“Bairn, that’s wonderful news. Your father was right. God’s provisions never fail.”
He lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “Well, yes, I suppose so. With a little legal advice from the printer.”
“How soon will the men be able to sign the petition?”
“They’ll have to get back in line at the Court House. But within a day or two, this business should be settled.”
“And soon we will be able to go? To leave Philadelphia and meet Jacob and Dorothea?”
“Aye, soon.” He glanced downriver and gave a slow nod. “Which means there’s much to prepare for. I know of a wagon maker in Germantown who is willing to loan two wagons and two horses, for as long as they are needed.” He kept his coat and hat on.
“Are you heading out?”
“Aye. I ought not be long. I heard the bells toll. A ship from Rotterdam has come into port.”
“So late in the year?”
“Aye. They’d feared ’twas missin’. But in it came, with a high death toll, I heard. Mennonites, mostly, but Dr. Bond told me one of the passengers he approved fer disembarkment was alone, looking for a group that lived a straight and narrow path, he said. The doctor thought he might be Amish.”
Dr. Thomas Bond was the physician who boarded the ships and examined the passengers; no one left the ship without his approval. It would be a good thing if Bairn could find this man, better still if he could persuade him to join their church.
He rubbed a hand over his face, gave her a brief, distracted glance, and attempted to smile. “Anna, darlin’. I have somethin’ to tell y’.”
Whatever it was, she knew she wouldn’t like it.
“Let’s go somewhere we can speak more privately.”
She followed behind him, walking downriver.
“The weather, ’tis fine today, is it not?”
“Yes, it is a beautiful day.” And it was. A golden sun shone down on the water. “But I doubt that’s what’s on your mind.” She drew her shawl more closely about her shoulders.
“Actually, it is. We’re having an unseasonably warm fall. It bespeaks a warm winter.”
“That’s good, isn’t it? That’s very good.” It would be a great relief to weather a warm winter, allowing them to hasten home building. She had a dread that Jacob’s cabin would be just like the lower deck of the Charming Nancy—crowded, with horrific smells of humanity and animals, mixed. She shuddered at the very thought.
“Anna, Captain Stedman sought me out this morning. He has a cousin, a ship captain, who wants t’ make another crossing while the weather holds.”
She stopped. “I thought ships didn’t cross the ocean in the winter months.”
“Aye, most don’t, but this captain needs to make a haul.”
“A haul? As in passengers?”
“Nay. Goods. Tobacco, for one. He will be traveling up the coastline of America, picking up goods to sell in England.” He took a deep breath. “His first mate has been thrown into jail for brawlin’ and is unable t’ go. So Captain Stedman recommended me to his cousin. He said that his cousin—Captain Angus Berwick—needed an accomplished tinkerer. Since I have skills as a carpenter, he thought o’ me.”
Despite her intention to listen calmly, she gasped. She stared at him, momentarily tongue-tied. “And you said no, of course.”
Bairn hesitated.
Prickles of cold dread crawled along her spine as Bairn’s voice held a slight tremble. “Captain Berwick is offerin’ a sizable salary, more than I’ve ever heard of fer first mate. First mate, Anna.”
She shook her head. “There are other men to choose. There’s always plenty of sailors looking for work. Men without families. Without people who are depending on them.”
“Anna, ’tis one short journey. My last one. Just a few months. And then I’ll be back with enough money to purchase land. Jacob and Christian and the others, they can only have land warrants, but I’m a citizen of the crown. If I can earn a fair purse on this voyage, we’ll be able to own plenty of land. As far as the eye can see.”
As if that would matter to her! “You’ve just been reunited with your family in the most miraculous way. But you would leave them? Just like that?”
“I’m crossing the sea and returning again, that’s all. It happens all the time. Six months, maybe seven. And then I’ll return in the spring.”
Tears welled in her eyes and spilled over onto her cheeks.
He reached for her and drew her to him. “Anna,” he murmured, kissing her forehead, holding her close. “Anna, think about the benefits to this plan. You told me that other Amish churches are coming next year. I can help them. As ship’s first mate, I can influence Captain Berwick. I won’t let him overcrowd the ship. I can do good for your church.”
She had no doubt that Bairn was sincere in his assumptions—he would certainly be able to influence the captain. It was his interest in doing good for the church that she wasn’t confident in. Bairn had faith in God, but his heart was not in the Amish church. She had hoped that this part of him would find repair once they reached the new land. She pulled away from him. “Tell me the truth. What’s the real reason you want to go?”
“To earn enough money to buy land. To help these church people.”
“They’re your people too, Bairn.”
“Aye, and that’s even more of a reason to help them. Anna, they don’t realize what they’re gettin’ themselves into. They speak no English and refuse to learn. They’ll be taken advantage of at every turn. I’ve thought this through. After this sea journey, I’ll have enough money t’ give my father what he needs to buy the land for the church. To settle the debt between us.”
“What debt? You owe your father no debt.”
“I need to make sure he will be all right.”
“All that he needs is for you to be by his side. He expects you to arrive at the land soon, with the rest of us.”
Bairn’s eyes were on the tips of his boots. He brought his gaze back to Anna, and all the distress and turmoil of the last week was betrayed by his face—he could hide it no longer. “Anna . . . I dinnae ken if I belong there.”
Belonging. It was what it meant to her to be Plain, this certainty of always belonging. The church was a part of her, as much a part of her as her bones, her heart, her mind, as her soul. They would always be a part of her in ways he could not understand.
“The ship is pullin’ up anchor in two days.”
Her senses reeled at this announcement. “Two days?” Her shock gave way to indignation. “In two days? You’re leaving in two days?”
“The sooner I go, the sooner I return.”
She stared at him as if he were a stranger, and maybe, despite everything, he was. Although they had known each other as children in Ixheim, had the same childhood rearing, Bairn had spent long, significant years separated from them, alone, first as a ship’s cabin boy, then a sailor, then a ship’s carpenter. The sea was part of him now, always calling to him. She’d seen him walk along the Delaware River, looking downriver as if searching for something.
“Y’ll wait for me though, won’t you? The rose. It’s a sign. We’ve always been meant t’ be together, you and I.”
Her eyes shifted to the Charming Nancy, where her rose sat on deck getting sun, tucked in the basket that brought it all the way from Ixheim, Germany. That rose—it had seemed like such a miracle. But as her grandfather often said, “Ken Rose ohne Dornen.” There is no rose without a thorn.
Right now, she could see no rose, only the thorn.
The silence stretched out between them. She drew a deep breath to still her storming heart. She was angry now, so angry the very air seemed to crackle around them. She wanted to lash out and pound his chest with her fists.
He can never change, she thought. Never.
She pressed on, finding courage in her anger. “If you leave, I won’t promise you anything. I won’t promise you that I’ll wait for you.”
“Anna, listen to me, lass. Li
sten here. I will bring back yer grandparents.”
Anna stilled, considering his remark. They stood facing each other for a long moment, the only sounds coming from the water below, sails snapping, waves hitting the sides of ships.
He had found her weakness, her Achilles’ heel. “If you return with my grandparents, then yes, I will wait for you.” She stared up into his face, etching it into a memory that she would be able to take out and look at again and again.
“That’s a promise, then.” He turned to meet her gaze and the edginess that had been coiling between them began to loosen a little. He took her hand, his voice gentle. “Anna, darlin’, what’s a few months in a lifetime?”
But she was envisioning a lifetime in the next few months.
Northwest of Philadelphia
October 18, 1737
Hours later, still marveling over the lunacy of her husband’s plan, Dorothea shifted her weight on the uncomfortable mule, the baby in her arms, with Jacob holding the reins and walking beside them. He remained silent, her husband, though she had nothing much to say to him after bidding everyone goodbye back in Philadelphia.
As she slid off her mule, bone sore and weary, Jacob led the mule to a creek for water. She took a small cup out of their bundles and filled the cup with some goat’s milk to feed the baby. He was so easy, this baby. So patient. Nothing like her own three sons, who would cry and demand something the moment their eyes opened for the day. She sat down with her back against a log and gave the babe sips from the cup. Sometimes, it seemed as if this baby knew he was lucky to live and dared not create a fuss. She had said such a thing to Jacob and received a firm lecture that there was no such thing as luck.
She stretched her legs out in front of her, as long as they could go after being bent on the mule for the better part of the day. Soon enough, she would lie down and the day would end. A cloud passed over the sun and she gripped her shawl closer to her breast and shuddered. She couldn’t stop the fear that was pinching her chest, fear of the night. She had always suffered a terrible dread of darkness. Especially here.
There had never been dense forest like Penn’s Woods back in Germany. She hated this New World. Hated it all, the deep, dark woods and everything else about this British colony. Hated it, hated it, hated it. She didn’t want to believe her hate was a sin, though she knew it wasn’t the Plain way to allow hate in one’s heart. She also knew not to share her sentiments with anyone, especially her husband. Always the bishop, her Jacob.
When Jacob returned from the creek, he handed her a hooped pot filled with fresh, cold water, and she drank her fill. He gathered wood to start a fire; Dorothea warmed beans from last night’s supper and toasted a few slices of day-old bread. She kept silent throughout the simple meal. Jacob, too, seemed empty of words.
But then his deep voice broke into her thoughts. “There’s something you want to say.”
She glanced at him, taking a moment to carefully craft her words. “I’ve been thinking about what Hans said. That going north might leave us in a vulnerable position.”
“You worry too much, Dorothea.” Jacob crossed his arms as the beginning of a smile tipped the corners of his mouth. “God is working with us. Do not borrow trouble, for it is certain we shall have plenty of it before we leave this place.” He reached a hand out to her. “I have no doubt it is the right place for our people.”
Dorothea clasped her hand over his, but his words only intensified the storm of unrest in her soul. “But is it? Truly?” The sharp question slipped from her lips before she could stop it, and in her husband’s eyes she read the answer—Jacob wasn’t certain . . . not at all.
“Put this fear far from your heart. The matter may seem less troublesome in the morning.” He coughed once, then again. Sweat beaded his forehead.
She read exhaustion in his ashen face. “Are you feeling well, Jacob?”
“Of course, of course,” he said, eyes fixed on the fire.
But she knew that also wasn’t true.
Jacob Bauer had always been a strong man, hale and hearty. No longer. He had tried to hide his condition from their sons, from Christian Müller and Isaac Mast and the others, but she saw the changes in him the moment they were reunited on the docks of Port Philadelphia. He was thin. So thin! He wore two sweaters and a coat to cover up, but he couldn’t hide his weight loss from his wife. He didn’t eat much, couldn’t rest at night because the coughing would start. She realized that he probably hadn’t been well for a long time. He was insistent on leaving the others in Port Philadelphia, not because he was anxious to return to the settlement, but because he couldn’t manage any longer.
The poor man.
He had worked so hard to build a new life for his family, for the church he led. He put himself in difficult circumstances, sacrificing himself for the good of others. Always alone.
No, that wasn’t right. Dorothea had to continually remind herself of that truth. God was always with him. With all of them.
Philadelphia
October 19, 1737
Bairn waited on the docks as passengers were brought in from the ship on rowboats. Mennonite families were clumped together, and while there were many young men, he did not see one who stood out as Amish. Dr. Thomas Bond had said Bairn would know him by a distinguishing patch of white hair on his head. “Very peculiar,” Dr. Bond had said, and Bairn had thought to himself, Peculiar among Peculiars.
He stopped himself. It was a bad habit to call them Peculiars and he thought he had broken it, but here it was, back again.
As a rowboat neared the dock, he saw a toddler drop his toy over the side of the boat and reach over to get it. The laddie teetered a moment, then tumbled headfirst into the dark water as the child’s mother screamed. Bairn didn’t even hear the splash. He was already off, pushing through the crowd to run to the end of the dock. Before he reached it, he saw a man rise up in the boat and dive in. He disappeared under the water, then emerged with the child, sputtering and crying. “Es waar alles in Addning!” he shouted to the mother. All is well!
The rescuer swam to the boat and handed the child up to his parents’ waiting, grateful arms. As the longboat reached the dock, Bairn helped tie ropes to the cleats and watched the rescuer who, though he was dripping wet, took care to help each person disembark. Despite being soaked, he seemed full of good cheer as he shook the water out of his hair.
His hair. There it was. A shock of white.
It was apparent the man was well thought of, as the Mennonites kept clapping him on the back and shaking his hand. Even the sailors seemed fond of him.
When the man stretched a leg onto the dock, then another, he stopped and lifted his hands to the sky, repeating the words, “Denke, mein Herr. Denke.” Thank you, my God. Thank you.
Bairn waited, watching, until he had finished his spontaneous worshiping. The man was in his midtwenties, with a lean, handsome German face, and a head of near-black hair curled into corkscrews, all but that shock of white, now entirely plastered down wet over his skull.
“Kannscht du Englisch schwetze?” Can you speak English?
The man stopped abruptly and looked at Bairn, startled by the question. “Nee.” No.
Blast. Bairn would have to use his choppy dialect. It embarrassed him to speak it around people he wasn’t comfortable with, and he winced as he spoke, as if ashamed. He knew he sounded stilted, using simple words, enunciating with care, and his Scottish accent colored his words. “Yer looking for a group that follows the straight and narrow path?”
“Indeed.”
“Well, then,” Bairn said, “follow me and I’ll take you to them.”
The man thrust his hand forward to firmly grasp Bairn’s. Gripped his elbow. Fixed him with a sincere gaze. “I am Henrik Newman.”
The man gave Bairn a palm-crushing handshake that jimmied his teeth. “Call me Bairn.” He looked Henrik Newman up and down, noticing the puddle of water from his wet clothes. He took off his jacket and passed it to him. “Y’ mu
st be cold after that heroic act.”
The newcomer wrapped Bairn’s jacket around himself, a grateful look on his face. “A pity I do not know how to swim.”
Bairn stared.
“Lach!” Henrik Newman said, with a remarkably sweet and open smile. A jest. “I can swim. But I’m no hero. Just a servant of God, looking for every opportunity to be a blessing.”
Well, well, Bairn mused, as he started down the dock. This newcomer would be a welcome addition. Clearly, he was strong and hale, and had no fear of danger. What he did, jumping in after the child, it was a brave act. “The ship is just docked down a short ways.”
“Ship? Another ship?” The newcomer’s voice rose an octave.
“The church is still sequestered on the ship.”
The newcomer’s face fell, so Bairn quickly said, “But not for long.” He couldn’t blame the man—he’d just set foot on dry land after months at sea.
As they approached the Charming Nancy, figures appeared on the stoop, silhouetted against the light from the open door. Felix’s barking dog bounded onto them. Bairn explained, in his halting speech, that the newcomer wanted to join the church of Ixheim.
There was a considerable shaking of hands with the newcomer as the dog ganged a-glee about their feet. When the newcomer explained why his clothes were wet, the women went into action, bringing him warm clothes to change into, a towel to dry his hair, and offers of food and drink. The newcomer smiled and chuckled at the fuss made over him. “Praise be to God. Delivered straight into a muddle of good cheer and warm welcome.”
Maria approached him. “What may I get you? A cup of tea? A bucket of hot water to wash up?”
“If it’s not too much trouble . . . both would be heaven sent.” The newcomer gave her a warm smile. Maria grinned in return, a sudden and remarkable sight, and hurried away.
“You must have a persuasive way with people,” Bairn noted. “She is a woman spare with smiles.”
“Who is she?”
Bairn lifted his head to see Maria pour water into a bucket. “She’s the minister’s wife, Maria Müller. A woman brimful of energy.”
The Newcomer Page 5