by A. L. Knorr
Sybellen seems disinterested in the manor and all the goings on there. I have asked her if she is looking forward to moving into the home, but she shrugs and says it just means more rooms to chase the boys through. Once again Sybellen and I find something upon which to agree.
She knows that Mattis has another commission coming up in the fall and this one he'll be captaining. Autumn is never the ideal time to be sailing, but it must be done as this one is for the government. There is a marked drop in the lightness of her demeanour whenever his disembarking date draws nigh; you can see it surely as a set of perfectly weighted scales.
March 4, 1866
It's been years since my last entry and were I not so busy and full with things to do I should feel ashamed of being neglectful. Mattis is gone on commission and I write because weather of the kind we've been having makes me restless when I know Mattis is out in it. I can only hope he is far from the effects of it, for tonight there is a most wretched of storm moving in from across the Baltic. On nights like this I wish we were not a sea-faring family but had elected for a life much further inland, perhaps farming.
We are safely tucked into our new home and nearly every room has a crackling fire or hot ceramic furnace and yet the place seems hollow when Mattis is away. Sybellen is nearly unbearable in her sadness and the boys (especially Emun Jr.) can feel their mother’s discontent, which in turn makes them grumpy.
This is the most dangerous time of year for Mattis to be at sea. His hiring of a captain while the house renovations were underway seems a cruel tease now that he is gone again. I would happily trade this fine house filled with foreign furniture and artwork to have my son home during these days.
As I write this, there are branches tapping against the walls of the house and there is nothing to be seen out the window save blackness and driving rain. Sybellen sits in her room with the fire crackling in the fireplace and the boys playing on the carpet at her feet. She most often elects to sit on the window seat and look out at the sea, although what she can possibly see on a night like this is beyond me.
I write this evening from our own quarters. Emun sits snoring in front of the fireplace with a book upside down on his chest and his spectacles perched on the end of his nose. I cannot decide whether to wake him and tell him of the peculiar conversation I had with Sybellen just hours ago.
I had gone in to check on her since I had not seen her or the boys for several hours and the storm was getting worse. I knew she would be in a state of worry for Mattis and I was not wrong. I found her sitting with her feet pulled up under her (she has the strangest way of resting sometimes, certainly not how proper ladies were trained to sit, even poor ones like me) on the seat in her bay window.
My grandsons, who are now three and a half years old, were playing with a set of wooden blocks in front of the fire with our nanny, Karolina (a recent addition that I am unsure is worth the expense).
I sat with Sybellen a while before I had gotten up the nerve to ask her why she was so down at the mouth: Mattis is an expert seaman and would surely be managing the weather as well as anybody could. She said that was not it, exactly. Yes, of course she worries about Mattis when he sails long journeys especially in winter, but it was more the direction her life had taken that was weighing on her.
I was shocked to hear this and fought the urge to slap her ungrateful mouth in that moment until I realized that she was philosophizing, not complaining about her material goods and way of life. I asked her to explain what she meant, as it was hard to understand how a beautiful woman with two lovely sons and a loving and wealthy husband could give her cause for such unhappiness.
It was then that she looked me full in the face with such an expression of yearning that my breath caught in my throat. You must understand, dear reader, that Sybellen rarely looks anyone in the eye. Most often she avoids conversation entirely, but when she deigns to engage, she keeps her eyes averted.
She said to me, "You see, Mama, I wished for a daughter," as plain as day. In her eyes, I could see that the woman was missing a part of her heart that sons, for whatever reason, could not fill. Such a confusion of emotions filled me then--anger that she could so take her beautiful boys for granted and sadness that her secret desire had gone unfulfilled (although this latter feeling was swiftly squashed, for what would keep her from having another child?).
I asked her then why she did not try again, but her eyes unlocked themselves from my face and went back to the sea. "You don't understand", she said, seeming to speak more to herself than to me, "I would have to go away for a long time to have another chance."
"Well, you're right," I answered, "I don't understand. What do you mean?" That was the wrong thing to say, because she dismissed herself and there it ended. I don't know if she would have opened up to me if I had been gentler with her, but her words seemed so devoid of sense that I lost patience and with it my chance to understand.
I never had a daughter either, and having lived in a houseful of men for most of my life perhaps means that I no longer understand my own sex--their complicated wants and desires. But I do not think it is that. I think it is simply that my daughter-in-law is of mysterious origin, and of a mysterious people, and perhaps she has strange customs of which I have never heard.
So many times I have wondered why my son chose such a woman. Why could he not have chosen a nice local girl with which to settle down? I go to sleep with a heavy heart tonight, but trust that, as always, things will look better in the morning.
April 12, 1866
Mattis arrived home two weeks ago and told us tonight that he'll be leaving again in July. Sybellen left the table without a word and went to her rooms. My heart is too heavy to write more tonight, dear reader, but I felt I had to make the occasion so I did not forget. My one comfort has come to be found in the gardens, in which I have surprisingly found solace and pleasure. It is there that I go now, with a new shipment of bulbs from Utrecht.
Oct 4, 1866
My wonderful grandsons had their fourth birthday yesterday. Their father was notably absent. We had a simple celebration with sweet treats and games with a few local children and mothers. I daresay many of the villagers wanted to have the excuse to see the Novak manor for themselves, as some of those in attendance were ones I know to have made biting comments about us since we've come into good fortune. But I won't be ungenerous and say more about those, for I'm thankful that there are many in the village and surrounding area that have supported Mattis and his enterprise since the beginning and are sincere in their congratulations on his success.
Mattis is once again late to arrive and has missed his sons’ birthday. It is never as joyous an occasion as it is when he is here. The boys have gone from missing their father to an expectation that he will be away from home more than he will be in it, which is a sad reality in our present time. The blessing of growth and financial success never comes without a heavy price, it seems.
The boys are growing in their own directions and the differences between them are ever growing too. Emun Jr. grows more like his mother everyday, while Michal, more like his father. They are both beautiful boys, but when I take them out into the village, we are constantly told that it is hard to believe they are brothers, they are so unlike. I have to agree with these tiresome comments, for if I had not been at their birth myself, I would scarcely believe it.
Sybellen has become a daily worry for me, as I have seen her lose weight and have noticed that she is often absent from the manor at the strangest hours. There are as many meals that she is not present at than meals that she is, but when she attends she eats like one starving. Her increased appetite and weight loss seem to suggest a life of too much activity, but I will be stuffed if I can figure out what she has been up to. When she is not absent or eating her weight in food (which goes right through her), she is sleeping for hours on end, leaving the care of the boys to me and Karolina. She comes and goes like a ghost and always with sadness of expression.
I have prom
ised myself to watch her movements more closely and if necessary, bring her behaviour to the attention of the doctor. The woman is a source of endless curiosity and worry for me and it seems this has only increased of lately.
Oct 6, 1866
Mattis arrived home yesterday and not a minute too soon. Sybellen's depression has become very. I brought it to his attention tonight after dinner. He listened as I told him how things had been for her since he'd been gone so often and I do believe he heard me. He did not offer any solution, for indeed this quandary will require some careful thought on his part, but I felt assured that he took me at my word. Sybellen may not be happy with me for my interference, but I am beyond caring at this point, since she is affecting the mood of the whole manor--not the least of which are my grandsons. Mattis said he would speak with her and so we shall soon see what will come of it.
Oct 10, 1866
Begging your pardon but curse this meddling grandmother for a fool. Why did I ever open my mouth? It seems Mattis and Sybellen have discussed the problem of Mattis' absence at length and come to a disruptive decision without consulting myself or Emun.
I should have suspected something ridiculous when I saw Sybellen smile for the first time in months. My heart, which was at first light when I saw her countenance, quickly plummeted as matters were made clear over dinner. I can hardly believe the misjudgement that has resulted and I have resolved to stitch my own mouth shut with my crochet hook from now on.
Mattis has decided that he will be taking Sybellen and the boys with him on his next commission. They are set to disembark next April. He has already published the announcement to his company, as well as the date of departure in the trade journals. I feel right and truly betrayed.
Mattis chattered gaily over dinner, wondering why it had not occurred to him before and I volunteered that perhaps because a seafaring ship is no place for women and children. He retorted that was nonsense, since families travel across the sea all the time, even as far as North America across the Atlantic.
We had a lively row over this when I called him foolhardy and selfish. Sybellen watched all of this with perceptive eyes, but ventured no opinion at all, even when I asked her how she felt about taking her boys to sea with them. She simply said she was not afraid of the ocean. Mattis added that they hit so many ports for delivery purposes that the boys would hardly have to stay aboard for longer than a few weeks at a time.
I must admit that I left the dinner table in anger and before dessert was served because I could not bear to listen to any more. Even my own husband sided with them and said that if families did it all the time, then why should they not? They were to sail the most sturdy and sound vessel known to the Baltic, so why should the boys not experience life at sea and stay with their parents the way that boys should? I could have smacked him.
Now that I've had a few hours to cool down, I find I feel no less disappointment over the whole decision, but I am calm enough to recognize that my emotions are rooted more in the fear of how much I'll miss my grandsons when they're abroad than fear for their safety. I still do not think a sailing vessel, and a working one at that, filled with men and cargo and ropes and holds, is a good place for children.
I am acquainted with the layout of The Sybellen and can take some small comfort in knowing that they are to share the Captain's quarters, which are broad and comfortable. I also have several months to prepare for their departure, but I must be honest and lay bare my heavy heart. I am distraught at this decision, which was made without my consultation, and feel a loosening of my grip on hearth and home. Why must things always change? Would that I could keep my grandsons small and safe and with me always. And so you will see, too, that indeed I have become a sentimental old woman. I will not deny it. It seems to be the destiny of mothers, that the little ones we have held close to our hearts and watched grow are only being prepared to one day leave us behind.
Aug 1, 1867
I write only because I have not written in so long--I have not had the heart for it. My grandsons have been gone for 5 long months and, though the sun is warming the air with its heat and the birds are singing, I gain no joy from my favourite season. I only await the day that my grandchildren return and I can once again hear their laughter through the halls and rooms of this mansion.
Emun bears up under the absence of our family much better than I, although I know he misses them, too. He keeps busy doing nothing (or so it appears to me), meeting with his friends in the village or puttering in the yards.
They are scheduled to return this fall as Mattis generally does--they plan to dock no later than early October and to spend the winter here. I can truthfully say that I have never looked forward to winter so much as I do now.
We had a letter from them which arrived end of June. They report good health and clear sailing and, at the time of writing, to be ahead of schedule. So that is of some small condolence. Emun Jr. has taken to sailing with the heart of a master sailor, writes his father. Michal, meanwhile, has been plagued by bouts of seasickness. Once again, my darling boys prove themselves opposites.
Sybellen is in her element, he reports. Nothing cures her discontent like sea air. They have decided that the whole affair has been such a success that he is likely to take Sybellen and the boys with him on a more regular basis, only over the summers. At this news my heart has sunk into my shoes. So Emun and I are truly to be forgotten then, for what value do grandparents give to their grandchildren? Clearly none. Emun tells me not to be silly, that this is the life Mattis has chosen and the reason we live so finely now, but I have come to resent this life and crave a simpler time.
I shall amuse myself with my gardening and sewing projects until their arrival. And though I was never much of a reader in my early years, I have taken to enjoying the occasional novel on rainy days. I have recently finished Wives and Daughters by English writer Elizabeth Gaskill and have set my sights on a book of poetry next by an American writer named Alfred Tennyson, both of which have been translated into Polish by a friend of mine in Gdansk. Thankfully, the endless supply of translated works is serving as a good distraction.
Sept 30, 1867
I am happy to report my grandsons have returned. Indeed, they have been home for two weeks now, which is the earliest Mattis has ever returned from a commission in the fall. My heart is full to have my family home safe again.
How the boys have grown in the months they've been away! They have both stretched up and become weather worn, though I would have expected Emun Jr. to have a darker complexion. It seems even his mother has not changed a shade since she left too.
Michal and Mattis on the other hand are as brown as natives and their hair has lightened to a shade of yellow. Michal looks hale and hearty, but when I asked him how he enjoyed sailing he said not at all, that it makes his guts turn inside out. Emun Jr., however, lights up like a firework when I ask him about the sea. He says he wants to do what papa does when he grows up. He also said that he wants to marry a woman like Mama and I'd not the heart to disenchant him of the realities of that idea.
Sybellen arrived home as happy as I have ever seen her and, in spite of my wishes not to have my family away from me for so long, I am glad to see that it has benefited her and Mattis in the way that they had hoped. I just wished for myself that it had not been quite the raging success that it was.
I have asked what they plan to do about Michal’s seasickness and Mattis has put off answering for now, as he says he has winter activities to focus before they have to decide about next summer's commission. He says his office is flooded with requests and he needs to hire additional staff to handle the demand, as well as to oversee the building of yet another ship. He is bouncy and lighthearted when his business is doing well and this in turn makes the whole house feel full of joy.
Feb 17, 1868
Heavens, it has been a hard winter. I do not remember such a biting cold in all my years and such a quantity of snow and lack of sunshine, for it seems every day finds dreary c
louds drifting in from the icy sea to cover us over and hide the light from our pale faces.
Sybellen, who was so happy in the fall after returning from the summer commission, has fallen into such a depression the likes of which I have never before seen. Most baffling about it is that Mattis is home, so it cannot be his absence that is making her so melancholic. I have asked Mattis to request the Doctor to come see her, but his only remark is that he does not believe a doctor can help her.
I neglected to write in January that I ran into her in the hallway late one night when I got up to use the water closet. Her hair was wet and her nightdress was damp. I could not imagine why she would take to bathing at this hour, so I asked her what she was doing. She said, 'I'm going to bed, Mama,' and walked on before I could inquire further. This strange behaviour spooks me, I am not ashamed to admit. I am accustomed to some of her unusual habits, but this is extreme in its oddness, even for the likes of my daughter-in-law.
But today, an even stranger and more upsetting thing took place. Mattis was out at the stables with the boys and Emun and I was on my way out the door to return three novels to my friend when I realized I had forgotten one at my bedside table and went back to retrieve it. I had to pass by Sybellen's room and, as I did, I heard the sound of weeping. This, in itself, is a surprise, since I have seen Sybellen cry before and she has always cried silently. She must have been suffering horribly to make such a sound.