by Anne Dublin
Schmidt carried a large tray to their table. “Here you are now. Here’s your supper. The best stew in the country, made fresh today. Fresh today. Eat up, eat up.”
“Herr Schmidt, may I wash my hands somewhere?” Johanna asked. She always tried to wash her hands before eating. It was a habit from home she didn’t want to break.
“Wash your hands?” he said. “What a strange request.” Johanna could feel her face growing red. She looked down to avoid his eyes.
“Go out back to the kitchen. My wife will show you where.”
“Cecile?” Johanna said. Cecile seemed lost in her own world. “Cecile,” Johanna repeated, shaking her friend’s shoulder.
“What?” Cecile looked at Johanna with red-rimmed eyes.
“Please hold Rebecca while I’m gone.” Johanna placed the squirming baby into Cecile’s stiff arms. “I’ll be right back.”
Rebecca began to cry. Her crying tugged at a deep place in Johanna’s heart.
“I’ll take her,” Daniel said. “She seems to like me.”
Johanna hurried to the kitchen, where Frau Schmidt gave her a basin of water to wash her hands. Her legs were shaking. Should we leave the inn while we have the chance? Perhaps Vogel will call the police. Perhaps we’ll be thrown into jail. They had been gone only one day, but already the journey seemed endless.
“Please God,” she whispered, as she splashed water on her face. “Please keep us safe.”
When she returned to the main room, she glanced over to the corner where Herr Vogel had been sitting. He was gone.
— Chapter Nine —
A Sleepless Night
Herr Schmidt led the girls to a dingy room above the inn. He left hastily and said, “Good night. Good night.”
Cecile collapsed on the bed and was soon fast asleep. Johanna’s arms and legs felt heavy with fatigue, but she forced herself to change Rebecca’s diaper and wash her hands and face. She held Rebecca’s hands and clapped them together while she sang a children’s song she remembered from home:
Clap, clap your little hands.
Papa will buy you little shoes.
Mama will knit you a little shirt.
And you will have rosy cheeks.
Rebecca began to cry and thrashed about in Johanna’s arms. Johanna walked back and forth in the cramped room and tried to comfort the baby. She hummed a lullaby over and over, until at last Rebecca fell asleep, her head resting on Johanna’s shoulder. She put Rebecca in a small bed in a corner of the room and lay down beside Cecile, who was already snoring loudly.
Johanna couldn’t get comfortable. Cecile kicked her legs about in all directions, rolled over, and yanked the blanket from Johanna. She lay shivering beside Cecile for what seemed like an endless night. Her worries kept turning around in her head. Are we being followed? How can I protect Rebecca? How can I tell Mama what I’ve done and where I’m going?
Finally, just as she was falling into an exhausted sleep, Rebecca began to cry. Johanna dragged herself out of bed and lit a candle. She changed Rebecca’s diaper and walked back and forth with her, until at last Rebecca fell asleep again. Johanna lay down with Rebecca in her arms. She lay awake until at last she saw daylight peeping in through the cracks of the shutters.
Her mouth tasted of stale beer; her stomach was making rumbling noises from last night’s stew. Her clothes were starting to smell and so was her body. Her head was pounding and her eyes were sore. When she’d originally planned to run away, she hadn’t imagined that she would feel so tired and dirty after just one day.
And now Rebecca had a rash spreading from her neck down to her stomach. Johanna shook Cecile on the shoulder. “Wake up!” she said.
“What?” Cecile yawned. “Is it morning already?”
“Rebecca is sick.”
“Sick?” Cecile sat bolt upright and pulled Rebecca’s nightgown up over her stomach. “She’s got a rash.”
Johanna swallowed hard. “I know. But what kind of rash?”
“How should I know? Do I look like Doctor Keller?”
The thought of Cecile looking anything like the rotund Doctor Keller made both girls grin. “Not even close!”
Cecile pointed to Rebecca’s stomach. “It looks like the kind of rash children get. Not —”
“Plague,” whispered Johanna.
“No, I don’t think so,” said Cecile, shuddering.
“Perhaps it will clear up by itself.”
“You should take her to a doctor as soon as you can.”
Johanna nodded. She knew she must, but a doctor’s fees would take more money from her already thin purse. “Please don’t say anything to anyone,” she said.
“I won’t.”
Someone was knocking on the door.
“Yes?” Both girls answered at the same time.
“I’ve brought some water for washing,” a girl said from the other side of the door.
“Come in,” Johanna said.
The young girl who had served them the previous night entered the room. Her hair was dishevelled under her cap; her dress and apron were the same ones she had worn the day before. She emptied the dirty water from the basin and the contents of the chamber pot into a bucket. Then she poured warm water from a kettle she was carrying into the basin.
The girl glanced at Rebecca. “What’s wrong with your baby?”
“Nothing,” Johanna snapped. “Just a rash.”
The girl gasped and brought her hand to her mouth. “A rash? That’s how plague starts!” She grabbed the bucket and backed away. Her chest rose and fell quickly; she eyed the baby nervously. She left the door open behind her in her haste to get away.
“We have to get out of here!” Cecile whispered.
Johanna groaned. “All right. But I want to wash the baby first.”
Johanna put Rebecca in the basin and gave her a sponge bath. “Maybe this will help her feel better,” Johanna said. But Rebecca lay in the water, her eyes dull, and her body listless.
“My mother used to say —” Cecile said.
“Yes?” Johanna tried to keep hold of the slippery baby.
“— that too many baths makes a person sick.”
“Well, my mother doesn’t think so,” Johanna said. She dried the baby and put the last clean diaper on her bottom. “It is just superstition that makes people not want to wash.” She sighed. Her head felt as if it were stuffed with wool. “In my religion, you’re supposed to wash a lot.”
“What do you mean, ‘my religion’?”
“Nothing.” Johanna could feel her face getting red. She wished she could take back what she’d said.
Cecile stood with crossed arms and glared at Johanna. “Aren’t you Lutheran like me?” She shuddered. “Or are you one of those papist Catholics?”
Johanna shook her head. The baby was squirming in her arms.
“If you’re not Lutheran or Catholic, what are you?” said Cecile.
Johanna took a big breath. “I’m Jewish.”
“You’re what?” Cecile took a few steps back and sat down on the bed, hard.
“I’m Jewish.”
“Oh.” Cecile’s voice had grown cold. “I see.”
“Does it make a difference? We’re still friends, aren’t we?”
Cecile’s eyes darted about the room. She refused to look at Johanna. “I don’t know. I’ve never met anyone who was Jewish.” She shuddered. “You killed Christ. Everyone knows that.”
“Look at me, Cecile!” Johanna said. She sat down beside Cecile, who turned her back to her. “I’m still the same person you’ve known for months. I haven’t suddenly changed just because you know that I’m Jewish.”
“Maybe …” said Cecile. “But I heard the plague is all your fault.”
“Mine?”
“No, not yours. You know, the Jews’ fault.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“Then why don’t you Jews get the plague?”
“We do.” Johanna paused. “My grandfather had the pl
ague. He died of it. So did my sister and brother.”
“Oh,” said Cecile. “I didn’t know.”
Johanna reached over and touched Cecile’s hand.
“Don’t touch me!” Cecile cried, pulling away. “Even if that’s true, you’ve been lying to me all these months!” She stood up and paced the floor. “You didn’t trust me to keep your precious secret!” she hissed. “So maybe now I won’t!”
Cecile stuffed her belongings into her bag and walked towards the door. “I’m going to tell Daniel. I’m sure he won’t want to take a lying Jew anywhere!”
“Wait, Cecile! I can explain!” But Cecile had slammed the door behind her and was already hurrying down the stairs.
The baby began to cry. With shaking hands, Johanna held her close and walked with her as she sang Mama’s lullaby.
Sleep, little baby, safely sleep.
The birds are singing in the woods.
They sing and hop in the grass so green.
They’ll bring the baby something good.
Johanna walked and sang, walked and sang, until at last Rebecca quieted down. Johanna dressed her, and put her on the floor gently. She washed the diapers in the tepid water. What will Cecile do now? Johanna’s heart was beating wildly in her chest. Will she tell Daniel? Will he hate me now, too? Will he go to Bremen without me and leave me here alone?
She gathered her things and shoved them into her bag. She picked Rebecca up in one arm, her bag and the bundle of wet diapers in the other. She pushed the door open with her hip and made her way down the narrow stairs to the main room of the inn.
Cecile glared at Johanna as she walked into the room. When Johanna sat down beside her on the bench, Cecile slid away.
“I thought you were going to sleep all day,” said Daniel, as he looked up from his bowl of porridge. Stray pieces of straw poked out of his hair. “Sit down. Have some breakfast.” He motioned at her with his spoon.
“I’m not very hungry,” said Johanna, “but maybe something for the baby.” She glanced at Cecile. “Did she …?”
“Listen here,” said Daniel, waving his spoon. “Makes no difference to me if you eat or not. Or what religion you are.” He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Lutheran, Catholic, Jew, Turk, whatever — as long as you pay me.”
Johanna let out her breath. She nodded but couldn’t speak.
Herr Schmidt came up to their table. “How did you sleep? Like a log, like a log, I hope,” he said, rubbing his hands together.
“Yes,” said Cecile.
“No,” said Johanna at the same time.
“You’ll be wanting some breakfast,” said Schmidt. He turned towards the kitchen and called, “Katrina! Some breakfast for our guests here. Be quick about it!”
The girl brought porridge, milk, and bread to the table. She almost spilled everything several times. She did everything she could to avoid coming close to Johanna and the baby. After she had served them, she sidled over to Schmidt and whispered in his ear. He frowned and walked over to their table.
“What’s this Katrina tells me?” Schmidt stood over them, his hands on his hips.
“What do you mean?” asked Johanna, stalling for time.
“Why didn’t you tell me the baby’s sick?” Schmidt stepped back. “Didn’t you say you came from Altona?” He narrowed his eyes. “I heard there’s plague there.”
“What if we did?” said Daniel. He picked up the knife and passed it from one hand to the other.
“You should have told me.”
“You didn’t ask,” said Daniel.
“Let us eat something first, then we’ll be on our way,” said Johanna.
“Well … I don’t know,” said Schmidt.
“We’ll leave soon,” said Daniel, still handling the knife. “Just let them have their breakfast.”
“All right. All right,” said Schmidt. “Eat up and then I want you gone.”
“Thank you,” said Johanna.
“Nothing but trouble,” Schmidt muttered as he walked away. “Nothing but trouble.” Daniel placed the knife on the table.
Johanna gulped down the lukewarm porridge while she fed Rebecca. The baby kept grabbing the bowl and spoon out of her hand.
“We should get to Bremen by the end of the day,” Daniel said, chewing with his mouth open. “And that’s where I’ll be leaving you.” He gulped the last of his coffee and stood up. “Time to go.”
“All right,” Johanna said. “To Bremen it is.” From there, I must find a way to reach Amsterdam.
“Are you done yet?” Schmidt said. “Time to pay and leave.”
“Thank you, Herr Schmidt,” said Johanna. “We are.” She counted out a few coins. He pointed to the table, where she put them down.
“Be gone with you,” Schmidt said, gesturing towards the door. “Be gone with you.”
— Chapter Ten —
An Unpleasant Encounter
The horse plodded along the rutted road towards Bremen. Solitary trees and small farmhouses occasionally broke the monotony of the flat land. Farmers ploughed their fields; cows and sheep grazed in the pastures. Johanna missed the city, the people hurrying to and fro on the busy streets. But most of all, she missed Mama. Her homesickness had become a physical ache. I wanted to see the world. Now all I want is to go home. She sighed. But I began this journey, and now I must finish it.
As the wagon jolted along, Johanna felt more bruises added to the ones she’d gotten the day before. Daniel stopped several times to pee in the bushes by the side of the road. He kept muttering things like, “I shouldn’t of done it” or “I must’ve been crazy.”
Cecile refused to talk to Johanna and kept her eyes averted. And Rebecca was getting sicker. Her cheeks were flushed and her forehead felt hot to the touch.
A weak sun did little to warm the travellers as they made their way along the desolate road. Rebecca eventually fell asleep on a blanket, her blond hair spread about her face, her thumb in her mouth. Johanna started to relax. She fell asleep to the steady rhythm of the horse’s hooves.
A sudden shout and the horse’s startled neigh woke her up.
“Stop right ’ere!” Two men had rushed out of the bushes, grabbed the reins, and were forcing the wagon to stop.
“What’re you doing?” demanded Daniel. He tugged on the reins, trying to wrestle them back from the men.
Johanna could feel Cecile trembling beside her. She crawled to where the baby had started wailing and picked her up.
“If you know what’s good for you, let go of them reins!” answered the man who had spoken first. He was a large, burly man with a swollen face, crooked nose, and small eyes. He waved a long knife in the air as he spoke.
“You’d b-b-better listen,” the other man said. His eyes moved up and down the road, and then darted back to the other man.
“Daniel! Stop!” Johanna said. She stroked Rebecca’s sweating face and tried to comfort her, but the baby wouldn’t stop crying. Daniel continued to struggle with the men. “The baby!” Johanna shouted.
“Damn!” Daniel stopped yanking on the reins and kept a wary eye on the man’s knife.
“That’s better,” the big man said. He pulled the reins out of Daniel’s hands and passed them over to the other man.
“Got them, Karl,” his partner said, fumbling with the leather.
“What do you want?” said Daniel.
“Keep quiet!” Karl shouted. “Get down from the wagon.”
“Do what he says,” begged Johanna.
“Get down, I said!”
“All right,” grumbled Daniel. He scrambled down and leaned against the wagon.
“That’s better,” Karl said. Without any warning, he punched Daniel in the face, pushed him to the ground, and kicked him in the ribs. Daniel groaned, blood seeping from his mouth and nose.
Cecile screamed. Johanna gasped and held the crying baby tightly to her chest.
Karl spat onto the road. He strode over to the girls and brandished his knife. “Hand
over your money. An’ be quick about it,” he said to the girls.
“We don’t have anything,” said Johanna.
“We’re only poor travellers,” said Cecile.
Karl snorted. “We’ll see about that!” He jumped onto the wagon and leaned over them. The smell of his unwashed body made Johanna retch.
“Get down,” he ordered.
“But —” Johanna protested.
“You heard me. Down!”
Johanna’s legs were shaking. Holding Rebecca, she stepped down from the wagon. Cecile followed close behind.
“That’s better,” Karl said. He leered at them. “Hey, Hans! Which one d’you want?”
“What?” Hans asked.
“These girls aren’t bad looking. We could have some fun. One for you; one for me.”
“You n-n-never said n-n-nothin’ about that.”
“Well, I hadn’t thought about it neither, till I seen them.” He licked his lips and stared at Johanna. “Do you like blonds or brunettes?”
“Let’s g-g-get on with this, all right?” said Hans. “We d-d-don’t want no t-t-trouble.”
Daniel was groaning where he lay on the ground. Johanna shivered and the sweat ran down her spine. Rebecca was squirming in her arms; her diaper was wet, soaking through to Johanna’s dress.
Karl looked up and down the road. He shrugged and said, “Guess we should.” Pointing to the girls’ belts, he said, “Throw your moneybags on the ground.”
With shaking fingers, Cecile unfastened her bag and threw it down where Hans picked it up.
“You.” Karl pointed to Cecile. “Back to the wagon.”
“Cecile,” Johanna said. “Take the baby.”
Cecile nodded and took Rebecca from Johanna. She climbed back into the wagon and began to rock the crying baby.
“Now you,” said Karl.
I can’t do it, Johanna thought. I need the money to save Rebecca. She swallowed hard and shook her head.
“No?” Karl stalked over to her.
“No,” Johanna said, her voice trembling.
“No one says ‘no’ to me!” Karl grabbed Johanna’s arms and pinned them together. Her legs were shaking. Gritting her teeth, she kicked Karl in the shins as hard as she could.