nose redder.

  Cecile was consumed by grief, and said not a word. Rebecca woke up cranky, whining and squirming about. Johanna tried to comfort her, but wondered if Rebecca sensed her own nervousness.

  Johanna was tormented by worry about what lay ahead, about what would happen to Mama, and whether she had made the right decision. Perhaps I should turn back. Perhaps it is not too late. But with every mile they travelled away from Hamburg, Johanna knew it was indeed too late to go back. No. I have begun this journey and I must see it to its end.

  By late afternoon, Johanna could contain herself no longer. “Daniel, that is enough. If we don’t stop at an inn soon, you can … give us back our money. Or …”

  “Or what?” Daniel snarled. “Are you threatening me, girl? What are you going to do, eh? Walk back to Hamburg? Or maybe go to the police and tell them you kidnapped a baby?”

  Johanna smiled wanly. “I’m not threatening you. Do I look as if I could?”

  “Not likely!”

  “Only … we need to stop soon.” She looked up and down the road. “Most travellers have already stopped for the night. And you said it was dangerous ….”

  “You’ve got a point there,” Daniel said as he scratched his armpit. “All right. We’ll stop at the next town.”

  When they reached the town of Elsdorf, Daniel finally stopped at an inn. The girls clambered from the wagon and followed Daniel inside. A fire crackled in the large brick fireplace at one end of the large room. Candles flickered in brass sconces on the walls. A motley group of travellers were seated on benches set around tables. The air was thick with the smell of unwashed bodies, sour beer, warmed-over cabbage, and stale tobacco smoke.

  “Innkeeper!” Daniel shouted. “Service here!”

  A slight, nervous-looking man came up to them. His red hair stuck up on top of his head. He wiped his hands on a dirty cloth hanging from his waist. His smile revealed that most of his teeth were missing. “Of course, of course, come right in.”

  He showed them to a stained wooden table, which he wiped hastily with his cloth. “A lick and a promise, a lick and a promise.” He looked at Daniel and the girls. “Make yourselves comfortable. Always nice to welcome travellers, I say. Name’s Schmidt. At your service,” he added, making a small bow. “At your service.”

  They sat down on the benches on either side of the table.

  “Will you be staying the night?” Schmidt asked. “I have a nice room for you. A nice room.”

  “Yes,” said Johanna. “We’ll need a room for us women and the baby.”

  “That’s fine. That’s fine,” said Schmidt, rubbing his hands together. “We have a nice stew with dumplings tonight. It’ll stick to your ribs, stick to your ribs.”

  “Some beer first, then that stew,” Daniel said.

  “Please bring a cup of warm milk for the baby,” Johanna said. Rebecca was squirming beneath her cloak. Johanna glanced at Cecile, who looked pale and worn out.

  “Right away, right away,” said Schmidt as he hurried away.

  A few minutes later, a young girl brought a pitcher of beer and three pewter mugs to the table, as well as a steaming cup of milk.

  Daniel gulped his beer greedily. “There,” he said, wiping his mouth, “That’s better.” He refilled his mug, downed the contents, and said, “Be right back. Call of nature.” He walked unsteadily out a door at the back of the inn.

  Johanna put Rebecca on her lap and helped her drink the warm milk. The baby gulped eagerly, giving little sighs of contentment between each swallow. Johanna sipped her beer and gazed around the room.

  In a dark corner, she noticed a man who was sitting alone. The curls in his long wig and the spotless lace at his cuffs gleamed in the candlelight. He must be important. He is sitting on a fancy chair with carved legs, not on a plain bench like everyone else.

  “Cecile, look over there,” Johanna whispered, tilting her head towards the man.

  “Where?”

  “In the corner. Who is that man? Doesn’t he look familiar?”

  “I can’t see. It’s too dark.”

  At th
at moment, the man rose from his chair and walked towards their table. Johanna gasped. It was Herr Vogel, the duke’s secretary! How did he find us? What should I do? She turned away and quickly covered Rebecca with her cloak.

  “Excuse me,” Vogel said, tipping his hat. “It is wonderful to see you again so soon, Fraulein Richter.” He glanced at Cecile. “And you are Fraulein Hansen, if I am not mistaken?”

  Johanna’s heart was beating so loudly she was sure even Daniel could hear it from wherever he had gone. How did he find us? Has he been ordered to bring us back? Or take us to the police?

  “We have just come from Altona,” said Johanna. She kicked Cecile’s foot under the table.

  Cecile grimaced. “Yes,” she said. “To visit my family.”

  “Ah, now I remember. You are from Altona. But I heard there is plague there.” He paused. “May I sit down?”

  Johanna nodded and gestured to the bench.

  Cecile swallowed hard and her eyes filled with tears.

  “Why, what is the matter?” Vogel asked.

  “Nothing,” Cecile said.

  Rebecca began to squirm and poked her head from under the cloak. She gazed from one person to another, as if listening to the conversation.

  “Cecile is … disappointed … because we decided not to go to Altona after all,” Johanna said. Her armpits were wet and the sweat was running down her back. “That’s why we stopped here. At this inn. Before going back to the orphanage.” I’m becoming an expert liar. What would Mama say?

  Vogel cleared his throat. “What a coincidence we met,” he said. “I am on the road. Business for the duke.” Vogel glanced down at the baby, opened his mouth to speak, but stopped himself. He had a thoughtful look on his face. “I wish you a pleasant journey,” he said, standing up. “I shall leave you alone now. You must be weary.”

  “Thank you,” Johanna managed to say.

  Vogel tipped his hat and returned to his seat.

  The girls didn’t speak. They looked at each other, the worry plain on their faces.

  “That’s better,” said Daniel as he sat down across from the girls a moment later.