“Jacob is expecting all of you, as soon as possible. If the weather stays mild, think of the work that can be done before winter arrives. I’m the logical choice.” They were all anxious to reach the land. The newcomer had likened their situation to the last journey of the Israelites as they faced the land of milk and honey, perched on the border of the Promised Land, eager to go in.
But Anna couldn’t go to the Promised Land with Felix gone missing. She had to go find him.
But Christian would not hear of it. Naturally, the dilemma of missing Felix went to committee. Christian, Isaac, Josef, and Simon gathered by the fire, debating different ideas. One of them could take a horse and ride back to Philadelphia—there and back in one day’s time, rather than two or three days for a return trip on foot. But if a horse were to be used, it meant a wagon would have to be abandoned, stolen perhaps by wanderers or Indians.
Another consideration was to make camp for a few days, while the men went to the city and returned. Even Christian, a slow-moving man on his best day, was reluctant to go along with that decision. He tapped his fingertips together in a meditative rhythm over his round belly.
Too much time would be lost, they decided in the end. Then the newcomer stepped toward the circle. “I’ve got an idea,” he said. “I’ll accompany Anna to Philadelphia. We’ll find the boy and bring him back.”
Maria’s eyebrows shot to the top of her head. “Not the two of you together. Not alone! I promised Anna’s grandparents that I would not let anyone damage her honor.”
Anna turned to her, astounded. This was the first she’d heard of such a promise. More to the point, hurrying to Philadelphia, on foot and back again, on a mission to find Felix, would hardly provide any opportunity for her honor to be damaged.
“Then I’ll go along with them,” Peter Mast volunteered. “The three of us will go.” Peter was closer to a boy than a man.
“He is like a brother to me,” Anna said, which made Peter frown.
Maria’s eyes widened for a moment, then her narrow lips curved in a smile. “That would be a satisfactory arrangement.”
Christian and Josef and Isaac leaned together for another conference. Then their heads popped up and Christian said, “Go to Philadelphia. Find the boy. Then return to us. We will keep going.”
“But how will they find us?” Maria said. “How will they know where we are?”
“Flour,” Anna said. “When you come to a fork in the road, leave a trail of flour. We’ll find it.”
“What if it rains?” Maria was always one to find what was wrong with a plan.
“Then leave some cloth around a tree. We will find you. We’ll be looking for tracks, for signs that we’re following you.”
The newcomer looked around the circle to catch the eyes of the decision makers, nodding at each one. “There’s a solid plan. We’ll go, we’ll find him, and we’ll catch up with you. You’ll hardly know we’ve been gone.” He snapped his fingers. “There and then back. Back with the boy.”
Anna appreciated the newcomer’s confidence, his kindness, but she wasn’t quite as convinced that the plan would be swift and successful. He did not know Felix like she knew him.
Lady Luck, Atlantic Ocean
October 21, 1737
Bairn went to the bunk and pulled the covers around Felix’s shoulders, and stood looking at him, bemused. He wanted to shake sense into him . . . yet he also had a profound admiration for the little bugger. How in the world did Felix have the kind of gumption that he did? What boldness was set in that child’s soul? Where did it come from? Bairn had seen all kinds of men in the last ten years—good ones, bad ones, sour ones, corrupt ones. But the fearlessness in Felix—that he had rarely seen in any man. Most every man he knew was motivated by greed. Felix was motivated by love.
Along with, to be fair, an overly developed streak of curiosity.
The look of alarm in Captain Berwick’s eyes was hard to miss. He was a hard man, that captain, not like his kindhearted cousins. But the captain was willing to permit Felix to remain as cabin boy so long as he obeyed orders, and he acquiesced readily as soon as Bairn said no wages would be required.
Bairn felt a great responsibility to care for the boy—to return him to his mother and father, to Anna.
Anna.
Was she still searching for Felix in Port Philadelphia? He hoped someone had seen the boy get on the ship, just to put her mind at ease. Surely, she would know that Bairn would mind him for her.
Felix turned to his side, flopping an arm outside of the covers. The air was brisk and Bairn worried he might get a chill. He took the blanket off his own bunk and covered him with it. A memory flashed through his mind: of his own father covering him with his red Mutza the way he was covering Felix.
He wondered what he would be like if he hadn’t gotten separated from his father on the ship, all those years ago. Would he be like Felix? Content, untroubled. Maybe he would have always been more like his mother—a worrier, a churner.
Strange. It was new for him to allow himself to let those thoughts carry forward, rather than cutting them off the second they filled his mind. He took a deep breath and felt a dozen different emotions collide. As much as he loved Felix, he envied him too. The lad had been given a true childhood.
Felix was doted on by his mother and father. As firstborn, Bairn could not remember receiving such adoring love. His parents had always given him more responsibility than affection. He recalled mastering an impressive array of tasks, taking on more work and responsibility every year. Starting at age six, considered tall for his age, he rode the horse to steady it while his father followed behind with the plow. He would plant the wheat seeds as his father covered them, working from sunup to sundown, coming in from the field at night covered with insect bites and scratches from the prickly burrs. During the wheat harvest, he would bind the handfuls of cut wheat that his father had sickled and carry the sheaves to the hay barn. In winter, he hauled wood and chopped it four or five feet long for the fireplace and carried rails to the fields. As he became stronger and more skillful, he took on more adult tasks, even splitting rails and building fences. By the age of eight, he was holding the plow and guiding the horse himself. By the age of ten, he was given care of the stock. During summer nights, he would stay out in the fields all night long, alone, to guard the sheep and goats. His father gave him his old gun to scare away the pests and predators.
His mother treated him more as a man she relied on than as a child. When he accompanied his father on the journey to the New World, the last words his mother had told him were to be sure to bring back his father, as if that were his responsibility. She did not give a similar warning to his father. She did not feel worried about Bairn, only Jacob.
And why didn’t Jacob make sure his son was truly gone off that ship? It needled Bairn, all through those years. Why had his father accepted the word of the ship’s captain that his son had died?
Suppose his mother was right, that his father could not be held responsible for that—he had taken ill too, after all. And the ship was a chaotic place.
Even still, why couldn’t his father just say he was sorry for those lost years? He could not forgive him for that.
Getting humility out of Jacob Bauer was like squeezing water from a stone.
He went to the upper deck, to the bowsprit, and looked out to a shroud of fog. There was a stinging chill in the air. He fastened the top button of his coat collar around his neck. Slainte, a Gaelic word meaning “health,” sounded from the crew’s quarters more than a few times tonight. The crew was celebrating, and they had every right to—the first night that the ship sliced her way onto her journey.
Like a cat scenting the breeze, Bairn lifted his head and narrowed his eyes. He thought he smelled coffee wafting from the galley, and it took him right back to a moment, not long ago, on the Charming Nancy, when Anna handed him a warmed mug of the stuff.
Not that long ago.
The wind felt cold and he ru
bbed his arms, shivering a little. He should go inside and get some sleep before his turn at watch, but he knew he wouldn’t sleep, he would only lie there and stare at the top of his bunk, his thoughts churning. Something of the old melancholy was settling upon him again.
Maybe he was just designed for a life at sea. Like most sailors, he would always be on the move, never have a home. Maybe he was more like his father than he wanted to think—always restless, always looking for greener pastures. Never content, never at peace.
But Jacob Bauer, right or wrong, never had a single doubt. Bairn, on the other hand, was a man full of doubts.
Outside Philadelphia
October 22, 1737
The newcomer moved at a fast pace. By the time the sun was climbing in the sky, Henrik, Peter, and Anna happened upon a farmer who was driving bushels of apples to the market in Philadelphia. He offered them a ride and they gratefully accepted, climbing onto the back of the cart. Peter made a pillow of his jacket and curled up against the side of the cart, falling asleep within minutes. He looked so young and awkward as he slept, with his long, sleek hair covering his sharp, bony face.
Anna wrapped her arms around her bent legs, her head tilted back. The sun was a bright glow behind her closed eyelids. The day was warming up and the wind had a hint of autumn in its scent. She stretched her arms, and opened her eyes to look at the newcomer. He sat with his long legs sprawled out, one ankle over the other. His hat brim covered his face. She could barely see his chin resting on his chest.
Catrina’s comment floated through her mind: He’s so pretty, don’t you think? The newcomer was a particularly comely man, with dark hair and blue eyes that twinkled and snapped. She wondered how old he was. As she observed how he interacted with Christian and Isaac, she noticed an intensity to him, a boldness, an ability to absorb the circumstances that surrounded him and sort through them at lightning speed. The way he managed Christian, even Maria—those skills could only be developed by someone with significant life experience. Or someone with an unusual gift with people.
She leaned a little closer to him to see if she could decide how old he was, when he shifted and lifted his head. She jerked back, her startled gaze sweeping over his face. But his eyes were focused not on her but on something beyond. Or perhaps something deep within.
They didn’t speak for a long while, which didn’t bother her. She was accustomed to quiet, because she was raised believing that an excess of words was not pleasing to God. The newcomer seemed to hold the same view, because he didn’t say much along the way. When he did talk, it was with concern for Peter and Anna, making sure he hadn’t been walking too fast, wondering if they needed rest or food. Now, seated opposite her on the cart, he lifted his head to ask her a question. “Anna, how did you learn English?”
Anna drew her knees back up and circled them with her arms. “My grandfather. He knew many languages and taught them to me. Languages come easily to me, but there are times it’s been more of a burden than a blessing.” She glanced at Henrik. “You can join the English lessons I give to the others.” To Felix and Catrina. She tried not to let her mind worry over Felix; if she even started to think of him, she felt a swirl of anxiety.
“I won’t be needing English, not where we’re going.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “You’re not in Germany any longer.”
“I am in a world where I can keep my German language, beliefs, traditions. My religion. That’s what I’ve come for. That’s more than enough for me.”
“So you think this settlement will be so isolated that you don’t have to interact with anyone who’s not German?”
“I don’t expect to have to interact with those who are tainted by the world. It’s Paradise we’re heading to.” He gave her a grin, and it was dazzling, full of confidence. “We’ve been given another chance at the Garden of Eden.”
She’d heard him say this before, but she thought he was jesting. Could he be serious? Her face must have revealed her skepticism because his mouth curved with amusement.
“I see you have doubts, Anna. Doubts don’t belong on this wondrous and mysterious path that the Lord has set before us. A holy experiment waits for us.” He leaned forward. “And we will not disappoint Him.”
Words failed Anna. Instead she gripped her knees tighter and held her breath. Never once had it occurred to her to think about the New World in such a way. To her, it was a reluctant undertaking, perhaps even a foolish one. And the way the newcomer was staring at her now made her wonder if he knew how small her thoughts were, how unworthy she was. She rounded her shoulders, pressing her mouth to her knees, feeling suddenly shy and oddly exposed. She looked over at the newcomer, whose gaze was fixed ahead on the road toward Port Philadelphia, looking as pleased as a man could look, as if he had found a wonderful secret to life and it lit him from the inside out.
She wondered what Bairn would think about the newcomer’s bold expectations. Laugh at him, most likely. Consider him naïve.
And yet it was refreshing to be around someone who had such confidence, such assurance, that their journey was God-inspired. Why was it so easy for some people to be happy? And others . . . not at all.
9
Philadelphia
October 22, 1737
Hours spent searching along the waterfront in Philadelphia turned up not a single clue about Felix’s whereabouts. Twelve thousand people in this city—you’d think that someone, somewhere, would have caught sight of him. If not Felix, then the dog that followed him everywhere.
They had started on the docks at Penn’s Landing, then made their way up to the city streets. Peter suggested they split up to cover more ground, so she found a paper on the ground and wrote questions on it for Peter and Henrik to ask. The newcomer had told her he wouldn’t need English. Didn’t he need it today? But she was too distracted and filled with worry to bother with his curious thinking.
She crossed the street, hurrying up the root-cracked sidewalk, the wind skirting yellow and red leaves around her feet. She went to a brickmaker, to Christ Church where Felix had confessed to her that he had wandered inside and dipped his hand in the baptismal font—because he found out it was the very same font that William Penn had been baptized in as an infant, imported all the way from England! Then she went to the City Tavern and found the servant girl who gave Felix the Sally Lunn buns. The servant girl said that just a few days ago, she had caught sight of Felix and his little dog cutting through the green of the square, moving fast and looking over his shoulder. She promised to hold on to him if she did see Felix again, and she gave Anna a Sally Lunn bun. Though hungry, Anna ate only one third of it—saving the other pieces for Peter and Henrik.
She wracked her brain to think of any passing comment Felix might have made about unique individuals—but to Felix, everyone was a unique individual. All of Philadelphia was a curiosity to him and he talked incessantly.
She met up with Peter and Henrik in front of the London Coffee House near Penn’s Landing. Henrik had found a German farmer who had finished his business in the city and was returning northwest. He said he would be willing to let them ride in his empty cart. “Come, Anna, we must take this offer. We’ve done the best we could to find the boy.” Even the newcomer, who seemed to be perpetually optimistic, was ready to give up.
Footsore and weary, she knew Henrik was right.
But where, where, where could Felix be? Who else might he have visited? A man walked past them with a newspaper in his hand—the Pennsylvania Gazette.
“The printer!” Her mind raced with fragments of Felix’s endless chatter. “He had become friendly with a printer at a bindery. I can’t leave until I talk to the printer.”
“Anna! We must go!”
She turned to answer him, but kept walking backward. “Wait here, Henrik. I’ll be right back. A few minutes more. Please. I have to check one more place. The last possibility.” It was the only way she would have peace of mind that Felix was not in Philadelphia.
&nbs
p; Renewed by a spurt of energy, she ran down the brick sidewalk along Market Street. She hurried across the busy street, darting around a horse and wagon, and burst into the shop. A man in a leather apron looked up in surprise.
“Have you seen a boy? About this high.” She lifted her hand to her shoulders. “Dark hair and eyes.” She was gasping for breath. “A German boy who speaks English. And a small dog that follows him everywhere.”
The man had long hair that fit like a horseshoe around the back of his head. His eyes twinkled, as if he found her amusing. “What language does the dog speak?”
At first Anna was confused, until his eyes gave away his teasing.
“Ben! Stop that.” A woman stood by the large printing press. “Answer the girl. You can see she’s frantic with worry.”
“My apologies, madam. Yes, I think I know whom you are seeking. A young boy, around the age of eight or nine, with a very lively mind.”
“You’ve seen them? When? Where?” She drew out the words with the slow easing of pent-up breath.
“Yesterday. Midmorning, the boy burst into my printing shop . . . much the way you just did.”
“Out of breath,” the woman added. “He’d been running quite a distance.”
“Yes. Deborah’s right. He was quite out of breath. He was on a mission, to be sure.”
“What did he want?”
“He wanted me to know that he would accept my apprentice job, but he wouldn’t be back until the spring. He asked me to hold the job open for him.”
The spring? Anna’s heart started to pound. “Do you know where he is now?”
“On a ship called the Lady Luck, he told us,” the woman said.
Anna knew it! In her heart, she had known all along where Felix had gone: he was on Bairn’s ship.
The couple was waiting for some response from her. “Thank you. You’ve set my mind at ease.”
“If you happen to see the boy,” the man said, “tell him that I’ll hold the job for him. I think he would provide excellent fodder.”
The Newcomer Page 8