The Newcomer

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  “Oh, you can be sure that I will be seeing him, and that I’ll have plenty to tell him.” She took a few steps, then turned around. “May I tell Felix who wants to hire him as an apprentice?”

  “Tell him Ben Franklin wants to hire him. The printing press man. This is my wife, Deborah. She’s the chief typesetter and proofreader.”

  “I’ll do that. However, I wouldn’t hold the position for him. His parents won’t hear of it.”

  She thanked the couple again, and hurried back to meet Henrik and Peter, sending up silent thanks to God for that timely encounter. At least she knew Felix was safe. And she knew that he was with Bairn. She took off down the street at a run, her skirts tossing, but as she crossed the street, her feet slowed and her smile faded.

  How in the world could she tell Dorothea and Jacob that both of their sons had left the New World?

  As soon as Anna met up with Henrik and Peter, she told them the story of Felix following Bairn onto the ship.

  Henrik was visibly relieved. “Good. We can be off.”

  “Anna.”

  She swiveled to face Peter. His long bony face had a pale, drawn look.

  “I’m not going with you. I’m staying here, in Philadelphia.”

  “You’re what?”

  “I don’t want to cut down trees for the rest of my life. I see how thickly wooded that wilderness is.”

  “It’s only for a short time. Clearing the land won’t last forever. You’ll be able to farm the land.”

  “I don’t want to be a farmer. I want to make my own way in the new world. I heard men in the city talk about getting rich. German men, Anna. There are other ways to live than on a farm.”

  “Peter, you can’t possibly leave now. We need you. You need the church.”

  “No, I don’t. Maybe if Lizzie hadn’t died on the ship, maybe I would have wanted to stay in the church. But I feel like I’ve been given a second chance. I’m only sixteen years old. I want to have a life that counts for something more than pulling tree stumps.”

  “Peter, you have to think clearly.”

  “I am thinking clearly! I’ve thought of nothing else since the moment the ship docked in Philadelphia.”

  “What about your son? Lizzie’s child?”

  “I’ve entrusted his raising to Dorothea and Jacob. They’ll do well by him. Much better than I could ever do.”

  “Then, think of your father. He’ll be heartbroken.”

  Peter dropped his chin to his chest. “That’s why I’m asking you to explain to him why I’m not returning. I can’t face him, Anna. You know what he’s like.”

  She looked to the newcomer for help, but he said nothing. Then the newcomer clasped the boy’s shoulder, giving it a rough shake, the kind of touch men gave one another. “Take care, then, boy.”

  “We can’t just let him stay behind! I’m responsible for him.”

  “Anna, he’s nearly a grown man. He’s lost a wife already. He can make his own choices. I did the same when I was his age.”

  Peter looked at the newcomer in sheer amazement. “Thank you, Henrik. You understand.”

  The newcomer shook his head. “To be truthful with you, I don’t understand. I don’t know how someone can turn away from this wonderful new adventure.”

  “What adventure?” Peter was wavering. “I thought we were just cutting down trees to farm land. I’ve already done plenty of that.”

  “So much more than that.” The newcomer gave him a look as if it was so obvious. “Boy, we are seeking Paradise.” He tugged on Anna’s arm. “We must go. The farmer is waiting for us. I fear we’ve already taxed his patience.”

  “Peter, please come with us.” She saw a slight hesitation written on his face. “Talk to . . .” To whom? His father, who would be as unbending as Jacob Bauer? Talk to Christian? Thinking over the leadership options of the church, she could understand why Peter wanted to avoid a face-to-face confrontation.

  “The boy knows where we’ll be. He knows the road home is always available.” He grabbed Anna’s arm and pulled her along after him. “We have a responsibility to the others.”

  “But . . . wait . . . Peter, have you shillings? Any food?”

  “Don’t worry about me, Anna. I’ll fend for myself.”

  He thought he was a man, but he was such a boy still. “Follow the Schuylkill River, Peter. Go north. That’s where you’ll find us.”

  As the afternoon sun began its descent, Philadelphia fell behind Anna, the newcomer, and the German farmer, who, it turned out, wasn’t a farmer at all.

  The man drove the cart due west, toward Lancaster, a more well-traveled road than the one Christian had led the convoy on. Eventually, he said, he would take another road to go north. Anna sat in the cart, nestled against the corner. The cottony clouds scuttled away like ships in the harbor, while the setting sun filled the sky with hues of red and gold.

  Hours passed as Anna tried to sleep, dropping off and waking abruptly whenever the cart hit a bump in the road. She listened drowsily to Henrik and the German man—Peter Miller was his name—carry on a long, animated conversation on the wagon seat. He was a surprisingly learned man, an ordained German Reformed pastor. “I began preaching to the German Reformed congregations on the frontier but now am a disciple at the Ephrata Community.” He glanced at the newcomer. “Surely you’ve heard of us.”

  “Surely not,” Henrik said affably. “I’m fresh off the ship. I joined a group of Palatinate seekers.”

  Seekers? Anna mused. She did not see her church as made up of seekers but of believers.

  “Ephrata.” The newcomer took off his hat and scratched his head. “An unusual name, Ephrata.”

  “It’s from Scripture. It’s a word that denotes suffering.”

  “So this community . . . is it a monastery?”

  “Yes and no, and so much more. It is north of here, made up of Brethren like us. You and me . . . and your sister in the cart.”

  “She’s not my sister.”

  The German smiled. “Ah, but in God’s eyes, she is. That’s what the men and women call each other. Sisters and brothers.”

  “And these men and women—they are all Brethren?”

  “Anabaptists. Pietists. Mennonites, Dunkers, all devoted.”

  Anna’s ears perked up.

  “The community is only a few years old,” Peter Miller continued. “It’s led by Conrad Beissel, our Vorsteher.” Founder. “He was a journeyman baker who followed God’s calling.”

  “A calling by God,” Henrik repeated softly. “Tell me more.”

  “Some think him radical, but his followers—and I include myself—believe he has an unusual understanding of God. He tried to live the life of a hermit but a small group of followers couldn’t leave him be. They needed him as their guiding light. And that’s how the community at Ephrata began—not because Conrad Beissel was looking for a church but the church was looking for him.”

  Henrik straightened up with a start. “So what is this special understanding that Conrad Beissel has?”

  “Now he is known as Father Friedsam.” Father of peace. “I am known as Brother Agrippa.” He slapped the reins to get the horse trotting through a straight part of the road. “Father Friedsam stresses the need for separation from the larger world. He united his dispersed followers so that, together, we could oppose the tainted influence of the world.”

  “That is a virtue shared by many.” Henrik nodded his head in full agreement. “So is this community self-sufficient?”

  “Almost. Not completely, though, not yet. We have plans to construct many buildings on our settlement. Before my stop in Philadelphia, I went to Germantown to order windows and raw iron for door hinges and latches. We have many plans—a paper mill is under way, a bakery. Father Friedsam has ordered a printing press from Germany. Many of the sisters practice the work of Fraktur.”

  “A worthy ambition, to be separate from the world in all matters. We have much in common, it seems.”

  “
Father Friedsam is convinced that Christians who worshiped on Sunday had chosen the wrong Sabbath. So we observe Saturday for worship.”

  Henrik tipped his head. “What else does Father Friedsam emphasize?”

  “We are waiting for Christ’s Second Coming, which he believes could happen at any moment.”

  Henrik’s entire body posture changed. Anna could see it unfold. He leaned closer to Brother Agrippa, eyes intently on him, clearly fascinated. “Do you mind if I ask what the purpose of the community is?”

  “I don’t mind at all. Questions begin the journey. The purpose of Ephrata Community is to share spiritual experiences and search for the desired union with God. And to wait.”

  “To wait?”

  “For Christ’s Second Coming, of course.”

  “Union with God? But . . . what does that entail?” Henrik’s shoulders were rolled forward and his hands tucked between his knees, full of anticipation like a child. “Please, tell me more.”

  But before the conversation could continue, Brother Agrippa surprised them by pulling the reins of the horse to a stop at a fork in the road. “That will have to wait for another day. You are always welcome to come to the Ephrata Community. See for yourself how we live.” He jumped off the cart and handed the reins to Henrik. “Father Friedsam has recently decided that it’s wrong to ask a beast to take our burdens. I had intended to sell the horse and cart in Philadelphia, but after meeting you there, I sensed the Spirit’s prompting to help you along on your journey. The horse and cart are yours. Do with them as you will.” He also left them with his evening meal—an apple and two hard soda biscuits—and a crudely sketched map of the Schuylkill River drawn on the corner of brown paper. He bid them well and went on his way.

  Anna remained in the back of the cart, astonished. She watched the man stride down the road with only the moon to light his path, as if he had not a care in the world. “Do you think he is an angel?”

  “Perhaps,” Henrik said, reins in hand. He swiveled on the bench to look at her. “He was certainly sent by God to provide for us, just when we needed the help.” He put out his hand to help her climb over the side of the cart to sit on the bench beside him.

  “If they think Christ is returning soon, why are they constructing buildings?”

  Henrik shrugged. “I suppose that they need to find ways to live while they wait. Brother Agrippa told me they are working on building a printing press for German books. That’s why he was in Philadelphia. To meet with a printer.”

  “Benjamin Franklin?”

  “Yes, I believe so. You know of him?”

  “In fact, I do. His print shop was where I went while you and Peter waited for me. Felix had met him and must have somehow made a positive impression on him. He told Felix he would apprentice him when he returned in the spring.”

  Henrik slapped the reins to get the horse moving along.

  “Why does this Ephrata Community interest you so?”

  “Because I believe this New World is God’s way of starting again. Just like after the flood. Noah was given a fresh start—the old evil ways had been done away with. The New World is our Garden of Eden.”

  “So that’s truly why you’ve come? To find the Garden of Eden?”

  “It’s here.” He looked down the road at Brother Agrippa, barely visible in the moonlit shadows as he sauntered down the road. “It’s here. Somewhere in this New World.” He slapped the horse’s reins to get it going and winked at Anna. “And you and I are on our way to find it.” He gave her a nudge with his elbow. “It’s our destiny.”

  Anna laughed, and it felt so good. “You’re a very different sort of man, Henrik Newman.”

  He grinned. “I’ve been told such a thing once or twice in my life.”

  Many times, no doubt.

  “Will we meet up with Christian and the others soon?”

  “We’re heading north on a different path, but the German said we should intersect with them at some point.” He flashed a grin. “I hope.”

  He fell silent, and they went without speaking for a long while. She stifled a yawn, wondering if he would mind if she returned to the back of the cart and slept the rest of the night. He seemed determined not to stop and he seemed equally determined that he knew where he was going.

  Bairn would know where they were and where to go next. He could navigate anywhere as long as stars were visible in the sky. She tried to ignore the ache that rose in her chest whenever her thoughts wandered to Bairn.

  “Henrik, I do appreciate your help in the search for Felix, for allowing me to pursue that last hunch.” She couldn’t imagine how she could have left Philadelphia without knowing for certain what had happened to him.

  “Anna, do you think the Bauer brothers will ever return?”

  “Yes. Of course.” She glanced at him. “What makes you think they won’t?”

  “It sounds like the older brother is a man with a strong inclination for the sea.”

  She twisted the string ends of her prayer cap. “Just one more crossing, he said.”

  Henrik’s brows rose. “Just one more?”

  “Bairn’s not like most seamen.”

  “Can he read? Most seamen can’t.”

  “Yes. He reads quite a lot.”

  “So what are his favorite books?”

  “Books about voyages . . . oh.” She looked away.

  “How will Felix’s mother take the news that he is a stowaway on a ship?”

  Anna took her time answering. “I don’t know. She’s not a sturdy woman.” She dropped her chin to her chest. “Let’s hope for the best.”

  The newcomer beamed. “Always.”

  10

  Northwest of Philadelphia

  October 23, 1737

  At some point in the night Dorothea woke with a start. She wasn’t sure what roused her, but as she sat up, the skin on her arms began to tingle. She looked over at Jacob and saw him struggle for breath. She checked his forehead for fever and found him burning up. “Can you speak?”

  “Dorothea,” he rasped, his voice threadbare, “I am greatly suffering.” He looked at her, his face rippling with anguish. And yet she was completely unprepared for his next words. “I fear I am dying.” His eyes fluttered shut, his breathing remained labored, puffing with each heartbeat.

  She sank onto the ground beside him, too astounded to reply. A horror gripped her: they were in a desperate situation and she had no idea what to do next. It was the middle of the night and Jacob couldn’t travel. As she added kindling to the fire to keep Jacob warm, she tried to stay calm but her hands were trembling. She lay down beside him, with the baby between them to give the child warmth, listening for Jacob’s labored breathing . . . and tried not to let her thoughts run amuck.

  She had always assumed she would be the first to die. Not Jacob. Never Jacob. He was so strong, so resilient, so determined.

  She had thought death was certain on the Charming Nancy. The storms, the cracked beam in the ship, then the drought—death was always lingering. At least it would have been quick. She heard the howl of a wolf, or a coyote, or some kind of vicious predator. Why had God brought her this far, saved the life of this little babe, returned Bairn to his family, only to have them all face a horrifying end?

  God is both a deliverer and a destroyer. How often had she heard Jacob say those words?

  Why had God brought her from Germany? She should have stayed in Ixheim, near her parents’ graves, her son Johann’s grave, and one day she would have been buried on the hillside. She had no heart for conquest and no patience for new ideas. She had witnessed too many painful scenes. “God,” she whispered, and the word came out like a gust of hard breath. “If You are at all merciful, help us. Help me.”

  A sudden spasm knit Jacob’s brows. His eyes opened, and when he spoke again, his voice was whispery soft and tinged with terror. “I should have better prepared you.” Jacob lifted his hand and stared at the trembling fingers as if he’d never seen them before, then clo
sed his eyes. “I should have prepared Christian. He won’t know what to do, which means he won’t do anything. He doesn’t know how to build. He doesn’t know how to lead. Only to follow.”

  “Hush, Jacob. Don’t talk. Save your strength.”

  He opened his eyes. “You must tell Christian what to do. And make sure our Hans hears this. He is a builder.”

  He closed his eyes again, breathed in deeply, and it sounded so difficult for him that it frightened her even more, if that was even possible. She was shaking with dread, expecting each breath to be his last.

  But then he mustered his strength and opened his eyes wide. “Listen to me, wife. Listen carefully. First each man must select a tract of land for his family. Remind them to look for water sources—springs and creeks. Then everyone must assist each other in the building of cabins before the cold of winter sets in.” His voice fell to a whisper.

  “Please, please. Rest now. You’ll feel better in the morning. See if you don’t.”

  He shook his head. “In the morning, first light, you must go. Leave me here. Follow the trail. For our sons’ sake. For the babe’s sake. For your sake. By day’s end, you’ll reach the cabin.”

  “No, Jacob,” she said softly. “No, I won’t leave you.” She raked her hand through his disheveled hair. The sweat was running cold down his forehead. “Don’t quit on me now, husband.” She thought she saw a smile flitting in his eyes, but it might have been her imagination.

  She added wood to the fire, warmed water in the cup for Jacob to sip, fed the baby the last little bit of bread softened in water, and prayed. Oh, how she prayed!

  She felt the air stir beside her. Her thoughts came to an abrupt halt. She looked up and her lips parted in a silent gasp. Standing not ten steps away was an Indian, bare-chested, with long hair the color of dirty snow. Scared speechless, she felt her heart start to stutter, beating too hard for her to hear anything but her own fear. She took a quick scan around the campsite, terrified. She scrambled for a weapon, seeking Jacob’s knife, but the only item within reach was the flint she had used to strike the fire. Slowly she rose to her feet, though her legs trembled so badly she could hardly hold herself up. Even still, she steeled herself, holding the flint in front of her.