Anna's Crossing: An Amish Beginnings Novel (12 page)

Everyone was suffering in the fog, above and below deck. The heat was intense, the air was stifling, heavy, the humidity intolerable. Late this afternoon, Maria pulled out her leather trunk from under her sleeping shelf and let out a bloodcurdling scream. “What’s happening?!” she cried.

Felix, most curious and quickest, was first by her side. “It’s just dusty.” The trunk was covered with a film of white.

“Not dust, Felix. It’s mold,” Christian said, trying to calm his frantic wife as she scrubbed the trunk with a rag. “It’s the dampness.”

Felix dug in his pocket and pulled out his pocketknife. “So that’s why my pocketknife keeps getting rusty.”

Tonight, as Anna and Dorothea and Felix shared a meal of moldy zwieback and salted meat, a rat the size of a barn cat had run up and grabbed Felix’s hat. Felix took off after that rat while everyone near them watched with amusement. The rat ran up and down the aisle of the lower deck, Felix ran up and down, the rat ran back and forth, Felix ran back and forth. Finally the rat dropped the hat at one end of the deck. While Felix bent down to get it, the rat doubled back, picked up the hunk of toast by Felix’s hammock, and ran the other way.

Dorothea laughed so hard her face turned red. “Why, that rat knew just what he wanted and figured out how to get it.”

It felt wonderful to hear Dorothea’s laugh. Anna found herself admiring the rat, until it occurred to her that things had to be pretty dull for a person to admire a rat.

“Enough talk of problems,” Christian had reminded everyone during evening devotions. “We shall focus on God’s good
ness. Nothing good or bad happens to us but what first passes through the Father’s hand.”

As Anna lay in her hammock that night, she thought of the blessings of the day. Felix and the cunning rat. Dorothea’s laughter. A respite from seasickness. The lower deck, though dank and musty and damp and moldy, smelled infinitely better than it had a week ago.

Her cheerfulness had to do with helping ease Cook’s toothache, she supposed. For the first time since leaving home she felt as if she were here for a reason. The sailors no longer thought Anna to be a witch who had conjured up Decker’s death. Now they believed her to be a healer, and while she didn’t feel qualified for such a label, she longed to be useful. As she had sat on the wooden crate this afternoon, she treated sailors’ cuts and boils and blisters and mouth sores and eye infections, trying to remember remedies her grandmother had used back in Ixheim. The seamen became less hostile and afraid; they began to laugh as she treated them, and they thanked her when she had finished. They didn’t need to, though, for their gratitude was plain. For the rest of the afternoon and evening, they showed kindness to the passengers—tolerating their presence above deck, filling tubs of water for them, nodding and smiling as they tried to understand each other. It was a relief for the witch rumors to abate, although she had held a thin hope that she might be put off the ship because of them. And it wouldn’t be her fault! Surely Christian would understand. Alas, that hope had dissipated with the rumors.

What did Bairn think of her healing? After all, he was the ship’s surgeon, but he didn’t seem to take offense that the crew sought her out. He stood by the railing as she treated
the sailors, watching and listening, but not with malice in those gray eyes. Those eyes—she had to force herself to look away from them. Why? She found him full of contradictions and was never quite sure what he was thinking, though she wished she knew. A hundred questions about him sprang to her mind, longing for answers. There was something mysterious and distant about Bairn and he fascinated her, though she knew it was wrong to think about a stranger, a worldly man. And he was all that. He admitted as much. Yet the more time she spent in his presence, the more baffling he grew and the more drawn she felt to him.

Then there was the fog—both a blessing and a curse. As long as there was fog, the
Charming Nancy
wouldn’t be leaving Plymouth. The fog was a curse because they were running through their victuals. But it was also a blessing because it meant Georg Schultz wasn’t on board.

Anna gave thanks for this night and the smelly, damp, leaky boat and for what lay ahead. And she prayed she hadn’t done any harm to the seamen.

But she still intended to talk to the captain about returning to Rotterdam the moment he set foot on the ship.

July 14th, 1737

Bairn spotted Felix hiding behind the windlass and strode over to him. “I’ve been searchin’ fer you. What are you up to now, laddie?”

“Nix.”
Nothing.
Felix gave him a wide-eyed, innocent look that didn’t fool Bairn for a moment. “Vas ist das?”

“It’s a windlass. It’s a type of winch used to raise the anchor.”

Felix pointed to another winch. “Net das?”

“Nay. That’s a capstan. We use it to hoist cargo and other heavy loads. Methinks you ken English better than you let on. The more y’try speakin’ it, the better it’ll go for you in the New World.” He nodded his head toward the fo’c’sle deck, inviting Felix to ascend the ladder. He wanted to move them away from the clump of seamen who were gathered in a circle to mend sailcloth.

Bairn showed Felix the wheel. “Yer at the helm of the ship.” He put his hands on the spokes of the wheel. “Come, take possession of the wheel.” He made way for him to stand before him at the wheel.

Felix slipped into place and grabbed the wheel. “How can it . . . verk?”

Bairn was pleased to hear the boy use his halting English. “The wheel is attached to a rudder, far below us in the hold.”

“I see it.”

“What? Have you been prowlin’ down in the hold too?”

“Yuscht eemol.” Felix bit his lip.
Only once
.

“I’ll wager you’ve been down more than once.” He grinned. He couldn’t fault him; he would’ve done the same thing as a laddie. Why, in fact, he had.

“Do captain stand at vheel all day? All night?”

“Nay. He gives orders to helmsmen who take turns at watch, day and night.”

“Night too?”

“Aye. When we put out to sea, the wheel is difficult to control. It takes constant mindin’. Not unlike some boys I ken.”

Felix grinned, revealing missing teeth. It pleased Bairn to see the laddie smile so readily. Boys should have reasons to smile.

“How do you . . . the vheel . . . how do you . . .” He motioned with his hands as if turning a wheel.

“Guide the ship?”

Felix nodded. “To America.”

Bairn pointed to a box behind him. “Do you see that box? ’Tis called a binnacle. It houses the compass. In the Great Cabin—which is where I first found you sleepin’ in the captain’s bed—there’s the chronometer. We use mathematics to determine longitude and latitude. The captain tells us whitherward, and we set the course.” He looked up. “And then there’s the sun and stars, as well. That’s the mariner’s ancient way to set a course.”

Felix gripped the wheel as solemnly as if he were a helmsman during a severe storm.

The ship’s bell rang to mark the time of watch. “I must go. And you should get below so your family isn’t worried about you.”

With a fallen face, Felix reluctantly started toward the ladder.

“Felix, I noticed Anna has a limp. Is she hurt?”

“One leg is . . .” He held up his hands at different lengths.

“Shorter than the other?”

Felix nodded.

“Was she born that way?”

“Nee.” Felix held his fists together and snapped them like a twig. “It breaks and does not . . .” He searched for the right word. “Fix.”

“Heal. You mean her leg dinnae heal properly.” An idea brewed in Bairn’s mind. “Supposin’ you help me with somethin’. A secret.”

Felix grinned like he was ready to receive a gift. He hurried back to Bairn’s side, deeply interested. “Vat?”

“Would you be able to bring me her shoes?”

“Shoes? You vant Anna’s shoes?”

“Aye. She goes barefoot most of the time. All you Peculiars do—” He stopped himself, realizing he had just maligned the boy’s people. “Like the sailors.” Most sailors went barefoot aboard the ship, as it was easier to climb in the rigging of the ship without clumsy shoes.

Felix looked down at his bare toes and wiggled them.

“Could you do that? Bring me her shoes?”

“I go. I look.”

“’Tis our secret!” Bairn reminded him. “If you can get above deck without bein’ seen, leave them in me shop.”

He watched the flop of curly red hair descend down the companionway to the lower deck. There was something about that boy that touched Bairn, though he couldn’t pinpoint the reason other than Felix reminded him of himself at that age. Curious about everything related to the ship and the sea.

Later that evening, he found Anna’s shoes on his workbench, courtesy of a sly laddie. They were humble shoes, made of sheepskin, well worn. He hung a lantern from an iron hook; the light cast a broad beam over his workbench. He spent time carving a heel, sanding it, nailing it carefully into the sole, adjusting it, and then he remained in the deserted carpentry shop for near an hour, staring out the empty doorway, a lantern in his hand, considering Anna. Wondering why he bothered to fix her shoe.

Anna lay on the hammock, trying to distract herself from the loud snores that rose above the hiss of waves breaking against the hull, but the smells of chamber pots that needed to be emptied overpowered her will. The entire vessel seemed to sleep except for the sounds of someone who paced the deck above.

The longer she lay awake with the heavy dank odors of crowded humanity, the more she felt desperate to get upstairs and fill her lungs with fresh air. Quietly, she slipped out of the hammock and crept to the companionway to climb the steps. She pushed the hatch up and took a bracing breath; the sea air caressed her face, cleansing, refreshing, healing.

“Who goes there?” A lantern shone in her face.

“’Tis Anna.”

Bairn lowered the lantern. “I should have known. Yer above deck lately as much as young Felix. Is somethin’ wrong?”

“No. I just . . . couldn’t sleep and needed fresh air.”

“Aye, I can believe that.” He took her hand and led her up the final tread onto the deck.

She drew her hand free.

“Hold on to somethin’.” He settled her hand into the crook of his elbow and led her to the railing. She peered over the side. The moon shone on the water’s dark surface. They stood side by side, quietly, for a long moment. “Wait here a minute, Anna. Keep yer hands on the railin’.”

He strode toward the back of the ship and disappeared for a moment, then reemerged. He held something behind his back. “I noticed you have a limp.”

Anna flinched and looked away. She could feel her face heat up. She’d grown so accustomed to a limp that she rarely thought about it.

His tone softened. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I adjusted yer shoes to even out yer gait.” He held out her shoes to him. The right shoe had a platform that raised it over an inch. “I can adjust the heel if it dinnae feel quite right. I had to make a guess.”

She looked at the shoes, not quite understanding.

“It’s something I’ve done fer other sailors. If you dinnae fix that limp now, you’ll end up with a crooked back when yer old and gray.”

“I . . . I don’t know what to say.”

“Naught but a small thank-you for helpin’ the sailors with their ailments.”

She was grateful for the dark of night because her face was a tempest of emotions. She was touched by his action, and puzzled by it too. “How did you find my shoes?”

“That red-haired brother of yours.”

A smile lifted Anna’s lips. “Felix isn’t my brother.”

Now it was Bairn’s turn to be surprised. “He’s not your brother? You dote on him. You seem t’make it yer business to keep the boy away from sin and foolishness.”

“So true. That boy is a full-time job.”

“Why aren’t his folks dotin’ on him?”

“His father is waiting for everyone in Port Philadelphia. And his mother . . . They had a death in the family right before we left for Rotterdam and she . . . she’s grieving still. I’m used to keeping watch over Felix. I’ve known him since he was born.”

“Well, that makes more sense. You dinnae resemble each other at all.” His gaze swept over Anna, making her blush. “My mother has red hair like Felix’s. In a certain light, it looks like fire.”

“Does she live in Scotland?”

“Nay. Not Scotland.”

“But your accent . . .”

“Acquired from servin’ the captains fer nigh on eleven years.”

“You still have family, then?”

“I . . . ken not.” Even the mere murmur of his voice sounded heavy, burdened, infinitely sad.

“You still haven’t told me where you call home,” she said, truly curious. She felt a need to put him in some familiar place, though familiar to her would mean the hills and valleys of Germany. But she couldn’t imagine him in Ixheim, plowing a field or tossing hay to a band of ewes.

He pulled his attention from the sea and looked at her. “I don’t call anywhere home.” His gaze had wandered to the sea beyond; he seemed to have forgotten her. A stillness had come over him.

“Everyone,” she said softly, “is somebody’s son.”

The plane of his arresting face softened as he studied her through somber eyes. “Mayhap the sea is my home, my family.”

“The sea?”

“Aye. The sea has been good and fair t’me.”

“But the sea can’t love you back.”

Before she could ask another question, a bell rang and Bairn stiffened. “The ship’s bell is ringin’ for a watch change. You should go below. Would not be good to give the deckhands any more reason to gossip about the lassie from the lower deck.” He walked her to the top of the companionway and nodded, leaving her there.

She found Bairn full of contradictions. He was not a plain and humble man. He was a wayward soul. He was not one of them. He claimed not to believe in God and to only believe in himself. He was not many things, but she had discovered he was one thing: he was kind.

As Bairn eased onto his bunk, he thought of how Cook would tweak him if he knew he had spent time tonight adjusting a heel on a shoe for a Peculiar girl.

One moment, Bairn found Anna something of an annoyance and the next, a sweet innocent he felt inclined to protect. What was it about her that drew him? She had a loveliness about her, and clearly, a rare strength of character. She certainly wasn’t what one would expect of a Peculiar: timid and trembling. Or a pub girl: bawdy and bold.

He only knew he was developing some feelings for the girl, which surprised and alarmed him. He was no fool; he knew he mustn’t entertain thoughts of her. He must keep his
wits about him. They came from different worlds and would return to different worlds and he wasn’t about to jeopardize his promotion to first mate by toying with a girl from the lower deck, no matter her appeal.

It was that thought that finally pushed him on toward sleep—thinking about why he ought to stop thinking about Anna. He slept soundly for five long hours, the longest he’d slept in weeks, and woke to feelings of comfort and a cozy warmth that he remembered from years long past.