Anna's Crossing: An Amish Beginnings Novel (24 page)

He wondered what his father would think about having a new son. Last evening, Peter had asked his mother if she would take the baby for him, to raise him like her own. He had Christian’s blessing, he told her. “I can’t take care of him, not like you could.”

“I’ll need to ask Jacob,” his mother replied, but Felix already knew the answer. The baby, if he lived, and it seemed like he would by the way he was squalling, would be his new brother.

Bairn angled his face in his mirror to shave his chin and nicked himself. He flung the straight-edged razor into a porcelain bowl with such disgust that soapy water splashed over the rim of the bowl and onto the floor.

He needed something to occupy his head and hands every
moment, because when his hands were idle they started to shake, and he was too full of feelings to think. Each time he saw Georg Schultz, his belly clenched with a sick dread. He felt as he did before a storm, when there was an absence of wind but the horizon looked terrifyingly gray.

He dropped to the floor of the officer’s cabin, his head in his hands. He couldn’t take in all that he had discovered in the last twenty-four hours. He could hardly take in a deep breath. “Is this Yer deign on my life, this agonizing subtraction? Please, God, there must be some way.”

He didn’t know why he prayed. He expected no answer. Indeed, he had not received any answers to his petitions during that awful time, years ago.

He couldn’t help it. Something deep inside him was asking for help. His chest ached with a longing—no, a need—to make things right.
Me sin’s much greater than the laddie’s. Please, God, dinnae let him suffer.
There must
be some other way.

With those words, he felt an unexpected peace come over him; it seemed to enter the cabin like an unseen guest.

Bairn jumped to his feet, started pacing, working out the details in his mind. He felt his whole world shift and give way.

The next morning, he walked toward the galley to see what Cook was doing about supper. Mr. Pocock sought him out to tell him the captain wanted to see him in the Great Cabin and a knot of alarm tightened in his gut.

Here it was. He put on his frock coat and went to face the storm.

The captain had Bairn sit in the chair at the table while he paced up and down in the narrow cabin. “Georg Schultz said he found the thief who stole that baron’s gold watch.”

“Did he tell you that the thief is an eight-year-old laddie?”

“Aye. He did. And it sickens me, but there’s naught I can do. A thief is a thief.” The captain averted his eyes. “He says he will return to Rotterdam on the next ship and plans to take the lad with him.”

“And yer in agreement with him?” Bairn was incredulous. “A mere laddie?”

The captain ran a hand across his whiskered jaw and groped for a sensible solution. “His mother may accompany him back.” He waved a hand in a grand manner. “I’ll see to it that she won’t be charged full passage.”

Bairn rose to his feet, towering over the captain. “Nay.”

The captain looked up at him, surprised. He wasn’t accustomed to anyone disagreeing with him, especially not Bairn. “This isn’t our affair. We are merely the transporters for these people. We have plenty of work ahead of us to get the
Charming Nancy
shipshape for next summer’s passage.”

“Nay,” Bairn said more emphatically.

“Bairn, I don’t like Schultz any more than you do, but the law is the law. And mayhap this scare will keep the lad from a life of thievery.”

Bairn raked a hand over his hair. “Sir, I was a laddie meself when yer brother took me under his wings. And then you did, yerself. You both gave me a chance.”

“That’s different. You were an orphan, all alone in the world. And you showed promise. Real promise.” The captain strode to the window. “This boy has parents, a family, and yet he stole something of great value.”

“Without meaning t’sound disrespectful, this isn’t about the laddie, Captain. This is about money. Schultz wants the reward. You want plenty of passengers t’fill the lower deck.”

Their eyes locked.

A knock on the door interrupted the standoff. Mr. Pocock stuck his head in the door and asked for the captain to come to the fo’c’sle deck for a moment.

The captain nodded. “We’re finished here.”

“No, sir, we’re not.”

The captain gave Bairn a tight smile. “Then wait here. I’ll return and we can finish this discussion.”

He opened the door and shouted for Johnny Reed to fetch Georg Schultz and bring him to the Great Cabin.

By the time the captain returned, Georg Schultz had already arrived and had settled himself in the chair.

Bairn stood in the center of the room, feet straddled. “Captain, sir, I have something to tell you. You and Schultz both.”

“Perhaps Mr. Schultz wouldn’t mind vacating my chair for this important announcement.”

Georg Schultz slowly rose.

“I won’t be stayin’ in Port Philadelphia this winter. I’ll be returnin’ to Rotterdam with Schultz. I’ll go in the laddie’s place.”

“Very nice offer, Bairn,” Georg Schultz said, “but the baron wants only a Bauer.”

“And so he will have him.” He fixed his gaze on Georg Schultz. “My name is not Bairn. My name is Hans Bauer. I am Jacob Bauer’s eldest son.”

September 13th, 1737

Something had come over Dorothea. She was making changes and she was not a great one for change.

Anna had a theory that it was the baby that cured Dorothea. Her old indomitable spirit came back to her with the care of this infant boy. Her powerful maternal instincts had kicked in and told her that she was the protector, the provider. She didn’t have time anymore to be sad or depressed. She couldn’t afford to be woolly minded. The baby’s life depended on her.

Dorothea was sleeping, the baby lying on her chest. One hand was protectively over him, the other lay limp by her side. She was smiling. The baby was never alone, day and night. He had the warmth, the touch, the softness, the smell, the moisture of a mother. He heard her heartbeat and her voice. Above all, he had her love.

The baby stirred and Dorothea’s eyes flickered open. She reached for a saucer at the side of her and began to squeeze milk she had extracted from the goat, pressing out a few drops, which fell into the saucer. Then she took a tiny silver
salt spoon, something Felix had found—Anna had a sneaking suspicion he had found it among the captain’s things but she didn’t really want to know the answer. Dorothea held the little baby in her left hand and touched his lips with the spoon she held in her right hand.

Anna watched, fascinated. The baby’s lips were no bigger than a couple of flower petals. A tiny tongue came out and licked the fluid. She repeated this about six or eight times, then tucked him back between her breasts. She did this each time the baby woke, even through the nights. Then they both would catch a little sleep, and she would feed him again.

“She said he won’t die, and he won’t, you know,” Felix told Anna. “She knows how to look after baby boys.”

And
what about bigger boys?
Anna thought, but didn’t say aloud. She had asked Felix again and again if he knew where that gold watch was and, each time, he denied that he knew anything about it. She was almost starting to think he really didn’t have anything to do with the watch, but then she remembered the morning of Johann’s funeral, when he had disappeared for a time.

She looked through all of Felix’s belongings to try to find the gold watch. She went through her own chest, through Dorothea’s belongings, even Catrina’s. She tried to think the way Felix thought. If the watch were left in Ixheim, she figured he would confess as much. But he wasn’t budging from his denial, which made her certain that it was on this ship. But where? Where could it be?

Time was running out. They would be in Port Philadelphia soon. She had to find that gold watch.

September 14th, 1737

The rain seemed to come out of nowhere. At dawn, there was nothing more than a light chop on the waters, a typical gray, late fall day with light winds out of the southeast. An hour later, sustained winds were blowing out of the southwest. By noon, gusts were screaming over the sea.

From the fo’c’sle deck, Bairn caught sight of the waves swirling toward them, a mountain of water plunging across the sea to crash upon the deck. “All hands on deck,” he shouted. “Topmen aloft.”

Then the downpour changed to a gentle spray of water, and the lightning and thunder moved away. But it was too still, oddly quiet. Bairn searched the sky. The clouds had a funny green tinge that bled out into the air. The sailors stopped what they were doing and looked curiously to Bairn for direction.

Bairn didn’t notice that Georg Schultz had assumed the storm was over and ventured from the lower deck to step onto the upper deck.

Suddenly the wind hissed like a snake in the sky and began swirling madly overhead, shrieking through the rope rigging. The bow of the ship lurched upward. Bairn heard a terrifying scream and spun around to see Schultz stagger to the ship’s railing and tumble into the sea.

That should have been the end of him. Bairn rushed to the rail and saw Schultz gripping the topsail halyard that dangled over the side, holding onto the rope with a wild desperation.

“Hang on, Schultz!” Bairn yelled. He turned to the deckhands. “Over here. Come help!” Several sailors took up the halyard and hauled Schultz back in, finally snagging him with a boat hook and dragging him over the railing and onto the deck.

Georg Schultz lay on the deck, so still that Bairn thought surely
this
was the end of him. Then he coughed and sputtered and heaved, very much alive.

September 15th, 1737

Georg Schultz might have survived a toss overboard, but illness soon caught up with him. It started with a racking cough that curled his shoulders. And then chills set in. Passengers avoided him, fearful of any contagion. They all knew that ships could be easily quarantined for disease and wanted none of it.

“Anna, wake up.”

“What?” Disoriented, she opened her eyes and lifted her head. “Christian?” Still fuzzy from sleep, her head bobbed slightly before she jerked erect and ran her hands over her face. “Christian, what is it?”

“Follow me.”

Immediately, Anna rose from the hammock and came to her feet. She followed Christian down the aisle to the stern, where he stopped in front of Georg Schultz’s sleeping shelf.

“Listen to his breathing. Doesn’t it sound strange?”

It was an odd sound, like the bellows from a fireplace. Anna bent over and placed her palm on his hot forehead. “He’s got a fever.”

“Have you anything to help him in your remedy box?”

Fever. Fever. Anna bit her lip, thinking. What did her grandmother do to bring down a fever? Why hadn’t she paid more attention? Because, she realized, she had never thought she’d need to know such essential knowledge. “Perhaps I could fix a vinegar compress for his forehead.”

Anna and Christian stayed by the Neulander’s sleeping shelf through the rest of the night, but by dawn, his fever and racking cough worsened.

Christian looked at her. “I think he has pneumonia.”

She met his gaze. “I think so too.”

As the day wore on, Anna checked on Georg Schultz. Late in the afternoon, she leaned forward and placed a palm on his forehead; it seemed even hotter. Christian wrapped him tightly in a wool blanket. Anna fixed a hot poultice for his neck and chest, but the constant wheeze of his breathing grew more labored.

After his last turn on watch that evening, Bairn came down to check on the patient. He hunched forward with his lips pressed to his thumb knuckles, staring intensely at the man’s chest. His chest seemed to strain for each bit of air.

“He’s growing worse,” Anna said quietly.

“Aye, well, ’tis his own doing. ’Twas a foolish thing t’go above deck in a storm.” He crossed his arms against his chest. “Anna, why do you bother nursin’ a man like him back t’life? If he lives, he’ll ne’er thank you for it.” His voice fell to a murmur. “All ye need t’do . . . is . . . nothin’. No one would blame you.”

Do nothing. The reckless thought had crossed her mind, had tempted her—she was no saint. Georg Schultz was repugnant to her. She couldn’t stand being in the same vicinity of him, recoiled at touching him. Nor could the other passengers. He had alienated himself after those interviews to find the thief of the baron’s watch and they were fearful of his illness spreading through the lower decks.

Anna thought Bairn would leave as quickly as he came, but he bent down and propped some pillows behind Georg’s back.

Felix rushed to the bedside, eager for a chance to be near Bairn. “Vhy are y’doin’ that?”

“So he won’t choke.”

Bairn settled down on the ground beside Georg Schultz’s bunk, bracing his elbows on his knees, bent forward, studying the man. As if he sensed Anna watching him, he glanced up. But her eyes skittered down; she was unable to look at him. The candle was nearly out, and Anna fetched a fresh one, lit it, and placed it in the holder, casting shadows that bounced off the corners.

“You dinnae answer me question. Why do you do it?”

Anna lifted exhausted eyes to him. There was no sting in Bairn’s words, only gentleness in his eyes, softness in his curiosity. “Don’t you know by now?”

The moment lasted but several seconds. “Aye . . . I guess I do.”

Her eyes lingered on his—those compelling, memorable gray eyes of his—but she was conscious of Felix studying them both and she only smiled. That was Felix. Never around unless you didn’t want him. He was quicksilver, there and gone again before you knew.

“I’ll stay with Schultz for a while, Anna. Why don’t you and the laddie get some sleep?”

Hours later, Anna woke. She found Bairn asleep on the ground next to Georg Schultz’s bunk in the stern. His coughing had grown loose, and he mumbled incoherently, then fell still again.

Anna went to the side of the bunk, tested his forehead, found it cooler. She sighed and slumped her shoulders in relief. “He’s going to live.”

“You sound relieved,” Bairn said, woken by the coughing.

“I am,” Anna said.

Bairn sat up and leaned his elbow on his raised knee. “You make it sound easy.”

“It’s not. It’s not easy at all to do the right thing.” But she feared God more than she loathed Georg Schultz. “How could we face God one day, if we did nothing to help this man?”

Bairn gazed at her in quiet amazement and she wished he wouldn’t credit her with such noble gestures. Keeping vigil over Georg Schultz was not easy.

“Where are the others who share yer beliefs?” He looked around the lower deck. “Fast asleep.”

She felt her face grow warm. “Others have helped.” Not many, but a few.

“’Tis curious that when others are in need, yer the natural one t’turn to for help.”

Just as she was about to object, to insist that her response came from a desire to please God, he put a finger to her lips. “Hush, lassie. Yer the one blessed with the gift of healin’. Souls as well as bodies.”

Gift of
healing?
Me?
she thought.
Me?

September 17th, 1737

The day was cool but sunny. A seagull appeared in the sky, first one, then another, and Bairn rushed to the fo’c’sle deck. He picked up the spyglass to peer out to the horizon but saw no land in sight. The color of the water had changed from deep blue to pale green. Another seagull appeared and the seamen’s shouts and cheers created such a stir that a number of passengers rushed up to the waist.