The Golden Tulip (4 page)

It was almost time for the evening prayers and the family was gathering with Griet in the parlor. Anna knelt in her place beside Hendrick and glanced around at the little circle to make sure the children had folded their hands and were ready. Only Maria sat, for she could no longer get down on her knees. Then Anna bowed her head. Her religious faith was strong. She felt she was particularly blessed in having seen the face of Christ in Rembrandt’s painting of Him. The Dutch Reformed Church rarely commissioned works of art, preferring its walls to be bare, and she thought it a sad loss to thousands of people that only a few of them would ever see the painting. Rembrandt, a devout man himself, had surely come as close as was humanly possible to portraying the Master’s intense compassion and love. She knew that through the painting she had come nearer to Him.

M
ARIA HAD BEEN
anxious about Anna’s health, able to see that this pregnancy was taking its toll on her. Fortunately Francesca was a great help in relieving her mother of numerous chores, although Anna did not like any extra duties keeping the girl away from the time she could spend in the studio. Then, as the months went by, Maria was thankful to see color returning to Anna’s cheeks while her step grew more vigorous and her energy returned. It was clear she was set on a steady course for the birth, which was due early in April. She was just into her seventh month when she came home from visiting a neighbor. Maria, who was teaching Sybylla a new embroidery stitch, told her that Aletta was playing at the Korvers’ house. Leaving them, Anna went to look in at the studio. Both Hendrick and Francesca were at their individual easels, painting a landscape from sketches they had made, he having retained the colors in his memory while she, less experienced, had made some notes on her drawings to help her. Neither saw Anna and she went out silently again. She thought, as she had often done before, what a pity it was that painting out of doors on location was not possible. The sheer weight of a large, heavy easel and a good-sized canvas on its stretcher made carrying them prohibitive from the start, quite apart from transporting everything else that was needed. No wonder artists chose to go unhampered with nothing more than their sketch pads and then paint afterward what they had seen.

At the Korvers’ house Aletta was getting tired of waiting for someone to take her home. Heer Korver was with a buyer and his wife was supervising the arrangements for a family banquet to be held there that evening. Jacob, who would have taken her, was not home yet. He was serving an apprenticeship with another diamond merchant and, because the strictness of his indentures prevented his visiting his parents very often, there was always a celebration when he did come home. His grandparents and a host of other relatives were coming from far afield. Esther and the twins were up another flight to change clothing and there was nobody around to think of her. Even the old manservant, who usually escorted her home after sunset, had been dispatched on some special errand.

Impatiently she went to the window and looked out. Dusk had fallen but it was not yet completely dark. If she ran all the way she could be home in less than five minutes. Already in her cape, she did not bother to fasten it or pull up her hood, but set off at once down the stairs and let herself out the front door. No sooner was she outside than she found it was a little darker than she had realized. There was only one city wall lantern alight in the whole seemingly deserted street, but it was too late to go back indoors now. She could see well enough and that was all that mattered.

Swiftly she broke into a run, unaware of the dainty, mothlike appearance she presented, her primrose skirt billowing lightly and her mass of soft, silvery-fair hair dancing about her head like a tinseled cloud in the half-light. A roughly clad man, unshaven and half drunk, watched her with a stirring of his loins from the arch of a house’s passageway on the opposite side of the canal. Draining the bottle he held, he set it down quietly instead of tossing it into the canal as he would have done otherwise. Tensely he waited to see if she would cross the bridge. If not, he’d take a quick sprint after her. There was nobody else about as far as he could tell and he’d take his chance. She
was
coming over to this side! He reached out a hand and tested the passage door to see if the house owner had bolted it yet for the night. He grinned as it swung open with a slight creak into blackness. He drew back into it, no longer able to see her, but able to judge her approach by her light footsteps getting nearer. Then, as she came level, he pounced.

To Aletta it was for one horrifying second as if a fairy-tale monster had sprung from the depths of the earth to seize her. Yet in the same instant she knew it to be a man. He had clapped a calloused hand over her mouth, muzzling her screams, and grabbed a handful of her hair down to the roots as if he would wrench it from her scalp. Terror possessed her utterly as he half swung her into the passageway and slammed her against the wall to pinion her with his body there. Already breathless from the pace at which she had run, she felt she would suffocate from the stench of foul breath, stale sweat and filthy clothing that filled her nostrils like the odor of plague. His chin rasped her forehead and her eyes threatened to start with renewed horror from their sockets as she felt him slobbering over her head. She thought in fear-crazed disbelief that he was trying to eat her hair and she could feel some strange part of him through her skirts. Her struggling arms and kicking feet had no effect and he was muttering hoarsely. His words, although breathy, were audible and in the dialect of another province.

“Your tresses! So fine a color is going to get you what you deserve!”

His saliva had begun running down her face. Worse—oh! much worse—she heard him pull the leather thongs of his breeches free and then his awful devil hand was bundling up her skirts. Her eyes rolled up and her mind went blank with shock, her whole body rigid against violation.

Then, without warning, the passageway reverberated with the thunderous voice of the furious house-holder as he shouted to them from the rear courtyard. “What in hell’s name is going on down there?”

Her attacker cursed, releasing her, and she fell to the stone flags as he bolted. The hostile interruption gave her no thought of help forthcoming from its direction. She was up and out of the passageway into the street like a homing pigeon released from a basket, guided by instinct more than sense or sight to cover the few yards to safety.

Griet, busy in the kitchen, turned in amazement as the back door went crashing open and Aletta, her face white to the lips, her eyes wild and dilated, dashed through, looking neither to right nor to left.

“Aletta! Wait! What’s wrong?” Griet flew after her, but she had already disappeared up two flights of stairs to her room. Her bedchamber door gave an echoing slam. Turning about, Griet ran to the family parlor, where Anna and Maria sat sewing lace onto baby garments and Francesca was playing drafts with Sybylla. All looked up as Griet entered.

“What has happened?” Anna demanded on a rush of anxiety, putting her sewing aside.

“I don’t know, ma’am. Aletta has come home in a dreadful state. She went tearing through the kitchen and up to her room!”

“Was anyone with her?” Anna was already out of her chair.

“No, ma’am. She had no cloak and her hair was all over the place.”

Anna, moving swiftly for the door, gave her daughters their instructions. “You are both to stay here with Maria.” Then to Griet she gave another order. “Fetch the master from the studio at once!”

“But he’s not there, ma’am! He’s out!”

Anna broke into a run as she made for the stair hall. She heard Maria shout after her that Aletta should be upbraided for breaking the golden rule of never being out alone after sunset. But this was no time for recriminations. All that was important was to discover what had happened and hope to put matters right.

In her overwhelming concern for her daughter, Anna had forgotten her condition completely. She took the narrow flight at a faster pace than she had done since her pregnancy. It was as she swept around the top newel post to continue up the second flight that she inadvertently stepped on the hem of a petticoat that she had failed to bunch high enough to leave her feet free. It was a strong, hand-woven linen that did not give and she was hurled off balance, a victim of her own haste. Thudding with full force against the banister, she felt the handrail lash into her side like a bullwhip. Her first lightning thought was one of thankfulness that she had not struck her belly and she cupped a hand over her unborn child, but for a matter of seconds she could not move and remained gasping for breath. Downstairs Griet had come running into the hall to call up to her. “Are you all right, ma’am?”

Anna steadied herself and straightened her back, glad she was out of the maidservant’s sight or else she would have had Maria’s fussing to add to this present crisis with Aletta, whatever it might be. “Yes, Griet. Reassure Maria. I happened to stumble on my skirt hems.”

It was a common enough occurrence and Griet did not come up the stairs to investigate further. Anna drew in a deep breath and thrust the pain from her mind. Time enough later to think about a few bruised ribs. She took the last stairs at a slower pace than she would have wished, and crossed the landing to Aletta’s door. It was locked on the inside.

“Aletta! It’s Mama! Open the door and let me in.” There was no reply and she tried again. “Please do as I say. I know something has happened and I want to help you.”

Still there was silence. Anna’s fear rose sharply. Aletta was always particularly close to her. Never before had there been a time of trouble when Aletta had not run straight to her. It could only be some kind of shame that was keeping the child away. She shook the door handle urgently and banged the panel with the flat of her hand, calling through in as level a tone as she could manage, but getting no response. Then, happening to glance down, she saw that from under the door a trickle of water had appeared. She renewed her efforts, trying another tactic.

“Aletta! You must let me in! If this door has to be forced the whole household will be crowded around. Surely you would like to speak to me on your own.”

She leaned weakly against the door, her brow against it. The daggers of pain still driving into her side were nothing compared with the anguish over what she might have done to her unborn child and her despair over a little girl too shocked to seek her own mother’s comfort. Her head jerked up as the key turned, but the door did not open.

She turned the handle and pushed the door open slowly, careful to restrain her wish to rush in and embrace her daughter. The room was in darkness and she turned back a step to take up the candle lamp from the landing table. It lit her way into the bedchamber. Then she halted to stand staring in shocked disbelief. Aletta sat naked in the middle of the room, her face hidden as she rested her forehead on her updrawn knees, her arms clasped about them. She looked like a shorn lamb. Scissors from her sewing basket showed how the damage had been wrought, for all around her on the floor were soft tufts and strands of her pure-colored hair. To add to her pitiable condition she had poured water over her head from the ewer on the corner cupboard.

Almost in the same moment of registering the scene, Anna set down the candle lamp and shut the door, turning the key. Then she snatched up a couple of towels that lay folded by the china basin. Dropping awkwardly on one knee in front of the child, pain still stabbing at her side, she wrapped the towels about the shivering shoulders. Gently she raised her daughter’s face and was met by a tormented stare. She had to choke back a cry at the sight of the livid bruises over mouth and jaw, the lips swollen and bleeding from pressure against teeth.

“Stand up, my baby,” Anna said softly in the nursery tones of the past. “Mama can’t lift you and you’ll catch cold if I don’t dry you quickly.”

At first Aletta did not move. Anna coaxed again, holding out her arms, and then was nearly unbalanced for a second time as her daughter sprang forward into her waiting embrace, the tears coming like a torrent. At the first possible moment, Anna went to call downstairs for some things she needed. Then she finished drying the poor little shorn head where some of the hair had been wrenched out by the attacker, leaving raw patches.

Everything Anna had called for was quickly delivered, Griet having gained permission to enlist Francesca’s help. Anna opened the bedchamber door only wide enough to receive each item and then closed it again. There was a large jug of hot water, her medical box of salves and bindings, a heated brick wrapped in flannel and a mug of hot milk. The only time she held the door open for a fraction longer than necessary was to give Francesca some explanation of what had happened.

“It is as I feared. Aletta met somebody who handled her roughly on the way home, but she is going to be all right again.”

“We’re all so worried.” Francesca’s own drawn expression bore out the truth of her words. “Maria is in tears and begs you not to reprimand Aletta after all.”

“I had no intention of doing that in any case. Aletta has been most cruelly handled and as yet she will not speak about what happened. But I can tell you that mercifully she has escaped the ultimate physical harm that can be done to a young, innocent girl. Let Maria know this. And tell Sybylla I shall sleep here tonight in her place. She can go in with you. Is there any sign of Papa yet?”

“None.”

Anna closed the door and returned to attend to Aletta. Half an hour later Aletta was still remaining silent, lying in bed and staring up at the canopy. Anna sat by her, for all she wanted was her mother’s reassuring presence. She started with fright when a tap came again on the bedchamber door and sat upright, speaking for the first time.

“Don’t leave me, Mama!” she implored on a note of panic.

“I’m not going to,” Anna assured her, giving her brow a kiss.

Francesca stood on the landing, her sister’s blue cape in her hand. “Heer Blankert brought this cape he found in his passageway. He didn’t know it was Aletta’s until one of the other neighbors recognized it. He is very concerned, because he thought he saw a struggle taking place. I told him she is unharmed.”